Origins

While this should more than likely serve as the conclusion to the story, I fear that it will not be read if written as such. And being the sort of story that it is, I suppose the greatest hope is that it will not be finished, unless out of curiosity and with a sense of carnal completion, so to speak.

This is a love story. It's neither chaste nor gentle, is messy and often brutal, and its completion is uncertain. My experiences are not contrived; what you will read is my life, as best I can articulate it. There are no beautiful sunsets, no family-style restaurants. This is the truth, with all of its failings and untidiness. But do not doubt that what you read is a love story, and one of the greatest sort.

As horrid and trite as it sounds, Knox and I met online in the early summer of 2002 in a bondage forum. We began email correspondence shortly thereafter and within two weeks had exchanged photographs. I was pleased with His appearance, brown hair, slightly gray around the temples, strong build, a rugged look about Him—everything I had envisioned my Dominant to be. We were soon talking by phone most days, and I looked forward to our meeting with excitement and a fair bit of apprehension. He spoke to me as none had before, and while the conversations often had an intense sexual tension, we never had "phone sex." Rather, we spoke of our thoughts regarding Dominance and Submission, our mutual attraction for the psychological control and our mutual disdain for purely physical scening and temporary play. He did ask, after a while, that I address Him as Sir, which was oddly strange and very difficult for me. As submissive as I knew I was, it was a very unsettling thing to say.

After this sort of exchange for about three months, we decided a visit was in order, and as I have a roommate, determined that it was best and more practical for me to come to Him. So on a Friday in August, I drove the hour and a half to his town, where I waited for him outside a local bookstore. I sat outside the store, wearing simply jeans and a brown sweater, chained smoked, and talked on my cell phone to a friend for about ten minutes, worried that He had changed His mind. A call from Him interrupted and He told me that He had been there for over thirty minutes, sitting in His car, just watching. He only commented on the number of cigarettes I had smoked. As I tried to nonchalantly look for His car, feeling rather foolish, I saw Him walking toward me from the parking lot. He was wearing gray slacks and a white buttoned-down dress shirt and had a slight smile on His face. I stood to meet Him, unsure what to do—do we shake hands? Hug? Rather, He said, "Hello Emma," and walked past me to open the door into the store, where I followed Him, somewhat taken aback, to the coffee counter. He proceeded to order lattes, decaf for me, and then led me back outside to a table.

I sat hesitantly across from Him, looking into my coffee.

"Was the ride up ok?" He asked.

"Yes, it was fine. I actually didn't get lost," I replied, smiling at Him.

He looked at me pointedly and frowned. "Excuse me?"

"The ride was fine," I repeated.

"I understood your answer the first time," He said, "but you are to use 'Sir' when addressing me. I will not repeat myself. Is this understood?"

I nodded my assent, again studying my coffee, and mumbled, "yes, Sir."

Knox leaned forward and proceeded to elucidate His instructions for the rest of the weekend. He explained that I was not to speak unless spoken to, that I was to keep my eyes lowered (which was a most welcome instruction as it seemed natural and the easiest thing to do) in His presence, and that I was not allowed to sit on any furniture, unless given other instruction.

As He talked, the realization of my situation became clearer to me, and while I was unsettled, to say the least, I felt somewhat strangely comforted. The rules were clear, as were His expectations. At this point I had drank about half of my latte and felt the effects. He stood, ready to leave, and I asked if I could be excused for a moment.

"Why?" Knox asked.

"To go to the restroom, Sir," I said softly.

He leaned in close. "Does the little cunt have to pee?" He said.

I swallowed hard, my eyes closing slowly then opening. "Yes, Sir."

He nodded and put his hand on the back of my neck. "Not now. You may when we get home." With that, He led me to His car, an older BMW. Opening the door, He instructed me to sit with my hands together against my lower back. As He slid into the driver's seat, He leaned over disapprovingly. Putting His hand between my knees, he opened my legs slightly.

"You are never to completely close your legs." Moving His hand to my face, "or your mouth. To remind you that you're available to me whenever I wish." I parted my lips slightly, to which He simply replied, "lovely."

I don't remember much of the ride. It was short, and Knox had Iztak Pearlman on the CD player. I know for certain that my stomach was rather in knots, but it comforted me when He occasionally touched my hair or leg. As apprehensive as I was, I was never truly afraid.

We reached the house, a lovely but unobtrusive two-story brick, and He led me through the front door into the foyer. Without pretense He told me where the bedroom was, and directed me to completely undress for His inspection. I did so shakily, folding my jeans and sweater, and stood nervously, my hands clasped together in front of me, watching the door. He entered and without looking at me pointed to the bathroom. I sighed with relief and went in, closing the door.

"I didn't say that you were allowed to close that." He said loudly from the next room.

I opened the bathroom door and went to the toilet, my face hot from the thought of Him hearing me. He didn't comment further, so I went, as quietly as I thought possible, washed my hands and returned to the bedroom, where He was removing His watch at the dresser.

"Go to the bed and lie down on your back, arms at your sides." He said, still not looking at me.

I did so, trembling as He walked over, still fully dressed. He sat down beside me, and I closed my eyes as He smoothed my hair away from my face. Running his hands down in-between my breasts, He laughed softly, "Well, you certainly didn't misrepresent yourself, did you? They are quite…small."

I flinched inwardly at His comments as Knox moved His hand softly and slowly around my breasts. Without warning He took my left nipple tightly between His forefinger and thumb, "But these are rather large, aren't they?"

Opening my eyes at the rough touch and question, I looked up at Him.

"Aren't they?"

"Yes, Sir." I responded, as He pinched harder.

He continued, squeezing my nipple tighter until I moaned softly. He then released it, but quickly moved onto the other breast, kneading it roughly, twisting my nipple as I clenched my hands next to me.

"I will very much enjoy hurting these," He said as He continued the unimpeded abuse, "That is what they are intended for. You do understand that, I know. Your tits, these nipples, your cunt and asshole, all designed for my pleasure."

I nodded slightly, and realized that I had been making small whimpering noises, partly out of fear, partly out of the pain He was inflicting. And yet—I made no move to leave, showed no sign of resistance to His actions.

"Spread your legs. Wider. Now bend your knees slightly." He said, standing and moving to the armoire. I did so, embarrassed, my nipples aching from His touch, my legs shaking from uncertainty. He came back to the bed and without a word attached nipple clamps to my already throbbing breasts, adjusting their tightness to an almost unbearable point. He took the chain between them to my lips and instructed to hold it there in my mouth. I took it between my teeth gingerly as holding it caused my nipples to stretch painfully.

He moved away from me again, toward my still spread legs. "Do not let that fall out of your mouth."

"Now, I'm going to examine your pussy," He explained as His hands touched the inside of my thighs, "Spread your legs wider."

I tried to do so, my legs aching, but wanting to please Him.

"Good girl. Just a bit wider."

I moaned through my teeth and did so, feeling as if I were going to split, the cool air of the room making me shiver slightly. His hands went to my cunt, spreading it open obscenely, and I involuntarily closed my legs a bit. Knox immediately slapped my leg, hard, causing me to pull on the chain attached to my nipples. Tears filled my eyes as I struggled to open my legs wide enough again.

As He opened me again, I froze, trying to overcome the intense feelings of shame and embarrassment. "This," He said, running His finger up and down my cunt, "is no longer yours to concern yourself with. It belongs to me, and is mine to use as I see fit. There is nothing to discuss, nothing to struggle with. If you accept that, and realize that there simply is no choice for you to make, it will go much easier for you."

Knox continued to rub my increasingly wet pussy, stopping occasionally to tug on or tap my clit. He inserted a finger slowly into me, moving it around. He added another, and I groaned at the pressure. With two fingers in my cunt, His other hand roughly manipulated my clit, and I felt, astonishingly, an orgasm building. He, however, abruptly stopped, removing His fingers and leaving me with an intense frustration.

Moving back up the bed, He took the chain from my mouth and removed both clamps. As the blood rushed back into my nipples I closed my eyes tightly. He rubbed my face with His thumb, knowing my discomfort.

"Get on your hands and knees, face on the bed."

I looked at Him questioningly, and He slapped my face. Hard. "Do it now."

With my cheek stinging, and close to tears, I quickly moved onto my knees, ass in the air, and waited for what He would do. He sat on the edge of the bed, and ran His hands over my upturned ass, moving His fingers up and down the crack. I didn't know what to do; I was afraid, to move, to object, to obey. And yet, I remained still, allowing Him access, as I began to understand that He was right. I belonged to Him and He would do as He desired, regardless of my will.

I felt a cold glob of something, and knew His intentions as He began to push His finger into my asshole.

"Shhh…be a good girl. Relax and push back against my finger. That's it."

He continued to push, and I began to cry and tried to do as He had said. It felt, it felt, like immense pressure. I was more humiliated, both by His words and actions, than hurt. When He removed His finger, I felt relieved, yet oddly empty, although He was to remedy that.

Again I felt the pressure, but this time from something larger. "This, Emma, is your plug. I'm going to put it in your ass, and you will wear it often, and it will remind you of your position and your ownership."

He pushed the plug into me insistently as I tried to accommodate it, still crying. He moved it in a bit, pulled it back, and then pushed it a bit farther until it was entirely inside me.

"Stand up."

I stood, feeling as if I had to keep my legs open a bit because of the invading plug. He led me into the living room, where I stood unsurely as He turned on the television and sat on the couch.

"Go to the corner and stand with your feet a foot away from the wall."

I did so, shaking, my tears drying on my face.

"Now lean forward slightly. That's right. Nose into the corner. You look like such a little slut, your buttplug showing between those legs."

And that is how I stood, uncomfortably, for His pleasure. Naked, humiliated at the position and openness, my nose against the wall, the plug displayed to Him.

This is the end of the first chapter. It does continue rather nicely, and I'd be happy to share if so desired.