An Old Friend

An Old Friend

It was only a fifteen-minute drive from my house to Megan's, but it seemed much longer. I was nervous. I shouldn't be nervous, I told myself. But I was nervous. I shouldn't be - I'd known Megan for nearly fifteen years, since college. She and Kyle were some of the best friends I had - that Alyson and I had. I sighed as I remembered Alyson. Then I took a deeper breath thinking about Megan. I was definitely nervous.

Megan and Kyle had started dating not long after Alyson and I had. They were part of our closest group of friends. We all knew each other well. Kyle was cool, and Megan was nice; she had a sort of sweetness that brightened the room. All of us got along well. We were friends. But there was something else, a sort of knowledge of each other that hovered at the edges of my friendship with Megan. She could see right through me.

It started one evening at a friend's house, soon after graduation, shortly after all of us couples were married. Long after dinner, everyone watching a ballgame that had just ended, someone flipping through channels, and then we were all watching it. Some documentary. MTV maybe, or the Vice channel, who knows, but it was an intimate look at men and women in female-led relationships. BDSM cleaned up for the TV. Everyone laughed, and the wise asses cracked jokes. I just froze. I realized I needed to try to act natural, even as on the screen interviewees spoke in detail about the one thing I'd longed for with everything in my being while at the same time felt too shy and embarrassed and intimidated to speak of, except for once, that aborted attempt at a conversation with Alyson. I was hot and fuzzy-headed and could barely breathe.

I felt lightheaded all night, and at one point excused myself to the patio for some fresh air. A few minutes later, Megan found me there, and smiled.

"Hey."

"Hi, Megan."

"So...interesting TV fare tonight."

I nearly choked. "Yeah, uh, you could say that." I looked away, nervously.

"Hey Chris, I don't want to sound too forward, but it's ok. I can tell watching that affected you..."

"Oh god was it that obvious?"

"To me. I could tell. But like I said, don't worry, it's totally ok."

"Great. I hope no one else picked up on, you know..."

"Chris. Listen. It's ok. These things are completely normal. In fact..."

I breathed hard. "People say it's totally normal, but it's totally embarrassing!"

Megan put her hand on my arm. "It's - OK - Chris. Like I was about to say, I have those sorts of feelings too."

I felt stunned. "You do?"

Megan gave me a shy nod.

"Like, you have submissive feelings?"

"Dominant. I'm a dominant, Chris."

I sort of gasped. "Really, Megan? You don't seem like - "

"Looks can be deceiving, Chris." She paused, while I tried to figure out what to say. After a silent few seconds, Megan continued. "So do you and Alyson - "

"No! No, never. No." Megan's light blue eyes widened at my strenuous denial. "I mean, she just has no interest in it. She thinks the idea of it is disgusting." Megan shrugged, and gave me a soft smile. I continued. "What about you and Kyle?"

Megan laughed. "Oh god no! I wish, but...well, Kyle's about as submissive as...let's just say he's not. We've talked, you know, but he doesn't get it. He's mentioned a little interest in some sort of domination-play in bed, you know, as part of sex, to spice things up, little spankings and things like that, but...but no."

"Yeah, why does everyone seem to think these things are just part of spicing up sex? It's like they don't get that it's a deeper longing, you know, like a primal drive..." I stopped, suddenly embarrassed, realizing I was telling Megan much more than I'd ever told anyone. She was leaning against the railing, looking into the distance thoughtfully.

"I get it, Chris. What I really want, Kyle can't give me. I mean, what I really want is for someone to submit to me, and serve me, just to serve me. Like, for no other reward than the privilege of serving me. No expectations beyond that." She paused, and looked at me. "Does that sound selfish?"

"Not at all. That was, well it was beautiful. That sort of describes what I want. From the other end, you know?"

Megan looked at me seriously. "I know." Suddenly, I had the chills. She paused, held me in her gaze, then relaxed. "I do have my fantasies. God, do I ever."

"Yeah, I know how-" I was interrupted by laughing people spilling on to the deck. That was the end of our conversation for the night, but it was enough to mess me up good. I couldn't get Megan's words out of my head. Then, very late, as we were all leaving and saying our goodbyes, Megan leaned close to me and whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.

"I expect you to behave, Chris."

Years later, waiting at the stoplight to turn into Megan's neighborhood, I thought of that moment. Many like it would follow, sometimes spaced apart by a year or more. At a gathering, Megan would wait until we were alone together, look at me, and quietly ask me about my behavior.

"Have you been a good boy, Chris?"

Each time her words sent me into a cyclone of excitement and embarrassment at being asked that, and called a 'boy,' and a feeling of being in trouble, and being exposed, and it was horrible and wonderful all at once. Each time I answered, it felt as if I had to struggle to speak.

"Yes. Yes, Megan. I've tried my best to be good."

"I expect you to do more than try. Understand?"

"Yes, Megan."

These quick exchanges varied slightly each time, but they always felt the same. Megan never explained what, exactly, she meant by being good, but I thought I formed a general idea in my mind. Being kind, being respectful to everyone, acting like someone who claims to be submissive should act. Regardless of what she meant, and how I interpreted it, each time I felt like I was put on the spot, called out, reminded of who I really was. It was breathtaking. Once or twice, when it had been a very long time since Megan called me out like that, I started to think our little exchanges had ended for good, until Megan finally caught me off guard, demanding to know if I understood that she was watching me. It was a fun little game, and it lasted for years and years. Megan didn't stop confronting me like this until a couple of years ago, when Alyson died.

Driving through their neighborhood, I sighed as I reminisced about how Kyle and Megan were more gracious to me than anyone after Alyson's death. The car wreck took everyone by surprise, and they both sensed how shook I was. Many friends visited and brought food in those first few months, but it was Megan that kept coming, kept doing things for me, kept visiting. It was on one of her visits to check up on me, more than a year after the terrible event, that she told me I seemed like I was doing better. I agreed I was recovering, feeling better, though I'd never fully recover, but I was able to laugh and joke again. And it was in that same conversation that Megan looked straight at me, held my gaze, and asked me a question.

"So Chris. Have you been a good boy?"

I'd sighed deeply, relieved and embarrassed and excited and shamed. My voice shook as I answered.

"Yes, Megan. I've been good. I'm behaving."

"Good." Megan held me in her stare for a very long pause, obviously thinking. "You know, Chris, I could really use someone at our house to serve me. With no expectation of anything else. Just the opportunity to serve me. Know anybody who might be interested?"

I took a deep breath, swallowed loudly, and struggled to speak. "Um, yes Megan. I can think of someone." I tried to smile. Megan was suddenly confident, supremely self-assured.

"Good! I can't promise you yet that it will happen. I need to talk to Kyle. He IS my husband. He'll need to know about it, and be ok with it. But he knows what I've always sort of wanted, and knows he can't do it for me. So just wait, be a good boy, and I'll get back to you." She smiled. "OK?"

My mouth was dry. "O - OK, Megan."

A series of conversations followed, drawn out over months. Kyle turned out to be more understanding than I'd expected, and ok with it as long as I'd only be serving Megan - never seeing her in any sort of state of undress, never doing anything overtly sexual with her, and never, ever, EVER, touching her. I was relieved, but mortified. Kyle knew. He knew about me, he knew the things I wanted to do, the things I apparently would be doing. A guy knew. Not just a guy, a friend. Kyle. He knew. I practically cried in shame for several nights until I finally started to get used to the idea.

Megan worked from home, which made things convenient. If I served her, it would be when she was at home alone, working, while the kids were at school and Kyle was at work. When? How often? Megan checked her schedule, and looked for conflicts.

"OK Chris, if we decide to do it on Wednesdays, it will be EVERY Wednesday. No exceptions. Is that clear?" Megan looked at me with a strict look, surprisingly strict, more serious than I'd ever seen her.

"That's clear, Megan. I understand."

"Do you? So I guess you understand that your weekly appointment to serve me has to be the most important thing in your life. An unbreakable commitment. You will absolutely be there every Wednesday at 9. No exceptions. If you have to reschedule an appointment, you reschedule it. You cannot reschedule me. I come before everything else. Everything. Is. That. Clear?"

I shuddered. "Yes, Megan. I understand. That's clear. You are more important than anything else in my life."

A smile. "Good. Don't forget it."

That serious demeanor, a side of Megan that was new to me, is what I remembered, fearfully, as I parked in front of her house. I had a few extra minutes, which was lucky, since I had to calm my nerves. I was sweaty. Finally, at one minute before nine, I got out of the car, locked it, and walked up the walkway to the front door.

Megan had given me detailed instructions for my arrival that included opening the unlocked door and walking right in. I knew I was supposed to, but was still reluctant. What if I'd dreamed all this? What if Kyle was still home for some reason? How could I just open the door to their house and barge in? I remembered my orders, remembered Megan telling me specifically to come straight in, so I took a breath and opened the door, stepping inside.

What came next was even harder. I remembered Megan telling me to strip naked as soon as I stepped in the door and closed it behind me. I hesitated. Megan was here somewhere, but not right here. Megan and Kyle had done well for themselves, and they lived in a somewhat spacious house. I felt alone and weird. I'd been here before, visiting, but it just seemed wrong in some way undressing here. But I had to. I looked around at the sort-of-familiar great room, kitchen to the right, study to the left, and began taking off my shirt, my shoes and socks, and finally, my pants and underwear.

Naked, I inhaled sharply. I was already embarrassed. My body shook. Remembering my orders, I knelt down and folded my clothes neatly, then left them on the floor beside the front door. Then I proceeded a few steps to the right, to the kitchen, where I stood naked, facing the hallway, hands folded behind my back, and waited.

The wait, no longer than three or four minutes, seemed like an eternity. I wasn't allowed to move, or to talk. Only wait. The red tile of the kitchen floor felt cold on my bare soles. The room felt chilly, but I felt hot at the same time. My cock, nervously hanging limp, felt ridiculously exposed. The kitchen was filled with light from the open blinds. I was certain no one could see in, but the windows made me feel even more self-conscious. Framed family photos on the wall, photos of friends on the fridge. People I knew. God, I felt weird. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again.

After an endless minute or two longer, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs across from the hallway. I flinched, and squeezed my hands tightly behind my back. An instant later, Megan appeared around the corner, looking good. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair fell back casually, framing her pale face. She wore a light green long-sleeve tee, and jeans with a faded spot and tear high on her left leg. White socks covered her feet, and she wore a big smile on her face.

"OK Chris, let's get started!"

"I-" I started to speak, about to say something, but Megan immediately put her finger up over her mouth and shushed me.

"SHHHH!!!" Her smile was gone. "Chris. In this house, you do NOT speak, unless you're asked a direct question or given a direct order."

I resisted the urge to answer her. Megan's tone softened, and she began to speak again.

"Now Chris, each week when you present yourself to me, you're going to, well, display your body in a few ways, just to show me you're serious. That you know your place here, before me. And to help you start out with the right attitude. Attitude is extremely important to me. So let's start."

Megan stood up straighter, a few feet in front of me, and looked directly at me. I can't begin to describe how ashamed I felt, how embarrassed, just having her see me naked. I felt stupid and ridiculous.

"Chris, first you bow. You'll be standing here with your hands behind your back. So as soon as I stand in front of you, you greet me with a bow. At your waist. A deep bow, as deep as you can go. Do it now."

"Yes, Megan." I leaned forward at my waist, trying to keep my body straight.

"Deeper."

"Yes, Megan." I bent forward even more, until my torso was essentially parallel with the ground. My thighs started to ache.

"Good. Now hold that pose, while you count SLOWLY to ten. Let's go. One. Two..."

She was counting very slowly indeed.

"... Three. Four. Remember, I won't count after today. You need to count in your head. Five. Six..."

I tried my best to hold it. I was shaking.

"... Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten." Now stand up straight SLOWLY."

"Yes, Megan."

Upright, again looking at Megan rather than the floor, I felt a new wave of shame. Megan continued.

"Next, you kneel. On both knees, with your legs together. And bow your head, looking toward the floor. Show me the respect I deserve. Now, Chris."

"Yes, Megan."

I knelt, my left knee then my right hitting the tile. I was a bit surprised at how hard it felt, and how my knees immediately started to hurt.

"Count of ten, Chris. In your head."

I began counting in my head. One. Two.

"When you're done, tell me. Say 'I'm finished, Megan.'"

Five. Six. My eyes were cast down, focused on the floor in front of Megan's socks. This position was surprisingly humbling. Nine. Ten. "I'm finished, Megan."

"Good. Now normally, you won't tell me that, you'll just go straight into your next position. So from the position you're in, bend forward, bend WAY over, and press your face to the floor. Your hands should be palms against the floor just in front of your head."

I bent forward, using my hands against the floor to steady myself. Face in the hard floor. My nose was squished. I breathed deeply. This position seriously felt embarrassing.

"Arch your back, and stick your butt up more. Good. This position is called 'obeisance.' Now count to ten in your head, and tell me when you're done."

One. Two. I was breathing very hard.

"Hold this position - don't wobble." I steadied myself. Megan stepped closer. Even though my gaze was directed at the floor my face was resting on, I could see her socked feet in my peripheral vision on my left. Four. Five. "This position, Chris, it's meant to put you in your place. Holding it is a way that you acknowledge that I'm better than you."

Ouch. I slowed my count at that. Eight... Nine... Better than me? Ten.

"I'm finished, Megan." It was barely more than a whisper.

"Good. Next position."

Better than me? Something about that comment caught me off guard, and shook me. I listened to Megan, and suddenly noticed in her familiar voice, soft and friendly, something I'd never caught before. A hint of superiority, of imperiousness.

"So Chris, after you bow to me, and kneel before me, and bend down in obeisance..."

So haughty. What did she really think of me? Her voice, her manner, it embarrassed me. But something else was happening. I was turned on, more so than I could ever remember being turned on in my life. My penis grew into a rock hard erection.

"...you will lie prostrate before me. The entire front of your body flat against the floor. Your soles facing up. Your arms extended past your head, as far as they can reach, and palms flat against the floor. Do it, Chris. Now."

My god, I was ashamed and excited and light-headed and wondered how I would even move. Somehow, I moved. Flat against the cold floor, I had to be careful I didn't move, so that I wouldn't squirt. I was shaking, my whole body in a posture of complete surrender to Megan.

"Chris, this is the worship position." I shook hard and took a deep breath when she said the word "worship." What on earth had I gotten into?

"You heard me right. Worship. I expect it. Let that sink in. Now, in this position, you won't count. You remain prostrate, in worship to me, until I tell you that you can move."

I felt hot, I was excited erect, and I had a pit in my throat and stomach. Worship? Did Megan really expect me to worship her? Did she see herself as a goddess? Or at least as MY goddess? Holy shit I didn't even know what I thought about that. Nevertheless, I was turned on.

"Don't worry, Chris. You'll worship me out loud, with your words, when the time comes. When you're ready. When you can do it willingly. Right now, just hold this position of worship, and think about me, what you admire about me, how you look up to me, and just adore me with your thoughts."

Damn, I thought, how did I feel about this? I tried a different tack. In my mind, I directed my thoughts toward Megan. Oh Megan, I thought, Oh Megan, you really are superior to me. I do adore you. You are intelligent and perceptive and kind and beautiful and Oh Megan, I adore you. I praise you. Would I be saying these words out loud to her, like this, at some point? The very idea of it, of saying these things out loud, while Megan listened, it frightened and humiliated me. I considered the w-word, but couldn't quite bring myself to use it in my mind, not yet. So I repeated my thoughts of adoration in my mind, rephrasing them. I adore you Megan. You're the smartest person I know. I praise you Megan. You've always seen through me. You know me better than anyone, better than I know myself. You're compassionate, Megan, even though I'm beginning to discover your strict side. I honor you, Megan. I scrunched my face tightly in shame as I thought these thoughts. Megan's voice interrupted them.

"So Chris, while you're down there in worship, I'm going to write your chores for today on the chalkboard. Megan sat on a chair, directly in front of me, and I heard the scrape of a piece of chalk marking a handheld chalkboard. After she wrote for a few minutes, she spoke again.

"I'll be supervising you closely since it's your first time. But you'll eventually work more independently. And Chris, I expect obedience. Absolute, immediate obedience. No hesitation."

She continued to write. I waited, in the worship position.

"Let's talk about punishment. If I need to punish you, I'm going to use corporal punishment. Specifically, I'll take a large wooden spoon from this droor, and I'll paddle your bare ass until I decide you've learned your lesson."

I suddenly felt a chill of deeper embarrassment, the kind of feeling I'd felt all the times Megan had asked me if I'd been a good boy.

"And I'm talking a serious paddling, a very hard paddling. It will hurt, Chris. It will hurt you bad."