An Old Friend Ch. 02

Bow. Kneel. Obeisance. Worship.

Every Wednesday I performed each of them, one by one, dutifully, humbly, trembling in embarrassment before serving Megan. Each week, a minute or two of humiliating devotion, a moment of setting aside my dignity, and the day was transformed, was somehow timeless. The house, Megan's house, the house Megan shared with Kyle and their kids, it became a sort of shrine. And Megan was transformed too. Somehow, she became a kind of goddess.

After a couple weeks, Megan assumed I knew what to do, and how to behave, and left me to serve her more independently. Sitting at the kitchen table, or in a chair in the great room, she occasionally checked in on me, otherwise working at her laptop. Meanwhile, I worked alone, knowing Megan might be checking on me, silently, at any time.

I scrubbed her toilet. I washed her windows. I changed the sheets on Megan's bed - on Megan and Kyle's bed. I dusted. I vacuumed. I did all of her family's laundry, washing, drying, folding, putting away. I scrubbed the baseboards.

After a month or two, Megan began trusting me to cook for her. It started simply, putting together a simple salad, or making a savory sandwich. Eventually, I was using the oven. Every time, my reward came as Megan ate. I lifted each dish toward her, waiting until she took it from me. I waited patiently on my knees beside Megan, tending to her every need, as she otherwise ignored me. I tried my best to feel pride in my submission, in how thoroughly I oriented every action, every thought, completely around Megan.

Late afternoons were wonderful. I looked forward to my time kneeling naked before Megan, telling her in more and more intimate detail how I felt, the roller coaster of emotions that serving her aroused in me. I detailed my emotional life outside her house, the impact that serving her, even once a week, had on the rest of my life. I listened to her advice, her admonitions, her orders, telling me how she expected me to conduct myself, even outside her presence. Megan intrusively asked about every sexual thought, every act of self-stimulation, gradually taking more and more control, telling me exactly when and how I was allowed to pleasure myself, and more often, what was off limits.

Some days I was sent home directly. Others, I was allowed to place my face to the floor in front of Megan, thanking her out loud, over and over, for allowing me to enter her presence and serve her, praising her as I did so, telling her out loud how wonderful I thought she was. I lived for the occasions, every couple months or so, when I was again allowed to lie flat before Megan, wordlessly kissing the ground beneath both of her shoes, in abject blissful adoration.

As time goes by, however, it's easy to become complacent. Laziness creeps in. One Wednesday morning, I went through the motions of bowing, kneeling, obeisance and worship. I obeyed Megan's orders instinctively, but casually.

"Yes, Megan," as she ordered me to sweep the garage.

"Yes, Megan," as she told me to rearrange the dishes in the cabinets.

I hadn't disobeyed her. I'd never, ever disobeyed her. But I wasn't completely there. My mind was back in bed, or on a project I was working on at work, or for awhile, something I'd been watching on TV. I never thought she'd notice. I did everything exactly as Megan had ordered. But a voice, a posture, a way of moving, these can give away the game.

Megan sensed it, and I was in trouble.

I should have remembered Megan's words that first time I'd served her. She had told me that attitude was extremely important to her. I should have kept it in mind always. Instead, mine was slipping.

"Chris, all the laundry needs to be put away before lunch."

I sighed. I didn't think it was loud, or even noticeable, but I sighed. "Yes, Megan." I was probably mumbling. Turning toward the laundry room, I was shocked by the sound of Megan's palms slapping the table, hard. Turning around, I saw that she had stood, quickly.

"Follow me. RIGHT now."

Megan was pissed. Her face was red, and she huffed, letting out a loud breath.

"Y-yes, Megan." I was scared. I'd never seen her lose control of herself.

Megan stomped down the stairs, and I followed behind at a slight distance. Along the edge of the basement was a long folding table, piled with fabric samples that Megan had been organizing for some project. With one swipe of her arm, she sent them all to the floor.

"Get your ass up here. Face down on the table."

"Yes, M..."

"NOW!!!!!"

I was scared. Immediately, I climbed up onto the table, and laid face down.

"Hands folded behind your back, Chris. Right. Now."

I obeyed. As soon as I did so, I felt Megan's hand on the back of my slave panties, and in one hard pull, she yanked them down, pulling until they were around my knees. I was so scared that it didn't occur to me that she had flirted with breaking the unbreakable rule - absolutely no touching each other.

Megan stormed off, and quickly returned holding a menacingly large wooden spoon. As soon as she reached the table, I felt my left butt cheek lit up in agony.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK!!!!

I squealed in pain. Oh holy shit it hurt.

CRACK!!! A pause. CRACK CRACK!!!

I heard Megan sigh, deep and long. She was beyond angry.

"Is there somewhere else you'd rather be, Chris?"

"No, Megan..." I heard my voice crack, puny and almost tearful as I spoke.

"Is serving me less important than anything else on your mind?" Megan wad mad, but it was more than that. She sounded genuinely hurt.

"No, Megan..."

CRRRACCK!!!!! I actually sobbed out loud for a second. CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!!! My right buttock was starting to feel just like the left, agony on both sides.

"I thought you understood, Chris."

CRRAAACCCKK!!!

"I thought you got it, how important your attitude and presentation were. How absolute devotion to me, commitment to pleasing me, that's what I get out of this. It turns me on. I thought you knew."

CRRAACK!!! CRAAACK! CRACCCCK!!!!!

"Your attitude, it's like a slap in my face, Chris. It's insulting. Is there something more important to you than serving me?"

"N-nn-nnn no, Megan."

I was sobbing.

Another flurry of swats as Megan paddled my ass, harder and harder, and then I heard a loud crack as Megan slapped the end of the table with the spoon, then a thump as she threw it on the ground.

"You're done for today. You won't be back next week either. I'll call you if I decide to let you serve me again. Now get out."

"Yes, Meg..."

"Get! Out!"

Later, at home, I lay face down on my own bed, crying. My ass still ached, but that wasn't the problem. I was devastated. How had I let this happen? I'd had something wonderful, something fulfilling, something I couldn't even begin to describe to someone who didn't get it. And I'd ruined it. How could I ever have been so stupid?

I hoped and prayed that she would call. I didn't sleep. Wednesday came and went, and I spent it at home, pining for Megan. I wanted so badly to serve her, to submit to her, to let her control me. It scared me how much I needed this.

At work, I was a nervous wreck. I had to force myself to concentrate. At home, I felt like I was wasting away, pining for Megan. I kept checking my phone, making sure she hadn't called. The following Wednesday came and went without any word from Megan.

Saturday morning, I was horny. I needed to jerk off. The problem was, Megan hadn't given me permission. Over the last few months she'd taken more and more control, demanding to know exactly when I pleasured mysef, and how. She had recently started demanding that I restrain myself, except for the weeks she said it was OK.

"Not this week, Chris." Or another time, "Nope. You need to wait a little longer." Once it had been "No squirts this week. You're not allowed." And on a rare occasion Megan would say something like "OK Chris, you may squirt. One time only. On Sunday. At 8AM."

Was I allowed now? Did she still expect me to wait? I had no idea what was going on, and I wouldn't until Megan decided to call me. That Saturday morning, though, I couldn't hold out any longer.

I knew it would be hopeless to try to fantasize about ordinary sex, with anyone. My mind just wasn't in the right place. So that Saturday morning, I stripped naked, and walked to the kitchen.

I bowed, imagining Megan standing before me. I knelt. I bent forward in obeisance, pressing my face to the floor meekly. I remembered Megan's words, what this position was all about. I imagined her voice, casually telling me "I'm better than you."

Finally, I descended to the worship position, flat against the floor, arms outstretched, palms flat on the linoleum. I remained there for a long time, imagining Megan, meditating on Megan, being thankful for Megan.

She was so amazing. Beautiful, smart, confident, talented, sweet. It was a privilege even to know her. I reminded myself how lucky I was even to have been allowed to serve her, and hoped it might happen again. I wanted so badly to place myself before her, submit to her, obey her, show her how much I adored her. Megan was the sun around which my world revolved.

Megan. The thought of her was becoming too much. I started stroking against the floor, keeping my arms out in front of me. I imagined Megan standing in front of me, fully clothed, just watching me, and as my cock rubbed against thr floor I felt myself spurting, exploding, wave after wave of pleasure, as I tensed, eyes closed, my feet squirming and gripping against nothing, against air, my mouth gasping into the floor, arms tensing while keeping my palms hard against the floor, and it kept coming, beautiful feeing of ecstasy, surrendering to it, swallowed by it, fully alive.

I was sticky. Breathing hard, I came down from the experience, feeling the first waves of embarrassment, of self-awareness, of queasy regret.

An orgasm, in the midst of a submissive reverie, can be powerful but crushing. Normally, I feel debased, humiliated, and awkward after it's over. Now, I just lay in my semen, against the hard floor. I felt ashamed, sure. But I was starting to feel something different than what I normally felt after a submissive fantasy inspired climax. Submitting to Megan wasn't something to be ashamed of. I remained in the worship position, and took a deep breath. I stayed there. I made an affirmative decision to stay there, in continued adoration of Megan, who I still imagined standing over me, watching me, controlling me.

For at least an hour, I stayed. I tried to order my mind, to get a grip on my attitude. Being allowed to serve Megan was the best thing that had happened to me. I hoped she would take me back. I wanted nothing more. Whatever she expected of me, whatever she did to me, I would accept it, and accept it eagerly.

I remained, god knows how long, unmoving, until my phone started ringing. I pushed myself up, walked to the table, and looked at it.

Megan.

I took a huge breath, shook in almost a giddy sense of expectation, and answered.

"Hello, Megan!"

"Hi Chris."

A long pause. It seemed weird being naked and sticky with cum, even though Megan couldn't see me. Suddenly realizing I should do everything I could to maintain the right attitude, I knelt.

"Has your attitide improved, Chris?"

"Yes, Megan. I've been thinking every day about how thankful I've been for the privilege of serving you."

"Good boy."

"I'm so sorry for how I acted, Megan. I can't begin to tell you how much I regret it. I apologize, from the bottom of my heart."

"OK then. I trust you're being honest with me. I'll see you Wednesday."

"Thank you, Megan!!! Thank you!"

Wednesday couldn't come soon enough.

Early morning, the following Wednesday, having hardly slept, I stood in my bedroom. Alyson's photo, framed on the dresser, stared back at me. What would she think of all this? She'd thought the idea of submission, even a little bit, was sort of disgusting. I looked down at the floor. It didn't matter - Alyson was gone. I'd started to realize that, had she lived, I would have had to find some sort of outlet for my submission, regardless. It was just too strong in me.

I would always love Alyson, and I missed her tremendously. She and I had a good marriage - a partnership of equals. But I knew, somehow, that I would never have that again. I needed to submit to someone who wasn't my equal. I had to give myself to someone greater than me. This was clearer than ever. It was hard to describe, but I needed it.

The drive that morning was just like the first. I was scared. Inside Megan's house, stripping naked, I shook. Waiting in the kitchen, I squirmed.

Finally stepping into the kitchen, I was just as nervous as that first day. Oh god this felt weird, all over again. After a long wait, Megan stepped into the kitchen and stood before me, silent and serious. I bowed, deep and still.

"Don't count to ten, Chris. Count to one hundred."

"Yes, Megan."

I obeyed eagerly, even as my thighs ached. Holding my bow so long, trembling in submission to Megan, I felt like I was home.

Kneeling, I counted to one hundred. It felt so good to be allowed to kneel before this incredible woman. Eyes cast toward the floor, to Megan's aqua colored tennis shoes, I breathed deeply. Obeisance, and I counted to one hundred. Megan is better than me. Of course she is. Finally, worship. I waited for Megan's voice, adoring her in my mind.

She left me waiting, in the worship position, for so very long. Finally, she squatted near my head, and spoke softly, in nearly a whisper.

"I expect so much better from you today."

"Yes, Megan."

"New rule. After you perform a task, you need to thank me."

"Yes, Megan."

This change had an amazing effect on my attitude. Throughout the day, after working hard on a task Megan had ordered me to do, I'd present myself to her, kneel before her, and head bowed, offer my thanks.

"Thank you Megan, for allowing me to wash your dishes."

"Thank you Megan, for allowing me to clean your bathroom."

"Thank you Megan, for allowing me to vaccum the cars in the garage."

Each offer of gratitude went unanswered. Never did I hear a "you're welcome." A few times, Megan simply ordered me to do my next chore. Other times, she simply ignored me until she was ready to give an order.

By the end of the day, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay there forever, serving Megan forever. Nevertheless, at the usual time, I was summonned to the kitchen floor before Megan. After stripping off my slave panties, I knelt.

"Much better attitude today, Chris. You behaved like you know your place."

"Thank you, Megan."

"I have to be honest. These weeks were hard on me, too. And Chris, I have to tell you something."

"Megan?"

"If we're going to keep this up, Chris, it can't stay so secret. I need friends to help process all this. So some people are going to know."

I took a very deep breath, and probably looked suddenly pale. I felt a sense of panic closing in.

"Don't worry, not everyone, not even that many. But I need some support. So I'm going to tell Danae. And I'm going to tell Ashley."

Danae. Ashley. Two friends, women that I knew, women that Alyson and I had known. They were going to know all about this. I felt more humiliated than I had in a very long time.

"Is this a little bit embarrassing to you, Chris?"

"Yes, Megan. Very, very humiliating. They'll KNOW. They'll..."

"Kyle already knows. And they won't tell anyone..."

"But still, Megan. It's just, wow, really hard."

"I know. This isn't supposed to be easy. It's like...it's the next step in accepting your place - having people know what your place is."

I looked up at Megan, seated on a kitchen chair. God, she was beautiful. I'd been telling myself there was no shame in submitting to Megan, it's true, and I felt more like that than ever. It's just...I had to do this. I had to let it happen, if my submission to her was real. I was scared, I sort of hated it, but I understood.

"I understand, Megan. It's really hard, but I understand."

Megan whispered. "Good boy. Good, good boy."

"Megan, may I please kiss the floor beneath your shoes today?" I thought it might help.

"No, Chris. I have a different idea today. Lay down in front of me. Arms folded behind your back.

"Yes, Megan."

I obeyed, sort of scared, and sort of excited. Looking down, I could sort of sense Megan's tennis shoes just in front of my head.

"Chris, are you proud to be my slave?"

"Yes, Megan. "I'm proud to be your slave, Megan."

Splotch. Suddenly, a glob of something landed on the floor, just in front of my face. I quickly realized Megan had spit.

"Lick it up and swallow it, Chris. Swallow my spit."

The glob of bubbly saliva lay on the red tile floor, oozing outward slightly from where it had landed. Gross. I reminded myself that this wasn't just spit. It was Megan's spit. I moved my face forward, opened my mouth, and extended my tongue.

Warm, wet, and disgusting. I licked the best I could, taking Megan's spit into my mouth. Then, working it back to my throat, I swallowed. Ewww.

"Chris, am I better than you?"

"Yes, Megan. You are better than me, Megan."

Plop. Another, bigger glob of spit landed just in front of my face.

"Again."

"Yes, Megan."

Again, I licked, and I swallowed, Megan's saliva coating my throat. I started to feel just a bit queasy

"Chris, who is your highest authority?"

"You are my highest authority, Megan."

Splot. Anothet wad of spit.

"Swallow it."

"Yes, Megan."

Again, I licked. Again, I felt grossed out. And again, I swallowed.

"Chris, are you ashamed that I control you?"

"No, Megan. I'm not ashamed that you control me, Megan."

Plock. More spit.

"That goes in your stomach, Chris."

Again, disgust. There had just been so much. This time, though, the disgust was working some kind of magic on me. This felt right. It was a way to submit, a way to obey, a way to show my absolute devotion to Megan. And I started to savor the idea of it. Part of Megan, something that had come from her beautiful body, inside me, becoming part of me. I took a very deep breath.

Megan had crossed her right leg over her left, and her tennis shoe was swinging gently near the top of my head. She waited a minute, then another.

"Chris, will there be a day when you will openly, out loud, worship me as your goddess?"

I took several very deep breaths. I wanted to say it. I did. My whole body felt hot, then cold, then sweaty. I knew I wanted to say it, wanted to do it, the idea just had to work through me. Wow. Eventually, I knew I had to say it.

"Yes, Megan. Yes, I will worship you." I paused. "Goddess."

A pause. Another very large glob of Megan's spit, right in front of me.

"Swallow it. Swallow and enjoy it, Chris."

"Yes, Megan."

I licked. Something had changed, because this time I loved it. I held Megan's spit in my mouth, savoring it. Above me, Megan's foot stretched, extended for a long several seconds as I heard her voice whimper just a bit, then exhale in pleasure. Closing my eyes, loving every second of this experience, I swallowed.

I lay naked on the floor, panting in excitement. Above me, Megan took a very long breath, then released it.

"Next Wednesday, Chris. Same time."