Promise Ch. 01

The plane was in its final descent. She sat in her window seat staring out at the unfamiliar terrain of Minnesota. She was California born and raised, and had spent the last several years of her adult life in the sleepy, lush deep south.

The fact that she was heading so far north was yet another example that you should never say never.

A short time ago, she would have sworn that she would never get involved in a long distance relationship, let alone with a man who lived in a place that gets snowy and cold in the winter; she still remembered her first year of graduate school, sobbing in front of her window as she studied and dreamed of the west coast sun while staring at the field of icy white in front of her.

She would also have sworn that she wouldn't get involved in an internet affair a year or two before, but the world was changing, and distance had been largely defeated by the magic of cyberspace. If it hadn't been, she wouldn't be flying towards a man that she had never met in the flesh, a man whose face had first caught her attention posted beside a string of confident and concise words on an internet politics board. A politics board on a BDSM site, no less. She had watched him and read his posts for weeks, long before he ever noticed her and said something pleasant and casual in a thread. She had gone into her best Mae West meets Dorothy Dandridge then, or so she had thought, flirting with him every chance that she got. Their circling of each other had been slow and cautious, the attraction there, but muted, as if behind soft cotton batting, until one thing led to another, and here she was.

It would have been like any other web based alliance in its early stages except for one thing -- these two people had agreed to embark on a power exchange relationship, one without limits, prior to this meeting.

That was the third thing that she would have sworn could never happen again.

She had tried M/s in the past, but the fit had been wrong and the structure had collapsed, leaving nothing salvageable in the wreckage. She had buried her deviance in a French postcard world of satin corsets and luxuriant spankings, the kindness of her user appreciated, but with a smoothness that left her aching for the hard, cold beauty of roughness.

Her masochism frightened her at times...the way that her mind strayed to the most deviant of dungeon dreams while she fucked or sucked or touched herself...She tried to retrain her imagination, but the id will have what it will have. Her fantasies were sepia toned; a shadowy world of chains and whimpers and degradation, landing safely on a reef of sanity on the other side.

She had had the kind of sexual life that most people would consider "kinky", filled as it was with spankings and collars, and long Latin phrases that described debauchery, but she had never yet plumbed the depths of her imaginings. She had almost put it all away in the safer world of sensual domination when this new tango began with this new man, and in nothing flat she had mentally dropped to her knees in front of him.

So now what?

___

The door closed behind them silently, the banter that they had managed to keep up on the 35 minute drive suddenly silenced. Her heart sped up as she realized that they were alone, and then it was time to make good on all of the promises that she had made -- promises to obey, to serve, to do what he liked without question, and without the familiar safety nets that she had always had when playing such "games" in the past.

His look was unreadable in the dim twilight of the room, she realized that she didn't know his eyes well enough yet to read his looks, and that made her rational mind scream that this was folly; that she was alone in a secluded house with a man that she had only known in a two dimensional world until now. Now the world had three dimensions, and five senses, and they were alone.

Her heart sped up with a surge of emotions that was equally divided between terror and lust.

His look grew harder as he pulled her to him.

"Scared?"

"Ye -- no, yes, Sir".

"What did you promise to do for me cunt?"

"I. To serve you --M-master".

The word was appallingly difficult to say, two little syllables, but with millennia of meaning and entendres behind it.

"Specifically, what did you promise to do for me whenever I pushed you to your knees and told you to do it?"

She looked at him imploringly. Surely he didn't mean for them to start this way? With no tenderness first, no wooing?

But then she remembered.

This kind of wooing is different.

This kind was not about her, at least not in the most important sense.

This kind was about surrender. Absolute. Unconditional, and uncompromising.

With a catch in her voice and sudden tears in her eyes she softly said -

"I said I'd drink your piss, Sir." The sound of her voice was barely audible, and so of course, he made her repeat it, more loudly this time.

She looked up at him, the feelings that raged in her igniting into some sort of brush fire, that burned terribly in her, but from which she could not, would not, run.

She slid to her knees in front of him, listening to the sound of his zipper sliding down, feeling his eyes on her like knives in the fading light...her lips open and her head tilting back to do something that she had waited all her life to do.

The first shock of it was indescribable, the oddness of the taste mingling with the oddness of the sensations that were sweeping over her...fear, lust, pleasure, and a feeling so far past humiliation that she did not know how to name it.

And through it all, his eyes on her, and the tears that slid from hers as she drank and choked and trembled in an unknown room, with an unknown man that she felt that she'd known all her life.

She knew that there would be worse things. Public display if he liked, other men and women if he liked, and pain, oh yes, all the pain he liked...

The darkness fell completely, and at long last, she could see.