The first thing I usually do when I wake up every morning is finger myself to at least one orgasm before I play with my sex toys in the shower. It’s my morning ritual and has been since I discovered the joys of having an infinite supply of orgasms. The morning following my submission contract negotiation was, however, different. I was awakened by an orgasm. Apparently, I was so worked up from the prior evening that I’d begun masturbating in my sleep.

Since my libido woke me in the best way possible, I took advantage of the time before my cruel alarm went off by finger fucking myself to another intense cum, staring at the clothes he’d chosen for me. They were hanging near the bed. The realization that I’d surrendered control over what I was to wear to my Master made my pussy flow like a faucet. My fingers were splashing my liquid heat all over the sheets.

I only paused my frenetic self-fucking long enough to harshly tug and pull my swollen nipples, my tits still a bit tender from the lashing I’d received. He’d chosen a long, white, cotton skirt that hugged my rounded hips and accentuated my divine ass perfectly. A blowsy, gypsy top, all wispy gossamer, would conceal the whip marks on my torso. He’d even selected soft, suede ankle boots with an eye for fashion that most men lack.

When I saw the sash hanging over the skirt, I stopped fingering myself and grabbed it, rubbing it all over my nude, overheated flesh as I pummeled my clit into submission. It was the tattered, red sash that held a special meaning. My emotions went haywire from the reverie.

The day I met him, I had been wearing that sash as a belt. He was fighting in a Ren Faire and looking pussy-drenching-sexy in his armor. Still a total stranger at the time, he confidently and brazenly stripped the cloth from my body and wrapped it around his bicep to hold down a broken piece of his armor. Since then, he always wore it around his arm when he fought. When we were married, that red sash served as the binding for our handfasting. Of course, he’d pick something that I had such an intense, emotional attachment to.

The thoughts of his constant, dramatic romance and thoughtfulness filled my core, blending with my soul-consuming lust. I was his: his wife, his friend, his lover, and now his owned property. I surrendered my will to him to be his fucking slut, his plaything to do with whatever he pleased.

Those thoughts filled me as I came, again. My orgasm was so intense that my body shook the bed, my convulsions causing me to flail all over the place, even getting tangled in the now-soaked sheets. My cries of, “yes, I’m your whore; fucking take me,” drowned out my annoying alarm.

As always, a love note and breakfast were on my bedside table. This time, the love letter had a different tone. While it still celebrated me, complimenting all of me, specifically my intellect, heart, and soul, there were instructions and commands, as well. He’d instructed me to wear only what he had picked. I was to drive to work, think about what I truly wanted out of this, and await further instructions.

Being highly sexual, there isn’t much that I haven’t done; my wanton wildness is well-known. However, this was all new territory for me, and being told that I was to receive further instructions got me so worked up that I drained the full charge of my womanizer in the shower, a suction cup dildo penetrating my cunt.

Spending extra time on my makeup and hair, even busting out my crimping iron, because he once mentioned how sexy I look with my “hair all kinky to match my personality,” I made certain that I looked extra sexy. I sped into work, nearly late because as soon as I wrapped that frayed sash around my waist, my fingers flew to my clit once more. Master understands that if one turns on a lady's mind and heart, she’ll be perpetually horny.

It’s a good thing I own the store because I was a horny, wet mess the entire day. Walking on clouds, I chatted with my online friends, some of them full-time, owned submissives, just gushing over how I felt and how horny it all had made me. I hadn’t been instructed to not cum, so quite a bit of my time was spent with my fingers buried in my twat. I even sanitized my special Sharpie marker for a little anal stimulation.

Around 11:30 AM, I was chatting with a friend of mine about things I could have my new Master do to me when my intercom beeped. “Some guy named Rolf is here to see you. He says Glade sent him,” my store manager told me.

“Send him on up, Marcy. Thank you.”

Rolf’s real name is Terry, but he prefers his medieval-group name. Fashioning himself as a long-haired Viking, he’s actually a sweet, young man with incredible wit and a sense of humor.

His phone was against his ear as he climbed the stairs and entered my office, closing the door behind him. “I’m here, now,” he said. “Putting you on speakerphone.” He placed the phone on my desk.

“Having a good day, slut?” my husband’s jovial voice rang out.

“Yes, Master. I’m so horny that I can hardly work, though.”

He laughed. “Rolf is here to ensure you’re being obedient like a good, little whore. You shall permit him to inspect you.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

“Face forward, chin up, arms at your sides, legs spread.” My husband’s voice wasn’t stern but carried a quiet power of commandment. Even if I hadn’t agreed to all of this, asking for it and having it in writing, I would have instantly obeyed; such is the power of the spell he has me under.

Rolf smiled at me, his yummy cock growing erect in his pants. We’d played together occasionally, and I knew that he was respectful and didn’t think that my letting him take me meant that he held dominion over me. His lecherous smile advertised that I was about to be touched. Then, the realization hit me.

My husband, my Master, was on the phone, and his friend was about to molest me, and I wanted it. My entire body erupted with torrid heat. I’d demanded that this happen, even crossing out the “Dominant shall not command his submissive to sexually serve others” clauses. It was time to face the repercussions of my actions. At least Rolf was a trusted friend. My mind splintered, part of it lecturing me for being such a slutty tramp, the other part needlessly reminding me that the situation turned me on, immensely.

“Uh, oh, mmm,” I moaned when he touched me. A visible wave of pleasure ran down my body, stopping at my thrusting hips. I was so turned on that I was humping the air. Rolf had reached out and firmly grasped my boobs, his fingers pinching my already-taut nipples to even further prominence. I was panting so hard that my stomach quivered; my knees grew weak, and I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming out in rapture.

“No bra,” he said to the phone.

“Did you visibly inspect?” my husband’s voice countered.

I didn’t even wait for the command. I eagerly lifted the very feminine top over my breasts, exposing my tits to him and standing proudly.

“Visually affirmed, asshole,” he laughed at the phone. I giggled, too. Rolf and my husband have this game where they insult each other in alphabetical order.

“Okay, bitch. Please make sure the slut isn’t wearing panties and her pussy is wet.”

To my surprise, I discovered that I was vigorously nodding my head.

“Oh, fuck,” I sighed when he reached under my skirt and his fingers immediately covered my soaked pussy. My bucking hips thrust against his hand, ensuring that his fingers slid between my passions-engorged cunt lips.

Rolf’s fingers caressed my folds, ran over my clit, and then plunged inside my velvety canal. I had to rest my hands on his shoulders to remain standing.

“She’s not only soaking wet but humping my hand. You want me to get her off, cunt-face?”

Glade laughed as I moaned. I was so fucking horny that I was already close. “Not this time. Let her simmer, douchebag. Thank you.”

“You’ve got it, Elephant-dick.” Rolf turned to me. “Thank you, Krystal.”

“You shall address the submissive as either ‘slut’ or ‘whore,’ please.”

“Thank you, slut.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips, hung up his phone, and strolled out, whistling.

Overcome with both the degrading humiliation of what had just happened as well as the embarrassment that it had aroused me to the point that I was about to lose control, I ignored the shame of my husband’s friend dropping by work to inspect me and hiked up my skirt. My desk has rounded corners, exactly at pussy-height. I slammed my dripping cunt against my desk and ground my hips against it, my fingers furiously stroking my clit. My nipples ached for attention, so I reached under my blouse, imagining it was Rolf’s hand, and molested my tits.

My hips pumping into the hard, wooden desk, fingers flying over my clit, and my tugging on my nipples got me off in about ten seconds. My legs nearly gave out, making me need to lean over and hold on to my desk as the waves of pleasure crashed over my soul, sating me momentarily. I was so lost in pleasure that I hadn’t noticed that Master had sent me a text.

“Good slut,” it read. “For following instructions, you may choose anything you want for lunch.”

“Thank you, Master,” I texted back.

I rushed to my computer to tell my submissive friend what had happened and how quickly I’d climaxed. Her dirty, little mind inspired me, and I quickly asked Master, “May your slut get a public spanking, please?” I had fully intended on merely dipping a toe into the lifestyle, but, instead, dove into the deep end with wild abandon.

“Very well, then,” was the response. “You are to edge yourself for the rest of the day but are forbidden to orgasm. We’ll go out tonight and see what happens.”

“If I please Master, can his slut have the privilege of slave clothing?”

“What will my whore do to earn clothing?”

That did it. My fingers instinctively sped to my clit. “I’ll do anything you command, to you, to anyone. You can do anything you desire. I’m your slut, your whore, you own me.”

Fuck! I came again, without permission. My mind immediately told me that I didn’t even have my collar, yet, so he didn’t need to know.

“Be home at seven, then. Drive home with your pussy openly displayed. Finger yourself at every stop, but no orgasms.”

“The slut loves her Master.” I was still so fucking horny.

The rest of the day was a blur, and I made so many mistakes at work that I’d have fired myself on the spot. My staff made fun of me, but I didn’t care. All they knew was that my husband was doing his usual thing, turning me into a silly mass of horny girl flesh. They were used to it, and I pay them well. I raced home, proudly obeying, since it was a good day for flashing, anyway.

When he got home, I greeted him in the nude, on my knees, my mouth open to accept his cock. Instead, he pulled me up to my feet and kissed me in such a way that I melted into his arms, knowing that I was totally under his control. Then, he forced me over the arm of the couch, my bare ass sticking up, and lightly spanked me until my nectar had soaked my thighs and the couch.

“Go upstairs and dress like a total whore, since you wanted that last night,” he commanded. “And keep your hair exactly how it is; I like that.”

“Yes, thank you, Master.” I hurried to obey, smiling broadly.

Just for contrast, I picked a short, summer dress with spaghetti straps and a flowing skirt. In pale yellow with a white floral pattern, it was innocence turned into brazen smuttiness by making it obvious that I was nude beneath it. The skirt barely extended down to mid-thigh, so it was perfect for whatever was in store for me. I pranced downstairs, eager to show it off to my Master.

He had a black leather collar in his hands. It was one I’d purchased on the way home from work, one day, to play at some bondage. Seeing it in his hands, though, made me quiver with horny anticipation; it was now for real.

“Stop, turn around, and let me make certain my slut is properly attired.”

I did as he commanded, my legs shaking.

“Bend over, more. Good whore,” he complimented, “everyone can see your ass. It’s far too perfect to cover.” I felt his hand on my buttocks, squeezing and kneading. I moaned my approval.

He collared me, kissing my neck. “Now, walk beside me, so I can see the slut’s tits bounce on the way to the car.”

I made certain to put extra bounciness into my steps. As always, he opened my door for me, and I made certain to flash him my soaked pussy as I got in. Master let me choose the music, but refused to tell me where we were headed.

All he said was, “tits out and pussy on display, slut. We’re passing some truckers.”

Our destination was one of the classier adult stores in the area. Unlike a lot of them, this place has sexy clothing as well as lingerie and lots of kink gear, and it is very common for couples to shop there instead of the raincoat crowd. We were regulars.

“Hi guys,” the clerk said. We were the only ones in the store. “Good to see you again. Oh, my God! You look so sexy in that collar.”

“I’m his slave, now,” I proudly admitted.

I’ve bought lots of toys and sexy dresses, slut-wear, from her, before, and I think she’s either bisexual or a lesbian. Either way, she didn’t hide the fact that she was looking at my tits. Knowing that it would please my Master, I thrust out my chest to aid her.

“What brings you in this evening?”

Glade spoke to her. “We need two paddles, one for fun and one for punishment.”

“Um, Master,” I sheepishly said.

“Oh, and something appropriate for a sub to wear.”

“Something slutty,” I added.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a second, making me even wetter. “BDSM paddles are over here.”

Jennifer, the sales girl, walked us over to the bondage section. Although I’d glanced at them before, even toyed with a few of them, the inventory of paddles hanging on the wall took on a new, somewhat menacing disposition. Steel-girded leather, studs, and bas-relief carvings now made my heart skip and sent the butterflies in my stomach a little further south to flap their gossamer wings over my clit.

Without prompting, as soon as we stopped, I quickly dropped to my knees, adopting the “ready” slave posture I was taught the previous evening. My legs were slightly spread, wide enough that the short skirt of my sundress exposed my pussy, my hands rested on my thighs, palms up, and I looked straight ahead with my back straight to show off my breasts. Just seeing Jennifer pause and look me over caused an outbreak of goosebumps all over my body. When Glade patted my head and said, “That’s a good, little slut,” I had to fight the urge to undo his pants and suck his cock.

She showed him at least eight different paddles, pointing out why they were shaped that way, demonstrating the sounds they make, and explaining the marks, bruises, or other mars they might leave.

“I think that one might do for play,” my husband pointed. “Would you care to demonstrate?” He smiled and bent over, his hands on the nearby adult movie rack.

“On you?” Jennifer asked, dumbfounded. Her words echoed my thoughts.

“Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t dream of subjecting my slut to something if I’m unfamiliar with the experience. Lay into me, I can take it.

She smiled and gripped the thing with both hands like it was a baseball bat, and she was pinch-hitting in the bottom of the ninth with the game on the line.

“Thwack, Smack, Thud,” the resounding blows landed on his sexy ass.

“Harder,” he said.

She repeated the blows, my husband’s face not even changing expression.

“That will do well, I think. On your feet, slut. Assume the position and raise your dress.”

It was humiliating and degrading to be commanded to bend over the retail display and expose my bare ass to receive a paddling. I did it, more ashamed that I was so fucking turned on that my fluids were dripping down my thighs. I braced myself and waited.

“After you,” my husband said, handing her the paddle.

Jennifer’s face lit up, and she said, “Hell, yeah!” I closed my eyes in anticipation of the painful onslaught.

Five thudding blows smacked against my exposed behind. To my surprise, the pain was minimal, more a startling sensation than actual pain. My ass began to tingle, and the tingling became heat, which turned into flames of arousal. By the fourth blow, I was thrusting my butt out to meet the strokes, moaning and panting.

Then, Glade took the paddle and repeated what she’d done, except he also managed to lightly swat my pussy from behind. My knuckles turned white from gripping the display rack so hard. It didn’t hurt; it was blissfully naughty and horny. When he’d finished, I realized that the combination of humiliation and my mindset had me just a few strokes away from a spanking orgasm.

“Now the punishment one,” Master pointed to the one he’d selected.

Without a care in the world, he took up a spanking position beside me, turning his head to gently kiss me on the cheek.

“Not fair,” Jennifer laughed. “She has her sexy ass bared, and you’re wearing pants to absorb part of the blow.” Shrugging, my husband smiled at me, stood, and dropped his trousers, then resumed position.

The sales girl was enjoying this. Her nipples were poking through her t-shirt, and her face was flushed with excitement. She drew the ominous paddle back, the hard, shiny leather glistening in the light, and landed a solid blow on my husband’s buttocks. It was so forceful that the entire movie case slid a few inches closer to the wall.

“Oh, that stings,” he laughed. “I think my ancestors felt that. Something a little less brutal, I think.”

It took three tries before Master found one he liked. Pulling up his pants, he said, “Krystal, we’re going to swat your perfect ass a few times to ensure that it’s not too much. Are you ready?”

I made certain to correct his attitude. “Your whore slut is ready to have her bare ass spanked in public, Master. Fucking spank my slutty ass.” He nodded in acknowledgment of my reminder to treat me like his personal fuck-toy.

I closed my eyes, my arousal dwindling. Jennifer landed a spank right across the center of my ass cheeks. Fireworks erupted all over my butt, the searing anguish spreading down my thighs and halfway up my back. I let out an “Unnggh,” but immediately noted that my arousal reached its prior level and kept on climbing higher and higher. I accepted the sensation rather than questioning it.

“Fuck, that hurts,” I confessed. Then, overcome with emotions I couldn’t name, I turned my head toward my husband, fighting back tears. “Harder,” I defiantly commanded.

This time, although, rockets exploded in my head when she spanked me, I held my expression and smiled at him even though it hurt like hell. Then, my Master took his shot, commenting on how red my behind was. Compared to Jennifer, his spanks were a pittance.

“We’ll take those two paddles, of course,” he said to her. “Now, how about we let her pick out a few garments that she thinks are suitable for slave-wear?”

“I have a few things in mind,” Jennifer intoned, leading me away to go look at slutty, stripper dresses.

The thrill of having to walk out onto the showroom floor, not knowing if anybody else had walked in, to model the garments was wonderful. I was made to stand, bend over, kneel, and spread my legs while the two of them commented on the cut, how see-through the flimsy garments were, and how wet my exposed pussy was. I loved basking under the heat of their lusty looks, being appraised as if I were a piece of meat, and my pussy caught on sexual fire. I’m a true exhibitionist, but being commanded to display my body carried a psychological aspect that had me in a stupor.

The sluttiest one, chosen to be my “at home slave uniform,” was a sort of short, Grecian toga, tunic top. It was nothing more than a wide strip of diaphanous cloth in charcoal black with little, glittery silver strands woven in. It was barely wide enough to cover my nipples, almost half of either breast exposed on the sides. The sides were slit open from the shoulder to the waist, and the ruffled skirt portion, made of the same material, was so slight that half of my ass and pussy were exposed.

Of the five we’d picked out, that one was the unanimous favorite. However, Master is benevolent and kind, and he allowed me to get not only my uniform but the second and third favorites as well.

Wanting more, desperately needing to continue this amazing, sexual ride, I asked, “Master, may your slut wear her uniform home instead of her dress?” His smile showed his pride.

As soon as we’d left, I propped my feet on the dashboard and began fingering myself. I was so turned on that the demons of arousal possessed me, turning me into an insatiable whore.

“Look,” I moaned out, pointing with a dripping finger. “A coffee shop. Is your slut nasty enough to deserve a latte?”

Wordlessly, he pulled into the drive-through. I felt like a trashy whore, sitting there with my spread legs propped up, fingering myself, but not so badly that I stopped doing it. I didn’t even stop masturbating when the male barista made us wait, having dropped my first latte for some reason.

“You’re fucking crazy; I love it, you slut,” he complimented as we drove away. We both burst out in laughter.

By the time we’d made the drive home, I had a plan. Not even bothering to wait for him to come around the car to open the door for me, I exited the vehicle and ran into the house.

“Your whore needs to get ready for you,” I shouted back, hopefully negating the need for punishment. The punishment paddle intimidated me.

Leaving the front door ajar, I shoved the home decor off the coffee table and knelt at the end, prostrating myself over the table in a position that held my ass up in the air. When my husband came in, the bag of skanky clothing in one hand, paddles in the other, he stopped and stared.

“Don’t tell me that I’m more perfect or sexy, or whatever, please, Master. Tell your slut that she’s been bad and needs a spanking.” He did, and I moaned in response.

The paddling with the play paddle, not the severe one for punishment, began immediately. The softer, supple leather kissed its way up and down my thighs, over my ass, and then back down. Sporadically, he’d pause, letting my rump cool off, playing with the wetness between my legs until my hips were swiveling with desire. As soon as I got to the pre-orgasmic state, he’d go back to spanking me. It was glorious torture.

“Tell your Master what a slut you’ve been.”

“After Rolf inspected me, I was so horny that I humped the corner of my desk.”

The blows grew harder.

“I had my fingers in my cunt all day.”

The spanks became faster.

“I got off on being exposed in public like that. I even fingered myself in the dressing room. Flashing the guy at the drive-through made me even hornier. I’m a slut, your slut. Punish your whore.”

I couldn’t take it any longer. My hand shot to my dripping sex, fingering my heat hard and fast as I confessed to Master what a dirty, little slut his wife was.

“I’m cumming. Spank me while I cum.”

The blows increased in both speed and fury, my husband lighting up my ass so much that all I could feel was the heat radiating off my ass. The shame of this all spurred my orgasm into orbit, me screaming out, calling myself vile names, and convulsing so much that I flailed myself off the coffee table, being caught by my man’s strong arms.

I not only earned the honor of sleeping in Master’s bed that night, but he was so impressed with his pet that I was allowed to wear anything I wanted to bed. He told me how proud he was of me for embracing my desires, while he rubbed a soothing salve into my ass, calming the angry skin. I chose to only wear the collar because that’s what a good submissive would do.

“Glade, I mean Master,” I said as I snuggled against him in bed. “Are you alright with all of this?”

“If you are receiving pleasure from this, then I’m more than fine with it,” he consoled.

“Pleasure? This is all new to me, and it has me so horny that I can’t control myself.”

He laughed, “That’s no longer your concern. You submitted total control to me, remember?”

My collar was due any day, and I couldn’t wait.

To Be Continued…