Preface:
I have mixed feelings about humiliation.
On the one hand, the absolute last thing I would want is to humiliate anyone, especially women; women suffer far to much humiliation in this world. My greatest hope and joy is the empowering of women, including my wife and daughters. A good look around shows us that when women have more power, violence and poverty are reduced. Men need good women to temper and augment their power. And women need good men, as accepting partners, as well.
On the other hand, I recognize that a great many women have what might be considered a strange reaction to humiliation; they are massively turned on by some forms of it. One has only to look at the number of lovelies who prance around after bad boys, players, and cads to see that sad truth. And in the Lifestyle, that is magnified. Many submissive women are more than willing to specify directly that they are looking to be "put in their place" and made to do things most would consider degrading.
On the gripping hand, every life may be improved by some level of humiliation, in the same way that what doesn't kill us can only make us stronger. My own life was probably saved by a very humiliating incident which allowed me to finally admit my place and give up the weight I was foolishly attempting to carry. We must all face humiliation, and lessons on how to do that well are therefore worthy.
This is a story about a love that starts with such a lesson. The story does not continue into the ongoing benefits of the lesson learned, but you may trust that the relationship which results is a positive one, for both of the participants, as may be expounded upon in upcoming missives from this author, depending on the strength of whatever reactions this story gleans.
Finally, I want to point out that although the story is written from the first person point of view, the man in this story bears no more resemblance to the author than is necessitated by the limits of my imagination. If the language of this introduction provides no clue, let me say this: Our subject is a bit stuck up, a proper man, although a quick learner and flexible. He is also an incurable romantic and completely obsessed with the books of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Jane Eyre and others of the romance era; so much so that his speech is, at times, archaic.
And I, embarrassingly, have gotten somewhat stuck in that wording as a result of trying to write from his point of view. Our subject is not a hater of women, although his past gives reason to distrust the fairer sex. He is a bit traditional in that he assumes that women are better suited for some roles and men for others. He admires strong women, and those in positions of leadership, but he feels they must be rare and must have overcome elements of their basic nature to have attained power. In short, he is somewhat sexist, but in a manner which is most subtle and difficult to discern. This lesson helps him to grow as well, for he sees the power of submission and the strength it requires.
I must credit Mrs. Ember (Jaily) Flameman and YummyBomb with their assistance in editing and writing this piece. It would have been laughably inaccurate as to the female perspective without their help, and rife with spelling, tense, punctuation and grammatical errors. Any errors that remain were introduced by my final tweaking.
I do hope you enjoy it. Writers are sustained by feedback.
THE KEY
I was leaving the office about 8pm, having worked late on a proposal to help the community, which was not coming together well. In these hard economic times, empty buildings and broken homes had resulted in an increase in vandalism and graffiti. Now, with the opening of a nightclub a block away, our area was becoming increasingly unsafe at night. I began to fear that aside from the cost of replacing windows and painting over the taggers handiwork our business might be robbed or some violence done to our happy little group.
As I turned and walked into the last light of the evening, a voice floated to my ears from the alley between mine and the next building.
"Excuse me... Sir?"
It was the voice of a women, not shrill or rough, but soft and with a hint of panic and despair. Not a hooker nor a sales pitch, which could leave only two possibilities -- a damsel in distress or bait to a trap.
I shaded my eyes from the street lamp and looking deep into the alley. There I saw a lovely woman. She was standing just in front of the retaining wall which runs about waist high at the end of the alley. Although her face and body were not really visible, her clothes and her stance left a distinct impression of class, delicacy, and attention to detail.
I cleared my throat and called out "yes, hello... how can I help you?" as I turned and walked into the alley toward her.
She leaned forward slightly, her arms behind her back, her chin raised and hesitatingly said, "I... seem to be in a bit of a... predicament... which will require the assistance of a trustworthy person to resolve."
I could see more of her now, a lovely face
She continued, "I called out to you because you look... honorable and trustworthy. I dearly hope that I am not mistaken."
"Uh oh", I thought. "This sounds like something just out of a fairy tail."
Long years of bitter experience have taught me to distrust this sort of thing, and this was really starting to sound like a scam. I stopped and glanced to the sides, looking for a man or men hiding, waiting to rob me. Looking back at her, I could see a look of fear and almost panic pass over her striking face.
She pleaded, "Please don't stop, Oh God, don't leave. I really do need YOUR help, Sir."
