"Away"
There is such a depth here. Anyone who might look down on me for choosing to be a slave, (and I have been unfortunate to meet a few,) is truly ignorant of both the beauty and the benefit, even the power of being a slave. I have a devious side and I suffer very little in comparison to the amazing gifts given to me in this lifestyle.
I had been craving an outing for some time. Not just any outing, but one where I could just be me. Occasionally my Master will take me places where our lifestyle would create disadvantages for him, or for us. These are times when he will remove my collar. I think very few people can appreciate the security and comfort that a collar brings to a slave. It is a symbol, almost the soul of what I am. I am property. The possession of another. My collar is the ever present physical connection to my reason for being.
Okay, enough of that. When my Master says the collar has to go, it has to go. I have a number of replacements which are socially less provocative, chokers, even ribbons which I can tie tight around my neck. They are a poor replacing but they do still offer more security than leaving my neck bare. Sometimes they are just plain hot looking too.
On his occasion I had been begging Master to take me to see the ocean. We live in California, so our options for beaches, mountains and natural beauty are amazing. Beaches however present another problem for me. I hate the sun for everything buts it's warmth and it's life giving properties. The only thing I loath almost as much as the sun is sunscreen. I hate the way I feels. Don't take me wrong, I'm no Gothic princess, but I have spent my life protecting my skin and to complicate my issues, I am a sensitive little attention whore when opportunity presents itself.
But if I am going to spend time in the sun I am forced to either wear thick cloths or use sun screen. I prefer the sun screen and so does my Master.
All that to say, my Master decided we were going to have a beach day. I spent the morning in my usual cleanliness routine and lathered on a good non-greasy sunscreen from head to toe. I wore a skimpy blood red bikini, not quite a thong, and a top which held my breasts well but had a real risk of flopping the sisters out if I leaned too far forward. Cleavage was the name of today's game. I had a thigh length, soft pink, lace cover which tied at the waist and looked great against my white skin. The dark bikini shown through the sheer fabric and in my humble opinion, I looked hot.
I took a matching dark red ribbon to my Master asking if he would prefer it. He surprised me. "No girl. Wear your collar."
I was thrilled but a hundred questions crossed my mind. "Master?" I asked for clarity.
He smiled. "I am not in the mood for anything other than a weekend on the beach. You're free to serve me girl. In fact, I expect your best behavior."
My heart jumped. Now THAT sounds like a good weekend. Wait... He said weekend! Deep inside me dwells a nonconformist bitch and the best way to flex that little muscle was to be a slave out in the real world. Unfortunately, I'm also a chicken so flexing that muscle was more likely to be a moderate, discreet refusal to fail my Masters wishes.
So there I was, bikini clad, collared, pink flip flops. I silently wished. I could throw in a pair of hot red stiletto's. Suddenly it hit me again that he said weekend. I ran to pack an overnight bag.
As one last touch I grabbed the red ribbon and tied it around my ankle. Call it a touch of class, or call it a touch of white trash, I don't care. I thought it looked sexy and I hoped Master would agree.
If I have learned one thing that is irrefutable about my Master, he is creative and adventurous when he gets out in the world. I was so excited that I could hardly control myself. When I was ready to go I went to my perch, the small platform in the great room of the house, created expressly for me, complete with mirrors and points of restraint. I adjusted my top until I was nearly falling out of it and knelt on the huge cushions to await my. Master.
When he was ready he stopped and looked me over. I kept my head bowed, awaiting his approval. "Very good girl. You look amazing. I could not be more proud to have you at my feet."
I couldn't hide my pleasure but I did have business to attend to. "Master, may your slave make a request? Well, a few requests?" I asked, eyes on the floor.
When he responded in the affirmative I continued. "Master, may your slave braid her hair today?"
"Yes."
"I continued. This was going well. "May your slave have permission to choose my dress when we have privacy?"
His response, as usual, was cryptic. "Who said we would have privacy tonight? Girl, you may bring what you want. As usual, your tastes satisfy me. Let yourself relax and attend to me like I've taught. You are free to dress as you wish until otherwise directed."
"Yes Master, thank you..." My stomach was knotted with excitement. "May I approach you?"
"Yes."
At that I jumped to my feet and ran to him, flinging my arms around him in delight. He lifted me by the waist laughing and spun around, setting me down in the direction of the door. He twirled me around and with a sharp slap on my ass he said, "Now get your ass in the car."
So you will understand my master a little better, let me first say that he is loving, responsible, intelligent and self sustaining. Everybody but me calls him Jon. He is also absolutely gorgeous and healthy. He is about ten years older than me. He is extremely athletic and as strong as an ox. He has earned my trust in more ways than I can describe, and especially in how he treats me as my owner. He is my friend and confidant, my mentor and teacher. I believe he would give his life for me.
My Master is handsome to the tee. His hair is dark brown and sexy, he sports a short goatee. His muscles are tan and his definition literally makes me wet to look at him. If I had any right to be jealous I would live in constant fear of some woman taking him from me, but not only do I have no rights, he has never lied to me. He is cut throat honest.
I don't know that I would call him rich, but he does provide me an amazingly luxurious life. He has a house cleaner and a cook full time. I have more than I will ever deserve. If you wonder why I love my life, I readily admit that I am addicted to the easy life he provides. If you wonder why I am devoted to him, it is because he treats me like a queen. A slave queen, but hey, what man wouldn't want one of those? I'm almost embarrassed to admit how we live because I know what it is to have nothing. I know what spiritual and emotional pain is so if I sound trite or oblivious, please remember that in my writing, the more mundane details of life are usually set aside. There are a great many details that will never come through in my stories, including how much my Master gives to help others and lets me do the same.
But, pardon my diversion. This is not a humanitarianism website, it's a sex site and today I am sharing a trip to the beach with my beloved Master.
My Master is a Chevy addict. I am not allowed to say how I feel about that, under direct orders. I do love his Vette though. It's black, convertible, classic (I have no idea what year it is, but it's old,) and the top was down. It brings out the attention whore in me to cruise in it. It's so fun to watch people turn and watch us drive by. I know that sounds horrible.
An hour or more later we were by the ocean under a small cabana. I was on my knees in the shady sand next to my Master who lounged with a drink in his hand. We were surrounded by gorgeous, scantily clad people. The waves were crashing in the background. The cabana next to us had a party of loud girls in it and an older couple occupied the opposite side. They were arguing and the vibes were horrible, but the girls were all having fun. I watched them for a while until the heat was becoming unbearable. I asked Master if I could go for a swim and he sent me off. I love water and the ocean was beautiful. I played in the waves and swam out a good distance until the cool water had drained every discomfort from my body.
I walked back to my Master. Two of the girls from next door were there with him, talking and giggling. I knew my place. I walked up, dripping wet, nipples standing out and politely knelt near his feet in a seductive pose, breasts pushed forward, hands in my lap and I looked at the ground. Master has given me clear direction on what freedoms I have when we are in public, but he had asked for my best behavior and that is what I intended to give him. Both of the girls seemed a little startled. I was amused. Master introduced me. "Ladies, this is Stephanie."
I looked up a them and smiled. "Hi." I could sense that they didn't know how to take me, but they were cool about it. They introduced themselves. One was fairly oblivious and turned back to her girlfriends but the other was sweet and engaging. Her name was Angela. She had a distinctly Latina look, a gorgeous figure and a soft low voice that I loved. She smelled like coconut. Her figure was amazing. She had large brown breasts that contrasted beautifully with her white one piece swim suit. She knelt down in the sand next to me, and we chatted for a while. My master sat quietly. We talked about where we lived, and where she went to school. We fashion critiqued all the people walking by. It was fun but I was getting hot again. I took the opportunity to be myself.
Looking at the ground I said, "Master, may I go swim again?" I knew he would not have minded if I had gone swimming without asking, but best behavior is best behavior and I wanted to toy with Angela. Her expression barely changed, but she caught the nuance.
Master replied in kind. "Yes girl. Have fun."
I jumped up and grabbed Angela's hand. "Are you coming?" Off we went across the sand.
She wasn't shy. The question came out immediately as we waded into the waves. "You call him Master? Is he some kind of power trip weirdo?"
"No," I replied. "He is my Master and I'm his slave."
"No shit?"
I laughed. "No shit. I love him and he takes care of me. He's the best man I've ever met."
"No shit," she said again. I was cracking up. "So what the fuck, you mean like a slave? You work for him? Is it like an S and M thing or what?"
There was no hint of condescension in her voice and my comfort grew. "Actually, if I had to put a label on it, I'd call myself his sex slave, but I would do anything he asked. He takes care of me. I don't have to work, at least, not like you mean."
Her eyes were wide. "No fuckin' shit? What do you mean sex slave? Like do whatever he wants kind of sex slave?"
