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I drive to her house as I have a dozen times before. Even as I draw near I can feel the butterflies in my stomach. My hands become slick on the wheel as sweat coats my palms, and I wipe them off on my black dress pants. I park about a half-block away, taking a moment to calm myself. No good, the tension is still there. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, find my center, and focus on it. One would think that the nerves would settle after this many sessions. One would be wrong.
I grab my bag from the back seat and head to her door. I don't bother knocking; she wouldn't be able to answer the door if she's following orders anyway. I locate the key and enter the house. I can see her sitting in the kitchen, her back to me. Her arms are pulled behind her and held with steel handcuffs. (A gift for her birthday)
I know she can hear me, and as I approach her body trembles with the desire to turn and greet me, but I've not given her permission yet. I hesitate for a moment, overwhelmed with emotion. This creature is a thing of beauty, and yet she follows my commands without question, thriving on my orders, almost seeming to blossom as she serves me. She could have the servitude of a dozen guys, and they would all feel blessed to be in her presence, and yet she chooses to spend hours at a time on her knees before me.
I'll never understand how the submissive mind works. But then, that's why I'm a Dominant. Oh, I try to understand – I've allowed myself to be Dominated before, and while I felt the nervousness and the tension, it did nothing for my sex drive. Yet my submissive here before me gets wet when I bind her and orgasms when I spank her. I shake my head with a smile.
With a start I realize I've been standing there for almost ten minutes. She hasn't made a sound, which is commendable. I drop my bag, and unzip it slowly, letting her hear the approach of the devices she's come to know so well. First is a leather hood. It fits tightly already, sealing her eyes and ears, clamping her jaw shut while leaving a hole near the nose to breathe through. Laces on the back allow the hair to hang free, and can be tightened for a customized fit.
Once that's on, she's effectively blind and mute, and her hearing is dulled. She didn't say anything through the application of that, save for a whimper as the laces were pulled tight. Next comes a thick leather collar that fits snugly around her neck, and a chain leash locks onto that. I make her stand so that she can experience the newest addition to our collection.
I have to admit she is stunning. I'd forbidden her from wearing clothing when expecting me, and she stands before me in all her glory. Five-foot-seven, 36-24-32, with long red hair creeping from the edge of the leather hood. For a minute I'm once again dumbfounded by her motivations, about what makes a woman like this so eager to serve someone rather than to be served. Shaking off these feelings, I delve once more into the bag.
She trembles when she feels the leather wrapping about her torso. The fit is perfect, if I do say so myself. The corset hugs her body like a second skin. She knows what it is, and she's wanted one ever since I've known her. I'm meticulous in the laces on this, pulling each one tight before threading the next eyelet. It takes me a full twenty minutes to do it correctly, and I step back to admire the image.
What I had once thought of as perfect had been improved upon – she was a goddess at this point. My breath catches in my throat, and my heart pounds. If she were to demand something now, I would be hard pressed to resist her. Still, there is one other thing. Minutes later I've added thigh-high leather boots to the ensemble, and words would be a paltry means to describe her, and would undoubtedly fall short.
I've lost time somewhere, I realize… I arrived here over an hour ago. Where did the time go? I lead her to the table, bending her forward. I release her hands and order her to place her palms flat on the table. She obeys without question, exposing her ass to me beautifully.
I rub the crop against the skin softly. She moves back slightly, pressing against the folded leather at the tip. I draw back, and watch as she tenses. Holding the crop in a striking pose, I wait, and soon see her relaxing again. Whack . She jumps, but doesn't cry out. This continues, about one strike every thirty seconds, once she's relaxed after the last swing. She takes forty bites from the crop by the time I stop.
I can smell her excitement, and see her legs glistening with the fluid running from her groin. I reach down, rubbing my hand in it and sliding two fingers easily inside her. She gasps and presses back against my hand, trembling. Her body wants so badly to cum, but in her mind she knows that I haven't given that permission yet, so she wars with herself.
I pull back, and hear a pitiful whine barely audible from behind the mask. I make her stand, and lead her into the living room by her collar. Pulling down on the chain, I give a sign that she knows only too well. As quickly as she's able she drops prone to the floor and places her hands behind her back, crossed at the wrist.
Grabbing more supplies from the already-infamous bag, I kneel beside her and start her binding. First her wrists, tight enough not to be able to escape, loose enough not to cut off circulation. Flexible as she is, it would be easy to bind her elbows as well, but I decide to leave them free this time. Her legs are bent and each ankle is bound to its respective thigh, the leftover rope bound to her wrists.
What I end up with is a hogtie that leaves her legs spread and her ass exposed, perfect for my purposes. Another new toy, a small egg-shaped vibrator, is inserted into her cunt, and even though I flip the switch on it, there is no humming sound. I stand back, and she tries to figure out where I've gone. Pulling a small device from my pocket, I turn a dial and am rewarded when her body begins to shake and she pulls unconsciously at the ropes binding her – remote control vibrator. Aah, the wonders of modern science.
I head to the kitchen, leaving her to deal with this new stimulus. She knows better than to cum, but at the same time she may not be able to resist. Either way, I think to myself, I'll be satisfied with the results of this little test. I decide I'll fix dinner, and check in to see her progress when I'm done.
As I cook, I can't help but analyze my own feelings. Why do I do this? I like the sensation of power, of controlling another human, especially a beautiful woman, but why put her through these trials, denying her orgasms while teasing her towards them? Upon reflection, I think it's because it's not enough that I am in control – I need her to realize and acknowledge that I am in control.
The other side of that reasoning, however, is why she allows it? Perhaps she enjoys the sensation of losing control, of serving another and bringing him pleasure. What I can't figure out is why, what moves her to find enjoyment in obeying another's commands? In the beginning she was stronger, occasionally pushing her limits, finding the lines that I had mentally drawn.
Now she obeys almost always without question. I give a command, and she follows it to the letter, trusting in me completely. It brings about an odd dichotomy in me. That level of control is intoxicating, making me want to take more. At the same time, I appreciate the gift of her servitude, because it's something I could never give.
After my reflections, I realize that dinner is done, and I place two servings on one plate, carrying it to the living room. Immediately upon entering, I can smell the musky scent in the air, and know that she's been resisting her orgasm with everything she's got. Sitting on the couch, I turn on the television, and can hear her moan in frustration at not being allowed release.
After eating my portion of the meal, I set down the plate and kneel near her. A fine sheen of sweat covers her exposed skin, and I can see the muscles trembling, fighting against her bonds. I take a quick moment to ensure that she still has good circulation in her limbs, and then sit to watch her body and mind war with each other.
I reach out, touching her for the first time since she's been in this position. My hand caresses her bare ass, bringing forth a sharp gasp and a muffled sound. I slide my fingers down between her legs, letting them be coated in the fluids running from her. I bring my hand up to my lips, savoring the smell, then the taste. A small whine comes from the woman on the floor.
Lowering my hand to her body again, I slowly press one finger against the dark ring of her anus. She gasps, but the persistent pressure slides the digit in to the second knuckle before I stop. Now her breathing is more labored, and her body is moving against my hand as well as the vibrator. I lean forward, my lips near the mask, speaking to her for the first time during the visit.
"Cum for me, my slave."
Her body shakes, and a scream emerges from her lips – much louder than I would have expected. I can feel her muscles clamping down on my finger as her trembling builds. The ropes pull taut, biting into her skin, but still she pulls. Her orgasms lasts for almost a minute before subsiding, and she collapses, exhausted, in as limp of a position as the bonds allow.
I slowly untie her, removing the mask last. I do it slowly, deliberately, and the whole process takes almost twenty minutes. Even with the mask off, she keeps her eyes downcast, and stays on her knees. I pull her by the leash over to the couch, and lift her face until I can look into her eyes.
I smile; she seems almost dazed with the force of her orgasm, and I begin feeding her dinner. There is a blush that flows to her cheeks. I've never fed her before, and she doesn't know exactly how to respond. As she eats, I run my fingers through her hair, enjoying the silky feel.
"Why do you serve me," the question comes from nowhere, surprising me almost as much as it does her.
"Master?"
"You do all that I demand, without hesitation," I say softly, unsure of where this is going, "I enjoy the control that I have over you, as well as the servitude of a beautiful woman." She blushes once more – she never was good at accepting compliments, especially one so overt as that.
"You give this one everything, my lord," she replies, her voice full of emotion, "Guidance, affection, and someone who approves of all that she does. If your slave could do more for you, she would. Even today, she's done nothing except what you told her to, while you have filled her physical, sexual, and emotional needs, as well as cooked for her. Even the fact that you are concerned for her happiness speaks of your affection for her."
I pause, considering the words. The understanding is at the edge of my grasp, but just out of reach. She feels that I'm giving her something of value, when it seems I'm merely satisfying my own desires. We come from two worlds, of two mindsets, and I'm not sure if we'll be able to accurately view the world through the eyes of the other. Looking at the clock, I see it's time to go. I stand, pulling her up with me. I kiss her gently on the cheek, and then collect my things from her to take with me. On impulse, I decide to leave the corset with her.
"Someday, my slave, we may just want to exchange real names."
"This one cannot, Master," she says, eyes downcast, "There are others in her life who would not understand what we share." I nod, knowing and understanding the truth of her words, and turn to leave. At the door I pause, wanting desperately to turn and tell her of my true feelings for her. I want to explain how my heart pounds when I'm near her and she consumes all of my thoughts when I'm not with her. But that's not what we share, so I head to my car, throwing my bag in the back and starting the engine. I pause, sitting in my car and thinking about things that could have been, should have been, thinking about her.
"I love you," I say the words out loud, and they sound strange, spoken in the silence of my car. I shake my head with a sigh, take a deep breath, and head home.
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