"Don't speak your old name," he said firmly pressing fingers to her lips. "Slaves don't have names. They are given names by their Masters or Mistresses. If you become my slave, perhaps I will give you a name...but for now you will be anything I want to call you. Bitch. Slut. Whore. Whatever strikes my fancy at the time.
"Blink if you understand."
She blinked, tears spilling from the corner of each eye.
What have I gotten myself into? I'm not a slave! I'm NOT a slut...am I? I should walk out of here right now. Who the Hell is he, anyway? Who the fuck does he think he is?
Instead, she blinked again. Her protests overwhelmed by her need.
_____________
It had begun just days ago. She had been in a bar along with her friend Alana. As usual she was playing wingman to her bubbly, flirty pal. And as usual she was sipping a drink at the bar alone, Alana whisked off to the dance floor by her prospective conquest for the night.
"Why do you submit yourself to this humiliation?" a voice asked behind her. "She doesn't deserve your loyalty. She doesn't appreciate your being here. She is using you. I have nothing against that - against using you, but if you're being used and abused, it should be by someone who know's what he is doing. Your submission is wasted on her."
Something in what he said struck a chord. Still she bristled. "Who the Hell are you? Mr. Smooth? Get the fuck out of here and leave me alone!"
"When you come to your senses, you will pay for that," he said calmly. But he didn't leave. Instead her turned all Sherlockian on her:
"Nobody has ever noticed you, even though you are far more beautiful than you think. You hide yourself. You were probably last or second last to be asked to your prom. You have a high flying brother or sister who got all the attention while you, the oldest, stayed at home taking care of some ill relative."
Damn...it wasn't all correct, but it was close!
"You are finally on your own, but you have a low paying job judging by your clothes. You crave attention, but don't know how to get it and really think you don't deserve it. Hence you play perpetual second fiddle to your sparkly friend. You are a little in love with her, would probably sleep with her if she asked, even though you aren't a lesbian.
"You have never had a steady boyfriend, and while you are probably not a virgin, you the nearest thing to one there is. And the boy who popped your cherry likely didn't call again. You pined and pined, would have done anything he asked, but he didn't. No one has yet demanded all that you long to give. You see, you are sexual, highly sexual, but you don't know how to show it. You don't think you deserve it. You see, you need to be dominated, because you will never let yourself out of your self-imposed prison by yourself.
"You will probably go home after talking to me and play with your toys all night long. Why? Because you want me to take control. These words I am saying are the most exciting things you have ever heard. You want someone to open up your sexuality, to spread your legs - not your wings."
"So here's your chance. I will be here at 9 p.m. on Friday. If you want the life you long to live, you will be here waiting. You will wear a one piece dress and your highest heels. Try to look fetching for me. You will wear nothing else...nothing else. You will carry a small purse with ID, credit card, some cash, your keys and phone. Tell a friend you are going away on an adventure and will call daily at 10 p.m. You will be back Monday."
With that he turned and left the bar.
What was that?
she wondered. Part of her wanted to be shocked - was shocked, really, but not reviled. Part of her, the bawdy, body part was responding in a very serious way. She picked up her purse and noticed a note...
how did that get there?
"Before you leave the bar get yourself off. When you have completed this task, text for further instructions." There was a phone number.
Inside her sensible top she felt her nipples stiffen. Her pussy was wet, her mouth growing dry. She hadn't felt this - alive - for a long time. Unhesitatingly she headed for the john, locked herself in a stall and slipped a hand down her panties. But before she started fulfilling his orders she paused, stripped off the garment altogether and dropped the panties on the floor.
In minutes she was clenching her eyes and gritting her teeth against screaming through her shattering orgasm. She collapsed back on the toilet shaking. Coming to her senses the orgasmic glow gave way to an embarrassing and humiliated blush.
What am I doing? I never...
She didn't complete the thought. Why? She had just done it. It felt good. So very good. Confused, she gathered herself together. She reached for her panties on the stall floor and then paused. For reasons she did not fully understand she knew she should leave them and go home bareassed.
She left the bar without even looking for Alana to say goodbye. When she reached her tiny apartment she left the lights off and began stripping naked. She didn't think about it...just did it. Moving to her bed room she pulled out her bag of toys...he'd been right about that. She selected her favourite vibrator, set it on low and slid it into her slick pussy. Then she pulled out her phone and the note. She texted the number. "Task completed." Before sending she added "Sir."
Slowly she played with her clit and the vibrator. Not knowing why, she refused to let herself come again while she waited for a reply. An hour later her message chime rang. "Come now." She did. Five minutes later it chimed again. "Come as much as you like tonight then put the toys away. Leave your cunt alone until Friday. If you make yourself come, don't turn up at the bar. If you are waiting for me, I will take it as a first act of submission. You will obey all my commands instantly, unquestioningly and completely. You will not be harmed, and you will be at work on time on Monday. Until then, you are mine.
"Take these few days to think. If I was as right in my evaluation as I believe I was, then you are a slut who longs to be made into a slave and a fuck toy. I can give you that. Every dirty fantasy you have visualized will come to pass. There will be more you haven't even dared to imagine. On Friday you can choose to live the life you know you need. It will be the last choice you have to make. Don't text me again."
Throwing her phone on the bed, she began to play with herself, opening up her mind to new horizons, new possibilities. Each orgasm she had was matched by tears she shed. Did she want this? Could she do this? Would she survive this?
With that final thought she came one final time and fell into an instant sleep.
FRIDAY
She arrived at the bar at 8:30, just to be safe. Her legs grew weak and wobbly when she thought about what might happen. She barely made it inside the door. In truth, she was exhausted, her overdone make-up hiding the bags under her eyes. She hadn't slept much these past few days. The mix of anticipation and anxiety had been exhausting. She wore a sun dress that showed her braless cleavage, but not shockingly. The flared skirt was not short, but being pantyless, it left her feeling vulnerable, her cleanly shaved pussy easily available. Her new heels were four inches high.
She climbed up onto that same bar stool where he had found her, pleased that it was available. She ordered her drink...and then spent the next 30 minutes filled with doubts.
It had been a difficult few days. She had changed her mind 20 times at least. She was so far out of her comfort zone that she couldn't even remember what comfort felt like. But she knew this: her work, her life, once seemingly fulfilling, left her feeling empty this past few days. The old song lyric "Is that all there is?" kept running through her mind.
He was right. She wanted more. This might be her only chance to experience those things she had only ever thought of in the deepest darkness of her empty bedroom. She was close to admitting that she was... well, all those things he said she was. Hell, she couldn't even call herself the words he had already used...words that aroused her even as they degraded her.
