‘Here is what you’ll do. When we get to my floor, the seventeenth, I will release you and step out of the elevator. You are then free to take the car down again and yourself out of my grasp forever. You know as well as I do what choice you will make.’
I should laugh at him. Then the elevator stops, he releases me and steps out without looking at me.
He does what he said he would do. It is only when the lift doors close and separate us – almost – that I decide I will accept my fate and follow him. I quickly order the doors open again and then freely trail his back by some twenty paces, finally following him into his apartment.
His world! The apartment is furnished simply, but with immaculate taste. The dominating colours are black, white, red and chrome. A few chamber palms in red pots scattered around the hallway and living room present the only different tones. Three large-size black & white Helmut Newton photographs form the only decoration. I am well familiar with Newton’s work and have admired the women, the men and the general mood. Without exception they show Newton’s trademark stark-naked women in urban settings, accompanied by men wearing evening clothes and studiously ignoring the women. Then I spot it; one of the men is he. I might just have seen him before we even met!
He surprises me yet again by greeting me with a warm smile. Why this rollercoaster and why do I put up with it? A broad welcoming gesture by his left arm invites me to sit down on the settee.
His voice, only now… ‘A drink, surely? What can I get us? May I suggest champagne?’
My voice is so small… ‘Yes, I’d like that.’ My power of speech reduced… I am a girl again. He is playing a game. My subconscious realises this but I can only play along. His rules.
He leaves, fetches an ice bucket with a bottle and two glasses and sits down beside me. I watch his actions, as if we are in a film. The lover uncorking the dripping bottle with a bang! A metaphor for what will happen later, I hope. The stuff films are made of. A man who looks at me sweetly hands me a glass. We toast and drink.
Gradually I thaw and reconnect with him as the man on the night we met. Our conversation continues where we left off and I rediscover my original attraction and a hint of my self-assurance. We shall fuck later… In this mood I finish the bottle with him. I am doubly intoxicated and ready to reap what I sowed…
He gets up, my heart jumps and I follow suit. He says, in a soft, low but clear voice, ‘No, on your knees.’
I am shocked back into fear…
‘Please, I beg you… Kiss me and take me! Simply take me! I am yours to take.’
My eyes look up to his. I don’t see a smile, see no irony. I don’t see anger either. Above all, I see authority, one that leaves no room for hesitation. A calm authority that has no need to use force to make me stay and do as he commands.
‘On your knees,’ he merely whispers. I find myself getting on my knees and see him undo his trousers. They fall to his knees, as do his underpants. There is no doubt about what he wants, but I have become a statue, tight with nerves. The thought drifts by that I must be disappointing him. Like a virgin, unsure what to do.
His suddenly booming voice shatters me, ‘Now, you slut, take my cock and do the business. You have no choice in the matter and will comply and please me, you hear?!’
I tremble as I reach out and take his cock, still half-limp and quite small. I uncertainly start massaging his cock, which grows all the same and becomes a more formidable member. I open my mouth, yet still hesitate… He then grabs the back of my head and thrusts his cock forward into my mouth, all the way to the back, my lips touching his pubic hair. I almost gag and lose it. Then I shock into action and get a grip, drawing on the significant experience that I possess after all. I do the magic with my tongue, my lips, my nimble fingers, sucking, stroking, handling his balls… until with a mighty burst he ejaculates in my mouth. Once again, I have to brace myself not to gag.
We are a double statue for a minute, he, with his eyes closed and head thrown back, and I, holding his balls and cock, which slowly grows flaccid and shrinks small.
He moves and pushes me off. I see him turn his back to me and readjust his clothing. Without looking at me he says, ‘Now go. A taxi is waiting for you.’
I cast him a look, conclude that there are no options and then get up and go without a word, tears welling up. I am his and will sing to his tune now. I want to stay. I want to be loved, cuddled, kissed, fucked here and now and to stay with him, but accept that he lays down the law, not I.
Do you understand this, my old friend?
At the end of the day, this is why. Because I am hooked on him now and feel I’d perish without him. I trust him to love me and cuddle and fuck me, when he sees fit. Or declines to do so.
This marked the start of our power exchange relationship. I would see him several times a week, evenings and nights, whilst continuing my courses and social life as normal.
The universe was waiting for a sign.
THE CEREMONY AND TWO WITNESSES
He made his move on a Monday, this last Monday. Approximately three months after we started our relationship. I prefer to use that word, rather than ‘dating’. That sounds frivolous and gay.
We saw each other mostly at his home. Never at mine. Only occasionally we went to social occasions together. Once or twice, we met friends of his, to whom I was simply introduced as ‘my new girl.’ I didn’t notice any meaningful glances passing between Him and his friends.
This last Monday, we were together talking, me at his feet, naked, when he said he wanted me to be his full-time slave and explained in broad terms what that meant.
Did I expect it? I cannot say ‘no’. Yet the gravity of the suggestion astounded me all the same. The deal was: ‘All or nothing.’ ‘Nothing’, to say goodbye to him and let go of my love for him, was unthinkable, worse than death. ‘All’, to give my all to him, body and soul, to possess, use, share at will, his will, in keeping with or against my will, my only rights being to be well cared for or to walk away from him forever… This ‘All’ was so radical!
Our relationship had in effect become true BDSM. I was still a fashion student, however, and away from his side a fair bit. Above all, there was always the illusion that I could modify the nature of our relationship or tell him, ‘No, not today, dear. I am tired and want to sleep.’ Or ‘No, my love, I am meeting a friend at the movies tonight.’ Or ‘I have fallen out of love with you. Let’s stay friends.’
He saved me having to decide there and then, but allowed me a couple of days to think it over, talk to some friends, until Thursday night, 20:00. I was not allowed to see him during those few days. The longest time I had not seen him ever since we started out. I was beside myself.
Those couple of days were hard. I talked to a few of my closest friends, all of whom were aware of the kinky nature of my relationship with him. Well, bondage and accepting pain were all the rage, a common way to sexually play. In fashion dressing rooms, quite public spaces, I had seen girls point out welts or bruising with pride, before being camouflaged with make-up. None of my friends, however, had ever imagined the ultimate consequence: absolute submission. (Like me! It sounds silly, but neither had I.)
There were those who would not try to understand me and distil what really was right for me. All they could do was argue against it. ‘Giving yourself up, passing your destiny to another, when you are only twenty-two with a world of opportunities ahead of yourself, becoming effectively a prisoner, a puppet of a sadist no less, a plaything of his every whim, robbed of any will of your own, a thing…!’ A thing, they were right. But they were wrong as well.
Some of my friends understood me and who I was. A submissive, born to serve a man as a Master, to make the ultimate sacrifice, to even suffer for him, not for the purpose of rescuing him or any such emergency, but simply because it would please him…
Anyway, I thought, what value is that ‘will of my own’? As if I had great plans or ideas for myself and my future. But my motivation was not simply selfless. Passing control over to him, being restrained, being chastised turned me on, the pain had become addictive. I got off on his ways, OK? Ecstasy and fulfilment though annihilation and denial and other paradoxes. Ach, those rationalisations…
Those other friends then, they listened to what I said and really wanted and helped me reach the obvious decision and formulate the answer to his question. ‘Yes, I will.’
He had instructed me to call him Thursday night, 20:00, and declare my ‘yea or nay’ once and for all.
My best friend holds my hand as I call him. She has seen me through the evening in a see-saw state of elation or distress. I know what I want. Of course, I know what I want. It is inescapable. But it is like having to pass through death in order to be reborn.
I am relatively calm when I finally dial his number. Almost… almost done!
His voice: ‘My dear, it is you. I cannot assume what you will answer. This is not the time to pressure you. So, I ask you, humbly for once, my dear, will you accept me as the Master of your body, mind and soul for as long as we chose, on the solemn condition that I will respect and sustain you? My dear, please tell me, what is your answer?’
I grasp my friend’s hand and she presses firmly back.
My voice: ‘Yes, I will! I will accept you as my Master and be your slave, 24/7.’
It is done. My heart jumps.
Leave a Reply