Misogynistic Fantasies

The slave girl felt immediate terror when she heard the metal collar snap shut about her neck. Locked! And only he had the key.

She had fantasized so many times about this, the urges coursing through her, the hot desires, and now the terror of the reality, the wonderful terror - the terrifying desires of terror desired, of now no longer having any say about how she, her body, would be used or abused.

"Where should we have lunch?"

Her new master. How so much like him to say that, trying to splash ice water on her overheated adrenaline.

They were in his living room. She was naked except for a very brief slave shift. They had spent days negotiating her consent, he continually forcing her eager "anythings" into detailed specific consensual agreements. And today she had carefully read it over three times in the notary's outer waiting room before they both signed.

But now they were in his living room. All the clothes she had worn coming here had been padlocked in a trunk together with her purse wallet and anything else she possessed.

"But" she started; did he want her to get back dressed?! Now? At this pivotal moment.

"Silence slave" he quietly interrupted her.

She blushed a bright red. How could she forget, she thought. The first rule.

"You do not have permission. You do not yet have permission for anything. You will be punished; whipped ten times on your pretty ass. But lightly, although clear marks will be vividly showing for the next hour or so." He paused. " And now I need to decide whether to do that before or after we have lunch at The Wagon."

"The Wagon!" she thought. A lunch wagon about ten blocks from here. They would always walk there. He meant it about going out, about her being outside dressed like this.

"The Wagon!!" He was considering whipping her bottom so as to leave visual marks and have her go dine at a stand-up only outdoor food place.

He looked at her - her concern all over her face. "I will let you decide slave. As my slave, when I tell you to decide, I am telling you to find in yourself the most you are able to freely risk giving me, to find in yourself the least disappointing you can risk being for me, to find in yourself the balance between these."

She immediately felt better, felt again herself, why she was doing this.

"Punish me master." He had given her what she had momentarily lost - to see herself only as he saw her.

"Very good slave, and I will always decide in that same way. Let's go to lunch."

As she walked with him she noticed the sunny day, the brief sundresses being worn, the bare feet. "No one notices me at all" she thought.

After lunch they walked to a park. On a large expanse of grass, he sat on a bench while she, on the grass, went through slave display positions. Prostrate with arms stretched in front; hands behind her neck lifting the hair while kneeling; still kneeling but with hands on her thighs, legs spread wide, back arched, breasts thrust forward.

A man sat down on the bench and watched her.

"Is she yours", she heard the man asking her master.

"Yes, just starting today" her master replied.

She felt a sense of pride, of fulfillment. The two men on the bench watched her. She put her whole sense of being into going through her paces, her slave positions, for them.

"I am a slave, being watched as a slave, with the body of a slave being admired as a slave." She felt her slave identity somehow flowing into her, filling her from inside herself - no longer like a garment she was putting on, a role she could discard.

Her master made a gesture. "Here?" she thought! "Here? In the open, where everyone can see?!"

He made the gesture again. The man on the bench said "She is so new to this. Are you sure?"

That prompted her forward. "My master is always sure!" she thought. "I'll show you."

She crawled the short distance from where she was, to where the man sat, to where the man's shoes rested on the ground. As directed by that gesture, as practiced in privacy, she kissed the ground, then kissed each shoe, then knelt right in front of the man brazenly displaying her slave self to him.

Her peripheral vision made out a few distant possibly turning heads in its obscurity. Her slave identity overrode her fears: "My master offers me to you" she distinctly said to the man in front of her.

He chuckled, "Why thank you, you are indeed lovely." Turning to her master, "Perhaps some other time", he rose and walked away.

As they left the park she felt several eyes staring at her. She did not care. She looked at each such pair with her new defiant slave eyes - she would not, could not let such nothing looks take this from her.

The ten block walk back seemed so so different than her walk here. Before she timidly played the role afraid someone would notice. But now she was, not played, and she wanted everyone to notice.

They walked in silence, slave and master, and she had time to think. She knew her master - that man on the bench, that was no impossible coincidence. She looked at him. "I love you master, thank you."

They were now home.

Once inside she immediately bent over to receive her delayed punishment. Her master slowly swung the riding crop across her ass cheeks ten times, each time not gently, as he had promised earlier, but with full force. "You did well today slave, you know you did. So you deserve now what you have truly earned. No pretend whippings for you slave."

She felt her eyes welling up with glad tears.

Her whipping over and her slave shift now removed, he took her to the bedroom, to the bed.

She was chained hand and foot on the bed, laying face up. He lay on her, taking her; she arching upward keeping him, his excitement, fully inside her, fully possessing her. Fully enslaving her. The events of the day, the Event of the day, swirling around her, swirling inside her, inside her possessing her. He the inside her, she the possession. Possessing possession, possession possessed. The Event! The Event! The Event! Until their oneness lingering lingering lingers and spews them as two but as two who are one as Master and slave.

And she slept, no longer herself; no longer her self; but his.