She sat kneeling, her back straight, her shoulders slightly slumped. Her head was slightly bent, some of her hair falling in front of her face. She recognized the automatism with which she wanted to toss the hair, and the peace in not giving in to this habitual mechanism. Her body remembered the posture that had become so familiar. A posture that had nothing to do with humiliation and submissive waiting, but a posture that spoke of strength and power. With a smile, she remembered her first confrontations with herself, the need to surrender, undermined by the will not to give in.
Mechanisms and automatism that had made it difficult for her to become one with her surrender. It had always been hard for her, it had created inner conflicts and inner struggles, and she had regularly run away from herself and her surrender. Until”¦.she had met him. What it was she could not say to this day, but she had felt a peace and balance with him that she had not experienced with other Dominants. With him, many of her inner struggles and conflicts had fallen away, not all of them of course, but with him, it felt natural. As if her being recognized a connection that was not tangible to her, she had gradually learned to trust what her body was whispering to her. She had seldom followed the mapped out paths that many a dominant had laid out for her, and in the moments when she had, she had found that it had taken her away from herself. She had lost herself for a while, she couldn’t remember where she had lost herself, if there had been a reason for it. All she remembered was the loneliness that tried to take her away in a constant dance of desire.
From time to time, she had allowed herself to be seduced by the intense need to surrender, which had made her think for a moment that she could fly, that she could be carried, until she awoke in a cold that managed to surpass the previous cold. Then, in the cold darkness, she decided to resist another temptation, as the tomcat took away much of the glory she had experienced before, letting it crumble until it was a vague memory with a black border that screamed “¦Don’t do it again, don’t give in. Be strong, refuse surrender until it comes naturally. In a period of lonely dancing, out of nowhere that moment had come when surrender took the dance out of her hands and led her into the hands of a man who knew how to lead her as she had never been led before. It was not leading, it was freeing. He let her soar, let her dream, let her drift and return to the safety of his arms, knowing that he would never ask where she had flown to, for to him the sight of her flight was the most beautiful gift she could give him.
Until she had landed exhausted and recovered in his arms, looked into his eyes and said with a smile and a teasing voice, “was that all?’, then enjoyed the fierceness and glint in his eyes as his voice gently hummed, “Careful, hey, you’re playing with fire. As the music faded, she floated back to reality, letting go of the memory and surrendering to the now, to her being. That was the power of her surrender, to be in her being. Complete surrender to herself and therefore unconditional surrender to him.
She looked at the objects in front of her, they were as familiar to her as the hairbrush she used in the morning to style her long, unruly curls, or the cream she used on her face that he had once smeared on her buttocks to soothe the nagging. A mischievous smile broke out on her face as she heard herself say what she obviously should not have said at such a moment, whether he thought anti-wrinkle cream was the solution to red bottoms. That had been the introduction to a new dance so full of fire and passion that it had taken them deep into the night, transporting and enchanting them, and with a blissful smile she had fallen asleep in his arms. Her body was covered in a pink glowing warmth, her head was empty from floating and filled with peace. She picked up the wooden ruler, and for a moment a shudder ran through her body as she remembered what a ruler could do.
She shifted the toys around, unsure of where to begin. Her eyes went from the ruler to the small hairbrush, knowing it looked harmless but had a not-so-harmless effect. She pushed the red stick aside, not now, she wasn’t ready for that. She looked back at the ruler and the hairbrush, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the nipple clamps, and she realized how much her nipples craved the pressure of the clamps. Not yet, she reminded herself, not too fast now. Suddenly she picked up the small hairbrush, shuffled to her knees and turned to bend over the small stool that stood diagonally beside her. The stool had a cloth center that made it easy to bend over, giving her body support while still allowing for enough movement. The first tap came softly; she felt a mixture of emotions bubble up. Resistance to what she was doing, a desire to feel more, uncertainty about continuing, and a strong need to get up and leave. “Return to being,˜ she told herself, grounding herself, and the next slap was more controlled and harder. She alternated the small hairbrush between her right and left buttocks, welcoming the familiar glow. After a while, she stopped and rose from the stool, returning to the position she felt so comfortable in. She bowed her head and closed her eyes for a moment before picking up the wooden ruler.
She had doubts, should she do it? She chose the hardest position, pushed a pillow against the stool, and lay down on her back. She lifted her legs and placed her feet on the edge of a cupboard behind her for support. At a brisk pace, she slapped the linoleum on her bottom, counting in her mind until she had given about fifty slaps on both buttocks. She spread her legs and fought the urge to stop, she knew this would be the hardest moment and yet”¦she wanted to persevere. Especially now. With tremendous self-control she gave herself the first hard slap on her most intimate parts, gasping as the pain cut through her. Another smack, again the pain. Giving herself time to recover, she took a deep breath and gave herself another slap, the pain forming a moving line that seemed to connect with her insides, with her being, her devotion.
Tears streamed into her eyes as she lowered the ruler for the last, tenth time. She let the ruler rest where it had landed, ignoring the burning sensation inside her. A tear rolled from the corner of her eye, slid down her cheek, and vanished into thin air. Slowly, she rose to her feet and returned to her kneeling position, looking with a sense of relief and pride at the necklace that lay before her. Carefully, she ran her finger along the smooth leather, resting it on the small silver O-ring. It was as if the collar was speaking to her, urging her to persevere, not to give up. She picked up the collar and let it slide through her hands, she brought her hands to her neck and placed the collar on her neck, with one smooth motion she closed the collar at the back.
Her hand ran through her hair and for a moment she felt lost until the sunlight fell on the iron of the nipple clamps. A small flicker caught her attention, she smiled and picked up the clamps. One by one, she attached the clamps to her nipples, welcoming the familiar and intimate feeling as the clamps pressed against her nipples and she felt the cool steel of the chain against her skin. She stood up, pulled on a sweatshirt and pulled down her red ribboned skirt before stepping into her red pumps. With a confident movement, she walked to the bed to fasten the straps of her shoes, then walked to the mirror to look at herself. She was amazed at how she looked, at the sparkle in her eyes and the strength of her appearance. She was almost ready. She pulled up her skirt to put on the small garter belt, the tiny silver key dangling next to the o-ring attached to the garter with a black ribbon.
With every move she made, she felt the small key and ring move, as well as the nipple clamps. She walked back to where she had just knelt and picked up the red cane. Now she was ready”¦. As she walked down the stairs, she could hear the murmur of the living room, the music was playing softly and seemed to add to the warmth of the room. Her heels tapped softly on the laminate as she carefully opened the door, it was as if she was instantly taken in by the invisible wings that carried her. The room was filled with a select group of people; this had been a deliberate choice. Candles provided subdued light, she looked into eyes that were familiar and trusted, and in all of them she read the same message, “Are you ready? She smiled and nodded and walked to the center of the room. She held the red cane in her left hand and with her right hand she loosened the nipple clamps. She handed them to her friend, who had come to stand to her right.
With a fluid motion, she slid the garter off her leg and handed it to the friend who had come to stand to her left. With the cane in her hand, she walked forward, the room filled with a strange silence, even the music seemed to hold its breath for a moment. She heard her friend and companion behind her move with her and came to stand beside her again, raising her hands palms up and making sure the red cane rested on her hands. She held the nipple clamps in her right hand and the garter belt in her left. She took a step forward and with a tender gesture placed the cane, the nipple clamps and the garter with the o-ring attached. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked at him. This was a goodbye forever”¦.she brought her hands to her neck and unfastened the collar, which she also placed in the coffin with him. Then she bent over him and kissed his cool skin. ˜Till in my dreams,¦ she whispered.
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