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.
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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.
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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.
