When the slap came, she was prepared for it. It still stung, as it at all times did, but now she was immune to the true impact it intended. After finally breaking free of the gravity that held her in his clutches, she’d told him plainly that she was leaving him.

He was enraged, of course. He at all times was – whether it was because she forgot to bring him a beer during dinner or she left her towel on the bathroom floor. It had been this way for years and his behavior was no surprise. She’d been told she was less-than so many times that she was almost ready to believe it…until she met Him.

He was a customer at her shop – buying a trinket on a slow day. The moment he’d entered she seemed to be drawn to him – and by his reaction, he was clearly feeling the same. They’d talked for an hour before he had to leave – but he came back the next day. They had coffee. They discussed life – philosophy. Pent-up anger, stress and sorrow bubbled out of her and she was soon baring herself to him and he repaid her disclosure in kind. An openness that she had never encountered before. He reminded her that she was her own woman – reminded her of the pieces of herself that she’d swept away by necessity due to her husband. And she wanted him – more than she had ever wanted anyone else, and as this realization dawned, she knew she wanted to give herself to him. This man – this virtual stranger – had awakened a strength within her that had long since lain dormant. When he had playfully suggested that he would be happy to claim her, her pulse quickened – as though the answer was given to a question she’d long forgotten to ask.

And so, when her soon-to-be ex-husband reared back for another slap, it was especially pleasing to see the surprise on his face when her knee found his groin. When he hit the floor, eyes wide with shock, she kicked him again.

“We’re done. If you ever come near me again, I’ll have you arrested, you cowardly prick. You’ll hear from the lawyer.” She spat. And with that, she grabbed her purse, the two bags she’d packed before he made it home from work and left. The adrenaline surging through her made her incredibly giddy and oddly, brought tears to her eyes. She wiped them, a smile on her face, as she took the turn towards His house.

She wasn’t certain she would be welcome – it wasn’t as though she’d planned to arrive her. During their last coffee visit, when his hand found her knee and thigh beneath the table, his voice low and his eyes fixed on hers, he’d told her she was at all times welcome at his home. But he was still a stranger, even after the month of time that had elapsed. Such a narrow window to completely change her life, but here she was… pulling up into the modest driveway of his home.

She sat in the driveway for what seemed like an eternity, unsure if she was ready to make a new plunge after such a fresh upheaval. She’d made it as far as unbuckling her seatbelt when she saw him standing in the doorway of his house, smiling at her, leaning on the frame casually. Waiting.

Swallowing hard, wiping her face and putting on her best smile, she stepped from the car. Time passed before he beckoned her inside, disappearing through the door and leaving it open for her. She grabbed her bags and carried them over the threshold. Her heart, which had already been thrumming steadily, picked up its pace. She could feel it beating in her ears, nervous and unsure. When he closed the door behind her, his hand touching her face before taking her bags, the nervousness thawed. He carried them wordlessly down the hall and into a bedroom at the far end. She followed, wringing her hands, tentative. Placing her bags on the large bed, he turned to her.

“Something to drink? I was about to have a beer, myself.” He gave her another reassuring smile, stepping around her and heading back down the hall, turning towards what she presumed was the kitchen. Again, she followed.

When the beers were open and sitting on the counter in front of them, they sat. He didn’t say a word, watching her curiously. Her eyes fixed on the granite countertop. For some reason, she felt an odd sense of shyness. But he appeared to be waiting patiently, taking the occasional sip of his beer.

“I left him.” She said finally. Saying it, hearing her own words, felt alien. “I never want to see him again.” The words began to tumble out. “I just had enough. He slapped me and told me I was a silly bitch and…” her hand found her cheek, as if remember the strike. “I kicked him in the balls.” She smiled at this realization, the giddiness returning. When she looked up, he was smiling at her warmly.

“Good girl.” he said softly, reaching out and stroking her cheek.

Of all the things she’d heard or been told over the years, hearing that – being told that… it was as though a lock inside her clicked open. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed. And, to her surprise, she felt herself become wet.

But he did nothing. For two days, they went to work, had dinner together… And he did nothing. This didn’t abate her growing want – it only refined her curiosity of him. Here she was, a guest staying in his home clearly displaying vulnerability and want simultaneously, and he did nothing. He provided everything she needed and gave her what she needed most without even realizing: Space.

Nearly a week had passed and her ex-husband had steered clear. Her life seemed to be on the mend and she stopped worrying about her ex making a grand appearance. (Though she still kept hold of a can of pepper spray every time she left the house, just to be sure.). Despite this, something began to gnaw at her. Her hosts lack of engagement with her started to bother her – why didn’t he make a move when he clearly wanted to? When she clearly wanted him to?

That night, when they sat down to a dinner of pasta and wine she’d made as a small token of thanks, she built up the nerve to ask him. “Why… haven’t you tried anything with me?”

He smiled at her from the across the table and took a sip of wine. “That’s not my decision to make.” he said simply, taking another bite of pasta and swallowing before speaking again. “You just took a pretty big leap. The choice to pursue anything is in your hands. When you are ready… not me.”

She sat silently for a moment, sipping her own wine. Her choice. In the eight years of marriage to a man she’d loved at first but gradually became a monster, she’d stopped considering her choices. What her ex-husband wanted – anything to keep his temper in check – was what he got. She had let herself become isolated and withdrawn – never considering anything else outside of her gilded cage of a nice house, car and her company. Even the word “choice” felt alien in her mind. Dangerous. Dangerous, yes… but exciting.

While washing the few dishes together, she reached out and stroked his arm. “What if I choose to want you.” She said, her eyes rising to meet his own.

He gave her a playful smirk. “Well, I want you, too… but I’m looking for a bit more.”

She looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He took her hand, still soapy, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I want you to give yourself to me, willingly and completely. I want you to submit yourself to me.” As if reading the look on her face, he gave a small nod and began drying a plate.

Submit? What did he mean? She could readily give herself to him – her body told her that truth – but what did he mean by submit? And, as if reading her mind, he put down the plate and towel, and strolled across the dining room into his den. The walls there were lined with books ranging over a thousand topics – she’d originally assumed they were for show but it was clear by what he was able to speak to that he wasn’t a poseur. Taking a small hardcover book off one of the shelves, he brought it to her and placed it in her hands before his hands held hers. He looked into her eyes and spoke warmly to her. “Read this, if you want to learn what I mean. This won’t tell you everything you need to know and it won’t define you. Don’t let it, either. This is not about what I want – it’s about something I see within you that I hope I’m right about. If you want to see how far down this rabbit hole we can travel, you may find that answer in this book.” He stroked her cheek again and then, to her surprise, slipped close to her and gave her a soft, quick kiss on the lips before returning to the kitchen.

She blinked, watching him return to the dishes, and then looked down at the book in her hands. The title read, “A Graceful Introduction to Submission”. That night, she did indeed open the book and began to read. She found, to her surprise, the concepts were not at all alien or unwelcome. She had, with her ex-husband, been submissive. But it was neither true submission nor welcome. He had forced her into that role through his abuse and degradation of her self. The book’s concepts, on the other hand, brought to mind what her host had stated clearly to her – her submission was a choice. To give her submission was a gift, and by doing so, the power to gift to whomever she wished was in her hands entirely. It was not weakness, like the bastardized form her ex-husband had forced on her. It was a release – a trust. She burned through the thin volume, her curiosity fully awakened.

Her host was right, however – the concepts resonated with her. The following day she spent most of the afternoon combing the internet for more, becoming the student she had been before life took her down the wrong road. She learned basic tenets, ideas… learned that submission came in a multitude of forms that intrigued and dazzled her. There was so much to learn and she was only dipping a toe into a vast ocean of information. But as she read more and her knowledge blossomed, her resolve grew along with it.

Two nights later, her host let her know he wouldn’t be home until later in the evening. Before that day she had continued to study and had even ordered a few new books to read. But after hours of contemplating her next actions, she knew what she wanted to do. Arriving home from her shop, she quickly showered and began to prepare. Makeup applied, nails done… things her ex-husband neither appreciated or wanted her to wear because they “drew attention.” Standing in the mirror in her guest bathroom, she admired the look of herself. Feeling sexy again – vital. Dropping the robe she wore around her ankles, leaving herself nude, she admired herself. While in the shower earlier she’d had somewhat of a wild hare and shaved her mons pubis almost entirely (save for a small strip she’d seen in porn once but had never tried), her lower lips visible to her in the mirror for the first time in a while – another legacy of her ex-husband… he’d insisted that the lack of hair was “slutty.” She smirked at this memory and wondered to herself, “Yes, it is a little… but I love it.” She ran her hand over her body as if rediscovering her own curves and then nodded, pleased. Next she put on a new nearly-sheer black lace teddy, a matching black thong, and then carefully rolled stockings up her slender legs to her thighs. When she was done with her outfit, she walked across the house. She’d considered wearing high heels but they seemed problematic – she was careful not to slip as she navigated the wood floors of the hall to his bedroom door.

Though he wasn’t yet home, she felt unsure about entering his bedroom. She’d never been inside, even when he’d given her a tour of his home, and it felt like she was trespassing. But she’d already made her choice – her course was clear. Pushing the door open she found what she expected – a large, warmly designed master bedroom. No clothing littered the floor like her ex-husband would do, and the bed was made. The floor was lushly carpeted, which she was thankful for, given what she planned on doing. And so, after curiously peeking around the room, she enacted her plan. Rushing to the kitchen she grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses, and returned to his room. With only a few minutes to spare before he said he’d be home, she took up her position. Mimicking what she’d read and seen in her studies, she knelt down at the foot of the bed, facing the door. She let her hands, palm up and open, fall to her sides. She spread her knees, satisfied with the exposure she felt. She fixed her gaze on the door and waited.

Several minutes passed before she heard him enter his home and made his way across the house, calling her name once. She answered, her heart beginning to gallop as she heard him draw closer. When the door to his bedroom opened, she let her gaze fall to the carpet. She could feel his eyes on her, scanning her silently. Then she heard him remove his shoes and approach. She kept her eyes on the carpet until his legs and feet came into view. With a gentle finger beneath her chin, he raised her head.

“And what do we have here?” He said, smiling down at her.

Nervous as she was, she couldn’t help smiling back. “Welcome home, Sir.” She’d rehearsed the line, but saying it felt more natural than she’d wondered.

It was his turn to show some surprise, and his smile broadened. “Is this what you want?” he said, his hand stroking her cheek again.

She nodded up at him, “Yes, Sir. This is what I want. This is what I choose. I want to give myself to you – to submit to you, as you put it. I’ve learned a lot over the past week and I have so much more to learn… but I feel like we can learn together.”

He nodded, stroking her hair. “I’d like that, sweet girl.”

She knew what she wanted to do now. Shifting up on her knees she reached for his belt. He watched, a bemused smile on his lips. He continued to stroke her hair as she unclasped the belt and unbuttoned his jeans. As she did so she could see him growing, and when she had worked his jeans down over his hips and followed them with the boxer-briefs, his hardening cock practically leapt out to meet her. She wasn’t entirely surprised that he was well-endowed. Regardless, he was much larger than her ex had been. Licking her lips she remembered her protocol. “Sir, may I suck your cock?” Her own words triggered a response, nipples hardening and she felt herself become increasingly more wet. When he nodded in response, she eagerly took him I her mouth, one of her hands closing around the shaft as she sucked and licked at him. Her other hand, wandering on its own, slid into her panties, touching herself.

He held her head, gently taking fistfuls of her hair, and began to fuck her mouth. “Look at me.” he said, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. He continued to fuck her mouth, eyes locked with hers, until he abruptly withdrew himself from her mouth. It was clear it took effort on his part – she licked her lips tasting the saltiness of his precum, holding her position. It took everything within her not to stand and embrace him, to attempt to have her way with him. But even as she owned that feeling – owned her own sexuality – she had placed herself in his hands.

“Good girl…” he whispered, drawing in a deep breath. “Stand up.”

She did as she was asked.

“Take off the top and your panties – throw them over there.” He pointed vaguely off the side.

She began to undress, watching him. He stood at parade rest, his cock jumping slightly with his pulse but showing no sign of losing the hardness she’d tasted only a moment before. It still glistened with her spit and the sight of it made the thrumming of her pulse quicken even more. When she’d removed all but her stockings, she stood and faced him once more. Her back straightened, proud of herself. He was eyeing her hungrily again – admiring the small strip of pubic hair she’d trimmed on a whim – admiring her full breasts that, up until she’d met him, she felt were droopy. His gaze seemed to take her all in at once – as the full gift she was beginning to see herself as. The imperfections that she’d cited so many times in the mirror seemed to be invisible – not only to herself, but to him, too.

“Lay down on the bed.” He commanded.

She did as she was asked.

“You are beautiful.” He said, letting his fingers drift from her feet, up her body, over her hip until finally cupping her breast. “Do you trust me, kitten?” he said softly, an eyebrow raising. He gave her breast a squeeze, fingertips taking her nipple. She took a deep breath, expecting a pinch, but instead his hand drifted to her belly.

Her mind whirred back to life. In those few moments, she did think about it. She did trust him. Nothing he had ever done to her had come anywhere close to breaching that trust. “Yes.” she said simply.

He nodded, moving to his nightstand and opening the top drawer. From within he withdrew a long silk band that she recognized as a blindfold, as well as one or two items he carefully concealed by turning his body. “Lift your head.” He said. She did as she was asked and in a moment he had skillfully blindfolded her.

She licked her lips, seeing only blackness. Her ears rang with the quiet of the room, trying to pick out each sound. The air was briefly punctuated by the sound of tearing – velcro – and the light rattle of metal. She felt her hands gently taken, a soft cuff secured around each. At first her panic set in – she had read about this, expected it – but something about being secured frightened her. He must have sensed this, as calming hands stroked her hips, her breast, her face.

“Shhh… it’s ok.” He said, reassuring her.

She nodded for him to continue, turning her fear inward, owning it, letting herself trust him. Next she felt her ankles being secured in a similar fashion, then the soft zip as braces were pulled tight and her legs spread on their own, along with her wrists above her head.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked. She nodded in response. Despite the fact she could not see, she knew she was more exposed and vulnerable than she’d ever been. All she could hear was his low steady breathing and her own until she felt the bed shift with his weight as he crawled onto the foot of it.

When she felt his tongue on her inner thigh, her mind took a moment to process the situation. Divorced from her vision, the feeling was both more intense and somewhat confusing. Not unpleasant, but… new? She gasped involuntarily at this, and gasped even louder when his tongue teasingly lapped at one of her lower lips. The gasp turned into a moan as she felt his fingers spreading her and his mouth sucking at her labia.

Her hands reached by reflex for his head, to hold him there, to prolong the sensation, but she was of course bound and could not. His tongue continued to explore her, little moans of approval and pleasure rising up to her ears.

Abruptly – too abruptly for her taste – his tongue’s slow journey ceased just shy of her clit, now throbbing. “You taste wonderful.” he whispered up to her. She writhed slightly, her hips rising from the bed to discover his tongue once more, but she felt his body shift off the bed, away from her. Turning her head, she tried to hear what to expect next. This time, she felt his hand cradling her breast once more the other crept down her body, back between her thighs, two fingertips drawing lazy circles against her naked flesh, thumb brushing her the clit that was otherwise ignored until now.

“This next step is important, Kitten. I want you to relax. If anything hurts too much, or if want me to stop, just say so. Do you understand?”

Distracted as she was, she nodded. While one hand continued to stroke her, the other left her breast. Seconds later she felt his mouth descend on her nipple, sucking it hard again, his mouth leaving one only to suckle the other and then leave both, tingling and cool from the air and his saliva. She did not immediately process what he did next. Soft rubber closed around each nipple before suddenly pinching tight. She yelped in surprise, expecting more pain than she actually felt. This sensation was entirely new and her brain struggled to process what to make of it. After a few moments of measured breathing, she realized that the light pain was actually having the opposite effect of actually sending little pulses down her body directly to her clit. Oddly, she wondered, it seemed to make her body, as a whole, more sensitive.