The Other Side of Midnight

The Other Side of Midnight

Part I

I tremble at the door...Suite 1250. Yes. This is the room number he gave me an
hour ago, his voice rumbling through my cell phone with a decidedly wicked tone.
So confident and excited an hour ago...so scared, and nervous and....small now.
I stand there, my weekend travel bag slung over my shoulder, my purse hanging
down to my side and just stare at the door.

This door is a new beginning for me...once opened, it can never be shut again.
Do I want to open it? What awaits me on the other side? Oh, I know the mechanics
of the other side, but do I really know what's in store for me? Do I really
think I can handle it? Want to handle it? I sigh and the brass suite numbers
stare at me accusingly as if to say "Make up your mind already...in or out?" I
hear music coming from inside the room, soft, haunting classical overtures by
one of the masters, I suppose. It sends chills up and down my spine.

I sense a presence on the other side of that door, but the door swings open and
the decision is taken from me as you are there, looming, towering over me making
me feel even smaller than I did already. Despite the warm smile upon your face,
despite your obvious joy at seeing me there, I hesitate, fear clenching my
heart. Your hand reaches out and takes my bag and ushers me inside before I can
voice a protest. I do not know where my voice went, but it's apparent that it
has deserted me...my mouth opens, but no sound emerges.

The suite momentarily distracts me. It is wide and spacious and bathed in a warm
glow. Candles are lit and spread throughout the luxurious interior. The dim
lighting might mask the soft flush upon my cheeks, but somehow I feel you notice
it anyways. You are uncanny that way. You wear a knowing smile as I am led
deeper and deeper into the room. I cast a nervous glance at the door as it
stands open, the safety and security of the hallway, of the life that I have
hitherto known still visible, still offering me a chance.

I am led to a sofa and gently guided to a seated position, my purse now joining
my overnight bag on a nearby chair and I watch, helplessly, an observer as you
stride across the plush carpeting to the door and shut it. The hallway
disappears from view and my heart freezes, stops beating as the sound of the
lock sliding home echoes above the stereo. My throat constricts, and all the
moisture from within heads directly to my palms which begin to sweat
unceremoniously.

You return to my side before I can formulate any coherent thoughts. Do you know
how scared I am? Do you know the turmoil, the angst that is pulsing through me?
Can you see my torn desires? The desire to flee...the desire to stay...the
desire to hide...the desire to fly...they all wage a silent war inside of me.
Which will win the day? Which will emerge victorious?

"A glass of wine before we begin?" He raises a querying eyebrow at me and unable
to speak, I merely nod, feeling like an unschooled girl in the throes of her
first love. I must look like an idiot, sitting there, eyes darting back and
forth, unable to look at you, unable to look away. But you say nothing more;
just make yourself scarce for a few minutes, leaving me with my torn and ravaged
thoughts.

***

I sense her presence on the other side of the door. I can hear her heartbeat,
erratic, rapid. I can taste her fear and her desire. It is nearly suffocating.
The force of her doubts is a sweet taste in my mouth. She is already unbalanced,
unsure, but unable to back away. I decide to let her off easy and open the door
quickly. Smiling to reassure her, I take the bag and her arm and pull her easily
inside of the room. It's a good room, reserved to impress her, show her what I
can give her in return for the gift she is giving me. Her eyes widen and she is
distracted enough that she brooks no resistance as I lead her to the oversized
leather couch deep into the room.

She is trembling and flushed. She is clearly standing on the edge and is finally
feeling the reality of the moment, understanding the magnitude of her choice. I
nod. This is a good thing. She has always been light hearted and teasing up to
now and I am glad to see some seriousness take hold of her. I push her softly
down into the plush cushions of the sofa and inquire if she would like a drink.
Wine. Normally I don't drink before playing, but I sense she needs a bit of a
bracer, something to calm her nerves. Just this once I think it will be ok.

When I return, she is still looking straight ahead, the paleness of her face
offset by the lovely flush upon her cheeks. She accepts the glass, still not
chancing a look at my face. Had she looked, she would have seen rampant desire.
Oh, not only for her, but for the control that in moments I was going to take,
for the power that I would wield over her in but a few ticks of the clock. Did
she realize? Did she know? I mean, did she really know?

A quizzical look at her profile and I knew that she is feeling it, is
acknowledging it. She wouldn't be able to go back after tonight and she knew it.
She kept glancing at the locked door every so often before returning her
frightened gaze back to the wine glass gripped tightly in her hand. A good thing
I chose a light colored Asti...she was liable to snap the stem and send the
contents to the sand colored carpeting under her feet.

Oh, yes, her feet. Her dainty, tiny little feet. They carried such a delectable
weight upon them day in and day out, normally in serviceable flats or loafers or
even sneakers. I shudder at the thought of her feet misused so. Tonight they
would balance her swaying breasts and jiggling fanny precariously, tipped up and
elegant, resplendid from their six inch platform. I smile in unbridled glee. She
eschewed high heels, giggled at my fetish. She wouldn't be laughing tonight.

I engage her in small talk, inquiring about her drive, ask her if she is hungry
and would like to go to dinner. She answers the first question stiltedly, but
blanches at the second one. It's amusing to me to watch the play of emotions
across her face. It's clear that in her nervousness the very thought of food is
repulsive to her and yet, she longs to postpone the inevitable, she wants a few
more hours to regain her composure, find her footing.

I am impressed as she declines the slight reprieve I offer. She knows...she
knows that delaying things will only make matters worse, make her stomach clench
even further. Her silky hair swings about her face seductively as she indicates
no. She's a smart girl, it's one of the reasons I desire her, chose her to be my
companion. I will be good to her, she knows this. But she also knows, I smile as
her gaze takes in the opulence of the suite once more, that everything comes
with a price...and she, in her limited experience is trying to add it all up.

A pity that the price I'm talking about has nothing to do with the room. The
room, though expensive, is nothing to me, merely a stage, a show room to display
her ample charms and showcase her beauty as she submits, as she surrenders to my
will. And that, that is the price I'm talking about, the price I will exact from
her. I wonder if she still thinks it will be easy. If she thinks that the antics
which make her desirable online will be tolerated here, here in the real
world...here where fantasies meet reality and dreams become flesh...sometimes
mingling with blood.

I take the empty glass from her hands and am rewarded by a frightened gaze. I
stifle a chuckle. Oh, yes, she knows this time will be different, her knees
won't bend in cyber space but here, and they will feel the pile of the carpeting
abrade them, feel the immobility of the hardwood floor scrape them, and the cold
tile of the bathroom shower against them. Four days. Four full days after
tonight...and four more nights to explore the edge of her world, to test the
limits of her universe.

"Strip."

***

Asti Spumante is my favorite and some where in my panic clouded brain I know
that this vintage is exceptional. Yet I could have been sipping raw sewage for
all I tasted of the delicate beverage. Those fingers of his, long and lean,
circling the stem of the crystal goblet are all I see. They will be twining
around so much more soon and the image that evokes sends a shudder rippling
through me. I hear his voice, husky, low, safe and non-threatening filter
through my ears. I know better, though. He is hardly safe. At this moment, as I
feel control rapidly disappearing in the romantic flickering candle light, he's
the most dangerous creature to walk the face of the planet. And, damn the man,
he knows it, too.

I curse myself a thousand ways from Sunday as I tell him that I had an
uneventful drive up. The truth couldn't be further from that. I shook so badly
at times that it was only the handiwork of some diligent guardian angels that
kept me on the roads. I quaked and I feared and I questioned my own judgment and
yet still, I drove on, still I longed, and still I ached with an intensity that
left me breathless. What was it about him that drew me so? What did he possess
that so many before him did not? What secret weapon was at his command that
compelled me against all reason and logic to meet him here?

Dinner? How could I possibly eat at a time like this? It was all I could do to
get air to my quivering lungs. But still, it would give me some time...but it
wouldn't change a thing. The outcome had been determined by my attendance. Oh,
why hadn't I escaped before he had opened the door? And why did he have to look
so darned handsome standing there in his black, tailored slacks and black,
button down silk shirt? His smug smile did nothing to detract from his
appearance. And if I'm honest with myself, it made him all the more appealing,
had only sealed my fate a little more securely.

But this was what I wanted, wasn't it? What I needed? The reins of control
wrested from my grasp, the guise of power stripped from me, to stand there
exposed, vulnerable, completely at his mercy? That was what I wanted, right?
Suddenly, I didn't know. Looked at in that light it sounded silly and
impractical and so polar to everything that I stand for. What was wrong with me?
He's a decent man, he'll let me leave.

I look around the elegant sitting room, one of many in this elaborate suite. I
take in the heavy brocade curtains covering the sliding doors that lead out onto
a private balcony over looking the Potomac River. I see and feel the warm glow
of the fireplace burning cheerily in the corner, its flames dancing in the
gleaming crystals of the overhead chandelier. I regard the sleek mahogany bar,
the double doors on either side of the room, leading to equally impressive
chambers beyond. Even the artwork adorning the walls paid a silent tribute to
the care and lavish attention that must have drove the cost of this suite to
epic proportions.

I peek at him from the corners of my eyes and swallow hard. No. There would be
no turning back now. The control had already been relinquished. Now, only the
cost remained to be paid.

"Strip."

I jerk my startled gaze to his and gape stupidly at him.

"Strip."

He sat and propped his feet up on an over stuffed leather ottoman indolently. I
watch as his hands play idly with his champagne glass, gaze rapt as his fingers
trace the rim...those long, tanned fingers...

"I won't repeat myself again."

I tremble as the harsher tone breaks through my musings. Strip? Here in front of
him? I thought I had prepared for this moment, thought I was ready for it, knew
it was coming. Why was I suddenly so scared? Why did I feel like a trapped
rabbit? I lift my eyes to his...they were steel, hard, inflexible...and
impatient. I blink rapidly feeling the walls close in on me. He narrowed his
eyes and shifted to rise.

This was it. This was the defining moment that I thought would never come. Did I
dare? Could I take this leap? My fingers hover at the top button of my blouse.
They clench and clutch and toy with it, pulling and twisting in a frenzy of
nerves. Oh, my God. This was agony. I was torn and conflicted. I wanted to run
away screaming. I wanted to stay and beg for mercy. Which way to go? Safety or
risk? Sink or swim? Walk or fly?

The button popped loose and I look at him in surprise and wonder. The second one
followed, then the third and then my blouse was hanging open, exposing a small
expanse of the pink lace bra beneath. How did that happen? Button it back up, I
admonish myself, but my hands weren't listening, they were too busy at the
cuffs. I feel real fear and simply stare at his confident smile. What other
parts of me would refuse to listen? Would dance to his will and not my own? Was
this really how it was supposed to be? To feel like? To desire to kick yourself
in the ass but not able to stop yourself from sinking, from slipping from the
heights of self possession to the depths of abject servitude?

My God! What was happening? How much further was I going to fall? Would he be
there to catch me? My God, I think as my shirt slips from my arms and hits the
floor at my feet with a swoosh that is glaringly loud in its finality. My God!

Part II

She stands before me trembling, unsure of what to do, yet doing it all the same.
It fuels my blood and sets my course. Most Doms I know like the breaking point,
the final moment of surrender best. Me? I am different. I like the onset. I like
witnessing the descent, in all its parts, in all its stages. I like watching
fear and uncertainty cloud their features making their movements jerky,
hesitant. Because that's it in a nutshell...watching the power I wield over them
push their desires aside, forcing compliance to my will. Seeing their wavering
glances, their reluctant actions, it feeds the beast within me, makes me
stronger. I breath it in, I absorb it, I live for it.

Ah, yes. The struggle, that's my favorite part. I like to draw it out, prolong
their agony, savor it like a fine brandy, warm and fluid and liquid gold. This
is my foreplay and I take my time. And just when they think they've found their
feet, their balance, I tip the scales again. I make no apologies. I don't have
to. I'm in control here. I have the reins and I wield the whip.

Her blouse puddles on the floor at her feet, a delicate, shimmering pink pool of
silk. It's a nice contrast to the black patent leather of her pumps, standing,
not so steadily in its midst. Her shaky hands move to the waist band of her
tailored black skirt. She looks at me briefly and I know my returning smile is
feral, that my eyes burn hotly into hers. She looks away quickly, a tremor
betraying her inner turmoil. And yet, yet still she continues. How can I not be
affected by it? How can anyone not be?

I recline in my chair and casually sip my drink. I know my ease unnerves her, I
can see it in the way her eyes dart frantically around the room, trying to avoid
looking at me, trying...but failing. Her eyes always come back around and always
I am there, staring at her, watching her, an easy smile about my face. Let her
wonder on that awhile, let her wonder just how very many times I have sat
thusly, watching the transformation of a woman to a submissive, of a submissive
to a slave.

***

This is the hardest thing I have ever done. I want to leave, running, screaming,
just leave...any way I can. But something holds me there; something pushes me
forward, some unseen force guiding my movements. He makes no sound and that
drives me mad. He just stares at me, his eyes gliding over me, meeting my eyes
when he catches me gawking at him. My hands are shaky and they have trouble with
my skirt. Its waist is snug, conforming to my small waist. I had thought it
practical, becoming when I dressed earlier, but now I am not so sure.

My skirt hits the floor and I watch it absently as it skims down my legs to join
my blouse. The logical, rational part of me screams at me to snatch my clothes
and get out of there. But that part has lost...has lost to that secret inner me
that longs for just such a moment. I stare helplessly as the pile of my clothes
grows...my pale pink lacy bra...my thigh high stockings...left leg...then right
leg. And I stand before him, my hands trembling at the waist band of my matching
pink panties. They don't cover much from him, I know. But they are all that
stand before me and the life that I have known, all that shield me from him, all
that protect me from my own desires.

"Now. Finish it."

I look up, terrified. I have never felt so small in my life. I hesitate; I just
can't seem to bring myself to slide them off, to bare myself wholly. My heart
beats a million times a second it seems. My breathing is choppy and fast. I feel
my palms sweating, cold and balmy. I know the room is toasty, but my insides are
chilled, cold and shaking, curling upon themselves. I hear a sound and realize
he is standing. I must take these off...but I can't do it. It's not such a big
deal...just underwear. I have been naked before. Good lord, why can't I make my
hands move?

I hear the soft crunch of his feet on the carpet...he is coming this way. I try
to swallow, but fear lodges it midway in my throat. I lift my head and the
impact of his eyes is like nothing I have ever felt. It sweeps through me like a
wildfire, scorching everything in its path. My hands find the waist band...I
haven't much time. I push them down an inch...he steps closer...another
inch...another step closer...finally, the delicate panties crest the flare of my
hip and slide soundlessly down my legs coming to rest on top of the pile.

I step out of the circle of clothing and realize that he has stopped. He is
close, so very close and I take a step back. My arms instinctively go to shield
my body from his view. But his voice, soft and sharp, breaks the quiet.

"Don't."

The command drips from his mouth and my hands freeze in place, stopping their
shielding movements and slowly drop to my side. I turn my head and shift from
foot to foot. I can't be still. Everything inside of me clenches, and twists,
and trembles and shakes. I don't know how much longer I will be able to remain
standing. He is so close. I can smell him. I can feel the heat radiating off of
him. I can hear his deep, even breaths.

I look blindly around for something, anything to distract me, to focus on, to
lend me strength. I settle on the fire crackling in the corner fireplace. I gaze
intently, watching the small sparks fly and listen to the faint pops it makes as
the logs burn slowly. I lose myself in the flames as they dance and flit, watch
them flicker and wave about. I count the tips of the flames and pick out the
different shades of red, orange and yellow. I do absolutely everything I
possibly can to remain calm and unaffected. But I am only kidding myself, for he
doesn't buy the newly found bravado...not one bit.

I pull my gaze back around to him. A smile curves his face; it is male, it is
evil, it is carnal.

***

I am fairly impressed with her so far. She is giving a much better show than I
would have thought. She had wanted this, had begged for it, and had encouraged
it in so many ways. But faced with it now, faced with the seductive power and
allure of it, she was not so sure. I tried to warn her, prepare her, but she had
not listened. Her predicament is her own doing and I see no reason to make it
easy for her.

Her clothes make their way to the floor, piece by piece. Her panties are all
that cover her glory from my gaze. Her composure is shattered, completely and
irrevocably and she hesitates on the last remaining scrap of material cloaking
her body. 'Tis nothing really, a mere slip of cloth that reveals more than
conceals. But as always, it is the hardest thing to give up. I get up slowly and
her body flinches. She is trying, oh, she is trying. Desperation dogs her every
movement. Her hands try to push those panties down, but her mind is fighting,
her mind is telling her no.

I walk slowly and deliberately towards her and have to bite back a chuckle as
she pushes the waist band of those tempting little panties. Her panties are
working in my favor...they keep edging back up, working against her efforts. As
I get ever closer to her, she finally makes headway, her hands forcing them past
her luscious hips and they slide down to the floor. For a brief moment, I sense
her relief and triumph at getting them off...but then, quickly as she realizes
what that means, her body tenses and her scared eyes raise and look into mine.

I do nothing to hide the feral grin upon my face. Let her see it. Let her feel
it. Let her know it. Oh, yes, little one. You are now mine. The things that I am
going to do to you, with you...

"Kneel."

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.

Part IV

Despite my cool exterior, my heart skips a beat, my soul relents as you touch
the collar, almost afraid that if you touch it, it will go away, disappear in a
plume of smoke. No, it's not going anywhere, except around her pretty little
neck. That's what I came here for and I wasn't leaving until I got it. She was
not going to get away that easily. I knew her kind, more importantly, I knew
her.

Her face was an exquisite image, the glow of the firelight dancing upon it as
the harsh, rebellious lines faded and gave way to awe and rapture - submission
at its most basic level. It costs me an incredible amount of effort to bite back
a smile, she's amazing. Truly, this is a remarkable moment, one that doesn't
require fancy words or a camera to capture it...it will be with me always.

She's still stroking it, blinking back emotional tears. I long to fold her in my
arms and tell her it's ok, to reassure her, but that's not what she needs from
me, at least not yet. Oh, it's what she wants, I'm sure, but it is not what's
called for here. No, it requires a strong and patient hand to bring a feisty
submissive to heel, not a soft one, and I possess both. I know, too, the effort
I expend now will be worth it in the long run. I know it, I can feel it, and I
sense it more strongly than anything else before.

I lift a hand and run it through her hair. Her eyes close and her face softens
even more, now no trace of anger, defiance or challenge left, only peace. Yes,
peace. And I disturb it, clenching my hand in her luxurious locks and pulling it
a bit, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes fly open and stare right at me,
panic edging into the liquid blue depths framed by her spiky, full lashes. Her
gasp of surprise is mercifully silent, only evidenced by the small "o" formed by
her lips.

I brace myself and force a cold expression on my face as my hand jerks the
collar away from her inquisitive fingers. Her hand, trembling, lingers in the
air a moment, tracing only vacant space before she lets it drop to her side. My
fist curls tighter about the handful of hair and I hear her soft cry, anguished
and uncertain. I pull downwards a bit more, bringing her head with me. Her peace
has been effectively disrupted, her composure shattered.

I pull my hand roughly from her hair and begin preparing the collar for
placement. I assume a nonchalant manner, as if this were an everyday occurrence.
She will probably never know how precious the last few minutes were to me, or
how much I eagerly awaited the rest. But it was enough that I knew, that I
recognized it and, given time and her respect and obedience, she may yet get to
glimpse that side of me. Not tonight though, maybe not ever. It all depended on
her. For right now, I had a role to play, a part to fulfill. I had to bring her
to the other side, help her cross over, and gentleness played no part, at least
as far as she would know.

***

I couldn't get passed the collar. It filled my eyes and my mind. It hijacked my
heart and my soul. Even though utterly simple, it was the most beautiful thing I
had ever seen. It out shadowed even the posh decor of this incredible suite. I
was spell bound. I was adrift on a fantasy that I was sure would never be
realized, lost in a dream that I was sure I was going to be brutally, cruelly,
unfairly awakened from.

The transformation in me was instantaneous and miraculous and...complete. All
previous thoughts of mutiny, of escape were gone, vanished with out a trace,
erased by the translucent glow of the steel held before me, by the paradisiacal
band that offered a glimpse of unchartered heavens. No thoughts, no worries
existed in the face of it, just a sense of completion, a well spring of inner
joy bubbling up within my soul. There was no way I was going. How could I?

His hand in my hair brought me further under his spell, binding me to him,
holding me captive, awaiting the wondrous journey he would take me on. But he
abruptly yanked me from my fairy tale, pulling my hair, tipping my head to the
side. My mind silently screamed "Noooooo!" Don't shatter the allusion, don't
destroy the beautiful dream.

The collar was pulled away and pain, harsh and unrelenting filled my heart. I
was conscious of the unwelcome pressure on my scalp, but it didn't hurt, or not
nearly as much as my insides did. Don't tease me like this! It's so cruel to
dangle that utopia before me just to pull it back at the last moment, retract it
as I watched my heart cross the space between us, drifting to your waiting hand.

Your hand pushed my head even further as it escaped the tight cocoon of hair it
had created. My breath was lodged somewhere in my throat, too afraid or too
shocked from the coldness emanating from you. You played with the collar, the
symbol of my hopes and dreams as if it were a trinket, some prize removed from a
Cracker Jack box so that you could get to the last remaining morsels inside.
Didn't it mean anything to you? How could you be so callous? So cold? So
unfeeling? You couldn't have my heart! That was mine and I was going to keep it!

Was mine? Was mine? The truth, joyful a moment ago, but now agonizing in your
detached insouciance hit me. My heart was mine...a few moments ago, but not any
longer. You had tricked me, fooled me into giving it to you in a moment of
weakness and now it was lost, it was yours to do with as you pleased. How could
I have been so stupid? So blind? So naive?

A strangled cry manages to escape my lips and you look at me, narrowing your
eyes. You back away from me and place the collar on the mantle. Your cold words
do more damage to my heart than anything in my 31 years have done. "We'll save
this for later. You aren't ready for it yet."

I'm not ready for it yet? How could he say such a thing? How could he hurt me in
this manner? I'll show him who's ready for it? I'll show him...

***

She was an open book, very easy to read and I was thankful. It would spare her
needless pain and suffering, for in being open and vulnerable, she unwittingly
supplied me with many weapons. I was sure she didn't even realize it herself,
would swear up and down that she was not vulnerable, that she sealed herself off
from it. It was then that I placed the collar on the mantle, told her she wasn't
fit to wear it. And boy did that hit home. She gasped, harsh and broken and her
eyes turned to dangerous slits. I had pricked her pride. That was step one. Step
two would be removing it...and that was the fun part.

I walk over to her and lean down before her, taking her face in my hands gently,
allowing some tenderness to flow back into my features. I brush my thumbs along
her cheek bones, noting the confusion in her eyes. "That," I say as I point to
the mantle, "is something that you have to earn." My voice is low and seductive,
and purposefully at odds with the coldness of the words. Unbalance is a great
tool, confusion a great weapon.

Her eyes are pale blue eddies as she mulls over my words. Her eyes drift back
and forth between the collar, cold and lifeless on the mantel, and me, cold and
very much alive in front of her. She is giving this a lot of thought. She is
trying to deny the pull of the collar, trying to hide from it, from herself. She
can't, neither can she hide from me. She can try; she can give it her best shot.
In fact, I am counting on it. But in the end, she will be wide open, exposed for
who and what she is and I will revel in it. Ultimately, she will too. It is what
and who she is fated to be. Like it or not, it is. And I must help her accept
it, embrace it and come to cherish it as much as I do...for me as much as for
her.

One of my hands leaves her face and travels along the curves of her shoulder,
down her arm, and wraps itself around her dainty wrist. I look at it
reflectively. It is small and I could easily crush it within my hand...but
crushing her is not what I am setting out to do. I bend her arm, staring
intently into her wide, luminous eyes as I carefully pin it behind her back. Her
eyes darken and I hear her quick intake of breath.

She was born to serve...if not me then somebody else. It's her nature. And she
would eventually find herself in this predicament sooner or later. But I was
born to take and I wanted her, and I would have her, would mold her into what I
desired, and would lead her down the thorn strewn primrose path that was the
hallmark of the lifestyle. Yes, ours. Neither one of us could deny who and what
we were. It just was. Hot...cold. Dark...light. Sun...moon. Male...female.
Dominant...submissive. It just was. Who was I to deny it? Who was she? It just
was.

My other hand leaves her cheek and strokes her neck, caressing the line of it
down the center of her torso, down the valley of her breasts, her quivering
breasts, her pale creamy mounds of flesh that are begging for my touch. She will
know my touch and so much more before this night is through, know it, accept it,
come to crave it as much as I long to bestow it. My fingers walk up from that
luscious valley and curl around a nipple, squeezing and rolling it, causing it
to pucker, causing the dusky tip to darken and swell. She bites her lower lip,
to stop the trembling...it doesn't...or to catch the gasp...it doesn't, I don't
know. No, crushing her is not what I want to do...not at all.

Part V

I sat there, or rather knelt there, my knees a bit sore, my legs a bit
uncomfortable as I tried to hold a position that I was unaccustomed to. Quiet
expectation hung heavily in the air, his hand holding my arm behind me, his
breath fanning my face, his eyes, not so aloof now, drifting over me. Here I
was, at long last, on the verge of tasting the submission that was a part of me,
of ditching the oppressive layers of respectability that society had placed upon
me. I felt so incredibly...small, yes that's the word...small.

Small, but also more feminine than I had ever felt before and that surprised me.
It scared me and frightened me and I wondered just how far I would be pushed,
how far he would test the veneer of polite gentility that had been with me, had
cloaked me, had dictated to me my entire life. I shivered at the thought. My
hand flexed within his grasp, brushing over the skin at my back. His grip
tightened ever so slightly, a mere micron and yet, it went straight to my core,
causing my breath to hang, my heart to stop momentarily, before resuming its
rapid thump, thump.

I knew him fairly well and trusted him, but in this moment, he was a complete
mystery to me, a potent, powerful, masculine rebus that played havoc with all of
my inner workings. I knew what he wouldn't do. I had a pretty good idea of some
of what he would do...but only on the surface level. I had no clue what it would
do to my insides. Would I ever be the same again? Somehow I sensed that I would
not be, and the unknowns of the new me, the uncertainties shook me. Would I be
new and improved? Or just a pasty shadow of my former self?

The minutes drew out, and my panic grew, my fears expanded as we sat there, face
to face, the crackling logs the only sound as the CD had long since ended. The
pressure built, the tension mounted. A huge weight bore upon my chest, squeezing
my heart almost unbearably, constricting my lungs so that my breaths were mere
puffs and soft pants. Do something! Anything to break the silence, ease the
rising tide of fear, quell the palpable panic.

He did, thankfully, dropping my wrist and standing to gaze down upon me. I
didn't even hazard a glance up at him. I didn't know how I should act, didn't
know what to do, so I knelt there, uncomfortable, both physically and
emotionally...I just knelt there.

He walked to the fireplace and added another log to the slowly dying fire. He
stirred it to life, fanning the flames carefully back to life. I stared
fascinated, unable to stop myself, watching his strong hands stroke and cajole
the embers with the andiron, hearing the pop and hiss as the new log caught and
smoked and joined in the dance. I wondered if I would respond the same way to
his coaxing...would I roar to life or was I too green to burn brightly? Were my
flames mature enough to bring light and heat or was my core too wet, returning
only acrid and bilious smoke?

He turned, laying the andiron back in the rack and this time, I did return his
gaze, felt compelled to look into his eyes, eyes that were as dark as pitch,
eyes that reflected the darting flames. Oh, my. I was about to find out.

***

I had a scene in mind, I did. I really did. But that deserted me as I felt the
trembling of her frail wrist. She had certain expectations of me, hell, I had
built them up myself, but she'd be surprised to know this was as far as I had
ever gone, too. At least in real life. Online, I was super Dom, sure. But here,
here I felt like a tyro, a rank amateur, and though she could share her
inexperience, revel in her ignorance, I could not. I had to live up to the
images I had created, had to be someone that I hoped to be, but someone who I
wasn't quite yet.

Would she laugh at me if she knew? Could I tell her and have her look at me with
the same awe? The same trepidation? Would she even be here now, quivering
delicately like a newly opening bud if she knew I had never plucked the rose? My
own doubts rose to the surface and threatened to topple this house of cards I
had so painstakingly created. I needed a little bit of space, some breathing
room. I needed to regroup.

I rose and looked at her kneeling form. She knew nothing of my own fear, fear of
failing her, fear of letting her down, disappointing her. I busied myself for a
moment. I could do this. I would do this. I needed to do this. As I added some
wood to the fire, the thought brought me up short. Need? Yes. I prodded the
dying fire bringing it back to life once more. Yes. I needed this, almost, if
not more, than she needed it.

I sighed, putting the andiron away. It was that simple. I needed it...needed it
like the air I breathe. I needed her, as she was, all of her. I needed her
strong and feisty spirit, and I needed to see that same spirit yield and give
way. I needed her as she was now, scared and lost and uncertain of what to do
next, quivering and quaking with it. I needed to show her what to do, show her
all the things that were inside of me, inside of her. And I needed her as she
would be later, lying, kneeling, sitting, whatever, broken, pliable, submissive,
blissful and content in her surrender to my will.

Yes. I needed that. I turned to stare at her. I compelled her gaze, the force of
my will bringing her eyes level to mine. Good. Let her see it. Let her see all
of it. Let her see my own doubts, my own fears, my own desires. Let her taste it
upon her tongue. Let her absorb every bit of me, take it all in, make it a part
of her. I was not going anywhere. I needed this, needed her. I was here to stay.
And so was she. Good, bad, right wrong, so was she.

***

His eyes burned with an unholy light. I felt overwhelmed by the force of
emotions behind them. Where did this come from? What brought this on? I've only
been sitting here quietly. What did I do?

My gaze remains locked on his, feeling his emotions drill into me. They are dark
and intense like the man himself and if I didn't know better, I would swear I
see....could it be fear within them? I shake my head. No, it couldn't be...not
him. Impossible! I peer hard, letting my gaze travel further and further into
his soul.

Damn me if it isn't fear. But what does he have to be afraid of? He's in charge.
Why is he concerned? I am the one with the most to lose, aren't I? I don't
understand what I'm seeing but he doesn't give me much time. He begins walking
towards me and I am overcome with the sudden urge to flee. I feel stalked as he
gets closer, stalked, trapped, and endangered. Something in him has changed or
snapped or something. Gone is the smiling, safe face of the man I have
known...in its place, an implacable stone wall.

The shutter drops back over his eyes concealing the turbulent emotions that I
had glimpsed within them. His eyes darken and narrow, and now, now I can't
watch, can't look. I lower my head, breaking the intense connection between us.
I see his loafer clad feet loom larger and larger, but he doesn't stop in front
of me. No, he continues passed me, turning to stand behind me. I tremble. I
can't help it. I can't see him, can't tell what he's doing. I hear some rustling
and desperately want to look, but I can't, something holds me back.

So lost in my own thoughts, I jump when his voice, low and husky is suddenly at
my ear telling me of his designs for me, asking me to yield, to surrender, to
trust, to submit. My mouth goes dry and I am left gulping at air, my throat
working feverishly. Surrender? Submit? Trust him? I quake uncontrollably.

I hear a metallic clanging; a soft chinking and then a pair of handcuffs is
before my eyes, held in his very competent hands. My eyes darken at the sight. I
feel flushed, hot, itchy. Restraints...my weakness. I shift, uneasily, heat
pooling in my groin, restless tingling taking residence in my nether regions.
The cuffs are waved in front of me, temptingly, enticingly. Damn him.

I look up, turning my head to catch his gaze. His eyes are fathomless pits, twin
orbs full of dark passions, hinting at untold delights, promising so much...

"Yes?"

My jaw clenches and unclenches. I can't hear over the blood rushing in my ears.
I can't speak. I can't say the words. I can't voice my own longings. He shrugs
and steps back. Nooooo! I lay a hand on his forearm and stare at him helplessly.
I chew my bottom lip nervously, staring back, imploring, pleading, begging
silently with my eyes. Please, please, let that be enough. But it is not. He
takes another step back.

I clutch frantically at his forearm again, feeling the muscles ripple and
contract under my hand. I gaze at his raised brow. He's going to make me say it.
I give a frustrated cry and his brow lifts even higher. A moment more of tense
silence draws out and his features harden and he pulls back more forcefully from
me, my hand falling away from his arm.

"Please! Yes! Yes!" I sob and drop my head in my hands. I can't believe he made
me do that. I cry tears of shame, of embarrassment. The silence stretches,
lengthens, broken only by my pathetic whimpers.

I am only vaguely aware of his hand reaching for mine. I barely notice his
touch, his fingers tracing my hand. I am lost in a sea of self recrimination and
it is only the cool, steely sensation sliding along my wrists that gives me
pause, causes my head to lift, my tears to stop, my heart to pound, my blood to
roar, my breath to catch.

Click....Click...Click..Click.Click

I stare in awe as the dulled steel cuff is tightened about my wrist, each
ratchet like click slow and deliberate, each serrated notch making me tremble
exponentially. My wrist, my hand looks so frail, tiny and delicate compared to
the locked band circling it. I feel a delicious shiver go through me as he
double locks it, my tears are long gone, dead and buried by a shovel
manufactured by Smith and Wesson.

He crooks his hand at me, nodding and looking at my other hand.

"Give it here."

I stare at him uncomprehendingly, still caught up in the feel of the cool metal
rapidly becoming warm, absorbing the rising heat of my body.

"Now."

He motions with his hand again. He is not going to wait much longer. I inhale
deeply and in those brief moments, moments when I feel the air acutely, entering
my mouth, traveling along my tongue, down my throat filling my lungs, I see
myself as a child, a young girl, standing on a sea shore, afraid of going in and
drowning, pulled under by a strong tide, afraid of staying there in safety but
never knowing the unfettered joy of the ocean washing over me.

The held breath begins to burn my lungs and I slowly let it go, feeling its
reverse journey, but also feeling the decision, the peace of a decision made,
come up with it. As the last of the breath escapes my parted mouth, my hand
raises, lifts slowly upwards, floating gently towards him caught somewhere
between past and present, somewhere between time and space. There is no sound,
there is no movement of the air, nothing but his hand before me, before my eyes,
reaching out to wrap firmly around my hand, to grip it, to hold it tightly,
protectively, possessively.

A second round of clicking sounds manages to register within some distant part
of my brain. I shake my head lightly and look down...my hands have been cuffed
and were lying there in my lap, bound to each other, perhaps only for an hour,
maybe two, maybe several, but I know, oh I know, that I was bound to him
forever. He hadn't just cuffed my wrists, no...he had cuffed my spirit, had
chained my will to his, had bound my heart and soul to him for all eternity with
that one little click, click, click.

Part VI

Looking at her, kneeling there, cuffed up and very much naked, so many thoughts
flitted through my mind...how creamy and soft her skin looked with the soft glow
of the firelight dancing upon it...how ripe her firm, small breasts appeared the
pink nipples semi erect, as if they couldn't make up their minds...how tempting
the area between her spread knees looked, smooth, clean, devoid of any hair that
might bother me during my travels... Oh yes...she was an angel sitting there,
soft, hazy, warm, lush... but more importantly, she was my angel, my little
submissive, my little slave, for as long as the dynamic held out, and if I
played my cards right tonight, hopefully that would be for a long time to come.

Mine. That was the singular thought I could grasp. Mine. She was mine...all of
her... was...mine. So what was I doing standing over here then? That was a good
question. She looked so good over there and she was mine...she was waiting for
me...waiting for me to make a move...waiting for me to take what was mine. And
if I knew one thing about the opposite sex...never keep them waiting.

I cop a squat in front of her, her head still lowered meekly and kiss her
lightly on the forehead, softly and lovingly I move my lips in a silent caress
tasting her skin, breathing in her scent for the first time. There wouldn't be
much gentleness or many tender gestures for a bit and I wanted her to have this,
to savor this moment, to feel how very much she did mean to me. Her knowing was
important to me; perhaps I couldn't say the words. I'm not a mushy man, but I
wanted, needed her to know. I put everything I felt into that soft kiss and
judging from the smile I felt rather than saw, she felt it, knew it, and echoed
it.

I was loath to break that contact, maybe, just maybe, I was more sentimental
than I gave myself credit for. However, reluctantly I did so, lifting my head
and regarding her. She was a treasure and a big part of me wonders if she can
even grasp that. I don't think so, but in time, I'll show her. For now, she's
mine and it's time to claim this treasure as my own, mark her heart and soul
with mine, possess her so completely that there's no room for anyone else.

My hand reaches out to stroke her cheek and my heart expands within my chest at
the involuntary subconscious movement of her head as she leans into it, into me.
This is the finest moment of my life, taking it beyond this is hard for that
same reason. It's perfect now, but what if in my inexperience I did something to
mar it? I do my best to put that thought out of my mind. I keep reminding myself
that she came to me, she made the decision and she was, is mine...perhaps only
for tonight, but she is mine.

I stroke her shoulders, run a hand down her arms, and tap a finger on the cuffs
binding her hands. I can feel her eyes watching my fingers. I feel the delicate
shudder of her body when I trace the steel circling her dainty wrists. That
ripple of awareness through her does more to strengthen me than perhaps anything
else could. She wants this, she wants what I can give her, do for her, to
her...she wants me...and that is patently clear.

The smell of her burgeoning arousal wafts up from between her spread knees and
encourages me, feeds the dominant beast that has laid dormant, expressed only
verbally or in text form for far too long. I hope that I can control it, it's
never been unleashed and even I don't know what it's capable of. I put my hands
under her arms, and rise from my squat.

"Stand, my slave." Aah. My slave. I like the sound of that. It has a nice ring
to it and I like the way it trips over my tongue, leaving a pleasant taste in my
mouth.

"Stand, and let your Master get a good look at you...my slave."

***

Steel. The cool steel is an interesting contrast to the heat of his gaze. I am
uncomfortable and unsure in the face of it. I pull at the cuffs discreetly,
aching inside as I feel the harsh restraint of them. It is a welcome distraction
from my thoughts.... Does he find me pleasing? Attractive? Sexy? Nice to look
at? Do my less than perfect dimensions turn him off? Are my breasts too small?
My hips too wide? My fanny too full? Does my less than rock hard thighs, thighs
that ripple and dimple in places with a bit of scattered cellulite sicken him?
What is he waiting for? What is wrong with me?

I am terrified of the answer as he approaches and lowers his body in front of
me. He leans forward and I am momentarily disarmed at the feel of his lips as
they hover across my brow. It is the gentlest of caresses, whisper soft and oh,
so tender and loving...and not what I was expecting. I didn't know what to
expect really, but that probably would not have been on my list had I made one.
Suddenly, I just feel that everything is ok, that I'm ok, that I'm what he wants
and I feel the smile sweep through me, lighting me up from inside.

His lips linger for a few and my hearts opens beneath the caress, unfolding for
him, letting him in. Everything is right in the world in that one
moment...everything. No doubts, no fears, no worries...only peace, safety and
love. Yes, love. I could admit that to myself, maybe not to him right now, but I
knew it, and for this second in time, I didn't care if he knew it, if he felt
it. I was not afraid.

His hands, soft, tentative, begin touching me, my shoulders, my arms, my wrists.
I watch in awed silence as they trace the cuffs, cuffs he had placed on me,
cuffs that represented all of my hopes and dreams...all of them, that is, until
the item on the mantle was brought down and put where it belonged. I hoped that
I was worthy, I really did.

His arms started pulling at me.

"Stand, my slave."

My breath catches...was it me, or was there an odd cant to his voice? I look at
him hesitantly.

"Stand and let your Master get a good look at you...my slave."

No, it wasn't me. I dazedly let him pull me to my feet. His voice had an odd
inflection, hoarse, deep, like it came from his very soul, as if more than his
mouth were saying the words. My knees were weak, my legs rubbery. It was a good
thing his arms were there to support me for I don't think I could have stood on
my own. I was tingling all over. I didn't know he could affect me so powerfully,
make me feel so very small and frail. But he could, he did. My whole body, my
whole being responded to something in him and I had never been more aware of
someone as I was him...never.

***

My hands couldn't stop my touching her, from drifting over her warm, creamy
skin. They were everywhere, stroking, touching, exploring. And I couldn't get
enough. I wanted no part of her ignored. I wanted to claim every inch of real
estate that was her, that was my submissive, that was my slave. My collar was
already upon her neck and the band of steel waiting patiently across the room
would just be the tangible proof of my claim on her, would just be something
physical that we could see, and feel and touch. But it wasn't necessary, not
really. She was already mine, probably had always been mine and all it had
required was me finding her, drawing her out and to my side. Yes, she had been
born to serve me as I had been born to lord over her, to protect and cherish her
sweet, pure soul and yes, to temper her fiery spirit.

God, my hands couldn't stop moving, my mouth itched to join in. I wanted to rub
my body against her, plunge so deeply inside her that tomorrow would cease to
exist. But I knew it did exist and that only by being careful tonight, did I
guarantee that tomorrow would be mine and every tomorrow after that. I reined
myself in, took a few deep, steadying breaths. I would do this right. I had to,
for I could never let her go...not now...not ever.

I help her to her feet, she is wobbly and I smile. I wrap my fingers around the
links of chain between the cuffs and pull her forward. She almost trips...I
almost let her, smiling evilly. I do so like the struggle. I steady her arm as
she pitches forward and set her back to rights. She flushes in embarrassment and
that only serves to inch my smile wider. I tug her forward, a step at a time,
letting her get her legs beneath her before walking more normally.

I lead her, like a prisoner, for that is what she is, a prisoner to my will, of
my desire, to the door that opens up into the master bedroom. As the door opens,
I can hear her shocked intake of breath...yes, the room is impressive, elegant
in its decor, massive in its scope. The bed sits center of the room, towering
four posters of the darkest ebony spiral upwards, reaching almost to the top of
the vaulted ceiling. Hunter green and gold bunting drapes the bed, flowing
gracefully from their lofty perch, drawn back by braided silk cords, leaving the
bed open, beckoning, inviting.

Rich, woven tapestries hang indolently from the walls. The floor is blanketed by
a thick Berber carpet and accented by Persian rugs thrown casually, yet
elegantly throughout the posh chamber. A soft, luxurious white fur rug rests in
front of the marble fireplace where even now, a few logs crackle warmly. Brass
sconces line the walls and lend their romantic glow to the firelight. The effect
is breath taking, even to one such as me, one who generally misses the finer
points and nuances of romance.

But I don't overlook all the details. I lead her further into the room, closer
and closer to the titanic bed, pulling her by the cuffs. Nearing the bed, I feel
her hesitate, and I pull her a bit more forcefully, compelling her forward. She
has seen the bed, the soon to be monument to our relationship. The flames
shimmer across the satiny sleekness of the burgundy brocade spread, skate over
the gold lace adorning the countless throw pillows, and glint off four thin
lengths of chain.

The chains, deceptively delicate in appearance, are carefully wrapped around
each of the four spiraling posters, a thick towel separating the chain from the
polished ebony that composes the bed. They lay on the coverlet, twinkling and
reflecting the glow of the firelight. Even to my own eyes they create a
seductive, erotic image as they reach outward towards the center of the bed
waiting, empty and lonely, waiting for someone to fill the void between them. I
can only guess what is going through her mind as she sees them.

I stop at the edge of the bed and place my hands on her shoulders, dropping her
cuffed hands. She is docile, lost in the moment and I seize the advantage,
turning her around and pressing her down to sit upon the bed, and further to
recline upon it. Her blue eyes blink up at me, her pink lips are parted and her
tongue nervously wets them. Panic can be seen in the perimeters of her gaze as I
push her towards the center of the bed, sliding her naked body along its rich,
textured surface.

I wonder what she's feeling at this moment, what she's feeling as I fasten one
ankle cuff, and chain it, and as I fasten the other ankle cuff, taking a moment
to cup her calf gently, and chain it. And as I stand at the head of the bed, as
I take her cuffed hands and chain them over her head, I wonder again what's
going through her mind, what thoughts she could be thinking. I regard her prone
figure stretched out before me, vulnerable to my gaze, to my touch...to me. Only
one thing is going through mine...only one thing repeats itself over and over
again....mine...mine...mine.

Part VII

The room was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. Sensual elegance dripped
from every square inch and there were a lot of them! It was in and of itself an
assault on the aesthetic tastes, starting first with the luxurious feel of my
feet on the carpet, continuing with the seductive lighting, the richness of the
decor. Everything was geared towards the senses and I was lost before I had even
fully entered.

It was not a room for fairy tales, though. It was darkly sensuous, tickling the
deeper, hidden desires. It was sultry, not light, and certainly not airy. It was
more of a tropical rain forest, misty, humid and lush than a field of daisies,
bright, warm and gay. And my body answered immediately. I felt the petals of my
own flower open, swell, surge, moisten. I could feel my eyes both widen and
narrow; my skin prickle and my breath grow tight.

Round one to Milord, I silently conceded, still reeling from the impact. There
was nothing about this room that didn't appeal to me and nothing about the man
that led me like a lamb to the slaughter that didn't set my soul on fire. I
began to worry that there was nothing that I wouldn't do for him, or at least
die trying to do. That thought alone should have sobered me, but it had the
opposite effect. I was drunk on my own submission. I wanted coffee and a cold
shower, anything to snap me out of it, anything to pull me up and stop my
descent into the unknown abyss that threatened to burn me alive, consume me
entirely.

He seemed so...so...assured now, so self possessed. It wasn't fair, my mind
silently raged. How could he act like this was nothing out of the
ordinary...Dear Lord...are those chains? I falter and nearly trip. He steadied
me and tugged me ever closer to the bed and yes, they are indeed chains...four
of them, wound around each corner post, draped on the bed...and they are not for
him.

I had let him get too close, let him know too many of my secrets. He was using
every kernel of knowledge he had ever gleaned about me to his advantage, turning
me inside out, stripping away any semblance of poise. How could I remain calm,
aloof, and distant in the face of this, the room, the fabrics, the lighting
bathing everything in languid passion, the chains shining and reflecting every
inner fantasy I ever had? I was making this far too easy. He should have to work
a bit harder. I should put up some sort of token resistance.

And yet I couldn't. My brain seemed to be severed from the rest of my body. I
shake my head, blinking rapidly as I stare and see the elegant green and gold
over hangs. I'm lying on the bed, not recalling how it happened, or even doing
it and I feel the rich texture of the spread beneath me as I am positioned in
the center of it. I am powerless to do anything. I am not even sure if I'm
breathing. Things are happening without me saying yea or nay.

My ankles are wrapped in a soft leather band, one at a time and then the chains
are lifted from the coverlet and locked to the supple calf's skin cuffs. I
twitch my ankles, testing...I have no play, there is no give. My legs are spread
wide and there is nothing I can do about it....and I had let it happen, had laid
here, watching his hands do their work, yet doing nothing to impede them. And
now I was here...legs spread...my most private parts wide open and
exposed...nothing to hide what I knew to be there...evidence that I couldn't
deny...proof that his formula was working...and working much to well.

I begin to felt the stirrings of panic, but once again, I seem to be lagging a
step behind. My hands have already been chained over my head, each of the two
remaining lengths of chain locked on the center links of the steel cuffs binding
my wrists. My breath comes in fast, choppy pants; fear is taking hold of
me...fear and something else.

Dear Lord, help me! I feel the steel bite into me as now my body responds to my
mental urgings and I start to struggle. He merely watches me. The weak pants and
whimpers...do you hear them? Help me! Let me loose! Please, oh please...let me
go...before...before...I choke back a sob...before I beg to remain.

I have worked myself into a frenzy and I feel tears of helplessness prick my
eyes. Why is he doing this to me? My eyes dart frantically seeing everything and
yet seeing nothing. It is too much for me to take in, to process. I close them,
tossing my head from side to side, tears now falling unchecked down my hot
cheeks, burning with shame, with embarrassment, with futility.

A soft touch on my brow causes me to jerk and raise wide eyes to his.

"Ssh. That's quite enough."

Quite enough? Quite enough? I haven't even started yet! I sob, unsure of the
reason, perhaps it's the feeling of vulnerability, I had never imagined this
depth, or perhaps it's more of me fighting to retain control, fighting a loosing
battle, an uphill battle against an overwhelming force and a battle that if I
were honest with myself I had no desire to win.

Whatever it is, I am weeping uncontrollably, incoherent, cast asea, adrift and
lost and looking for an anchor. Dear Lord, someone help me...please!

"Little one, ssh. I've got you. I'm here. It's ok."

***

Struggle finally set in...struggle and fear. I was stunned by the beauty of it.
My breath cut short. I was brought low by the sight. I shook with need, with
desire and yes, with power. It was a heady combination. I couldn't bear to look
and I couldn't bring myself to look away.

Her pleading, teary eyes nearly undid me. I should feel badly, feel shame for
reducing her to this, but I didn't. I just felt powerful, potent, manly. An
incredible surge of emotions, raw and unslaked poured into me. I should comfort
her, ease her fears, but I didn't. I stood immobile, struck still by the
splendor of my slave's struggle.

I had read about it, I had even written about it, but I had never been a part of
it, witnessed it, caused it. And damn me to a fiery hell, but I was in no hurry
to see it end. I wanted this fire to burn a little longer; I needed to feel her
internal turmoil. The beast within me demanded that this battle of wills play
out just a bit longer.

And so I watched silently, and did nothing to ease her discomfort. I noted her
every fearful glance, catalogued her every broken cry and absorbed her every
shattered, prideful tear drop until even I could stand no more, full to bursting
with my own need.

I stepped forward, pressing my things flush against the bed, bending slightly at
the waist and hovered a bit before placing my hand over her mouth. I know Dom's
are supposed to be in control at all times, but I nearly lost it when her lids
flew open and she turned her wonderfully panicked eyes my way. She tried to
shake my hand away and I didn't even bother to cover up the low groan that
rumbled through my chest. As I pressed my hand more firmly against her face,
feeling her teeth through the soft flesh of her lips, it was all I could do to
stave off impending climax...the raw lust and power surging through me was
almost more than I could bear and I was caught off guard by its intensity.

She blinked rapidly many times, her eyes pleading, scared and lost and her tiny
mewls tickled my palm. I felt her fast pants, the soft poof poof poof of the air
as it left her nostrils and blew across my hand. I knew she didn't realize that
I was breathing just as quickly as she was, or that I was just as lost to it,
mired as deeply in the moment as she was. But I trembled with it, shook to my
depths with it and I counted my blessings as I felt her mouth work furiously
behind my hand.

I enjoyed the view for several long moments before removing my hand from her
mouth to stroke the quivering heated surface of her face. She went to speak, but
I raised my hand as if to blanket her mouth once more and she quieted, settling
instead for a very small, plaintive whimper. My slave was a smart one, attuned
to my wants and desires and I was proud to call her mine in that moment...

***

His hand across my mouth was not expected...across my breasts, my tummy and
lower, really anywhere else would not have caught me so off guard. But my mouth?
I felt my stomach lurch as I realized his hand was not going anywhere. I could
feel every emotion I had floating towards my eyes. I cried against his hand,
tried to buck it off like a bull tries to dislodge a cowboy at a rodeo. No dice,
he merely pressed his hand harder against my face, so hard that I felt my lips
flatten against my teeth.

My eyes pleaded with him and in a way it was amazing because I could feel the
emotion in my eyes...it was almost painful. He bent low over me and gazed deeply
into my eyes and I could swear that his face softened, relaxed, his eyes warm
and tender. I felt his other hand stroke the sides of my neck and yet still his
hand remained firmly plastered over my mouth. I lost myself in his eyes and for
a few seconds, I felt disconnected from the moment. I didn't feel the chains, I
didn't feel the heavy pressure of his hand, I didn't feel fear or panic or even
confined...I felt free and I felt...loved.

The brief tranquil moment ended much too soon. He pulled away and removed his
hand from my mouth and immediately, everything I had been feeling just seconds
ago came flooding back. I went to speak, to beg, to plead but he shook his head
softly and raised a hand. No...not again! I closed my mouth and was distressed
to hear my own ragged whimper echo in the room. How pathetic I sounded...how
small...how weak...how utterly not like the me that I knew myself to be. What
was happening to me? Just who was this person lying on the bed, chained, open
and available to the man who stood inches away, coiled and ready to strike?

I felt the tremors ripple through my body...I felt cold, I felt hot, I felt out
of control. I can't even articulate the range of emotions that zipped through
me, crossed my mind and manifested themselves in goose bumps, in shivers, in
twitches, in moans and whimpers. My brain was in overdrive and I wanted it to
stop, to disengage, to free me. How long had I been here? I couldn't see a
clock...how much longer until I could leave?

My body arched off of the bed, arms and legs pulling against the restraints
causing the chains to jangle eerily in the expectant hush of the room as his
knuckles brushed my sternum, stroking the rapidly constricting flesh of the
sensitive valley between my breasts. I didn't think my breath could get any
faster, and yet it did. I didn't think my teeth could clench any tighter...and
yet they did. I didn't think my skin could get any hotter, any dry, and yet it
did. And I didn't think I could get...any wetter...and yet...I did and that was
the hardest thing of all to acknowledge...I was hot, wet and eager, even through
my fear, my panic, my terror...I wanted...I lusted...I thirsted...I craved...

I needed...

I started to cry...

I needed...

I didn't need anyone...

I turned my head away from your hand, the hand that was gently brushing away the
tell tale drops from my cheeks.

I had never needed anyone...

Until you...

Part VIII

Her tears were not tears of joy and yet they filled me with it just the same. As
much as she had been worried about if she could please me, her self-doubt there
for the entire world to see, and even though mine had not been, that didn't mean
that I didn't share the same concerns, harbor the same fears, for I did. I was
afraid that I couldn't be the Dom that I had written myself to be, afraid that I
wasn't strong enough for her, afraid that in the presence of her tears, that I
would crumble, would end up coddling her instead of pushing her further, instead
of leading her to the place she needed so desperately to go.

There are plenty of recipes for dominance, but as with everything, it had to be
seasoned to taste. Her tears were the sign that I had managed to get a decent
flavor cooking and it strengthened me. I cradled those tears in my palm,
savoring them, drinking in the beauty of her quivering, slightly puffy lips, her
red rimmed, tremulous eyes, her flushed and heated cheeks. Other men could have
all the sultry Cindy Crawford types, all the delicate Heather Locklears, all the
cute Sarah Michelle Gellars out there. I had found what I was looking for, had
found what I needed to be complete and whole and in my eyes, there was nothing
more beautiful in all creation than her in this moment.

The soft skin between her breasts enticed me. The sounds the chains made as she
pulled, arching into me were the sweetest sounds I had ever heard. I was on fire
for her, for this and for so much more. I stroked lower and laid my palm flat on
her tummy, kneading and gently pushing her body back down upon the bed. I
massaged there for a moment, letting my thumb make soft circles around her belly
button and my eyes closed briefly as I heard a strangled sob come from her lips.
I dipped a finger deep into her navel and swirled it around.

I removed my other hand from her face and skimmed it down her neck, my fingers
tracing the line of her collar bone, walking down her chest. I brushed the tip
of an erect nipple and before she had time to process it, I trailed lower and
let it come to rest on the curve of her hips. I softly explored that flank, its
lush flaring from the tiny span of her waist irresistible to me.

I continued to touch her lightly, all the while thinking about what I wanted to
do next. All of the scripts I had envisioned were gone; they had deserted me,
leaving me with but a blank sheet of paper to draw out this little drama. She
had gentled some under my quiet exploration of her, her tears had stopped and
looking up at her, I noticed that her eyes were half closed and the blue of
those delectable orbs that remained visible, was dark and smoky.

I stepped back from her and walked quietly and slowly towards the closet, to the
bag of toys that I had brought along. I felt her eyes upon me, heard her head
move upon the pillows as she tried to catch a glimpse of what I was doing. My
little slave was a curious one. She always wanted to know everything. I vowed
not to be predictable.

***

I was being sucked under. There was no doubt about it. It was all I could do to
keep my head above water. I tried to concentrate on any thing other than what
was happening. I tried to distance my mind a bit, tried to gain some control of
the situation.

So I regarded him critically. He was pleasant enough to look at, crisp black
hair, twinkling hazel eyes, a slight five o'clock shadow darkening his cheeks
and chin. Yes, he was handsome in a non-threatening sort of way and he was not
what I ever imagined myself to end up with. And yet, it was under his hand that
I trembled and quivered, it was in his bonds that I strained and arched. The
power he wielded over me elevated him above all others and no matter how hard I
tried to put distance between us, that's all I saw, all I felt...his mastery,
his power, his control.

His kneading, firm hand pushing me flat against the bed, his other hand stroking
my hip, his hooded eyes observing my every reaction, they intoxicated me and
made distance impossible. In fact, I was more closely aligned to him than I had
ever been to another.

I felt his soul reach out and touch mine, felt his heart beat in time with my
own. There was no escaping. The connection had been made and like the cuffs
binding my wrists, it had been forged in steel. And this was only the first of
many fires that would temper and strengthen it. A chill swept through me at the
thought. How hot would this fire burn?

He stepped away from me and I took in a deep, steadying breath, glad for the
momentary reprieve. I watched him go to the closet, but I couldn't see anything
more than the broad expanse of his shoulders, couldn't hear much save for some
rustling and the continued snapping and crackling of the fire that burned in the
marble hearth.

The wait was an eternity in length, me relieving the night to this point several
times over, me imagining the rest of the evening with a wide array of endings.
What would actually transpire couldn't be worse than I imagined, could it? I
knew him. I mean, I really knew him. He was my friend first; my good friend and
we became more by accident, a strange series of events leading us to realize
other emotions simmering under the surface. He wouldn't hurt me, he couldn't.

I began to trust in that, to take comfort in my heretofore knowledge of him and
I calmed and quieted. My breathing was soft and normal by the time he turned
back around and began the short trip back to where I lay bound on the bed. He
walked much too slowly, carrying something, but holding it just below my line of
sight.

I strained hard to look, but it was no use. I surmised, by the sound it made
when he reached the bed and lowered it to the ground, that he had placed
whatever items he would be using against me in some sort of bag and then brought
it with him. It made a dull and hefty thud, even against the thick pile of the
carpet. I shivered at the sound. Just how much stuff had he crammed in there?

His eyes seemed to burn as they looked at me. I felt myself blinking back at
him, having accepted, by this point, that I was helpless against what would
happen, but reassured by my knowledge that he would never push me beyond what I
could handle.

How silly and naive I was. I hadn't yet learned or experienced that line, that
invisible line dividing what I could and could not deal with. Hell, looking back
now, I didn't even know for sure where that line was. Ready or not, I was about
to find out, about to discover just how far he could push...and just how far I
could bend.

***

I brought a bag full of goodies back to the bed. It contained everything I had
ever dreamed of using on her, every decadent item from a lifetime of fantasies.
Her face was calmer and her eyes were steady and clear as she looked at me. She
didn't know what was coming, but I could see she accepted it, accepted the fact
that she couldn't stop me, couldn't or wouldn't, I wasn't exactly sure which.

But I also noticed something else in her eyes, some hidden confidence. I
chuckled to myself. She had somehow managed to convince herself that it wouldn't
be too bad, perhaps that it would be easy, enjoyable, fun even. I quirked a
brow. I couldn't help myself. I looked at the bag at my feet. It definitely was
not going to be easy and I thought that there were parts she wouldn't find very
pleasant, or fun, but that was something that only she could decide later
on...much later.

She was still thinking of our times online or on the phone together...of how she
could manipulate me with a soft spoken word, a tiny, cute voice. I knew that I
bore a huge degree of responsibility for letting her get her way that often, for
not stepping up and punishing her when she clearly deserved it. I had been
hesitant, overly careful of scaring her away before we could share this moment.
But I wouldn't let her off that easily in person. There was too much riding on
this night for me to be that careless, that soft, that weak.

But she would learn that here in real life, things were different. They had to
be. I had to break her down, destroy all of her defenses, erase all of her
preconceived notions of how it would be, how I would be, what I was capable of.
I had to begin forcing my will and not letting hers take center stage. We
couldn't go forward until I did.

And yes, I was nervous. I didn't want to lose her, and yet I acknowledged that
if things continued the way they were, I would regardless. Someone with the
gumption to stand in the pocket and take the hit would come along and spirit her
away. It was only a matter of time. She was special, and everyone could see it.
Her submissive light shone so brightly. She was oblivious to it, yes, but the
rest of the world was not. She was mine and I was not going to let her go...not
without a fight. I just hoped that she would stand by my side and fight with me,
not run away out of fear, that she would stand and face her desires, her needs,
too...and trust in me to fill them.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her, looked at my slave, my
unawakened slave. This would be the last glimpse of her sweet, innocent
submission. After this, she would look at me differently, hopefully still
fondly, and hopefully as my slave...my collared slave. But it would not be the
same. I was not so foolish as to think otherwise. I enjoyed it for a moment,
memorizing every minute detail. I shook my head. She truly was exquisite, more
so because she didn't see it, didn't see herself as I saw her...as mine and mine
alone.

"Recite the first line of your mantra, my slave." I stroked her face, smiling
gently at the surprised look in her eyes. She hadn't expected this, but I knew
how her mantra affected her over the phone. I was curious to see if that effect
was magnified in person.

She nodded, wet her lips and haltingly began. "I am my Lord's slave." She paused
to lick her lips again and I nodded encouragingly. "He guides my will, my body,
and my life."

My whole face smiled back at her. "Again." I saw the slight tremor. She couldn't
hide anything from me. As she began, I reached down to the bag at my feet, still
looking at her, my hand searching blindly.

"I am my Lord's slave. He guides my will, my body and my life."

Another tremor, stronger than the first wracked her. My hands closed around the
desired item and I breathed deeply. "Again, slave."

"I am my Lord's slave. He guides my will, my body, and my life."

As her voice faded on the last word, her eyes dark and deep, I raised my free
hand to her face, lifted the ball gag I was holding in the other and popped it
in her mouth. She hadn't been ready and with only a small squeeze on her jaw, it
slid in easily and was seated behind the luscious, pink lips I loved so much.

"Again, my slave. Again."

I buckled the straps, the sound of her muffled recitation stirring things I had
only glimpsed inside of myself, things that took me finding the right one to
acknowledge, to give voice to, to give free rein to.

And I had found the right one. Now I just had to prove to her that she had found
the right one, too. I had all night...I would use it, every last minute, every
second of it. She was mine...but I was hers, too.

Part IX

I felt the ball gag stretch my cheeks wide, I tasted the rubber as it filled my
mouth. I heard him tell me to recite my mantra again, and I did. I did! What was
wrong with me? He couldn't understand it now; it came out as unintelligible
grunts and whimpers. The ball gag was effective that way, but still I recited
it, and still he watched and listened.

After he finished cinching it in place tightly, causing me to wince, he sat back
and softly stroked my face, his fingers tracing the red ball lodged in my mouth,
the leather straps biting into my face. "Again," he said and he would say that
word so many times that I would lose count. And every recitation brought me
lower, lower and lower and closer to breaking.

I had heard about breaking, had read about sub space, but I had never been taken
that far, had never reached those edenic shores. I wasn't sure that he could
bring me there. I wasn't sure that I could let him. I wasn't sure about a lot of
things. I was sure, however, of one thing, that he had the control, that I was
sinking fast and I didn't know how to stop it.

It felt like I was mumbling the first stanza of my mantra for hours. "Again,
again, again," became his litany, and I complied, kept speaking though it hardly
resembled speech, didn't sound like the words that had been drilled into me,
etched upon the fabric of my soul. He seemed to enjoy hearing my mutterings, so
I kept at it dutifully, ever mindful of the pretty, metal collar awaiting me in
the other room, until I began to feel my own saliva begin to pool at the corners
of my mouth.

I couldn't drool. I couldn't let him see anything so vile tracking down my chin.
I just couldn't. It was embarrassing, disgusting, and shameful. I stopped
speaking, trying to tip my head back and force myself to swallow the mouthful of
spittle that had developed. I gasped as he reached out and grabbed my chin,
forcing my head down. He glared at me sternly, the pressure of his hand
increasing, deepening my pained expression.

"Did I tell you to stop, slave? The last stanza now. Recite the last stanza and
continue until I tell you to stop."

He squeezed harder and then released my chin with a cruel twist. I whimpered
softly. His words weren't particularly harsh, but his eyes were stern and cold.
I felt the slobber edge past the corner of my mouth, felt it on the soft
underside of my lip. No! No! No! I silently raged and tried to suck it back up,
tossing my head back, doing anything to stop its downward trek.

SMACK

I glared at him in shock, the sting of his palm against my thigh smarting, the
sound of flesh on flesh contact still ringing in my ears. He just hit me! I
couldn't believe it.

"Now!"

I shook and quivered but could not stop from protecting myself from the
degradation of drooling and went to try to suck it up again. He was too quick
for me. His hand snaked out and he wiggled the ball in my mouth roughly, back
and forth, dislodging the corner puddles, forcing my saliva to dribble down the
sides of my face. Tears were imminent as I stared at him blankly.

"There. That's out of the way. Now, the last stanza, slave."

I whimpered and sniffled pathetically, shaking my head against the shame burning
my cheeks, the slimy wetness streaking my face.

"I won't say it again."

I closed my eyes against his, as if not seeing him made my shame, my horror go
away, as if not seeing him made my spittle invisible, too.

"To be a slave is to please her Lord. To obey him is to honor him. To honor him
and his dictates is to show her true love for him. This is her gift to her Lord,
obedience and love."

I felt myself cracking as I heard his litany begin once more. "Again."

"To be a slave is to please her Lord. To obey him is to honor him. To honor him
and his dictates is to show her true love for him. This is her gift to her Lord,
obedience and love."

"Again, again, again..."

***

She looked so helpless, so lost behind that gag, so small, so vulnerable, so
beautiful. Her eyes were twin wells of emotions and I couldn't wait to explore
them all. I kept making her recite her mantra and with every line, her eyes grew
darker, her breath faster, more uneven. I felt like a god or a superhero from
one of my comic books. My heart expanded and filled my chest. Damn, she didn't
even know what this was doing to me. How could she? She was lost in her own
world, a world I had the privilege of bringing her to.

There was a lull in the rhythmic mumbling and I pulled my attention back to her.
What was she doing? I cocked my head and looked quizzical at her. She was
tilting her head back, tipping it gently from side to side, sucking heavily on
the rubber ball in her mouth. Was she ok?

Just as I was about to panic thinking she must be choking, I caught it, saw the
light reflected in a small pool of slobber at the edges of her mouth, saw her
throat work furiously, saw her trying to swallow. I smiled, but caught myself
before I started laughing outright.

This was priceless. Now that I was attuned to her struggle, I could feel her
mounting humiliation, smell her deepening shame. Ah, my silly slave. Didn't she
realize that this was part of it? Didn't she understand after all this time that
this was how I wanted, no needed, to see her...humble, devoid of pride, stripped
of guise and artifice, brought low by my hand?

I watched her a few moments before putting an end to it. I grabbed her chin hard
and felt a twinge of guilt at her cringe, her pained look.

"Did I tell you to stop, slave?" I stared harshly at her. It was time to remind
her what she owed me, where she belonged. "Recite the last stanza," Yes, that
would remind her, help her through this part, if she'd let it, "and continue
until I say stop."

She blinked at me, confusion, shame, defiance all warring in her eyes. Defiance
won out and she tried to swallow down the mouthful of saliva doing its best to
leak out. I was slightly taken aback by her continued disobedience. Was pride
that important to her? I shook my head. Apparently so, for even in the face of
my angry stare she tossed her head to and fro, sucking for all she was worth,
trying to get rid of the evidence of her humility.

I slapped her, on the top of a bared thigh. It sounded much harder than I knew
it was. It was loud in the quiet room and it shocked her senseless. That much
was clear. She looked at me and I could see the silent "How dare you" in her
eyes. Oh, my little firebrand, I dare alright. Keep pushing me...

She must have heard my thoughts for her eyes narrowed and she went back to
dealing with her slobber. I felt the stirrings of anger. I was going to take
care of this little problem right now. She had just pushed her luck a little too
far. Didn't want to feel humble before her Master, did she? Well, I took that
choice away from her.

I jammed that ball around her mouth a few times, watching in satisfaction as the
drool was pushed out of her mouth and down her chin. I was sorely tempted to
smear it all over her face as an object lesson, but I restrained myself. This
was sufficient. More than sufficient I thought as I noticed the tears filling
her eyes. I stared coolly back at her. Oh yes, my slave. You know who's in
charge now, don't you?

I repeated my demand for the last stanza. She was crumbling before my eyes, her
resistance barely there, a mere whisper. And with a slimy, drool covered face,
my slave began...with eyes closed tight against me...she finally complied.

***

Something was happening to me, something I had not been prepared for. My insides
were a mess, all of my thoughts and feelings were all jumbled up inside. A part
of me wanted to yield. This part of me knew that the reward out weighed the
risk, that what awaited me on the other side was far greater than anything I had
ever known, worth all of this and more. And then there was the part of me that
feared, that feared giving up my independence, feared being thought of as weak,
as less, feared the unknown.

I really didn't think it would be like this, this difficult. I thought, I truly
thought it would be a piece of cake, a no brainer, that the worst I would have
to contend with would be a hard spanking or whipping...that would have been so
much easier to handle than this. A few tears and it would be over, I'd be in sub
space with all of my pieces in tact. But as I was finding out, it didn't work
that way, and that's what scared me.

This required something more from me...surrender. And I meant surrender, total
and complete. I knew that it would...I had read about it, talked to other
submissives about it, but the reality, the full meaning, the full depth of that
word had been lost to me. I had sugar coated it and had convinced myself that I
could do it, that I could surrender without giving in, could bend, but not
break, could let myself be broken down, but still retain my own foundation. No.
I had been gravely mistaken and now I was left wondering if I could really give
that, if it was really worth it...to surrender so completely. Was it even in me
to do it?

I felt that drool bubbling at the corners of my mouth with every blessed word of
my mantra and I hated. I hated him for doing this to me. What happened to the
warm and fuzzy glow I had earlier? Why did he have to ruin this evening for me?
What was he trying to prove? What did he have to gain by watching me spit all
over myself? God, how I hated him.

"Stop."

Ah, finally. I was given a reprieve from the now gurgling sounds of the mantra.
What next, I wondered. What new level of vileness would I have to endure? I had
turned my head away from him, refusing to meet his gaze with drool coating my
face so I jumped at the first touch of the cool, soft cloth upon it. I jerked
around to look at him, confusion puckering my brow.

My disquiet grew seeing the now tender and loving expression on his face. He ran
the cloth over my face and though I wanted to pull away, it felt so good, so
soothing, so comforting. And when he reached my mouth and started wiping away my
drool, I did twist from him, but his other hand just reached up and cupped my
chin, holding it immobile as he continued. The soft expression never wavered
once.

What kind of trick was this? A part of me didn't really care...it felt so nice.
I bit back a grateful smile that was tugging at my lips. I didn't know where
that came from. Was I supposed to be grateful? He was only cleaning up the mess
that he had made, the shame that he had made me endure. Then he started speaking
and the distance that I had put between us began to disappear, the invisible
barrier I had erected to separate us, started falling away.

"There. Much better, my pet. Doesn't that feel good?"

I listened as he bathed my face, softly, gently, lovingly and I felt the hatred
dim, felt myself flush and redden in sudden shyness.

"Good slaves are rewarded when they please their Lord. Doesn't that feel nice?"

His hand fell away from my chin; there was no need for it now. I was still under
his attentions. His free hand began softly stroking the upper portions of my
torso, skimming along my collar bone, across the upper slope of my breasts. He
came so close to touching them, but he didn't. He just walked his fingers all
around them. They swelled eager for his touch, my back arched off the bed as his
hands danced closer, yet still he denied their ache and kept speaking in a
hushed, soothing tone.

"You are such a pretty slave. Yes, you are." He stroked the delicate skin of the
undersides of my breasts, light, teasing fingers tracing undecipherable patterns
on my flesh. "You please me when you wear this gag for me. Pleasing slaves are
rewarded."

His hand closed over my breast...finally...and I groaned. My breast swelled to
fill his hand, my nipple puckered to tease his palm. Too soon the contact was
gone. I heard my frustrated whimper echo in the room.

I lost track of what he was saying. I was focused on his hands, which seemed to
be everywhere all at once. The cool rag had been discarded, I'm not sure when,
and he now used both hands as weapons against me. And both of them were wicked,
teasing my hottest spots, the spots that ached the most for his touch. For the
most part, he avoided those areas, my breasts, my nipples, the juncture of my
thighs and my desire flooded the room, a sultry, musky scent that he couldn't
have missed.

But occasionally he would touch me...his fingers rolling my nipples, teasing my
clit. He brought me so close to the edge and left me hanging...time and time
again. I wasn't quite sure what the deciding factor was for him...when he would
grant me what I wanted and touch me, stroke me, play with my clit, squeeze my
breasts. All I know was that he kept talking to me, soft, gentle words while his
hands played me like a harp, plucking my strings, making music with my body. And
I was taut, quivering on the brink of some forbidden knowledge, ancient
lore...and I wanted it...I wanted it. The it? I wasn't exactly sure...but I
wanted it just the same...and I was fast approaching the point that I would give
anything in return...for just a glimpse of it...a small taste of it...just one
little, tiny bit of it.

Part X

Going this slow with her took every ounce of will power I had, and yet I knew I
had to do it, had to begin realigning her mind, begin teaching her, training her
what behaviors led to what reactions and what responses from me. Sure, I had
been training her during our time together which, to this point, had consisted
of purely online means, email, instant messenger, and chat rooms. Basically, I
imposed certain punishments when she purposefully disobeyed me, or she neglected
to do something that I had asked, or she had failed to use proper etiquette. But
I was never sure if she told me everything, every time she failed, and I was
never sure of the motivations behind her failures, or if her failures were in
fact failures or something that she merely claimed as a failure to achieve the
desired attention from me.

In truth, training is so much more than that, than mere actions. It begins in
her mind, how she thinks about things, how she views things, the progression of
her thoughts. It's an agonizingly slow process, training a submissive. If done
correctly, and if done thoroughly, yes, it would take time, but it would also
last. And that's what I wanted more than anything. I wanted it to last, to
endure, to stick with her. I didn't want to go through this again; it was hard
enough staying focused now and I was just beginning.

I envisioned a scenario that included a life together, her kneeling by my side,
both my companion and my submissive, spanning decades. That scared me, I will
admit and I thought of all the reasons why it wouldn't work out, couldn't
possibly work out. I thought of society's censure, I thought of our families'
reactions if they found out, and they were bound to at some point catch a whiff
of something in the air. How could they not?

And then I saw her...struggling as the drool trailed down her face...saw the
waver in her eyes...saw the trembling of her limbs...felt her crack and begin
the tumble that I had waited an eternity to see. And all those thoughts fled
from my head...gone in a sudden poof that stole my very breath away, and the
future didn't seem like such an improbability, or if it did, it didn't matter,
for in that moment, I knew without a doubt, that I would move whatever mountains
stood in our way; I wanted this, I needed this, I lived and breathed for this,
for her.

That knowledge gave me peace and that peace in turn gave me the strength to slow
down, to do what I needed to do, to begin working on the future right from this
moment; it was worth the effort it would cost me now. I couldn't put it off. She
would expect, demand and need consistency from me, need me to be strong, steady
and reliable...worthy of her submission. I couldn't back up later and change the
rules...she was a smart one...she would exploit every loophole I left for her.
And I didn't blame her. I should have to work for it, for her, just as she
should work for it, for me, too. Oh, and she would. She would. I could guarantee
that much.

And so began the climb into her psyche, the intricate web of female thought and
rationale. I started slow and easy, associating the words "pleasure" and
"reward" with sensual contact with her "high" erogenous zones, where she ached
the most, her breasts and her hot, wet feminine tunnel. I really doubt that she
was aware of what I was even doing or if she even heard me, made sense of what I
was saying in soft whispers to her. But I knew that somewhere deep down inside
of her, a part of her would eventually put it all together. The mind is very
resourceful that way...it finds a way to get what it wants and needs and then
exploits it. That's how behavior is learned. What I hoped was that it would be
too late for her to do anything about it, that the behavior and the reward would
already be so deeply instilled in her that it would become second nature,
something she did without conscious thought.

Her body was responding to me at the moment, and I was stunned, in awe, at the
beauty she presented as she lay there...arching, moaning, twisting,
grumbling...yes, even behind her gag, she was grumbling when I skated past an
area she really wanted me to touch. It was endearing...and it was sexy as hell.
I didn't know how much longer I could hold out. I knew that I wanted to hold
out, but the mind is willing and the spirit weak. I had never felt this rush of
power before, this adrenaline fueled sexual haze...and it was trying to pull me
under. The future, I kept reminding myself, the future.

My hands continued their slow, sensuous torment of her, my voice softly
whispering to her, encouraging her responses, stoking her flames ever higher. I
knew she was so close to release...but I knew, too, that I was purposefully
avoiding the full on contact she needed to get there. I could have laughed, but
I was just as close to the edge as she was, close to exploding and spilling my
seed like an inept, inexperienced teenager the first time in the back seat of
the car.

But all of these touches, all of her responses, all of my thoughts of the
future, of what this moment foretold pushed all other thoughts out of my mind
and I couldn't formulate a cohesive plan for this night...I couldn't seem to get
past the thought of me plunging deep inside of her, feeling her close around me,
accepting me, yielding to me. I was close to losing control of the
situation...and I didn't know how to get it under control. I needed to step
away...to get some distance and gather myself back in. But how could I do that
and still further my cause? I was not experienced enough to keep myself this
tightly reined in while touching the very body that I wanted to lose myself in.
It was too heady, the feelings too new for me to do that.

Dom's are supposed to have all the answers. But I didn't. I didn't. How? How?
How? And then it came to me...and as the answer came to me, so did the truth.
Dom's didn't have any more answers than anyone else. I was beating myself up for
nothing. How could I regain control of a situation rapidly spinning out of
control? By going back to basics and then tailoring those basics to fit my needs
and my desires. The situation at its most rudimentary...I was the Dom, she was
the submissive. She was in my control. Mine. She was here to please me. That was
her function, her job...and, lucky for me, her need. And what did I want at this
moment? To play with her. Oh yes, that's what I wanted.

I smiled and felt my world right its self again. Play with her. Yes. That's what
I wanted to do. I felt confidence infuse me. I knew her; I knew this beautiful
spirit that was giving herself to my care. I knew her well. That's why we waited
this long to meet...so that we would know and we would trust. Limitations and
expectations? We had hashed them out at length, exhausted them many times over.
I knew them by heart, could recite them in my sleep. So why was I mired in self
doubt at this late stage of the game? I shook my head. Nerves, pure and simple.

I sat back and removed my hands from her and just watched her for a few moments.
I watched her blink and then open confused eyes and look at me dazedly. I heard
the small, plaintive whimper...it was muffled and a bubble formed at the corners
of her mouth as the spittle began to congregate there again. She payed it no
heed, just continued to plead with her big, blue eyes, to pant and moan in
frustration, to lift and lower her chin slightly at me, trying to draw me back
to her.

I stood up and looked down at her. My heart was full...at peace, yes, but
definitely full. I ran a hand gently over her tummy, letting my fingers barely
graze her flesh and sighed in wonder at the goose bumps that dotted her flesh in
the wake of my touch. I tweaked her nose, suddenly and quickly and chuckled at
her astonished and bemused expression. Her "mmph" got decidedly more ornery and
more pronounced. She was a demanding little cuss, my little slave. It was time
to teach her a little patience, perhaps...and time to wet my whistle.

I bent down to the toy bag and retrieved a vibrator...not just any vibrator
either, but her favorite: the g-spot vibe with the soft, skin like texture. At
least I had done one thing right: I had made her mail me all of her toys a week
before this meeting, 1...so that she couldn't pleasure herself with them, and
2...so that I could take stock of them and use them without having to stop and
ask her where she put them. That would have killed the mood and anything I did
to her...I wanted to be a surprise. I turned it on and tested out the batteries.
I was relieved that it whirred to life. I had not thought to bring any with me.
I would correct that lack of foresight in the future....ah, yes...the future. It
was looking brighter with every passing moment.

I stood up and held it before her. It was amazing how quiet the room became as
she looked at her favorite toy, held for the first time in my hands. Her
"mmphing" faded off and her eyes got big and round and I watched her begin
sucking on the ball gag. I would wonder at that, why at some moments she would
suck harder on it, like a pacifier and at some moments she was content to let it
rest quietly in her mouth. Mentally I shrugged. I lowered the speed of the vibe
to its lowest setting and positioned it.

I stroked her lips with it, moistening it with her own juices, of which there
was plenty. I tapped her clit a few times and that was met with arching and
rather loud garbled sounds. I didn't fail to notice the drool trail forming
again, but I was happy to see that she seemed oblivious to it. I toyed with her
a little bit more and then slid the vibe into her slick passage. She groaned as
I worked the vibe a bit and when she squealed the loudest, I knew that I had
positioned it correctly and it was resting against the infamous G-spot for which
it was designed.

She groaned low and deep as it settled within her to do its work. I walked over
to the head of the bed and took the cool cloth from the nightstand. I washed her
face lovingly and kissed her forehead.

"Don't go anywhere. I'll be back in a moment."

She frowned and squinted at me. I chuckled and patted her head.

"That's a good girl."

Her "mmph" echoed loudly in the room as I turned, chuckling and went back out
into the main sitting area. I made sure to close the door behind me and then
collapsed in a heap in the comfortable wing back chair by the fire. I untied my
shoes and wiggled my toes and then stretched them out on the ottoman. Distance?
I had just learned an easy way to kill two birds with one stone. Control? It was
mine...for as long as she submitted to me, it was mine.

***

He was slowly driving me insane. I couldn't take it any more. I needed release
so badly that I could taste it. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire...not
simmering, not smoking, but blazing out of control. Any minute now, I was going
to come undone, lose the tightly held control that I was so proud of. And he
seemed to be enjoying it. My mind silently screamed at him: Come a little
closer, cup my breasts, impale me and stop talking to me, dammit! Grrrr. Just do
it...touch me, harder! Rub a little faster! Stop playing with me and give it to
me! Now! Please!

My nerves were so tightly drawn that when he pulled my toy up and held it before
me...oh man...I stopped breathing. The sight of him holding my own toy, the toy
that I would be bringing home with me later, it shattered my insides, it took my
breath away, it sent my thoughts spiraling a thousand different directions. It
was my toy, mine. And yet, it was in his hands, he was turning it on, playing
with the settings. It was mine. But it was now his. Just as I was...his.

It touched my sex...lightly, softly, stroking through my folds, up and down,
side to side, in little, tight circles. I gulped. My throat was dry. I was
holding my breath in expectation, anticipation. Finally, I thought...the release
I longed for, desired, needed, desperately craved was within reach. The toy
slide in and my body arched up to meet it, grasped it greedily and held it
close. I groaned in delicious agony as he twisted it around and around and
screamed loudly when it found the hidden sweet spot.

The toy went still and I panted, trying to regain my breath as the humming
settled in, began tormenting me, building up a fire that was already raging
beyond its banks. I felt the cool cloth wander over my face and I shook my head
lightly, the coolness an unwelcome contrast to the heat enveloping me. I wanted
to rush into the fire, jump in with both feet. But his words, as they penetrated
my brain, were like a bucket of ice water, dousing the flames before they knew
real flight.

"Don't go anywhere. I'll be back in a moment."

Don't go anywhere? Huh? Who was he kidding? Where the hell could I go? I tugged
on the restraints in protest. Where was he going? He couldn't just leave me like
this? And his follow up remark, "That's a good girl" combined with a patronizing
pat on the head did nothing but enrage me.

I howled wildly from behind the gag, yelling at him, telling him not to go, to
come back but he did not even slow his step...he walked through the door and
pulled it shut, leaving me quite alone, save for the old friend buried deep
inside me, even now doing the devil's work upon my body.

I felt oddly bereft. I slumped back against the bed with a frown puckering my
brow wondering what he could possibly be doing that was more important than
this. And the longer he stayed away, the worse it got. Each minute seemed a day
in length...they stretched out, one after the other, like a long, lonely
highway. In my mind's eye, I could even see the tumbleweeds drifting across,
fading off into the distance. And still, he did not return.

The vibrator hummed on and on inside and my body responded to its slow rhythm,
edging upwards along the ladder to nirvana. But my mind...my mind didn't want to
accept this, this solitude. I wasn't supposed to be alone. I was supposed to be
in his arms, enjoying this sensation at his hands. And yet, I argued to myself,
this was at his hands, he had put the toy there, had left me here to enjoy its
affects. And I was enjoying it, enjoying it too well actually. But I didn't want
it this way. I wanted him here. Where was he?

Occasionally, I would find myself a little too close to the edge and I would
concentrate on breathing. I would not give him, I vowed, the satisfaction of
reaching orgasm this way, not without his permission, not without him. No, I
wasn't not going to let that happen. I drew very close, several times, but I
closed myself off to it. I could feel the sweat coating my body, could feel the
need and it almost convinced me to let go and give into it. Oh, no. I was not
going to. Not if I could help it!

But...but...why had he not returned? I lay there, in deep need, sometimes
kicking and screaming, sometimes quiet and composed, hovering, wondering,
waiting. The door remained closed. I heard the loud sounds of the TV for a while
and raged at him. How dare he watch a rerun of Star Trek: Next Generation? He
should be enjoying me...Not Captain Picard.

As the time melted away, I began to truly wonder, to doubt, to worry. Had he not
found me pleasing enough? Was I too fat? Too spirited? Was this whole scene just
too much for him to handle? I looked down upon my body and I could see the same
pockets of cellulite that I had seen before. But I was sure that earlier he had
looked at me with desire. Had it been desire? Or had it been me needing to see
desire in his eyes?

Why was he doing this to me? What had I done? How could I make it better? I
needed him here with me. I felt tears prickle my eyes as the waves of pleasure
grew so hot and intense and the combination of the two nearly tossed me over the
edge. I grabbed a lifeline...any lifeline that I could...I grabbed anger. How
dare he leave me alone? How dare he? I began seething and it was enough to
steady me, to push back the climax and the tears. I raged silently at him,
cursing him, his mother, the cruelty of fate. I cursed my chance meeting of him,
and then, it turned back around on me and I cursed my own weaknesses, my own
desires, my own needs.

I'm not sure how it came back to me, but it always did. I would strengthen
myself, and then collapse, and nearly start to cry as I wished and prayed that
he open the door and save me. Yes, save me. I wanted him to come in and save me
from this torment, the mental anguish and anxiety, the physical need that was so
great that I could barely contain it. Everything was closing in around me. I
wanted to see him so desperately. And then the door opened and I saw his
darkened figure advance upon me.

I sighed a relief so great that I could have swooned. He hadn't left me. I knew
that...I think I did anyway. He was here. He would save me. He always did. He
knew what I needed, what I wanted...and he would give it to me. Oh, how I loved
him. He would take care of me. I knew it.

He stroked the hair back from my damp face, loosened the ball gag and pried the
ball out from behind my aching jaw. He wiped my face and I was so happy to see
him that I didn't even balk. I worked out the muscles of my face as he asked me
if I needed anything. Oh, yes, I needed several things. But he knew that. He
knew what I wanted from him.

I felt a whimper come bubbling up. I felt my body arch upwards to him. I turned
pleading eyes his way. The need was so great. I knew what he wanted me to say.
He always wanted me to say it, but I just couldn't. I never could. I could only
let him know with my eyes, with my soft whimpers, with my body what I wanted,
what I needed. I turned my eyes up at him, eyes that I knew were half crazed
with my arousal and I grunted and bobbed my head slowly. I knew he knew,
understood what I was telling him without words. Why wasn't he releasing me?
Why?

I saw the slight narrowing of his eyes. No! No! No! Don't push the issue now!
You know I can't. Oh please, just give me the command to end this, please! But
he wasn't and there was this look in his eyes...my stomach clenched and my heart
sank. I couldn't do this. Dammit, he knew it!

I licked my lips nervously. He was waiting, waiting for an answer and I gave him
one, the only one I could.

"Wa...Water."

I knew right away that I had made a grave error. His eyes narrowed to dangerous
slits and he stalked off, every jerky movement punctuating his wrath. When he
returned, I was half expecting him to dump the water on me, but he held the fury
inside, gently cradling my head and allowing me to drink, to drain the cup dry.
And I was grateful. Wearing the gag for as long as I had, had created a terrible
thirst and finally, I had some relief. It just wasn't the kind I really needed.

His anger radiated off of him, rolled over me in waves and though I wanted to
give him what he needed, I just couldn't do it. It was as if some perverse demon
had sealed my lips shut and I was incapable of it. No matter how much I wanted
to and how much I tried, I couldn't get the words that would have right this
moment, would have filled his needs and mine out. He bent down, turned the vibe
that used to be my trusted friend but was now my worst enemy up to half speed
and left the room, leaving the door wide open.

My heart broke. Come back! Wait! I wanted him, needed him so desperately. What
was wrong with me? Why couldn't I say the words? I wanted to, Lord knows I did.
I heard the channel surfing and the staticy click click click as the channels
rolled up one at a time, and that undid me. I didn't want to be a channel that
he passed by, I wanted to be one he tuned to, he watched to the bitter end.

I began crying, the toy humming stronger, breaking down my walls, pushing me
with alarming speed off the edge of the cliff. I couldn't contain it any longer.
I needed him. I needed his arms, his strength. I wasn't going to make it. The
dam burst and I thrashed and wailed as I felt my independence vanish and felt my
need take center stage, take importance over pride. I said the words, softly at
first and then with growing vigor as fear, not of giving in as before, but of
not being able to last without him, took hold.

Please hurry, I begged and begged and begged. Oh, I hated him for bringing me to
this point. But I needed him. I needed him. Now!

***

How long should I wait? 10 minutes? 15 minutes? 30 minutes? An hour? I didn't
know, wasn't sure. Time had slowed down to an interminably slow crawl. I could
only imagine how it felt to her, all alone with only her chains and her toy to
keep her company.

I picked up the remote and turned the TV on, cranking up the volume quite
loudly. For some devilish reason, I wanted her to hear it, to lay there and
wonder when I would return to her, wonder why I was choosing the TV over her. I
wanted her to fall prey to her own self doubt, break down her self confidence,
shatter her pride.

The TV was just a way to distract myself, to keep me in the chair. I wasn't
choosing it over her charms, and they were ample, let me tell you. I hated every
minute of the sitcom, hated every commercial. I wanted nothing more than to rush
back to her, to replace that toy with my own aching flesh. I didn't want to
waste this night by being strict or teaching lessons. I wanted to spend it
exploring every inch of her body and learning all of its secrets. I wanted to
spend the night loving her.

I turned the TV down, it probably had served its purpose and I didn't feel the
need to be unnecessarily cruel and mocking. But I did feel the need to make her
wait, to build her longing until it surpassed mere longing and reached need,
blinding and inescapable need. My little slave had a slight pride issue and it
had always bothered me. I hoped I was going about it in the right way. She
needed to learn how to let it go and just give in. She still refused to beg,
hell, beg? She still had problems asking me for permission to cum.

On the phone, she stubbornly resisted asking, pleading for the release I could
clearly hear she needed. She held out, kept climbing higher and higher until I
couldn't stand it and ordered her to cum, which she only too happily did. She
had no problems cumming on command. But asking for it? Never. Maybe that was a
mistake, a disservice to her. But I couldn't bear to hear her in agony knowing
that only her pride stood in the way. So, she retained some measure of control
and I had let her...time and time again. And I knew that she would try the same
thing here. Why wouldn't she? It had worked well enough to this point. I would
have done the same thing were I in her shoes. Luckily, I was not.

I couldn't allow her that luxury any more. I hoped I was strong enough for her.
I really did. I wanted to be so badly I could taste it. I left the TV on and
rose, thirty minutes had passed. I needed to see where she was at and find out
if I had what it took. I opened the door and approached her. There was a faint
sheen of perspiration marking her brow. Her face was set in a mask of
concentration. Her hips rocked softly and her arms and legs were tensed and
lightly trembling.

My slave needed release...badly. That was patently clear. What wasn't clear,
however, was what she was willing to do to get it. I reached her side. The
entreaty was in her eyes, as I knew it would be. But would it be on her tongue?

"How's my little slave? Simmering nicely, I trust?" I brushed the hair back from
her face, listening to her garbled attempt at speech.

"Hmm? What's that? I can't really understand, dear." My smile grew as she
whimpered and shook at her restraints. I reached over and loosened the strap on
her gag and popped the ball out of her mouth.

"There. That's better. Now, how are you doing? Need anything?" I picked up the
cloth from the nightstand again and bathed the slobber from her face. I was
surprised still at how matter of fact I was taking care of that for her. I had
really thought that it would sicken me, to see her saliva splattering her face,
to wipe it clean. But it hadn't, it just filled me with a warmth I couldn't
name, hadn't expected.

She worked her jaw about, gasping and panting. She looked at me like I was crazy
asking that question, as if the answer was obvious. Well, it was obvious, but
this time, she was going to tell me. She licked her lips and her mouth started
moving and I held my breath. This was it! I was so excited. I couldn't believe
she was going to give in so easily, to give me in person what she couldn't over
the phone. Her voice cracked.

"Wa...water, please, Milord."

Water? Water? My eyes narrowed and I seethed. How stupid and naive I was to
believe that she was ready, that all of a sudden she'd change her tune. I
pivoted sharply, grabbed a plastic cup from the bathroom and filled it with
water from the tap. Water. She wanted water. Her body was screaming for release.
The smell of it hung heavily in the air and all she could ask me for was water?
All doubts as to whether or not I could do what it took were immediately
dispelled. I was actually angry, quite angry.

If water was what she wanted, then water would be what she got. And that's it! I
held it to her lips, cradling her head, my own arms trembling, this time with my
anger. She gulped it greedily, finished the cup off and then I laid her head
back down and placed the cup on the night stand.

Her blue eyes were wide and dilated and they begged me prettily, but her pouty
lips moved not. I crossed my arms over my chest and steeled myself against the
effect she had over me.

"Anything else you need?"

She whimpered and lifted those pleading eyes to mine.

"No? Very well." I reached down and turned the vibrator up to half speed. She
lurched and cried out. But still, she didn't utter the words that I wanted to
hear. No, now I demanded to hear them. I would not be budged this time, pretty
eyes or obvious torment aside. They would not sway me. Not this time. Only her
mouth forming the words would grant her release. The ball was in her court and I
had just served a zinger. Let's see if she had the guts to return it.

"You'll be sure to let me know, won't you?" I looked coolly at her and strolled
from the room. I left the door open this time and was treated to the sounds of
her anguish, of her frustrated moans. I paused on the other side of the door.
But the words were not forthcoming, so I strode back over to the chair and sat
down.

I changed the channel and loosened a few buttons of my shirt. I watched a few
minutes of the new program, what it was I couldn't tell you, seethed and finally
removed the shirt altogether, leaving just a white undershirt. Over the chatter
of the TV I heard, as I was sure she intended, her whimpers, her groans and I
glared at the collar on the mantle. Was it really worth all of this?

Part XI

I heard the words from my own mouth, scratchy, barely audible, barely
recognizable as actual words. I tried to stop them, tried to be stronger,
tougher than he was, but I couldn't, I couldn't. I was drawn so tightly that I
was in danger of snapping and flying off into a million pieces. I had never felt
like this, never felt like I was in danger of dying. Sure, I had joked about it,
played Ms. Drama Queen a time or to, "Oh, you're killing me," or "If I don't get
taken care of right now, I'll just die," but never had I felt the very real
possibility of it happening. Until now. Never, until now.

And a part of me was surely dying; with every word that was falling from my
mouth...a part of me was dying. It was that part of me that was willful,
independent, spirited, headstrong, the part of me that was wholly my own,
uniquely mine, the part of me that needed nobody and nothing. That piece was in
mortal danger. I could feel it, I could sense it in every cold and hot tremor
that wracked my body as my mind worked to stop the words that my heart knew I
needed to say and that needed to reach his ears.

I was so very strong in real life. In the real world, nobody got the upper hand
on me. Nobody. How did he do it? How did he do it so quickly? I could go several
years without sex, had done so in fact, so why could I not last, what, an hour,
without orgasm? This was ridiculous, absurd in the extreme. And yet, all of this
mattered not one iota to my heart or my body. They craved, they thirsted, they
needed. And they had me outnumbered, outvoted 2-1.

"Pl....Please...Oh, Milord.....please."

Nooooo! Noooo! I bit down on my lips and could almost feel blood break out; I
was biting and chewing on them so hard. I had to get myself back under control.
I just had to. I felt myself splintering, my body on the verge of an explosive
climax that I was sure would singe the very reaches of heaven if I gave into it,
and my brain on the verge of letting someone wedge their way inside and assume a
rightful place there. It was not his rightful place. I could not let it happen.

"Milord!....Please!"

My ears recognized the growing strength behind the words as they spilled forth.
Nooooo! Cut it out this instant! We can do this, we can beat him. Be strong. My
heart and body were just not cooperating with me. How could my brain be
separated from the rest of me, my heart and body individual entities, each with
their own brains, not using the one they were attached to, not using the one
they belonged to? What had he done to me? How could those parts of me owe
allegiance to him? He hadn't been where I had been; he hadn't lived the life
that I had. My heart, my body...they were mine, dammit, they were mine!

"Milord....please! I need you!"

Need? Nooooo! I don't need anybody. I don't. I can't. I won't let that happen.
But a part of me knew I was fooling myself. It had already happened. Just
because I didn't wish it to be true didn't make it any less true. And then I
thought about calling "red", using my safe word, putting an easy end to this
torture. How simple it would be. This pain, this agony would be over...or would
it?

What would it do to him? He would feel like he failed me...that he either pushed
too hard, not enough, or that he simply couldn't be the man I needed. And where
would that leave me? Alone, that's where, and for good. And that brought me up
short and I burst into tears. I couldn't bear that thought, I couldn't live
without him, and I couldn't cause him that kind of unwarranted pain. I just
couldn't because the cold, hard truth of it was that I had been pushing him to
this point, constantly testing him, prodding him, needling him.

Whose fault was this then? It was mine. I was naive. I was silly and stupid and
rash and heedless. Did I expect it to be easy? To come without cost? Without
sacrifice? If I let him walk away or push him away now, I was still going to
bleed. The damage was already done. I did need him, needed him like the air I
breathed. He was everything to me. Was my pride really worth this, the loss of
everything I needed?

A shadow darkened the doorway and I raised weepy eyes to him. How long had he
been there, witnessing my turmoil? Could he read my mind? Did he know he'd
already won? I noticed his hands; they were toying with the collar. The shiny
metal band winked and twinkled at me and in that instant, a weird, uneasy peace
settled within me.

"Milord," I wet my lips, stared meaningfully into his eyes, "please, please!" He
inclined his head as if in deep thought, his hands running along the edges of
the collar. My throat was scratchy and raw with need, physical, emotional and
spiritual.

"Please, Milord, please." He started walking forward, his blazing eyes locked
with mine, "Please, I need." I couldn't complete the sentence. I hoped it was
enough, that he understood. "I need."

***

I watched the TV, but my mind was in the other room, on my bound beauty, on the
collar resting on the mantle instead of her neck. I began to doubt everything,
my choices, her, me, the collar, my abilities, her needs, my dominance, her
submission. We couldn't keep going the way we had been. I knew that. Could we
have a vanilla relationship if this didn't work out the way we wanted? Could I
put aside all of my deep longings for control and just be a man? And was that
man enough for her?

I ran a tired hand through my hair. Everything I'd read had not prepared me for
this, had not even come close to describing this mental anguish, the waiting for
her decision to submit or to walk. When did I fall in love with her? What was it
about her that had me in a state of breathless anticipation, which propelled me,
pushed me to this point? She was willful, spirited, stubborn. And I loved her.
Could I let her go?

The minutes dragged painfully by. I wasn't the man she needed. I had failed her,
had failed myself, had failed us. I clicked the television off, rose and picked
the collar up off the mantle. I held it and stroked it sadly. My dreams were
crashing and burning before my very eyes. Would I ever have the courage to
embark upon this journey again? Would I ever be able to free my mind and heart
of her?

She was still whimpering and now it sounded like she was crying as well. It was
time to end this. I couldn't do this to her. It was time to end the pain so we
could start the long road to recovery. It was time. I walked woodenly to the
door, each leaden step reflecting my heavy heart, my sorrowful soul. I hazarded
a look at her. The sight of her tears undid me. I clutched the collar tightly
mourning the fact that it would never grow warm from the heat of her skin, the
fire of her submission to me.

"Please, Milord...please."

Her ragged cries convinced me that ending it was for the best. She didn't
deserve this torment. She tried. So did I. At least we had a few wonderful
months to look back on and smile. Hey, we tried. We gave it our best shot. It
just wasn't meant to be. My head dropped and I stared one more time at the
collar, mourning what could have been, what should have been had God any sense
at all.

"Please, Milord. I need..."

My head shot up and I gaped in shock at her, in disbelief, in hopeful stupor.

"I need..."

Ah, my precious, so do I. My relief, my joy, my awe, my amazement and wonder was
so great, I nearly cried. I had to fight the urge to race to her side and hug
and kiss her. My heart sang, my soul rejoiced and something clicked inside, the
hammer fell and I felt a deep sense of peace, contentment. I began walking
towards her, my steps decidedly lighter. With every breath I took, I felt
confidence surge back into me, buoying my spirit.

"I need." Those two words did something to me, triggered a response on a primal
level. I recognized the need for what it was...I had the same need. She needed
to be mine...I needed to make her mine. The walk to her was short in distance,
but long in mind space.

My face schooled itself into a controlled mask. I felt a renewed sense of
purpose. I was determined, resolute. I knew I was the man she needed. Now it was
her turn...to be the woman I needed.

"I need." Those two words meant the world to me. They were the most precious
words I had ever heard, especially coming from her own two lips. Unfortunately,
they were no longer enough. Nothing less than her all would be enough for
me...not now, not ever again. I was not going to make the mistake of leaving her
enough room to wiggle free. She was mine, dammit! My hands gripped the collar
brutally. I knew it, so did she. Now, she needed to say it, to admit it. I
wanted to hear it. I needed to hear it. I would hear it.

I stood over her, taunting her with the collar. The old me would have coddled
her, comforted her, would have made this easy for her. But he was no more. He
died with those two words, "I need."

"Tell me. What do you need, my slave?"

***

Something had changed in him. I could see it. I could feel it. It cloaked him;
it moved with him, it charged the air around him. My whole body trembled with
whatever it was. I cried softly still, my body shook with pent up need, raw and
powerful. The words, so close to the surface moments ago, got stuck in my
throat. He stood over me, handling the collar that all of a sudden I wanted
desperately about my neck. Subconsciously, I leaned my head to the side and
arched upwards, exposing the pulsing veins just below my ear, just above my
chest.

What do I need? I chuckled on the inside. I thought it was obvious, I knew it
was obvious. Could I do it? Could I say the words? And once spoken, would they
free me? Or damn me? I felt like Moses, climbing Mount Sinai, seeing the burning
bush. I was slowly walking towards it, unable to help myself, despite the
overwhelming awe, the monumental fear, not knowing if I was going to be burned
alive, or be gifted with something miraculous. Angel or demon? Good or bad?
Right or wrong? Which is it? What will it bring? I couldn't stop pressing on,
blind to the danger, heedless of the warning bells, deaf to the voice of
caution; going, walking, onward, forward, embracing the inner turmoil, clutching
the fear, drinking the terror, anticipating, frightened, awed, cowed, thrilled.

I licked my lips. "I need it....Milord." I panted with the effort those words
cost. And sighed and growled in frustration as I watched him set the collar on
the night stand and cross his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed at me and
he lifted a cocky, arrogant eyebrow.

"Not good enough, slave."

My heart jumped in my chest...my stomach clenched. His eyes...his eyes were cold
and dangerous orbs, steely gray, piercing my soul, reading all of my secrets. He
reached between my legs and jerked on the toy lodged deep within. He pumped it
out hard and fast several times...then slowed it...then pumped it hard and fast
again. Over and over he did this until I was on the verge of losing control.

"Don't you even think about it, slave."

How could I not think about it? I was half crazed with need. I was one tick away
from a rollicking climax. I didn't know if I could hold it off. My body was
taut...my breath was a steaming teakettle, hissing loudly, needing to vent. They
were such small words...why was it so difficult?

"Tell me, slut!"

I cringed and howled at the insult...but could neither deny nor control my
body's response to it...to him. It was the small nudge I needed and I climaxed
violently. I couldn't stop it. I was too close. It reached up and grabbed me
before I knew what was happening or how to stop it. It was a brutal orgasm,
painful in its intensity, made more so because I knew that I hadn't permission
and by the time I came down from that momentary high, I was crying, sobbing; I
knew that I had made a terrible misstep.

I had just decided to give him what he wanted from me and my own body betrayed
me, pushed me beyond the boundaries of acceptable behavior. I was never going to
get the collar now. My heartbreak and shame knew no end. I looked up at him,
hoping and praying that he saw that I didn't mean it, that I, in that second at
least, had been trying, had been fighting against myself, my fears, my terror at
loss of self and had been about to give in, to cede the battle, to become the
slave he both wanted and needed. Would I ever be given the chance to do that
now?

I felt the hard smack on my upper thighs and the vicious wrenching of my nipples
before I heard his accusing, biting questions. "What was that? What did you just
take from me?"

I howled in pain as his hand continued to grip and twist my nipples, one after
the other. I stuttered and stammered, my tears and choking apologies and pleads
indecipherable between grunts and groans of sheer pain and shame-induced horror.

"That orgasm belonged to me and you took it without asking. You thief!"

His hand stopped raining blows on my upper thighs and he curled cold and icy
fingers around my still throbbing clit. He pinched it and I felt faint. The
blinding pain as he twisted the sensitive, swollen bud lanced clean through me,
and yet it was no match for the emotional pain of his words, words that he
continued to spew forth in a litany of disappointment, disbelief, anger.

"...you selfish slave....naughty slave....not worth the trouble....should have
known....you always take the easy way out...why do I bother....how dare
you....thief....wretch....slut....whore...."

I was shattering, breaking apart. My tears, a torrential downpour upon my face,
fell unchecked, big, fat drops one after the other, wetting my face, the pillow,
and the beautiful spread beneath me. Despair enveloped me...the collar, now so
close, in my line of sight, was now unreachable, unattainable. I felt everything
light and happy that once was me fade away...emptiness took its place and my
insides became a dark void. I had nothing now. I was nothing....nothing without
him.

Part XII

The look of absolute horror that crossed her face as she climaxed was a knife to
my heart. I had pushed her. I knew that she would fall over the edge. I knew it.
But she needed to feel the utter loss of self-control before I could
proceed...before we could proceed. She just liked to hold onto whatever shreds
of control she could find and I had to take them away. I hated it...I hated
watching her body arch in a pleasure so painfully intense while her face
contorted in a mask of misery and shame. Orgasms were meant to be enjoyed. It
was a hard lesson, but a necessary one.

But I didn't stop there. I couldn't. I punished her, shamed her for taking the
orgasm that I knew I had forced her into and I wasn't nice about it, I wasn't
soft on her. I slapped her, spanked her, wrenched her swollen clit, and pinched
her puckered nipples. Her pained cries, her unceasing tears all begged me to
stop, but I didn't...I couldn't...I wouldn't. My gut caved in on its self, my
heart broke with every humiliated scream that came from her throat. On the
inside, I cried tears of innocence forever lost as I watched, as I listened,
unforgiving, stern, and unrelenting.

I uttered cruel things, cold words. I wasn't conscious of what I said, only the
feelings behind them, inspiring them, propelling them forth. And I knew they hit
their mark. The emotions splayed across her face, a dark mural against her fair
skin. I could feel her agony, taste her shame. This was the final
reckoning...the bridge between the life she knew before, the life we knew
before, and the one where we were heading, the one I truly believed belonged to
us. It was all or nothing. Anything less would have cheated us both. She had to
yield. She had to. Or there was no place for me in her life...and no place in
mine for her.

There comes a point where to do any more defeats the purpose and I had reached
it. My hands left her body and my mouth shut, closing off the stream of ugly
words that had been spewing forth. At this point, she was deaf to them, lost in
her own world, a world where she didn't know the rules, didn't have the power,
the control...defeat was in every line of her body and she was unused to the
feeling. Her screamed torment echoed throughout the room.

"I BEG you....please....please....please forgive me....please forgive
me....please forgive me...."

Her screamed plea slowly lowered in pitch, turning more into an incoherent
babble, desperation coating every syllable and in those two words, "I beg" hope
bloomed eternal. The cracked and broken and despairing manner in which they were
spoken did break my heart, but in as much as it was broken, so too was it
restored and made whole. I reached down and touched her face gently, taking a
seat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes blinked away the tears clouding her vision
and she looked at me.

"Would you like to try this again, my pet?"

A spark flared in her red-rimmed eyes, a flicker, nothing more and then she
nodded her head. My hand drifted from her face, traveled the length of her body
and then upped the vibe's settings, pressing it firmly against the forbidden
sweet spot nestled within her. I turned more fully to face her, holding the
vibrator with one hand, and with the other, I began stroking her body. As
tightly strung as she was, I knew it would not take long, so I took comfort with
my thoughts, with thoughts of our future as I waited for the final capitulation.

***

I jerked at his touch, at his words....a second chance? Could there be such a
thing? Would I really be given a chance to redeem myself? To show him just what
I was made of? Of what I was willing to give him? My heart sang and my spirit
lifted just a bit. I could do this...I really could. I had to. I couldn't let
him walk away without a fight...and a fight it was...a fight against myself,
against all that I knew, against all that I had been taught, a war against my
pride, my ego, my illusions of self respect. It was a fight I had to lose in
order to win.

The vibrator pulsed with a new vigor, it pushed enticingly against my inner
walls, against that spot, that spot that he knew would drive me over the edge.
My heart beat raced and nearly flew out of my chest, more from the prospect of
redemption, of being able to prove myself to him than anything else, than the
speed of the toy lodged within. His hand pressed the toy deep...his
other...stroked me and the fires that were hardly banked, hardly under control
raged and burned unchecked. But that was the point...I was finally beginning to
see that...to understand a small iota of what I was really giving up. I would
not last long...and for once I was grateful.

My body was in a vortex of pure sensation. I had no center save him and I stared
at him through a haze of passion, of receding shame, and a glimmer of hope.
Every moan, every whimper I made drove him into a frenzy, drove him relentlessly
forward, one hand manipulating the vibrator, the other my flesh. I could feel
everything but that moment slip away, nothing mattered except the man next to
me, touching me, wringing response after response from me, nothing mattered
except that crescendo that I was building towards....nothing, not even my pride.

That realization took my breath away. My mouth opened on wordless wonder, my
body arched with the feelings that swamped me, the acceptance of what I was
becoming, the transformation that was taking place. And still, the toy hummed
on, his hands stroking and cajoling my willing body into submission. My desire
to be one with him took care of the rest.

The toy buzzed to greater life and I knew the moment had come...the defining
moment, that moment that would shape all of my tomorrows...shape them...or doom
them. Every nerve ending I possessed screamed for release, glorious and sweet.
Every muscle in my body demanded ease from the strain, from the quivering, the
twitching, the bunching and pulling. There was nothing in me that didn't crave,
that didn't thirst, that didn't need.

"Milord, please...." My throat was dry and my voice sounded scratchy and raw. He
quirked a brow at me but made no other indication that he heard my plea. He
needed more from me. I shattered and splintered and reached for the strength and
courage to give it to him.

"Milord, please...." I licked my lips and looked him in the eyes, the effort
costing me more than I could say, more than I could have ever imagined. "Please,
please, Milord. Please may Your....slave....," The word got stuck at the back of
my throat...I felt the toy pressing deep, wiggling now in and out of me. I heard
my desire slurp and gurgle around the toy's gelatin like surface. I knew what he
needed to hear...and I knew that I needed to say it. I took a deep breath, as
deep as my burning lungs would allow. "Please may your slave...cum."

Tears began falling down my face as the words, as the fully formed plea came out
on a broken gasp. I couldn't deny what he did to me...the dark, hidden longings
he brought out in me. I watched as pride and dignity fled and need and desire
took their place. I couldn't look at him. My eyes fluttered closed. A painful
tightening occurred in my chest, a buzzing in my ears drowned out all other
sound...the bed beneath me disappeared; the walls around me tumbled to the
ground. I was frightened. I was euphoric. I was larger than life...and smaller
than ever.

His face bent down...his eyes hovered a mere heart beat away from mine...the
buzzing in my ears grew louder, the world around me, dimmer...the only
light...the light shining in his eyes. His mouth parted...his tongue peeked out
to wet his lips...and then...they moved...

***

I wasn't sure that my answer registered...but my actions did. I killed the
vibrator pulsing inside of her and removed it with a quick swipe of my hand. The
other hand dropped away from her body as I stood and took a few backward paces.
Her face twisted into an ugly mask...first shock, then hate, primal and dark. A
low, guttural howl of soul deep pain cut through the air, whistling eerily,
completely at odds with the warm and inviting atmosphere of the decadent
chamber.

I knew she didn't understand. I knew she couldn't. The only thing she understood
right then was that she broke, that she had tossed aside her long cherished
pride and submitted. And I had denied her. Me. Her Master had denied her. Her
eyes betrayed her hurt, her anguish, her confusion. I could read the questions
flowing through them easily. Why? Why now? Why when I finally gave you
everything you asked? Everything you needed of me? Why?

In time she would understand, would come to grasp that the control was mine,
that I couldn't and wouldn't be manipulated. She had denied me first, had denied
me all that was mine, had made me question and doubt and ache in pain and
sorrow. Like begets like. I hoped that she would also come to understand that
saying no hurt me as much as it did her. It wasn't the same kind of pain, but it
hurt just the same. She needed this lesson much more than she needed release. I
would help her understand, make her understand. But not now. Not now.

I removed myself from her presence, her choking, gut wrenching sobs too much to
bear and maintain the course I had set. I sat by the fire in the main sitting
area and again contemplated what had brought me here, had brought her to my side
and had now put us both here together. The thoughts were punctuated by her sobs,
her whimpers and the pounding of her heels on the bed in frustration, and both
physical and mental pain.

When the suite grew quiet I rose and went back into the bedroom. I spared a
glance her way to assure myself that she was ok...she was. She watched my every
movement with a mixture of sadness, shame and quite possibly regret. I only
hoped that she was regretting her stubborn pride and not coming to see me. Time
would tell soon enough.

I went to the bathroom and disrobed, stripping down to what God gave me and
chuckled softly as I realized that my passions were still very much unattended
to as well. Hopefully, that would be taken care of in the near future, and
hopefully by the woman that I longed to call slave.

I banked the fire and doused all the lights and candles basking the room in
their warm glow save the one by the bed. The collar, resting there forgotten in
the maelstrom of emotions, caught its dancing light and twinkled. I proceeded to
unchain her, leaving her ankles encased by their supple leather bands but
completely removing the hand cuffs which had held her wrists fast for many
hours. Only a faint red line circled her wrists. The cuffs had not been locked
too tightly and for that I was glad. But I rubbed them briskly anyway, bringing
warmth back to her slightly chilled fingers. I then sat on the edge of the bed
and picked up the collar.

She remained still as a rock, only her eyes moving to follow my actions. I sat
on the edge of the bed cradling the collar in my hands and regarded her.

"You have a better understanding of what this means now, I think."

Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a small "o". Yes, I could see that she
did. Her eyes darted back and forth between mine and the collar I was holding.
Back and forth. I could hear her brain chugging along, trying to process this
information. The heat of her gaze plumbed my depths.

"Will you accept it? Will you wear it knowing all that it entails? Good and bad,
pain and pleasure alike?" The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime out
the hour...

DONG

I held my breath and waited.

DONG

My future rested upon her answer.

DONG

My grip tightened on the collar, my knuckles going white with the force of it.

DONG

I squirmed in my seat.

DONG

My palms grew cold and clammy.

DONG

Sweat broke out along my brow.

DONG

I did something that I hadn't done in ages...I prayed.

DONG

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly.

DONG

My heart stopped in my chest.

DONG

A smile to rival the sun broke out across her face.

DONG

She nodded.

DONG

A new day...a new life.

***

The End.

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