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.
