The Lilac Society

I hoped Lauren had my phone number. She had never asked for it.

A full day went by with no word from her. Then a second day.

She knew Jessi, after all. And Jessi had my number. So it's not like she didn't have a way to get it. And I was in the campus directory too, though who knows if she knew my last name? I spent those two days wondering if the first day had even been real. The experience had seemed entirely too bizarre. Between recreating every moment of it in my mind, I tried to catch up with my school work.

Once when I ran into Jessi, I asked her if Lauren had my phone number.

"I...well I guess she does. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that she's supposed to call me, she told me she would, and I haven't heard from her, but I never gave her my number, so I was wondering..."

"I could give you her number. I have it right here. I'll message you."

"I...well it's just that I don't think, you see, that might not be such a, how should I say, such a good idea."

"Really?"

Jessi was looking at me funny.

"This probably sounds totally strange, but I don't think, like, I don't think I'm supposed to, well, to have it."

"Weird. And why... Oh! Is this some sort of domination thing? OK! OK. Say no more! I won't ask. Not a word! None of my business, not at all. So I guess that conversation went well then?"

"Well, maybe. It's just that, yes, yes it did. But with Lauren, it's strange. With her, I never really know where I stand."

"Yeah, I can totally see that."

The third day, there was no word, and I found myself replaying every moment from our afternoon together.

The fourth day, no word. I did my laundry. I found myself fantasizing that it was Lauren's and that I was doing it for her. Dear god, I needed to hear from her. I wanted to do something for her, to hear her order me around. I needed her.

The fifth morning, Sunday morning, my cell phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize.

"Hello?"

"Chris, this is Lauren."

"Hello, Lauren! I've been waiting to hear from you!"

I knew I sounded too eager.

"I know. Listen, Chris. Be at my dorm, in the lobby, in 20 minutes. Got it?"

Holy crap. I had plans to cancel.

"Yes, Lauren."

And just as suddenly as she had called, she ended the call. I quickly texted a few people, and started walking across campus toward her dorm. This time, Lauren was waiting for me, in the door. I never even entered her building.

"Let's go."

We walked, and as we did, I found myself in a position that was becoming quickly familiar - following Lauren, trying to anticipate each turn, staying with her, listening for any questions she might ask, but otherwise remaining silent. Knowing, in other words, to shut up.

After about ten minutes, we reached Lauren's car, and she told me to get in. I did so, and she took off, driving quickly. She was a speed demon. Little blue sports car, fashionable sunglasses, Lauren escorted me off campus, toward the outer ring of town. Five minutes into our drive, which had proceeded without a word, she suddenly turned off the radio.

"So Chris. Do you always hang out with Steve Black and Eric Friel?"

Huh? How did she know that? This was getting very weird.

"Well, sometimes, Lauren. I've known them since my freshman year. We play basketball together sometimes. And have lunch sometimes. Once in a while we play some video games together."

"You don't go to the strip clubs with them, do you?"

Oh dear god. How to answer? I honestly didn't, but it's not like I never had.

"Well, Lauren, no, I don't."

I felt, though, like I couldn't be anything but completely honest with Lauren. I was starting something new, something undeniably real, something I'd wanted for a long time. I couldn't start it off wrong.

"I don't now. But Lauren, I've gone with them before. Once or twice."

Lauren suddenly pulled over to the side of the road. She put the car in park, took off her sunglasses, and looked at me. Not just looked at me, but stared me down, hard.

"So how many times has it been? Once, or twice?"

I suddenly got that in-the-principal's office, in-trouble feeling. I swallowed, hard.

"Twice, Lauren."

I looked down, in embarrassment.

"I see. So you DO go with them. Don't lie, and tell me you don't go to those places with them. You DO go. You've gone. Not once, but twice."

"I'm sorry, Lauren."

"I know. And about your time at those places - that ends, right now. Understood?"

"Yes, Lauren."

"That's not something you do. Ever. Or look at those sorts of pictures. Or look at the female body, naked, ever. It's off-limits to

you, Chris. Is that clear?"

I looked at Lauren in slight disbelief.

"IS that CLEAR?"

"Yes. Yes, Lauren."

"Even watching a movie, if there's a scene where a woman gets undressed, I expect you to close your eyes, or look away. You're

not the type of boy who's allowed to see that, Chris. You're different. You're set aside for something else. I won't allow it."

I took a deep breath.

"Your other friends have much more respect for women than those two, though."

"Have you been spying on me, Lauren?"

"Not me personally."

"But how - "

"You should know that you're always being watched, Chris. There's no privacy for a slave. Absolutely none."

I gasped a little. I was somewhat shocked at Lauren's new expectations of me, but even more shocked at how much she seemed to know about me. Beyond that, though, I was flabbergasted at how she had gathered all the intelligence. How, exactly, was I being watched? Beyond all that, though, perhaps the biggest shock of all, was inside myself. Despite these bombshells, I didn't care. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to please Lauren. I was anxiously awaiting her next order. I just wanted to do something for her, to serve her.

"You need to understand, Chris, that you're not like other guys. You're a slave. You don't get to see those things. I expect you to take all of your sexual desires, and channel them into the desire to serve. That's your purpose - to serve. I have high expectations of you, Chris."

She continued to stare me down, hard.

"So...are we clear?"

"Yes, Lauren."

"Good."

In one quick motion, Lauren flipped her sunglasses back onto her face. Then she drove. I waited. Eventually, Lauren snapped the wheel hard, turning the car into a self-serve car wash. She pulled up quickly in front of one of the wash-it-yourself bays, hit the brakes hard, and shut it off. She looked at me and smiled.

"I want the works. Washed. Waxed. Detailed. The inside should be sparkling and vacuumed. Don't forget the tires and rims. You can buy quarters with your debit card over there for all the machines. This will take awhile."

And it did. Lauren sat at a picnic table near the parking lot looking into her phone as I worked. It didn't take long before I was soaked. After throwing away any loose trash, I pulled her car into the bay, then got it wet, soaped it down, scrubbed it, rinsed it, gently toweled it dry. I waxed it. I cleaned the rims and the tires. I vacuumed the interior, used Armor-All to get everything shiny. Nearly three hours later, the car couldn't have looked more like new if it was actually new. I was proud of the job I'd done.

"I'm finished, Lauren."

Following her back to the car, I was hoping for some compliment. It wasn't happening. Lauren simply told me to get in, did so herself, started the car, turned on the radio, and drove back toward campus without speaking.

I rode beside Lauren, waiting for her to say something. I knew, of course, to shut up. At first, I hoped she might comment on the job I'd done. It would be nice to have at least a little feedback. But it became obvious as we drove that it wasn't coming.

I swallowed the disappointment, reminding myself again that I was a guy who knew his place - reminded myself to just shut up. I reminded myself that I was pleasing Lauren by doing so. I watched Lauren from the corner of my eye, thinking of what a privilege it was to serve her, and that I should be proud of the job I did for her whether she acknowledged it out loud or not. I'm serving Lauren to serve her, for her pleasure, I thought, not to be acknowledged. Oh, god, being a slave isn't going to be easy, it seemed. I tried to keep my focus on Lauren, on what an amazing young woman she is, on how privileged I should feel to be able to serve her. It helped.

Back on campus, we walked. I followed Lauren obediently.

We took a longer route toward her dorm, through a scenic part of the university that was sparsely populated on a late Sunday morning. Lauren slowed and walked beside me, which seemed strange. I'd gotten used to her walking slightly ahead of me, and following behind her. We walked slowly side-by-side like this, almost aimlessly, for a minute or two, until Lauren spoke.

"Tell me about Amber."

I couldn't have been more stunned. If my answer seemed disrespectful, it was only because of my shock.

"HOW do you know about Amber?"

Lauren stopped cold, in the middle of the sidewalk, and looked at me.

"OK Chris, let me tell you something. Don't ever ask me how I know about something or someone again. Understand?"

I was still shocked, but managed to answer.

"Yes, Lauren."

"What I said before about no privacy for a slave? Let's just say, you have no idea. I will know everything about you, and everything you do, if I want to know it. And you don't get to know how. You're a slave - there are things you don't get to know. The list of things you don't get to know is very, very long. Are you beginning to understand?"

"Yes, Lauren. I think."

We started to walk again. She spoke again. "Anyway, Amber..."

"Yes, Lauren. Amber. She's a professional domme. I subscribed to her video feed last year, just to try to learn about female domination."

"Did you learn anything?"

"I don't know, Lauren. It all seemed so fake. It was all like 'Have you been a bad bad boy? I bet you can't resist my wicked charms, you perverted little slut!"

Lauren stopped, sort of doubled over, and laughed. This took me by surprise, and I just stood there and watched her. This was the first time I'd seen Lauren crack even more than a slight smile, a smirk. I'd become used to the cold, icy stare. Lauren finally let her belly laugh subside.

"Yeah, that sounds like total amateur hour femdom male fantasy nonsense."

"It seemed ridiculous, Lauren, I agree. I knew it wasn't what I wanted. I kept watching for a while because, well, I'm not sure exactly why. Maybe I couldn't find anything better."

"Makes sense. Was there anything you liked?"

"Well, I did enjoy looking at her feet, and watching her have men kiss her feet."

"So that sort of foot worship turns you on?"

"Yes, Lauren. Yes, it - well, it does."

This was embarrassing to talk about.

"You've never served someone, though, so obviously you have no actual experience with it, I assume?"

"No, Lauren, I don't. It's just a fantasy. I've imagined kissing women's feet, but-"

"But?"

"But part of what draws me to it is just the idea of it, because it is so weird and disgusting, and it would be so humiliating to have to do it. I mean, every time I see actual bare feet, even of attractive women, you know, in real life, the urge sort of goes away. I don't know if it's something I could actually do, for real."

Lauren looked at me, tilted her head toward her shoulder, with a sort of sad look.

"Chris. We need to talk."

"Yes, Lauren?"

"Let's sit down over here." She motioned toward a stone bench, set back from the path. She led, I followed. She sat, I sat beside her.

"Chris."

"Lauren?"

"You do understand where we're headed, right?"

"I think so, Lauren?"

"Chris, when an owner begins to assert control over her slave, there are certain things that the slave has to do to respond to his owner. To respond appropriately. To show her that he understands his position - his place. That he gets it, just how inferior he is to his owner. Does this make sense?"

"I think so, Lauren. I'm trying to understand."

"The way you've acted around me so far has been encouraging, Chris. The way you've waited patiently. And how you haven't hesitated to obey me, even right after you met me. And how you just knew to shut up around me, and wait for me to speak. These are all instinctive things, that can't really be taught, but they're clues to me that you actually get it."

Lauren sighed deeply, looked straight into my eyes, then continued.

"Other things, like your body language, the way you carry yourself. They're signs to me that you're not just following me around in hopes to fulfill some fantasy you have, but also because you really DO know, deep down, that I'm better than you. That you're my inferior. Not just inferior, but inherently inferior - you always will be, and nothing you can ever do will make you my equal. All you can do is accept it, and accept your place, and serve me. Make sense?"

I took a very deep breath. It hurt to hear her say it, but I knew she was right.

"Yes. Yes, Lauren."

"But Chris, these sorts of clues aren't nearly enough. There are more explicit ways that you'll have to show me that you believe this. And one of the earliest acts of devotion that a slave has to perform, to show that he gets it, is to kiss his owner's foot. And Chris, there's no choice involved. There's no 'too much' or 'too gross' or 'I just couldn't.' If a slave truly believes he is vastly inferior to his owner, and that his owner is vastly superior to him, he will do it - he will MAKE himself do it. Do you see how that works?"

"Yes, Lauren."

"If he truly sees himself as a slave, then he knows he doesn't have a choice. He just does it, as he's ordered. Are you starting to understand?"

"Yes, Lauren."

"It just so happens that we're on our way to my room to perform this act right now."

I inhaled sharply, and involuntarily looked down at Lauren's feet - the little anklet socks, thin orange stripe, the teal-trimmed tennis shoes. I looked back up at her face.

"The reason these acts of devotion and submission are humiliating, the reason they're so degrading, Chris, is to remind you of your place. Performing them forces you to confront the fact that you're NOT my equal, not even close, and that you never will be. When you kiss my foot that will be abundantly clear to you. Normal people, equals, don't typically go around kissing each other's feet. You don't think you can make yourself kiss a foot because deep down you don't really consider most women your superior. You'd better damn well think differently of me. And you'd better be thinking about that when we get back to my room."

Lauren was giving me her icy cold no-nonsense stare. I was nearly shaking with the revelation of what I'd be doing soon.

"Let's go."

"Yes, Lauren."

Again, I followed, overwhelmed with thoughts of what lie ahead. My eyes were on Lauren's shoes. Yes, I regularly fantasized about kissing feet, but they were the kinds of fantasies where I wondered if they might someday come true, but wouldn't have been completely surprised if they hadn't. I thought it was the type of fantasy that was amazing in mind, but disgusting in reality. I was nervous. But serving Lauren had been too wonderful, and I promised myself I would do this. I would obey her, whatever it was like.

Inside the dorm lobby, I felt cold. Irrationally, I felt like the desk clerk was in on it, watching me, knowing what I was about to do, as she filed my ID. I felt humiliated already. Riding up the elevator, my stomach lurched. I hadn't eaten all day, and was hungry, but it didn't matter. I was beginning to be thankful I hadn't.

Inside Lauren's room for the first time, I felt the shock of seeing her roommate there. Oh, god, was she in on this too? Lauren came to the rescue.

"Hey, I need the room."

"Sure, fine whatever."

With her roommate gone, Lauren commenced immediately with a command.

"Kneel."

"Yes, Lauren."

I knelt, left knee, then right. This was the first time I'd ever done this for Lauren, actually knelt on the floor. It felt very weird, which seemed strange, since I'd been obeying her commands, and working hard for her. Actually kneeling before her felt so much more physical, and somehow took this to a different level. On my knees, looking up at Lauren, rather than down, something changed. I took a very deep breath. Lauren stood directly in front of me, almost touching me. She looked at me, with her serious stare, and spoke quietly but firmly. She absolutely meant business.

"Fold your arms behind your back."

"Yes, Lauren."

I did so. I felt even stranger and let my gaze fall to the ground in shame. I just couldn't help it. Despite the very real ways I'd been obeying her, something more concrete was coming to life here. I was nervous, and frankly, more embarrassed than I had expected to be. I gazed at the floor, and Lauren's shoes, her feet, my mind on the act I'd be performing, which even now, as much as I desired it, embarrassed me beyond words. I swallowed a groan, forced myself into silence. As much as this was something I'd fantasized about my whole life, there was very much a part of me that hated myself for obsessing over it.

Lauren, directly in front of me, was so short, and I was so tall, that her face was only slightly above the level of my face. She took her hand, and grabbed my chin firmly, lifting my face so that I was looking at her, face to face. She looked calm, but serious. She kept her hand on my chin as she spoke. It was sort of difficult, looking into her eyes without flinching. Finally given what I'd fantasized about all my life, all I wanted to do was hide from my desires in humiliation.

"Chris. I want you to prepare yourself. Don't brace yourself. Be open and listen. But be prepared. What you're going to hear from me will be very embarrassing, and some of it will be difficult to hear. But you need to hear it, and you need to listen closely. Don't answer. Just obey. When I order you to respond, you will respond with your actions."

She took a deep breath. I felt her hand tighten its grip on my chin. Hard as it was, I kept looking straight into her eyes, light blue but deadly serious. I wanted so bad to look down, but Lauren just held me with her stare.

"Chris, you are a slave. You KNOW that you are a slave. You've admitted as much. What's more, you are MY slave. I've claimed you as my own. You've admitted that you are aware of my ownership of you by your obedience and your respect for my authority."

She paused for a deep breath.

"Now, I'm not going to ask you to submit yourself to me in slavery, or ask me to accept you as a slave, or any of that nonsense that you hear about in some places where men and women play-act at slavery. No, Chris. That wouldn't really be slavery. Slaves don't get to choose whether or not they're slaves, or who their owners are. That's just silly."

Lauren smiled just a tiny bit, then turned serious again. She stroked my chin gently, then again gripped it tight.

"No, Chris."

She shook her head.

"You are my slave, already. It's already done. You've had no choice in the matter, but I think you already realize that it's happened. What I am going to have you do, not ask you to do, but order you to do, is to acknowledge the fact that I own you. I own your body, and I own the person who you are. You're going to acknowledge this by taking off all your clothes, Chris. In front of me, while I watch. Right now, stand up, and strip. Naked. No talking, just do it. Then back on your knees, just like you were."

Lauren released my chin, and took a very small step back. I breathed deeply, held it, exhaled. I swallowed, hard. I had to fight the urge to say Yes, Lauren, reminded myself I wasn't allowed to speak. Oh god, the things Lauren was telling me, wow. The way she viewed slavery, where even to begin? No choice? Despite all my misgivings, I had indeed obeyed her unquestioningly. And I'd never flinched when she'd casually called me her slave. Oh, god.