Letting Go of Yesterday

This is my first posting in this forum. I hope this story will continue through to completion. Please be patient with me as I am new to this. This story is about Dominance and Submission. If you do not like this topic, please look elsewhere for your reading pleasure.

Please feel free to contact me with any questions or matters where you feel I may be of assistance — or if you have any suggestions for me. I am here to serve. Thank you so very much.

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Chapter 1. IN THE BEGINNING...

My name is Drew. It had been almost 14 months since my wife died in an automobile accident. My life had slowly been coming back together after those difficult months of sleepless nights and fright filled days.

Tina, my step daughter, is the child of my wife's first relationship. She had just turned 24. The pain of loosing her mother, was as sharp and stabbing as my pain had been. She had lost her mother, as I had lost my wife. The two of us had never been particularly close, though Tina did approve of her mother's dominance over me and of my subservience to the both of them. I believe Tina really liked not having any chores or duties around the house, for I was their servant over the many years.

Very lately, I had felt that Tina would just as soon have me out of her life, especially since her new boyfriend, Sunnu, was not very fond of me. His family had emigrated from India, and Sunnu had been in this country for about 15 years.

Out of the blue, Tina asked me if I would like to accompany her and Sunnu on a trip to India, to visit his extended family and also to see part of his vast country. At first I said that I wasn't sure. But at her insistence, I soon agreed. It took about a week to discuss how we would go about this, but all seemed to be agreeable to me. I even felt it proper, as Sunnu had suggested, that I sign a durable power of attorney document, giving Tina power over my financial holdings, in the event that something should happen to me while we were in India. For as Sunnu stated, I could always revoke it at any time. I gave her my credit card and told her to make the arrangements. I signed all the documents and we were all set to go to India. Our flight was from Chicago to London, then transfer there for a nonstop flight to Mumbai.

The flight from O'Hare to Heathrow was uneventful. We had a three hour layover before we were to board the flight to Mumbai. I had closed my eyes for a nap as I don't sleep well on planes. I must have been asleep for an hour or so when Tina woke me to say there was a problem with our next flight. She needed my passport to get things straightened out. I gave it to her and she took it to the counter where Sunnu was talking to the airline representative and an "official" looking Indian man who was dressed in what appeared to be a very expensive suit.

The man took out of his pocket, a very fat envelope, and gave it to Sunnu, who then handed him, what looked like, my passport. The man came over to me and stated that there is a problem with Sunnu's passport and that he and Tina will need to go to the Indian travel desk at the airport to get it straightened out. He stated that it should be just a formality. The airline will book them on the next flight to Mumbai and he will escort me on our original flight and wait with me for Tina and Sunnu to arrive a few hours after us. This seemed a bit strange, but international travel sometimes is a bit strange and difficult. He stated that he has my passport and will keep it with his and help me get through customs and immigration upon deplaning in Mumbai.

As I boarded the flight to Mumbai, I glanced back at Tina and Sunnu. They were smiling and waving to me.

Once on board, the man, who I have since come to know as Rohan, spoke with the flight attendant. A few minutes later, the flight attendant returned and offered me a cocktail. Being very thirsty and a bit stressed, I accepted her offer and soon became more relaxed. I must have fallen asleep and slept the entire flight. Upon waking, I did feel quite rested and at ease, though worried about Tina and Sunnu, and how they were managing on their own. (I did not realize at the time, but when I waved to them at the boarding gate at Heathrow, that I would never see the two of them again.)

As we cleared customs, an immigration officer pulled me aside and stated that I would need to answer a few questions. He took me into a side room where I was greeted by a very attractive, well endowed, Indian woman in uniform. As I handed her my passport, she quickly slapped a hand cuff on my right wrist, spun me around and cuffed both my hands behind my back. She apologized and stated that this was standard procedure. She sat me down at an interrogation desk and then left the room.

It seems like hours elapsed before she returned. She stated that everything was in order at that I would be leaving soon. At this point, she slid a document across the desk and said that I should sign it. I was told it was just a release form, just a formality. She uncuffed my right hand and I signed the form. As I signed, she asked if I was thirsty. I told her I was very thirsty. She placed a call and soon another female officer brought in a glass of water for me. I downed it in one gulp, I think. Apologizing again, she stated that I must be re-cuffed until I was released. I soon began to feel quite drowsy, and the last thing I remember was a black hood being placed over my head.

When I finally woke up, I had no idea where I was, or how long I had been asleep. I was naked, tied to a table. I was shivering, my teeth chattering. The room was very dank and dark. There was a small light in one corner of the room, opposite what I guessed was, the only door. This light illuminated a small opening , a small hole in the wall, positioned at about waist level. There were no windows in the room and I sensed the chamber was very isolated, as I could hear no sounds whatsoever.

I could just barely make out an inscription on the ceiling. I presumed, since I was in India, that it was Hindi. I've since seen it many times, so I recognize it, and now know it's meaning.

यहां आने वाले किसी भी व्यक्ति के लिए कोई उम्मीद नहीं है

I hear the door opening, and a petite, white, western woman enters. She slowly approaches the table where I am bound.

Leaning over she whispers in my ear, "Welcome to your final fate, B-52."

She points to the ceiling and reads the inscription to me. "There is no hope for anyone who comes here."

I am no longer Drew. I am now just B-52.

(to be continued)