My first submissive experience is tonight. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I still can’t believe I want this. How has two weeks changed so much about what I know of myself? The woman who wants this isn’t me, and yet she is. Or maybe it’s because of who he is? Had any other man presented this to me, I would have laughed. He’s sunk deep into my body and soul and stirred something molten and thick with possibilities outside my realm of full understanding.
He’s invited me to his home and will send a car to pick me up, because he said as “his” (like he owns me), I wouldn’t be taking trolleys to the places I needed to go. My objection was waved away and he made himself clear: When I am his, I will be taken care of. There was no “if” to his statement. His desire to own me scares me more than the unknowns of a BDSM relationship. I’ve only depended on one person in my life, my mother, who not only died, but betrayed me in ways that still cut deep.
The choice to get into the car and come to him was mine, he’d said. I had to make the decision, knowing what waited for me. Knowing the instant I crossed the entryway, I was under his control.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Last night was amazing. When the car came, I was taken to a spa instead of his house. I had my hair and makeup done, plus a full wax. He even had a dress there waiting for me. Red, short, clingy. No panties or bra allowed underneath, per his note in the box. Also per the note, the driver would give me the choice when I returned to the car to either go home to my apartment or go to him. There was no question in my mind: I was going to him.
I remember settling into the comfort of the soft leather seat and how shockingly aroused I was, just imagining what my submissive experience might be like. My thighs had been slick, my nipples tight and tingling. It really was an insane reaction when I hadn’t even made it to his home yet.
Once I was there, my adventure truly began. He opened the door and his presence slid over me, wickedly hot and powerful, washing away the coldness of the night. He wore soft faded jeans and a T-shirt. His feet were bare, as if he was ready to be naked in a flash. I wanted him to be naked in that moment. I think I always want him to be naked.
He motioned me inside and I stepped over the entryway. He shut the door behind me, but didn’t touch me. Instead he stepped in front of me again, and his gaze swept my scantily clad body, lingering on my tightly puckered nipples, male appreciation glowing from the depths of his gaze.
When his eyes lifted to mine again, he said, “Last chance to back out.”
I lifted my chin and met his stare. “I don’t want to back out.”
Satisfaction slid over his face. “Then there are rules.”
“Rules?” My knees were liquid, my body one big, eager nerve ending. I wanted his rules. I can’t explain why. I don’t understand why.
“Rules,” he confirmed. “To start, you don’t speak unless I ask a question. You don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do. You do exactly what I say you do. Normally, I would say I’ll also do anything I wish to you, but until we have an agreement with your limits, I’ll refrain from going places I might otherwise go.”
Some part of me rebelled. This isn’t me. I don’t get commanded by anyone but myself. But it was me.
“Understand?” he asked.
“Yes.” I couldn’t keep the tremble from my voice.
“If at any point you want to stop, say ‘Stop,’ but mean it if you say it. If you tell me to stop, I will. ‘Stop’ tells me you are at your limit. Or you can choose another word.”
I nodded. I did want another word. “I think . . . I might say stop by accident.”
“Then choose a word.”
I hadn’t had a clue what to choose, and he seemed to sense that because he said, “Red. That’s your safe word until you choose another. Say it and I stop.”
“Yes.”
He’d studied me so long and so intently that it was all I could do not to scream at him to speak. And finally he did. “Get on your knees.”
I blinked at him, a bit taken aback, but I did as he ordered.
“Unzip my pants and suck me.”