submission, episode one


We have barely touched; never kissed. He stands before me like a mountain as I tremble with heat, excitement, fear, wanting.
This is what I came here for. To be a little afraid. To learn what it is like when sex has an edge. To give up control and learn my own reactions, savor them like a fine wine. And, of course, to please him. I so want to be beautiful and pleasing to his eyes.
My throat is tight and dry, and a little imp in the back of my mind wonders if that’s because all the wetness in my body has moved between my thighs. Normally that would cause me to smile, but not today. Anticipation and fear has frozen my face temporarily into the look of a deer in headlights. I’m sure of it.

“May I have a glass of water? Please?” I murmur, swallowing hard against the emery in my throat. This, too, would buy me an extra moment of normalcy before the insanity to come.
“Yes.” He looks down at me, standing just inches away from his body. “In exchange for your blouse.”
My heart stops with a thud, then picks up its rhythm with added fervour. It begins to pound inside my chest. I wonder if he will be able to see it shaking my breasts after my blouse is removed.
He just stands there and looks at me. It’s hard to think clearly; my mind feels like it’s wading through water. Time has slowed to a crawl and my heartbeat is a clock marking off its passage.
“Do I remove the blouse first?” I’m confused. Water first, or blouse? How am I supposed to know how this works? Never had I been in a situation like this, with a man like this, and I found myself wishing I knew the rules. It doesn’t take long before the little imp whispers to me again, reminding me that he makes the rules. There is no way for me to know other than to experience and find out for myself.
He nods. His face is serious and I wish for a moment that he would smile gently, breaking the tension. But tension is his purpose. He has been so careful with me up until this point – asking if I’m okay, being careful not to make any sudden moves. I know he’s been exerting great control to ensure that nothing overtly frightened me. But it is time assert his dominance and let the game take over. I have to learn. And now it begins.
I lift my trembling fingers to my blouse. My smart-ass mouth quivers with the need to say something, anything, to relieve the weight of the moment. But I know he wouldn’t be pleased. I stay silent, biting my lower lip.
I can feel the heat rising to my face as I begin to slip the buttons from their holes. The first few come undone smoothly, revealing a smooth expanse of pale skin and the generous rise of my breasts in their silky black bra. My eyes are fixed downward, watching my fingers as they work. I’m too embarrassed to lift my eyes to his.
Slowly I pull the blouse from my jeans and release the remaining buttons from their bondage. My chest is rising and falling with my quick, nervous breaths as I slip the cloth from my shoulders. Minutes are marked off by the beating of my heart. I want to look graceful, lovely, but somehow suspect I look awkward and exactly as nervous as I am. The imp in my mind is silent and I raise my eyes slowly to meet his.
His face is expressionless; I have done what he has asked, nothing more. He turns on his heel and walks to the kitchen.
He calls out that all he has is distilled water. I hear his voice as though through a fog, and it takes me a moment to register what he’s said and respond. I call out that distilled is fine. His voice sounds so normal. My own voice sounds pinched and high to my ears.
He hands me the glass of water. I sip it gratefully. Despite my nerves, it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it would be to stand there in bra and jeans. I’m far less anguished than I thought I would be at this point.
He sits on the edge of the bed, and looks at me very seriously again. “Now the pants.”
I reach down and loosen my belt.
“Look at me while you do it.” It’s not a request, it’s an order, and I know it.
It’s harder than I thought, keeping my eyes trained on him while I undress. It increases my embarrassment. Of course, he knows this… that’s why he’s doing it. I slide the jeans down my legs and hop around a bit to remove the socks at the same time. He takes the jeans from me and tosses them on a nearby surface.
I feel like a marionette. It’s a very strange feeling. I’ve never stood and waited for orders before. But it’s not unpleasant. It’s calming and reassuring in a manner that I’ve not ever felt with previous lovers. I know he’s in control. I can concentrate on feeling; someone else is orchestrating this dance.
“The bra.” He hasn’t swayed from his goal. Nothing in his manner would appear to be diverted or distracted by the semi-nudity before him.
I reach behind me to unfasten the clasp. It comes away easily and my breasts swing free to his eyes. I hand him the bra and he tosses it to the side, atop my discarded jeans. I can feel my nipples rising, from cold and from excitement. I blush a little more. Can he see what this is doing to me?
“Turn around.” he orders. Clad only in soft black panties, I follow his bidding. He nudges a directing hand between my thighs. “Open. A little further.”
Shaking, I part my thighs for him. God. Arousal washes over me, flushing my chest a little. I can feel the wetness between my pussy lips. Will he be able to see?
“Now the panties.”
How do the strippers do it? I try to remember as I bend from the waist, sliding my panties over my hips and down my legs. Thinking of the view I must be presenting to him makes my cheeks redder. I slide the panties over my feet and toss them onto the pile of clothing myself.
He’s silent for many long minutes, running his hands over my skin, inspecting me. I’ve never had a lover inspect me so thoroughly. He turns me a little here, a little there, his eyes cataloguing every surface, every feature. It’s arousing and astounding. What nervousness I have left, for the most part, drains away as he looks at me. Strangely, being undressed feels most natural, more so than any other time in my life.
Finally, he speaks. He stands so his body, still fully dressed, brushes against mine. I can feel his cock, hard beneath the zipper of his pants. “I’m pleased.” he says, looking at me still with that serious look on his face. “I’m very pleased.”
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me, hard, a mingling of tongues that makes me breathless.
I feel something race across my skin that feels very close to joy; I’ve pleased him. Even as inexperienced as I am I have pleased him. This means more than I had ever imagined.
Read part two »

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Vikki McKay
By Vikki McKay

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