The moment I step into Master's house, I begin taking off my clothes. I start with my blouse, unbuttoning it carefully before slipping it off and folding it neatly, then setting it on the floor next to the door. A good girl is always naked for Master, and I know that I want to be a good girl. After a few moments, my slacks join it, then my bra and panties. I put my sandals next to them-I don't always dress this formally for Master, especially not when he never sees me wearing anything, but I was getting ready for an evening out when I got His text. I've postponed my plans; it will cost me a little money to change my reservations on such short notice, but I am a good girl and a good girl is always available for her Master.
I finish stripping and check my work. The pile of clothes is neat, orderly and precise, just the way He wants it, but I still take a moment to make sure. I am making myself ready for Master, and folding my clothes neatly is a sign of respect for Him.
I take the collar out of my purse and snap it into place around my neck with fumbling fingers. My hands shake as I fit the strap through the buckle. I'm always nervous when I come to visit Master-I'm not afraid of Him, but I'm always afraid of disappointing Him. I want so much to earn his praise that I can't even describe it. I live and die on a word, a glance, a single caress that touches me deeper than a thousand lovers. I know it sounds needy, even desperate when I put it into words, but that's only because words can't really capture the way it feels to be His. To belong to him.
I put the collar on and stop in front of the mirror, making sure I look perfect for Him. I'm always nervous, but this time even more so. This time, there is a second pile of clothes sitting next to mine.
I know that Master has other girls. He's never made a secret of it. But this is the first time He's ever summoned me when one of them was still here. I remember-I think I remember discussing this with Him when I first agreed to let Him hypnotize me and dominate me. I know I told Him I was straight, and I'm almost certain I told Him that I couldn't see myself in a threesome. But did I tell him I wouldn't do it? I don't remember anymore.
I stop at the door to His bedroom and kneel. Then I knock once and wait for permission to enter. I don't know exactly how long He keeps me waiting; the rituals of removing my clothes and putting on my collar always send me a little bit into trance before I even enter the bedroom. He doesn't need to hypnotize me anymore; I'm so well-trained that my mind goes soft and smooth just from being His. When I'm like that, it's very easy to lose track of time and stare blankly at the door until He calls for me.
It feels different this time, though. Normally, the relaxation settles over me like a soft blanket while I wait, leaving me almost perfectly content by the time He allows me to enter his bedroom. The rest of the world falls away and all I am is His within these walls. But this time, I can feel the core of uneasiness wriggling under the blanket. I'm worried, deep down in a place that the trance isn't touching. I'm frightened that I won't be able to do what He wants me to do.
I try to tell myself that it's okay if I can't be His perfect girl. I try to remind myself that He doesn't really own me, that this is all just an illusion that we agreed on and that I can withdraw consent any time I want, for sex or hypnosis or anything. But I know that I'm lying to myself. I know that something deep inside me needs a Master, needs that sense of total fulfillment that only comes from hearing praise from the voice of authority. Master may have brought out that vulnerability in me, but He didn't create it. Something in me has always wanted to be a good girl.
I hear His voice say, "Enter", and my reverie is broken. I open the door and allow it to swing wide so that Master can see me on my knees for Him. I see His smile, and I shiver deep inside with the knowledge that I've made Him happy. I see the woman on the bed next to Him, and my breath hitches slightly in anxiety.
She, too, is kneeling, her legs spread wide to display her shaved pussy. Her eyes are closed and her face is slack; she's clearly already in a deep trance for Him. Her hair is shorter than mine, barely shoulder-length, and it's darker than my mouse-brown locks. She's tiny, barely five feet tall and willowy, with narrow hips and almost no breasts to speak of. I immediately feel big and ungainly next to her.
