With Master's Permission

"What did you say?"

Donna glared across at Michael, who stood, in his usual laconic, self-assured way, arms folded, leaning against the bedroom doorframe. As usual, his dark brown eyes seemed to bore deep into hers, somehow a direct route to her innermost thoughts, unearthing all the embarrassing, personal little secrets that lay dormant within the recesses of her mind. Despite herself, Donna blushed and she hated herself for outwardly exposing her anger and embarrassment.

Michael eased himself off the doorframe, but kept his arms folded. "I'm not usually given to repeating myself," he said, in his usual, well-spoken and quiet voice, the same commanding tone always present, "Nor am I used to being questioned by one such as you. But as you're new to this, I will allow you to question me and I will repeat myself."

Donna scowled. 'One such as you'! She fought hard to control her anger and…. and some other emotion which shouldn't be there. The audacity of the man! To talk to her like that! After all, he was that much older than her; she was even doing him a favour really, by being here in the first place. Well, I am! she told herself.

"I said, you have the makings of an ideal slave," said Michael, as matter-of-factly as though he were discussing her suitability to take on some new office duty. "So let's make a start, shall we? Kneel. Now."

Donna forced herself to give a derisive snort of laughter. "What do you think I am? Who do you think you are?" Damn it, she was becoming flustered. Keep it cool, Donna, she told herself.

Michael unfolded his arms and slowly walked towards her. Even his walk was laid-back, unhurried…. leonine even, like some sort of big cat on the prowl. Except that he wasn't a lion, and Donna wasn't about to flatter him with that kind of metaphor. Besides, lions had manes, and Michael was… well… a bit sparse in the mane department. She stood her ground and hoped that the swallowing motion she made had gone undetected by him. Now he was close up to her at the living room door. She flinched slightly as he brought one hand up and rested it on that doorframe and smiled his infuriating little smile. How she wanted to slap that smile off his face.

"I think you are a potentially good slave and I'm willing to take you on and give you a try," purred Michael. "I don't generally make offers like this, in fact – " another smile- "I have never offered to be a Master, although plenty of woman have offered themselves as slaves. Women with far more to give up than just their self-esteem."

"Self-esteem? How can any woman who wants to become a slave have self-esteem anyway?" spat Donna. "I'm not some stupid little bimbo who hangs on your every word, Michael. I run my own desk, I have my own client base. I – I –"

Yet still he looked at her, head slightly cocked, like some kindly uncle indulging a precocious niece. And he was throwing her just by looking at her like that. If he said that's nice, dear, he couldn't make it any more patronizing.

"I'm – I'm qualified!" finished Donna, the last words blurted out, her cheeks in full flush now, more with embarrassment at her choice of words to justify her position and standing in life, rather than the subject under scrutiny.

Michael leaned forward, and once again, she felt her heart quickening at his very presence, as she scanned his face, took in his close-cropped fair hair, greying at the temples, chin dark and rough, although obviously recently shaved. He wasn't even rugged, or conventionally handsome in the sense of the 'attractive older man'. Of course, he carried himself well, he had bags of natural self-confidence, but then one didn't get to his position in life without self -confidence. He wasn't even particularly well built. True, he wasn't slight and he wasn't markedly overweight, but nor was his especially muscular. And, being fair, you could hardly say he had a saturnine charm. But there was something almost devilish about his demeanour and Donna could well understand why women found him attractive, in the same way she had. Then again, money and influence were an aphrodisiac all of their own. One thing was for sure; Michael wasn't the run-of-the-mill, nicely settled or not-long-divorced man in his early forties. But a Master? And her his Slave? It was outrageous!

"I am not disputing your intelligence or qualifications, nor am I unsatisfied with your obviously feminine charms," said Michael slowly and deliberately. "If anything, hey are all excellent attributes in one seeking to give herself over to a Master totally. I would still permit you to have your career and a certain amount of personal freedom, but this would all be permitted by my express permission."

"You're really something else, aren't you?" gasped Donna incredulously. "What makes you think I want to be your slave?"

"I don't think, I know."

"That's it!" exclaimed Donna angrily, "I'm out of here!" she turned on her heel to go, took two steps towards the front door then swung round again and brought her face close to Michael's. He didn't move, he didn't flinch, His expression altered not one jot at her anger, and his eyes simply followed her movements.

"Okay, I'll admit – you are good in bed and yes, I did enjoy being handcuffed a couple of times and it was a real buzz when you cut my bra and panties off with a knife, but that's it. Maybe I shouldn't have gone there. You've obviously got the wrong idea about me. Yes, you're still a valued client, but I'll get one of my colleagues – probably Jeff – to handle your account from now on. But there is no way you are going to humiliate me any further with talk of slaves and submission and –"

Donna reeled back as the back of Michael's hand lashed across her cheek and sent her spinning towards the front door. In fact, if she hadn't slammed into the door she'd have fallen down. Her head swam, bright lights flashed before her eyes and the taste of blood indicated that she'd bitten her lip or her tongue. But more shocking than any of that was the fact that he'd hit her. He'd hit her! What sort of a man hits a woman like that?

Suddenly her head was jerked up and she felt his big hand on her neck. Not round her neck, not squeezing or trying to throttle her, but holding her there, forcing her head up so that she looked into his eyes. She saw her own frightened eyes reflected in the dark pools of his brown pupils as he brought his face towards hers.

"Never, never presume to undermine me and tell me what you will do. Ever." His words were calm, but icy, not menacing, not theatrical, but simply words which brooked no argument, no dissent. He was stating a fact.

"Pl-please – let me go," babbled Donna, feeling her bladder tingling and about the betray her. "Please Michael. You-You're frightening me!"

Michael's hand dropped to the lapel of her jacket and gripped it, then swung her away from the front door and against the wall. She felt a couple of buttons rip away from her tight jacket as he did so and gasped as the breath was knocked out of her as she hit the wall.

"I am not frightening you," he said calmly. "You are frightening yourself. However, I have no wish to see you beg to leave. I'll see you beg to be my slave soon enough." With that he released his grip on her jacket and even smoothed her rumpled garments down. He calmly crossed to the front door and opened it wide for he and indicated with his hand. "You may leave."

Donna willed her shaking legs to obey and lurched towards the door, grabbing her handbag from the hall table as she passed it and catapulted herself out of the charged atmosphere of the apartment into the coolness of the landing beyond. Within seconds she was clattering down the stairs, almost losing her shoes in the process, wrenching open the main door to the apartment building and was out into the early evening twilight.

She leaned against the wall of the apartment building and gratefully sucked in the cool evening air, steadying her nerves. Home! She had to get home. Maybe then she could calm down. Think rationally. Maybe call the police? Lodge a complaint certainly. Who did he think he was? It wasn't like he was her boyfriend or anything, not that even being her boyfriend would give him the right to slap her about like that.

Donna wished she'd never accepted his invitation to dinner all those weeks ago, soon after she'd been given responsibility for his prestigious and lucrative account. It was a high honour for her, to be entrusted with one of her mercantile bank's most valued customers. Oh yes, he was pleased with her handling of his portfolio, but he was obviously attracted to her. And who wouldn't be? Of course she was attractive; long dark hair, slim enough figure, a very acceptable bosom. She dressed well, she was intelligent and what middle aged man wouldn't want to be seen with a young woman at least fifteen years his junior?

What sort of a man hit a woman….?

Donna realised that she was walking – almost running – in the direction of her own apartment now, eschewing a taxi, although it was a fair old walk to her place. No, she needed the time to think. Just what had happened back there? Was she angry with him for his assertion that she would want to be his slave, or was she angry because it didn't sound quite so…. terrible?

In fact – and did she dare admit this to herself…. All her life she'd yearned to belong, to be cosseted and looked after, valued, loved. And of course she'd read about bondage, even indulged in some with Michael of course… and yet whole dom/sub thing, she'd decided that side of it didn't appeal so much to her. And yet…. Michael's version of it was obviously his very own.

Ten minutes later and Donna was slamming her own front door behind her, stepping over the letters on the doormat, which had been delivered after she'd left for work that morning, excited then at the prospect of dinner out with Michael after work, accepting his offer to call at his apartment straight from work. She'd known that sex would probably be on the cards, but that was fine – what better way to end a busy day and build up an appetite? But when he'd calmly stood there and told her to strip and kneel before him as his slave…. it was just…. bizarre!

What sort of a man…?

But now Donna had other urgent worries on her mind. She might have been thinking one thing with her conscious, rational mind, but her subconscious mind had been telling her something else and what's more, it had been telling her through her body!

Ignoring her dormant pc in her living room which no doubt would contain many e-mails if she logged on, Donna crashed into her bathroom and tore her jacket off, the last of the buttons plinking to the floor, followed in similar fashion by her blouse. She wrenched her trousers down around her ankles with one swift motion and examined her panties, which were saturated. But not with urine. No, this was her own juices, released in a virtual torrent by the slap she'd received, the way Michael had grabbed her, talked to her, told her what she wanted to be!

What sort of….?

Donna's panties were off within two seconds and first one finger and then another were thrust deep into her aching cunt, the juices slurping around them, as she teased her painfully throbbing clit into paroxysms of pleasure. Donna threw back her head and moaned as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure almost knocked her off her feet.

Gasping and withdrawing her sticky, trembling fingers, Donna leaned forward on the bathroom basin and stared at her flushed, wide-eyed reflection. Everyone made a life-changing decision at some point in their lives – and this was hers.

Decide, Donna, decide! she urged herself.

She sat gloomily on the top stair of the landing. It had been an hour now. A whole hour since she arrived back at Michel's apartment. The lobby door had been left open, almost as though someone were expecting her, so she'd been able to walk – albeit nervously – unchallenged to the first floor and to Michael's apartment door. Not having to 'buzz' him on the outside doorbell had given her a small advantage of being able to present herself at his front door, catching him off-guard perhaps. Unfortunately, he wasn't at home. She'd considered leaving and maybe telephoning him later, but what would she say? E-mail perhaps? Natch. No, she'd wait. He can't have gone far, surely? There'd been two false alarms with other tenants entering the building, but no sign of Michael.

She sighed and checked her watch again.

"9.42, I make it."

She spun round. There he was, standing at his apartment door, still dressed in casual slacks and shirt, having obviously been inside all along. He must have known she'd rung the doorbell at least four times. He knew she'd been waiting outside. The bast –

No, he had a point. And it was all part of the test.

Slowly, Donna stood up and almost tiptoed across the landing to the apartment as Michael stood aside. She was about to step across the threshold when he put his arm out, barring her way. She looked askance at him.

"From now on, you ask my permission in all things. You say: 'If it please you Master' or 'With Master's permission'. Do you understand?"

"Umm… yes….. er… Master?" Donna felt foolish, and the words seemed to come from somebody else, someone with a quavering voice, speaking somewhere inside her mind.

"Say it properly." Michael's face was impassive.

"If it please you Master… may I enter?" Again that strange voice from someone else. Someone like her but… somehow… different.

"You may enter". He lowered his arm and soon Donna found herself standing in the middle of the floor in the living room.

"Remove your jacket."

Obediently, Donna shrugged off the casual jacket she was wearing over her blue dress, holding it for a moment then dropping it to the floor when Michael, impassive as ever, nodded to her to do so.

He was appraising her, taking in her very essence. Not just her clothes and figure, not simply her beauty or demeanour; he was assessing her as deeply as anyone could assess another human being.

"Strip." he ordered.

Donna felt a little disappointed that Michael didn't want to undress her himself. She'd not have minded if he'd torn every stitch of clothing off her, fucked her stupid and made her walk back home naked. Somehow she knew this was a test in itself. She made no attempt at shyness or even removing her clothes slowly and sensually, she simply disrobed before his unflinching gaze. First her dress dropped around her ankles, followed by her black lacy bra, then her tights and finally her matching black lacy panties, which, she winced, were sticking to her already, wet with her madly leaking juices. Now she stood naked before him, her pussy glistening invitingly.

"All of it. Jewellery too."

Donna blushed at being caught out. She shed her rings and bracelet easily enough, and then fumbled with the clasp of the slim, gold chain of her initial pendant. When she couldn't control her fingers enough to manage, she felt nothing amiss in simply ripping the necklace off, breaking the chain and dropping it on top of her clothes.

"Earrings too."

Quick as a flash, Donna pulled her earrings off and finally stood, naked, her nipples stiffening of their own accord as she felt a thrill of excitement as Michael walked slowly around her, appraising her, one hand gently stroking her hair, the other tracing a line from her left cheek down to her left nipple. Something dripped from her.

Oh fuck me please…. Now!

"Kneel."

She felt Michael's broad hand on her shoulder firmly pushing down. She complied eagerly, looking up at him expectantly. It felt so right, so natural to obey.

"Eyes downcast!"

Donna flushed again with nervous embarrassment at making such a faux pas, and dropped her eyes obediently.

She looked at Michael's feet as though they were sexiest, most meaningful objects in her universe. Where was all this coming from? Her heart was beating wildly, her nipples were tingling so painfully, begging his touch, her cunt was yawning wide and aching, needing him to fill her.

"I have decided that you have the potential to be a slave."

Donna's heart gave a jump, but Michael continued.

"But you have a lot to learn." He placed his hand under her chin and made her look up at him.

"You will do as I say at all times. Your whole existence will be devoted to serving my pleasure. Every task you perform, even your toilet, will be with me in mind. You will dress as I say, if indeed I permit you to wear clothing at all. Some days it may please me to keep you confined and secured, other days you will have freedom to go to work, enjoy yourself and be with me. I have other slaves."

Donna's face fell, but she seized the crumb of comfort that Michel offered her. "However, you might become my special slave. Tomorrow, you will begin the sale of your apartment and you will move in here. You will be trained as I see fit in what I see fit. If it pleases me to fuck you anally, then I will, although we shall work up to this with a plug. If it pleases me that you shall pleasure and be pleasured by another woman, another slave, then you shall do so."

Donna felt light headed as Michel gently, but firmly pulled her to her feet and twisted her long hair behind her head, eliciting a spasm of pleasurable pain.

"If I decided that you shall wear your hair short, you will do so."

My hair! Not my hair! But if Master pleases….

"However, I am content with your hair as it is. I may wish that you shave –"

His hand stroked her wet pussy firmly, one finger slipping into her and pressing her swollen clit with a force that sparked throughout her whole body. "You will obey in all things. You understand?"

Donna lowered her eyes and whispered simply; "Yes Master. If it please you Master."

This time the voice was her own.

Much to her aching disappointment, the finger withdrew and Michael moved away from her, leaving her to stand, trembling with anticipation. She felt him placing something around her neck…. Soft… leather…. A collar!

"Now you are mine," said Michael, quietly, fastening the collar slightly tighter than felt comfortable. "This collar is your symbol of bondage to me, but also your badge of pride. You understand?"

"With Master's permission, I am honoured."

A low chuckle from Michael, then: "Good. Good. And now….." Michael fastened a chain to her collar; a chain not unlike a dog's lead, but somewhat more ornate. He gave the collar a sharp tug, causing Donna to wince, but the pain was necessary, she knew, to make her appreciate her Master's kindness. "Follow me."

Michael dragged Donna to a room door next to his bedroom door. She never knew what this room had been. She assumed it was another bedroom, but the door had always been locked and she had never enquired what lay beyond. Now, as Michael took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, she instinctively knew what room this was.

The room was stark, Spartan even, but the manacles fastened to the far wall, the intricate wood and leather hurdle on which a slave would be fastened, the mattress on the floor, the table with the plethora of bondage tools and appliances – it all made sense. Michael said nothing, but simply fastened Donna's arms into the wall manacles above her head, making her face the plain cream-painted wall. "Stand there." he commanded.

Donna's heart was still beating furiously, she had no idea what to anticipate, but whatever it was, her new Master would no doubt tell her and –

Her scream echoed around the room as the riding crop thwacked across her buttocks. She knew instinctively that the blow had drawn blood. She could hardly breath as the pain bored throughout every muscle and sinew and caused her deep passage to release more of its vital fluid. Tears coursed down her cheeks in sympathy.