Part III
Kneel? Good Lord! I stare at him. He is but an arm's length away, crowding my
space. His smile...oh, his smile...but I wouldn't call it such, more like a
curve of his lips that doesn't reach his eyes. His eyes are dark pools, deep and
fathomless. I feel like I'm locked in some sort of time vortex, the force of his
presence slowing down time, forcing me to feel fear, nerves, angst for
agonizingly long seconds.
Kneel? Did I really want to? Could I handle what would happen once I did? I
still hadn't bowed to him, still hadn't given him my submission. I could still
get out of here with my dignity and pride in tact. All I had to do was move,
move away, towards the door, towards safety and security. It was still within
reach. I hadn't crossed the line.
And I did move. I tilt my head back to gaze at him from my place on the floor,
from my position on my knees, cursing my body for betraying me, cursing that
part of me that couldn't walk away, cursing my own weakness. My eyes are wide
with fright, I know. I drop my gaze to the floor. I can't bear to look at the
triumph etched in his features. I can't bear feeling like a conquest and yet
that's exactly what I am.
He says not a word, but starts making slow circles around me. I feel a tear in
the corner of my eye. Isn't submission supposed to be granted? Gifted? I didn't
give it! I don't know how it happened...but here I am on the floor, you standing
over me, eying me like some prize that you had won, regarding every angle of the
naked body on its knees in front of you.
A shiver passes through me and the tear grows and begins its descent down my
heated face as I realize that its not just fear that has me trembling. Dammit,
what the hell is wrong with me? I brush the offending drop from my face with an
angry hand but a vice like grip on my wrist elicits a startled gasp. You squat
in front of me and the hard planes of your face give me pause. I watch
breathless, as you bring my hand to your mouth and kiss the tear, born of fear,
desire and desperation away.
Oh, God! Desire? There is a painful pressure in my chest as the truth hits me.
Yes, desire. Even now, fear and uncertainty rippling through me, the longing,
the desire, the need has equal billing. And you know it, have known it all
along. I lean back hard on my heels as the air leaves my body in a long whoosh.
My startled eyes fly to your supremely confident ones and search their depths.
Your grin deepens, your eyes darken, and your hand, still wrapped around my
wrist, tightens.
I watch you lean forward slightly, the shoulder of your free arm canting towards
me, but I am unprepared for the feel of your hand sliding along my most feminine
place, the feel of your finger parting my folds deftly and running along my very
warm opening. I try to pull back, the shock of the contact so great, but your
grip still imprisons my wrist and I have no where to go. My breath quickens and
the pressure in my chest increases.
You bring the wandering hand between us and hold it up. Even in the soft candle
and fire lit room, the unmistakable glistening of the truth of my inner workings
is noticeable, the scent of it twines around us. There is no point denying it.
You have all the proof you need, but the proof disappears as, your gazing
trapping mine, you raise the finger to your mouth and suck greedily, loudly,
each suckle, each lip smacking sound another nail in my coffin. I was doomed
long before I even got here.
***
Power surges through me as I watch her terrified gaze dart about the room. I am
deliberately keeping the conversation to a minimum. I want her to have no
distractions from the way she is feeling. There is only one first time and this
is hers. I want it to be memorable for her. I want her to feel her old life slip
away. I want her to feel fear, uncertainty, and loss of control. I don't want
her to miss a single thing.
Kneeling is just an action, an action that merely indicates what we both know to
be true. But I also know how hard it is for her, and though I could make it
easier for her, I don't. She has to make this decision on her own. A big part of
me likes this internal conflict...the do I or don't I moment, her inner self
fighting with her public self. Pride warring with need. Dignity vs. desire. An
age old struggle, but manifested and heightened here.
She's on her knees quicker than I expected, and, chuckling at her startled look,
before she even knew it. Ah. Here we go. I take measured steps around her,
making my way around her trembling, glorious body. She worries over nothing,
whatever flaws she sees when looking in the mirror, I see not. Her submission
perfects such trivialities. In my minds eye, her kneeling form is beyond
perfect, sublimely erotic, an ideal vessel for my own needs to dominate, to
control, to rule.
My own heartbeat accelerates as primal desires flood me. I control them, but
they are there. They are there. The gates of societal respectability begin to
open. She is mine, to do with as I please, granted within the boundaries that we
have set, within the confines of the trust that we have established. But, oh,
what boundaries those are...oh, what joys await me...and in her subservience,
await her.
A common misconception is that her happiness, her pleasure stems from mine, from
pleasing me, from fulfilling my desires and seeing to my needs. Well, there is
that. But that is merely surface pap. The heart of the matter is a bit more
complicated. Even now, doing nothing more than kneeling, trembling, shaking,
scared and unsure, she is filling my needs. She is submitting. She has lowered
herself before me and that is pleasing, more than pleasing, in fact.
But if she, herself, were not happy, did not derive some measure of need
fulfillment from doing it, she would not submit and therefore not attend to my
wants and desires. So, in essence, the submissive's pleasure has to come first.
A bit convoluted to be sure, but I know what makes her tick. I have taken the
time to get to know her, to learn about her and despite the tear forming in the
corner of her eye; she is right where she needs to be. I know it. I can feel it.
I can smell it.
Wending my way around her, I reach out and grab her wrist as she wipes the tear
away. That tear was important to me and should not be casually disregarded. It's
her spirit yielding power, ceding control, it's her helplessness in the face of
it...and it is mine. I stoop in front of her and lick the tear off of her hand
before she manages to grind it into the carpet. It is mine...she is mine...and I
will take it...take her.
I briefly break eye contact, closing my eyes for a short moment as the smell,
her smell, musky and infinitely seductive fills my nostrils. I open my eyes and
hold her gaze. I compel her answering stare and revel in the jump of her body as
my hand touches her sex. She can't go anywhere, I still have a firm grip on her
and she knows it. I feel the tremors wrack her body. I'm a bit ruthless here,
for so early on, but I don't care. She needs to see what I see, to know what I
know.
I stroke her once, groaning on the insides, moistening my hand with her
offering. I brandish it in front of her, noting her widening eyes, her rapid
pants. Yes, my dear...this is what I do to you...therein lies the truth. I taste
her. Oh, God, but she is sweet...the taste of her first submission a
confectionary delight. Would that the first time could come twice, three
times...but where would I be then? Even heaven couldn't contain me.
I drop her hands, rising and stepping back. Let her absorb that for a moment. My
eyes bore into hers for a long moment and then I turn and walk away. I know she
will be there when I return.
***
I watch him walk away. Where is he going? Now's my chance. It would be so
easy...to get up...to walk away...to grab my things and just go. He's walked
away to another room, the door is closed...he wouldn't know until I was gone,
until I was in the clear, back in the safe arms of...of what? Of life as I know
it? Is that what I really wanted? A mundane, boring existence that never
satisfied the deep ache inside? Could I live like that? Was I strong enough to
take this risk? I had come this far, hadn't I?
I look down at myself, naked, kneeling, and prostrate on the floor. He didn't
force me...he didn't coerce me...and yet here I was, doing the unthinkable,
doing the impossible, subjecting myself. Me...a proud and mouthy and sassy
professional woman...on the floor...for a man! What was I thinking? Humph. I am
not made for this. I am too spirited, too opinionated, too strong willed. I
can't do this. I can't pretend that my needs are second to his, to anyone's. I
am woman, here me roar!
The door opens and he is coming back. Dammit! I missed my chance. But I am not a
coward. I do not tuck tail and run. I will just tell him, tell him that he's got
the wrong gal, that I'm not submissive, that I can't acquiesce, that I can't bow
before him and kiss the ground he walks upon. He is standing before me, looking
down at me and my determination; my resoluteness must be showing in my eyes for
he narrows his, a slight frown creasing his features.
Go ahead and frown, buddy. I am not yours! I feel the willfulness rise to the
surface, my face hardening, my eyes turning cold. I lift my chin daring him to
say anything, just one word so I can blast him and tell him exactly how I feel.
But he doesn't give me the satisfaction. He just stands there, an arm behind his
back, his other hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
I shake my head. What am I still doing here? I screw up the courage and make to
rise when I notice the hand coming from behind his back. It holds something
gently, easily in its grip. What is it? I peer at the object as it is brought
forward.
"Stay."
One word. Soft, seductive, authoritative. The item catches the soft light. I
settle back down, transfixed. He takes a knee in front of me and holds the item
close...so that I can see it clearly.
"Touch it."
His low honeyed voice drifts across the small space separating us. I reach out
and then pull my hand back. He waves the item in front of me encouragingly and I
reach out again. As a hesitant finger touches it, all the fight leaves my body.
I stare at it as I stroke the cool surface. I look at his face, at his soft
smile, and know that I have the same one on mine.
"Stay."
I swallow hard and blink rapidly. I can feel the tears behind my eyelids,
fighting to come out. Damn. Who am I kidding? Certainly not this man. He knows
better. He knows me better. I pull my eyes from his and look down at the item he
is holding and that I am stroking reverently: a collar, a steel band shining
brightly in the muted lighting of the room, speaking to me, reminding me who and
what I am.
Damn the man. He knew just how to get me to stay. He didn't have to use rope or
chain or cuffs. No, just a simple ring of metal and I was lost, lost to the hold
he had over me, lost to what I needed, what I craved, lost and his to do with as
he pleased. I was so close to freedom. Damn him.
