This picks up the storyline of Emma, aka Candy Kane, the Rosy Bottom Queen as chronicled in "Spanking Theater" a few years after she settled into the life of a performing spankee.
It is ironic that, as Master's slave, I have found the freedom and happiness that was so elusive to me when I was the spider playing a web-like instrument of control and manipulation. How can I be free when I must wear whatever Master tells me to wear? How can I be free when I must follow perfectly the list of rules posted on the dungeon wall? How can I be free when it is my duty to perform the actions and tasks that are given to me and to perform them instantly and without question or complaint? I will confess to you that there was a time, in my former life, in which some, well, many of the activities that are now part of my daily routine would never have occurred to me as something a rational girl would ever do, yet now, for example, if I am instructed to expose myself to a stranger in the grocery store, I will lift my dress without question or hesitation and gift that lucky soul with the brain-burning image of my perfect pelvis until I am told to do otherwise.
I am free to do many things now. I am free of all the fucked-up puritan nonsense of my upbringing. I am free to enjoy my sensations. I am free to relish the feel of pussy juice trickling down my inner thigh. I am free to live out my sexual fantasies. I am free to dress like the slut I love to be. I am free to share my body in whatever way and with whoever Master deems worthy.
I mentioned, a moment ago, my perfect pelvis. I know it is perfect because Master monitors it during inspection every day and studies my large posterior muscle group most carefully during my weekly maintenance spankings. He can tell if as little as half a pound extra has crept into that area. He really is quite amazing. If any unwarranted fat has begun to accumulate, Master will deal with it immediately by restricting my diet and adding exercise. Since the condition of my body is my Master's responsibility and my only responsibility is to follow his orders precisely, I am freed of all body shame. The insecurities and feelings of inadequacy that used to plague my subconscious constantly are gone. I am free of them. I now revel in the perfection of my bone, muscle, skin and hair. Knowing that it pleases Master gives me the confidence to display my body, to share it with all that Master chooses for me.
I am also free to not be a part of any of this. Everything is completely consensual. I can take off the collar and walk out the door anytime I want to.
Master is constantly pushing my limits, but we have had many late-night, cuddled-together conversations and I trust him and know that he will not take me places that, deep in my heart I don't want to go.
I don't know if this arrangement will last forever, but I do know that in the last couple of years I have lived, been thrilled, and experienced more fully and completely than in the previous thirty-two combined.
That is how, by voluntarily surrendering my freedom, I am able to grant myself more freedom than I ever could on my own as the buttoned-up daughter of a Presbyterian minister.
Let me tell you some stories about experiences we have shared. This happened last Thursday. The doorbell rang and Master sent me from the kitchen where I was preparing some snacks as instructed.
Well, I answer the door without looking through the peephole as is my standard instruction and the couple on the other side does not seem surprised to see me standing before them wearing only my studded leather collar. My collar is my prize possession. Every night I clean it and polish the studs. It fits both my neck and my needs perfectly.
My gaze is diverted, as master requires, so I don't know yet if these are people with whom I have interacted before.
" We are here at the invitation of your Master," says the lady, so I step aside and gesture for them to enter. I can smell the lady. She is wearing a scent, perhaps her shampoo, but emanating from much deeper inside her, is the odor that is the real her. The jungle floor, the tangled birth and death of an excited pussy. I dearly hope that she has retained her pubic hair so that some of these molecules of primal desire will be trapped and linger in her bush for me to inhale deeply and fully later if Master should see fit for my nose to be buried in her cunt at some future point in the evening.
"Ah! Rebecca! Steve! Come in," says Master. I am aware of the irony in this statement in that later they may be invited to come into some rather more intriguing places, but I am careful to keep this thought to myself and not allow it to be reflected on my face.
" Close the door, slave."
Rebecca and Steve follow Master down the hall. We are, no doubt, heading straight to the playroom/dungeon. I follow along behind them without instruction because this is standard procedure. Since they are all in front of me chattering away, I am able to steal a glance at them. I look first at their asses, since that is my favorite part of the human anatomy to gaze upon. There is not much to see yet, but what I am able to discern from the bounce of the buttocks before me appears promising and I harbor a secret smile.
The dungeon is hidden behind a bookcase in Master's study. He pulls forward on a hard-bound copy of "The Story of O" and the right side of the bookcase pops loose allowing it to swing open.
"Whoa," says Rebecca " that's impressive Bruce."
Bruce is his real name. My name is Emma. When we are in public or in vanilla situations like having dinner with my parents or having a game night with some friendly neighbors we call each other Bruce and Emma, but at home I call him Master and he calls me either slave or slavegirl or pussybearer or something like that although if he is displeased he will sometimes call me "six" just to let me know I am not the first and may not be the last if I don't mind my p's and q's. When he calls me six I get cold all over even though I rarely get cold anymore since I spend so much time naked.
"Thank you," says Bruce to Rebecca. "I want to have the best set-up I can afford, just as I want to have the best slave I can train."
I am stopped in my tracks by this unexpected compliment but I don't allow my face to reveal my pleasure. I am well trained.
Rebecca and Steve go down the stairs and enter the softly lit dungeon and Master turns to me and says, "bring us refreshments, slave," so I turn and hustle back upstairs and grab the chips and salsa, the veggie tray and some olives. I balance all that on a tray along with four glasses and a bottle of red wine. Quick as a bunny I am back downstairs. When I enter the dungeon I can see the three of them sitting in the lounge area talking. Rebecca has her hand in Master's lap and is massaging his bulge. That was quick. I pour four glasses of wine and hand one to each of them but leave the fourth on the end table. Then I go to my spot and kneel with my head bowed.
"Isn't she a delightful little slave?" says Master. I glow.
"You may raise your head, slavegirl."
When I look up, I can see that Rebecca and Steve are studying me. Rebecca is looking in my eyes but Steve is concentrating on my breasts.
"Dance." I rise and began to sway slowly.
"Fortress" by Vedan Kolod is pulsing from the various hidden speakers. The strangely erotic vibrations of the jaw harp drone in sympathetic vibrations that stir deep in my pussy.
I am rocking my hips in the figure eight pattern I learned in the belly dancing class that Master enrolled me in. I raise my arms over my head because this lifts my breasts. My breasts are still quite firm even though I have crossed a couple of age barriers, but with my arms in the air, they are perfect. Raising my arms also exposes the delicate light brown hair that grows in my armpits. Master loves every hair on my body and won't allow me to remove any of them.
I turn in a slow circle and present my ass to Steve and Rebecca for the first time. I don't have to look. I know they are staring. As my hips gyrate, my buttocks rotate hypnotically. Master has shown me videos of this and I became quite horny just watching myself.
I finish my slow circle just as the music ends so I stop dancing and just stand before them. My eyes flicker from Steve's crotch to Rebecca's tits, to the hand in Bruce's lap and then back again.
"So," says Bruce, "do we have a deal?"
I will be told what the deal is when the time is right. Until then I can imagine and fantasize. It's certainly not the simple exchange of sexual favors that seems to be in the air. No I'm certain Master has just signed my ass up for an adventure much more exotic and probably much more perverted than this.
I was far from a virgin when I met my Master of course. The truth is that I made my living being naked in front of strangers for more than three years before we met. I have also been a life-long exhibitionist. I have flashed dozens maybe hundreds of men and women. It was a compulsion and while it was thrilling to plan and execute, I was often left with feelings of shame. There were episodes where I was unkind to my body in an effort to deal with the guilt drilled into my skull from birth. Now, not only am I free of shame, I am also empowered to take my exhibitionism to places and levels I could never have achieved on my own. Instead of a two -second flash of panty, I can and will, at the direction of my Master, share the splendor of my totally naked body in public places or at private parties. If it pleases my Master, I will bend over and allow a group of strangers to inspect the glory of my inner workings. I have strolled down city streets and through the mall wearing nothing but a smile. Once I crashed a full-court basketball game for five minutes wearing only a sports bra with the nipples cut out. Nobody complained and I scored two points!
"You may join us," says Master.
I leave my spot and, taking my glass of wine from the end table, go over and sit next to Steve.
"Hi Stevie," I breathe into his ear. I know the hot moisture from deep inside my body is stirring now in his loins. I mirror Rebecca's posture and actions and, laying my hand in his lap, begin to massage his pants. All of this is standard protocol so I know it's okay with Master. Master and I can communicate with just eye flickers and subtle facial gestures. I always make sure I have permission.
"Hello, Sexy. What do I call you?"
