by Diana Hunter
Phillip rested his hands on the edge of the sink as he fought for breath. Only once he was soft did he pull out of her. Sarah still leaned heavily into the sink, her chest heaving against the cold stainless steel. His juice leaked out of her ass and dribbled down her crack to pool with her own.
Regaining his composure, he stood and helped her to do so. Neither were steady on their feet and they stood for several moments, wrapped in each other’s arms, enjoying the close embrace as their hearts slowed. Phillip kissed the top of her head and brushed the hair from her eyes. She looked up at him with such trust and innocence she stirred deep feelings of protection in him. For a moment, he worried about her—she so obviously needed what he had to give her, what would happen if another Master walked into her life—one who might not have her best interests in mind, but only be interested in his own pleasure?
Gently he bent and kissed her soft lips, wanting to give her safety—and he wanted to give it to her for a long time. He took her hand.
“Come with me, I want to show you something.” His voice was still husky with desire. Going to the living room, he pointed to the floor by the couch where he wanted her to kneel. Once she had done so did he go into the bedroom, returning after a moment with a long, thin box. He sat down on the couch next to where she knelt and opened it.
Inside was a long strip of leather, about an inch and a half wide. There was a metal buckle at one end and a D-ring in the center. A small lock was nestled at one end of the box. “Do you know what this is?” he asked her.
She shook her head no—but the sight of it gave her goose bumps.
“It’s a collar,” he explained. “People who demonstrate they can be good slaves to their Masters are given a collar to wear that shows their status. Should another Master walk in here right now, he would see you collarless and assume you were available. A collared slave belongs to the Master who collared her. Does this make sense?”
She nodded. “Yes, Master. It does. A collar is like a ring to the outside world—a symbol that shows ownership.”
His cheeks dimpled as he smiled. “Yes.” He paused then caught her eye, his demeanor letting her know how serious this was. “Someday I will ask you to wear my collar, Sarah. I want you to be my slave.” He closed the box. “But not yet. You are not ready for such a commitment. However, you need to understand my intentions. When I deem you ready, I intend to collar you.”
Her breath quickened. She understood the seriousness of his intent. And he was right, she was not yet ready for such a commitment. She barely knew what she wanted, this was all so new.
He put the box on the table. “I only want you to know what it is, so you will understand as you read this week.”
Her brow furrowed. “Am I going to be doing some reading this week?”
He laughed as he stood. “Yes, slave, you are. Come with me.”
He led the way over to the corner of the room, where his computer was. “If you give me your email address, I will send you some sites I want you to study this week.”
She gave it to him, sort of surprised that they hadn’t exchanged emails earlier. She watched as he typed it in and sent her a list of websites.
Done, he turned to her. “You are not to stray from these sites. Each one has links to other pages, but I do not want you to go there yet. Are you willing to do this for me this week?”
It was the first time he had directly requested anything from her during time they weren’t together. But looking at websites wasn’t a big issue—she spent more time than she’d admit surfing the web. Having that surfing guided by his choices for her was actually erotic. She nodded. “Yes, Sir. I will learn what you wish me to learn this week.”
He led her back to the couch where they reclined, she spooned against him, wrapped in his arms; he softly caressing her, enjoying the feel of her skin next to his.
For a while they just lay together, basking in each other’s presence. But soon, the pillow talk began, even if they were still only on the couch. They discussed the day’s events and the happenings in the world, talking their way to bedtime. When both were yawning more often than not, he stood up and took her by the hand, leading her to the bedroom.
“Come, slave—you must leave early in the morning if you are to make it to work on time.”
The thought crossed her mind that she did not know what he did for a living. He had already been here when she arrived on Friday—and it sounded as if he’d be here when she left tomorrow morning. If she weren’t so tired, she might ask him about it. But a yawn interrupted her thoughts and she snuggled under the covers and into his arms.
* * * * *
Morning came too soon. The radio woke them both. “Stay, slave and take a few more minutes.” She didn’t need to be told twice. Dimly she was aware that he got up and went into the bathroom. When the alarm went off again ten minutes later, she had to roll over to hit the snooze button. As she rolled back, intending to ignore the morning for a little longer, he reentered the bedroom.
“Oh, no, you don’t, slave. Up you go!” With a graceful flourish, he pulled the covers off the bed. Even as she protested, he was there with the key to unlock her cuffs. “Go—take your shower and breakfast will be ready by the time you get out.”
As it did every work morning, the shock of the water hitting her face brought her to full consciousness. Quickly she showered and dressed, feeling odd in her work clothes. She was so used to her nudity while in the house that to walk around in it fully dressed seemed almost wrong. The thought made her wet and she knew she’d better get a hold of herself; she had to make it through the day on the one pair of panties she’d brought.
Tea and toast was ready for her when she went to find him. “Oh, thank you, Master. And I’m glad you didn’t make a big breakfast. On weekdays, I generally don’t eat till mid-morning.”
He laughed. “I suspected as much. The professional woman on the go. You look wonderful.” She turned around for him, modeling her slacks, turtleneck and sweater.
“It’s kind of you to say, so, Master—but Versace would think otherwise, I’m sure.”
Ten minutes later she was ready to leave; he held her bag in his hand and stood at the door, watching her slip on her sensible shoes. After a weekend spent barefoot most of the time, the constriction on her feet felt awkward. He walked her to her car, put her bag in the back seat and turned to her.
And now she hesitated. Somehow a “thanks for a great weekend” seemed inane. But how did one say goodbye without sounding maudlin? He stepped forward as she reached for the door handle, his hand on hers, turning her around to face him. His eyes smoldered and she did not want to look away. Bending down, he kissed her deeply, his tongue reaching in through her parted lips to caress her. She opened to him, work totally forgotten.
And then he pulled away. Abruptly, in the middle of the kiss. “There, slave,” he said, “that’s for you to remember me by while you’re away.” With an insouciant smile, he swatted her on the behind. “Now, go to work.”
Her heart pounding, she slid into her seat and he shut the door. Numbly, she started the car, automatically putting it into gear and driving out of the driveway. She was over half way to work before she began to set aside her thoughts of him and think about her week ahead.
Sarah’s journal
The week between
Monday
In the history of passionate kisses, that one has to go down as being in the top five. No, the top three. And the number one kiss of my life.
Does he know what that does to me? To have his tongue possess me in such a way? His hands on my waist, holding firmly onto me so that I have nowhere to go? He must know. He manipulates me too well for it to be an accident.
I know I don’t often write in this journal; I see the last entry was several months ago—and concerned a major point in my life that now seems minor. But I suppose that’s the way with me. I only write here when things are getting intense in life and I need a moment to stop and think about them
and I do that better with a pen in my hand.
And things are definitely getting intense between Phillip and me. He is incredible. For two weeks I’ve been trying to determine just what it is that turns me on so much about him—and I think I’m getting closer to an answer.
He asked me to look at some websites this week—and to keep an open mind. I sat down Monday night when I got home, to just take a quick glance at a few of them while dinner was on the stove. To make a long story short, I burned dinner and only explored one site most of the night. And it wasn’t even a particularly exotic or exciting site!
It was a medical site apparently written by women for women that went into great detail about women’s genitalia and every possible thing that could be associated with it. There was so much information there that I never learned in health class! I’ve seen some of the porno pictures of naked women before, and always thought, “Well, I don’t look like that.” But I’d never really looked at myself before. I knew I had a clit—but had little knowledge about it. After seeing those pictures on that site and then examining myself in a mirror, well, let’s just say I can’t believe I’ve missed out on so much.
One of the places I spent a lot of time was in the “fantasies” section of that site. It really explained a little better to me why I like it when Phillip ties me up and calls me ‘slave.’ Even writing those words causes a flutter in my stomach. There’s a part of me that still doesn’t believe I voluntarily did what I did on both of these last two weekends. And even while that part of me watches in disbelief, my mind readily accepts the fact that I will go back again this Friday for more of the same treatment.
At least I know now that I’m not alone—or abnormal in my submissiveness. It sounds like many women would like to experience what I have experienced with Phillip. That gives me a great deal of comfort, believe me.
Tuesday
One of the girls at work mentioned today that a bunch of them were going to the movies on Friday night—did I want to come along? I told her I had plans and she asked if I had a date. I told her yes and then changed the subject. But it got me to thinking. If I spend every weekend with Phillip, what does that do to the rest of my social life? Not that I have a very busy one—but I do have some close friends. I don’t want to give them up—but I want to be with him as well. It is something we will need to discuss, and soon.
Tonight I went to the next site on his list and found the definitions of some words that have lately become a very important part of my vocabulary. The site was more from the point of view of someone who is an online submissive or dominant, but was helpful nonetheless. I definitely know now I am not alone in this need/desire to please.
That need has been haunting me, I must say. How could I, who have striven for independence all my life, just suddenly toss it aside and say “Yes, I’ll be your slave”? It just hasn’t made sense to me. Phillip’s words about something missing were dead on—but I’m still struggling with the need to command in the workplace vs. the need to submit to him.
And at first, I was submitting only for the sex. Which was terrific. Incredible and terrific. Out of this world and terrific. Did I mention that sex with Phillip is terrific?
But after this past weekend, when he asked me to submit in other ways, the eating after him and from his plate, wearing clothes out in public that he chose for me…made me realize I want to submit to him in many more ways. There’s a comfort in making no decisions, in having only one job to do: to please him in any way he wishes. But there’s also a danger that I’ll lose myself. The independent me that I like so much. Is there a way to have both?
I suppose I do at the moment—have both, that is. During the week, I’m a normal, well-adjusted, independent working career woman. And on the weekends I’m a sex slave.
Okay, I’m back. Can’t believe I actually wrote that last paragraph. Laughed so hard I had to go to the bathroom. The fact that it’s the truth just heightens the absurdity.
Wednesday
Another day, another website. I keep checking my email to see if Phillip might actually send me a note, but there has been nothing so far. And while I know I could just email him by using that ‘reply’ button, I think I’d better not. If he wants correspondence, he’ll start it. He’s the master after all.
Holy cow! I found it! On the next website on his list, I found this quote by a slave that keeps a log: “What I really, really want is to fly out of myself and visit that place where time doesn’t exist and the spirit can roam among the stars. Being literally tied to the earth, holds my body so my soul can soar.”
That’s it! I have always wanted to get to that place, and, until I met Phillip, have never achieved it. And yet, with him, I’ve been there twice over the past two weekends.
I really like this page. There are lots of other pages to the site, including a page of links. But Phillip asked me to stay only on the sites themselves and not to stray off them. I have no trouble with that—there’s so much information here on these three sites alone that I know I haven’t yet discovered it all.
I also liked this quote that was from her master. “I want control of a woman’s body the same way a conductor wants control over an orchestra. Her body is my instrument, the whip my baton. Just as an orchestra cannot make music without the conductor, just so a slave cannot make glorious music without her master.” That really explains to me why Phillip likes to do what HE does. And that is an important part of this exploration for me. Not only do I need to know what’s in it for me, but I need to know what’s in it for him.
One of the things that first caught my attention regarding Phillip was the latent power I felt emanating from him. It’s soft, gentle, always present, yet I got the feeling the waters ran deep. And that first night, when he asked for permission to tie me up—I looked into his eyes and saw the absence of a power trip. Now I understand why. He doesn’t do this to lord it over me, but to release the emotions in me that I’ve hidden for so long. He does it to release the “glorious music” in me. Wow.
But I’m still curious about the collar…
Thursday
Two sites tonight—the last two he listed. The first one I really liked and I did in fact, print out the list to take to him—since I suspect that’s why he included it. It’s a checklist of activities. Some of the things on there, well, let’s just say never in my wildest dreams did I ever even imagine them! Others look intriguing, some we’ve already done. It should provoke some discussion.
Especially ‘cause of the last site.
This last place was a story archive. Apparently lots of people have fantasies about Dominance and submission and write stories about either their adventures or their dreams. The story Phillip had me read involves a slave who needs even to ask permission to go to the bathroom, and when she finally gets the courage to ask, is punished for her “sin” because her master had told her he wasn’t going to let her go until the morning. That’s going WAY too far. I mean, come on…give the woman a bit of credit for having a brain! Sorry, if that’s what Phillip has in mind, I’m so done with it.
Tomorrow is Friday and we shall meet again. I cannot wait—in spite of the one story and my other concern (about my friends)—the thought of seeing him soon already has my heart pounding. Truth to tell, I’m falling in love.
Addendum, late Thursday night: I can’t believe I forgot to mention—besides the websites, Phillip asked me to shave for him. All of me. I’ve been thinking about it all week and had decided to wait till tonight so it would be “freshly” done for tomorrow night. Good thing, though, that I did that right after work and before I read that story—not sure I want to follow orders after reading that!
But it feels weird. I just put on my nightgown and it’s so smooth down there. Silky, but in a different way from when my mound was covered. I am very aware of my sex at the moment. Don’t know HOW I’m going to make it through the day tomorrow!
Addendum, Friday morning: BLAST! Got my period in the night. Will still go to Phi
llip’s, but will probably be home tonight. Will take enough supplies to last the weekend though, just in case.
Chapter Six
Bindings
Pulling into his driveway Friday evening, Sarah threw the gear into park and turned off the engine with a vengeance. It had been a lousy day. She leaned back against the seat, taking several deep breaths, trying to put it all behind her. Finally, she just unbuckled and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her in an attempt to trap her troubles in the car. The last thing she wanted was to let work interfere with her planned weekend.
Grabbing her bag from the trunk of the car, she stalked up the path, stopping half way to get a hold of herself. “No,” she told herself. “You are to leave it in the car. So scoot—all you problems and stresses of the day—go away!” With an effort of will, she straightened her shoulders, squared her chin and forced a smile to her face. Advancing to the door like an actor in a bad play, she didn’t notice that he was already waiting on the porch.
“Are you all right?” Concern was etched in his face.
“Yes, of course,” she replied, fake smile in place and determined to put the day out of her mind. “Just fine!”
“Then come on in.” He reached for her bag and stepped aside, letting her enter the house first. But his eyes showed he was not convinced everything was “just fine.”
She paused in the hall, waiting for him to tell her where they were going next. Last week she’d done a playful little striptease for him—did he want that again? She doubted it would turn her on in her present mood, but it would be easy to keep that smile plastered on and tease him.
Except, he simply set her bag down in the hall and took her hand, leading her to the couch. Sitting down, he patted the cushion next to him and she sat, folding one leg under her and facing him.
“Did you have a good week?” he asked her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
