A Mistress / Slave Love Story

I kind of knew this stuff already. About the Roman worship rituals of prayer and the sacrifice of animals. About the presentation to the gods and goddesses of precious things. Of blood sacrifices made with great sincerity. How the average Roman was desperate not to incur the disfavor of, or worse, the anger of a goddess (or god). If something went wrong, it was a sure sign you had angered one of the deities. If things went well, it was because a goddess/god was pleased with you. One's fortune was dependent on gods and goddesses, so the Romans tried desperately to please them.

I gathered a fair amount of information and summarized it. Odd. I felt I had to write it up, as though I might offend this young woman if I didn't. In all honesty, I felt like the brown-noser, the student who wants to kiss up to his instructor by displaying extra effort. I even decided to type it up as a formal paper.

When I stopped to think for a second, this research paper thing was so odd. Amanda had graduated from high school already. She'd be exploring the possibilities of adulthood, who knows where. I'd likely never see her again. Still, I followed through.

A few weeks had passed. It was midsummer. Hot and dry. I carried my completed "assignment" with me, in my briefcase, as I set about some summer errands. When out and about, I decided to stop in my new favorite coffee shop that was all the rage -- Starbucks. In I sauntered only to see, guess who, Amanda sitting alone at a corner table, reading, with a coffee in hand. I ordered one for myself and approached.

"Hi stranger. Mind if I join you?"

"Hi D. Yes, you may." She made it sound like she was granting an audience to an underling. Then she added, "IF you did your homework." Apparently she'd not forgotten our last communication, via the assignment she'd included in the final exam.

"I did my homework," I declared with pride. "And I happen to have it with me."

"Let's see it."

I rummaged through my briefcase and handed her a neat, stapled, short stack of typed papers. She perused my work with interest but not much expression. Finally, she spoke.

"You know, D, how you always told us that experiential learning was more powerful and more impactful than purely academic learning."

"Yes. And I think that's true."

"Me too. Order us a couple more coffees to go. I'll take a triple venti vanilla latte. Then follow me. I've got a new condo not far from here. I want to see if you've internalized the experience of an ancient Roman, who is compelled to worship his Goddess. I'm your Goddess, D. And I expect you to worship and adore me." And with that, she got up and started heading out.

Electrified by her utterance, speechless and helpless to do anything but obey, I approached the counter to order a coffee and a triple venti vanilla latte, whatever that was, to go.

I remember it like it was yesterday, though it was thirty years ago. I followed Her in my car, a short drive from our happenstance meeting at the new Starbuck's coffee shop. Apparently, she'd already moved out from her parents' home. I remember thinking that was quick. And into an upscale complex, on the 7^th floor. I wondered how she afforded such a snazzy place but then recalled the apparent opulence of her parents' home. I assumed they were footing the bill.

Upon arrival at her condo she let us both in. I was supremely impressed with the size, style and condition of her flat. Very, very impressive. Tasteful, sophisticated, yet homey. So unlike the disheveled room at her parents place. She casually seated herself in an impressively plush recliner and leaned back.

"So, you're a plebeian in ancient Rome who, through a set of extraordinary circumstance, has met a Goddess. A powerful, beautiful Goddess. What are You going to do?"

"I suppose I'd start by bowing. I'd compliment her, some kind of prayer," i stammered, searching in vain for something more clever.

"No. You'd just wait and listen for instructions. So, let's start from the top. I'm going to take you through some obedience training, to teach you how to present yourself to a Goddess. Now, not a word! Not a peep from you!"

I stood there cluelessly, silently. She waited a good minute before speaking.

"Remove all Your clothes and then stand at attention."

Well. The scene had escalated far more quickly than i was comfortable with. The stakes were suddenly much, much higher. I really didn't want to proceed. But there was something about this alluring and insightful seductress. Less than half my age but so comfortable with her authority. I found her irresistible.

Against all prudent judgment, I removed my clothes and stood naked in front of her...my just-graduated student who'd been under my authority and taking notes in my class a just a couple months ago. I was beyond self-conscious. I was nervous as hell. I could feel myself shaking. I was panicked about what I was agreeing to and where this could be headed.

"At attention," she reminded me, before I could think too much. i pulled my shoulders back, chin down, eyes straight ahead, stomach in, hands clasped behind my back. She spoke again.

"Just as a plebeian slave would do. Just as your research suggested." She read from my research assignment. "Total deference. Blind obedience. Eager to praise, honor and worship."

She nonchalantly leafed through a couple pages. "I only read the first paragraph. That's the thesis. That's what a shy, brilliant, submissive teacher taught me...oh...that was YOU." She paused, giggling to herself, sipping her triple venti vanilla latte.

"But what I've been teaching YOU is to acknowledge...to accept the way you feel about me. And you've been feeling that way toward me for some time. You never fooled me. I watched you with hawk eyes. I showed up for class wearing a tight knit top that showed my nipples. I saw you peeking. Yeah, I was teasing you. Hell, I was tormenting you. When i unfastened an extra button...or two...on my blouse, I saw your eyes wander. When i wore ridiculously short skirts, just for you, i caught you staring at my legs. You couldn't resist a quick glance when I spread my knees. And I'm sure You noticed it was no coincidence that I always made sure I was the last student to exit the room at the end of class. I moved slowly and gave you a great view of my legs and my ass. And you watched, didn't you?"

Busted. And she knew it. "Go ahead, answer me," she instructed. "You may speak."

"Yes, Amanda, I watched. I stared. I admired. Your allure was overpowering. I think you are spectacularly sexy." I paused before going on. "I think we both were aware of that. And I was always grateful when you indulged me. Thank you, Amanda."

"You're welcome, slave. And call me Mistress Amanda. I like the sound of that. And you're right, I've liked making you horny, desperately horny, for some time now. An eighteen-week semester. Lots of opportunities. And all the orders I've given you. And you carried out every one, didn't you!

"Yes, Mistress Amanda. I did," acknowledging the fact. "It's almost like I didn't have any choice. I had to obey."

"Now kneel before your Mistress. Kneel for Your Goddess and thank her for indulging you. Tell me that you'll continue to obey me."

"Thank you, Mistress Amanda. Thank you for sharing your beauty and your sexiness with me. I feel privileged," I said sincerely as I knelt before her. "Thank you for ordering me to do chores for you. I've enjoyed obeying your commands. I will do anything you tell me to."

"Good. Let's find out. Offer me your wrists, for binding, slave."

Mesmerized by her power, I held my wrists out for her, palms up. My cautious side said what the fuck are you doing? Stop! Leave now! While there's time. She examined my outstretched hands visually.

"Good boy. Now put them behind your back."

I obeyed instantly. She stood, walked behind me, and began tying my wrists and hands together. She spoke as she worked.

"I've been researching and practicing the art of Kinbaku. Do you know what that is?"

"No, Mistress."

"It's the erotic art of rope bondage," she explained, giving her artwork a final tightening. "There, that should do it. Try to get loose."

I pulled. I contorted. Her technique was sure. My wrists and my forearms were incapacitated. Then she repeated the process with my feet and ankles. Again, when she was done, she told me, "Try to work free."

I tried. I could not free myself. She obviously knew what she was doing. I felt helpless and just a little frightened.

"You are my slave. You are my captive. You are my prisoner. I own you. You will do anything I tell you, won't you?

"Yes, Mistress Amanda. I'll do anything you tell me."

"Of course, not that you have any choice," she qualified.

She began running her fingernails up and down my back, ever so gently. It felt good. Her strokes migrated downward and she lightly scratched my buttocks. As she did that she began kissing the back of my neck. Then the side of my neck. Then my ears. She nibbled gently on my ear lobe and I could barely hear her whisper, "My slave. My captive. My prisoner. I own you." It was beginning to sound like a mantra.

No question. I was under her physical control and her psychological spell. She had me. I was indeed her captive. Her slave. Her prisoner. She knew I'd obey.

She reached around and gently fondled my nipples. Did this sorceress know that my nipples were the most erogenous zone in my body, or did she just guess? She continued to fondle and tease, all from behind me, as she kissed every square inch that was easily accessible from her perch.

She was driving me crazy. I felt compelled to speak.

"I was worried that this might end up with whipping, spanking and verbal ridicule. You're surprising me, Mistress," I ventured in punctuated breaths.

"Oh, I can surprise you. I'm a multi dimensional Mistress. I can be tender and I can be strict. It depends on my mood. And today, I felt like spoiling my slave...to see how he'd respond. Now spread your legs." And with that, she reached between my legs and began the most sensual teasing of my balls and my cock that I'd ever experienced. I actually had involuntary convulsions of my abdomen and stomach as she caressed and groped my genitals. She made me hard as a rock and desperate for her continued stimulation. I found myself moaning instinctively, unconsciously. Then she stopped.

One by one, she released me from the bindings and returned to her chair.

"Kiss your Mistress's feet. Thank her for how sweetly she treated you. Thank her for making you horny."

With eagerness I placed my lips on her feet and began kissing. With sincerity I thanked her for her tenderness, her gentility, her expert manipulation of my body.

"That's just a taste of what Mistress Amanda can do. It's just a tease of what I will do. Because you are my slave, you are my captive, you are my prisoner, and you'll do anything I tell you to do."

I continued kissing her feet. Finally, she spoke.

"Get dressed. Leave me now. There's a pad by the door. Write down your phone number. I'll call you when I'm ready. Make sure you're ready."

I obeyed. My genitals ached. I still had a hard on. And my infatuation with this young woman was roiling. I asked the heavens...please, please have her call me soon.

******

It had been ten days since Mistress Amanda invited me to her flat and practiced on me the art of Kinbaku. Not that I was counting. Okay, bullshit. I was counting and it was exactly ten days since this young lady had me kneel, naked, at her feet. Ten days since I placed the most tender of kisses on her divine feet. Ten days since she placed herself behind me and bound me with ropes and then traced her fingertips so gently, so expertly over my back, my buttocks, my nipples, my genitals. Ten days since she said, "I'll call you when I'm ready. Make sure you're ready."

Well, I'd been ready for ten days straight. Ten days of being smitten, infatuated, obsessed and, though I resisted to even think it, in love. Then I got the call. From Mistress Amanda, my heavenly Goddess, still a teenager in years, less than half my age, but so accomplished in the arts of female domination, of Mistress/slave love. So comfortable and secure in her role as my Domme.

She was curt. Simply told me to drop by her place that evening at 7:00. She had something for me.

Of course, I showered, shaved and put on fresh clothes. She inspired me to be at my best. My heart was pounding as I rang her doorbell. She answered. Oh my...she wore a man's light blue dress shirt, several sizes too big. It hung loosely on her svelte frame. Her brunette hair hung over the collar and swept across her shoulders. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. It was unbuttoned to her mid-chest. The front and back of the shirt's tails hung to her mid-thigh, revealing some gorgeous legs. The V-cuts on the sides of the shirt's tails gave me tantalizing glimpses her upper thighs and hips. It appeared as though she was wearing nothing else, beside some sandals with heels -- high heels -- making her several inches taller than she usually was. Mistress Amanda was so fucking sexy that she literally took my breath away. She was easily the sexiest woman I'd ever been with.

"Hi. Right on time. I like that in a slave," she greeted me. "Follow me."

I followed as she ordered, admiring her sashaying figure with awe and lust. She sat in her recliner as before. I recalled her expectation from our first rendezvous. At attention, silent, awaiting commands. That's how I stood there.

"Good boy," she noticed. "You remember 'at attention'. Now, clothes off. On your knees. Hands clasped behind your back," she ordered, snapping her fingers and pointing at me. I wondered if this would become a ritual for us. I complied excitedly if self-consciously. There I knelt, naked with rapt attention. She seemed to be studying me, her eyes toggling up and down.

"I like you in that position. I think it's sexy," she said. "I saw you staring at my legs," she cooed, as she crossed her legs provocatively, giving me a fleeting glance between her thighs and near her crotch. I wasn't sure if she was wearing panties. Perhaps not. "You may worship my legs. Keep your hands behind your back."

I was thrilled to comply. I bent forward and laid some tender and then sensuous kisses from the top of her ankles to her knees. Gawd, she was gorgeous. And she knew it. After a bit, she crossed the other leg on top, creating equal opportunity for my adoration. I wasn't weary of the exercise, even though it seemed that I'd puckered my lips a few hundred times. She spoke.

"That's enough for now. I brought you a present. Actually, a few."

Mistress Amanda reached behind her chair and pulled out a couple small boxes, and one long, thin one, all wrapped nicely, including ribbons and bows.

"Open these up."

I unwrapped the first one carefully, respectfully, slowly. Somehow that seemed to be the rhythm of how everything was going. Deliberately. Savoring each moment rather than crashing through to some undetermined end.

I found in the first box a collar and a leash. On the collar was a tag. On it was inscribed, "Drake Davenport / Slave and Property of Amanda Stone." She had inscribed our names, while making it clear the nature of the relationship. I was humbled but also a bit frightened.

"Put it on, slave," she said calmly. I placed it around my neck, snugged it up and fastened it. "Now hand me the leash and clasp your hands behind your back," she continued.

I handed her the leash, clinched my hands behind me and she snapped it onto my collar. She pulled the leash gently until it was taut. She then gave it slack before tightening it again and repeated the process, as though she were testing its integrity. A feeling of helplessness arose in me and intensified with each tug. Neither of us spoke, though her countenance was sufficient to say, "You know the inscription holds true." I'm pretty sure an expression of submission accompanied her silent stare. Finally, she spoke, "Now that's sexy. I love owning you."

"The second box now," she directed me.

I opened the second box, the long, thin one, as deliberately as I had the first. I pulled open the shiny white cardboard and revealed a beautifully braided, leather riding crop, black, about 18 inches long, couched in luxurious cotton.

"Don't touch it," she interrupted. "That's mine and only I can touch it." She calmly grasped it with the tips of her youthful fingers, with an air of reverence. She raised it to her lips and glided it ever so delicately across her lips. She didn't kiss it but rubbed it lightly on her mouth and cheeks, as if to experience the tactile sensation of the instrument.

"Hands behind your back, slave," she cooed. I complied. She slapped my nipples with the crop before rubbing it on my cheeks and my lips, much as she had hers. "Kiss it, slave," she instructed me.

She placed it against my lips and I kissed it. Over and over. It became apparent that this instrument would have special meaning for both of us.

"Lick it," she whispered. And I licked her, perhaps I should say "our" riding crop ever so gently, to her affirmation of "Good boy." I thought of how insulted I felt the first time she told me "Good boy." I contrasted my early resentment with the thrill I now experienced when she complimented me on being a "good boy." Then she added, "And the third gift."

I opened the third, small box to find a blindfold. A high quality, elasticized black blindfold.

"Put it on, slave, and then hands behind your back." I did as I was told. The world went dark. My passion simmered.

"Now shoulders back. Chest out. Stomach in. Spread your legs. Tilt your head back." I followed these consecutive commands instantly. She resumed tapping the riding crop on my nipples. Then on my cheeks. Then she began a light spanking of my balls, obviously performing the tease underhanded. By this time I was highly aroused and sporting a healthy erection. She continued her riding crop ministrations for some time before speaking again.

"I've never really shown you the place. Let's take a tour. On all fours. Now!" I complied, in utter darkness, and felt the leash tug at my neck. I crawled behind my Mistress, this youngster who had been a student in my class a mere month or so ago, who was so expertly transforming me into her willing "slave and property."

She described each room we entered as though she were a realtor showing a prospective abode. "This is the guest bedroom, which could be used as an office, with plenty of closet space. Or a time-out room for a bad boy." On we went, from room to room, I blindfolded, tethered and crawling behind her, unable to see, relying on her descriptions.

"And this is the master bedroom. Spacious, plenty of room for a king bed, walk-in closet, private bath. I want you to crawl onto the bed. Lie on your back and extend your arms and legs." She guided me to the edge of the bed. I crawled aboard.

Things were going in a new direction and I was roiling in anticipation. She centered me on the bed and, one by one, pulled my arms and tied my wrists to (I assumed) the corners of the bed frame. Then she did the same with my ankles. I lay there, naked as a jay bird, blindfolded, collared and leashed, spread-eagled in knots so secure that I truly felt captured, imprisoned, helplessly at her mercy.

"Try to escape. Try to get loose," she told me. It reminded me of my first visit, when she tied my hands behind my back while kneeling and dared me to escape. I couldn't then and I couldn't this time either. She obviously knew how to tie a knot. I struggled for several minutes. She continued to implore me to free myself. She sensed, I think, when I'd resigned myself to inescapability.

Without a word, she positioned herself over me, one knee on either side of my head. And slowly, ever so slowly, she inched her crotch toward my face. I felt a warm, moist pussy brush against my lips. She was not shaved but closely trimmed. At first she lightly touched my lips. Little by little she added greater pressure. She began giving me instructions. "Use your tongue. Slow. Now faster." "Long, slow licks." "Suck. Use your lips and suck." "Nibble." "Turn your tongue into a hard cock. Fuck me with your tongue."