Jessica

It all began several years ago.

Now, before I get into my story, I'll tell you a little about me - not the why, just the who - why may explain itself.

I'm just a man. Nothing special about me; just in my middle sixties with a graying head and beard, glasses, and a bit of a pot belly. I retired before I hit sixty just because my body was tired of the physical demands of the job, and I had more than enough to be comfortable until Social Security kicked in. I've been married - once, and that lasted eighteen years but then we just mutually agreed it was over. No kids, no pets. My big hobby was fishing; mostly salmon, but halibut when I could, and rockfish if nothing else was going on.

When I retired I sold off the boat and got rid of all the trolling gear. Then I went looking for a car, well really cars - plural. The first one was an MGB; gold with black trim - and those damn rubber bumpers. What a pig. It didn't have the power to get out of its own way. The more I looked at it the less I liked it. So I sold it to a middle- aged gal that thought it was "cute".

The next car was a Triumph TR-6; much more power, a manly stance, and real, chrome, bumpers. I spent a lot of hours fiddling with that car, but it was fun trying to coax a couple more horses, or improve the cornering, or hell, just making the exhaust louder. Good times.

Then I went looking for the next car.

I had decided I wanted a mid-sixties Jaguar MK2 sedan. Four doors, lots of leather, and the XK 150 engine. Couple that to a four speed transmission and you had a car that lived up to the Jaguar motto: Grace Space Pace.

Now of course once I had settled on a particular model, well ... then I had to find the right car; something I could drive without worrying the paint might get a stone ding, but not so bad that I'd be ashamed to be seen in it.

It's amazing how few cars fell into the middle of all that. between early spring and late fall I probably looked at fifteen or so cars, and they were either trailer queens that had been through total restorations or cars so far gone that it would cost an easy forty grand to make them decent again. Sixty if I wanted show quality. Which I didn't.

In February I got a call from a John Womack, saying he'd heard I was looking for a MK 2 and he had his dad's car up for sale.

*******

I was driving through one of the older neighborhoods of Seattle, looking for the address Womack had given me when I saw a woman standing at a wrought iron fence bordering a Victorian style home, her back to the rain. There was no one else around. I'd glanced at her then switched back to looking at addresses when it clicked -that woman was naked! This was February in Seattle; there's no such thing as a warm rain, this was a cold drizzle that just made you feel miserable. I could only imagine what it felt like to someone nude.

Now ... I'm no hero. And I certainly wasn't looking for a distressed damsel. But a woman - especially a naked one standing in the rain must have needed help ... yeah, I pulled over to the curb, hopped out and walked the few feet to her.

I saw a leash tied to the fence and leading up to a collar locked around her throat. She could have untied herself and walked away! Instead she stood there; back to a cold rain, doing nothing.

I touched her elbow and she jumped in fright. She looked up at me then cowered to the end of the leash and held out a water streaked paper. It read: "This insolent slave is not worthy of my time. Anyone may take her. Use her anyway you wish. DOM."

The look in her eyes as she scanned my face was a combination of fear and submission. It was as if anything would be preferable to a cold February rain.

I untied her and led her by the hand to my truck. I put her in the passenger seat, pulled a blanket from behind it, wrapped her and turned the heat up. She began to shiver uncontrollably for several minutes as color returned to her face.

"What's your name?" No answer.

"Where do you live?" Again, no answer.

"Shall I call the cops?" This time her eyes got big and she shook her head.

"Where should I take you?"

This time in an almost whisper she answered; "I belong to you. You took my leash and now I am your slave."

Need I mention I wasn't looking for slaves?

While she sat in my pickup, I considered the possibilities: I could take her to the cops; given her nakedness that might not be very pleasant for her. A women's shelter? I didn't have a clue where I might find one. Give her the blanket and twenty bucks and drop her at the nearest bus stop? She said she had nowhere to go.

That left me. As she said - she belonged to me. I didn't know what I'd do with her; maybe just make sure she was healthy, had some clothes and send her on her way. But I damn well couldn't just leave her at the curb.

"Listen, I don't know about this slave business, and I'm up here to look at a car, so why don't we do this; ride with me while I find the address and look the car over, then we'll talk about your problem. If I have to, I'll take you home and get you some food and warm clothing. Okay?"

"Yes Master."

"And knock off the master stuff, I'm just a guy. My name is Mike, Mike Miceli. Okay?"

"Yes, Mas ... Mike ."

"Now, what is your name?"

"I once was named Jessica, but now I'm just slave or Bi ..."

That's when I cut her off. "No more of that. Jessica huh? Okay, Jessica it is."

*******

I found Womack's place a half mile up the street, apologized for being a bit late and asked to see the Jaguar. Jessica stayed in the truck, the engine running to keep her warm.

The car was exactly what I wanted - dark green with a tan interior, all the wood and leather in very good shape but with a patina that implied 'never restored'. A four speed with overdrive was mated to the 3.8 litre engine, the engine bay probably as clean as the day it left the factory. The car was spotless in and out and had all the tools and manuals.

We talked price for a while, and even though I could tell he wasn't anxious to sell, the fact I promised to care for it as well as his dad eased his mind.

I wrote a check on deposit, and arranged to do the paper work and final payment in a few days.

*******

My home isn't big by modern standards: living room/dining room, kitchen, den, three bedrooms and two baths - all on one floor. More than plenty of room for me, adding Jessica wasn't going to crowd me much at all. I pointed to the second bedroom back, and told Jessica it was hers.

Damned if she didn't start crying!

"Now what?"

"I ... I thought you would have me sleep in your room. I don't need much, I'll just sleep at the foot of the bed."

"Why?" I was totally at a loss that anyone would sleep on the floor instead of a bed.

"That is my proper place."

"Um, noo ... I told you; you are not a slave here. You're just here until I find somewhere for you to go."

She didn't say a word, but as low as her shoulders had been, they dropped even further and another trail of tears ran down her cheeks.

"Do you think I buy into that whole slave thing and you belong to me?"

"You took my leash."

"Yeah so?"

"You accepted my status. You claimed me. Master Dom told me I was slave to anyone that took my leash."

I could see I wasn't getting anywhere, so decided to just deal with that later. Meantime I had to do something about clothing for my new house guest.

"Okay, we need to get you some clothes. What size are you?"

"I don't know."

"You must have some idea. What did you wear at Mas ... that other place?"

"I was not allowed clothing. He always wanted me available."

"Available?"

"Yes, Ma ... I'm sorry ... Yes, Mike. I was to service him in any way he commanded."

All I could do was sigh. "Okay, drop the blanket and let's see what we've got."

The covering instantly dropped to the floor and she stood before me, arms at her side.

I finally took the time to survey my new charge. Barefoot she barely made five feet. She had shapely legs leading to a bare pussy, her hips had a flare to them, leading to a narrow waist, and above that her ribs were somewhat prominent but her breasts stood firm with the nipples having a slight upward tilt. A graceful neck led to a pleasant face; semi-prominent cheeks, a button nose and well shaped lips. Arched eyebrows high-lighted grey eyes and the whole thing was topped by tousled and matted brown hair. Her narrow shoulders and slim arms led to small hands with delicate looking fingers. I had her turn around and caught my breath as I saw many fading bruises on her back and thighs.

Well, I didn't know anything about women's clothes, let alone sizes so I just tried memorizing what stood before me, figuring I'd run up to a store and get her something until I could get her to the store myself.

"Am I acceptable, Mas ... Mike?"

"Huh, what? No, I'm just trying to figure your size."

A little smile tickled the corners of her mouth. "Yes, M ... Mike."

Changing the subject, I asked to see the collar. It was a fairly heavy leather construction almost two inches high with what looked like a wool liner. It was buckled on, but then a keyed lock secured it.

"We're going to have to get that thing off."

"My collar? No, Master; you mustn't!"

"Just for a moment I'm going to buy into this master thing. I said it's coming off. That was from that other master. He no longer exists. Got it?"

"Yes Mast ... Mi ... Yes sir." This time a real smile filled her face. Totally changed the way she looked.

*******

Well, I ran up to the local "We sell everything " store and picked up some pants, tops and those rubber flip-flops. When I returned she was cleaning the kitchen like there was no tomorrow.

I was already learning 'don't fight the tide'; I left her to her task, laying the clothes out on her bed. I checked on her progress, and then called her into the bedroom; "These are some clothes for you until I get you to the store for the other things."

"Thank you, Mas ... may I please call you Master? It is very difficult for me - using your name."

"I dislike the connotations of master, lets compromise and you call me Sir."

"Thank you Sir, I can do that."

"Meanwhile you can dress in these."

I'd guessed fairly well on the sizes, but I had forgotten underwear. She stood there, twitching and squirming; "I'm sorry Master, I'm not used to wearing clothing, except when master Dom would take me to a gathering. May I remain bare?"

"Gathering?"

"Yes, when Masters would gather and display their slaves."

"And ... what was that like?"

"He would dress me to impress the others, but then Master Dom required I service anyone and everyone."

"Damn. What did you think of that?"

"I am slave."

"Meaning?"

"I must do as I am told."

"Let's go have some dinner, and then I need to do some thinking. And just keep the shirt on."

*******

Thinking also involved some on-line research: definitions, common practices, terminology. Then I sought D/s forums, just reading the concerns - mostly of submissives or slaves - and their relationships.

This wasn't going to be easy. Even if she stayed with me for just a week, her sense of self seemed to revolve around her slave status.

As for myself: over my life I had worked a vast variety of jobs and sometimes I was a boss and other times not. At least I had learned how to give orders as well as I had taken them.

"Jessica! Come in here!"

"Yes Sir?"

"If you are going to stay with me we need to clarify roles. How do you see us? Your expectations of me, of yourself?"

"Sir?"

"How were you treated at that last place that you ended up tied out in the rain?"

Jessica hung her head, slumped visibly. "I was unworthy. Master Dom told me every day I was a waste of his time. He said I couldn't do anything properly. He would punish me when I deserved it but he became more and more angry because I didn't obey his rules. Finally he just tied me up outside, handed me that paper, and told me I was to go with anyone that took the leash. I was very afraid when you touched me."

"And he punished you?"

"Oh, yes ... I didn't like that, he whipped me many times. I never cried. I wouldn't give him that."

"We won't be doing that here. What makes you happy?"

"I don't know, Sir. No one ever asked me that. Being good as a slave pleases me. Is that what you mean?"

"Not quite, but it'll do as a start. I have to do more thinking, I want you to go to bed. In the morning we'll discuss your duties

*******

I returned to the 'net, surfing through several of the D/s sites - looking for an understanding of the slave mind set. I didn't care all that much about what the masters thought, simply because that wasn't me. But I was trying to understand why someone derived their sense of worth in subservience.

Around midnight I gave up; there was a truth out there, but it was eluding me. After the usual business in the bathroom I headed for bed, only to be brought to a stop at the sight of a bare woman curled on the floor at the foot of my bed.

As soon as I stepped into the room she lifted her head; "Sir, is there anything I may do?"

I was too tired to be tactful; "Yes. Get up from that damn floor and go to your bed!"

She stood, shoulders hunched and head down, and cried. Not an out-loud cry, one of those silent, shoulder quaking sobs that will break your heart to witness.

"Now what?" I sighed.

"My place is with you. You don't want mmmeee!"

"Oh for god's sake. I'm not going to have you on the floor! Get in the bed. Take that side. Let's get some sleep."

I was about to turn off the light when I realized she was laying there, stiff as a board. "Now what?"

"Sir"

"I've seen corpse that looked more comfortable."

"I'm sorry sir, but I haven't been allowed on a bed to sleep in years except to be of service. What do you want me to do?"

(Sigh) "Ok, curl up over here. We'll talk in the morning."

She tucked into my arms and with an audible sigh drifted to sleep. I lay there for the longest time; Jessica in my arms, her back pressed against me. I didn't know where to put my hands until she guided them over her breasts, she sighed again as I cupped the warm handfuls of flesh.

*******

The next morning I woke to the smell of fresh coffee. In the kitchen a naked woman stood at the stove, humming as she made breakfast. "Good morning, Sir." She said without turning.

Now ... I'm not a morning person. Give me coffee, a paper, and eventually breakfast and I'm ok. But perky first thing? Grrr.

Jessica was perky.

She hummed and chattered as she moved about the room - making sure my coffee was topped, serving breakfast (which was quite good, by the way), she even had the paper on the table.

Heading for the shower after breakfast, I realized Jessica's hair was still a matted mess. "Come with me, let's get you cleaned up."

I thought we'd take turns, but her hair was such a mess I just opted to help her with it. We stood under the warm water, just relishing the sensations. Then I moved her directly under the stream, filled my hands with shampoo, and began working my hands through her hair. At first I thought I'd have to just cut chunks of it away, it was that bad; but then it slowly loosened. It took three rounds of scrub and rinse, but finally we reached a point where her hair (wet as it was) reached her mid-back. I swear she cooed the whole time I did her.

After that it was time to scrub the rest of her; beginning at her shoulders, and just using soap on my hands (I didn't know how sensitive her skin was) I worked my way down her back, across her buttocks and on down her legs. After she'd rinsed I turned her and worked my way up. Yes, I cleaned her pussy, but I kept scrubbing my way up. Her knees buckled a bit going over her mound, and she really leaned into my hands as I reached her breasts.

Then it was my turn and she made the most of it. I probably haven't been cleaned so thoroughly since I was a babe. And then she began on my cock. Just the attention she gave the rest of my had me half hard, but then she reached down with her soapy hands and cleaned me so well that MY knees half-buckled, and then she knelt and took me in her mouth. I tried to stop her. Honest to god I tried. But I'm just a man and the warm sensations on my cock were way more than I could resist.

I didn't last long, and her humming around my dick didn't help at all.

She stood, licking her lips; "Did I do well, Master?"

All I could do was nod.

Jessica smiled.

*******

Her hair was actually a strawberry-blond, and under the solid layer of grime was a peaches and cream complexion glowing through almost translucent skin. Almost automatically I thought she would get plenty of sun in the summer. And then realized I was planning almost six months ahead.

*******

We spent a lot of time talking over the next several days and I learned quite a bit about Jessica and her life: Now in her thirties, she'd been raised by a single mother in poverty, hadn't finished high school, had worked at minimum wage jobs, and went from boyfriend to boyfriend looking for love but only being used, until she'd been found by "Master Dom".

Her life with him started out quietly as he converted her into his life. She had been dressed in clothing that highlighted her face and figure, and the feeling of servitude had been eased with gentle loving. But it gradually changed as he found fault more and more often. Instead of sleeping with him, she was forced to sleep on the floor; first as punishment, and then as her normal routine.

Somewhere along the line he added beatings to her punishments - telling her she was worthless, a waste of his time. Eventually he just tied her to the fence, abandoning her to her fate.

*******

Off and on I would go back to the D/s forums, at first just lurking, but eventually I joined, and laid out how Jessica came to me.

Of course I didn't use her (or my) name, but I was pretty graphic about her being tied out in the rain. And her physical condition as well.

Almost to a person everyone agreed she had been mistreated, especially as it violated a basic tenet of the D/s culture; everything must be by mutual consent - you can't abuse a slave unless it's part of the agreement. And not allowing her a voice drove well into the realm of sadism.

One night who should join in the conversation but ""Master Dom". It only took him minutes after signing on to begin a full-fledged rant; first against Jessica - saying she was a worthless bitch that should have frozen to death, then he started in on me - threatening some kind of action. My response was simple: "Hey asshole, I know where you live. Shut your fucking pie-hole!"

He was silent after that.

*******

A week after first finding Jessica I returned to Seattle, a trailer behind my pickup, to finish the Jaguar purchase. Driving past the house with the wrought iron fence I saw a man standing on the stoop; middle-aged, dressed in dark clothes, undistinguished from thousands of others.

Was he "Master Dom?" I don't know for sure, don't really give a damn, but maybe his blahness explains his need to dominate.

I concluded the business with Womack and headed home, Jag on the trailer.

*******

In my research I had come to a firm conclusion: Jessica was one of those rare people that was happiest when they had given someone else complete control of her and her life.

Not to be disparaging, but what came to my mind was a well-trained dog - happiest when he knows what is expected and does everything well. Jessica was happiest when I gave her a list of duties and left her to them.

Our one area of disagreement was her clothing style, or rather her lack of clothing style; I'm not a prude, and she did look good, but I'd had too many years of social training that decent people stayed dressed, even in their homes. You'd think that I, as Master, would be the final word, but she'd had several years of forced nudity and it became normal for her. We finally hit a compromise: when I was home she wore shorts and a light blouse as she worked around the house. In the evenings she could be nude, but would keep something close-by for when visitors dropped by.