Please read the prequels 1-3 to learn how I became My Master's Imzadi.
The night of our very first encounter, and a couple months before I officially became my Master's sub, I learned that J and my religious and political beliefs did not align in any way whatsoever. I'm an atheist Jewish princess and a Socialist. He's a born again Christian Republican. How the hell could we reconcile this? I almost ended it that night, but the sex was just so FUCKING GOOD. And had the potential for so much more. I already was longing for submission. To be honest, J seemed must less concerned than I about these matters. But for many months, I questioned how I could be with someone with such contrasting values. Then I began falling in love with him, and trying to push those feelings aside and deny them. And even as I admitted to myself that I was indeed in love with J, My Master, to whom I had given myself to be his slave, I struggled to reconcile this conflict. Until, a little more than five months in, I surrendered completely.
But this story was written before I became J's sub. After our second time together, he gave me my name. But we both agreed it was too soon for him to take me completely, and I wasn't ready to be his sub. But with each session, we came closer to the inevitable. So much more quickly than we had imagined possible. For this story, I asked J to give me some keywords to work in. I think he chose paddle, high leather boots and handcuffs. At this time, he had me call him Sir, not Master. And he had already begun referring to my body as belonging to him. Remember, we hadn't done many of these things together yet. Through erotica, I communicated what I sought from his dominance and my submission. The email subject line for this one was "More Dirty Sexy Hotness from your Socialist Lover."
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He told her to wear something sexy and arrive at 6. If she hadn't gotten so hung up on the first part, she might not be in this position, knocking on his door ten minutes late. This didn't bode well, and she was nervous as hell. Excited too, but after making a stupid wrong turn which resulted in this delay, the nerves were winning out. This was the first time he'd actually given her some sort of command, and she'd already screwed up. Well, not, the sexy part. She was pretty sure she got that right. She'd dressed with care, first showering and shaving her legs, pussy and armpits. She'd recently had a fresh bikini wax (and she'd had the girl wax her asshole for the first time--that hurt, and not in a good way!). She lotioned her body, then put on her makeup, same as usual, black kohl around the eyes, smokey dark eyeshadow. Then she'd spent the better part of an hour trying on and discarding clothing until she'd decided on a black lacy bra and a black lace dress with a nude-colored lining, which was pretty damn short considering she had also decided to skip the underwear. Then, she put on a black garter with thigh high stockings and black knee high boots with three inch heels. He had alluded to her wearing boots several times, and she thought he'd like her choice.
He opened the door. She looked up at him and knew. This was what she'd been waiting for, and maybe she'd sabotaged herself on purpose trying to press the point. She smiled and whispered, "Hello, Sir." Just saying those words gave her a rush, even though he wasn't her Master, she wasn't sure she wanted to be his slave, but God she wanted him to treat her like she was. She could see he was amused, but she could also see that he was aroused, conflicted, and a little bit irritated.
He closed the door behind her and pushed her against it, kissing her deliciously while her arms encircled his neck. She loved kissing him, every time it surprised her how much she delighted in it. His hands slid under her dress, cupping her bare ass cheeks. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he realized she had virtually nothing on underneath her dress. She could feel her own arousal build, in that peculiar way, with a tightening in her womb, a hollow feeling in her stomach, a heaviness in her pussy as it clenched involuntarily, and her breathing quickened. He pulled back, looked her up and down and told her she was beautiful.
He got down on his knees and lifted one of her legs so he could taste her. She knew that he did this for his own pleasure, that it turned him on to get a quick taste of her cum before he rose again and kissed her deeply, so she'd taste herself on his lips. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom, telling her to kneel with her eyes downcast and her hands behind her back while he went into the bathroom. What was he doing in there? Taking a fucking shower? Was she supposed to just wait in this position indefinitely? She figured she better obey, because she was already in a bit of trouble, but what was he going to do with her? To her?
It seemed like forever--ten minutes can feel like forever when you're kneeling on the carpet with no underwear, a wet pussy, no idea what to expect next, and trying desperately not to squirm. When he emerged, naked and damp, she kept her eyes downcast. He told her to look at him, and she could see immediately that something had shifted. He'd made a decision, of some kind, of where he'd redraw that damn line of his and she was pretty sure it was in her favor.
He said, "You've pleased me with your choice of outfit, and by waiting so obediently here as I asked. But you have also displeased me, by continually pushing me for what is mine to offer you at a time of my choosing, not yours. And, you were late. So tonight I will discipline you for the first time, and while you are not my sub, tonight you will be treated as if you are, and you will behave as if you were. You will call me Sir, you will thank me for the discipline I mete out upon your body, and you will count each stroke. You know what I expect. We've talked about it before. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," She replied, trying to speak and behave demurely but she couldn't help feeling a little glee. She tamped it down, hoping he wouldn't notice. He did, and she knew she'd pay for it.
"Crawl over to the bed, bend over, and lift your dress to your waist," he ordered, and she quickly obeyed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reach into a drawer and withdraw two paddles. That was unexpected, she was sure he'd use a crop on her. Well, actually, it made a lot of sense. She'd been asking him to crop her tits, her pussy, her bottom, and why would he do that for her when he was displeased with her. One was black, and only about three to four inches wide. She knew that smaller paddles could hurt so much more. The other was much wider. She hoped he chose that one. He didn't, selecting the smaller black one. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, and wondered if she was up for this after all. She'd forgotten what the paddle felt like. And now, he was putting a blindfold over her eyes. He whispered in her ear "So you won't know what to expect next."
