The story goes on.
'Take your top off!'
I had just come inside his door and he had not even greeted me.
Obeying him had started to come naturally. I often hesitated, not because I didn't want to do what he said but because I had to figure out that I had been given an order.
There, in his hallway, I was taken aback. He sounded very harsh, nothing of his ordinary gentleness and kindness. No, this order was barked at me in a hard and demanding voice.
I was as frightened by his voice as by his demand as I took hold of my top and slipped it off. In an instant and in one movement and after one order I stood there topless in his flat.
I was more prepared now and turned around. For a second I feared he would open the door and push me out into the stairwell, topless.
Instead I felt him grab my wrists and cross them and soon I felt something like a rope encircle them. My heart started thumping when I realised I was being bound.
I had never been bound before. It was a strange and terrifying sensation to feel how my wrists were fastened together behind my back. All sorts of strange thoughts ran through my head. I had forgotten to scratch my nose and now I couldn't and how easy it was for him to touch me or even undress me.
'Wait there!' he said and turned around and left me in the hallway, bound and with bared breasts. I knew I should find it comical but I felt just surprised and a little deflated.
He left me there, standing in the hallway for a long time. I don't know what he did but I heard him move in the flat, beyond the door but he didn't come back. I stood there and waited and became a little annoyed with it. I tried to tell myself that I shouldn't. That I should try to accept what happened to me, accept that he had a plan for it, wanted something with it.
Finally he returned but he didn't say anything. He just grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the living room.
'What is this all about?' I heard how angry I sounded.
'Silence!' he snapped and stared at me.
He stood me in the middle of the room and then he unceremoniously unbuttoned my skirt and pulled it down. My tights and my knickers followed suit.
I felt terribly humiliated by his causal and rash undressing of me. He just yanked my clothes down my hips and expected me to lift my feet and help him get them off me. I did but my heart was beating hard.
When I was stripped naked he snapped an order to kneel.
I knew what he meant and spread my knees wide. My cheeks were flashing and I trembled with humiliation.
Then he left me again. He went into the kitchen and made some tea. He took his time and didn't return for a long while.
I was left in the living room, kneeling, naked, knees spread wide, hands tied behind my back, thinking. I reasoned with myself. I knew this was part of being the woman at his feet but I still felt intimidated by his harshness, his roughness and his disrespect for me.
I felt fed up with it all, wanted to get away, to rest, to think. I knew that this was how I had felt when he had spanked me the first time, how I had walked away from him, convinced that I would never ever accept a man who believed he had the right to punish me when he saw fit. I remembered, too, how I had missed him, how my heart had longed for him, so much that I had humiliated myself and accepted the dreadful canings.
I thought all my pride was gone, trampled into the ground, still it was pride that raged within me, pride that demanded respect for me and my will.
Eventually he came back with his tea, sat down in the armchair and poured himself a cup. I knelt facing him so he could have his tea and have a good look at me at the same time.
He took his time, didn't speak to me but poured another cup and drank it. I was shivering and felt miserable as he looked upon me.
'I like to have you like this, my pet,' he said and smiled for the first time this evening, 'naked and kneeling at my feet.'
'What have I done to deserve this?'
He looked me over, smiled and I squirmed as I imagined I could feel his gaze touch my body.
'You are angry, me pet, I can see that but you still obey me. I like that. You are making progress.'
Anger flashed through me, anger and shame. He was right. I did obey him, I didn't protest. I did exactly what he told me to do. He had defeated me, I had surrendered to him. Still my anger flowed through me.
He spoke of me like a child or even a real pet. I was still being trained. That was obvious and he chose to patronise me and talk about progress.
I wanted to cry out to him that I was a professional, I had achieved a doctorate, I was published and acclaimed. I was no pet who was to be complimented for her ability to kneel naked at a man's feet.
But I knew I was defeated. I knew I had surrendered. I did kneel naked at his feet and I had let him bind me. I knew he was right.
He knelt in front of me and touched me. I squirmed in agony as his fingers lit the fire and then withdrew. He smiled as he left me sitting there, my body shivering with the desire he had awakened.
I didn't speak. I waited in silence, trying to comprehend what it meant being so defeated as I was.
Later he raised me to my feet and led me to the bedroom. He laid me down on the bed and tied my feet together. I was naked and bound and totally defenceless. He gave me no mercy. His hands explored me and I cried in frustration, torn between the humiliation of being a captive being groped and the pleasure of feeling his hands on my body.
In his mercy he let me come. He could have left me in unfulfilled frustration but he rewarded me. I was grateful for that and as I looked up at his face I was uncertain which sensation dominated, the anger that he had shamed me thus or the joy for the blessing he had decided to give me.
From that moment I knew he was fully aware of what he was doing to me. He knew where my pride was and he constantly challenged it. He played a game with high stakes, at least they were high for me. He could easily have pushed me too far, made me so infuriated and hurt that I would have left forever.
Again that initial sense of total vulnerability came back. I wondered how he saw me. I knew he cared for me but what would it have meant had I left him? Would he just shrug his shoulders and think that I wasn't up to it. Did I mean as much to him as he meant to me? I had no defence against that thought. I was vulnerable and I knew that I would always be. The moment I admitted that he meant something to me, I was weak and easy to hurt.
He hadn't pushed me too far, not yet. But sometimes I was convinced he really tried to test my limits.
I was tired during those days. My mind was constantly in turmoil and I had very little rest from new and shocking discoveries. It was a period of transition and I could just about cope.