MMA Romance: Path to Submission

1
                           

She was charming and sophisticated. Seated across from me by the massive stone fireplace sat Victoria; she was not a typical woman that I’ve grown accustomed to meeting, one who declares war against the opposite sex like a woman scorned.

She was above all, refined, a true love angel. She sat in an armchair and had whipped up a crackling fire; the reflection of red flames ran over her elegant face and blue eyes, and from time to time over her beautiful feet when she looked to warm them. She had wrapped her flawless naked body in a huge dark fur; rolling herself up with the playfulness of a kitten.

"I don't understand it," I exclaimed,

"It isn't really cold any longer. For two days you have been naked and wrapped in fur. You must be trying to tempt me."

"I love to feel free Eric," she replied with a whispering voice.

"I am beginning to understand why you are so unhappy,” she continued.

"I am beginning to believe the unbelievable and to understand the incomprehensible. All of a sudden I understand relationships and human philosophy; I am no longer surprised that men like you do not know how to love and have no idea what love is."

"Victoria!" I replied flaring up, "I surely haven't given you any reason to think this way."

"That's why I have always been nice to you; even coming to see you now and then. Do you remember the first time we met?"

"How could I forget it," I said.

"You wore your abundant hair in black curls, and you had long lashes and red lips. You wore slender black boots above your knee with furs around your shoulders.”

"You were really in love with an idea; this is a form of human weakness," she replied.

"You have taught me what love is,” my voice rising as I look into her eyes.

“Your angelic form of worship let me forget my past; I will not reproach you with anything. You are an angel but nevertheless a woman, and like every woman cruel in love."

"What you call cruel is simply the element of passion and of natural love the way God intended; this is part a woman's spirit that makes her give herself where she loves, and makes her love everything that pleases her."

"Can there be any greater cruelty for a lover than the unfaithfulness of the woman he loves?" I said.

"Indeed" she replied. "We are faithful as long as we love, but you demand faithfulness of a woman without love, and the giving of herself without enjoyment. Men in general take love too seriously. You talk of duties where there should be only a question of pleasure."

"That is why our emotions are honorable and meaningful; our relations permanent." I said

She responds with force, "yet you demonstrate a restless, always unsatisfied craving for the nudity of the Devil. That love, the highest form of human pleasure, so tranquil, is not for your enjoyment; it works only evil inside you.”

“This is the Devils desire. As soon as you wish for more, you become common. To you, nature seems something hostile; you have made devils out of the pure, and out of me a demon. A virgin has no requirement from you. You can only curse me or slash yourself in psychotic madness before my feet.”

“And if ever you have the courage to kiss my breasts, you first shall make a barefoot pilgrimage wearing a tattered robe while laying ten thousand roses to prove your worthiness. Stay among your brethren and Christian incense; let us Devils remain under the fallen rocks beneath the lava. Do not disinter us. May the ashes of Pompeii fall upon your soulless body; God will not resurrect you.”

The beautiful girl before me tossed her hair around her shoulders.

"Much obliged for the love lesson," I replied.

“In love there is union into a single form for a short time only; capable of only one thought, one sensation and one mind,“ she said.

“Whichever of the two allows for emotional weakness to enter the mind will encounter a psychological torture for eternity. It is best for a woman to strike first like a coiled snake.”

"Of course, and that is why I don't have any illusions,” I replied, “man is the one who pursues a woman, this has existed since the beginning of time,”

“This is a woman's decisive advantage. Through his passion, nature has given men into a woman’s hands, and the woman knows how to make him her possession, her slave, her toy, and to betray him in the end with a smile," she said while her white fingers played over the dark fur.

"The more devoted a woman shows herself, the sooner the man looses the innate fire that burns inside and he becomes domineering without fear of repercussion. The more cruelty she shows him and the more faithless she becomes, the worse she uses him, the more casually she plays with him, the less pity she shows him, only then will she increase his desire to love and worship her,” she added.

“You are so correct," I paused, “nothing will attract a man more than the picture of a beautiful, passionate and confident woman who is cruel without remorse,”  

"And also wears furs," she added.

"I love your furs," I said.

"I know your predilection." she said with a smile.

"Do you know," I interrupted, “since we last saw each other, you have grown very desirable."

"In what way?” she asked.

"There is no way of accentuating your white body to greater advantage than by these dark furs,” I said.

"You are dreaming," she laughed.

"Wake up Eric!" feeling a firm grip on my arm.

“Please wake up," the voice repeated while shaking me. 

I opened my eyes with difficulty. I saw the hand which shook me, and it was the hand of a black woman. The voice was distorted. I was disoriented.

"Please get up," continued Florence, my housekeeper.

"It is getting late,” she said.

"Getting late?” I said while looking for my watch.

"Why do you always fall asleep in your nice clothes?”

“Now they are wrinkled and you’ll have to change,” she said. 

She fluffed the pillows which had been beaten down, and turned up the volume of the radio at my bedside to energize me. 

“Besides, it is about time you were starting for Mr. White’s estate, he is expecting you for a drink."

"A remarkable dream," I muttered.

Still disoriented, I sat up on the bedside resting my face against her apron and comforting breasts while she fixed my hair.

Soon thereafter I met with Mr. White for a drink at his Las Vegas home. As I recalled my dream to him I didn't consider my story as anything out of the ordinary. I had been close friends with him as I climbed my way up the rankings for nearly five years. He was a tough promoter and over time I became familiar with his mannerisms. He was no doubt peculiar but he wasn't quite the dangerous madman that the neighborhood considered him to be. I found his personality not only interesting but to a degree sympathetic. He lived according to an intertwined system of philosophy and pragmatism, however, at times he had episodes of sudden passion, and gave the impression of being susceptible to psychotic behavior. At such times everyone preferred to get out of his way.

A few months ago I experienced a mental breakdown. The people around me say it’s a result of my girlfriend leaving me and perhaps they are correct. As one of the best fighter’s in the world people find it hard to believe that I allow my girlfriend to walk all over me. I had been the MMA middleweight champion for a few years and Mr. White’s biggest main event draw. I was under constant pressure to perform well and complete all my media obligations in order to build the organization’s brand across the country. Things began to fall apart after I lost the belt last year. My relationship was in ruins and she left me the night I lost the championship. Mr. White wants me to visit a psychologist but so far I’ve declined; it’s just something I have to get figure out on my own.

While we sat at opposing sides of the fireplace I began to give a detailed account of what just happened to me. Mr. White sat in silence as the fire danced up the chimney. As I rocked back and forth in the ancient chair while smoking my cigar I let my eyes glide over the curious skeletons of animals, stuffed birds, globes and maps, with which his room was skillfully decorated.

“This woman has captured my full attention like nothing I’ve experienced before,” I said.

“You see her in your dreams,” Mr. White said.

“Yes, but it is so much more; it feels real to me; I can taste and smell everything as if she was at my side.”

“You sound as if you are obsessed with this woman,” he said.

“More than you can imagine,” I responded.

By chance my glance remained fixed on a picture which I had seen often enough before but today caught my attention. Under the reflected red glow of the fire, it made an indescribable impression on me. It was a large oil painting of a beautiful woman with a radiant smile upon her face, with abundant hair covering her breasts as she stood nude in dark furs with shoulders exposed.

Her right hand played with her hair while her bare foot rested on the back of a man lying before her like a slave displaying full obedience. In the sharply outlined face of this man lay unbridled love and passionate devotion; he looked up to her with the ecstatic burning eye of a martyr. This man, the footstool for her feet, displayed an uncanny resemblance to Mr. White. 

"It’s her!" I exclaimed, pointing to the picture. "That is the way I saw her in my dream."

Mr. White paused with apprehension.

“Are you certain,” he said.

"Your picture is what I saw in my dream.

"Please tell me what it means!” I exclaimed.

"Look at this man," replied Mr. White.

"What is the significance?" I asked.

Mr. White pointed with his finger at the fur which embraced the angel of love.

"She will cause you many sleepless nights," he said with a slight smile.

I stood silent trying to rationalize and make sense of the situation.

“The painting, as it now exists, is a reflection of my deepest thoughts and aspirations,” he said.

“My experience with her opened my eyes and gave me a new outlook on love,” he added.

Mr. White gathered himself and lit a fresh cigar. Then the door opened and an attractive blonde girl entered. She was tall and slender with kind eyes; dressed in a short black silk dress. She brought us a nice bottle of Scotch and prepared two drinks on the rocks.

"Didn't I tell you that I want less ice" he said with a glaring look that made the young woman nervous.

"But Mr. White,” she said timidly.

"Mr. White nothing," he yelled.

"Obey me! Do you understand?"

The woman fixed the drinks and fled from the chamber frightened.

"Mr. White," I said placing my hand on his arm.

"How can you treat a pretty young girl like that?"

"Look at the woman," he replied as if to share a teachable moment.

"Had I flattered her, she would have cast the noose around my neck, but now, when I break her soul, she adores me."

"Nonsense!" I said

"Nonsense, nothing, that is the way you have to break a woman."

"Well, if you like it, live like a king in your harem, but don't try to push your theories on me," I said.

"Why not," he responded with a surprised look, "in a relationship you must be either a hammer or a nail. The hammer has all the power. Without the hammer the nail is powerless. You must become the hammer. This is absolutely appropriate for the relations between men and women. Didn't your dream girl prove that to you?”

“I am still trying to figure it out,” I replied.

“A woman's power lies in the man’s servitude, and she knows how to use it if the man is weak. To prove himself he has only one choice so become the hammer Eric. As soon as the weak man gives in, his neck is under her foot and the crack of the whip will soon fall upon him."

"You are one of a kind", I said.

"I’ve learned from experience," he replied.

"I have actually felt the whip in my past relationships and now I have become the hammer. Do you care to know how?" he asked.

“Please tell me,” I replied.

“When the blonde first entered my estate I could see ambition and a desire to take control of my life. She was constantly misbehaving. She did not realize that I was all too familiar with these games and I slowly, methodically began to break her down. First with punishment by spanking. Eventually, she began to enjoy this and the threat of getting spanked for misbehaving lost its impact. I then turned to the mighty whip. I can use this to varying degrees. Turn up the heat in other words. She is now very submissive and well behaved, just the way I like it,” he said.

Mr. White sat down by the fireplace and closed his eyes.

“ Join me,” he whispered, “perhaps your love goddess is waiting for you.”

After a few moments he seemed to fall asleep. The room was silent; I was a little confused and sat watching the fireplace. After several minutes of watching the orange flame dance to its own rhythm I closed my eyes. My mind soon began to transcend to another place deep within. The line between reality and sub-consciousness began to blur.