I am numb, my hands and feet like lead, dreading that short walk. Inside me, emotions churn like some witches brew, rage, sorrow, jealousy, then tenderness and love, in a rollercoaster ride that grips my guts and tightens my stomach into knots. Glancing out again, for the thousandth time into the chapel, I see the guests. The Masters all sitting in their chairs, circled for the ceremony, their submissives kneeling poised and graceful at their feet. My own submissive is in her place, by the chair where I am to sit, her skirt billowed on the polished floor.
Promises are easy to make in the heat of desire.
She is trembling. She is coccooned in a gown that we designed together, in one of our happiest moments. White leather encases her from shoulders to ankles, skintight down to below her knees, to make her walk painfully and deliciously difficult. Her arms, strapped to her sides to the corset under the dress, barely make a bulge in the graceful white column of her body. Her neck is exposed to the collar she will soon receive, that will take her from me.