Surprisingly, as I’d been naked most of the day, I was suddenly very aware of my body. The weight of my breasts shifted toward my armpits, and I felt his breath waft lightly across my lower belly.
“Offer yourself,” He commanded.
Somehow, my body knew He expected my legs to splay, my cunt open and pulsing slowly in response to his visual inspection. I also knew to keep my hands at my side, resisting the urge to cover myself in any way.
I didn’t know if the verbalization showed curiosity, satisfaction, or disapproval, but I did nothing in response.
Cool metal traced the crease on the outside of my labia. And then…another, what I assumed to be a utensil (a spoon?), in tandem with the first, was used to spread my lips. The tip of the first implement (a butter knife?) just barely penetrated the opening of my vagina, and I felt myself involuntarily twitch closed around it a few times. He pressed the smooth flat part of what I was now sure was a spoon against my clitoris and maneuvered it in back and forth and in circles until my back arched every so slightly and my head tilted back.
“What do you want from this experience, Emily?”
I was caught off guard by the question and by the intentional use of my given name.
I stuttered, “I want to stop fighting myself. I want to let go…to give up.”
“That’s a tall order, Emily,” He paused briefly, a slow and deliberate breath, and then continued, “Do you want to submit because it’s easier…or because it’s harder…to give up?”
I thought about it for a few moments, my eyes searching the lines of the ceiling, “It’s hard. But, I want it to be easy. I want it to come naturally.”
“Is it in you? That ease? Is it it waiting to be trained? Because I won’t force you, Emily. One cannot be forced to let go…to give up, as you say.”
“It is. I know it is. I feel it right beneath the surface.”
“Then, I will train you. But you must know that your submission is as much an active state as is my Dominance. You must want to submit. You must want to please me. You must display your submission.”
“Yes, Sir, I know.”
“Good,” He exhaled decisively, “Consider your every move mine to control from this moment forward. You must respectfully ask permission to do everything, and I retain the right to refuse or modify your requests as I see fit.”
I heard the legs of His chair screech against the floor as He stood up.
“Jonathan, help Her down.”
I watched Ethan Smith leave the room and let the ghost of myself disappear with Him. Tomorrow, I would be nameless.
Tess appeared from the shadows, her little feet quick and quiet.
Sensing my apprehension, she whispered, “You can do this,” and took my hand.