I run a few businesses, mostly related companies in the real estate sector. And of course, we do business with a number of other companies. One of those is my travel agent, a profession I was kind of surprised still exists in this age on internet booking for everything. But they provide incredible service, always making sure I get exactly what I want. Worth paying for, even if they do mostly what can be done online.
I work exclusively with an agent named Holly. A practice that I started because she knows my travel preferences well, so it saves me from having to make sure a new agent understands them each time I want to go somewhere. And I have some special needs. I travel with Katie, my live-in personal slave-bitch. And I prefer to keep her on her leash. After all, most states have leash laws, so it wouldn't do to have a free-roaming bitch, would it? This, however, causes... incidents sometimes. Not so much with hotels, where even the finest are adept at blindness and amnesia. But with airlines, it seems there's always someone looking for company for their misery who will inevitably complain about a leashed woman. Apparently without consideration that, as in Katie's case, it's her choice to be collared and on that leash. Usually, that ends in a red-faced passenger when he or she learns that Katie is a "war hero;" Or rather that she served her country as an MP in both Iraq and Afghanistan and survived two ambushes. And she has no qualms about telling them, once I give her permission to speak that is, that she fought for all of our freedom, including her right to be free to wear a leash should she chose to. Which she does.
I didn't have to explain to Holly what accommodations I would need. I just brought Katie to the office with me the first time, and let Holly see her on her leash. And she knew immediately what would happen, and what to do about it. That first flight there were the inevitable questions from the cabin attendants, which I declined to answer. Then when they went to the flight crew, the pilots were already aware of it, Holly having alerted the airline. A minute later the cabin attendants were telling the complainer to quiet down. It is Katie's choice if she chooses to wear a leash.
At first, Holly seemed as put-off by the idea of a leash as most people are. She tried her hardest to hide it and offer professional service. And then, as she grew accustomed to seeing it, she grew more curious about Katie and her choice. It took her close to a year to get curious enough and work up the nerve to start asking Katie a few questions.
Then about a month ago, she finally suggested that I might like to join her and her husband for supper one evening. I almost asked her if she knew, really knew, what she was suggesting. But I didn't. I let her know that I would be agreeable to that. A few days later she called to say they were free Saturday evening if we would be interested in stopping by their place.
I accepted, thinking that Holly had suggested her place to avoid being seen in a restaurant with a leashed Katie. We arrived promptly, and Holly served a restaurant take-out meal. It wouldn't have been my choice, I'm a big fan of home cooking and preferably gourmet at that, but it was decent. The evening wasn't about the meal and none of pretended it was. More the meal was the excuse for a private conversation.
After the usual small talk, then a lot of hemming and hawing while Holly worked up her courage, she finally started asking about the lifestyle. What Katie did, how Katie lived, what she got out of it, and such. I allowed Katie to answer.
It took me all of two questions to know that Holly's interest went beyond just curiosity. So after a while, after she had many of her questions answered, I decided to put on a little show. By then Holly had a pot of coffee ready, again more of an excuse to linger and appear polite doing it. I sent Katie to fetch me a cup, waiving off Holly's offer to get it.
In about a minute Katie was back. She knelt down at my side and held the cup out atop her upturned palms, her hands even with her nipples, which could be seen poking out lightly through her dress. She offered it, then waited demure and silent until I accepted it. Then she waited some more. Until I reach down and ran my fingers through her hair, petting her head and telling her "good girl." like she was my pet. But a well-loved pet. I told her to retake her seat.
It was maybe ten minutes later when Holly's husband's cup ran dry. I sent Katie to fetch him a refill, and she served him the same way she served me, humbly and politely. I watch his discomfort as she served it, how he was so unsure what to do. Even after I told him it was OK to "pet my bitch." He did, and she stayed calm and still willingly allowing him to touch her however he chose. And yet he still seemed shy and unconfident.
I immediately saw the problem Holly was facing, even if she didn't know it herself yet. Her husband was so uneasy about submission that he would never dominate her or anyone else. I thought about putting on a little show for him but decided not to.
It was about a week later Holly contacted Katie. While she didn't say anything directly, she hinted around that she was highly curious and was interested in some advice. I called her back, and we talked for about an hour. I told her the truth. I could name a hundred things she or her husband could do. 200 if they wanted. None of which would satisfy her. She saw the way Katie served my coffee. She could serve him the same way. But her husband is never going to show her a firm hand. Or the loving gratitude for her service.
That was early in the week, maybe Monday or Tuesday. That Saturday I took Katie to P.F. Chang's in the mall for lunch. Coming out, by coincidence, we almost bumped into Holly and her husband who tell me they're in the mall doing some shopping. Holly wanting a new dress, and he window shopping some of the more... guy stores, like Sharper Image. I catch the eye roll Holly makes when mentions going there next.
I'm not surprised Holly doesn't care for that store. she's more of a fashionista than a gadget girl. She's also a serious girly girl. Like Katie, but without the toughness and slightly macho streak Katie learned the hard way; and which makes for some interesting scenes on occasion. But, with Holly hinting about her interest in exploring the lifestyle, it gives me an idea.
"Slutty," Which is the name on Katie's dog collar that I've given her for play, "loves Sharper Image." I'm hoping he's astute enough to have figured out after six years with her that Holly doesn't. "How about a 'wife swap?' Say twenty minutes? Slutty can be your loving wife, go to Sharper Image or wherever you want with you and Holly can be my slave."
He stammers as I hold out Katie's leash to him, never saying yes or no. After about fifteen seconds Holly pipes up "I'm game." He stutters another second or two, then takes Katie's leash. I tell Katie to "be a good little bitch." She knows exactly what I mean for her to do, to obey him as if it were me; that should he get out of line with her, I'll deal with him later.
Obviously, I don't have a leash for Holly, and even if I did, I know she's far from ready to be paraded through the mall on it. I glance over her, seeing the red shirt and gray skirt she's wearing. But what catches my eye is the thin little belt she has on with the skirt. I reach down and take hold of it. "We'll meet back here in 20 then," I say to her husband. "Come along, slave girl," I add with a light tease to voice as I take a step to lead Holly away.
Holly follows. I keep hold of her belt, using it as an impromptu leash. I say nothing for the first twenty steps or so, putting some distance between us and her husband. After getting to know him a little, I figure the less he knows the better off everyone will be. "The most important thing for a slave is total absolute unwavering trust in her master... When a slave is given an order, she never thinks about it. Just obeys it because she has to know, and truly believe, that her master has her interests at heart.
"See that guy over there?" I point to a very good sized guy. "If I, as your master, told you to go slap him, a slave like Slutty wouldn't even think about it. She'd confidently walk over there and slap him. Without even a thought of hesitation. that's because Slutty knows that I have her well-being in mind. I've already thought of her, of what might happen if she does it. A wife would think that she might be arrested, or get her butt kicked. A wife would want to know why I wanted him slapped, why she should do it, not me. Those thoughts would never enter a slave's mind because she'd know in her heart that I've already thought of it. I've thought that he might swing back, or press charges, and somehow I know that's not going to happen. And if it is going to happen, then I've thought of that, too, and have some reason it's in her interest for it to. It wouldn't matter one iota to her that she doesn't know who he is or why he needs a slap from her. That I said so is enough that she'd truly believe that he does, and she's the one it should come from. That I said so is all the reason she'd need.
"For this little wife swap, you're going have to trust me like that. Right now, Katie is putting that trust in your husband because I left her with him. that's all she needs to know. She knows that he'll do right by her, and if he doesn't I will make him regret it. And fix it. I didn't have to say any of that, because she trusts me with all she is. And now, she's giving that trust to your husband. And I expect you to give it to me.
"And remember this. For the next 17 minutes, I own you. You're not Holly the travel agent, or Holly the wife, or even Holly the girl. You are... 'Blondie,' my slave-bitch. My property. You are not married to him. You are owned by me. Whatever thoughts, ideas, expectations are in your head, get them out of there. The only thing you should ever be thinking about is obeying me. Got all that, Blondie?"
"Yes, Master," Holly says quietly as if she's hoping to keep her voice down to where no one else can hear her.
I take a turn, leading her silently down a long hall, past the bathrooms. A the end there's an alcove about three feet deep with the door to the supply closet in it. Beside that is an emergency exit, and across from that the back door to the mall's security office. I stop Holly there and nudge her to walk backward a couple of steps putting her back up against the closet's door. I take her purse from her shoulder and drop it to the floor beside her foot.
I wait about five seconds, letting the silence stretch out. Holly stands there quietly, her eyes nervously darting all over the place. I reach up and lightly stroke her cheek. "That's a good girl..." I say softly. "Look at me, only me. I am all that matters to you. I am your world." I wait until her eyes, still nervous, fix on me.
"Show me your tits, Blondie," I say in a normal voice with a very firm tone. Then I watch as Holly's eyes get as wide as saucers. Or so it seems at least. "Now, Blondie. Just lift that shirt up, bra too, and show them to me."
Her eyes dart around again, more scared than ever.
"No," I say firmly. "Look at me. I am your world. Trust in your master. Show me those tits, now, Blondie."
Holly reaches down with trembling hands and slowly starts lifting her shirt up. The freezes for a second, about the instant her fingers would be touching her bra. Then she starts raising it up again even slower.
