I think you get the idea where Nikki was headed. Over the next month, I met with her several times to discuss the questionnaire and work out my expectations and motivations. She reinforced what I had already known in the back of my mind, which was that much of a slave's life was undesirable and uncomfortable without offering much sexual release. With my permission, Nikki eventually told Rich what he already knew, that I was serious about my aspirations, that I had a fairly realistic understanding of what it meant to be a slave, and that only the complete experience would satisfy me. She agreed to interview both of us periodically, beginning in late December just before my surrender date.
I'll spare you most of the ins and outs of my legal exploration. I was a little surprised when my new lawyer told me just what it meant to surrender my rights and self-indenture: Not only could almost anyone use me sexually, but I had no Constitutional rights of any kind. Because a slave was not a legal person, he or she was expected to serve anyone that the owner permitted, even if this service involved acts that, in a free person, would be considered adultery or incest. Nor did the owner or other free persons have to respect the slave's sexual preferences, such as heterosexual or homosexual, let alone different forms of intercourse. If I tried to escape my bondage, my one year of indenture would probably be extended by five additional years, including being branded as a "circle star" criminal slave and assigned to service undesirable groups such as the contract guards on chain gangs. The other surprise, which I learned from both the lawyer and Nikki, was the bind I was putting my husband into. As an attorney and officer of the court, he could not ignore disobedience or escape attempts, even by his once-and-future wife who had made herself into his personal slave. He HAD to punish and report such crimes. The emotional aspect of disciplining me and seeing me unhappy would be almost equally daunting for him.
Nikki told me of a case where some unnamed guy had self-indentured himself for a year to his girlfriend, knowing that she would discipline and feminize him because she wanted him to develop a caring, servant mentality. This owner had consulted Nikki because they both hated the experience of her disciplining him and forcing him to do demeaning things--eventually, she even rented him out as a chained cocksucker in a glory hole. Still, because the slave boyfriend loved her and she began rewarding him, they grew closer together. The boyfriend really did develop an attitude in which he enjoyed helping others such as small children and female co-workers, although at the time that enjoyment was apparent only if you carefully studied his actions. This bizarre situation worked, but some observers who saw only the externals of their relationship thought the girlfriend/owner was a psycho bitch who deserved retribution rather than forgiveness. That slave had sufficient love and forgiveness to understand her conflicted actions as his owner. After his indenture, they married.
I could see I needed to have long talks with Rich. I wasn't worried for myself, but I had to give him permission to discipline me and leave me miserable even if I hated it at the time. After all, if my fantasy really was to give up all control over my life, complaining about what others did to me was the worst kind of topping from below.
In the meantime, though, Rich had also insisted that I explain myself to all my friends, so that they were prepared when they encountered me as a slave. My naturally tendency was to delay such a revelation until December, just before I planned to indenture myself. (By the way, when I DID reveal myself, it was a great turn-on; I kept my clothes on and didn't commit any sex acts, but damn was it both humiliating and thrilling to abase myself in front of my friends.) As a trial run, however, I decided to talk to Shirley Holmes, the one other woman I knew who, besides Nikki, was both an acquaintance and a fellow participant at the BDSM Club in Fort Worth. That's where we had first met her, only to learn eventually that she lived a few miles away from us in the suburbs of Houston. This proximity led to periodic socializing as friends and occasional playmates. I was therefore not surprised when Rich, trying to deter me from making my dream a reality, had threatened to lend me to her as a slave. Shirley, who resembled the famous British actress Diana Rigg in her prime, was much tougher than my loving, "switch" husband; she was a no-nonsense, 100 percent domme, verging on Bitch Goddess, and my bottom was already stinging in anticipation.
Almost everyone referred to Shirley Holmes as "Mistress Shirley." A tall, self-confident brunette, she was always the acknowledged leader of any social group and the lead domme in any scene at the club. I know it will sound catty, but people other than Rich had told me that her hair, face, and figure were not quite as good as mine. Despite this, her confident demeanor was so attractive that people stared at her rather than me. Although she only wore a bustier or similar fetish wear while engaged in a BDSM scene, even her ordinary clothing drew attention to her cleavage, rump, and legs. Shirley was a plastic surgeon with an excellent reputation, while her husband George was a regional manager for a major auto parts distributor. She was in her late thirties but he was about a decade older; they had no children.
At the beginning of October, I called Shirley to ask if I could meet with her to talk. Once she realized that my request was personal rather than professional, she invited me to her house on a Friday afternoon when she was taking time off from work. (Based on what happened that day, I suspect that Richard had given her advance warning.) When I met her, I haltingly described my intentions, after which she thought for a moment and then observed:
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised--no offense, but you've always been the perfect little submissive in our scenes. Have you tried being Richard's full-time submissive?"
I told her of our recent ten-day experiment, when my husband had treated me as a full-time slave without letting anyone else know.
"Well," she replied condescendingly, "everyone has their own kink. And you're by no means the only submissive who wants to 'graduate' to slavery." She obviously expected me to ask about that statement, so I did.
Shirley's face assumed the predatory smile that I had often observed when she was acting as a domme. "OK--do you remember the costumes that George and I wore to the club Halloween Party last year?"
I searched my mind, then remembered. "Wait, you were in full regalia as a leather mistress with a whip, and I think George wasn't wearing much at all--just a heavy slave collar, cuffs, and leather jock strap, right?"
"Exactly, only for him it wasn't really a costume. Because you're such a dedicated submissive yourself, I doubt you'll be surprised when I tell you that George and I play those roles most of the time when we're together. Oh, when we go out socially we appear 'normal' [she hooked her fingers to imply quotation marks], although even then I sometimes make him wear a chastity cage or butt plug to remind him of his place. And once in a great while--like on his birthday--we reverse roles and George tops ME for a change, mainly to show me what he wished I would do unto him. But, most of the time he's a true submissive. Not only does he love bottoming to me, but he has admitted that he would like to have a man quote force unquote him sexually--believe me, he has no homosexual urges, just thinks that it might please ME to see him forcibly sodomized. Anyway, I heard his car drive into the garage just now, so if you wait another few minutes I'm sure he'd be VERY interested in your plans."
"While we're waiting," I replied, "You mentioned reversing roles. I'm certain you know that Richard is really a switch--I recall several times at the club when you did a great job of dominating him while George and I watched."
A smile flitting across her face. "To quote Maurice Chevalier, 'Ah yes, I remember it well!' Ordering him (excuse me, HER) to cross-dress so that I could tie her down, spank and peg her was fantastic. In my experience, there are a lot of guys for whom cross-dressing is not about gender but rather about surrendering power, assuming the stereotypical role of a dominated, penetrated woman. Your husband has the makings of a superb submissive, although I don't know him well enough to say whether he would enjoy worshipping another male."
"Well, on Rich's birthday I usually top him, and sometimes I even peg my favorite transvestite. But I only do it to please him--I've no real interest in dominating anyone, although he seems to enjoy taking charge of ME. So I don't do a very convincing job of indulging his kink. In fact, that's one thing I'd like your help on. Once I become his slave, it would be inappropriate for me to top him. Topping him might even be considered attacking my Master, which is a felony for a slave. Could you offer to dominate him a few times so that MY submissive desires don't completely deprive him of HIS enjoyment?"
Shirley suddenly became even more enthusiastic. "Now, that sounds like a great opportunity for me to play with 'Rikki'-- I'll have to talk to 'HER' [again the quotation marks gesture] about this. Of course, Rikki's slave shouldn't get to witness me topping a slave owner, so you would have to be restrained while we made love properly. I have this marvelous image of you hearing but not seeing the domination, because your husband has left you gagged and blindfolded in a cage while we play." Just those few words made me damp, and her tone of voice said she was excited as well! Her voice changed again as we heard a door open, "But here's George."
Her husband must have seen my car out front, but he barely hesitated when he entered the room, having obviously changed in the garage. I had seen George submit to her at the club, so I was not really surprised when he entered the room wearing only a pair of thigh-high nylons, a heavy leather collar, and a metallic chastity cage. For a man in his late '40s, George was in remarkably good physical condition without any visible fat on his body. He promptly walked to a point about two feet in front of her and fell to his knees, awaiting instructions with his open hands lying face up on his widespread thighs.
