Enslaving You

I’m sitting on the porch as you pull into the driveway.

After several emails we are meeting for the first time. I ask if you are sure; you say yes.

Once inside I instruct you to remove your clothes, fold them neatly and place them on the far end of the futon. Then to come and kneel before me with your head bowed.

For a time I merely watch you on your knees as you strive to cope with excited uncertainty.

I have your close your eyes and tell me of your long suppressed desires for submission and even pain. Your voice is jerky; often your sentences veer out of control. To confess is difficult yet wonderful.

Without prelude I slap your cheek. Not hard but the act itself is enough to shock you. Your head jerks up and you stare at me with wide glistening eyes.

Firmly I take your head and force it back down. My fingers play across the back of your ear as I ask you if you don’t really want to be a good boy, an obedient boy. You shiver. Not from cold, nor from fear. It is the thrill of your first taste of self-realization.

And so begins a long afternoon on the day I enslave you.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.