With Grace - A Tale of Submission Vol. 01

Chapter 1.....a new country, a new life.....

It wasn't just that San Francisco was a new city in a foreign country, or that people spoke so quickly and in a language whose rhythm she was only just beginning to follow. It's that there was a manic energy to the city, a flow, that sometimes felt like it would knock her over, sweep her away, suck her out to sea. No polite smiles, no eye contact, hardly even an apologetic grunt when, faces glued to their phones, they brushed by her her as she walked glumly towards the towering office building where she spent her days. People moved down the streets with an urgency, a self-absorption, a single-mindedness of purpose that left her feeling small, unseen, invisible.

Though she was petite - only five feet tall, and weighing less than 90 pounds - but if one had glanced at her, even for a moment, they would have been jolted out of whatever app was capturing their attention. Her skin glowed white, as if cut from the stuff of moons.

Though born in China, people often mistook her for japanese, likely because of the exquisite delicacy of her features and the unshakeable sense that, though she dressed like any other modern woman, she had the gracefulness of a geisha. But unlike the women in that ancient japanese tradition, whose students spent years cultivating just the right balance between sensuousness, politeness, and shyness, then imbuing it with it with a hint of flickering sexuality, Grace, without even thinking about it or even being aware of it, seemed to exude those very qualities.

Though she was 20 years old, her diminutive size, coupled with an almost unbearable innocence, caused people to guess an age far younger. Adding to that impression was her petite frame, and breasts so small that, in most clothing, were discernible through the fabric only by the subtlest of swells. Shy by nature even in her native land, her arrival in San Francisco less than a month earlier had pushed her a bit further into her shell, leading often to downcast eyes and a gaze that, whenever it did come up off the ground to help her navigate through the churning city, skittered away the moment she sensed another set of eyes seeking hers out.

Her move to San Francisco to pursue a marketing career had come, in the eyes of her siblings, friends, and neighbors, as a complete shock. No one from her tiny farming village in rural China had ever even gone to college, much less had the good fortune of securing a position at one of the most well-paid, prestigious companies in the city. She hadn't really aspired to leave her native country. Her original hope, after recovering from the shock of her college acceptance, had been to learn some basic accounting skills so that she could return home to her village and help ease the workload of her parents and cousins, many of whom operated small farms or grocery stores.

But those plans changed when one of her accounting professors, impressed by the acuteness of her mind, recommended her to a friend of his who had recently moved to san Francisco. The thought of leaving home for a life in San Francisco held little appeal from her.

Although her English, honed by a lifetime of classroom study and American TV shows, was more than passable, the perceived chaos of American life revolted her, and she could feel herself missing her village's familiarity and tranquility even before she'd left it behind.

She had prepared herself to turn down the job even before she'd received the call from the woman who had interviewed her. But what she couldn't prepare herself for was how she'd react when she was told about the salary she'd earn if she accepted the position. When she heard the number, she quickly knew, almost to her dismay, that she couldn't turn it down. The good she could do for people in her village made walking away an act too selfish to bear. So she accepted the offer, and began her new life in the city.

Before arriving, she'd assumed that there would be an adjustment process, a series of frustrating moments when she struggled to figure out how to ride the subway, which market stocked the best selection of Chinese spices and vegetables, and where to shop for clothes that allowed her to perpetrate the ruse that she was an American accountant, not an impostor from a small Chinese village, desperately trying to earn money to send back to her siblings. But what she didn't prepare herself for was the sheer loneliness of her new life. Her time outside of work seemed to creep along, leaving her with the feeling that rather than living her life, she was trying to fill the moments.

That sense of solitude, of being alone in a vast, uncertain world, had been with her since she was five, when her parents, who'd started a family far too young, abandoned Grace, an only child, and moved to Beijing in search of a better life. Grace often suspected that their abandonment of her had been caused, at least in part, by the fact that she was a girl, the inferior of the sexes in the eyes of many traditional villagers. Her memories of her parents were hazy at best. Rather than images, what endured in her heart was a feeling, a sense of reaching out to them, arms open, longing for embrace and comforting, but sensing only their turned backs as they walked into the darkness. Grace's aunt had raised her, trying her best to fill the void created by the departure of Grace's parents. And although Grace never lacked for food or shelter, she could never shake the feeling that her aunt was acting out of obligation rather than love.

Chapter 2.....Karen and Mike.....

Karen couldn't recall when she first felt a maternal instinct inside of her. But then again, reflecting back on her 41 years, she couldn't recall a time when she didn't feel it. To be sure, she felt other instincts too. As a successful nurse, she prided herself in having an almost preternatural sense of what her patients were feeling, where they were hurting, and what she could do to relieve that pain.

But despite those considerable gifts, despite the satisfaction she derived from easing the suffering of others, none of her impulses rivaled the intensity of her desire for a child—a person to pour her love into, to teach, to help guide through the world, to nurture them through that most beautiful of human processes: self-actualization. But Karen's age, her orientation towards self-knowledge and growth, had conferred upon her a certain wisdom—that the desire for something does not guarantee that it will come to pass; to the contrary, attachment to the object of one's desires inevitably leads to suffering. Swallowing and digesting that bitter pill had been the work of a lifetime for her, as she endured the pain of three miscarriages, then the news from her physician that harm caused during the third miscarriage would make it impossible for her to carry a child.

Reflecting upon that moment years later, Karen knew that she would not have survived emotionally without the love and infinite patience of her husband, Marcus. A clinical psychologist by training, Marcus's insight into the human condition, his uncanny ability to put himself inside the mind of his patients, then locate and shine love on the parts of them that hurt, that felt unloved and inadequate, had made him invaluable to his patients, but unlike many psychologists, Marcus was equally present when he left his office. Karen had no doubt that his faith in her, his firm but loving assurance that she could endure despite the untimely end of her pregnancies, had not just saved her, but helped her become a stronger more loving more complete person.

Despite their difficulties starting a family, no one pitied Marcus and Karen. To the contrary, there was a certain mystique that seemed to surround them, a feeling that the universe had allowed them to peak behind the curtain and glimpse, just for a moment, its many secrets. Perhaps it was the twinkle that always seemed to be in their eyes, like they knew a bit more than one could know possibly know in a situation. But more than that, it was their sheer physical beauty. Although it had been years since Marcus played volleyball, at six feet, five inches tall, he still had the trim, muscular body of a college athlete.

Although at 44 years old, a glimmer of gray had crept into his wavy black hair, in some ways, age had only added to the feeling of authority that he exuded, accentuated all the more by his piercing green eyes. Karen, for her part, also seemed to radiate a sense of authority. At six feet, one inch tall, she towered over most women, but her kind eyes and a warm smile had the effect of putting people at ease, of almost countering the initial, sometimes subperceptual gasp they'd emit when they saw a person of such considerable beauty approaching them. The straightness of her hair, which was a chestnut color that inhabited a twilight zone between brown and blond, contrasted with the waviness of her husband's hair, as did the hypnotic blue of her eyes to his radiant green.

She and Marcus had first met more than ten years ago. Neither of them had ever been to a sex party before that night, and they'd both gone more out of curiosity than because of any real desire to actually try that sort of lifestyle. It wasn't that either of them were prudes -- they'd both had their fair share of meaningful and not-so-meaningful sexual experiences. And both of them, though they never would have admitted it then, took a certain pride in their sexual abilities, of their intuitive gifts for understanding exactly what their partner was thinking and feeling, what was going on deep inside of them, and how it could be lured out.

Exceptionally self-aware, both of them sensed the effect that their respective sizes -- Marcus was nearly six feet six and Karen was over six feet -- exerted on their lovers, how their lovers always seemed, through some unspoken communication, to slip into a space where relinquishing control seemed so natural, so easy, like a silk scarf slipping through fingers. They appreciated just how beautiful, almost divine that submission was, like a gift laid down at their feet as a sacred offering. And oh, the looks on their faces, beatific almost, of simultaneously cultivating and bearing witness to, those moments when their partner was close to orgasm, was becoming ever more unglued, ever more ready and needing, truly needing, to transcend this state of ordinary consciousness into whatever glittering realms lie beyond.

In any event, Marcus would never forget the first moment he saw Karen. He'd been wandering through the vast, opulent mansion where the party was taking place, his reactions ranging from mildly intrigued, to totally shocked, to moderately aroused. Before coming, he'd told his friend that he was going simply to satisfy his curiosity, not to engage, and his initial exploration around the mansion led him to believe he'd made the right choice.

But then, he saw her. He has been walking down a long, marble hallway when he heard a sweet, almost kitten-like moaning coming from a room at the end of the hallway. What he witnessed took his breath away, a vision that, even to this day, seemed to perfectly embody the yin and yang of dominance and submission. A tall, athletic woman with chestnut hair strewn about her shoulders positioned languidly on the bed next to a tiny, jet-black skinned African girl who seemed to be in a position of pure surrender.

Radiating youth and innocence, and certainly no older than 25, the girl's arms were on the bed above her head, pinned there gently by one of the woman's large hands. The girl's legs were bent at the knees and butterflied open, fully exposing the depths of her budding femininity. The sheets on the bed were the whitest satin, creating the most exquisite contrast with the African girl, who seemed to hover above them. The woman had two fingers slid inside the girl and seemed to have her on the knife-edge of orgasm. The girl's eyes were closed, and the woman was watching her with the kindest, most attentive gaze, as though taking her all in, fully penetrating her being, beholding the glowing, rippling orgasm inside of her, and as if by magic, bringing it so close that the girl could almost touch it, only to then have it nudged away again, just out of her reach.

As Marcus watched, the girl's desperation became more palpable, and he smiled at the juxtaposition between the girl's quivering need for release with the woman's preternatural tranquility. The woman sensed someone at the doorway and turned to face Marcus, not with surprise, as one would expect, but a welcoming, warm smile, as though a treasured guest had arrived in her home just as supper was ready. With that unspoken invitation, an exquisite connection formed. They didn't exchange even a word until hours later, when the sweet African girl, spent and glistening, lay sleeping between them, Karen softly stroking her head and Marcus caressing her low back.

"I'm Marcus," he whispered, careful not to awaken the sleeping girl.

"Marcus, it's a pleasure," Karen responded with a pearlescent delicacy in her voice, her eyes not leaving the girl's face. "I'm Karen."

Chapter 3.....an untenable living situation...

Grace had hoped that having roommates would mean potential new friends and some semblance of a social life in this new city. But her living situation only seemed to highlight just how lonely she was. Her three roommates often invited friends over and played loud, grating music into the early hours of the morning, disrupting not only her efforts to sleep but reminding her, moment by moment, of the fun that was going on in the world, without her.

Making matters worse was what happened so often after her roommates' parties ended, when Grace's desire for peace and quiet was at its peak. The sounds would begin at an almost imperceptible level, a soft, sensuous moan floating through the night air, like a wisp of smoke or a specter, gliding down the hallway, beneath Grace's bedroom door, then effortlessly through the pillow she had pressed against her ear.

The efforts of her conscious mind to ignore the sounds had the frustrating effect of causing other parts of her being to open to them, to explore them, to allow them to wash over her and through her. How could a single sound contain so many emotions, Grace would wonder? As the moans became deep sighs, then moans again, then lilting cries of pleasure, then pleading whimpers, Grace had a sense that she was listening to the most intricate symphony, like she was on a sonic tour of a lover's mind, through valleys of lust and longing, through deserts of need and sorrow, to peaks of release and transcendence, to lagoon ripples of vulnerability with sunlight glints of delight.

Grace was also certain that these sounds were coming from her roommate Heather, and that the person urging her to these great heights was Heather's new lover, Alice; a tall, imposing woman with short hair and invasive hazel eyes. Alice had made Grace uncomfortable from the first moment they'd met, with her endless, probing questions, her gaze that seemed to ensnare Grace's consciousness like a small rabbit in a trap, and the playful twinkle in her eyes that caused Grace to feel like Alice could see parts of Grace where not even Grace dared to go.

As Grace would lie in her bed, tossing and turning, simultaneously trying to block the waterfall of sounds while also submitting to them, she noticed a deep warmth between her legs that seemed to blossom outwards. Her body's reaction, to her surprise, reminded her, in a roundabout way, of a video she'd watched recently of bioluminescent plankton reaching the shore of a tropical beach. One moment, there was only darkness, and the next, caused by a crashing wave, a glittering, blooming light appeared and ricocheted through the water.

Why were these sounds having this effect on her? Grace would wonder. Her shyness, even when she was living in China, had made the thought of dating nauseating to her. And that, coupled with her parents' relentless pressure on her to excel in school, had caused Grace to close herself off to the idea of dating, at least until she was older and feeling more settled. Though at times she felt ashamed of her virginity, she more often felt relieved that she didn't have to subject herself to the horrors of online dating, or worse still, to meeting men in bars. Plus, her roommates' stories of their dating escapades left Grace feeling a sense of relief that her life, for all of its challenges, did not include having to navigate the treacherous waters of passion and desire. And yet, lying in bed, listening to the sounds Alice was coaxing from Heather, Grace could feel a door in her mind opening, despite her best efforts to keep it shut.

Eventually, the sounds would stop, and Grace could feel herself drifting off to sleep. As she did, she'd remind herself that this part of her journey to San Francisco would be over soon, as only one week remained in the one-month commitment she'd made to that apartment. She didn't know where she'd live next, but even if she didn't find a place of her own that offered a one-year lease, she'd splurge on an Airbnb. Anything would be better than her current predicament.

Chapter 4.....an evening out.....

As their week drew to a close, Karen felt a sense of gloom creep over her, reminding her of that feeling when, after a rare afternoon in the San Francisco sunshine, the fog comes creeping inexorably through the sunset towards the dolores heights neighborhood where they lived. She was well aware, as Marcus taught her, that grief comes in waves. But that knowledge was cold comfort when, yet again, she felt herself starting to drown in that feeling that she'd never be able to have her own child. With a sense of glum resignation, she forced herself to scroll through one of the local websites that listed some of the many activities that would be going on in the city that weekend.

After scrolling for a few minutes, her eye landed on an entry for a Japanese language meetup that evening in a local bar. Though neither nor Marcus spoke any Japanese, they had a trip to japan planned for the following month, and she realized they'd done no planning whatsoever.

"Hey Marcus, how do you feel about checking out this japanase language meetup in a couple hours? Maybe they'll be some people who've spent some time in japan recently who could give us some tips about some cool, under-the-radar spots we could check out?"

"Sure, K. Why not? Worst case, there's no one interesting there and we can go out to dinner at that fancy restaurant we love next door?"

Marcus, ever attuned to the subtleties of his wife's moods, could sense the darkness welling up inside of her, as though it was his own, and he appreciated the effort she was making to get out of the house rather than giving in to those all-too-familiar feelings.

"In fact," Marcus said, "How about we get a little bit dressed up? It could be nice for a change to get out our casual clothes and feel like we belong at a nice restaurant."

"Ummmm, yeah, sure, why not? It's been forever since we had a proper fine dining experience. Might as well look the part. Plus, I'm sure this Japanese language event won't last long."

Thirty minutes later, Marcus was sitting on the living room couch watching TV when Karen emerged from the bedroom. Even after 10 years of marriage, her radiance, her raw sexuality, the sense of confidence and power that seemed to emanate from her, enraptured him every time. She was wearing a black, skin tight cocktail dress that went just past her knees. Its plunging neckline revealed just enough of the fullness of her breasts to send one's imagination into overdrive. She had pulled all of her back her hair into a bun that would have given her look a sort sternness were it not for the disarming smile she offered Marcus when she saw the look of admiration mixed with lust on his face.