Transformation

Day One

I am on my knees, my hands clasped behind my neck; my breasts thrust forward, my back straight, head held level, eyes cast downward. I cannot bring myself to look into you’re eyes for fear that if I do, my posture might melt along with my resolve to go through with the coming ordeal.

I have traveled too far and waited too long to not go through with all we had talked about for so long. More importantly, the stakes are too high. For you have promised me that if I am able to endure all that you inflict upon me, you will make me yours forever.

I agreed to the weekend’s experiments even before you informed me just what they would consist of. After years of planning, thousands of letters and hundreds of phone calls, the fantasy is about to become a reality. Now that I am finally in your presence I am a hundred times more unnerved that I thought I would be. Suddenly every word we said to each other in our many letters and our brief encounters on the phone begins to flood my mind. Every wild thought, every sadomasochistic scenario, every story we exchanged bombards my thoughts and wave of panic surges through me as I to imagine what is going to happen to me during the next 72-hours. I close my eyes and try to gain my composure.

I remember the long and very detailed letter you sent me just before you’re release, outlining the three ‘trials’ you would be subjecting me to over the next three days. Each ‘trial’ was to be the centerpiece of that day’s activities. As I remember the details of each of the upcoming trio of ‘tortures’, I can feel my body tremble and my stomach churn. I feel the moisture beginning to pool between my legs.

The first evening is upon us as I am kneeling before you and any chance of withdrawing from the events to come is now out of my grasp. I no longer have the option to change my mind. You are sitting in a chair across the room from me, watching me intensely. You see the fear I am fighting so hard to conceal and it amuses you. You smile at me with wickedness gleaming from you’re eyes. You study me as a hunter studies his prey before he strikes. You are wearing nothing but you’re jack-boots and fingerless, leather gloves. You spy me with you’re feet planted firmly on the hard wood floor, you’re elbows resting on the soft padded arms of the overstuffed chair with you’re long cruel fingers laced together and resting on your lap.

I feel a cramp beginning in my legs and I shift my weight slightly to counter it, grateful for the pillow that is protecting my knees from the cold hard floor. I catch myself on the verge of a fidget and I fight it off, determined to maintain my posture and to please you. I manage to remain unmoving for an amazingly long time with my eyes fixed on the floor at you’re booted feet. I fight the urge to cast my glance up at you’re face for I know that if I look into you’re eyes I will become paralyzed with fear and collapse. “You can do this Stacey,” I say to myself as I take a slow, deep breath and remain as I was ordered to remain.

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