The next month was my ascent and my descent all at once. My ascent into learning the pure pleasure my body could give me. My descent into being his, well, his creature. His toy. And my well, my "becoming." Becoming truly feminine and perfectly female.
And God help me, I absolutely adored every minute of it.
I loved cooking naked while he watched.
I loved taking him into my mouth as he ate his breakfast or his lunch.
I loved when he took me shopping and made me model things I would never consider wearing. Well, would never have considered wearing before he claimed me.
I loved when he took me to that special store he knew of and I was fitted with a posture collar, a heavy leather thing with a small blade, almost like those things they stick your finger with, you know? that fit under my chin so I had to hold my head up or I would prick that tender spot.
And most of all, I absolutely ADORED when he took me to The Club, dressed in those ridiculously low-cut hot pants with about half of my ass showing, outrageously tall stiletto heels, and nothing but two circular pasties to cover my nipples. He had done my hair, big, like a country singer, and my makeup, heavy like a whore.
I LOVED the looks I drew as his hand guided me, low on my back in that possessive way some men have.
When an outrageously handsome man, with grey hair, probably in his 50s, very politely asked David if he could have this dance I loved being talked about as if I wasn't there too.
On the dance floor, and all of the music coming over the system was slow, what I think of as torch songs, his hands were all over me. He started by digging his fingers into my hair and then slowly down my back until he got past the skimpy hot pants and was cupping my ass.
And I loved that too.
I felt beautiful and desirable and all of those things I had never felt before.
More men asked David if they could have this dance and every time he said yes and every time it was the same, the men would act like they owned me.
I loved it.
Finally, David asked me for a dance.
With Julie London doing
Cry Me A River
we were dancing, slowly, my body molded to his, his hands roaming all over my back when he leaned down and breathed softly into my ear, "enjoy yourself, my naughty girl."
I missed a step. I had read, of course, the line in books and stories, kind of a cliche actually, "knees got weak."
My knees got weak.
He smiled, did the two fingers under the chin thing, and lifted my face until our eyes met.
"Enjoy yourself," he said and his smile was boyish and innocent, "you're in for a long night."
So I did.
When men asked him if I could dance and he said yes I did so with abandon. I would mold my body to theirs and my posture and demeanor were obviously offering sex. I felt slutty. I felt beautiful.
I felt feminine.
That night was the first time he used a belt on me.
When we got home the first thing he did was get that chair, what I was starting to think of as the punishment chair, and place it carefully in the middle of the room.
Then he had me take off my clothes. I peeled off the pasties and then unbuttoned and unzipped the hot pants and pushed them down along with my panties. I couldn't do anything about the collar since he had the key to the tiny padlock, but when he crooked his finger I went to him and bent forward while he got the collar off of me.
"Time for your next lesson," he said and I felt a quick rush deep in my belly.
When I said nothing he reached out, quick, he spent a couple of hours a night a couple of nights a week in a karate dojo and he was good at that sort of thing, and dug his fingers into my hair, twisting, pulling, hurting me.
"Answer when you're spoken to, Paula," he said.
"I'm ready," I said, feeling tears starting to well in my eyes.
"That's better," he said, releasing me and then kissing me.
