There comes a time in everyone's life when they think back on what they've done and what they are doing now, and those thoughts leave that person feeling empty, wondering, what am I doing? What have I accomplished in my life? And have those things that I have accomplished amounted to anything? There is that time of unforeseen and unpreventable depression that leaves you feeling tired, it makes your body hurt in places that you didn't even know could ache. You start eating a little less, sleeping a little less, and walking around with your shoulders slumped, and your mouth drawn down. Those melancholy blues had wrapped their fingers around me.
I walked around, doing my daily chores and activities, but with a little less zest than I normally did. No singing now when I went to wash the dishes, no dancing around as I cleaned the glass, or vacuumed the floor. I quit getting dressed, and wore only loose jogging pants and big sweatshirts or tee-shirts, telling myself that I wore these things only because they were more comfortable than jeans and a blouse. I sat for long hours on the couch, staring off into space, thinking about my life, but that only made me feel old. I'd think to myself that I could go to work, though I didn't need to. I had inheritated a lot of money, and the thoughts of being around people just made me more depressed.
I had always been a very sexually charged person, but even that was starting to fade. I didn't have the energy anymore for sex or even masturbation. I have kept writing though. I've spun erotic tales for over two years sharing them with the general public and friends that I've made over those two years. Writing to me is a way of escape, a stress relief you could say, but more and more my tales of erotica were starting to become dark tales of revenge and deceit.
I still responded to my fans and my friends with each new story though the responses were getting shorter and shorter also. Instead of paragraphs there were short sentences or short paragraphs that didn't say much. Until one day when I received an e-mail from a new fan.
I went to open the letter, sighing deeply as I did, expecting the same old sayings but much to my surprise it was completely different than anything I'd ever read. I began to scroll down the words, intrigued and shocked by them at the same time.
"Hello Irish Rose, my name is Sherrill
I read your story, "Betrayal" and thought that it was magnificent
You are a wonderful writer and have a way of telling the story so
That it feels as though the person reading it is actually in the story."
I stopped; this was a typical response to my stories, typical in the praising sense, since I can never forget the words of those who despise my stories either. But that was the only "normal" part of the e-mail. I had always been use to these words, but this was different much different. I went on.
"But my Rose I digress from what I wanted to say. I wanted to ask
If you'd be my mistress, over the internet of course. I am what
You'd call a sex slave, and from your writing I know you'd be a
Good mistress to me. I want you to use me in every way you
Can possibly think of. I want you to make me a slave to
Your divine pussy. Make me get down on my knees and
Lick your sweet pussy until you tell me to stop. Plus there
Are other things I want you to do to me, but I will ask of those only
If you agree to be my relentless goddess and have me as your slave.
Please consider this, and get back to me. Already your undeserving
Slave, Sherrill."
I stared at the computer screen. I was in a state of shock; never had someone e-mailed me with this type of response before. I wasn't sure what to say, or if I should even respond to him. I didn't know how someone who would have read that story even think about me becoming their mistress, considering that all my stories consist of the woman being the "weak one." I wasn't sure if I could even do it. I wasn't the dominating type. I had always considered myself the submissive, and acted on that as well. But I also felt as though I shouldn't ignore this man's request. That would be rude. I hit the reply button, took another deep breath and began to write a short response.
"Dear Sherrill,
I'm flattered that you would ask this of me. I can try my hardest
To become what you wish of me, but I must tell you I have no
Experience on it. For I too am a submissive and have never played
A roll as a Domme or anything remotely close to it. But if you don't mind
Me learning to do what you want and be patient then I can try."
I shrugged my shoulders after I wrote it and sent the message. I figured that I wouldn't hear from him again. Though for some reason that saddened me more. While I had been reading his message I could feel that depression that had come over me lifting and in responding to him I had a smile on my face. But I wasn't going to hold my breath to hear from him again.
I turned the computer off and started back to my daily chores around the house. By the end of the night I had forgotten about the man who called himself Sherrill. But the same man would be waiting for me the next morning.
My eyes popped open at the crack of dawn. I groaned and sat up; I could never sleep past six o'clock no matter how hard I tried. I looked around the room, the street light shone in the window leaving me in semi-darkness, casting odd shadows on the wall by the dresser and behind the TV. I stretched and got up. I hit the button on the computer and went off into the kitchen to make coffee. After the coffee was brewing I went to take care of my other morning needs. The coffee wasn't done brewing by the time I got back into the kitchen, but that never mattered to me. I pulled the pot and poured a cup of very strong coffee. After putting a packet of equal and about two tablespoons of skim milk into the cup, I'd always been conscience about my weight and always measures exactly how many calories I was taken into my body, I went to the computer.
My first agenda was to read the news, I never watched the news on TV. I couldn't stand all the jargon of news casters. I read up on my world affairs and current events, mumbling to myself when there was something I didn't agree with. After awhile I got tired of reading news and went to my e-mail. I always checked it early in the morning, though I rarely responded to any one at such early hours. My breath caught when I saw the e-mail address of the man who wanted me to become his internet mistress. I figured that it was just a reply saying, "thanks any way" but I was wrong.
I opened the letter to find paragraph after paragraph of praise to me at becoming what he had asked. I was awe struck by his words and began to smile, something I hadn't done in a long time. He talked of wanting to serve me in anyway possible, and how pathetic he was, and how he didn't deserve to be treated kindly at all. I hit the reply button and started this first journey of dominating the opposite sex.
I have to admit in the beginning I was no good at it, but as time went by my own submissiveness gave way, and I ruled my new slave with a hard hand. I began to anticipate his letters to me, and found myself upset when he did not respond to me. I had found my calling, and the depression that I had felt for so long began to lift.
One afternoon when I opened his letter to me I was shocked by the fact that he asked me for my address. It was near Christmas and he said he wanted to send me a gift. I struggled over given him my address for a long time, but in the end gave up and gave it to him. In two weeks I was sent a sexy red lingerie outfit with matching thong.
Our internet affair kept up for another year, and with each day I became a harsher Mistress to my Sherrill. Though many times while writing these scenarios out I wished that he was actually with me so that I could try these things out in real life. I hadn't changed my sexual routines; I never went out and found someone to dominate. Only did I do this over the internet and only with this one man. But I did long to find out exactly how good of a Mistress I could be.
After a while our e-mails became fewer and far between, both of us getting busy in our real lives and not finding the time to get on the computer. Soon, our e-mails stopped all together, and I found myself becoming depressed again. The one thing that had pulled me out of my sadness was now bringing it again.
I quit getting on the computer at all. I forgot about my stories, my friends, and my fans, and shuffled around the house again. Then one day there was a small knock on my front door. I was in the midst of cleaning and wasn't dressed at all for company, wearing only a tee-shirt and a pair of jogging pants. My long red hair was pulled back into a pony-tail, and I had yet to shower. I let out a low angry growl at the door and went to answer it.
Standing on my front deck was a man I'd never seen before. He had a smile on his face and a bouquet of roses in his hand. I stared at him becoming alarmed at the way he looked at me, though I didn't show it.
"Can I help you Sir?"
"These are for you my Mistress"
He handed me the roses but I still hadn't made a connection.
"And to whom are they from?"
"Me."
