I could feel the blood. My blood. I could feel my heart pumping every single ounce. My pulse surged through my veins. It filled my body. My chest felt hollow, as if all that was in there was a heart, pounding at a door. Anxious. I fell in love with her writing through the single email she had sent me about her class. Her tone, so authoritative, yet gentle. A queen, she was. A lover. She was intimate with her texts. She had a lust for writing. A domme in her expressions through her vocabulary and writing. She had struck me, without any knowledge of her aesthetics. I lusted for her knowledge, her tone. Her authority. I find myself at the door. "Storm Hall Rm Number 101," it read. I could barely make out what the sign on the door had read. I could only imagine her. I reached out for the handle. Grabbed it. I felt my own pulse on the door knob as my hand made contact with it. I open the door. There she stood. Her majesty, in all her beauty; her posture, her attire, screamed for obedience. I wanted her to dominate me. Ignorant to my fellow classmates, my peers, I was only able to focus on her. Pleasing her. I wanted her. I longer for her. I felt my face burn. Lowering my head before her, I shook her hand and introduced myself. "Hello, Ma'am. I am your slave," had nearly slipped from my lips before my classmates. "Hello, my name is Bennett. Its nice to meet you, Ma'am." "Excuse me? How dare you touch me. You don't get that privilege until your Queen is pleased. Now go have a se- whats this? Why are you not wearing your collar? Why don't you shine my heels with your tongue until I can see my reflection, then I will consider letting you please me." I could already imagine the words coming from her deep, red lips. I was ready to be abused. "Its nice to meet you too, Bennett. My name is Lynett Evers. You can call me Miss Lyn for future reference." And so it sparked.