THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL, IT CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SEX AND
BONDAGE. IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE OR OFFENDED BY SUCH STORIES PLEASE STOP
READING NOW. THIS STORY IS COPYRIGHT BUT MAY BE DISTRIBUTED FREELY FOR
PERSONAL AND NON-COMMERCIAL USE.

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My Submission

- JYM gj@sprynet.com


Like many others, my first exposure to B/d came when
mainstream novels with B/d themes hit the bookstores. Books like
"Bondage" by Patti Davis and "Topping From Below" by Laura Reese
and, of course, the books that Anne Rice wrote under various pen
names. I read them and enjoyed them for the most part, but my
husband had no interest and made it clear that no wife of his
would get involved with anything so common - that was the word
he used. Common.

That conversation was the beginning of the end. Our
marriage had been shaky for a while and things didn't get any
better. Before too long I found myself single again at the age
of 29. Our marriage had lasted for six years, but fortunately
there were no children to be hurt by the divorce. Our parting
was civilized. We sold the house and split the proceeds. We each
kept our own car. He got the boat and the camping gear. I got
the furniture. He got the dog, I got the cat. And so it was over.

I moved into an apartment and life went on. I'm an
underwriter for a large insurance company - not very glamorous
but it pays well. I continued my reading about B/d, but didn't
seek to pursue any 'real' activities. Research has always been
my strong suit. <grin> I discovered the Internet after hearing
people at work talk about it. I got a computer and began avidly
exploring this new world. Alt.sex.bondage and alt.sex.stories
quickly became two of my favorite news groups.

Then, about six months ago, I met a man at Borders
Books. Before I tell you about the meeting, I should explain
that I'm really very average looking. I'm 5'6" and weigh about
120 pounds. I have a pretty good figure, thanks to regular
workouts and daily runs, but I'm average. You might see me and
never look twice. My hair and eyes are brown and my skin is
olive/tan. I have good legs and, as I said, a good figure
(34c-25-34). You have to look at me two or three times before
you realize that I'm almost pretty.

Anyway, I was at Borders, looking for anything new on
B/d, when I realized that someone was studying me. Not staring,
but studying. He'd glance at me for a few seconds and then go
back to the book he was browsing. Then another look a minute or
two later. He looked to be in his late thirties, possibly forty,
and he looked interesting. He wasn't too tall, maybe 5'9" or
5'10" but he seemed very fit. Black hair, cropped close to his
head, clean-shaven, neat. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
Black half-boots. A tooled leather belt. A black leather jacket.
He looked like an off-duty cop but I found out later that he
owns a small software company.

I found a couple of books and drifted to the front of
the store to pay for them. He stood up and followed along,
winding up behind me in line. As I paid for my books, he asked
me if I was free to have a cup of coffee with him. (Borders has
a coffee bar in every store). I hesitated, but he nodded at my
books and said, "We can discuss your purchases for a few minutes
and then I'll leave if you wish."

I considered his offer for a moment and nodded. "Okay.
It might be fun."

As we walked back to the coffee bar he told me his name
was Martin. "Ellen," I said, "Ellen Randall. Nice to meet you."
We stopped and shook hands.

As we sipped our coffee he took my books out of the bag
and read the titles. Both were fiction. "The Slave" by Sara
Adamson and "The Virgin" by Allison Tyler. He'd read both of
them and commented that they were fun reading, but not very
realistic. He put them back and we chatted for a few minutes. He
told me that he was, or had been heavily into the B/d scene
before his wife died.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "How long ago did
it happen?"

He thanked me and said that she had died two years
before of cancer. And he had kind of drifted away from the B/d
scene afterward. "It just wasn't the same."

I hesitated, then asked, "Was your wife into B/d?"

He smiled. "Yes, she was. At our wedding she was on her
knees, nude, collared, and cuffed. I led her out of the room on
a leash. She was a loving, willing slave."

We sipped our coffee in silence for a couple of minutes,
each lost in our own thoughts. Then he put his cup down and
cleared his throat. "I have a proposal for you." He paused and
glanced at me. I nodded and he continued. "You can stay here and
I'll leave. Or you can get up and go outside and wait for me.
And I'll enslave you."

I stared at him in silence for a long moment. Then I got
up and walked to the door without glancing back. When I got
outside I walked a few steps away from the door and stopped. He
came out a minute later and walked past me. "Follow me." I
followed him across the parking lot to a new Lexus ES300. He
told me to go and get my car and follow him back to his place. I
turned away to go to my car. "Stop!" I stopped and turned back
to see what he wanted. He beckoned and I walked back. "Whenever
I give you an order, you will answer 'Yes, master'. Do you
understand?"

I nodded. "Yes, master. I understand."

He smiled. "That's better. Now go and get your car."

"Yes, master." I turned and walked to my car. My pulse
was racing. I had met my master! What would happen to me now?
Was I worthy to be his slave? Did I want to be his slave? (The
answer to that was a resounding 'YES')

I followed him to his house which turned out to be a big
contemporary located on five acres of land on the side of a hill
in Farmington. His driveway was at least 200 yards long and
wound through a nicely landscaped yard. It was almost dark, but
I could see that the house was beautiful and the grounds
perfectly kept. And very private. He pulled into the garage and
I parked on the apron in front of one of the other garage doors.
(He has a three-car garage).

We went inside and he poured us each a glass of wine. We
sat on the back deck and talked for two hours, mostly about my
past. He asked many probing questions that would have embarassed
me under other circumstances. I answered each question fully and
truthfully. Finally, he was satisified that I was honest,
well-adjusted, and really interested in being a slave. We had
finished one bottle of wine. He made coffee and while it was
brewing he gave me a tour of the house. Then, over coffee, he
asked me if I wanted to be his slave. For a trial period of
three months. I hesitated for a moment. "Six months would be
better, don't you think?"

He nodded. "Six months it is. Any restrictions you want
to impose?"

I thought about that for a moment. "I don't want to die.
Or be maimed. Other than that, no restrictions that I can think
of right now."

He smiled. "Very well. I'll be back in a moment." He got
up and left the room. I sat and sipped my coffee and wondered if
I was being a fool. He returned in a few minutes and handed me a
single sheet of paper. It was a 'Slave Contract'. I read it and
found that he had put in the restrictions I'd mentioned, word
for word. I glanced up at him and he handed me a pen. I signed.
He signed. He left and returned a minute later with a photocopy
of the contract. I folded it and put it in my purse. He held out
his hand and said, "Give my your purse, I'll put it in the safe
until tomorrow. You'll stay her tonight. Tommorow you can leave
and take three days to arrange your affairs. You can keep your
job for now. But you will move in here by Friday. Put your
furniture in storage. I'll pay."

I nodded and handed him my purse. He left and returned
in a couple of minutes. He was carrying a small cardboard box.
He set in down on the table and took out a beautiful hand-tooled
leather collar - the leather was a deep oxford, almost maroon.
He told me to stand up and put it on. I stood and slipped the
collar around my neck. After I engaged the catch, he took a
small stainless steel padlock out of the box and locked the
collar in place. "The only time you will have this off is in the
shower or in the pool. And I have a stainless steel collar for
you to wear in the pool. Now remove your clothes and fold them
neatly and pile them on the table. Shoes first."

I lifted my feet one at a time and unlaced my running
shoes. After they were off, I pulled my sweatshirt off over my
head and folded it. Then I unsnapped my jeans and pushed them
down over my hips. Martin poured himself a fresh cup of coffee
and brought it to the table. I noted that he took it black, with
one sugar. I was standing there in my bra, panties, and socks.
He sat down and stirred his coffee. "Continue undressing."

I nodded and reached back to unhook my bra. My breasts
have always looked big because I'm rather slender and I've
always been proud of them. They're firm and full, pear-shaped,
and tipped with big, sensitive pink nipples. As they tumbled
free, Martin nodded and murmurred, "Very nice! Very nice,
indeed." I blushed and set my bra on top of the pile. Then I
hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and pushed
them down over my hips. I bent and retrieved them after stepping
out of them. That left my socks. Martin held his hand up when I
lifted my foot to take them off and said, "Stop, you look more
exposed with them on."

I straightened up and stood with my hands by my sides.
Martin sipped his coffee and looked me over carefully, motioning
me to turn this way and that. When he was done, he smiled and
said, "You are a very attractive woman. You have a lovely body,
beautiful breasts, and fine legs. I love your long, firm thighs
and your knees are perfect - delicately sculpted, a delight to
look at. And your ass is very nice. How often do you work out."

I took a deep breath. "Sir, I work out three times a
week and run every morning. Three or four miles."

He smiled. "Very good. You're a fast learner. You are
going to be an excellent slave. I will set up a gym here in the
house so you can work out at my convenience. As for running, you
may continue to do so. With some restrictions. I'll tell you
what they are later."

He stood up then and took a riding crop out of the box.
"Bend over the table and brace yourself." I turned and faced the
table, leaning on it with my hands spread wide apart. I stared
at the opposite wall, trembling slightly from the knowledge that
I was about to be whipped for the first time.

I heard the swiiissssh and then I felt a jolt of intense
pain as the riding crop cut across my buttocks. My head came up
and I whimpered. "Oh, god! Shit, I can't take this," I thought
to myself. "I just can't. It hurts too much!" But I bit my lip
and didn't move. He gave me nine more hard ones across my
buttocks and thighs. I cried and squirmed and sobbed, but I
didn't move. After ten, he stopped and asked me if I wanted
another ten. I turned and looked over my shoulder. Tears were
streaming down my face. My ass and thighs hurt worse than
anything I had ever endured. "Yes, master. Please give me
another ten." He did. I gripped the table until my knuckles were
white, sobbing and whimpering. I screamed after the third blow
in the second ten. I threw my head back and screamed my guts
out. It seemed to help. I couldn't stay motionless and did a
little dance step after each stroke. By the end, I was screaming
continuously, but I didn't beg for mercy.

After it was over, Martin put the riding crop down and
told me not to move. He took a small jar out of the box and
rubbed some soothing salve onto my buttocks and thighs. When he
was finished, I dropped to my knees and kissed his hand, and
thanked him for whipping me. He ruffled my hair and told me that
I was a good girl. I grinned up at him through my tears. I was
so proud. He unzipped his fly and reached in. I watched as he
freed his cock from confinement. He's not real big, maybe 7 or 7
1/2" erect, but his cock is thick. He stroked it for a moment
and then told me to open my mouth. I didn't suck him - he held
my head with one hand and fucked me in the mouth. At the end, he
held my head and shot his cum down my throat. It was soooo good
to be used. Slaves are meant to be used and I was being used
properly. I was content.