"You might just have to do it." Margaret took hold of my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I could feel the pity and compassion in her gaze.
"Yeah. I guess so." I replied. "I'm just really nervous." As was a common feeling for me, my stomach was twisting and knotting, shooting a pain through my abdomen like terrible hunger. I fought to keep my face from scrunching up in a show of internal agony.
Two hours ago, I had taken Margaret out for ice cream. That was my idea, but she had dropped plenty of hints that she wanted to get out. My debit card was rejected at the counter. The manager was very kind about the whole thing, telling us not to worry about it. We got to keep the ice cream, which was nice.
Once home, I was determined to call my bank and figure it out. Thus we arrived at my problem.
"I'm sorry," Margaret's eyes softened, "I didn't mean to imply anything negative."
"I know, I just... I don't like talking to people on the phone." The wind picked up, ruffling the edges of the picnic blanket.
She looked to the side for a second. Margaret's brow wrinkled as she stared into the distance, as if working an unsolvable puzzle. She looked back at me.
"You talked to your sister on the phone, sir." Margaret spoke slowly, like she was comforting a toddler, "That didn't bother you, remember?"
I rubbed my hands over my face, speaking through my fingers.
"Yeah, but Bella's family. It's like, other people, you know, strangers. It just freaks me out."
She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself. I noticed, and I curiously pushed her to speak.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I was going to ask why, sir," She said.
Truthfully, I didn't have a reason why. I always felt like a bundle of nerves speaking to anyone on the phone. It made my stomach hurt. It made me want to run away and hide.
"I'm a big baby I guess. I don't know." We both sat in silence for a while. Seconds ticked by. I laid back, resting my head on the blanket with a soft thump. More seconds passed.
"I could talk to them for you." Margaret suggested.
"You could?" I whipped my head up.
"Well, yes. But you'd have to authorize me to speak on your behalf. Which would require..." She stopped.
"Yeah, I get it. I'm gonna have to talk to somebody, no matter what. I don't think I can do it."
She rolled her eyes.
My heart skipped two beats, and I think hers did too. Her face froze in terror.
I thought about my father. If one of his slaves had rolled their eyes at him, the slave would have earned a brutal beating. I knew it would be best for both of us if I pretended not to notice.
"I guess I'll just have to do it." I said. She audibly released a breath, trembling a little. Margaret knew the gravity of her mistake. And though I'm not nearly as cruel as my father, she didn't fully trust me yet. "Any advice?" I asked. She was thoughtful for a moment, running her fingers through the grass.
"Try to relax first. Do something you like, make the call after." She suggested.
I looked at her. My slave lay on her stomach, chin resting on her hands. Her feet kicked idly as she watched me, her beautiful freckled cheeks scrunched up against the bright sun.
"I know what I want right now." I said. Margaret squinted at me.
"Anything I can do to help?" She asked. My heart began to pound in my chest. My head felt light. I was nervous, but overcome by another feeling. I desired her, but not just sexually. She was mine. I wanted to own her.
"What if it's not something good?" I asked. She thought for a second, resting her legs.
"I don't think you'd want anything bad."
"You've known me for a week." I pointed out.
"Yes sir. But you've been... sweet." She breathed a deep sigh and smiled. "I'll trust you." I watched her a moment longer, making eye contact. My desire for her was quickly overpowering my shyness.
"Okay. Don't move." I crawled across the picnic blanket to her, watching her body closely. In the shorts and T-shirt, she was totally relaxed and inviting.
"Stop me if it gets scary." I threw one leg over her, straddling her butt. She didn't move, and I lowered myself onto her, holding my own weight for the most part, but still resting some of my weight on her, lightly pinning her to the picnic blanket.
"Is this okay?" I asked her. Margaret turned her head to the side, trying to look back at me.
"Yes sire." She replied. I dropped my mouth down to the back of her neck.
"You haven't called me sire in a while." I whispered. She shivered, and I could see goosebumps along her neck and shoulders. I could feel her entire body beneath me, so small, so powerless. I felt intoxicated with my urge to dominate her. She was mine. A strange urge arose in me and I didn't even try to resist. Gently, I nipped the back of her neck with my teeth.
Margaret groaned loudly.
"Nnnnngh, yes daddy." She said, lifting her hips and pressing her butt against my crotch. I flinched involuntarily.
"Uh, okay, I did it." Fumbling, I awkwardly climbed off of her and sat to the side. "I, um, thanks, Margaret. I guess I should make that phone call now." She looked flustered, but her eyebrows wrinkled with worry.
"I'm sorry sir. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin it. You don't have to stop."
"You didn't, you, you were great. I, uh, I'm, I'm just. You know, it was cool." My heart was racing. I was almost panicking. I was so nervous. My social anxiety was peaking. All of my strange desires fled my body, replaced by intense anxiety.
"Thank you Margaret. You performed as desired. I'm ready to make my call now." I hastily began to fold up the picnic blanket. With a sad look in her eyes, Margaret said nothing as we packed the picnic away.
-
My phone sat face up on the wood of the large kitchen table. Many guests could be seated for a meal in the sixteen empty seats. Instead, my slave and I occupied one corner. Margaret looked around the room, bored. I stared at the phone like it was a high-dive into ice cold water. For minutes, she waited for me to act. Finally, I reached the end of Margaret's discipline, and she cracked.
"Are you going to do this or not?" She asked, the mildest tinge of irritation in her voice. I could tell I was being ridiculous, because I'd never seen the slightest hint of exasperation from her before. Palms sweating and heart racing, I picked up the phone. I held it in my hand, staring.
Margaret leaned forward in her chair, eyes wide in disbelief.
Palms sweating and heart racing, I mashed the number for my bank, and waited.
"Thank you for calling CNC Bank, How may I help you?" A male voice answered.
"Hi. I hope you're doing good. Well. Doing well. I'm good. I hope you're good too."
"... Yes sir, what can I help you with?"
