During my very first session, Mistress Valkyrie ordered me in slave position in front of Her. I pressed my forehead against the floor, crossed my arms above my head, with the palm of my hands on the floor. She placed Her boots on my hands, while Madame Sarka (who was standing behind me) placed Her boots on the soles of my feet. The pressure was on, one might say. It wasn’t too bad at first, but then Mistress Valkyrie started rubbing Her boots from left to right over my hands. Which was awfully bad for my soft lotion skin. It made my hair stand on end. I promised myself not to make a sound, but my ass started to wobble a bit. So there I was, literally pinned to the floor by two gorgeous Mistresses. They stood on my hands and feet and I stood in awe, needless to say.
I had my submissive baptism of fire on a misty Saturday morning in a small village in Belgium. Man, I was so nerveus; sweating like a pig with a dildo up it’s ass and turning red, yellow and green like a jawbreaker. I wasn’t scared of the pain and perils that awaited me, but scared of putting my dreams to the test. After shaping, carving and polishing them for so many years, I had a genuine fear that reality could never be that beautiful. But fleeing with the tail between my legs was not an option; I’d given my word and that meant something to me. I was about to go in for a three-hour session: the 1st hour with Madame Sarka, the 2nd with Madame Sarka & Mistress Valkyrie and the 3rd with Mistress Valkyrie (now retired). I looked rather pale when Madame Sarka came downstairs to meet me, and I’m still grateful I didn’t puke all over Her of nervousness. But then this unforgettable feeling came over me, a feeling of coming home after a long and tiring journey through life. It lifted me up on graceful wings of submissiveness and showed me a world beyond beauty and dreams. I always thought that the first SM-session was like climbing the highest mountain on earth. I was wrong, that imaginary mountain was just the threshold of a house somewhere in Belgium.