The Lost Bet
Jack and I had been living together since I graduated from Florida State. I was an elementary school teacher and he was an engineer at NASA. He went right from the University of Florida to Embry-Riddle where he got his Masters in aeronautical engineering. He had a great house near the beach in Cape Canaveral. We had met at one of the FSU-UF football games when I was a senior. We hit it off right away and he came up to Tallahassee a couple of times a month to see me. After I graduated, I looked for a job on the space cost so I could be close to him. When I landed the job in Cocoa Beach, we went out together to celebrate. That’s when he asked me if I wanted to move in with him and I accepted immediately.
At the time, I thought it was a good bet. Florida State, my alma mater, was ranked in the top ten and Florida was struggling. I think I was the one who actually suggested the bet and he asked me what the stakes were. Flippantly, I told him I would bet whatever he wanted.
“Well,” he said, “we have the long Thanksgiving weekend next week. How about a weekend of slavery?” He was smiling as he said it and I wasn’t sure if he was serious.
“Just what would that involve?”
“Well, if you win, I have to do whatever you say all weekend. If I win, you have to do whatever I say all weekend.”
“You mean like clean the house, do the dishes, and cook the meals, that kind of stuff?”
“Sure, that kind of stuff,” he answered, but he had this huge smile on his face and we both knew he wasn’t thinking about housekeeping.
“Okay, you’re on. Let’s say from six o’clock Wednesday night to eleven o’clock Sunday night.”
So Saturday night, we were on the sofa watching the game with chicken wings and beer. It was a seesaw game. Every time FSU scored, Florida answered. With just about a minute to go, the game was tied and FSU was driving for the winning field goal. All we had to do was take a knee, let the clock run down, and kick the game winner as time ran out.
“Looking forward to your slavery?” I asked. “I’ve never had a ladies' man to serve me before. I’m really looking forward to it.”
“It isn’t over yet,” he answered, but he was looking pretty glum.
The Seminoles lined up for the winning field goal from just inside the 20 yard line. The center snapped the ball and I watched in horror as it went over the holders’ hands to the kicker. He tried to run but Florida was coming with everything they had to block the field goal. In desperation, he tried to pass to the tight end coming off the line, but a Florida player stepped in front of him and took off, running 90 yards the other way to score.
Of course, that kind of dispassionate description of the play doesn’t describe what we were doing. Jack was jumping up and down yelling, “Go! Go!” while I was screaming for someone to tackle the Gator running toward the end zone.
It took us about a half an hour to calm down after the game. Jack and I just sat there saying 'unbelievable' to each other. When things settled down, we cleaned up and went to bed, never mentioning the bet to each other.
Sunday through Wednesday was pretty uneventful. I got out of work early on Wednesday and stopped at the grocery store to get everything for Thanksgiving dinner. Our parents lived up north and we were planning on going up there for Christmas, so Thanksgiving was going to be just the two of us. I was putting the groceries away when Jack got home carrying a gym bag that clanked when he set it down. He came into the kitchen and gave me a big hug, and told me not to worry about dinner, then went back to the car. When he came back in, he was carrying Outback to go.
“It’s the least I can do,” he said, “since you’re going to be cooking the big dinner tomorrow.”
I gave him a kiss on the cheek and finished putting the groceries away. When I came out, he had dinner set up in the dining room and a bottle of wine opened. We ate a quiet dinner and when we finished, he pulled me over and had me sit on his lap.
“Are you ready to begin your slavery?” he asked.
Honestly, I had wondered if he was going to make me go through with it. We hadn’t talked about it at all during the week, but then I remembered his grin when I had agreed. Don’t misunderstand, I loved and trusted him completely. But this was strange and I was having trouble sorting out my own feelings about it.
“I suppose so. What do you want me to do?
“You can start by getting naked.”
“Jack, are you serious? It’s only six o’clock. I can’t stay naked all night.”
“Yes, you can. In fact, you’re going to be naked all weekend. More than three full days without clothes.”
“Jack, I just can’t. Not for three full days. That’s not what we bargained for.”
“I thought the bet was loser does whatever the winner says. Did I misunderstand?”
“No, that was the bet. But I never expected this.”
“Are you going to welch?”
I didn’t answer him, not verbally, anyway. I stood up and pulled off my sweater. Then I undid my skirt and let it fall down around my ankles. As I stood there in my bra and panties, he was grinning from ear to ear. Then with a nod, he indicated I was to continue. I reached back and undid my bra, then slid it down my arms and dropped it on the floor. Finally, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and pushed them down around my ankles. As I stood up I was excited to see him admiring my body, but in the back of my mind, I was wondering where all of this was going. I was also becoming wet just by his looking at me.
He told me to clasp my hands behind my head and turn slowly for him. I felt my breasts lift and separate as I raised my arms. Slowly, I turned, giving him a complete view of me. I don’t know if you have ever been on display for someone, but this was my first time and it was a very emotional experience. Whatever sexual being was within me would only come out when we made love. Normally, I was very modest about my body; one could say I was very prim and proper. But now I felt that part of me emerging and taking over my psyche. All I was thinking about was getting him inside me.
As I completed my turn and faced him again, the only sound was my breathing through open lips. He continued to stare at me for several moments, and then told me to kneel down. I got down on my knees and he instructed me to sit back on my heels, spread my legs as wide as possible, and put my hands palms up on my thighs.
When I was in the position he wanted he stood up and got the gym bag he had brought home with him. Standing behind me, he rummaged around in the bag and put a steel collar, steel wrist and ankle cuffs, and an Allen wrench on the table. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t sure what any of those things were. The five metal pieces were made from a round, stainless steel rod that had been formed into rings. Each one had a smaller ring welded to it. He sat down in front of me again and used the wrench on the collar to take out a set screw. When it was out, he opened the collar by twisting it. I could see that it wasn’t hinged, like you would expect. Instead, opposite the set screw, the two halves pivoted. Picking up the screw and wrench, he stood behind me. He told me to lift my hair off my neck and then placed half the collar around my neck before bending the other half back so the collar formed a ring. Then he carefully put in the set screw and tightened it, making the collar a single piece locked around my neck. He repeated the procedure with the wrist and ankle cuffs.
As he was locking the steel on my body, I was trembling. This was so far beyond anything I had ever thought about that I was confused by my reaction. If you had described the scene to me the previous week, I would have been appalled by it. But I could not deny the way my body was reacting. My mind revolted at the idea of being a slave and my body was thrilled by being a slave. My mind was racing so fast that I missed something he said as he sat back down in front of me. I snapped back to attention when he asked if I heard him.
“No. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“You’ll need to learn to pay better attention. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”
“I want your pussy bare. Go to the bathroom and shave it.”
“Jack, I just can’t. Please don’t make me.”
“A slave cannot disobey. Do you understand?”
“I’m sorry, Jack, I can’t.”
“Stand up and turn your back to me.”
I did as he asked. He took something from the bag and grabbed my wrists. Before I realized what happened, he had used a padlock through the small rings on my cuffs to lock my wrists behind my back. He took my arm and led me to the bathroom where he lifted me up and set me down on the vanity. He stood in front of me, blocking my way, as he ran hot water in the sink. He took a pair of scissors from the drawer and knelt down between my legs.
“Spread your knees,” he ordered.
“Jack, please don’t,” I begged.
“Spread ‘em.” The tone in his voice was one that I only heard rarely, and never used before with me. Clearly, he wanted this done and it was going to be done. The only question was how much resistance could I put up before it was done. The way I read his tone, I wasn’t going to be allowed to resist any further. It scared me a little. I was helpless; naked and handcuffed. He could do anything he wanted to me and we both knew it.
I opened my legs wide and he went to work with the scissors, trimming my public hair down to stubble. Then he used a warm, wet wash cloth on my pussy, gently rubbing it to soften the hair. I closed my eyes and felt a wave of pleasure as he massaged me with the cloth. Involuntarily, I thrust out my hips to push deeper into his hand. As I realized what I had done, I looked down at him in horror. He looked up at me with that smile of his that said he knew me and I couldn’t hide myself from him. At that moment, I knew that everything was going to be alright.
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry for not obeying you. Do you want me to do it?
He stood up and backed up a step before telling me to stand up and turn around. He took the padlock key from his pocket and unlocked my wrists. Putting the key and lock back in his pocket, he left me alone in bathroom. After he left, I took a moment to look at myself in the full length mirror. My eyes were drawn to the steel locked around my throat, wrists, and ankles. The person staring back at me from the mirror looked like a slave. I shook my head to clear the image from my mind then turned around and got the shaving cream to begin shaving. As I rubbed it into my mound, I wanted to put my finger inside me to masturbate. I couldn’t ever remember being so sexually charged up.
When I finished, I took another moment to look at myself in mirror again. This time, instead of looking at the steel on my body, I tried to look at the overall image of myself. I wanted to see myself the way Jack was seeing me. Without thinking, I knelt down, spread my knees, and put my hands on my thighs. The image of the woman that I saw disturbed me because it was a woman who clearly wanted her man to use her body and give her pleasure, but then I realized that was exactly what I wanted. In that instant, all of my doubts were resolved. If Jack wanted me as his slave then that’s what I wanted also. I stood up and went back to the living room to see where this would take us next.
When I got there, I knelt down in front of Jack to show him my shaved pussy. I was leaking and I am sure that he saw that but I didn’t care. I wanted him to know how much I wanted him to make love to me, but something kept me from saying it.
“What would you like me to do now, Jack?”
“Do you think it is appropriate for a slave to address her owner by his first name?” he asked with a big smile on his face.
“Probably not,” I answered laughing. “How should I address you?”
He thought about it for a moment. In a way, that was reassuring because it told me that he was just making it up as he went along. If this had been something that he had been planning for a long time, I think he would have answered immediately. When he answered, I think I kept my expression from betraying my feelings because he told me that he wanted me to address him as Master and it disturbed me a little. Jack and I had always been equal partners; we considered each others' feelings, needs, and wants. But addressing him as Master would put us on a very unequal footing. Of course, the table was already slanted that way because I was naked and collared while he was fully dressed.
“Yes, Master,” I finally responded.
“Come here, slave, and curl up next to me.”
“Yes, Master.” I almost shouted it as I jumped up. I sat on the couch next to him and pulled my legs up so I could lean against him. He began by kissing my neck while his hand went to my breast and played with the nipple. I climbed onto his lap facing him so I could kiss him on the lips. His hand dropped from my breast to my hip as I smothered his face and neck with kisses. After a few minutes, he pushed me back and lowered his mouth to my breast. He didn’t suck it, he used his tongue to draw circles around my nipple and flick it back and forth. When I couldn’t stand it any more, I begged him to fuck me. He told me to go get in bed and that he would be there in a minute. I rushed to the bedroom, threw the blankets and sheets off, and lay there waiting for him.
When he came in, he walked up to the head of the bed and took a nylon tie from his pocket. Using the nylon tie through the ring on my wrist cuff, he secured my wrist to the corner. Then he did the same thing to both my feet and my other wrist so that I was spread-eagled on the bed. As he bound me, I wondered where he had gotten the ties. I started to rethink how much planning he had put into this weekend. He was obviously prepared with the collar and cuffs, and now the nylon ties. The last thing he did was pull a blindfold from his pocket. I shook my head no when he tried to put it on me but tied the way I was, he covered my eyes in short order. I heard him undress before he climbed into bed with me.
For the next hour, he played with my body, kissing and licking it all over. Ten or twelve times he brought me to the brink of an orgasm, only to back off and start over. I was pleading him to let me cum, begging him to fuck me but he never did. Finally I cried out to him to take his slave and begged him as a slave for release. Immediately he got on top of me and penetrated my soaking pussy. I came almost instantly then came again as his slow, rhythmic strokes kept me stimulated. I had one more orgasm before he finally erupted inside me and rolled off. I turned my blind eyes to where he was, just smelling him for a moment.
“Thank you, Master,” I whispered to him.
I thought he would free me but he didn’t. I was lying on the soaked sheets with my arms and legs bound wide apart. I heard him go to the bathroom and start get in the shower. Oh how I wanted to be in there with him, soaking my sweaty body in the steamy shower. When he came out, I heard him toweling himself dry and throw the towel on the floor. He sat down on the bed and ran his finger around my nipple. Soon I was panting again and he moved his hand down to my pussy. He put his finger in and was rubbing my clit as I pushed up hips and pressed myself into his hand. I screamed as I experienced yet another orgasm, and then shuddered as he pulled his hand away.
“Master, please,” I begged, “I need to pee.”
He cut the ties binding me to the bed and told me to get cleaned up and change the sheets. Then he left the bedroom and I took off the blindfold. As I got into the shower, I couldn’t help but notice how flushed my skin was like I was blushing all over. I wanted to stay under the shower forever, but I forced myself to hurry as much as I could. When I was drying off, I had to fit the towel between my collar and cuffs and skin. I felt the steel marking me as a slave for the first time and couldn’t help thinking about the incongruity of the hard metal against my soft skin. I didn’t blow dry my hair, I just toweled it off so I could finish as quickly as possible. When I finished, I went back to the living room to see what would happen next. When I got there, he was sitting on the couch and I knelt down in front of him.
“You didn’t take time to fix your hair or make-up,” he remarked.
“No, Master, I didn’t.”
“Never do that again. You should want to look as beautiful as possible for me at all times, understand?”
“Go behind the couch and lean over the back.”
I did as he instructed, wondering what this was about. Did he mean to take me again so soon? He went to his bag and took out some rope and a box cutter. Standing in front of me, he told me to stretch out my arms to the side. He cut several pieces of rope about eight feet long and knotted one through the ring on my right wrist cuff. Then he pulled the rope down to the front leg of the sofa and knotted it there. He did the same thing to my other wrist and moved behind me, repeating the process with my ankle cuffs and the back legs of the couch. I was held down, unable to stand up straight and my legs were spread.
He stood in front of me and lifted my chin so I could see his face. “I want you to know what happens when you displease me,” he said and I looked at him with a puzzled expression on my face. I had no idea what he was talking about. In his hand was a ball with two straps. He told me to open my mouth, which I did, and he put in the ball and buckled the straps behind my head. Then he moved around to the back of the couch and I heard him take off his belt. In my naiveté, I still had no idea what he was going to do.
I heard the belt whistle through the air just before my back exploded in pain. The blow landed across my shoulder blades and I screamed into the gag. I twisted and turned in my bonds trying to escape the next blow, but of course, the effort was futile. The next blow landed across my back a little lower than the first. I yelled to him to stop through the gag because I really believed that I could not stand another stroke. I was sobbing into the gag and tears were dripping off my face onto the sofa. The third blow struck me across the middle of my back as I shook my head back and forth in disbelief. Two more times he struck my back, each one a little lower, the last at hip level.
I thought it was over, but once again I heard the belt cut through the air, this time landing on the backs of my thighs just below my buttocks. Then came four more quick blows, each one working lower down my thighs. By now, I was hoarse from screaming into the gag so I could only whimper as he came back around in front of me and lifted my head to look at him.
“Please me in all things and this will never have to happen again,” he told me. He put his belt back on and left the room leaving me crying and trembling tied over the back of the couch.
I’m not sure how long he left me there. All I could think of was that the man I loved had just whipped me with his belt. How could he do it? I kept thinking. Doesn’t he love me anymore? Why would he create so much pain in me? My mind was racing with questions, but the answers wouldn’t come. Finally, he came back and took the gag from my mouth.
“Let’s talk,” he said sitting down across from me. I was still bound to the couch so I lifted my head as much as I could to look at him. “Go ahead, ask me what you want to ask me,” he continued.
“Why did I whip you, is that it?” I nodded my head.
He didn’t answer right away. I held my head up as long as I could, waiting for an answer, then I dropped it again. He asked me to look at him and I raised my head again. “I whipped you because I love you and I needed to see if I could do it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense; you whipped me because you love me?”
“Actually, it does. You see, if you really are going to be my slave, I have to be able to discipline you when you do something wrong. I wasn’t sure that I could do it. I wasn’t sure if I could hurt the woman I love.”
My head was reeling and I felt like Alice in Wonderland. I got whipped because he was testing himself to see if he could really do it. Then, somehow, what he said before that registered in my brain. He said if I was really going to be his slave.
“This slavery thing, this was a weekend bet. I thought it would be fun, and it was, kind of, right up until the time you took off your belt and whipped me. I don’t even know if I want to be with you anymore. If you think I’m going to be your slave, you’re crazy.”
“Am I? Let me ask you a question. Why haven’t you asked me to untie you? No, don’t answer that right now. Let me ask you another question. When you knelt down as a slave in the bathroom, what did you see in the mirror?”
“I wanted to see myself as you saw me.”
“I didn’t ask you why you did it; I asked you what you saw.”
I lowered my head again. To this day, I don’t know if it was because I couldn’t hold my head up anymore or because I didn’t want him to see my face when I answered. “I saw a naked woman wearing a steel collar and steel cuffs.”
“You sound as if you’re describing a movie scene. What did you really see?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to answer him, but somehow, I knew that I had to. “I saw a slave,” I whispered.
“Who did you see in the mirror?”
“I saw me.”
“As a slave?”
“And how did that make you feel?”
I didn’t answer for what seemed like the longest time. I wasn’t sure how it made me feel. The naked woman, collared and cuffed, was gorgeous. I knew I was beautiful but I never really considered myself sexy. The two just aren’t the same thing at all. I’ve know other beautiful women who were as cold as ice and I’ve know plain women who exuded sex. So how did I feel about seeing myself that way? I felt that I was desirable; I felt sexy. And I liked the fact that he wanted me naked. And then I remembered hurrying back to the living room, anxious to see what would happen next. Was it possible that I was enjoying feeling like a slave? The lovemaking before I took my shower was the best we had ever had. I had never had that many orgasms in so short a time. Was it possible that I wanted him to treat me like a slave because it excited me to be treated like that?
I looked up at him again. “I’m not trying to not answer. I really don’t know. No, that’s not right. I do know, but the feelings are jumbled and conflicting.”
He came over and knelt in front of me. He used his hand to hold my chin and kissed me. And I kissed him back. For the first time in my life, I kissed without thinking of anything else. I lost myself in that kiss, as if the entire universe had disappeared and all that mattered was our lips touching, out tongues playing with each other, and the love we both put into it.
When it was over, he looked deep into my eyes and offered me a choice. We could end the bet now, he said, or we could continue it for the rest of the weekend. But if I agreed to continue it, he wouldn’t give me another chance to escape the bet. If I agreed to continue it, he explained, I would be accepting total slavery until eleven o’clock Sunday night. No choices would be mine. He could do whatever he wanted with me and to me. Then he asked if I needed time to think it over.
“No, Master. I’ll continue.”
He stood up and came around to the back of the couch. I heard him drop his pants and then he entered me again. Very slowly, and I mean very slowly, he moved in and out of me. I had a quick mental image of myself bent over the couch, bound hand and foot, and then I closed my eyes and just let myself feel him moving inside me. It was like the kiss, only this time, all that existed was his cock and my vagina.
“Before you come, ask for permission, slave,” he told me.
His voice seemed to come from so far away that I barely heard it. I’m not sure that my answer was audible, or even verbal. I might have just purred agreement, but I understood.
When I was close, I begged him to let me cum. He didn’t say anything for a moment and I tried to hold back until I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Master, please let your slave cum,” I pleaded.
In just another moment, he shouted, “Now, slave,” and we both orgasmed together. He collapsed on top of me but stayed inside. We were both panting and I could feel his breath on my neck. We stayed that way for several minutes until he finally pulled out, bent down, and untied my ankles. He came around to the front of the couch and untied my wrists and I slowly stood up straight. Hand in hand we walked back to the bathroom, took turns washing each other in the shower, then dried each other off.
Before he got into bed, he had me lie down and he locked a short length of chain to my collar and the headboard. After I was secure, I think he came to bed right away but I couldn’t be sure because I was already sound asleep. Thus ended my first evening of slavery.
When I woke up in the morning, Jack was awake and looking at me. He asked if I was ready for day two and I nodded my head yes. He got out of bed and fished a key from his jeans that he used to unlock the chain from my collar. I asked him if I could pee and he told me to go ahead. He followed me into the bathroom and watched as I sat on the toilet. He had seen me there before, but it was only incidental to us getting ready to go to work or go out. I froze sitting on the toilet and couldn’t release my bladder. After a couple of minutes, I asked him if he could wait in the bedroom and he shook his head no. The pain was building up in my abdomen but all I could do was sit there, unable to pee.
“If you’re not going to go, get up, we have things to do,” he told me.
I just sat there looking humiliated for a few more moments before I realized that if I didn’t go now, I might not have another opportunity for awhile. And that is when it struck me. He controlled my body completely. Last night, he determined when I came and when I experienced pain. Now he was controlling my urination. The helplessness that I felt just then was overwhelming. I shuddered at the thought of the extent of his control but it got me to through the humiliation of what was happening and I finally let loose with a stream. When I finished, I reached for the toilet paper but his hand grabbed my wrist.
“No,” he said. “I’ll do it. I don’t want you touching yourself there.” He took some paper and knelt down spreading my knees as he did, and patted me dry. When he finished, he told me to get ready and meet him in the living room in thirty minutes.
I showered and fixed my makeup and hair as quickly as I could. When I went into the living room, he was sitting on the couch. I knelt down, spread my knees as wide as I could, blushing as I did so, and put my hands on my thighs palms up.
“How long will it take you to fix dinner?” he asked.
“Working alone, about six hours, Master.”
“Did you assume I was going to help you, slave?”
“It’s seven thirty now. I would like to eat at two thirty. So we have an hour. How shall we pass the time?” he asked smiling.
“However Master wishes,” I responded, smiling back at him.
“Stand up and come here. Stand in front of me with your hands behind your neck.”
I did as he said and when I stood in front of him, he reached up and started fingering my nipple. I moaned softly as it crinkled and hardened. He told me to spread my legs and I did. He reached up with his other hand and cupped my pussy, gently massaging it. I felt myself growing wet as I pressed myself down into his hand. He put his finger inside me and started rubbing my clit, very slowly, just letting his finger circle it. I moaned again as I felt his touch inside me. I barely heard him as he told me to ask for permission before I had an orgasm but it registered somewhere in my brain. He continued rubbing me and kept the pleasure building up. I tried to hold still but my hips began to push out and pull back, simulating the same action as if he was making love to me. I was right on the edge of cumming when I remembered to ask him.
“Master, please may I cum?” I whispered
“Not yet, slave. Hold back.”
“Oh, Master, please. I can’t.” It was difficult to form the words. Between my panting and moans, I struggled to get them out.
“Climax without permission and you will be punished.”
“Please, Master, please.”
“What is it you ask for, slave?”
“Master, I beg you to let me cum.”
“As a slave?”
“Yes, Master, as your slave. Please let your slave cum.”
“Not yet, slave,” he responded as he pulled his finger out.
I felt a tear roll down my check. I kept moving my hips, trying to stimulate myself, but it was to no avail. Slowly, I came back down from my near orgasm. When I was breathing normally, he had me kneel in front of him and he stuck out is hand for me to lick it clean. I took his finger in my mouth first and pretended I was giving him a blowjob. Then I licked the rest of his hand and cleaned my own fluid from his hand. The smell in my nostrils was overpowering; my own smell on his hand was so pungent that it made me think I was getting fucked by him. When his hand was clean, he withdrew it and ordered me to kneel again.
“Now masturbate for me, but again, ask permission before you climax.”
I put one hand on my pussy and the other on my breast. As I inserted my fingers I blushed from head to toe. Jack and I had great sex together but this wasn’t sex, it was more like humiliation to me. I asked myself why I was doing all of the crazy things he wanted; why I let him strip me, whip me, and why I was displaying myself to him. But as the pleasure increased, it drove those thoughts from my mind. I surrendered completely to the stimulation. I was still slowly rubbing my clit and soon the only thing in my world was my finger, my clitoris, and the bliss. I couldn’t even see him as I squeezed my eyes shut. But in my mind, the delight I felt took a visual form and I saw a riot of colors exploding. I was pumping my finger in and out now, urging on the orgasm I craved. I felt myself begin to tremble and I begged him to let me climax. Instead he ordered me to pull my hand out and put my hands behind my back. I did so, but reluctantly, and I opened my eyes. As my vision cleared, I saw him sitting in front of me, smiling down at me. In my mind, I screamed at him for not letting me cum.
We sat there for several minutes just looking at each other. Jack was smiling but I tried to keep my face blank so he wouldn’t know what I was feeling. Then he just said, “Again.” Once again my hand went down to my bald pussy and as I felt the pleasure sweep over my, I put my other hand behind me and leaned back. In moments I was ready to explode. As I pumped my finger in and out I moaned in ecstasy before I again begged him to let me cum. As before, he ordered me to remove my hand. I did, putting it behind me so I could continue leaning back and I lifted my hips, exposing myself even more than I did kneeling with my knees apart. By leaning back, I could tilt my head back and look up at the ceiling because I didn’t want to look at Jack.
Three more times I nearly brought myself to a climax and each time he denied me permission to have my orgasm. By now, I was sweaty all over and my skin glistened. I was sitting back on my heels, hands palms up on my thighs, and looking down at the wet spot between my legs caused by my sweat and leaking fluids. “What have you learned from this, slave?” he asked.
I didn’t answer right away. My first thought was that I had learned how mean he could be, denying my release over and over. But I suddenly realized that wasn’t the point of his question. Jack was still Jack, and I was sure he loved me. So there was something else that he was trying to do. He was trying to send a message by ordering me to masturbate and ordering me to stop before I could have an orgasm. And that is when I really understood the purpose of his commands.
“Master, I have learned that you, not I, control my body.”
He just nodded and told me to go fix breakfast, adding that I was to eat in the kitchen after I served him. I jumped up and ran to the kitchen. After washing up at the sink as much as I could, I started the coffee, made toast, and scrambled some eggs with cheddar cheese and onions. When everything was ready, I took his breakfast out to the dining room table and went into the living room to tell him it was ready. He told me he would eat in the living room so I set up a TV table in front of him and transferred the food and coffee to it. He dismissed me and I went back to the kitchen to eat my own breakfast.
After eating, I began preparing Thanksgiving dinner. With only the two of us, I hadn’t bought a whole turkey; only a turkey breast, so it would not take too long to cook. It was all of the other things I had to prepare that would take up my time. I was planning on using the time when the turkey was cooking to get cleaned up and rest before the final push to get everything on the table at two thirty.
Have you ever tried to work in a kitchen naked? One would think that you just had to be careful not to burn yourself in a sensitive place, but that would be wrong. Every time I cut or sliced something, my eyes were drawn to the cuffs on my wrists. Every time I moved, I felt my breasts sway. I was acutely aware of my nudity and it was distracting me, making it hard for me to focus on what I was doing. I could hear the television from the other room and knew that Jack would be watching some pregame show before the football started. During the week, he let me control the remote but on the weekends and holidays, I let him have it. As that thought crossed my mind, I laughed out loud. The idea of me controlling the remote, when I did not even have control over my own body, was ludicrous.
I had just finished making the apple and pumpkin pies and put them in the oven when Jack called me from the other room. I went into the living room and asked him what he wanted. He sat there silently as if waiting for something. “Master, I’m busy,” I said and he still waited. Then I thought I knew what he wanted. I went down to my knees and spread them with my palms on my thighs.
“What may I do for you, Master?” I asked. He told me he wanted another cup of coffee so I got back up and went to the kitchen to get it for him. When I came back into the living room, I tried to hand it to him but he wouldn’t take it. He pointed to a spot on the floor right in front of him and I knelt down, holding the cup.
“Now offer it to me with both hands, arms extended, and your head lowered between your arms.” Again, I did as he said. Then he instructed me what to say when I served him food or drink. I was supposed to offer a phrase or sentence that made it clear that I was also offering him myself for his pleasure. He didn’t give me an example; he just sat there waiting for me to say something. My mind was racing, trying to think of something. Finally, in a low tone, I whispered, “Master, please take from this slave whatever pleases you.”
He reached for the cup and said, “Well, done. While you are working in the kitchen, I want you to think of several more phrases you can use because a phrase can only be used once a day to me. Understand, slave?” I told him I did and he dismissed me to go back to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
As I worked in the kitchen, I didn’t think of phrases, I wondered what was happening to me. What started out as a stupid bet was turning more serious. If I had won, what would Jack be doing? Waiting on me hand and foot, back rubs, cleaning while I took a vacation from house work were all things I thought of before the game was played. Would I have had him strip and do everything in the nude? Probably not, I thought. Nor would I have whipped him for any reason. Using the steel cuffs and collar would never have crossed my mind. Having him masturbate for me would have been out of the question. So what was so different about us that he saw this as an opportunity to truly enslave me for four days and I did not? The answer sprung to mind as soon as I asked myself the question. He was a man and I was a woman. As a woman, I wanted him to make me feel loved, safe, and protected. Dominating him was such an alien concept to me that I couldn’t understand what he found met his own needs by dominating me. Keeping me naked I understood. Jack had frequently commented on how he enjoyed seeing me nude as I got out of the shower or got undressed for bed and I had tried to accommodate him as often as I could. But there were limits, I thought. Spending four days naked in the house, even without the slavery part, had been unthinkable to me. But now I was doing that and taking it even further.
So how did I feel about what was happening? Honestly, some of it was nice and some was pretty bad. The lovemaking last night had been some of the best ever. But if the price for that was a whipping, was it really worth it? In my mind, I tried to forget about the sex and focus on the control issues. I thought back to what I wanted from him; what was important to me about our relationship. If I really wanted to feel loved, safe, and protected, did I get that from being enslaved? I honestly didn’t know. This wasn’t love, at least not to me. Nor if I could be whipped did I feel safe and protected. So there had to be something else going on that I had let things go this far. Try as I might, I just could not figure it out. The only thing I was certain about was that I was in an almost constant state of arousal.
When the pies were done, I put the turkey breast and stuffing in the oven and reset the temperature. Everything else was done except for cooking the casserole and cooking the potatoes before mashing them. I went back into the living room and knelt in front of Jack. I felt grimy and sweaty from working in the hot kitchen and asked him if I could clean up. He told me to draw a bath and tell him when it was ready.
In our bathroom I let the tub fill while I brushed out my hair and put it up in a bun. I turned off the water and went to tell Jack the tub was ready. He got off the sofa and followed me into the bathroom. I got in the tub and lay down, immersing myself in the warm water. Jack let me soak for several minutes and then told me to stand up and face him. I did as he said and he took the big bath sponge and soaped it up. Then he started washing me, starting with my shoulders and gently lathering my torso from neck to waist. He spent a long time rubbing my breasts with the soapy sponge and I felt my nipples get hard as little pebbles. He had me turn around and washed my back before he had me turn around and face him again. He knelt down, added more soap to the sponge and lathered me from my waist to the tops of my knees. He had me spread my legs so he could get the sponge between them and spent several minutes lathering my pussy. I was biting my lip as he did so, trying to hold still, but I couldn’t help pressing my pussy into his hand as he rubbed it. I blushed because I knew he knew what I was doing. He had me turn around again and washed my bottom and the backs of my thighs. I turned around again and he had me lift one leg at a time so he could wash my calves and feet. Then he used the sponge to rinse me off. Over and over, he filled the sponge with water and brought it up to my shoulders before squeezing it out. The last thing he did was wash my face with a washcloth, gently rubbing the soap in then rinsing it off.
When I was clean, he took a large towel and had me step out of the tub. He wrapped the towel around me and dried me off. He caressed me with the towel, drying me as I stood there feeling warm and safe. When he finished, he hung up the towel and I turned to face him. “Thank you, Master,” I said as I pressed myself against him and kissed him. He returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around me and pulled me more tightly to him. My breasts were crushed against his chest as we stood there kissing for several minutes. He broke off the kiss, swatted my bottom, and told his slave to finish the preparation for dinner.
I put the green bean casserole in the oven with the turkey and stuffing, started the potatoes boiling, and then set the table. Table cloth, wine glasses, water goblets, china I had gotten from an aunt, linen napkins in rings, and the silverware. I also lit a couple of candles in the center of the table. Without thinking, I set two place settings. I would soon learn that was a wrong assumption.
Back in the kitchen, I took out the turkey and stuffing while the casserole continued to bake. I drained off the juice from the turkey for the gravy and set it aside to cool before carving it. The stuffing went into a bowl and I put it on the table. I also put out the salad and relish tray with celery, carrots, radishes, and black olives. The potatoes were finished boiling so I mashed them by hand after adding milk and butter. I transferred the potatoes to another bowl and put them on the table with everything else. Then I carved the turkey and put the meet on a platter. After putting it on the table, I uncorked the wine and went to get Jack and tell him that dinner was ready.
He was watching football so he set the game to record and turned off the TV. Then I followed him into the dining room for dinner. When he saw the two place settings, he asked me who was joining us for dinner.
“Master?” I said turning it into a question. “No one is dining with us.”
“Do you think it appropriate that a slave sit at the table with a free man?”
I looked at him as if he was talking Russian. My brain couldn’t register any meaning in his words. He saw my confusion so he explained. “Prepare my plate, pour me some wine, and then serve me.” As I fixed his plate, my mind was trying to think of some phrases because I hadn’t done so when he told me to earlier. When the plate was full, I knelt down beside him and offered it in my extended hands with my head lowered between them just as he taught me. Just as I did, I knew what I was going to say.
“Master, I offer you food and myself for your pleasure.”
“Excellent. Now the wine, slave.”
I poured him his wine and knelt again. “Master, this wine and my body are for you.”
As I knelt beside his chair, I watched as he ate the dinner I had prepared. After several minutes, I asked him if I could now eat. And he answered that I could when he was finished. After cleaning his plate, he told me to serve him seconds, but make the portions smaller than his first serving. I stood up and prepared the plate and offered it to him with the phrase, “This plate and this slave are for you, Master.” He cut up the turkey and picked up a piece in his hands. He offered it to me and as I reached for it, he told me to take it directly into my mouth from his hand. I’m sure I hesitated looking up at him, wanting to see if he was serious. When I saw that he was, I leaned forward and took the turkey from his hand with my mouth. As he fed me the rest of my dinner, I was feeling utterly humiliated. I was being fed like a pet, like an animal would be. I tried to keep myself calm as I ate but I know he could see that I was agitated at being fed this way. Still, he didn’t say anything; he just kept feeding me.
When he finished feeding me, he told me to get him a slice of apply pie and half of slice of whichever one I wanted. I opted for pumpkin and brought them both to the table. Kneeling, I set the pumpkin on the table and offered him the apple pie with another phrase. After he had taken it, he told me to put my slice on the floor under the table.
“Earlier, you assumed that you would be sitting at the table with me,” he explained. You also assumed that we would eat at the same time, instead of you eating after me. Obviously, both of these are inappropriate. To help remind you of this in the future, you may now eat your pie but you may not touch it with your hands.”
“Master, please don’t do this,” I begged.
I could tell from his tone how serious he was. I got down on my hands and knees and put my head under the table. Then I lowered my face to the pie and began to eat it. I probably got two or three full bites, but much of the pie ended up on my face. When I finished, I backed out from the table and resumed kneeling beside him. He used a napkin to wipe my face and stood up, telling me to clean up and put the food away. Then he went back to the living room to finish watching his football game.
As I worked in the kitchen, I was more confused than ever. When he bathed me, and dried me, his touch was tender and loving. But at the table, he was a different person, treating me like an animal. The dichotomy in the way he was treating me left me puzzled and conflicted. It was like there was no more middle ground anymore; no point of stability where things were consistent. Instead I was swinging wildly between basking in the glow of his loving touch and being mortified and humiliated by his treatment of me. It took me a couple of hours to clean everything and put the food away. Over and over again during that time I kept asking myself why I was letting this continue instead of putting an end to it.
When I finished, I went to the living room and knelt on the floor next to his knee. His hand came over to my head and he pulled it down so it rested on leg. As the game was finishing, he stroked my hair. When it was over, he told me to kneel by the ottoman and lean down onto it with my bottom high and my legs spread. I heard him unzip his fly and then he was entering me from behind. I was wet almost immediately as he stroked in and out. In less than two minutes, I was ready for my orgasm and begged him to let me have it. He grunted his assent and I literally saw fireworks as I climaxed. But he wasn’t finished so he kept pumping my pussy and I came again just as he tensed and ejaculated inside me.
We had never made love like this before, but with two orgasms in five minutes, I wanted him to know that I was willing any time he wanted it this way. “Thank you for my orgasms, Master,” I told him and realized that I really meant it. I wasn’t saying it because I had to; I was saying it because I felt that I owed that to him. He pulled out of me and told me to clean his cock with my mouth. I turned around and took him in my mouth, sucking and licking him to clean him off. He got semi-hard, which surprised me because of his climax only a minute or so before. When he was clean, he pulled out of my mouth and zipped up his pants, leaving me kneeling in front of him.
He sat down at the edge of the couch and told me to lie down with my head in his lap. I did as he said and he started playing with one of my nipples, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Now that you have almost completed your first day of slavery, how do you feel?” he asked. It was if a floodgate had opened and all of my confusion and doubts came pouring out. I shared with him the emotional seesaw that I had been on for the last twenty-four hours as I described all of my feelings and self-doubts associated with each of my experiences. I talked non-stop for almost thirty minutes as he kept twisting and rubbing my nipple. When I finished, I was looking up into his face and I waited for some insight from him that would make sense of it all.
“If you expect me to make sense of it for you, you are going to be disappointed,” he said. “I could, if I chose, explain why I did what I did to you over the last day, but I won’t. This isn’t about explaining or understanding. It is about feelings at a fundamental level. What feels good and right and what feels bad and wrong. I can’t tell you how to feel about what is happening; all I can do is encourage you to explore your feelings so you can understand them.”
He stopped playing with my nipple and lifted my head so he could stand up. After putting a pillow under my head, he told me to close my eyes. “Imagine yourself next year, still enslaved, still kept nude and collared, still subject to my every command, and still punished painfully when you fail to live up to my expectations. Now I want you to remain there with your eyes closed for the next thirty minutes while you ponder it.
My first thought when he said imagine myself enslaved for a year was, ‘No way.’ This was so far outside anything I considered a normal relationship that my mind couldn’t accept the idea of it. But then I realized his instructions to me did not include rejection of the idea; in fact, it was just the opposite. He told me to imagine it; to see myself as a slave for a year so I tried to visualize it in my head. I didn’t have a problem seeing myself in the house, naked, collared, and cuffed because I had been seeing myself in mirrors like that for the last twenty-four hours. And I could imagine myself obeying him, following every order, doing everything he said because I had already done that, too. So what it really came down to was if I was willing to give him control of my life for that long. I had already ceded control over my body for the holiday weekend, but after a year, would I have given him control over my mind as well? And if I did, could I live with myself?
I believed in the dignity of human beings; that everyone should be treated with respect regardless of their station in life. It seemed to me that was a basic for any civilization that aspired to become greater than it is. It was also a basic for any relationship that expected to endure. Partners in the relationship owed each other the basics of respect and dignity or the partnership would not survive. How was Jack demonstrating that by keeping me enslaved? Was it even possible to respect a slave? Someone who voluntarily turned over all control of her life to another wasn’t due much in the way of respect, I thought. But then I wondered if there were exceptions. What if someone desired slavery? What if it was essential to an individual’s happiness to surrender to and serve another? The motivation didn’t matter, I thought, only the decision. Whether it was for love or some other psychological need, the choice needed to be respected because of the sacrifice involved in making it.
So it came down really to two questions. First, would Jack respect me as a slave? And second, would I respect myself if I agreed to it? Jack had already done some things that were as caring and loving as anything I had experienced with him. I knew we thought similarly in the way people deserved to be treated just because they were people. So what caused him to whip me and what caused him to humiliate me by making me eat off the floor like a dog? It struck me that Jack was experimenting with control as much as I was experimenting with losing it during this weekend, but then I wasn’t sure. He had planned things in his mind because that is the kind of person he is. As an engineer, he didn’t do anything off the cuff and much of that carried over into his personal life. Yes, he could be spontaneous, but it was rare. I knew he loved me with a certainty so not for the first time I asked myself why would anyone treat someone he loved like Jack was treating me?
I wasn’t getting anywhere thinking about Jack, so I started thinking about the second question; could I respect myself if I submitted to slavery. The answer lay in how much it would change me. I liked myself and I liked my life the way it was and I knew I loved Jack as much as he loved me. Could I continue liking myself as a slave or would I resent myself for giving up control. At first thought the answer was no but after a few minutes I started to think about the things I liked about being a slave. I felt more sexy and alive than I could remember. I was proud of my body and the way I looked and I absolutely loved the way Jack looked at me when I was naked. I liked making him happy with sex and if there was one thing I was certain of, the amount and quality of sex would definitely increase if I remained a slave. Since last night when I first stripped for Jack, I have been constantly aroused and sex was never far from my mind. I came back to the thought I had earlier about respecting the decision. If I submitted to him would I respect the decision I made and thereby still respect myself? And when I realized that the answer was yes, that if Jack recognized my sacrifice and honored it, then I could accept it.
It takes far longer to write this down than it took to think it. I had only been lying on the couch for about five minutes when I got up and found Jack in the office on the computer. I knelt down beside his chair and put my arm around his leg as I rested my head on his thigh.
“Master, may I ask a question?”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
He didn’t answer right away, but when he spoke, it sent chills down my spine. “Because you are letting me,” he said.
We were quiet a long time as he held me on his lap. He was right; I was letting him do whatever he wanted. I let him whip me, I let him fuck me whenever he wanted and in whatever way he wanted, I let him make me eat off the floor. I wondered what he would do to me next. I wondered what I would let him do to me next. I wasn’t sure if I was capable of saying no to him and it scared me.
I was content to just let him hold me and I think he was content to have his naked slave sitting on his lap, completely available to him whenever he chose to use her. It was late, about seven thirty, when he told me he was getting hungry and had me prepare snacks. I put together a plate with cheese, crackers, apple slices, and grapes. As I was preparing it, I heard him turn on the television.
I carried the plate into the living room and offered it to him. It was getting tough trying to think of new phrases. If you don’t believe that, try to think of ten ways to offer your body and food to someone at the same time without repeating yourself. He shared with me, offering food that I again had to eat from his hand, while he watched a science show. When we finished eating, he gave the plate to me and I took it back to the kitchen, putting it in the sink. I went back to the living room and knelt on the floor waiting to see what he wanted me to do next. At the commercial, he told me that I had worked hard that day and he was pleased with me. Then he told me I could do what I wanted until bedtime, with the exception of playing with myself.
I went to the office and sat down at the computer. I wanted to know more about what I was going through so I searched for the word slavery. Most of the articles were about pre-Civil War American slavery, but there were some that went as far back as Roman times. That really wasn’t helping me so I did a search on domination and submission and hit the jackpot. Most of the sites were pornography but as I searched, I found blogs from women who claimed to be enslaved. I was fascinated by what they wrote about their experiences but what I really learned was that there were a lot of people, men and women, who served someone as a slave. One woman’s blog was particularly poignant. She wrote about the first time her master had displayed her to others. He had two friends come over to watch a basketball game and she served them beer and snacks wearing only her collar and a short piece of silk tucked into a leather thong around her waist. When the game was over, he had her remove the silk and she spent the next several hours getting screwed by or sucking off the three of them. After her master’s friends left, he told her he was proud of her. She told him that she enjoyed the men looking at her and using her. When her master asked her why, she said that they would never look at her master the same way, knowing that he had enslaved her. She could tell that they were jealous of him and that made her happy and satisfied.
Another woman’s blog said that her master caged her every night after making love with her. During the day, she was hobbled by a 14 inch chain that connected her ankles. Another woman told about the time her master sold her to another man. She wasn’t complaining about it in the blog, although she did admit that she was upset at first because she didn’t understand how she failed to please him. But failed him she must have or else she would not have been sold. She said she loved her new master and had been with him for several years. But she also believed that one day she would be sold again.
I had been on the computer for several hours when Master came in and told me it was time for bed. I hadn’t mentioned it but every time I used the toilet he was there to wipe me. And every time he did it, I felt humiliated. I won’t mention it again other than to say that the times I had the toilet to myself were a small percentage of the time.
He had me get in bed first and locked a short chain to my collar and the bed. When he got into bed he was also naked and we made love for a couple of hours. That may not be exactly correct. Yes, it was lovemaking, but it was also frenzied sex. I never know how the two could be compatible but that night they were. The word energetic really doesn’t describe it. It was as if all my inhibitions had been stripped away and Jack was taking me to a level of sexual excitement that I never dreamed existed. We were like rutting animals but our human intelligence was still present because we understood that right then, this is what both of us needed and wanted and we were determined not to let each other down. Orgasms are wonderful things but often I was satisfied after having just one. That night, one wasn’t enough. We were both driven to provide one sexual climax after another for each other, with each one seemingly increasing the need for the next one. Finally, we collapsed, all of our reserves of energy spent. I drifted off to sleep still in an orgasmic haze.
I was awakened in the morning by Jack shaking my shoulder. “Get up, lazy slave, we have things to do,” he said.
“Ten more minutes, Master, ten minutes, I promise.”
He shook me harder. “Get up now, slave, or would you rather be whipped again?”
That got my attention. I sat up and Jack unlocked the chain from my collar. He was already showered and dressed and he told me to get ready because we were going for a drive. I asked him where we were going and he just said I would find out but he would leave the clothes I was to wear on the bed. Thirty minutes later I walked out of the bathroom to see a dress and a pair of sandals on the bed. I got panties and a bra from my chest of drawers, got dressed, and went to the living room to see what Jack was doing. He had a plate of fruit and cheese that he was nibbling on while he waited for me. He looked up as I came in and a scowl crossed his face.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
“What you put out on the bed, Master,” I answered but I was starting to worry that I had screwed something up.
“Did I leave a bra on the bed?” he asked, standing up. He walked over to me and lifted my dress. “Did I leave panties on the bed?”
“No, Master,” I said.
I took of my clothes and put them over a chair. Jack went to his bag and took out some rope and a leather flogger. With the rope he knotted my cuffs together in front of me, leaving about ten feet of rope hanging from my wrists. Then he took me by the arm and pulled me back to the bedroom and placed me behind the door. He threw the rope over the top of the door and pulled my hands above my head, pulling me face first into the door, my breasts crushed against it, before knotting the rope on the door knob on the other side of the door. He pushed the door closed, forcing me to follow it.
“I want to explain what is about to happen so you understand. You are going to be punished because you did not follow my directions. I told you that I would put on the bed what I wanted you to wear. You choose to add underwear to what I picked out for you. You must know that if I had wanted you to wear underwear, I would have put it on the bed for you. Do you understand why you are going to be punished?”
“Yes, Master,” I said automatically but not really understanding why this was happening.
He stepped back and swung the flogger striking me across the back. I was already pressed tightly against the door and the force of the blow knocked the wind out of me. I wanted to cry out because of the pain but I was gasping for air and couldn’t make a sound. Before I recovered, he swung the flogger again, striking me across the back of my thighs. I felt a fire burning me in two places now from the whip. I finally got air back in my lungs and began sobbing with the pain. Two more strikes to my back and one to my bottom had me wailing and pleading with him for mercy. He turned me around so my back was to the door. The next swing of the flogger struck me across the stomach and I screamed. Then one more across the front of my thighs. I looked down as I cried because my body was on fire with the pain from my whipping. I saw the red welts rising on my thighs and stomach and was amazed that they appeared so quickly. I looked up just in time to see him raise his arm again, before he swung the flogger across my breasts. I shrieked in pain and felt like the leather was ripping my nipples off my breasts. One more quick strike to my stomach and then the last one across my breasts again. I was hopping up and down in agony, sobbing while he put the flogger away.
He untied my wrists and told me to get dressed while he loosened the rope from the door knob. I ran into the living room, still crying, and put on my dress and sandals, leaving my bra and panties on the chair. He came back into the living room and he told me that I had five minutes to fix my hair and make-up. Then he looked at his watch. I ran back to the bathroom and fixed everything as much as I could while still leaking some tears. I was back in the living room in less than the five minutes he had given me.
He told me to get a coat from the closet and then we went to the garage and got in the car. As soon as we were belted in, he locked my wrists together with a padlock through the rings on my cuffs. Then he started the car and we backed out. He headed out of town across the Intercoastal and then got on I-95 headed north toward Jacksonville. Just as we got on 95 he asked me what I was thinking.
“I was thinking about why you whipped me this morning, Master.”
“And I don’t understand why you did it, Master. I’m a smart girl. If you had just told me that when you said to put on what was on the bed and nothing else, I would have understood that. I would have taken off the underwear and it would not have happened again. It wasn’t necessary to whip me to keep me from forgetting it the next time.”
“I didn’t whip you so you would remember the next time. I whipped you because of the last time.”
“Because you did not obey me perfectly. I told you to I would put your clothes on the bed. If I had wanted you to wear a bra, I would have put it on the bed. If I had wanted you to wear panties, I would have put them on the bed. You should have realized that because my directions to you were very clear.”
“Yes, Master,” I replied and then it got silent in the car for about ten minutes. Jack finally broke the silence.
“What were you feeling when you knew you were going to be whipped this morning?” he asked.
“Fear and confusion, Master.”
“I was confused for a couple of reasons, Master. First, I didn’t understand what I had done that was so bad that I deserved to be whipped. But the biggest source of confusion was trying to understand why someone who loved someone else would cause them pain like that. Honestly, I still don’t get it. I know you explained why you did it, but why is it even necessary? And how can you live with your self knowing that you hurt me so much?”
“I’ll answer your question, but you have to know that I am going to take the long way around to the answer. Please don’t interrupt me and you will know why I did what I did. Let me ask you something first. Do you think of what we are doing as a game? Do you think we are playing at master and slave or do you think that you are really starting to understand what it might be like to be enslaved?”
“I suppose it started as a game, Master. But since you have now whipped me twice, it is serious. I no longer consider it a game. It may be something I have to endure in order to keep my word to you and honor the bet we made, but I never expected, and certainly wasn’t prepared, for what this has turned into. And in my mind, I hold you responsible for that, Master. When we made the bet, you knew it would be like this. But if you had told me that you would whip me with leather, if you had told me that I was going to experience excruciating pain and other humiliations at your hand, do you think I would have accepted the bet?”
“Point granted, I sandbagged you. But I did it because I wanted to see if you could not only endure it, but savor it. When you look back on this weekend, I want you to feel proud of what you did. What’s the old song say, ‘Only the strong survive?’ That’s you. I have some small understanding of what you are going through and what you will go through the rest of this weekend. There is more coming that you don’t expect, I assure you. And at each step, you will be tested in some way. What I am trying to do is show you what you are capable of as a slave. What I want you to understand is how much I appreciate the strength you have shown so far and will show at every challenge I put in front of you. I wanted to push the boundaries with you because I know you are stronger than you think you are.”
“Master, why is it up to you to test my limits? I know myself pretty well. I know what I can and cannot do. Isn’t that up to me?”
“Actually, no. And the reason is that human beings don’t leave their behavioral comfort zone unless they are being pushed. In order to get you to a place that was uncomfortable for you, I had to do it this way.”
“And why is it important to you, Master?”
“Because right now you are two people. You are the shy and somewhat dowdy elementary school teacher and you are a hot-blooded slave. Could that school teacher ever made love the way we did last night?”
A chill went up my spine because I knew he was right. Without my slavery, last night would have never happened. It was more passionate, more energetic, and more satisfying than any other time we had made love. If it took slavery to release that passion in me, then what I was going through did have some value. We were quiet for some time before he added one more thought.
“If there is anything I want from this for you, it is that I want you to feel proud of being a slave. If you can get to that point, the shy school teacher will be gone, replaced by a magnificent and beautiful woman who is able to acknowledge her own needs and understands that not one in a hundred other women would have the intelligence or the fortitude to accept enslavement as a path to understanding and accepting their true natures. Does that answer your question?”
I was lost in my own thoughts but what he said registered and I nodded. He did indeed answer my question but instead of clearing things up for me, it made me more confused. No, not confused, conflicted. The only way I can explain it is that the slave and the school teacher were fighting for control of my identity, my self-concept.
Just less than two hours after starting he got off the interstate and I saw that he was headed toward a mall. After he pulled into a parking space, he told me to stay in the car for a moment and he got out and came around the car to open my door. I held out my hands so he could unlock the cuffs but he made no move to unlock them. He explained that he was giving me a choice. There was nothing he could do about my collar or the cuffs on my ankles but if I wanted to, I could use my coat to cover my bound wrists. On the other hand, I could choose to leave my coat in the car and walk into the mall with my bondage visible to everyone. This was obviously one of the tests he mentioned earlier. I looked up to his face and the look I saw on it could only be described as hopeful. I knew what he wanted but I wasn’t sure I was capable of giving it to him. To have everyone see that I was different than them; to have them as witness to my slavery was difficult for me to accept. In a way, this would be worse than be kept naked all of the time because that was just with Jack. But if Jack was right about my inner strength, I could do this and I felt challenged by it. I asked Jack to help me out of the car and told him to leave the coat on the back seat.
Then wearing only a lightweight dress and sandals, my slave collar and cuffs clearly visible to anyone who glanced at me, Jack escorted me into the mall. My dress was opaque so I knew that no one could see anything, but my nipples rubbing against the fabric as I walked was stimulating them and I knew they were crinkled, hard, and trying to poke through the fabric of the dress. As I imagined what I looked like walking across the parking lot with my hands bound together, I became aroused again and I knew that the scent of my arousal would shortly soak through the dress because of my lack of panties.
I don’t know if Jack planned it this way, but this was the day after Thanksgiving; the busiest shopping day of the year and even at this early hour, the mall was packed. In a way, that helped cover up my hands. Unless you were right beside me, it would be hard to see the cuffs on my wrists and the padlock holding them together. But as we made our way through the throng, there were plenty of people who did notice it. I kept my eyes straight ahead and didn’t look at them as they saw my condition. I tried to make Jack and myself the only people in the world. The crowd was just an obstacle blocking us from our destination.
About halfway down the mall, Jack steered me into a jewelry store. He asked for the manager and one of the clerks went into the back to fetch him. When the manager came out, I was slightly surprised because all of the clerks were men and the manager was a woman. Jack introduced himself and added that he was the one who had called earlier in the week about a platinum disk. She acknowledged him and said she would be back in just a moment. She went into the back of the store and returned in a couple of minutes with a box about two inches square. Opening it, she took out a platinum disk that was an inch and a half in diameter and handed it to Jack. There was a hole drilled in one edge about a quarter of an inch wide with a platinum link, as if from a chain, through it. The link almost filled the entire hole and had a small break in it on the long edge that allowed the disk to be slipped through and onto the link. Jack examined it and nodded his approval before handing it back.
“You also said you would be able to engrave it and complete the link while we wait, I believe,” Jack stated.
The manager nodded a confirmation but also reminded Jack that due to the special circumstances of the order and the fact that the disk had to be made on premises in a short time there would be a substantial fee. Jack told her he understood and wanted to finish the transaction. She indicated that Jack and I should accompany her into the back so we followed her through the door in the back of the store. When we were in the back, she locked the door behind us to keep the clerks out. There was a man there, obviously not a clerk but a jeweler sitting at a bench working on a watch.
“Please forgive me,” the manager started to say, “but I will need to process your credit card before we can continue.” Jack said he understood and handed it over. She ran the card through the machine and punched in the amount. I saw her enter six numbers meaning this was costing Jack over a thousand dollars but did not see how much he was paying. After his card was approved she asked him to write out what he wanted engraved on each side of the disk. It only took a minute for him to write it out and when he handed it back, the manager asked him if he was serious. He assured her that he was so she handed the disk and the card to the jeweler and asked him to complete the engraving immediately.
The jeweler read the card then looked up at me with a quizzical expression. The manager confirmed that the engraving Jack requested was correct so he went over to an engraving machine and fit the disk into it. Then he programmed the computer with the words for the first side and turned the machine on. It only took a few minutes for the front side of the disk to be engraved. The jeweler took the disk out and flipped it over, then programmed the machine again and turned it on. When the engraving was complete, he took it out of the machine and handed it to Jack who read both sides and nodded. Then he handed the disk to me to read. On one side it read:I am the
and on the other:
I am the
I handed it back to Jack and he could see that I was upset. He pulled the jeweler aside and they were talking quietly for a few moments and then he came over to me. “He’s going to attach the disk to your collar. To do so, he is going to need to heat up the link. To keep from burning you we’re going to use heat resistant pads. But the only way to do this safely is with you lying on the floor. Do you understand?”
“Is it dangerous?” I asked. Jack didn’t respond to my question, as if he were waiting for something else.
“Is it dangerous, Master?” I whispered hoping the jeweler wouldn’t hear me.
“No, but you will need to remove your dress while you are on the floor. Please take it off and give it to me.”
“Master, please don’t make me do this.” My response was barely audible.
Jack just leaned over and whispered into my ear. “Be my proud slave, not the school teacher.” Then he unlocked my cuffs so I could get the dress off.
Jack was challenging me again. So in front of the female manager and the male jeweler, I unbuttoned my dress and shrugged it off my shoulders and stepped out of it, handing it to Jack. I stood there naked as the two strangers looked at me. After a few moments, the manager talked with the jeweler who got to work heating up the link on the disk. Master had me lie down and jeweler knelt down beside me with several pads. They were about twice the size of pot holders and made of some kind of flexible insulating material. They might have been silicon or some other kind of heat resistant rubber; I didn’t know. He placed one on my chest and fit it underneath my collar then placed one over my face and another one under my chin, again tucking it underneath my collar to hold it in place. I couldn’t see what was going on with the pad over my face but I heard the jeweler moving around. Jack told me to hold very still and I could feel my collar moving as the jeweler put the link through the ring on my collar and bent it back to close it. Later, I found out that he also soldered the link closed so it could not be removed from the ring. He sprayed the link with water to cool it and I heard the hiss of steam as the water hit the hot metal. I felt a little warmth through the pads protecting me but it wasn’t uncomfortable at all.
When the link had cooled enough, the jeweler polished it to restore the silvery luster. Finally the pads were removed and I was able to stand up again. I could feel the disk against my skin but could not see it unless I looked in a mirror. Jack handed me my dress and I put it on as he tipped the jeweler a hundred dollars. Then he locked the cuffs together again.
As we left the store, Jack asked if I was hungry. I was because I hadn’t eaten breakfast so we went to the food court. Jack gave me twenty dollars and told me to get two orders of Chinese while he sat down at the table. We talked a little as we ate but it wasn’t about anything that would embarrass anyone. Of course, my hands were still bound together so I had to raise both hands to my mouth each time I took a bite. Several people stopped to look at me while I ate and wandered off whispering to each other. It bothered me a little but then I realized why we came all the way to Jacksonville to do this. If we had stayed at the Cape, someone might have recognized me. Here in Jacksonville, there was little chance of that. Jack wolfed his food down pretty quickly so he watched me as I ate. When I was finished, Jack told me to throw away the trash and we went back into the mall.
“Would you like to shop as long as we’re here?” he asked.
“Whatever Master wishes,” I replied and I really meant it. I was so grateful that he took me to a place where no one would know me that I was willing to do whatever he wanted. Of course, I really didn’t have a choice about it anyway. We walked through the mall just window shopping while those that could see my bound wrists stared after us. We came to a sewing store and Master pulled me inside. We walked up and down the aisles for a few minutes until Master found what he wanted. It was some red, gauzy silk and he had the clerk cut a piece that was about six inches wide and two feet long. In another aisle, he found some synthetic material that felt like leather. He asked the clerk for a strip about an inch wide and forty inches long.
After she cut it he asked about sewing the two materials together. She explained that sewing the silk to the other strip would be very difficult but that if he didn’t insist it be sewn, there was a better way. She led us to another section where there adhesive strips used for hemming material. She found a package in the same color red as the strip and explained that it was double sided adhesive and very strong. Simply cut a length for the silk and put it on, then press it onto the other strip. Master was grateful and thanked the clerk as he paid for the purchase.
After that, we headed back to the car and drove home. When we arrived, Master unlocked my wrists and had me take off my dress in the garage before entering the house. Master told me to start the laundry while he sat down at the kitchen table and took out the material he bought at the sewing store. The laundry room was at the other end of the house so I didn’t see what he was doing with it. I had just finished sorting the laundry from the hamper, less than five minutes work, when Master came into the bedroom. I got down on my knees waiting to see what he wanted.
“I was proud of you today, the way you handled yourself at the mall. I wanted to reward you by giving you something to wear. Stand up.”
I stood up and Master came around behind me. He had attached the silk to the other strip and he wrapped it around my hips so the silk hung down in front. It came almost to my ankles. He tied a knot in the strip that was functioning like a belt at my hip then took me over to the full length mirror so I could see myself.
The image that stared back at me from the mirror was a slave; there was no other interpretation possible. The locked metal collar with the disk proclaiming me slave and property of another, the locked cuffs at my wrists and ankles, and, finally, the semi-transparent silk hanging between my legs. I don’t know how it is possible but that single strip of cloth hanging down between my legs made me feel even more naked than if I wasn’t wearing it. It may have been because the eyes were drawn to the silk, which really didn’t hide anything, or because I could feel it swishing between my legs when I walked, but somehow it was almost worse than wearing nothing at all. Without thinking, I straightened my back and pulled my shoulders back slightly. The image in the mirror was not sending mixed messages. On the one hand, the woman that stared back at me was helpless and vulnerable, but on the other, she was proud of what she was and wasn’t going to apologize to anyone, not even herself, for her slavery.
“Master, may I ask a question?” I didn’t turn to look at him when I asked but kept staring at myself in the mirror.
“You’re turning me into a slave, aren’t you, Master?”
“Am I? Or are you becoming a slave with my help?”
“Is there a difference?” I asked.
“I think that there is. I cannot make you into something you don’t want to be.”
“Master, do you really want to make me so vulnerable? Do you really want me to be so dependent on you? Wouldn’t you rather have a strong and independent woman?
“That question has two parts to it. Do I want an independent woman? No, not really. Do I want a strong woman? Definitely yes. But slavery and strength are not mutually exclusive. Did it not take strength to walk around the mall with your hands bound, collared and cuffed the way you were, advertising your slavery to everyone who saw you? Did it not take strength to strip in front of strangers at my direction and to have the disk proclaiming you my property affixed to your collar? You have demonstrated strength in all that you have done since I first put the collar around your neck.”
“What will happen next, Master?”
“That is up to you. These last couple of days have taught me that I should not be afraid of who I am. I know now that I can’t keep pretending to be someone that is not really me. I will keep a slave. Whether or not that slave is you or not is really up to you.
“I understand, Master. How long do I have to decide?”
He came up behind me so that both of us were in the mirror and wrapped his arms around me, crossing his hands across my stomach. He put his chin on my shoulder so our faces were side by side. I felt him against my back and bottom and it was comforting to have him hold me like that. “By the end of the weekend. At that time, you must tell me how you want this to continue. If you say no, I will begin searching for someone who wants this kind of life.”
I broke free from him and turned to face him. I pressed my body into his and looked up into his face. “I don’t need that long, Master. I am your slave. Forever.”
End of part 1
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