The enjoyment of submission (first draft)

Any good story has a beginning, middle, and end. This is a fundamental, pulled straight from the archives of a three act tragedy. That’s how a narrative takes shape. The reader is introduced to characters, gets to know them--perhaps even identifies, and ultimately sees their fate through to the end. It’s textbook.

That’s not this story. Act I is crap. Introduction is entirely inconsequential. If you’re unsure how you got here, then leave. We clearly didn’t start on the same page.

You’re in heels. Three inch stilettos. Patent leather. Blacker than night.

Black bra, an elegant cotton against your skin, no frills. T-back panties to match. All in all, very simple. Very sleek.

You wait. And wait. A two inch collar appears. Lined with purple velvet, steel D-rings adorn the sides and a slightly smaller O-ring will soon rest directly below your chin. The steal is fresh, polished and vibrant. Before it comes around your neck the smell of leather is present.

As the buckle cinches closed you first sense submission: and it’s not uncomfortable at all. Your chin’s high and you feel the velvet every time you twitch or turn your head. It’s peaceful actually, you welcome the moment when grace becomes you.

The cuffs on your wrists and ankles are match for the collar. Still standing you can feel their weight as the rest against you. Raise an arm to touch your lip and the cuff slips down ever so slightly. Just enough to feel a brush on the inside of your wrist, but rest assured, their not going anywhere.

Standing, the spreader bar was unnoticeable but now kneeling, you’ve suddenly become aware of your hips. A slow warmth fills your thighs as you resist sitting back on your feet. So attuned, so focused, so eager, you’re surprised when your wrists are latched together and clipped to an eye bolt in the floor. Excuse me? That bolt has been directly before your eyes the whole time. What else have you not noticed?

Kneeling, prone, and waiting.

A slight click and the chain is fastened to the back of your neck. A single strand extends for about two feet before it splits into two. An upside-down ”Y” now stems from the top of your spine. At the end, two smooth little O-rings. About the size of a keychain ring. Perfect to slip around your heels.

So there you are in your own personal crucifixion. Head held high and straight. Arms bound to the floor in front of you. Legs tethered beneath and behind you. Lean back and your shoulders burn. Move forward and you’ll either choke yourself or topple onto your face. But stay right there and…yes…stay right there you will.

A hand. A touch. A caress. Caring. Tempting. Tempted? Teased. Teasing. Invited. Inviting. Pleasing. Pleasure. Peak. Valley. force. Soft. Hard. Flesh. Fabric. Sweat. Nerves. Nervous. Frightened. Alert. Awake. Sip. Gulp. Fight. Flight. Rush!!! Slow. Fast. New. Old. Shock. Pain. Lust. Novelty. Pulse. Pure. Sane. Crazy. Fuck it all!!! Full. Empty. Desire. Desired. Friction. Ease. Life. Death. Love. Feeling. Sense. Sensation….Oh my God!!! Want. Need. Have. Quit. Start. Begin. Allure. Invite. Invitation. Greed. Gift. Giving. MORE NOW AGAIN!!!

Aware.

That’s the sense. Strangely aware of your bite. Funny that, an O-ring gag can really let one know where their teeth are. What, you’re surprised? You didn’t see the eye bolt in the floor--which was right in front of you I might add, how can you feign shock that you’re now wearing this!

Hard rubber. Real fucking hard!. And leather straps to hold it in place. Snapped securely in, after a minute comes the first drop of drool. A single clear streak runs across the red of your lower lip to the bottom of your chin. There it beads. A drop at the end of its trail. Succulent. It’s wiped away.

You give in. It’s time.

You feel a weight next to you. Leaning in. Closer. Straddling one leg and pressing into you. Heat. Pressure. The smell of another person. As a second bead tickles down your chin a jar is placed in front of you.

A whimper escapes. You breathe through your nose and throat at the same time. Heavy, excited, deep breaths. In the midst of your panting, the jar clangs, is lifted off the floor and a dollop of honey is put in your mouth.

The sweetness brings saliva. Mixed with the honey it’s thick. Coming up from the back of the throat. Drips are coming down your chin. A lot. Suddenly aware you bite down on the gag but go nowhere.

Acquiesce.

You’ll soon be full.

Any good story has a beginning, middle, and end. This is a fundamental, pulled straight from the archives of a three act tragedy. That’s how a good narrative takes shape. The reader is introduced to characters, gets to know them--perhaps even identifies, and ultimately sees their fate through to the end. It’s textbook.

That’s not this story. Act III is crap. Conclusion is a convenient consequence. If you’re unsure where this goes, then leave. We’re clearly not going to end on the same page.