The Outsider Ch. 23

"Let me throw out a thought for you. You wanted Mrs. Peters to love you, but at the same time you wanted her to punish you. Am I close?"

Ruthie fidgeted and blushed furiously. She nodded.

"I wanted to be hers, Dr. Hartman. I...uh...I don't know how to say it...but I actually wanted to belong to her...be like one of those serving girls from ancient Egypt...you know, the ones who ran around the palaces in the nude serving their mistresses. That's what I wanted to do with her. I would have done anything she wanted...and I wanted her to whip my butt if she ever got upset with me."

Ruthie then made a confession that horrified her the moment it came out of her mouth.

"At night, when my mom had gone to bed...I'd think about Mrs. Peters...I'd be in my bed...rub myself...you know...my clit...and I'd come...have these really great orgasms...thinking about her..."

"So, what you really wanted was to have a submissive relationship with her...for her to be your mistress...or maybe like a slave owner. I think they use the term 'pet' in some B&D circles, if I'm not mistaken."

Ruthie, still blushing furiously from her confession about masturbating while thinking about her teacher, nodded. Fascinated with what her client was telling her, Hartman couldn't resist asking if Ruthie's fantasies included wearing a collar for Mrs. Peters.

"Yes, but that was later on...when I was thinking about a collar. This'll sound funny, but my fantasies started with her just punishing me after class. It was later on that I was thinking about her taking me to her house."

"...and that would've meant leaving your mom's place, running away, so you could go live with Mrs. Peters?"

Ruthie nodded.

Hartman noticed that time was running out in the appointment. She silently cursed the unyielding clock, because she was convinced that she finally had hit on the one event in Ruthie's life, the enormous frustration of wanting a totally impossible love; that may have made overridden everything else that she had to endure in her unhappy existence. There was no question she would have struggled not only with frustration, but also with guilt because what she wanted was so much the opposite of what her church expected of her?

And yet, was what Ruthie wanted really the opposite of her church's teachings? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe what Ruthie was doing was sexualizing her church's message. In a way she was rebelling because she wanted to be dominated by a woman instead of a man, but the lifestyle was not that different in its entirety, just in the details. Ruthie wanted to submerge herself, give herself totally, not to Jesus but to Mrs. Peters.

With her very limited time, there was only one way that Dr. Hartman could get the story of Ruthie's obsession with Mrs. Peters in the detail she wanted. She already knew Ruthie wrote much better than she could speak. Why not ask her to write a story about herself and Mrs. Peters? That way, instead of having to waste time sitting through her client's blushing and fidgeting, Hartman would have the entire story at the beginning of the next session, and would have the rest of the hour to assess its importance.

"Ruthie, I am going to give you an assignment for our next time together. I want you to close your eyes."

Ruthie closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

"Let's go back in time and change what happened to you in the ninth grade. We are living in an alternate world, one in which what you want is what you get. In that world, you are in Mrs. Peters' class. You are looking at her...and you know that whatever you want to happen with her will happen. Imagine. What I want from you is the story, on paper, of what's going to happen in our alternate world. Remember this is your world, your reality, so anything is possible. That'll be your assignment. Are you OK with that?"

"Yes, Dr. Hartman."

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That night Ruthie took her place at her computer in Mike's room (she still hadn't gotten around to moving it) and for a few minutes stared blankly at the screen, not sure what she should do. Then her counselor's words came back to her: "...you are in Mrs. Peters' class. You are looking at her...and you know that whatever you want to happen with her will happen. Imagine." OK...so that was where her story would begin, sitting in class. Ruthie started typing:

I sat up front of her class...watching as Mrs. Peters walked around with her yardstick. She was so much in control...she knew what she was doing and sure of herself...always.

It didn't matter to me that she was 40 and the lines already started to form in her face. To me she was beautiful. I was afraid of her, but that was the way it had to be. I couldn't have loved her if I didn't fear her.

She noticed me...and she started making me stay after class so she could go over my papers...she pointed out the smallest mistakes and said:

"I expect better out of you, Ruthie. I expect you never to disappoint me. Maybe your hoodlum classmates can afford to repeat their mistakes over and over, but that is something you can't do. I won't allow it. And there will be consequences if you ever disobey me. Do you understand me?"

She held her yardstick and looked at me. I trembled, because I knew that she'd have to punish me if I ever failed her.

I'm not perfect. I was not able to remember every mistake I made that she had already corrected. She did remember. The first couple of times she made me stay after class and clean up. But then her patience started running out. She told me if I was careless again the consequences would be more severe. Unfortunately I was just a high school student...and not as responsible as she wanted. I did let her down again...I did repeat yet another foolish mistake. She took a deep breath and I cast down my eyes.

"You understand what this means, Ruthie."

"Yes, Mrs. Peters, I understand."

"Very well, young lady. Close the blinds and take off your clothes. You are going to learn never to disappoint me again. You're too important for me to simply allow you to fail."

"Yes, Mrs. Peters."

So I did what she told me to do. My heart was pounding as I closed the blinds. I was terrified and embarrassed, because I was actually going to have to be naked in front of Mrs. Peters. Yes, I was scared, but I was also excited, because deep down it was what I wanted, and I knew she wanted it to.

My hands were shaking when I stripped. She watched me as she tapped her yardstick in her hand. She ordered me to put my clothes in a cabinet and to hand her the key. She put the key in her purse. I knew that she would not give me my clothes back until she was pleased with me...and that was something I'd have to work hard to accomplish.

She came up to me and grabbed my arms. She looked hard into my eyes. I wanted to cry from the shame of having her angry with me, but with every bit of my strength, I forced myself to look at her. She squeezed my arms in a vice-like grip. I knew I'd not be able to escape if I tried. Already I was hers.

"What am I going to do with you, Ruthie? I gave you a simple request: to not repeat mistakes on your assignments once I've pointed them out to you. How could you have let me down like that?"

I shook with fear.

"You're better than the others. Way better. But every day, every minute, every word you write, you have to prove it. Prove that you are better. I will not tolerate mediocrity from you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes Mrs. Peters."

"And so what do you think I ought to do with you, since you refused to meet my expectations?"

"I 'spose you ought to punish me, Mrs. Peters."

"Exactly. I need to punish you. It's not something I want to do, because I love you, but I cannot tolerate you being mediocre."

My heart jumped. For the first time Mrs. Peters said she loved me!

"I want you to think about what is going to happen. The best way to contemplate what is about to happen is for you to go up to that chalkboard and write 'I am a bad girl and I deserve to be punished.' You write that over and over, until the board is full. When you are finished, I will punish you."

"Yes Mrs. Peters."

And so I wrote, over and over, "I am a bad girl and I deserve to be punished." Mrs. Peters watched me, all the time tapping her hand with her yardstick. She commented:

"This yardstick is too flimsy for your training. I'll need to get a paddle, or maybe a cane."

I glanced over, terrified but excited. I knew she was looking at me, admiring me. I wanted her to look at me. I so much hoped that she thought I was pretty.

When I was finished writing my lines, Mrs. Peters again grabbed my arms.

"I do love you. No matter how much I have to hurt you, I want you to remember that."

She led me to the teacher's desk and made me bend over. She tapped the insides of my legs with the ruler to make me spread my feet. For a long time she ran her hand over my bottom, massaging the tender skin and touching my anus and my vulva. I was so totally scared...but I started getting wet. Mrs. Peters ran her fingertip along my pussy and touched my clit. Then she held her wet fingertips in front of my face so I could see.

"Don't ever try to keep a secret like this from me again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mrs. Peters."

She stood behind me, tapped my vulnerable bottom with that big ruler, and struck me hard, right across both ass-cheeks. Oh...it hurt so bad...but I was so happy, the punishment finally had started.

She hit me over and over. It hurt so bad...but I knew it was what I needed. I was brave; I never once got up or moved my feet. I lay across the desk the whole time as she hit my poor bottom. Every so often she'd stop and run her hand over my sore skin, tracing the welts with her fingertips.

When she finally stopped, she let me stand up. She hugged me as I cried into her chest. She took my chin with her fingertips and forced me to look at her.

"You did good for a first time, Ruthie. I'm very proud of you."

"You're proud of me, Mrs. Peters?"

"Of course I am. You're not a diligent girl, but you are brave and obedient. I wish I had a girl like you."

We hugged each other for a long time. Finally I asked if she wanted me to get dressed.

"No love, not yet. I want you to finish cleaning the room, and I'm going to want a few pictures of you. Then you can get dressed. It's too bad about the school dress code, because a girl like you shouldn't be wearing clothes."

"Yes, Mrs. Peters."

Ruthie ended that section and started a new one.

Throughout the fall semester Mrs. Peters continued pushing me. She didn't punish me very often, because I really did try to please her. But she kept me naked in her classroom every afternoon when classes were over. I had to clean up the room to her specifications, and she would not let me get dressed until I was done. There were a few times she'd grab my arm, lead me down the hallway to the teachers' lounge, and she'd make me clean there. I was always naked, of course. I was scared someone would see me, but I also was scared because whenever she took me into the hallway I knew I had displeased her and that I needed to be spanked.

She made me practice the class material, made me memorize lots of big words, and made me read really hard stuff. Often she'd make me bend over her desk and she'd rub my bottom while she was talking to me. I loved it when she touched me. I wanted more.

On Christmas Eve I decided to run away from home. I told my mom I couldn't stand living with her anymore and that I was gonna go back with my dad, but that was a lie. I was going to go over to Mrs. Peters' place. I so much wanted to be with her. I went over with nothing, because I wasn't ever going to have my own stuff again. On the way to her place I stopped at a Fast-Mart and picked up a card. In my very best handwriting I wrote:

Dear Mrs. Peters:

Because you mean more to me than everything and everyone else in the world, I am giving myself to you as your Christmas present. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life serving you. My existence has only one purpose; to submit to your wishes and make you happy. My life, my soul, and my body no longer belong to me: everything that I am is now yours.

Your loving pet, Ruthie

I also bought a big Christmas bow, the biggest I could find. Then I went to Mrs. Peters' house. I took off my clothes on her front porch and threw them in her trash can. I'd never need them again, because she had said that a girl like me shouldn't be wearing clothes. I was shaking with cold and anticipation while I tied the bow around my neck. Then I went in. The door was unlocked. I snuck into her living room and got on my knees next to her Christmas tree. I held the card in my hand and waited. It was exciting and scary to think that I had just done the very last thing in my life I'd ever do without being ordered.

I waited on my knees for about 15 minutes. I heard my Mistress get up and listened to the sounds of her getting dressed. She came into the living room and was surprised to see me kneeling naked next to her Christmas tree with a big bow around my neck. Without saying anything, I held up the card. She took it from me and read it.

"Stand up, Ruthie."

I stood. She took the bow off my neck. She ran her hands over my body. She kissed me.

"You do understand that I'll have to train you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Peters."

"And this is the life that you really want?"

"Yes, Mrs. Peters."

I blushed. My new Mistress ran her fingers over my vulva and kissed me again.

"You are the best present I could ever receive, Ruthie. Thank you."

Ruthie ended the second section and started the third one.

I knew that Mrs. Peters would be very strict with me, that she would expect me to pay attention to detail and try my best at every task she gave me. We both knew that, when I gave myself to her, she would demand that I would understand the full meaning of the commitment that I had made. My life under her would be one of service, not of relaxation. My existence would never be easy. She would see to that. If my life was going to be easy, then there was no point in having her as my Mistress.

We both knew that there would be times she'd have to punish me. That was what I expected, and what I wanted. She promised me never to punish me without first making sure I understood why I had to be punished, but she also made sure that I understood that if she was going to punish me, my place in life was to accept her discipline. I could expect to feel the switch, or the belt, or the paddle on my unprotected bottom. She would punish me out of love...but whenever she'd punish me...she'd have to hurt me. I understood that. It is the role of a pet to accept discipline and never question her Mistress.

The days right after Christmas were exciting for me, because that was the week my Mistress started teaching me how to be a proper pet. I learned what it was to truly serve my beloved owner. She indulged me during those first few days...even allowing me to make mistakes. She was fair to me...letting me know that I was allowed to make any particular mistake...once. If I made the same mistake again, she would punish me.

"You are just learning...my lovely pet, but you are smart girl and I know you will make an excellent servant. But you also will know, not to test my patience. It is up to you to make yourself worthy of serving me."

One thing that she did that surprised me: she did not collar me right away. She explained why; that the collar was an honor I had to earn. She'd collar me, once she knew for sure that I was worthy of having her as my owner. As she put it:

"The collar is a lifetime commitment, for both of us. You need to really want it, because once you assume the collar, you will not be taking it off. Once I give you the collar, I will be committed to properly caring for you for the rest of my life."

Ruthie ended the third section of her narrative and started on the fourth:

On New Year's Eve, Mrs. Peters took me out for the first time. She was going to spend the evening with a small group of her friends, and wanted me to accompany her to serve her throughout the party. She told me that, although I had a long way to go, I was well-enough trained that I knew the basics of service and I should do fine.

I knew that so far I had pleased my Mistress, because otherwise she would not have felt confident displaying me to her friends. I was naked, of course. I would always be naked, no matter where I went or whom my Mistress chose to hang out with. As a pet, I was not permitted to have any material possessions, and of course that included clothing of any type. I knew that being denied the privilege of covering myself was going to be a condition of my commitment to a lifetime of servitude. I knew that from the very beginning: it was what I wanted and what I expected.

My Mistress expected me to perform well and make her proud of me. It was the chance for me to put into practice what she had taught me so far. I was scared, not because I faced an evening being naked in a room full of strangers, but because I knew that I was facing my first real-life test as the pet of Mrs. Peters. If I displeased her, I would be punished, or worse yet, I might even put my collar at risk. I just had to do what I needed to please my Mistress. I just had to.

I did well that evening. I brought my Mistress wine and food on cue. When I was not serving, I knelt beside her chair. She gently caressed my shoulder, and her cue that she needed something was to lift her hand. She did not have to tell me what she wanted, because I already knew her well enough to understand her tastes in drinks and food. I knew the order in which she wanted to be served things, having been given that instruction over the past week.

When I was kneeling I was quiet, but my Mistress allowed me to look up at the other guests. I could see they all admired me. My Mistress received plenty of compliments for having such as pretty pet and one who was so well trained. She smiled and commented:

"Would you believe that I've only had her for a week? Such a lovely sweet girl, isn't she? And she's a smart girl, so easy to train. So far she's really worked out."

I knew that I could not let such compliments go to my head. I still had a long way to go, before I would finally earn the precious collar that Mrs. Peters was keeping for me.

Ruthie concluded and wrote her fifth and final entry:

Mrs. Peters trained me for three months. She said I was a smart girl and easy to train, as far as obeying orders was concerned, but a real pet must go way beyond simple obedience. To be a true pet, I'd have to know my Mistress as well as she knows herself, to be able to glance at her and know immediately what she wanted. A pet no longer has her own identity. Her Mistress becomes her identity; her Mistress's wishes are her wishes; she knows what to do without being told.

She had to punish me several times. Her favorite implement was a leather switch, but sometimes she liked to use a paddle. I always was responsible for bringing her the implement with which I was to be castigated. I knelt and held it out to her. Then she positioned me, making me place my bottom on prominent display...I was always scared, but through the pain and tears of my punishments I was always grateful she was taking the time to properly train me.

On my birthday, my Mistress cuffed my hands behind my back and ordered me to get into her car. She drove to a very elegant reception hall. An employee was waiting to let us in through a side door. He looked over my uncovered body, but my Mistress told him to leave. Her expression scared him off, clearly saying: "Back off. This girl is mine, and no one else's."

She led me into an elegant room. We stopped in the middle of the room and I instinctively knelt.