It's often the little things that change your life.
In the case of Erik Dyson, it was construction on I-94. The left two lanes were closed, which made rush hour a depressing ordeal...unless, of course, he abandoned the freeway and took a more roundabout way to work, cutting through the red-light district. Not that it was much of a red-light district, he mused as he drove along the first morning of his new commute...a few ragged-looking hookers here and there, an adult bookstore, and one shop called "Forbidden Desires" that, from the window display, sold lingerie and sex toys. The red light next to that one seemed particularly long to him...he waited for what seemed like five minutes at it while tapping his fingers, singing along with the radio, and trying to avoid the embarrassing tableau of two mannequins, one male and dressed in a leather bikini and face-concealing slave mask, and the other female and dressed in some sort of dominatrix's outfit, wielding a whip.
Honestly, he thought as the light finally changed and he pressed down hard on the gas, who would possibly be into getting beaten up like that?
The drive home was much the same as the drive back, with the exception of the angle he viewed the window display at "Forbidden Desires." It was the same display, submissive man and dominant woman, and he repressed a shiver. It wasn't that he thought men should be dominant and women submissive or anything, he mused; rather, he thought that the whole thing should be about equality. Mutual love. Not the caress of a leather whip...
The light turned green, and he accelerated again...this time, though, he watched the display in the rear view mirror for a while, still trying to figure out what would go through a man's head when a woman was whipping his ass.
And then he slept...
biting down on the leather strap in his mouth tasting the bitter tang of the leather feeling naked and exposed without his clothes but loving it loving the cool air on his nipples and on his back as his Mistress laughed (so musical!) and then the swish and CRACK! and he felt the sweet sting of the whip the sweet sweet sting of his Mistress's love for him and he did not cry out because a good slave never cried out Mistress would be so disappointed in him if he cried out he would be a good slave and take the CRACK! of the whip again and again as she showed him her love and her power and he obeyed her like a good good slave
The dream stayed with him the entire drive to work, haunting the back of his mind as he navigated automatically through traffic. That was what freaked him out about dreams, he thought as he once again hit that same red light, and found his eyes once again drawn to the repellently attractive window display. It was like there was some part of his mind that was holding him hostage, making him want something that he didn't want--that no normal person would want. He looked at the mannequin, trying to picture himself underneath that mask, accepting discipline...No. Nothing here that wants that. The idea of enjoying being whipped...the light turned green, and he pulled away quickly.
Work seemed too short, now; time whizzed by as he did his normal duties of filing and sorting, organizing and arranging...he even did an hour or two of overtime, hoping to delay the time before he left so that he would be able to take the freeway once again. But his thoughts drifted as he drove, and without even realizing it, he'd missed the turnoff for the freeway and was passing down the side streets, stopping once again at that red light (and why wasn't it ever green?)
The display was still there; he was hoping that perhaps they'd changed it, but the man was still wearing that mask, still down on his hands and knees as the woman lofted her whip possessively, ready to give him the punishment that he no doubt deserved... Erik sighed. Great, he thought. Now I'm giving them personalities. He decided that tomorrow, traffic or no traffic, he was taking the freeway to work.
And then he slept...
on his knees again no strap in his mouth now she wanted his tongue free to lick as she whipped him lacing stripe after stripe of redness on his back the welts like tiny little kisses love bites from the Mistress as he polished her leather boots with his good slave tongue tasting the leather again better than before because it was in the service of his Mistress not just enduring the pain like before but serving her with his tongue as she whipped him again and again each time the CRACK! of the whip and the musical laughter the only real sounds in the dream and the taste of leather in his mouth as he licked and licked like a good slave boy and an obedient slave boy
