RIP - Part One

She'd relied on her for months, her alter ego, the submissive side she was comfortable showing. After all, if The Little Submissive was being submissive it didn't have to mean that she was. She could still retain the illusion (especially to herself)of being in control.

She could stand back and let the Little Submissive take all the pain whilst she assimilated what was happening.

Of course the Little Submissive got a lot of the pleasure too, but she didn't realise that. She barely remembered who she was when she was being Little Submissive. But she knew she liked being her. The intensity was breathtaking, and addictive.

She also knew Little Submissive was slightly dangerous. Little Submissive had fantasies about being a slave; she wanted to be hurt; and she was greedily selfish, like a baby bird demanding to be fed....and fed...and fed.

And at times Little Submissive wanted to stay so much that she had trouble bringing herself back.

Until the day Little Submissive disappeared. Just before stroke one of the belt she was there, endorphined up, in some submissive dream-like state, but by stroke two the Little Submissive had gone and she was there alone to take the full lash of his belt. And it hurt. More than she had ever imagined it would.

He seemed more than delighted. He wanted her, so it would seem. She, however wanted her Little Submissive back. After all, it was her Little Submissive as much as his. The Little Submissive belonged to her as much as him.

Without the Little Submissive it just didn't seem right. She sat at his feet and felt empty. He told her to kiss his boot and she didn't want to do it. Indeed, she rather hoped he'd go away. She didn't feel submissive. She knelt with her head on his denim clad thigh and wondered if she'd ever feel that intensity ever again, if she'd be able to feel her dark side ever again.