“What do you mean, be your slave? You can’t possibly mean actually give up my freedom and serve you, sexually and otherwise? Do people do that?” As Misty looked at her new lover her big hazel eyes indicated her surprise at what he had just suggested. She had always thought submission and bondage were confined to a freaky segment of the population. People who read those kinky books she’d seen in the bookstore, but then she remembered the time when she opened one those books began to read what was inside; she had a hard time stopping and putting it back on the shelf.
“Many people have D/s relationships, normal folks like you and I. Submission and power exchange are exciting and they add a spice to your love life.” Even though they were in the public square with dozens of people walking about around them, Marcel slowly reached out and touched her breast feeling her nipple through her thin bra and silk blouse. “Your nipples are hard, Misty, does the idea of being my slave excite you?”
Her New England upbringing made Misty instinctively pulled away from his fingers rubbing her breast, but she realized it wasn’t because she didn’t like him touching her in public. No, her action was more societal restraint and her mother’s teaching of what was proper for a lady than her own desire. Misty understood if not for those things she would have let Marcel play with her nipples here in public.
Knowing him had been the whirlwind of her life and it had only been a just over a month since she’d met the handsome French student and his dark eyes had penetrated to her soul. There had been a fleeting moment when she’d wondered if she should pull back and go slowly with him, but she hadn’t been able to. No, she trusted him, heart and soul, for better or for worse.
Yet she still wondered why her? Marcel was a ten when it came to guys even if you took away his French accent and why would you take it away? Misty knew she was basically attractive with a slim figure and long red hair which got attention, but her boobs were right on the line between B and C cup, so she didn’t wow guys. In her mind she keep thinking he could have had anyone so why me?
Putting it all aside, she looked at him with his curly sienna hair and those eyes which melted her. She knew under his shirt was a ripped chest with a sexy six pack which she loved to touch when they were naked together in bed. Yes, in bed, she had capitulated to him sexually and she would have turned red if she had to tell her mother when. She had only been able to resist him four days before they had fucked and now she was living with her in her tiny apartment. How long would this bliss continue she mused before like her other relationships it dried up and blew away.
Having pushed away from his hand on her breast, she now grabbed his hand and pulled back close to him giggling as she did. The giggle was to ease her tension about the slave question. “So you really want me to be your slave?”
He touched her hair and kissed her face making her feel so loved. “More than anything, Mon ami, it would be perfect and I would make it perfect for you.”
This Misty did not understand. How could things be perfect for the slave? “How would you do that? Isn’t it all about the dominant enjoying it?”
“No, no, you misunderstand. It should be good for both of us. As your Master it is my job to see that you are thrilled by the things I have you do. You will have to tell all your sexual fantasies so I can make them come true. I promise you right now your submission to me will be bliss.” He held her close as the people moved around them.
This was a revelation to Misty for she had thought that bondage and D/s play was mostly about pleasing men and the female submissives indulged their Masters. However she had one other question come to her right away. “What would happen if I were bad?” As soon as the question left her pink frosted lips Misty wondered why she had asked it.
“You would be punished, Mon ami, a slave must obey her Master.” His dark eyes twinkled as he looked down at her and then she caught her breath because she knew why she’d asked the question. The very thought of him punishing her made her insane with desire.
In high school, Misty had discovered she had a thing for punishment in a most shocking and unusual way. She was simply a train wreck in History and the teacher, Mr. Davis had become frustrated with her failing grades and had asked her to stay after school for extra help on day. Well the extra help had come in the form of Mr. Davis taking her over his knee and baring her panties for a bum reddening spanking. At first she’d been shocked and she was well aware she could get him in deep trouble as he apologized after the spanking, but what she hadn’t counted on was her arousal. As he apologized all she could think of was would he do it again, or could she get her boyfriend at the time to do it. Neither had happened, but she had kept Mr. Davis’ secret and because of it she knew what would happen if Marcel’s hand punished her soft bottom.
“Yo . . . you would spank me?” She pushed the words out in hopes his answer would be yes.
“Yes, and perhaps more if you are truly naughty.”
What did that mean? Was he talking about crops, whips, and that whippy stick thing she had seen used? “There would be limits though, right. You wouldn’t go too far.” She felt somewhat self conscious even asking Marcel this as he had always been gentle and loving with her.
Marcel ran his hand through her hair and he began to walk taking her with him. “It will be nothing but what you desire, Misty. Your submissive fantasies brought to life.”
It was all more amazing than she could imagine. Was this gift from heaven boyfriend going to make her kinky sexual fantasies come true, or was it all too good to be true? She would take some time and think about it a little more, but she got a strong impulse to ask him to do something dominant to her right now with all these people milling about. She looked up at him. “Could you do something right now, Marcel?”
“Not unless you can call me Master.” He was already doing it knowing she would be thrill to call her Master.
Misty saw a nearby bench and steered them to it. She sat, but clenched his arm so he would stay standing in front of her. With his body in front of her, she opened her legs while sitting on the Newbury Street bench stretching her skirt to the maximum degree and feeling the soft spring breeze on her damp panties. Now she looked up at him and said the words. “I open myself to you, Master. Do as you will.” A pulse of naked arousal surged through her. Yes, I do want to be his slave.
With the Newbury Street tourists and shoppers seemingly unaware as they dipped in and out of storefronts and bistros, Marcel sat down beside her. Misty instinctively closed her legs somewhat, but he stopped her by placing his fingers on her inner thigh, just under her mid-thigh denim skirt. He leaned in and whispered to her. “Don’t be afraid, Master will touch you.” Stealthily he slipped his hand up the inches of her inner thighs until he found her pubis. In the process her skirt was pushed up a bit, but when he touched her panties right where he knew her clit was she didn’t care what she was exposing.
Yet his hand was gone in an instant making her almost mew to have it back. She arranged her skirt and closed her legs pulsing with the feel of being an object, a slave for his pleasure. As she turned to him, she caught a blonde girl sitting on a bench opposite her and quite obviously watching them. She was beautiful, the kind of girl Misty could see Marcel with, but she smiled and nodded at Misty like she approved of her sexual play.
“More please, Master.” Misty’s words were breathy as she was yearning for his intimate touch again.
Marcel brought her closer to shelter them and then he unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of her green silk blouse. With this done, he snaked his hand up her belly to her black gel bra and easily popped her right breast out of its cup.
Now Misty’s breath came in slow gulps as Marcel audaciously rolled her nipple between his fingers. He did not squeeze it or try to bring pain, he just rolled it to stiffness so much she wanted him to rip her blouse off right there and knead her breasts in public. “Is this good, slave, could you do more of this?”
She was so aroused it was hard to form words, but she did her best. “Yesss, it’s good, Master.” Misty could no longer deny she wanted to do this with him as the evidence her nipple and her pussy had provided was undeniable. Letting her head sink into his chest, she smelled his cologne, sighed, and let loose the words she could not keep inside. “Master, I want to be your slave.”
Jennifer Campbell lives in a modern log cabin, nestles under the fir and spruce that cover the mountain her ancestors settled under. She lives with her Master, Jack, who she serves in an eight year M/s relationship. Not wishing to live free or die, as the state’s motto suggests, she continues her pure submission. Jennifer would love to hear from other submissives, especially those who are touched by her writings about female slavery. Never wanting to forget who and what she is, Jennifer will sometimes write when she is wearing her collar, or her nipple chain.
Jennifer maintains a My Space page and blog. You can also visit her web site or email her at firstname.lastname@example.org