Entering His Dominion Ch. 01

Amla looked around furtively as she entered the tiny internet café. She did not want to be seen by anyone, least of all Rocky, the arrogant leader of the neighborhood gang. Rocky had been trying to get her attention for the past year. In a small town like Shimla, gangs like his had great power and Amla feared at the recklessness this power might infuse in him. Yet these were tiny botherations compared to what was about to happen today. Today, S was going to send her a picture. 'S' was what Amla used to refer to the man she had been chatting with for the past five months. He had not told her anything about himself, yet he knew all of her deepest, darkest secrets. Her fears, likes and dislikes. Her proclivity towards the dark world of bondage and pain. All of her past sexual experience (or lack of it). The only two things Amla had managed to keep privy were her name and her location. Or so she thought.

It had started so innocently. At the café working on a college project, Amla had stumbled upon a chat site. He found her. He spoke to her. Everyday. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He asked questions. So many questions! And always, he would avoid answering hers. Slowly, very slowly, he introduced her to it. BDSM, he said, was a lifestyle. At first, Amla was terrified. She ran to her one bedroom apartment and slammed the door closed, heart beating wildly. Yet she found herself thinking about it. The ropes and the chains. The metal and the leather. She dreamt of submission that night.

Every day after that was an adventure. S would give her a new topic to read every night, and she would have to send him an email with her thoughts on it the next morning. Amla secretly loved reading what he gave her. She would devour the articles, eyeing the pictures of the graciously sprawled, naked women with averted eyes and bent heads, and she would imagine herself in their place. What would it be like, to submit like that? What emotions could a person in that position possibly feel? Shame or embarrassment was understandable. But pleasure? Amla scoffed, even as the twinge between her legs gave her nonchalance away. It took her two months of reading, watching videos and learning about BDSM from S to admit to herself that it excited her. For a long time, Amla deterred admitting it to herself, held prisoner by the threads of shame and stigma society had attached to the topic. But when she came one night with a throaty cry, her fingers moving frantically in the wet folds of her pussy, her head filled with images of her body stretched into bizarre positions and held in place with thick cords, Amla realized there was no denying it. She wanted to be a submissive.

S did not seem surprised. He explained to Amla that she was 'naturally submissive', and he had discovered that tendency within a week of talking to her. Although this frightened her, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of thrill: he cared, after all! In the past months, she had developed a strange addiction to this man. This man who came into her dark fantasies every night. This faceless, yet somehow beautiful man who awakened something deep within her: a part she did not herself understand. Maybe it was time to explore. She would be done with college in a few weeks, and had no plans thereafter. S had asked if she wanted to come to his city. He would find her a job, and they could give their relationship a shot. It was a terrifying, tantalizing offer. Yet in these months of self discovery, she had shed the skin of the timid, shy girl she used to be. Amla felt newer, braver somehow. And so she had agreed, upon one condition: he would send her a picture of himself. Not the body, she did not care for the size of his penis or the shape of his muscles. She wanted to look at his eyes.

As the photo loaded, Amla nervously drummed her fingernails on the table. He already knew how she looked, she had sent him a photograph the previous day. He had sent nothing but a laconic 'Good girl.' in response to her mail. Why did he do this? Withhold his thoughts like this? It multiplied her feeling tenfold. All of a sudden, there was a man staring at her from her screen. S had sent her a shot from the shoulder upwards. Dark hair, a slanting nose, lips set in a grim line. And his eyes! His eyes were like pools of black lava. It was like he could see her, his gaze was so intense. Amla looked away, and bit her lip. She felt her hand straying towards her taut nipples: already protruding through the sheer fabric of her dress. No! She could not. Not in public. Hastily, she typed 'Yes.', printed out the picture and ran home.

The next day she was in a daze. College was over, and her friends were meeting for a party before they all went their separate ways. Amla was content to sit in her room and dream about the future, but her she had been dragged along. The party was as boring as she had expected: Amla spent the night nursing consecutive glasses of whiskey by the fireplace and thinking about S's eyes. As she left with her friends, Amla was aware that she was quite tipsy. They stumbled along the deserted roads, shivering at the cold. Amla was even colder, having forgotten her jacket at the party. All she wanted to do was get home.

"Where are you girls off to?" Rocky and his cronies came out of nowhere, blocking their path.

Internally, the part of her brain that was not numb cried out in fear. It was late. There was nobody to come to her aid, and she was too drunk to fend Rocky off alone. He marched right up to her and threw her over his shoulder, heading for a nearby building: Amla watched the world upside down, only half aware of what was happening. Before she knew it, he had her up against the wall and pressed his mouth on hers: slobbery and demanding. Disgusted, she tried pushing him away, but her arms felt like lead by her side.

"Get..off me!" she managed a small cry.

Rocky laughed, a loud guffaw that seemed to echo everywhere. "You can't run away today, darling. I've wanted this for far too long."

Suddenly, his hands were off her, and she was falling. Before she could hit the ground, a strong arm caught her. Amla looked up, and could not believe her eyes. S! Was it really him? She stared, open mouthed, as he punched Rocky across the jaw with his free arm, throwing him to the snow.

"What..you.." Amla tried forming a coherent sentence, but a combination of the whiskey and her chattering teeth hindered her.

"Hush now. Let me take care of you." S draped his coat around her, picked her up and walked towards her house. Somewhere in the back of her mind, an alarm went off. How did he know where she lived? How did he get here? What was happening? But no answers came. The last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep was S hovering over her, tucking her in to bed. "Go to sleep, sweet pet. We shall talk in the morning."