I have two lives. One is perfectly normal. I am a fifty-year-old teacher, with a loving husband and three daughters in University. I was the model trophy wife, natural redhead, the first Cosplay I could actually do without feeling ridiculous was Jessica Rabbit, because my curves belong in the 1940's not the post Twiggy age of the stick figures. I was that conservative somewhat frumpy super organizer and volunteer for everything that makes so many suburban stereotypes, but also makes so much of what our kids have actually happen.
Then there was the other life. The one that was supposed to remain a fantasy. My sex drive has accelerated since my twenties and has reached a fever pitch right about the time my husbands seemed to die of natural causes. I sought to suppress it. That didn't go well. I sought to channel it, mostly through reading fantasy, then writing it.
But someone read it. My Lady read what I wrote and saw through it into me. She reached out to me almost casually and in my desperate hunger I delivered myself utterly and without defense into her ownership. She didn't seek to collar me, but when I collared myself and followed leash in my teeth behind her all the way home she didn't quite throw me out.
She warned me that eventually she would take everything from me. My career, my family, my pride. She didn't have much use for most of them, or me, except when the mood struck her. Then her attention would light my soul and body on fire, and I would do anything, pay anything, risk anything for just one more moment as her plaything.
It had come upon me by accident, and by accident perhaps it will all come undone. I had two worlds, but today they clashed.
I received a message from My Lady on my phone.
"I was in an accident on the motorway. I was at fault. I cannot afford an insurance claim right now. The party I struck is willing to let it go. If you will help me."
My Lady was in an accident, fear rose up in me and the storm in my blood demanded action. My Lady NEEDS me. Now the hormones not calling for battle were storming for love. I needed her, she never needed me. I needed her more than oxygen, and she looked at me like a dessert she was never sure if she should indulge in, but thought she might enjoy.
I almost punched through the phone screen in my urgency to type back my response.
"Anything My Lady, I will do anything to make it better for you! Please, I beg you, what may I do to help?" I was terrified she would decide it was too much of an imposition and deal with it herself. I had a chance, a chance to prove my devotion, and better, my utility. I could be the one she needed, and perhaps make me the one she turned to first, not just eventually when she got bored with her normal play.
Why didn't I ask? Why didn't it once occur to me to ask why someone she just met through a motorway accident should be willing to waive thousands of pounds of damage to her vehicle just in return for something from me. Who was I to them? Some random school teacher in the suburbs?
My desires to protect My Lady, to serve My Lady, to be used by and to please My Lady had pretty much stopped my mind from doing anything beyond fantasizing about her being pleased with me. Perhaps pleased enough with me to touch my hair, my cheek, my body. Perhaps even pleased enough with me to let me kiss the lips I had never once been permitted to kiss.
This was, of course, a dangerous mistake. My Lady warned me to protect my career, my family, my status and my pride until she chose to strip them from me. She told me she would do it, I basked in her protection, yet waited with pathetic eagerness for her protection to end and her threats to be real.
Then the text came.
"Go to the library. The girl I struck will await you there. She is most unhappy and looking for someone to take it out on. I suggest you do whatever it takes to satisfy her, as I really cannot afford a damage claim at this time. If she is not pleased, and puts in a damage claim, we are done pet."
That threat. When she said "girl" not woman or man it should have set off alarm bells. When she said waiting for me at the Library, not the office, it should have set off other alarm bells. Only students and staff were allowed in the halls and to the library, so a stranger should have had to wait at the office. The threat, that she would be done with me if I failed shut off my brain.
I took my purse and pulled my cord from it. The green cord that bound my left wrist in token for the collar I had not earned yet and would only be permitted to wear with her. I took the pencil she had given me, the one I was to write my daily devotions with, more for spiritual support than any rational reason, and I hurried down the hall. I unbuttoned two buttons on my blouse, my standing instruction from My Lady when I was on her business.
I was blushing, and my silk blouse was betraying me as my nipples strained the smooth fabric as they fought against the rough fabric of my stupidly expensive bra. Walking fast with 48G breasts even on flats is not something you can do when sexually aroused without every eye noting and tracking the movement of the nipples waving energetically through the silk of the blouse.
All the boys, some of the girls and all of the staff tracked me as conversations either trailed off or veered directly into the gutter as I bounced past. There was a reason I never walked fast in the halls, this is what I took great pains to avoid, but urgency drove me past the spinal reflex to conceal.
I got to the library in a daze and was shocked back to reality with a familiar and frightening laughter.
Saanvi. Saanvi was a lanky Hindi final form girl. She was one of those frustrating students that I will never enjoy. She was frighteningly intelligent, but lazy. She did amazing work, but just enough to get an A and not a single comma more. She lived for group assignments where she would rule like a tyrant and let everyone else do the work for her, yet the groups she led generally did very well. Her parents were rich and she was far too grounded in the reality of how advancement worked to pretend that her grades would decide her future, or that those that worked twice as hard as her had any chance at all of rising higher than her employee.
Saanvi and I had clashed both times I had her in my class because I would not permit her to treat class as her chance to hold social court, and routinely broke up her cliques using enough extra assignments as encouragement to convince her hangers on that attending to her rather than their studies in my class was a good way to lose all their free time to extra work.
On some level, she came to respect the fact I could not be sweet talked, back talked, bribed or threatened because I really didn't want anything more in life than the job I already had. An armed truce of a sort existed.
"Oh my freaking god, that slag was telling the truth. Tell me you are here to pay off (she used My Lady's name, but honestly, I can't even write it without permission)!"
I was in front of her in an instant, my body forgetting for a second I was a teacher standing before a student, and dropping thirty years to the past when I was a soldier and my responses were governed by rules of engagement not the Pastoral Program anti-bullying initiatives.
I had one hand wrapped around her school tie and the second on her throat as I whispered directly into those wide, oh so expressive eyes.
"You will not refer to My Lady as a slag again, unless you want that pretty little ass of yours kicked well and thoroughly!" I hissed, rage at her casual insult towards My Lady had again overcome my brain.
