Diana had only been home a few days when James called. He apologized for not calling sooner, explaining that he had been moving into a sublet apartment in town for the summer as he would be working as a research assistant for one of his professors. Diana, in turn, told him what she was doing and they chatted casually for a while. Then there was a pause, and after a moment James said, “I, um, got your...message.”
Diana froze. Was he going to laugh at her? Tell her to leave him alone?
“I...uh…” she began, but James interrupted her. “Is this really what you want, Diana?” He hesitated, then went on, “Because I really…” He stopped, and Diana couldn’t breathe. Then he finished his sentence, “I really, really liked that.”
Diana was sitting at her desk at work, and there were a few other people in the office, so Diana found herself opening and closing her mouth several times without any words coming out. Finally she pretended to drop a pen under her desk and ducked down as if to retrieve it.
“Yesssss…” she whispered into her phone. “I want to be your...your slave...Sir.” Then, blushing furiously, she quickly sat up and continued, as if speaking to a customer, despite the fact that she was using her own phone and not the office phone on her desk. “Yes, Sir. Please give me your address and let me know when would be a good time for your order to be delivered.”
She heard him chuckle as he realized that she was at work. He gave her his address and they agreed that she would drive up there on Saturday. Then, casually, he went on, “Are you looking forward to obeying my orders, slave?”
Diana swallowed nervously and glanced around the office before replying, while attempting to maintain her business-like tone, “Yes, Sir, I am.”
“Do you want me to make you strip naked?”
‘Y-yes, Sir, I do.”
“Do you want me to make you kneel and suck my cock?”
Oh god. She was sitting at her office desk, surrounded by people, as he knew very well. Her face now beet-red, she managed to reply, “Yes, Sir. I - I’ll make sure your order meets your specifications, Sir.”
She could hear the smile in his voice as he responded, “Very well, slave. And if you do a good job, you’ll be allowed to beg me to fuck you again. Would you like that, slave?” Before Diana could answer, he went on, “Well, it doesn’t matter whether you’d like it or not, does it, slave? You’ll do whatever I tell you to do because you’re my property now. Isn’t that right?”
Diana felt a jolt between her legs as images of their last night together flooded her imagination, and she suppressed a moan before replying, “Yes, Sir. That...that’s absolutely correct, Sir.”
“Very good, slave. I’ll see you on Saturday.” And with that, he disconnected.
Diana sat there holding her phone for a long time as she stared into space, her breathing shallow and her mind overwhelmed with images from the past and fantasies about the future. It wasn’t until the actual office phone rang that she snapped out of it and tried to once more become her professional self - with only moderate success as she had a great deal of trouble staying focused on the conversation.
And immediately afterward she fled to the bathroom, taking her purse with her. Fortunately, it was deserted when she entered. Inside one of the stalls, she stripped and knelt on the cold tile floor. She retrieved her hairbrush from her purse and held the handle in front of her mouth.
“Please, Sir,” she whispered, “May your little slave-girl suck your cock?”
Diana masturbated furiously while shoving the hairbrush handle in and out of her mouth, climaxing so quickly and suddenly that she had to drop the hairbrush and slap both hands over her mouth to keep from squealing.
Oh god, what am I turning into? Diana thought to herself as she continued to kneel, bent over and panting, on the floor. But she already knew the answer, and she repeated it to herself several times as she dressed: “I am a gift.”
The next few days and nights passed in a kind of fever dream, and though no one said anything, Diana was sure her parents and co-workers must have noticed her distracted state. But Saturday morning finally arrived. Diana had told her parents a selective version of the truth: that she was going to visit and spend the night with a friend from school and would be back the following afternoon.
As she tossed her overnight bag onto the seat of her old Toyota and started the engine, she found herself second-guessing her clothing choices. More like tenth or twentieth-guessing, she thought, remembering how she had agonized over what to wear and what to bring. Not that it really matters, she thought, blushing. I won’t be wearing any of it for long anyway. Still, she was reasonably happy with how she looked in a scoop-necked, sky blue top and a snug-fitting dark skirt and matching sandals.
It was a good thing she had already driven back and forth from school a number of times, as she would have gotten hopelessly lost, distracted and anxious and aroused as she was during the entire two-hour journey. But at last she arrived at the address he had given her: a somewhat dilapidated old three-story house, one of many that had been converted to apartments decades ago as the student population had increased.
Nervously clutching the handles of both her bag and her purse in one hand, she made her way to the door, which was locked. There were three rows of doorbells with name-tags above them, and she pressed the one for James. She had assumed that he would simply buzz her in - he was expecting her, after all - but instead she heard his voice, tinny and distorted, from the cheap speaker above the doorbells: “Who is it?”
“It’s Diana,” she replied, a little puzzled. He knew very well who it was, but fine.
“I don’t know any Diana,” came the reply. “Who is it?” he repeated.
What? Diana was completely taken aback.
Then: Oh. Leaning close to the speaker, she said, barely above a whisper, “Your slave, Sir.”
Oh god, it was beginning before she was even in the door, she thought, feeling herself beginning to moisten.
“Speak up, I can’t hear you!” the voice demanded.
Oh god, she thought. She glanced quickly around and then leaned in toward the speaker again and said, as loudly as she dared, “I’m your little slave-girl, Sir!”
The door buzzed and Diana felt her pussy clench as she made her way inside and began the climb up to the third floor. When she reached it, she saw there were four doors along the hallway and for a moment Diana was unable to recall the apartment number. But one door had a Post-It note on it, and looking more closely, Diana saw a single word:
Strip
What? Right there in the hallway? What if -
Diana stopped. Slave-girls don’t ask questions, she told herself. If he wished to humiliate her this way, it was his privilege. If she was seen, so be it. And then Diana was shocked by the realization that she almost hoped someone did see her, that this deliberate humiliation was turning her on.
Releasing her bag and purse, she quickly began removing her clothes, dropping them to the floor in her haste. Guess I didn’t have to worry about how I dressed, she thought to herself. As soon as she was completely naked she knocked urgently on the door - and then as an afterthought sank to her knees and placed her hands behind her back, the perfect obedient slave.
The door opened almost immediately and there stood James, barefoot and wearing black gym shorts and the inevitable polo shirt, this one a light blue. Diana smiled up at him, hoping desperately that he would be pleased. It was so exciting to be kneeling before him again, having him inspect her like the property that she had become. She ached to be told, “Good girl,” and invited inside.
“What a mess,” were the first words James spoke to her, indicating with his eyes the crumpled clothing on the floor all around her.
Oh no!
Ignoring her, James leaned down and gathered up all her clothing. Then he threw it down the hallway, letting it scatter along its length. “Clean that up, slave,” he said brusquely.
Oh my god. “Yes, Sir,” Diana replied quickly. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
She began rising to her feet in preparation to retrieve her clothing...but was stopped by his hands on her shoulders.
“Did I tell you to stand up, slave?”
Startled, she looked up at him. “N-no, Sir, but I -”
“Go on, then.”
For a moment Diana thought he wanted her to perform her assignment in her kneeling position, but quickly realized: No.
She got down on her hands and knees.
Her skirt had landed within reach, so she picked it up with one hand and placed it at James’ feet, doing her best to fold it neatly as she did so. The nearest item after that was one of her sandals, so she crawled over to it. But how to pick it up? Use one hand and stagger back on her other three limbs?
No, of course not. Blushing furiously, she bent down and seized the strap with her teeth, all too aware that she was displaying her naked behind and pussy, not only to James but to anyone who might pop out of one of the other doors. She crawled hurriedly back and deposited her sandal next to her skirt, not daring to look up at James before turning and hurrying back for the next item.
Each new article of clothing was, of course, farther away than the one preceding it, which meant a long crawl, naked and on all fours, down the hallway and back, with James watching her every move. Little by little, the pile grew at James’ feet. The last item, not surprisingly, was the pair of floral-print panties that Diana had so lovingly selected to wear for him that morning, and which were currently lying in a crumpled heap at the very end of the hall. Crawling, by that time, had become second-nature to Diana; it felt completely right to be his naked little slave-girl, crawling towards him with her panties dangling from her teeth. And not just right, but deeply satisfying - and arousing - to see the approval in his eyes.
She arranged everything into a neat, well-ordered pile at his feet. Then, kneeling once more, she raised the stack of clothing in both hands, offering it to him. And heard the words she had been longing for:
“Good girl.”
He stroked her hair and smiled down at her for several moments, allowing her to bask in his approval. He gently removed her glasses, then picked up her purse and rummaged around until he found her glasses case and placed them inside before returning it to her purse. Using the same hand, he then picked up her bag.
Then, without a word, he used his free hand to take the pile of clothing from her, tucking the bundle under his arm, and went back into his apartment, kicking the door closed behind him.
What? Was he just going to leave her out here like this? If that’s what he wants, Diana told herself, preparing to stay there for hours if need be.
But the door soon opened again, much to her relief, and James tossed something to the floor in front of where she knelt.
“Put those on.”
Diana reached down and picked up the item, which turned out to be the pink panties she had left with him before, the ones she had inscribed with the words “YOUR SLAVE”.
Ohhhh…
James extended a hand to help Diana to her feet, and waited while she put them on. Diana then automatically assumed her standing position, legs apart and hands behind her back, while he inspected her, front and back, as he had before.
Finally he stepped back into the doorway, indicating with a sweep of his hand that she should follow. “Come in, slave.”
----------------------------------------------------
And that was how the ritual had begun. Diana wasn’t able to get up there every weekend, and sometimes James’ workload wouldn’t allow him any free time, but they had managed to get together at least every two or three weeks throughout that summer. The ritual had gradually evolved into its current parameters, and now, at the end of August, it had become one of the things Diana most looked forward to on these special weekends. There was something both comforting and exciting about beginning their time together this way, Diana thought as she continued to kneel, naked, in front of his door. Taking off her clothes was like taking off the identity she had been required to wear like a mask at home: the old Diana, dutiful daughter and office drone, vanished. There was, instead, the utter relief, simplicity and fulfillment of having no other responsibilities than obedience, no other name than ‘slave’.
Although, of course, James often called her other names as well. He had never had a slave before, and Diana had never been one, so the summer had been one of exploration for both of them and Diana had discovered that being called certain names at certain moments - “slut”, “little whore” and “fucktoy’, among others - was incredibly arousing.
She even purchased several new pairs of panties and inscribed them with her favorite names. These were kept in the apartment so that James could select which pair (if any: sometimes he preferred to keep her completely naked) he wanted her to wear for him. But Diana liked them so much that she made a second set, which she didn’t dare leave at home and instead kept hidden under the seat of her car. It felt deliciously naughty to arrive at work wearing no panties and to slip on a pair of lacy things with “FUCKTOY” written on both sides of them before going inside. Several times during the day, she would slip away to the bathroom in order to stand in front of the mirror and lift up her skirt or pull down her pants to admire them, whispering, “I’m your little whore, Sir,” or “I’m your little cock-slut, Sir,” or whatever was written on them, though her favorite would always be the simple, “Your slave”. It never failed to arouse her, and she became accustomed to sitting at her desk and talking to clients with perpetually wet panties.
This became especially true after James made her a present of both the spare key to his building and the stylized ‘S’ earrings he had commissioned from an acquaintance who made jewelry. She always wore them when she visited him and had to fight the temptation to wear them to work every day because she loved reaching up to touch them and mouthing the word “slave” while sitting at her desk.
And James would call her almost every day at work, not just to say hello and see how she was doing but to tell her how often she would be allowed to masturbate that day and whether she would be allowed to come, or to give her instructions for naughty, humiliating things to do in the bathroom or in her car or in her room when she got home. Diana absolutely loved these daily reminders that she belonged to him.
But most of all, of course, she lived for those weekends when she could be with James and they could continue to explore the relationship of Master and slave together. Oh, the things he had done with her, and made her do! Not just the obviously sexual things like tying her to the bed or to a chair and fondling and teasing her into a mindless frenzy of arousal, or making her masturbate in front of him in various humiliating positions, but the way he would sometimes treat her like a literal slave, tying her ankles together with only about a foot of rope between them and making her wear a ball-gag while she shuffled around the apartment doing the little chores he assigned her, or making her get down on all fours in front of his chair so he could use her as a tray-table while he ate and occasionally fed her from his hand.
If she did well, she might be rewarded with an orgasm; if not, or even if James just felt like it, he would put her over his lap, or make her bend over, and spank her mercilessly while making her apologize over and over for being a lazy little slut.
Oh, and he fucked her. He fucked her pussy, he fucked her mouth and - after making her wear a butt-plug to work every day for an entire delirious and dizzying week - he fucked her ass as well. In fact, he had once taken her that way moments before she had to leave, and made her drive all the way home sitting on a borrowed towel with her skirt tucked up, constantly aware of his cum slowly leaking out of her ass and into her panties. She had been so aroused by this that she’d had to call him and beg permission to pull over at a rest stop and masturbate. He had given her permission but made her stay on the phone with him the entire time, describing what she was doing, saying humiliating things about herself and finally begging permission to come in her panties for him. Oh, how she had loved that!
Diana loved everything about being his possession: loved the feeling of complete surrender to him; loved having no other purpose but to please and obey him; loved knowing that he could do whatever he wanted with her; loved feeling safe and cherished while he did so; loved knowing that after dominating and humiliating and using her he would always take her into his arms and kiss her and praise her and tell her that she was his good girl; loved being held close to him as they slept, exhausted, after hours of erotic play.
But still, in many ways this was still her favorite moment of each visit, Diana thought: just waiting outside his door, naked and kneeling and in constant danger of being discovered, already wet with anticipation and with not knowing what he might do with her.
Any moment now the door would open again and she had no idea what would happen after that. Often he simply ordered her inside, but other times he had made her crawl the length of the hallway and back again, or teased her nipples and pussy with a wand until there were actual tears of arousal running down her face. And on one memorable occasion he had simply taken out his already-erect cock and started rubbing it all over her face while making her beg permission to have it in her mouth. She had sucked him off right there in the hallway and received his cum on her face as a reward - for which she had thanked him, of course.
But Diana was especially happy today because James had told her that his professor was so pleased with his work that he was keeping James on during the school year, so James would be able to stay in the apartment. Diana had fond memories of his little dormitory room, of course, but here...here was so much better.
At last the door opened again and Diana was unable to resist giving him a huge smile as he stood there looking down at her. James seemed happy as well; he bent down and cradled her head in both hands as he kissed her tenderly.
Then he straightened up, reached for something inside the apartment and brought it out to show her. It was a beautiful, slim, hand-tooled collar in black leather. And at the top was a gold plate on which was inscribed, in a script that matched the stylized letter ‘S’ of her earrings, a single word:
Slave
Oh! Diana felt tears welling up and spilling over onto her cheeks. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered. “Thank you for making me your slave.”
James gently brushed her tears away with his thumb while Diana smiled tremulously up at him, her lips quivering. Then Diana bent her head, allowing James to fasten the collar around her neck, kissing the top of her head as she did so. She remained with her head bowed as James brought forth the matching leash and attached it to the golden ring dangling from her collar.
Then, with a slight tug on the leash, he pulled her forward and down until she was on all fours. He led her into the apartment and, as always, Diana experienced a thrill of anticipation as she heard the door closing behind her.
She was his. She was home.
The End
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