A Life Completed

My interest in sexual power dynamics must go back deep into my childhood--my first memory of it was having strange feelings of excitement after reading a Superman comic where Lois Lane found herself tied up.

Of course, it took a few years to understand that my excitement had been, of course, sexual. But after that my fantasies almost always involved some aspect of domination or bondage.

At first, I imagined myself as the one in charge, ordering my concubines about. But there was a kind of ickiness to these fantasies; they were just too much like the common vulgarity of the culture. Vulgar was fine, but I didn't want to be that conventional. And of course then I began to notice another visual trope --the woman in black, the woman in leather, the woman with a whip. And I was lost.

There was plenty of material online to serve my needs, and my natural cowardice allowed that to be my outlet to these cravings whilst I maintained the (rather pathetic) facsimile of an ordinary dating life through college and a Master's degree in IT.

When I moved to a bigger city for my first post-school job, I dipped my toes ever so gingerly into the kinky dating pool, posting ads on a few websites, presenting myself as a submissive male looking for, well, anything.

The results were not inspiring. Lots of spam, a few half-hearted enquiries from professionals and a couple of women my age who thought they were more extreme than they were. Jenny was the one whom I connected with the best, but even there her only real interest was to rather gingerly prod my bottom with a ping-pong paddle. We chatted and hung out a bit, but neither of us was really ready to try to make something of our tepid connection.

Then one day, after about a year of this, I got a message:

Tim.

Let me be upfront. I have zero interest in any physical

relationship with someone like you. But I am morbidly

fascinated by submissive men like you. Would you buy me

a coffee someday?

Julie

No prizes for guessing my response.

Julie appointed a meeting on a Thursday afternoon at a pricy and rather snooty coffee bar downtown. I arrived 15 minutes early, as I suspected she would not appreciate tardiness.

She arrived about 10 minutes late, proving to be tall, with medium brown hair of shoulder length. She was not a classic beauty, but with a lithe, toned body and an expression of amused contempt for the world. Her clothes were, as best I could judge, expensive and understated, with low heels, camel-colored wool trousers and a heather green cashmere sleeve-less top. A rectangular Cartier watch completed the look.

"Tim, I presume?"

I nodded, intimidated.

"I'll have a flat white."

I order her drink and an iced Americano for myself.

We sat down at a table after our drinks arrived. She turned to me and suddenly gave a dazzling smile.

"I'm so glad to see you in person."

My heart melted.

After that, somehow I felt totally safe with her. I found myself reciting to her my limited and depressing sexual history, my fantasies, and many other things I really shouldn't have admitted to a new acquaintance.

It was time to go.

"I'm so sorry--I don't know what came over me. I haven't let you say a word."

She smiled mysteriously. "Don't worry--that time will come. I'll be in touch."

We started exchanging emails, mostly fairly mundane and trivial ones. She told me that she wrote for one of the femdom community blogs and asked me to have a look at a few of her musing.

She hadn't written a huge number of posts, but they were very interesting:

-"Why is it so hard? Maintaining a female-led relationship over the long term."

-"Getting over the shame barrier: Can D/S relationships go mainstream?"

-"Where to next? The future of female-led relationships in a new society."

What was interesting about her thoughts was that there was very little of the sexy, kinky stuff and far more about why submissive men needed dominant women and how the community should start to bring these relationships out of the closet and begin to normalize them.

Eventually, she asked me to write a piece on what submissive men wanted in a long-term relationship and what they needed to keep it functioning.

I slaved, so to speak, over my little post for days. I didn't really know what to say, since I had almost no experience even with short-term D/S relationships, let alone one that extended beyond a weekend.

Surprisingly, she was very positive about the draft I sent her. "You really have thought about this--I love it," she emailed back.

We occasionally met for dinner, always at someplace expensive. In contrast to our first meeting, she always paid for these dinners, and did so so as to be sure as many people in the restaurant noticed as possible. She would also now occasionally ask me to run errands for her--most commonly collecting her dry cleaning. Somehow it never failed that I met half a dozen people as I was carrying an armful of dresses and skirts up the elevator to her top floor apartment.

Curiously, she would always take them from me at the door--I was never invited in.

All of this went on for about six months, with us emailing, calling or meeting perhaps three times a week.

Then one Friday, I got an email:

Come to O'Flanagans tonight at eight.

J.

Despite the slightly "ye olde" name, O'Flanagans was actually a hip neighborhood pub, with a fairly flashy clientele. I picked a light grey suit with an open-necked white shirt and black brogues.

I was early, but, very unusually, she was there ahead of me. She sat at a low table, wearing severe black wool trousers, black pumps and a crisp white blouse. Her hair was pulled tightly back, and she wore expensive diamond earrings that matched her diamond tennis bracelet.

"Please sit." She waved for a waiter.

"A scotch and water: Johnny Walker Black label. And the same for the gentleman."

I blinked, unused to having my drinks order for me.

"You look very elegant and Fortune 500 tonight," I murmured.

She smiled, but said nothing, waiting for the drinks.

When they arrived, she took a deep draught, surprising me.

"I have a confession to make," she began. "When I told you that I wasn't looking for a relationship, I was lying. I am. But only a very specific kind of relationship."

She looked steadily at me. I blushed and dropped my gaze.

"Let me tell you a little bit of my story first. My mother died about ten years ago and my father 18 months ago."

I said I was very sorry.

"Don't be--my father and I had not been on speaking terms for many years. My grandfather made a very great deal of money that was left to us, and my parents used it to basically play and indulge themselves. They sent me to school, of course, but their real plan was for me to marry someone even richer and carry on as they did. I refused."

She paused for a deep breath. It seemed as if she had been keeping this speech bottled up inside herself for a very long time and now it was rushing out all at once.

"Ever since I became aware of having sexual desires, they have always involved a need to control, to be the one in charge. It's easy, of course, to find men who claim they want that or who enjoy it for an evening or a few weeks. But that's not what I want."

"I want some who wants to be with me forever, to do what I ask, forever, to enjoy my directing every aspect of their life. And I want that person to be happy to share their submission with the world."

She paused again.

"This money I inherited could be a curse--I could spend my life trying to protect it, to make my life about that money. But I don't want that. I want to use the money to make unequal relationships, female-led relationships, no longer a joke, or a taboo. I want to make them accepted, just another choice."

"And to do that, I need someone, someone maybe like you, to help me make that happen."

I swallowed hard.

"What are you asking?" I croaked. "You want me to be your slave?" The words barely escaped my lips, my heart pounding with equal measures of fear, excitement and self-contempt.

"No--it's not slavery. I want you to want this--to do what I tell you to because you want to, because you enjoy making me happy. And I want you to be an evangelist for a life like this--to tell other men that it's ok to want this too, that being the subservient one is a possible and fulfilling choice."

"Why would you think that I could do this? Why do you think anyone could really do it?" I whispered.

"I don't. I know it's a fantasy. But I've gotten to know you a bit these weeks, and there's a couple of things about you that give me hope."

She looked at me.

"You have the usual male arrogance, but you can control it a bit. And you are smart--able to articulate why you like submitting. That's pretty important to me--I want to share this relationship--to have you be the face of submission, to describe what happens to you and tell people who ask why you chose this."

Using every ounce of my self-control, I looked her levelly in the eyes.

"I know you are offering something incredible. But it's also something impossible--giving up everything for a fantasy that will implode in two weeks. What do you expect me to say?"

"I don't--I'm not offering that relationship tonight--because you are right. It's too big, too much. But I'm being honest about what I would want if I could get it. What I'm asking for tonight is just this--will you give me a weekend? Just two days where we agree in advance and you obey me for those days?"

I had to say yes--she already had that hold over me. I went home and nearly threw up from the tension.

Of course, it wasn't an instant thing. There were negotiations, rules, expectations, purchases. But at last, on a Friday night, I arrived at her door. I wore jeans and a t-shirt and had a small bag of toiletries with me. I knocked.

"Enter."

As we had discussed, I walked in and knelt down in front of her. She gently stroked my hair and then lifted my chin to fit a narrow choker necklace that we had chosen as the collar for the weekend.

"Your clothes are in that room."

As I walked down the hall, I could look around. It was beautiful apartment--not completely vast, but as big as a big suburban house. Light came from huge windows overlooking the city, with pale wood floors and faded Persian rugs to walk on.

My clothes were in a modest guest bedroom--a t-shirt in natural cotton and a pair of drawstring cotton slacks. I put them on and returned to the living room.

"Why don't you make us some dinner?"

I prepared two salads with smoked salmon and a lemon juice and olive oil dressing. I poured Julie a glass of New Zealand Sauvignon blanc and ice water for myself.

After dinner, we watched a girly romantic comedy, her on the couch and I nestled against her legs on the floor. Afterward, she led me to the spare bedroom again, where she laid out blue pajama bottoms. My toiletries were already in the attached bathroom.

"I'll call for you about 7am--sleep well." She kissed my forehead.

The next morning, I awoke at 6 to shave and shower. Her bell rang for me at 7 precisely.

"You may bring me my coffee and the paper. Then you can prepare breakfast."

After eating, she said that we would spend the morning at the art museum. Again, she had laid out clothes for me--expensive dark jeans and a white poplin shirt.

Both front pockets of the jeans had been cut out, so that, when we went out, I carried nothing with me: no money, no phone, no id.

Julie let me around the exhibits, telling me about the artists and their history. Then we had lunch at a sidewalk cafe--of course she ordered and paid.

That night I practiced my pedicure skills on her feet before drawing a bath for her and going to bed.

Sunday was a lie-in day for her, while I tidied the apartment and did some laundry for her. At 6 pm, it was time to go home--I collected my clothes, wallet and phone.

"Thank you for a lovely weekend," she murmured. And shut the door.

A couple of weeks later, she invited me for another weekend. After dinner on Saturday, she said, "Please coming to the sitting room when you are done with the dishes.

When I arrived, she had changed from her dinner clothes to a mid-thigh length silk robe. As I entered, she untied it and allowed it to fall open as she sat back on the couch. She was naked underneath.

"You may pleasure me now."

I knelt obediently in front of her. I first kissed her inner thighs, then the lips of her slit. My tongue gently traced across her. She moaned softly. I flicked my tongue against her clit more urgently, feeling her hips rise against me. As I started to explore more with my tongue, she grasped my head and pushed me into her with a firm grip. Breathing as best I could, I increased force of my tongue against her.

We continued in this vein for some time, until at last her thighs clamped hard against my head, holding it in place so long I started to gasp, before she came with a short, sharp cry and released me.

"Thank you. You have a bit to learn, but the will is there."

Our third weekend together was "naked weekend." I was to be naked for the entire period. I felt terribly self-conscious standing in front of her for her inspection after my arrival.

"Hands behind your head, fingers laced, please." She walked around me twice, looking without touching.

"We will need to start a training regime, but acceptable. You have had the wax job I asked for, and I must say the landing strip is a nice little touch."

It took a bit of getting used to, cooking, cleaning and so forth nude. I kept wanting to rush past her broad windows, but she gave me a sharp look, and I walked as normally as I could. The only part that felt "right" was kneeling in front her bare pussy, waiting for her to tell me to start kissing it.

After I had dressed Sunday afternoon and was preparing to leave, she said, "I would like you to stay the full week next week--please arrange your affairs so that you can be here except when you are at work."

So I spent the week with Julie. There was cooking and cleaning, but not so much that I was too tired for work during the day. I would leave work in time to greet her, kneeling and naked, by the door when she arrived home for the day.

On that Tuesday, after dinner, she asked me to strip from the shorts I was wearing to clean and come to her bedroom.

It was a beautiful room with a large canopied bed, pale carpets and light wood dresser and makeup table. She was naked except for a leather harness and strap-on.

"Your dedication these days deserves a reward." She pointed to a low, padded table. "Please get on all fours."

The feeling as she entered me was both pleasurable and painful at the same time--I cried softly at the feeling.

"You should calm yourself, my pet. It will go more easily."

Her motions were smooth and built to a gentle rhythm.

"You may touch yourself, but do not come without my permission."

My arousal grew overwhelming.

"May I, please?" I asked pleadingly.

"First tell me, who decides when you come?"

"You do, my Goddess."

"Very well then," she answered.

It took only another slight touch, but even as she felt my shuddering moan, Julie continued her thrusts against me.

"Remember my dear, you are not the one who decides who, or when, or how or for how long you will offer your body."

Judging her point made, she led me to the washroom and to bed.

After the week was up, my life didn't really go back to normal. Perhaps every other day, Julie asked me to come over for some task or to stay the night. Those nights I was home, I felt a bit lost without her to guide my plans.

After dinner together one night, I was giving her a massage, enjoying the feel of her creamy skin in my hands.

"Is it time to go deeper, my pet? she asked.

"Goddess?"

"If you wish, I will invite you to my home for a full month. Of course, you will have to make certain, concessions..."

And so it was that a week later, I brought a few things to her house and settled in for a full month. We had arranged for a leave of absence from my work, and when I arrived, I handed her the key to my apartment and my phone.

"Very good--while you are here, you can use this phone."

The lock screen was a picture of her--the home screen one of me, naked and kneeling.

"This phone is keyed to mine, so I can control the applications available and provide directions for you as needed." She looked at me appraisingly, but I made no complaint.

She was mostly away from home during the days, and I passed my time cleaning, exercising, and writing for a blog we had started about our lives.

After a few days, I asked her a favor:

"Goddess, I would like a chastity cage for when you are away."

"Why, my pet? Are you tempted when I am not here?"

"Yes, Goddess, but that isn't the reason. I'm afraid when you aren't here--it would help calm me."

"Of course you are, my dear. And I have been waiting for you to ask."

She produced a small silver cage from a wooden box and fixed it to my cock. It fit perfectly.

"I prefer you naked and unadorned around me, but you may wear this in my absence."

The month past for me in a blur, but I found it unsatisfying. Because I knew it was coming to an end and then I would be back where I started.

I returned to work, and more than a week past without any messages from Julie. I was afraid she had been displeased with our month, but I didn't dare contact her.

Finally a text came.

"Please come over this evening. It is important that we talk. J."

We sat on the couch: her gaze was steady and unnerving.

"Do you remember that night we talking in the bar, my dear?"

"Of course, Goddess."

"Then I don't need to tell you again what I want. But the question is whether you want to be the person to give that to me. That night you seemed to think that what I wanted was impossible. Do you still believe that?"

I clasped and unclasped my hands several times before answering.

"My Goddess, this last month was heaven. And I didn't want it to end. But what happens when you get tired of this? When you meet someone new?" I paused, my heart racing.

"I can offer you this," she responded. "That I will keep you as long as you have joy in serving me. And when I let you go, I will give you whatever you need to be comfortable for the rest of your life."

"And there is one more thing I will give you--come."

She led me to the guest bedroom I had occupied. It was unchanged except for a new door connecting to what had been a small walk-in closet for another bedroom. The room had been completely sound-proofed. On the floor were tie-downs of steel. When the light was switched off from outside it was completely dark, and a noise-cancelation system removed even the traces of noise from outside. She leaned outside and pressed a button. Hidden speakers played an almost imperceptible recording of her voice calmly saying:

"You belong here, you are safe here, you are obedient here..."

"This is your mediation room. I have found that being restrained and isolated bring me focus--and I think you will too."

Of course, I was already lost (or perhaps found). We organized the details without rush--my belongings from the apartment were placed in storage save for those very few things I brought with me. I left my job and gave her my credit cards and driver's license.

Everything was the same as that first month--and completely different.

A grim eastern European woman came three times a week as my physical trainer. I don't know if she knew about our arrangement, but all of her reports went to Julie--she never said anything to me beyond "harder, faster, show some real spine, wimp!" Of course, I was smiling inside the whole time.

The first really new thing happened as a sort of accident. One night I was cleaning the kitchen when Julie asked for some water. I had had a bit of a day, and answered, slightly shortly, "Yes, Goddess, give me a minute!"