Confessions Of A Slave Ch. 01

Preface - the present

I am twenty-six years old. I have two small children, and my whole world revolves around them. My first priority, without exception, is to be the best mother I can possibly be. As soon as Confessions Of A Slave Ch. 01I have the money, I'll finalize my divorce from their father, and I intend to throw a huge party.

I have been a teacher, and plan to be a tattoo artist. I love literature, and horde books as though they were gold. I have a high IQ, and a voracious appetite for learning new things. I can adapt to almost any situation, and carry on a conversation with nearly any 'type' of person without feeling out of place. I am a music fanatic, with very eclectic taste, and I love to sing and dance. I volunteer for various causes when I can, and enjoy being in community theater productions when I have the time.

I am making my place in the world, on my own. I have always been the ultimate "Miss Goody Two-shoes." Now, I am independent, self-assured, outspoken, and totally in control of every aspect of my life.

By day.

Late in the evenings, after the kids are in bed, and on the weekends they spend with their father, everything changes.

During those times, i belong to Him.

one - the present

Throughout the long drive to His home, i drop layers of self-control like an exotic dancer deliberately removing layers of her costume. i shed my teacher persona, my student persona. Gone is the good girl, the headstrong, outspoken overachiever. i won't need them this weekend. As the last remaining accouterments of the modern wonder-woman fall away, i stop at an Interstate rest area to freshen up.i want always to look my best for Him. In the piercing glare of the humming fluorescent lights, i carefully touch up my makeup, and arrange my hair just the way He likes. Soft, tousled, touchable. i straighten my clothes, slightly rumpled by the hour-long drive. Then, the piece de resistance, i reach into my bag for my collar. It is black leather, roughly an inch wide, and fastens like a belt at the nape of my neck. A steel chain, about half the width of the leather, is suspended slightly beneath the collar, attached by small metal grommets that rest on the pulse points on either side of my throat. There is a small, semicircular ring, for the attachment of a leash, centered at the top.

It shouldn't draw too much attention, as i am dressed slightly punk, anyway. Yet there are always the few double-takes, the suggestive leers. i just drop my eyes, and smile my secret smile. Only He and i know it is a brand, the concrete symbol of ownership, bestowed on the slave by her Master.

i return to the car, which has been meticulously cleaned, in case we go out this weekend. He should have a clean and comfortable ride if He chooses not to drive. During the last half-hour of the journey, i remember the last late-night conversation. Having received my assignment beforehand, i was waiting for His call, wearing only panties and my collar.

*************************************************

We exchanged pleasantries and small talk, stories of our day, for fifteen minutes or so.

Then His voice slipped into that masterful tone, the one that always stirs my blood, and He said my name.

"Yes, Sir?" i gave the expected response, letting Him know i was prepared, ready to slip into my role and yield to His command.

"Are you ready to play for Me?"

"Oh yes, Sir," i sighed.

i closed my eyes, imagining that my hands were His hands, or even that He was sitting opposite me, watching from the sofa (rather than two counties away), as i shamelessly obeyed His every whim.

These conversations brought self-gratification to a whole new level. Even in this, i had relinquished control.

*************************************************

By the time i reach His home, my skin is tingling in anticipation, and my heart is pounding like a techno bass-beat. i take a deep breath, inhale and exhale with my eyes closed, then a final glance in the rearview mirror. i gather my things, lock my doors, and make my way up the stairs, pausing on the landing to remind myself to breathe. Down to the last door on the left, a final shaky breath, and i ring the bell.

"Come in," He calls. i close the door softly behind me, turn the lock, and turn to face Him, my heart in my throat.

He rises from the sofa, eyes smouldering. He does not speak, but His gaze, roaming hungrily over my body, says all that i need to know. Two steps towards me, and His hand is entwined in my hair. He is pulling my face to His, kissing me forcefully, branding my lips with His. He pulls away abruptly, the hand in my hair forcing me to my knees at His feet. i clasp my hands together tightly at the small of my back, head down, still reeling from the taste of his tongue in my mouth when His cock thrusts past my lips to replace it. This is why i'm here. This is where i belong. i am eager to please, to submit, to serve.

He is the Master, i am the slave, and all is right with the world.

two - the past

I met Him on a telephone chat line.

I had been separated from my fumbling dolt of a husband (who was also a cruel, selfish, verbally and financially abusive brute), for about three months. I had moved halfway across the state to evade the clueless bastard's grasp. I was alone in a new town, working from home, and had no social life whatsoever. I was free and happy, but lonely, and my sex life was sorely lacking. Nonexistent, in fact, and had been for nearly two years.

But I didn't want a relationship. I had only just discovered, to my surprise, that I was quite capable of making it on my own. I wasn't ready to relinquish my newfound independence to yet another brainless testosterone factory. I didn't want another man telling me where I could go, what I could do, who I should or shouldn't be friends with. And I was fed up with being the quintessential 'good girl.' I only wanted good times, good conversation, great chemistry, and phenomenal sex.

So, late one night, plagued by insomnia, I was watching one mindless late night tv show after another, when this commercial came on. Everyone has seen it, I suppose. You know: "Talk live with hot, local singles right now! FREE trial for guys, always free for the ladies!"

Embarrassing as it seemed at the time, I eagerly picked up the phone.

After several nights of numerous dead-end, deal-breaker conversations, chats with married men, mouth-breathing masturbators and other assorted losers, and two dates with a seemingly harmless middle-management type who later revealed himself to be a raging, racist bigot, I was ready to give up. Until another bout of insomnia, and its incipient boredom, found me cycling through the hordes of voice intros again. Just killing time, waiting for sleep to take hold.

And there He was, His voice deep and quiet and intriguing. We sent messages back and forth for a while, then exchanged numbers. Our talk, on many occasions, ran late into the night. Slowly, perceptive to any reluctance, fear or resistance in my voice, He introduced me to the BDSM world. Bondage. Discipline. Sado-masochism. I was absolutely stunned to realize how enticing, how arousing it was to me. Some part of me, previously unknown to my conscious mind, responded to His innate dominance with longing, desire, and an insatiable curiosity.

three - the present

i am bound and blindfolded. Tied, arms and legs spread wide, to what began its life as a weightlifting machine. i feel suspended, out of space, outside of time - detached.

He is there, somewhere, near me. i feel his presence, even though i am deprived of the use of my senses. i see nothing, except for the mottled velvet of my eyelids under the blindfold. i hear nothing, except for the almost primitive ebb and flow of the music issuing from the speakers behind me. i feel only the cold of the restraints on my wrists and ankles, the cushion of the carpet under my feet, taste only the air and my fear, smell only the sharp and somehow sexual scent of His expensive cigars lingering on the air. i am powerless, completely at His mercy, aching with anticipation.

He could leave me here; just walk away and leave me to eventually dangle by my wrists in the restraints. He could truly take advantage of my vulnerability, disregarding all the pre-set limits that He based primarily on my comfort level alone.

But He won't. Vulnerable i may be, but i am also perfectly safe. Even at his most aggressive dominance, His first concern is always my comfort and pleasure. i know that, no matter how deep we go, no matter how intense the experience, or how far my limits have been pushed, i can stop everything, immediately. i have but to say a single word, my "safe-word," to bring Him to an instant standstill. my trust in this - and in Him - is complete and unmitigated.

So i wait.

Maybe it is an eternity, perhaps only minutes. Who could say? Only the briefest disturbance of the air, the smallest whispering rush behind me gives a split-second warning, before His flogger - a full, long leather tassel- strikes my barely clad ass with a heavy, resounding smack. i gasp, too shocked, for the moment, to vocalize.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

He strikes my ass twice, then my lower back. He pauses for a moment, and i moan quietly, arching my back with pleasure. The blows begin again, striking faster on my back, my ass, my shoulders. One blow wraps around to sting the side of my breast through His thin white undershirt, the one He gave me to wear tonight. Suddenly, He is everywhere at once, and i am moaning freely, swaying slightly, in time with the falling blows. There is no predictable pattern to where each strike will fall. It has become a frenzy of noise and pain and excruciating pleasure. The tempo accelerates briefly, until i am biting my lip, trying not to allow my safe-word to escape.

Then He is gone again, as abruptly as He had arrived. i am left, whimpering, to catch my breath and regain my composure. i revel in the sting left behind by the narrow strips of leather. It feels like dozens of tiny burns on my back, shoulders, breasts, and thighs. It feels incredible.

i am just beginning to lean forward, straining against my bonds, straining to hear Him moving, breathing, anything, when His lips brush my ear.

"Did you think I wasn't coming back?"

His voice is a perilous whisper, and i lean into Him with an inarticulate longing. His hand presses against the small of my back, squeezing my hips into His.

He kisses me slowly, claiming my mouth as surely as He has claimed my will.

*************************************************

*************************************************

Let me know what you think?

&

Please check back for part 2,

coming within the next week!!!

thanks!

Hislittlebitch