As my first, official post for this blog, I would like to pick up where Yiva left off in her post about the difference between submissive and slave.

Some see slavery — the total surrender of one’s rights to a Dominant who then becomes one’s Master — as the logical conclusion to a journey of submission. I beg to differ.

A journey of submission and one of slavery need not be seen as the latter being the fulfilment of the former – as if, in some way, slavery is the only complete and true submission. Slavery is not suitable for all submissives, nor is it a necessarily desirable outcome as the fulfilment of years of submission. Instead, a meaningful, committed submission can be as fulfilling and meaningful as a complete surrender to the will of a Dominant, becoming not only their property but also their possession.

The beauty of this lifestyle is that “the rule is that there are no rules”. There is no standard, “right way” to Dominance, any more than there is no standard, “right way” to submission.

Establishing where a D/s dynamic might go to is not something determined by a playbook; rather, it varies from case to case, the path being set by both Dominant and submissive through three tools: Communication, respect, and trust.

Whilst this trinity of values is important for all relationships, within the context of a D/s dynamic it becomes even more important, because of the added intensity that giving away some (or all) personal freedoms adds to the dynamic.

Within that context, if a D/s pair decides that a path of submission is more compatible with their kinks and/or lifestyles than seeking to reach complete surrender, then that reality is just as acceptable.

I digress; the point I am attempting to drive is that the tracks of submission and slavery need not be one continuation of the other, but rather parallel tracks that along the road may or may not merge.

Everyone was surprised. For over two years after the passing of her long-time slave Julia, Anne Marquez had been a recluse. She would not go out, nor would she meet new people or teach about the lifestyle to anyone. To all who enquired, Anne was in mourning.

Many of Anne’s friends, after an initial period of understanding and assiduous presence, had gradually left her alone to process her loss, fully believing that she would never get over Julia. How could it be possible, after fifteen years of a stable, solid, D/s relationship that included a soldered collar on Julia’s neck, to get over such a meaningful relationship?

The latest gossip, though, was that Anne was back on the scene. To the chagrin of those hopeful to vie for her favour, Anne had finally found someone, after months of interviews, talks and disappointments, outside of her usual circle. The rumours turned out to be true: one November night, envelopes were distributed among Anne’s inner circle. The envelopes, handwritten in perfect, feminine longhand, invited to an intimate party among friends, with a special moment at the end.

Anne had discovered that someone in the most unlikely place of them all: At a roadside diner, while travelling from Napa to St. Helena, under the guise of a beautiful, blond server named Amy. She transmitted a vibe that Anne could never mistake, the vibe of a submissive waiting for the right owner. That energy was obvious to Anne’s trained eyes by the way Amy moved: graceful, poised, and demure, her every movement teemed not only with the natural, flowing grace of someone used to serve but also with the ease of someone who enjoys serving.

Anne found the young woman’s demeanour fascinating: Calm, attentive to detail, careful, always polite; and everything Amy did, she did with a beautiful smile. And Amy had called Anne “Miss.” Anne had noticed it at once; it was such a difference, used as she was to hear “ma’am,” “missy,” “lady,” “toots,” “sweetie” or “honey” from too many jaded, underpaid servers.

The diner was at about halfway between Napa and St. Helena’s, right in the middle of Anne’s daily route. As a private physician, based in Vallejo, with a charming home in Santa Elena, her practice spread up and down Napa Valley, Anne passed that road many times, and stopped frequently at the diner, making her somewhat of a regular customer. Amy, however, was not one of the regular wait staff. Violet had quit; Cindy was on parental leave. Thus… Amy, the fill-in server.

The place was not one of the many upscale restaurants scattered along the valley. It was a throwback to an earlier, simpler time, with honest, comfort food, and enough people went to eat there that it could exist, even today. Amy made the diner better with her smile and demeanour. It was obvious that the girl had class. She could be waiting tables at any of the fancy restaurants in Napa, or even in San Francisco. Instead, she was waiting tables here, at a diner lost in the middle of nowhere. Anne was curious about Amy’s choice of employment: how could a girl like her be waiting tables here? She was certainly out of place. Her current engagement, a house call to an old patient, did not allow time for socialization and, ruefully, Anne thought she would never see that beautiful, graceful girl again; but, when the consultation was over and Anne was on her way back, Amy was standing outside of the diner.

“Hello,” Anne said, lowering the passenger’s side window of her car. “Um, Amy, was it? Are you waiting for someone?”
“Yes, miss,” said Amy, with a soft smile. “I am waiting for the bus to arrive, so I can get home.” It was a harmless lie, obviously, as it was already past nine in the evening, which Anne could verify with a quick glance at her wristwatch, a ladies’ automatic Escada watch whose hands pointed at 9:05, well later than the time that the last bus had passed. “The last bus was at 5 PM, and any bus going through this road can only go either to Saint Helena or to Napa. Where do you live? I will take you there.”

Amy mentioned an address in Yountville, a village Anne knew well. It was a one-story house, on the outskirts of town. It had been a good property in the past. That was not the case today, as it was evident by the brown, untended grass, and by the derelict condition of the house. It was at the front door of that house, though, where Amy requested Anne to stop. “This is where I get off, Miss, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, Amy. Oh, if you wish to talk, please do give me a call. I would love to have a chat with you.” Anne’s card went from a holder into Amy’s hands:
Anne Marquez, M. D.
Internal Medicine and Surgery
By Appointment Only
Ph. (707) 511-2011

Anne pulled away and headed back toward her own home farther North. Her car was not a late-model production car; instead, Anne drove a 1986 Mercedes-Benz 300 SEL. It was a big, unwieldy automobile, which required constant care and attention, but that was the cost of business of owning a classic car. Once at home, Anne opened a bottle from a winery whose oenologist she saw regularly for an enlarged prostate. The wine, fruity and aromatic, was a blend of Cabernet Franc and Syrah and had aged for 2 years in French oak barrels. “Perfect,” thought Anne.

As Anne relaxed over a glass of wine at home, Amy went inside her house, shed her clothes, and took a long, hot shower. She made some ramen and settled down to watch some TV, but as usual, nothing interesting was on to catch her attention. Her mind kept returning to Dr Marquez… To Anne. There was something different about her. The locals flirted often enough with Amy; she knew their wives and knew it was just playful banter. There was, however, a feral look in Anne’s eyes. That look reminded Amy of a trip to Uncle Cyrus’s farm, who had died recently. In fact, the farm had been the only reason she had come here in the first place. She and other family members had come to help, hoping to get the house. She did not expect it, however, because Uncle Cyrus hated everyone.

One night she was tending to the horses and saw one of the stallions covering a mare to mount her. She was not going to interfere, let nature take its course, but the stallion was brutal about it, biting and pushing, and finally, the mare hung her head as he mounted her. The wild, lusty look in the stallion’s eyes was in Anne’s eyes tonight, and that reached a part of Amy’s emotions and feelings that were unexplored. Back then, Amy had masturbated to that image of a powerful taking, of being beaten down into submission, and tonight she found herself rubbing and touching as she thought of Anne’s look. When she brought herself off to an explosive orgasm, Amy washed up and went to bed. She smiled. Anne was a big city doctor, just passing through. Amy figured she would not see her again: perhaps it was best if she lived on in fantasies.

Anne had to pass by the diner several times a day for quite some days in a row. Her blue, long-bodied Mercedes 300 SEL had become a familiar sight, and Anne’s frequent comings and goings were so well-timed that one could set the proverbial clock to her passing. Consultations all around the valley kept Anne moving up and down the road, and yet, even with her busy schedule, Anne often found the time to stop at the diner and have at least a cup of coffee or a quick meal.

For a doctor, Anne loved her soul food: Pancakes, waffles, hash browns, scrambled eggs, everything washed down with tar-black coffee. Not once did Anne fail to leave a good tip when Amy served her. Moreover, on a personal side note, whenever Amy missed the bus, Anne was happy to oblige to take her to Yountville. On one of those nights, Anne’s car stalled outside Amy’s home. Aggravated, Anne tried to start it up several times with no success. Frustrated, she muttered, “goddamn piece of…,” left the car parked on the driveway, where it had come to a stop, and walked towards the house. At the door, she rapped three times. Amy came out, dressed in a grey, Champion’s shorts and hoodie. Anne stood there, almost apologetically, looking back to where her car had miserably died.

Amy looked at Anne, then over her head at the car. What had happened was plain to see, so there was no need to ask, or to offer. Opening the door, Amy smiled and invited Anne in.
“There is a quilt in the closet, I do not have any spare pillows, but I think I can make something that will pass. Tomorrow we can call Joe Hampton, he is a friend; he is not a mechanic, but he knows a lot about cars and will not charge you half a year’s salary.”
Amy had just taken the pans out of the pantry; literally, she had not even had time to start dinner, so making a bit more to eat was no big deal.

Amy had been Anne’s server that afternoon and remembered that she had only nursed a coffee and had asked for nothing more. It almost seemed like she had been waiting for Amy. Maybe the broken car was a ruse, thought Amy. Maybe Anne is a dangerous psycho! Maybe she is going to…! Amy squashed those thoughts immediately. Anne was a beautiful, professional, wealthy woman. She surely had better options than to kidnap some anonymous hash slinger from a house in the middle of nowhere. Besides, Anne’s car was broken down, so she had no means to quickly get away. I really should see someone about these violent fantasies I have been having, thought Amy.

Anne examined the house with a clinical eye, which fell a few times on Amy’s body; at length, she said, “Thank you for letting me stay here. It is considerate of you.” She continued, “Thank you for offering Mr. Hampton’s help. I should really get a Prius, but that old Benz has a special significance to me. It belonged to my father.” Anne fixated her eyes on Amy a moment, and then, amused, said, “It is okay to relax, you know. I am no psychopath, nor am I going to do anything to you…” and, after a brief, but noticeable pause, she added almost as an afterthought, “At least nothing that you don’t want to happen.”

For a few moments, Anne carefully watched Amy to gauge how would she react to her provocative sentence; then, she briefly scanned the house’s environment. Everything was shabby and worn in the way things are after years of use, but what was there was excellent quality furniture, so it had aged gracefully. Noticing a peculiar, artichoke-looking lamp hanging from the ceiling, Anne said, surprised. “Is that a Poul Henningsen Artichoke lamp? It sure looks like it is an original.” Without waiting for a reply, Anne said, “Can I help in the kitchen? I do not feel right just sitting around.”

Amy tensed at Anne’s words. “Oh, I do not know, really. My uncle had a ranch here, when he died it was sold off to pay his bills. We all kept a few things. My greedy family took what little was of value after the bank was done. I took a few things to settle in here.” She then pointed to a bowl with some ground beef and Italian sausage in it. “You can mix that if you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, there is some onion and garlic in the fridge.” After a pause to take a deep breath, Amy continued, “I have been meaning to call you. You would not happen to know any psychiatrists, would you? Being a doctor and all…”

“I don’t mind at all,” said Anne. After washing her hands very thoroughly, she went to the fridge and picked up an onion and two cloves of garlic; she peeled the garlic but left it whole, and got to work on the onion, peeling the outermost layers and washing the bulb carefully. Then, Anne took a cutting board and washed it. She always washed everything before using it: it was a professional deformity, and as she washed a knife, Anne said, “If I may ask, why do you need a psychiatrist? Is something troubling you, Amy?” Acting automatically and practically without looking, Anne chopped the onion in half and sliced it into wafer-thin slices. The enzymes made Anne cry copiously: it was inevitable, everybody cried while chopping onions, it was the bulb’s defence, a form of chemical warfare designed to deter animals from eating it. That did not stop humans, though, even if it meant having stinging, watery eyes. Whilst washing her hands again, Anne said, “If you want, we can talk about what bothers you,” just as she dipped her fingers in the meaty mixture of beef and Italian sausage.

Amy was busy making the tomato and basil sauce, which admittedly came mostly from a can. She was too poor to afford expensive ingredients but discovered if she got a cheap can of tomato sauce and added her own spices it came out just as good. She really hoped Anne would like it too.
“I have been having disturbing daydreams lately. I was hoping to talk with someone about them, and I figured maybe you might know someone.”

Anne washed her hands again after mixing in the meats and making several small, well-rounded meatballs that you could eat in one bite. She patted her hands on a towel and said, “What kind of daydreams? I am sorry if I am nosy, it is a professional deformation of mine, I like to know everything about a patient, or about anyone really.” There was a moment of silence, and then Anne continued, “Shall I put the meatballs on a pan to sauté while you heat up the sauce?” She did not stay still for long in the kitchen, but moved back and forth, picking up things and leaving them in the same place where she found them, washed thoroughly after use. She asked, “Are you adding pasta to the sauce and meatballs as well?” Anne’s apparent agitation was purposeful: she meant to take pressure off Amy and make her feel in a familiar environment instead of a clinical setting, which could have been intimidating. “You can tell me, I can’t reveal whatever you say to me in my medical capacity, because of doctor–patient privilege and all that privacy jazz.” Anne paused to look at Amy and smiled softly. She was indeed a beautiful, young woman, and Anne thought to herself, “I hope it’s something I can help her with.”

Amy shifted her feet nervously, and her cheeks turned warm and pink. She looked distractedly at the meatballs. She never really liked meatballs, not that they tasted bad, but they always seemed like mini meat loaves to her. It never occurred to her to make them bite-sized. That was genius. “Uh… yeah, l-let the sauce simmer and then they can soak in the juice… s-sorry, I meant the sauce…” Amy took a deep breath. How to say this, she thought. Anne had been increasingly frequently the subject of torrid fantasies. “It started when my uncle died, I guess. Rather… An incident just before. I saw an animal… s-sexually dominating its mate. Since then, I have been… feeling things I was always told were wrong. The other day, at the diner, a woman scolded and slapped her child on the butt for being a brat. It was not like… you know… a hard hit, but it was a good slap… h-her voice though… It… it made me… s-squirm… a-and I… I g-got off on that… Whenever I hear someone use a particular voice, an authoritative, strong one… it makes my knees weak. It is very distracting… you know Gus, the big, black cook at the diner? He has this deep, deep voice, powerful… he is as sweet and gentle as a lamb; he cannot even kill spiders. He insisted on buying non-lethal mouse traps for the pantry. His voice though… it… uhm… y-you get the idea…”

By then, Amy was blushing furiously as she finished speaking. To dissimulate, she made herself busy, pouring the sauce into a bowl and taking out a deep, frying pan. Her small stove only had two burners, so she had to make do. She dumped the mini meatballs into the pan and added some olive oil, then placed the sauce in the microwave on the feeble chance it might stay warm long enough to brown the meat.

Anne paused a few minutes, taking in the information Amy was giving her. Taking a large pot, she filled it with two quarts of water and put it on the larger burner; when the water boiled, she put two tablespoons of salt in it, and when the water bubbled again, Anne measured enough pasta for two people. As if not thinking about it, Anne spoke to Amy again, but her voice had changed: her timbre and intonation were the same, but the way in which her voice was projected gave it a completely contrasting character. She said, “Would it surprise you if I told you that what you are feeling has nothing to do with psychiatry, Amy?”

Anne paused a few seconds and with that different intonation, she continued, “Those feelings and emotions… they are much, much more common than you think, Amy. Trust me when I tell you that what you describe is a common emotional mindset for many, who belong to a class of individuals that I have been in contact with for longer than I have been a physician.” Anne paused and looked straight into Amy’s eyes, calmly, poised, her eyes shining with a hint of excitement, want, lust, desire, and curiosity.

Amy stood in shock, which must have registered on her face as well as in the tenseness of her body. First, there was the timbre of Anne’s voice. She sounded more… present? She even appeared to have grown taller somehow, though Amy was sure it was just her imagination. She felt that familiar tingle in her tummy that made her knees weak. Then… then there was the revelation that she, while certainly not normal, was not alone either. There were others like her. Did that mean that this psychosis was treatable? To Amy, it felt wrong, as if it was an amoral life. Lastly, there was the look in Anne’s eyes. It was a feral, hungry look. For a moment, Amy thought that Anne would push her up against the fridge and kiss her; and Amy would have let her… no… not let her… she would have begged her to.

Amy opened and closed her mouth like a fish, trying to think of what to say. Images of Anne kissing her, the other woman’s long, beautiful fingers, curled in Amy’s hair, pulling, kept getting in the way of her tongue. “I… Yes! I mean… it is not crazy? But… but what do these other people do about it? I… I cannot keep going on this way, it is affecting my job, not to mention my…” and then she stopped speaking. She was going to say her friends, but outside of work she really did not have any.
Anne said, “Well, it all depends on the person, Amy.” Her voice was almost back to normal, but there remained a hint of that different projection that would not leave her intonation for the rest of the conversation. “You see, I am not only a doctor. I have, effectively, two jobs. One is as a medical doctor, which pays my bills and affords me the standard of living that I have. The other occupation is completely unpaid, has no benefits, and is sometimes risky… but it satisfies me, personally. My other occupation… and the occupation in which I take the most satisfaction in, is that of a Dominant.”

Anne paused a moment and let her words sink in. “This meeting might have been fortuitous, but chance acquainted you with someone who is very well-versed in dealing with those emotions you described. What do people do when they have those emotions? They look for someone like me. Those people, with those emotions, are sexual submissives.” Anne paused again, to give her words weight, and then said, “Do you understand what I am speaking of?”

Amy stood dumbfounded, thinking furiously, absorbing Anne’s words. Dominant? Submissive? Is that what she was? A sexual submissive? Was that an adjective or a noun? Anne made it sound like a noun, like someone being a Pisces. Amy had not had sex with anyone since high school, and the groping and 5 seconds of grunting followed by 2 weeks of shame had not really been worth it. She turned and rolled the meatballs around in the pan to keep them from burning and thought about it. “I… I think so… but… but isn’t that scene like leather catsuits, whips, and… and badly acted men getting caned by spiky-heeled women?” She giggled and blushed lightly, realizing the stereotype. “I-I’m sorry, I grew up in San Francisco and all you get to see of that side of life is the whack jobs.”

Anne laughed. Her laughter came in a cascade of almost girlish giggles. When she recovered, she said “The media do portray the BDSM lifestyle like that, granted, but that is just one facet of it. What they portray is theatre. The truth of it is much more powerful than that. Behind the theatre of kink there is a deep, deep weave of obedience, loyalty, trust, and the need to do anything for someone, for no other reason than to please them. That, Amy, is what we of the lifestyle call service, and that is something the media will never understand… or portray.” Anne shifted and stood in a more authoritative pose, looking straight at Amy.

Then, she said, “tell me… have you ever served a Dominant before in your life? I could tell that you were a submissive, right from the first time we met. Did you know that you bow a little when you serve people at the diner? That your hips sway calling for attention when you walk? That you call men ‘sir’ and the women ‘miss’ every time, even if they are absolute jerks to you? Your language and micro-gestures are clues that, to a knowing eye, give away a submissive personality more loudly than if you were screaming it through a bullhorn.” Anne once again stopped talking, brought a chair nearby, sat on it, and crossed a leg over the other, looking over at Amy.

Amy watched her, her first thought was so strong she almost voiced it aloud: what should I call them, or, more accurately, what would you like me to call them? She stared openly at Anne’s long, bare thigh, the way she was sitting Amy could see partially up her skirt on one side. She suddenly felt the urge to drop to her knees. “I am not gay!” she screamed in her mind. True, she liked looking at other women, but never in a sexual way. With Anne, though, that was all she wanted, and she could not deny anything she was saying. Amy did want someone to dominate her now that it was laid out before her. She turned her back to Anne and finished the meatballs, then took the sauce out of the microwave.

Draining the grease out as much as she could, Amy dumped the sauce into the pan and let it heat up, then strained the noodles and poured the meat and sauce in with them. While she did this she said, almost in a whisper: “Two weeks ago I was working late, and I went to dump some trash, helping Gus and Julio clean up. A man jumped me by the dumpster, he did not hit me, he pulled a knife and told me to take off my clothes and lay down. I was going to be raped. The knife, the sight of it… I had never been so hot in my life. And when I realized I was about to be raped, all I could think of was ‘I hope I survive this so I can masturbate to it later.’

If he had raped me, he would have thought I was crazy. I am sure I would have orgasmed at least three times. Gus showed up to find out what was taking so long, and the guy ran off. They called the police and found the guy. I did one of those line-up things. I felt… I felt sick and angry… mostly with myself, not with him for being angry with Gus for ruining it. I never told anyone else this. Just Gus.”

Anne did not say anything about Amy’s confession, but absorbed, it and thought about it. That admission from Amy was like an open window into her mind, through which Anne could see her personality all but laid bare in front of her. It was clear to Anne that Amy was not just submissive. She was a slave, and more likely than not she was also a pain lover. Anne did not disclose her realization, to Amy; instead, she said, “fascinating,” as if contemplating an abstract painting.

Amy set the pot of spaghetti down and served up two plates, then turned to take them to the table. She froze as she saw Anne still sitting there. Leg draped over leg, and her back straight. She looked like a queen, like a goddess. Amy set the plates down on the counter, then, in what could potentially be either the bravest or stupidest thing she ever did in her life, she dropped to her knees on the cold, kitchen linoleum at Anne’s feet. From that kneel, Amy said, “Dinner is served, Miss.”

Anne had been listening and watching Amy. When she served the pasta, she had been about to stand up to eat, but she froze when Amy dropped to her knees and said, “Dinner is served, Miss.” For a moment, Anne did not say anything. To her credit, Amy was the bravest and strongest person she had ever met. No one she knew from the clubs she used to attend could ever do what Amy had just done. “Let the pasta absorb the juice, Amy,” said Anne. “Focus on how the pose makes you feel and tell me. How did you feel when you knelt? How did you feel when you called me Miss? Do you know the implications of calling me like that? Most importantly, where do your emotions come from? Do they come from your head, or from your heart?”

Amy placed her hands behind her back and immediately crossed her wrists. She was not told to, but it felt right. She opened her knees, then again, still wearing the grey shorts they were now pulled up snugly against her panties. Please do not let the wetness I am feeling soak through, she prayed. After five eternal seconds, she responded, “It… it felt natural. It felt right. I mean I always call you miss at the diner; I thought you would like that. It feels different now, though, like it is supposed to be that way. I do not know the answer to the last question, I do not know where these emotions come from.

What I can tell you though is that my head is telling me that this is wrong, my heart is telling me that this is more than right, that this is important. There are a few other body parts currently also trying to get in on the conversation, but for the moment I am keeping them quiet.”

“Let me guess what you are feeling, Amy,” said Anne. “Your mouth is dry, you feel the need to gulp down a lot, and your heart is racing. There is a tingle in your tummy, like butterflies; you feel warm, and I will dare say aroused as well. I can tell, I can notice your hips squirming a little, even now.” Anne’s mouth curled up to a half smile, and she said, after a small, pregnant pause, “Rule one of domination and submission is, ‘there are no secrets between submissive and dominant.’ I appreciate that you have told me sincerely how you feel, and I can tell you are telling me the truth, your body language speaks louder than a million words.”

“Any dominant? Or just… My… Dominant?” thought Amy when Anne paused. Then, with a calm voice, Anne continued: “Since you are new to the world of domination and submission, we will start from the beginning. Submissives respect and obey all dominants, but they respect and obey their Dominant absolutely.” After letting that sink in, Anne said, “I also need you to know, I have been without a submissive for the past two years, so if you really wish to be my submissive, you will need to bear with me for a while, whilst I adjust to having you under my consideration. You will also need time to adjust, of course. D/s is a matter of trust; you and I need to both know and trust each other, and that does not happen overnight.”

Anne smiled ruefully. Thoughts about her first meeting with Julia at an upscale San Francisco bar swirled in her mind, which made her squint her eyes and sadden for a moment, but Anne recovered quickly, and said, more to herself than to Amy, “Damn you Julia, you spoiled me, you brat… But this is what you would have wanted too, wouldn’t you? That I will be happy and cared for…” After another pregnant silence, Anne leaned forward and put her left hand fisted under her chin, resting the elbow on her left knee. “Alright, Amy. If you wish to go through with this, know two things: First, this is a journey, and, like all journeys, there will be bumps on the road. Secondly, know that sometimes doing the wrong thing is the right thing.”

Amy settled back, resting her ass back on her heels. “Anne, I do not know you as well as I probably want to, but I do want to. I… I know nothing about being a submissive, and I would not want to ruin it for you. But I would like to learn, and you seem to know what it is I wish to learn. Please teach me, show me your world, and maybe, in time, I will be a better submissive for you.”
Anne stood up and leaned forward, enough that she could cup Amy’s chin with a hand. She said, after a pregnant moment, “Consider yourself under my protection, Amy. I can tell that this was meant to happen, that you were meant to find me, and I you. I will do my best, and if things work out, we might think about moving forward.”

Amy smiled, beaming in pleasure. “So… What do we do first?”
Anne smiled. “First,” she said, “we eat! I do not know about you, but I am starving. Talking gives me an appetite.” She smiled and offered a hand to Amy. “Stand up, Amy, I loved that you knelt for me, and we’ll talk about protocol and other things like that over the next few weeks.” Anne looked at Amy with a smile, and said, “You may take my hand now, Amy.” When Amy did, Anne helped her to stand up and appraised her carefully.

“Hmm…” She said, sounding a bit like the Oracle in The Matrix, “Now it is the time where in any self-respecting, cheap BDSM movie, the dominant would say, ‘You belong to me now slave.’ Let me assure you that that is not the case. Domination and submission, and BDSM in general, are all about mutual pleasure and about exploring kinks with informed consent. You will not belong to me until you feel that you want to belong to me and ask me to be my slave, and I accept it.”

Amy got to her feet, blushing, and smiling. She felt happier than she ever had in her life. She brought the food to her living room; she never had a table… Never had anyone over to eat with before, and dropped onto the large, soft sofa. “I trust you, otherwise I would not be asking for this. It is right though.”

Anne was surprised at how good the food was, despite the simple ingredients. It had been prepared with soul, with care, by both, in the proper proportions, and both were enjoying it. “Thank you for trusting me, Amy, this is a road that is best travelled together, and to be honest, I know in my heart that my late Julia would have wanted me to be happy again. I have been sulking for too long.” The rest of the meal went by with Anne and Amy talking, mostly about each other, about their lives and experiences, both good and bad alike.

When dinner was done Amy washed the dishes while Anne put the leftovers away. Amy looked at Anne a bit nervously. “Well… Tomorrow is a big day for me, kind of. So, I better get to bed.”
She sighed and walked to the hall, getting a warm, soft quilt and then t the bedroom, filling a spare pillowcase with some towels… It was a lumpy pillow, but she could not think of anything better. She took them out and set them on the couch.

Anne took the pillow and the quilt, and the design of it impressed her. It was well stitched, and the patches were of excellent quality, carefully picked for sure. Anne set the pillow and opened the quilt, and said, “Big day? Is there anything I should be concerned about, or would you rather not disclose it yet?” Anne then smiled and said, “I will leave it up to you, of course. But, Amy, as a sign of respect for me, whether you choose to tell me about your day tomorrow or not, you will kiss my feet, and wish me good night afterwards, in the best way that you feel you can confidently do.”

Amy stared at Anne for a moment. Oh, God, how she wanted to taste her, everywhere. She had never wanted another woman so badly, but she knew she had to take this one step at a time. Sex would come eventually, Amy had no doubts about it, but she wanted to do this right. She dropped slowly to her knees, crawling forward. The simple act of crawling like… like a cat… was enough to make her wet and warm below. She stopped at Anne’s feet and helped her out of her pumps one at a time, then lowered herself down to kiss each toe softly, then the tops of Anne’s feet. She looked up, her eyes sparkling. “Good night, pleasant dreams, Miss,” she whispered.

Anne did not move her eyes from Amy. She watched every gesture, carefully heard every word, and enjoyed it when Amy kissed her toes. When Amy was finished, Anne smiled brightly and said, “Thank you, my pet.”
Amy went to bed and tossed and turned for an hour before she finally masturbated to visions of what Anne was going to do to her, or more accurately what Amy wanted Anne to do to her. She was up early the next day and left for work before Anne woke up but made sure there was fresh coffee and the numbers of the diner and Joe where Anne could find them, with a note saying Joe would be in around twelve to look at the car.

Amy got a ride with Gus and even though they would be working all day they said their goodbyes. Maria would be coming back from parental leave tomorrow. Amy’s rental lease was up in 5 days, and it was time for her to be heading back to San Francisco to finish college. She had not intended to stay this long, she only agreed to work the diner to help Maria, who was the daughter of a friend of her uncle. She did not know how she was going to tell Anne.

The Mercedes’s malfunction was fortunately not a serious one. Joe did know his way around automobiles, and both he and Anne had a meaningful conversation about classic cars and what did they represent. Anne did not have consultations that day, so she went to her home and returned to Yountville, to arrange and clean Amy’s home. Free days were good for Anne to relax through cleaning, and relax she did, with the added benefit that the house looked spic-and-span. Anne was a mess, with dust on her face, hair tied up behind her head, wearing frayed shorts and an old T-shirt tied above the navel, and old, ratty trainers with no socks on at her feet. In her haste, Anne had forgotten a bra; because of that, her breasts swayed more freely.

Anne took a quick shower at her place, bought groceries in Napa, and went back to Yountville to cook a light meal for herself. On the menu, there was chicken curry, Buddha vegetables and green tea to drink. When the time was right, Anne hopped on her car and went to the diner where Amy worked. She arrived there as the sun was setting, just as Amy was coming out of it.
Amy’s goodbye seemed to last forever; at last, she managed to step out of the diner. The sun had just set, and the sky was a brilliant, bright orange and red, fading to indigo.

She ran her fingers through her blonde hair and smiled as she saw Anne’s car. She had hoped Anne had stuck around. She walked over and got in, smiling as Anne reversed out of the parking spot.

“I see you got the car running,” Amy said. “Joe was a genius, and he knows about the classics,” Anne replied with a sly smile. Amy settled back for the trip home. “Um… There is something I need to tell you. I will not be your waiter anymore. The girl I was covering for is coming back tomorrow, and by the end of the week I will be heading back to Frisco to finish my college courses.”

Anne looked at Amy; she smiled and said, “Wonderful! Are you at UCB? I know the area around campus. By the way, I spent the day cleaning your house, you’ll return it almost as good as new.” Anne grinned. “I also have a surprise for you. It is a shame you will not be waitressing at that diner anymore, though. You are good at it and while it is not a career move you would do great as a maid.”

“It was just a summer job,” Amy said. “Helping out for uncle mostly. The girl I replaced was out on parental leave and she is back now. I am not sure what I am going to do, I still have two months before they start new enrolment.” Amy felt herself blushing furiously when Anne mentioned her being good as maid. Would she make Amy do the whole French maid bit, with the short frilly black dress and apron… Or would she be more salacious, and opt to have Amy serve wearing nothing but her smile? The thought made Amy squirm, and she was thankful that she was sitting, or she would have fallen to the ground because her legs felt like Jell-O.

“I took the liberty to go through your wardrobe, Amy. After all, tonight is a formal chic evening, just for the two of us. Look in the backseat,” Anne said, in a rather commanding voice that made Amy shiver. She glanced back and saw a small suitcase… It was her suitcase in fact. She pulled it to her lap and opened it. There was her little black dress, the only one she owned, and a set of black pumps. “Wow… You really went through my drawers, didn’t you?” Amy giggled and began to undress.

“Tonight, it’s your house farewell party, Amy,” said Anne. “Use the little black dress, and no bra, or panties. I mean, it is not like the dress allows for underwear anyway…” Leaving the last phrase in suspense, Anne continued, “I am sure we can come up with something to do for the next two months; but for tonight, you’ll focus on having a pleasant evening.”

Amy pulled her diner uniform off her and set it aside. She had never really been a shy person around those she knew, and it felt like she had known Anne forever. She slipped her bra off and put it in her suitcase. Then, Amy slipped her dress over her head, it was very tight, and really a size too small, but it was the only one she had and was stretchy enough to not constrict her. As she settled back on the seat, Amy reached under her dress to pull the panties off.

Then, she finally took off her socks and trainers and put them in the suitcase, then slipped on her pumps.
Anne was beaming. She said, “You look positively gorgeous, Amy.” Between the changing and the talking, it was that time of day when dusk gives way to night, with the last, crimson, purple and indigo shades of the dying day fading to black as the night progressed, and as the full moon emerged, large as a cantaloupe, Anne arrived at Amy’s house and got out of the car, bringing with her a dress bag. One quick change of clothes later, Anne was wearing a long, red dress, with an open back, maybe not as deep and plunging as Amy’s little black dress, but it still left much exposed.

At her feet, spaghetti sandals, also red, and along her left thigh a long split that showed off most of her leg. “After you,” said Anne, “You are still the household chief, after all.”
Amy climbed out of the car, took her suitcase, and walked into her bedroom to put it away. Anne had already been shopping and together they set about cooking as they had the night before. Grilled salmon and asparagus tips in butter. Anne had bought a bottle of wine, but Amy did not like its taste, or any other alcohol, and settled for cherry Kool-Aid. They sat together on Amy’s sofa and ate, talking about Amy’s college and Anne’s background in medicine. When dinner was done Amy set the plates aside and looked into Anne’s eyes.

“Thanks, for being here,” she said. “You could have gone home. I get so lonely here. I mean I get the occasional guy who wants to… You know. But I have not really found anyone who interested me enough. Until now.”

Anne smiled gently. “I don’t want you to worry about that just now, Amy,” she said, reaching out and touching Amy’s left cheek. “I am still amazed that I have decided to take you under consideration. You know, when Julia died, I felt that a part of me had died as well, and I shut down, retreating into myself, and pushing everybody out of my life. Now, two years later, I meet you, and…” Anne smiled softly and paused a moment, then continued, “And I feel that part of me that I thought had died with Julia reawakening. I… I cannot explain it, but it is as if you and I had been meant to meet. Whether by chance or by design, I do not know, but I do feel that we were meant to cross paths.”

Anne stopped talking for a moment and just looked into Amy’s eyes, reading them, almost peering into her soul. Then at length, Anne said, “I have something else for you. It is two things. The first one is an offer to come to my home in Santa Elena for the next two months, it will be a bit farther to San Francisco, but it is a comfortable home, I think, and I can make good on that training I offered you. The other one…” Anne smiled and took out a small wooden box from her purse, which she placed between both on the sofa. Deliberately, Anne opened the container and showed its contents to Amy.

It was what looked like a short leather belt, rolled, with three small rubies lined up horizontally behind the silver buckle. “The other one,” Anne continued, “is a formal request. I wish to take you firmly under consideration as my submissive, this is the right thing to do, my heart is practically screaming for it. However, this must be entirely your decision, Amy. Think about it, and if you really wish to, just ask.”

“It is all I have been thinking about all day,” Amy said happily. “I accept, both. I will come with you to Santa Elena and start my submissive training under you, and happily accept the condition to be under consideration.” She then backed away a little embarrassed. “Um, there is something we need to talk about before we do this. It is… A touchy subject… Sex. I know I have a lot of presumptions about BDSM, and… The reason I want to do this so badly is because I want to lay those fears to rest. I have never been someone who believes what she sees in the news, I always must know why and have first-hand experience. I am assuming sex will eventually be involved?” she looked at Anne, blushing but her eyes were hopeful. “See, I have never had sex with a woman before. And it is something I honestly never considered.”

Anne smiled at Amy kindly; then, she said, “I accept you as my submissive in consideration, Amy,” then said, “I will be happy to answer any questions you have about BDSM, and about service, which brings me to that same topic you touched, Amy. Yes, sex will be a part of your life, and it will happen at any time after you tell me you feel ready. They did not call me Her Dykeness for nothing, you know.”

Anne again giggled girlishly. “I’m not a mind reader, but I think that you might just enjoy being intimate with a woman.” With a smile, Anne lifted Amy’s chin and picked up the leather strap. “This, Amy, is a submissive’s first collar, a collar of consideration. It means that a dominant is thinking about claiming you soon. Other dominants will mostly keep to themselves when they see a consideration collar, though some… Especially men… Cannot quite keep their hands to themselves. Boys will be boys, I guess. Pull back your hair, please.”

Amy smiled widely, the thought of being with another woman had never crossed her mind before, and now it was all she could think about. She bowed her head forward, leaning toward Anne a little, and lifted her long, honey-coloured hair up on top of her head. “I eagerly accept this collar, and offer You, Anne Marquez, my complete submission.”

Anne was deliberately slow: As if every move were calculated, she took the collar from the box, and showed it to Amy. Rich, black leather, the delicate, silver buckle had a hole in the middle, and the tab also was similarly finished with an oblong, donut-shaped tip. In the box, there was a final element to everything, a small lock, with a key in it. Anne put the collar around Amy’s neck, slipped the strap around the collar and under the buckle, and tightened it until the collar fit snugly around Amy’s neck.

It was not a thick collar, it would have passed as a decorative, if a bit provocative, leather choker if one were not to look too closely. Finally, once the collar was in place, Anne took the small lock and showed it to Amy. “This lock symbolizes your commitment to this step you are taking, Amy. Once I put it on, your collar will be locked, meaning that without my help you will not be able to take it off. I am giving you a choice, which I have always given anyone entering my consideration: Do you wish the collar to be locked or not? Be aware that there are no right or wrong answers from now on, all that matters is what your heart tells you to choose.”

Holding the lock in the palm of her left hand, the right hand resting reassuringly on Amy’s left thigh, Anne studied the young woman’s factions, waiting for her response, with the same, deliberate calm that she had shown so far.

It did not take long for Amy to come to a decision, she had been thinking about this for 2 days and the only thing that was hard for her was the anticipation. She wanted to be 6 months in the future, already deep in it. “I understand, and I have given this a lot of thought, Miss. I have never felt so right about anything in my life. I want you to lock it.”

With the same, deliberate calm with which Anne had put the collar on Amy’s neck, she first stroked Amy’s cheek with the back of her hand. She said, “Thank you, Amy,” and immediately after Anne took the lock and turned the key, unlocking it. She slipped the shank through the eyelet on the buckle and the tab, turned the body, and holding the shank with two fingers, pushed the body of the lock-up.

The lock clicked, and Anne tested the key, unlocking the lock pad and then locking it again, this time for good. She then took out the small key from the padlock, and with her other hand, Anne took out a small, black velvet bag. “Let’s put the key in here, for safekeeping,” she said with a smile. Then, Anne added, “You may now let go of your hair and go see yourself in the mirror, Amy.”
Amy giggled; she had not felt like this since she made the cheer squad in school. She unfolded herself from the floor and walked to the bathroom, where the only mirror was.

She stared at the collar/choker and the way it slit a dark slash across her pale neck. It looked sexy to her; it was the perfect accessory. More than that, it was as if some missing part of her had been finally completed. She ran her fingers over the thin leather and suddenly burst out in tears. She walked back to Anne and threw her arms around her in a hug.

“I’m so happy…!” Amy bawled. Anne held Amy close, feeling the young woman’s warm tears moisten her bare shoulder. Anne’s left hand rested on the back of Amy’s head, and the right one on the small of her back. “Tell me what you are thinking, tell me your emotions.” Anne’s voice was calm, and there was a hint of concern in her voice, but not only concern. There was also care, attention, curiosity, authority, and yes, excitement too. “Your happiness is important to me, it’s my wish and my need as your protector to make sure you are always happy and feel comfortable in discovering your submission.”

Amy sniffled, holding Anne as she would hold her mother. Then she stepped back, wiping her cheeks and giggling. “I cannot remember ever being so happy, excited, and scared in all my life. This is the best thing that ever happened to me. I am fine now, Miss…Mistress…” She could not stop touching the collar, it would take weeks before she would get used to feeling it on her neck. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Well, I am yours now.”
Anne smiled, but when Amy said the word “Mistress” Anne put a finger across her lips. She said, “No, do not call me Mistress yet, Amy. Miss will do, or if you want to, my Miss, or Miss Anne, for now, dear. I must earn the right to be called ‘Mistress’ by you as much as you need to understand whether being my submissive is right for you.

From now on, you will reserve the words ‘Sir’ and ‘Miss’ to be used with the people that I tell you to call Sir or Miss. For the other people? Well, if you know a man by name, you will call him or her by name, and for people that you do not know, it is either ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am.’ Protocol and hierarchy are important in this lifestyle. Is it clear, Amy?” said Anne, looking calmly in Amy’s eyes. At length, Anne said, “I look forward to our time together, my pet.”

“Yes Miss,” Amy said immediately. “There is so much that needs to be done tomorrow. I have friends coming to move my stuff, what little I own anyway. I need to give them the new place’s address too. I will worry about it later, tomorrow.”
Anne nodded, and said, “I took the liberty of packing a few things already, at least the ones you will need for the weekend. Take a shower, then we can go to sleep. Oh, if it is okay with you, I will sleep in your bed, with you.”

Amy’s squeal of pleasure was more than answer enough. She took a quick shower, making sure she was washed in the most intimate places. She was excited and nervous, and she took more time after the shower to make sure she looked nice than she had in the shower. She walked into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around herself, smiling nervously.

When Amy emerged from the shower, Anne was nearly done taking off her clothes and was bent as she was taking off her panties. She was older than Amy, in her mid-thirties, but still fit and shapely. Her skin was white as white could get, alabaster like, supple and smooth, and in the position in which Anne was, bent over, with her left leg up, the panties slipping off her foot, her breasts hanging down, Anne’s nudity was at the same time erotic and artistic.

Hearing steps, Anne turned her head and smiled at Amy. Anne’s cheeks were a bit flushed from being bent over, and as soon as Amy got in the room, Anne smiled. “That was a quick shower, my pet,” she said. Anne straightened and put a hand across her breasts and one on her crotch. Anne nibbled at her lower lip, blushing a little. She said softly, “One thing you should be aware of, I always sleep naked in a bed, it’s an old habit.”

Amy stopped and could not help but stare. Anne’s body was flawless, full, and beautiful. Age had only made Anne more incredible, and Amy suddenly felt nervous and insignificant compared to her. What did she have to offer this beautiful, exotic, intelligent woman? She was awkward, small, and completely inexperienced. Her blue eyes lit up as they went from ankle to neck, then settled on Anne’s angelic face. “Well Miss, then I better get used to it.” She said, not recognizing the throaty tremor in her voice.

She stepped forward and with a slight tug the towel fell to Amy’s feet. Her breasts were smaller than Anne’s, each just a handful, but high and perky, with dark red nipples. Her pubes were blond and came in light, perfectly trimmed over the pink slit of her sex. She blushed as she walked towards the bed wearing nothing except her collar.

Anne paused a moment before climbing into bed, looking down and whispering something under her breath. At last, Anne opened the sheets, and slipped in, as automatically as a reflex, Anne scooted over towards Amy and gave her a kiss on the nape of her neck.

“Before we go to sleep, would you mind if I touched your body?”
“You have no idea how much I want that,” Amy whispered and timidly slipped an arm around Anne’s shoulders, pulling her close.
Anne whispered, “Thank you, my pet,” and proceeded to slowly caress Amy’s body; her hands brushed Amy’s shoulders, then down to her perfect, perky, B-cup breasts, which Anne gently caressed and felt with the tips of her fingers, the swell, the areola, under each globe, each touch deliberate and slow; then Anne slowly caressed down along Amy’s sides, she did this with her eyes closed, breathing slowly as if she wanted to commit Amy’s scent into her memory.

Anne’s touching and stroking went town to Amy’s tummy, her navel, the flare of her hips, and then Anne’s right hand slid down along the bikini line, and then across to Any’s mons; Anne’s fingers gently rubbed in circles, then down along the fuzzy, blond pubic hair, and further down, along the slit of Amy’s sex, down, then back up, a few times, so gently and so slowly that it almost felt like a feather instead of fingers. Anne then said, “May I check inside your pussy, Amy?”

My pet… The words echoed in Amy’s ears and something in her heart swelled. Anne’s touch was soft, and her hands were like velvet. Amy gasped softly as Anne’s fingers set off sparks of heat all over her body. She bit softly into her bottom lip, but this did not stop the continuous soft moans of pleasure. Amy tried her hardest to hold still but it was hard, even the fibre of her being wanted to writhe and squirm. She ran her hands over Anne’s back in return, her sides, her breasts, cupping the larger, firm orbs. Anne’s breasts were perfect, large without being massive, big enough to fit into Amy’s hand with a little more to give, heavy, soft, and warm.

Amy’s pussy was on fire, wet and slippery, and when Anne asked to touch it, Amy almost laughed. Touch it? Amy wanted Anne to do more than just touch it. “It is… Yours, Miss” she whispered in a throaty, wanton voice and parted her thighs.

Anne once again said, “Thank you, my pet.” With her right hand, using the index and ring fingers, Anne spread Amy’s plump, darkly flushed outer labia; Anne’s nipples had gone erect and were poking out, thanks to Amy’s gentle caresses. Anne slipped the index of her left hand inside Amy’s sex but did not slip it all the way inside because Anne felt Amy’s hymen.

“Have you been sexually involved with someone, Amy?” Anne asked. Amy’s hymen did not feel like it had been torn. Not that it mattered to Anne, she was technically a virgin as well, as she had never received a man inside her body, just Julia’s fingers. She had had a hard limit with dildos, so those toys had never been brought out into play either. Anne nibbled Amy’s right ear, gently, stroking at the girl’s inner petals, touching at the hymen’s membrane, then Anne slipped her finger out, and gently rubbed between Amy’s inner petals, up and down, touching around the clitoris delicately, hazel eyes framed by raven hair, looking directly into Amy’s blue eyes.

Amy gasped, she arched up, and the feeling coursing through her body was like an electrical shock that curled Amy’s toes. “I… Yes Miss, I mean… One guy…” She remembered Joey’s small cock; she was sure he was coming even as he was putting it inside her in the back of his car. It had been a miserable, humiliating moment, completely opposite to this one.

She moaned deep in her throat and her own fingers left the hard, rubbery bullet of Anne’s nipples, one hand was trapped behind Anne’s back but the other moved down her tummy and Amy ran her fingers gently over Anne’s petals. She had touched her own pussy on many occasions, but she had never touched another woman’s sex before. It was incredibly soft, warm, and wet.

Amy’s touch on Anne’s sex was the instinctive, naïve touch of someone without experience. Anne kept her hands busy, the left touching Amy’s sex, while her right moved and rested on Amy’s hand, guiding it so Amy knew how to touch Anne down there, and even allowed a finger to slip inside, but pulled Amy’s hand back whenever she touched Anne’s own hymen. Softly, Anne said, “It feels like either he did not know what he was doing, or he had a micro penis. In any case… Technically, you are still a virgin.” Anne giggled softly and whispered, “Breaking news, so am I, as you just felt. You may explore my body freely, but do not slide your fingers all the way inside me,” said Anne in a soft whisper, and then she added after a pause, “for now.”

Amy smiled and said breathlessly. “Really? I am still a virgin?” she giggled and gently eased Anne onto her back “So much for my reputation. There is something I have always wanted to do Miss. And since you just gave me permission…” She began kissing her way slowly down Anne’s body, paying special attention to her breasts and spent a good ten minutes on each nipple, sucking and nipping. But her main quarry was further down, and after a fun and pleasurable tour around Anne’s navel, Amy finally slid her tongue inside Anne’s pussy. Tasting another woman’s nectar had always been a fantasy of hers since… Yesterday afternoon, it was so wonderful, so warm, so sweet.

Anne was in a good mood, and deep down she wanted Amy to explore her, so she was a good sport and let Amy turn her on her back, and smiled, moaning softly when Amy kissed her breasts and suckled and nipped at them, making Anne flush in arousal. As Amy’s head slid down Anne’s body, she parted her legs progressively wider, so that by the time Amy had planted her mouth over Anne’s slit, she was spread wide, and when Amy slipped her tongue inside her, Anne gasped and shivered with pleasure. Her hands were not idle either, they were caressing Amy’s back, slowly, gently, silky touch with just the tip of the fingers, and those same hands grasped Amy’s hair when she slipped her tongue between Anne’s petals.

Amy was in heaven, her tongue dove and lapped up and down, taking her time, enjoying every drop Anne had to give her. She wiggled her tongue and thought to herself, “I think I am a lesbian.” The thought made Amy giggle as she slid her hands under Anne and lifted her hips up. She could not get enough, and the more she licked the more Anne gave her. Amy’s nose bumped up gently against Anne’s little clitoral nub.

She was in heaven and nearly came herself when Anne’s fingers tightened on her hair.
Anne moaned and shivered, she was getting very aroused with Amy’s ministrations, what she lacked in experience, she more than made up with passion and selfless giving, and Anne found that to be extremely arousing. Feeling Amy’s nose touch her nub, Anne gasped, and her legs closed around Amy’s head; her hips ground three-four times on Amy’s lips, and stayed lifted, held by Amy’s hands. Anne moaned a throaty, low-pitched moan, and her sweetest juices seeped out, lapped greedily by Amy’s dutiful tongue. Anne shivered for a few seconds that felt like days, and then went limp, panting hard, and her whole body felt warm and smelled of sex.

Amy felt the trembling, heard the low screech, Anne’s thighs tightening on her head and then there was a rush of wetness, oh my God I made her orgasm, Amy thought, and felt the first rush of power that made being a submissive worth it: The power to bring someone pleasure like no one else could. She dug her fingers into Anne’s ass and held her until Anne released her head and her strong thighs opened. Amy sat up, licking her lips, and kissed and crawled back up Anne’s body, taking her time to let Anne catch her breath and come to her senses until she was back up to kiss her tender lips.

When Anne recovered, her heart was still beating fast, though not at the hummingbird rate that it had been when she had orgasmed. The first thing Anne said was, “oh, my, God,” and looked at Amy, cuddling tightly next to her. “Thank God you don’t have experience, pet… if you had, you’d be California’s greatest licker.” Anne giggled softly and kissed Amy’s forehead. “How did you feel, giving me pleasure like that?”
“It was the most amazing thing I ever did!” Amy squealed. “I never thought… It was better than… I cannot describe it! Giving… Doing that… Making you…! It was better than… Wow!” she giggled. “I want to do it again!”

“All in due time,” said Anne, still panting but with a glint in her eyes. “I loved how intense you were, now allow me do something for you,” said Anne, already moving Amy to lay on her back. On top of her, on all fours, hands grabbing Amy’s wrists, Anne said, “How does this make you feel, pet?” with that tone of authority that Amy had heard once.

Amy gasped softly; she said, “Helpless… Sexy…” and rubbed her thighs together. The fantasies she had been having for the last few weeks were nothing compared to this feeling of wonderful vulnerability, and she stretched out her young body, giving all of herself to the beautiful woman.

Anne was if nothing else predatory in her approach to young Amy’s body. Softly, slowly, she kissed Amy, on her cheeks, forehead, lips… Anne’s lips lingered on Amy’s, slowly, softly, as if she was tasting something she enjoyed greatly. “Mm,” said Anne, “you taste… Terrific… My pet,” and immediately after that, Anne kissed Amy firmly, and lowered herself on the young woman’s body, making her weight felt, squirming, and rubbing against Amy, body against body. After five days’ worth of kissing and full body caressing that in real life were about twenty minutes, Anne lifted her head and looked into Amy’s eyes. With a sly smile, Anne moved Amy’s wrists, slowly, to be above her head, and crossed them as if they were bound. “Don’t you move your hands now, pet, I’d hate to restrain them,” said Anne in a sexy, authority-filled voice.

Amy writhed under Anne; her hands clenched in the restrained urge to hold onto her. The kisses were intense, filling her with heat in her tummy, and she never wanted it to end. She wanted to melt and crawl inside Anne’s body forever. She opened her legs a little, trapping one of Anne’s between her thighs. Anne had crossed her wrists and held them firm. The thought of being tied and helpless was tantalizing, but Amy knew instinctively that real submission did not require cuffs to restrain. She would not move her wrists until Anne told her it was ok. Amy nodded swiftly, unsure that she could talk now, even if she wanted to.

“Mm…” said Anne, feeling Amy’s thighs squeeze her left thigh. Anne did the same, trapping Amy’s left thigh between hers, but only for a moment, because she let the squeeze go. “I like what you are thinking, and I may let you do that, but later, pet, for now…” Anne put a finger over Amy’s lips, and said, “For now… I want you to be quiet, until I say so, or until you orgasm. If you behave, if you do well…” Anne ground her hips against Amy’s thigh once, and said, “I will let you go on with this sexy frottage idea, my pet.”

Anne slotted her eyes sexily and grinned, then ever so slowly Anne kissed Amy’s body, from neck to breasts, where she lingered for quite some minutes, kissing, licking, nibbling at Amy’s perky breasts, tongue slowly lapping around each areola, and teeth trapping each nipple and nibbling and tugging, mixing in equal measure pleasure and pain.

Amy was at, for the moment, the highlight of her entire sexual experience. Joey, being the teenage stud he was, tried to stimulate Amy by kissing her breasts, but to Amy, it felt like he was drooling on her. By the time he had clumsily thrust his teenage penis against her, missing completely and pushing it up against her mons which caused him to cum immediately, she already knew this was a lame idea. He had tried to get it inside her, hoping a few simple pumps would get her to orgasm, but it was too little, no pun intended, too late. She had been out of the mood and angry with herself for letting this happen.

Now it was completely different. Anne’s tongue and teeth worked in concert, tasting and teasing, pulling, and twisting. Everything Anne did sent new jolts of pleasure through her body, every jolt was a new sensation, a new height of pleasure. Amy had an orgasm, just from Anne biting down on her nipple. “H… Harder…” Amy moaned as she came, arching up, her hands still pinned by her own will, by Anne’s will, above her head. And she could feel more orgasms building. If I live through this, I will never be the same, she thought. Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she thought if she did not live it was the best way to die.

Anne looked up from her slow, teasing nibbling and kissing. She stopped, but only to blow some air on Amy’s left nipple, and said, “Harder… What… Pet…” Her teeth immediately afterwards took Amy’s right nipple, and her tongue teased the nipple’s tip. Anne’s eyes flashed as if she was grinning with her eyes. One, just one, sharp nip, then Anne lifted her mouth from Amy’s breast. She paused… One… Two… Three… Four… Five seconds, and then Anne attacked the left nipple, with that same intensity, and said… “Those were because you did not keep the quiet, pet.” Anne made sure her face was in Amy’s view, and this time she grinned in full view of Amy, and said again, “Harder… what…” Anne paused a little more before she added, as a punch line, “Mine…”

Amy squealed and lifted her breasts up. Her whole body felt alive. Harder… What? She looked at Anne in confusion, she could barely understand, her head was in a fog of lust. Had Amy said something? She could not remember, could barely think at all. “H… Harder… Please… Miss… Mistress…” she called out, forgetting Anne told her not to call her Mistress. It all felt so good, so right, and as Anne called her “Mine” that word alone sent Amy over the top and she exploded in her second orgasm of the night.
Anne took her time, slowly but firmly nibbling Amy’s nipples, licking them, tugging at them with her teeth.

She had felt Amy’s two shivers, one from the bite, the other from being called “mine,” all those clues were giving Anne precious information about what made Amy tick sexually, and Anne used it all to her advantage. Slowly, Anne’s kisses moved down from Amy’s nipples to her tummy; there, Anne gave not only nibbles, but also provocative licks inside the young woman’s navel; sexy sucks, and teasing blows on her skin; and also the occasional, firm pinch on either of her sides, while Anne’s lips oh so slowly moved down Amy’s tummy, lower, and lower, and lower still, until she slowly made her way to her lover’s mons.

Amy let out a deep, needy moan, she had heard such sounds on pornos before and always thought the actor was faking it. She might have been, but Amy certainly was not. I have so much to learn, she thought, as her legs parted wider to give Anne complete access to her. Oh God oh God oh God oh God, she was thinking rapidly. She is going to do it! Another woman is about to eat my pussy!

The thought made her mind spin, she had never wanted anything so bad in her life. She bit her bottom lip hard enough to leave teeth marks, holding back the pleading she wanted to do. It would not have done her any good to beg. Anne would eat her to orgasm when she was ready, regardless of what Amy wanted.

Anne was absolutely in no hurry, but she was eager to taste Amy, she was. Anne’s head moved lower, over the blond fuzz over Amy’s sex, lapping the pubic hair, and Amy could hear a sniffing sound, which was Anne inhaling Amy’s scent, intensely, as if committing it to memory; Anne then put her lips on Amy’s clitoris and slowly swirled her tongue a few times around Amy’s little shaft, but avoiding to touch it for the moment, before moving her tongue down Amy’s slit, one long, slow, wet lick with just the tip of her tongue, from just under the clitoris to just above the taint, and then back, but this time pressing her whole tongue against Amy’s vaginal fissure, and finishing off with a flick of the tongue that brushed the underside of Amy’s clitoris… and back down, slowly, intensely, pressing the tip of her tongue a bit more firmly as Anne moved down, and likewise pressing harder on Amy’s slit with Anne’s whole tongue while moving up. Anne’s hands slipped down to hold Amy’s thighs, squeezed them both, and released them.

I must remember what she does, I must learn how to please another woman, Amy thought to herself, but all that fled her mind the moment Anne’s tongue touched her clitoris. She cried out something religious and from that point on, if asked later, she would swear all she did was orgasm for about 3 days solid. The intense pleasure was too much, and she cried out as she ground forward. Anne’s tongue played her like a harp, her body was completely not her own and the pleasure peaked and crested like a storm. Years of pent-up sexual frustration and confusion, of denial and at times even revulsion, suddenly overcame her and, without even knowing what subspace Amy was, she found herself floating in a world of ecstasy.

Anne was acutely aware of how Amy was feeling, contact with Amy through their hands and feeling Amy’s moves on her mouth were good indicators of what Amy was feeling. Anne lifted her mouth, and said… “Let it all go… Mine…” and then Anne plastered her lips again on Amy’s sex and nibbled gently on her clitoris, and while teasing her in that way, Anne flicked the tip of Amy’s clitoris with the tip of her tongue, while one finger touched Amy’s taint, rubbing, and pressing.

The sound Amy made would have made her neighbours laugh and nod approvingly, had she had any. The cry sounded through the house and her body arched up. It was amazing that she did not move her wrists at all, for she had lost control of her body. Her thighs, strong and athletic from years of cheerleading, dancing, acrobatics, and recently waitressing clamped down on Anne’s head like a python on its prey. There was a gushing of heat and wetness, “Mine” was all Amy understood, and it was enough. “Hers,” she thought somewhere in the dim fog of lust, hers, forever, always, hers… Suddenly Amy’s legs released Anne, her hips fell back to the bed, her whole body, as tense as a piano wire, slumped. Anne lifted her dripping face to see Amy had passed out.

I pushed too much for the first time, I don’t know what came over me, thought Anne, seeing Amy pass out, her body limp. Anne slowly lifted her mouth from her erotic meal, and moved to make Amy comfortable, holding her closely, cocooning her, almost… No, exactly as she would have done with a sleeping baby. Anne let Amy recover at her own time, knowing well from her years of experience that even in that state Amy could be processing the emotions and sensations she had felt, and what they meant to her.

Silently, Anne caressed Amy’s hair, and looked over her, like a mother would look over her sleeping child. As she watched over Amy, Anne looked at the bedside clock… 4:38 AM.
Amy slept like the dead. She had not slept so hard and so long since she was six. She moved in her sleep only to curl up against Anne, holding her tight. When Amy woke the sun was bright. She felt amazing, refreshed, and energized. She looked at Anne, sleeping peacefully, and kissed her gently on the lips. She slid out of bed as carefully as she could and went to make coffee for when Anne woke. Since she did not have to go to work today, she would pack up the last of her boxes and then go to Anne’s house, her home for the time being.

She stood naked over the coffee pot, watching the dark liquid fill it, and tried to imagine her life in a year, five years… ten. Would she still be with Anne? It was strange. When she was twelve, she could not see herself at eighteen; when she was eighteen, she swore she would be dead by twenty-one, now she could easily imagine being with Anne at fifty.

Anne stirred and woke up, after a manner, and walked over to the kitchen, naked. She saw Amy, naked as well, standing by the coffee pot, her back turned to Anne. Stealthily, like a cat, Anne came up behind Amy and hugged her gently from behind. “Good morning, pet,” whispered Anne softly into Amy’s left ear, and finished off with a gentle line of kisses on Amy’s ear, cheek, and neck.

Amy smiled, tilting her head to one side. Anne’s lips touched her neck’s skin, the collar, then her ear and cheek. Amy closed her eyes, the feeling of soft breasts pressing into her back and strong, shapely arms wrapping around her tummy was something she could get used to. “I am afraid I do not have much food left; I was not planning to stay long. I have an egg if you want breakfast. My clothes and the coffee pot are the last things I need to pack.”

Anne was not a morning person, not on a Saturday, nor after a night of mind-blowing sex. Being both a Saturday and the morning after mind-blowing sex made for double the bed head and double the squinty eyes. Anne nonetheless looked at her watch… “Holy… It is almost 11 AM!” Said Anne, becoming suddenly alert. “It’s your move-out date and no one’s here yet, oh my God.”

Amy made a quick phone call, her friends with the truck were on the way but were coming from San Francisco and would not arrive for some time. “The boxes are packed and labelled in the living room,” she said as she walked with the now-cleaned coffee maker to the last back, the phone tucked against her shoulder. Anne took the small bag with a day’s worth of rubbish, including the coffee filter, out to the trashcan. “I will leave the key on the step, in front of the door. Hold on,” she handed the phone to Anne. “Tell them the address, please.” She smiled and began taping the last box shut.

As Anne relayed the address of her place to the movers, who were old friends of Amy’s, Amy packed her suitcase, pillow, toiletries, and blanket into Anne’s car. Soon they were on the road and Amy settled back in her seat to enjoy the trip.
Anne smiled over at her and, once they were on Highway 101, she placed her hand high up on Amy’s thigh. Amy giggled and blushed, keeping her legs open, then more as Anne pulled her legs open wider.

“Does it excite you, to be displayed like this?” Anne asked with a smile. “Yes, Miss,” Amy said and could feel the wetness forming to prove it. Anne drove past several trucks and Amy was not sure if they saw her or not, but anyone looking down into the car could see what Anne was doing to her. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment, but it was so much fun.
Anne had Amy remove her panties under her short skirt and pulled her into a Denny’s. “Go inside and get us breakfast. Any kind. Something easy to eat on the go.”

As Amy got out Anne said, “Wait.” She got out and walked around, then twirled the top of Amy’s skirt, folding it up three times to make the hem rise to just under her backside. “You are cute when you are blushing. Do not forget to leave a tip.” Anne laughed and patted Amy on the ass.

Amy walked in and felt like everyone was staring at her, which was mostly not true, though her long, bare legs and tiny skirt did draw her looks. She placed her order and stood tugging on her skirt as she waited for it to be ready, and by the time she got back to the car she was sopping wet.

“Good girl, you deserve a reward,” Anne said, smiling. As they pulled back out onto the highway. She reached into her purse and took out a small egg with a wire that ran out of one end and into a small device with a lever. She slid the egg under Amy, not pushing it inside her, but merely making her sit with her slit and clitoris pushing down on it, then pushed the lever up. It immediately began humming and Amy cried out. “You may eat now,” Anne said with a giggle.

The influx of wine enthusiasts and trucks going up and down the valley for the harvest made the 20-minute trip from Yountville to Santa Elena last at least 45 minutes. After the quick breakfast at Denny’s, Anne had to stop for gas and to use the ladies’ room; as she got out of the car, she said to Amy, “Wait for five minutes, then come to the ladies’ room, pet.” Anne went to the women’s restroom, did what she needed to, and waited for Amy to come.

Amy squirmed on the egg for 4 minutes and 55 seconds, and then got out of the car, tugging her skirt down. Her thighs were wet, and her cheeks were hot, her clothes felt too small, too tight. Exactly 5 minutes after Anne had left the car Amy pushed open the door to the restroom and stepped inside. The room was clean, smelling of disinfectant and a slight hint of lingering perfume from different necks. Amy smiled and blushed as she saw Anne leaning against the wall by the sinks.

Anne moved forward and closed the bathroom door. Then, she grabbed Amy by the wrists as soon as she entered, and with a flurry of kisses, Anne brought Amy’s wrists above her head, crossed. Holding them with her left hand, Anne slid her hand under Amy’s short skirt, and rubbed at her very wet sex, now slowly, now quickly, in circles, along the vaginal cleft, around the clitoris, everywhere, Anne softly whispered in Amy’s ear, “Lesson one, a submissive must be prepared to serve her dominant… wherever, whenever, at any time, in any place.”

After such words, Anne slowly slipped a finger into Amy’s sex but without slipping past her hymen. Anne teased Amy, poking at the virginal barrier, rubbing it, insistently, maddeningly, alternating her touching with hot and sexy possessive kisses.

Amy gasped as Anne pressed her up against the wall. She returned the kisses when Anne’s mouth was near hers and moaned softly when Anne’s lips moved down. Her hands crossed, pinned as helpless as the night before. “Someone can walk in anytime!” she squealed, feeling the wetness on her thighs as her excitement got a hold of her. She opened her legs more, the already short skirt slipping up further, exposing her muff and inching slowly up to her waist with each squirming grind.

“So, what if someone walks in?” said Anne, appearing not to care one bit about that. “It just means we have to be fast,” Anne said, between kisses and lip nibbles; all the while, Anne kept rubbing at Amy’s pussy slowly, and whispering, “I love the feel of your sex… and how wet it is, my pet…” Anne’s fingers slipped outside of Amy’s vagina, and rubbed her vigorously, all over her outer labia, around her clitoris, down to her taint, and the heel of Anne’s hand rested on Amy’s mound, just a little bit above her clitoris.

Amy shuddered and bit her bottom lip as she felt a tremendous orgasm, her legs shook and turned to jelly and she slid down to the floor to her knees, her arms still pinned over her head. Looking up at Anne she leaned forward, keeping her hands where they were and pushed her face under Anne’s skirt, licking furiously at her panties, around the edges and over the mound covered in satin.

Anne shuddered and moaned, she said, “Oh… Gods…” The risk of getting caught was high, and Amy was on her knees, openly munching Anne’s panties. That alone violated several laws and a couple of local ordinances. Anne let go of Amy’s wrists, she said, “You may hold me… Mine…” and her whole body shook her, on the verge of orgasming.

Amy slipped her fingers under Anne’s skirt and pulled down her panties, not too far, she would pull them up later, just to the top of her thighs. Once her beautiful slit was exposed Amy burrowed her tongue inside her miss’s slit and licked her furiously with youthful eagerness, slipping her hands around Anne’s hips and gripping her perfectly round ass, pulling her against her so hard she could not breathe.

Anne flushed all over and shuddered hard; her juices seeped from her pussy, straight into Amy’s mouth. Anne panted hard, and reached to hold Amy’s arms, and pulled her up. “G-good work… m-my pet,” said Anne, panting. “Now… Clean me up and fix me up so I look like nothing happened.” Anne fixed Amy up, combing her pet’s blonde hair with slow strokes, and said softly, in Amy’s ear, “Was this what you were imagining BDSM was as a pet?” Anne’s voice was sultry and throaty with post-coital energy and had gained a very sexy, slightly raucous tone.

“Better,” Amy giggled, pulling Anne’s panties back up and licking her lips, she took out her lip gloss and recoated her lips, then looked in the mirror, straightening her blonde hair just as the door opened and a woman walked in. If she suspected anything she did not show it as she headed straight to the closest stall. Anne nodded to Amy, and both left together, back to Anne’s car. Anne picked up the egg and, as soon as Amy sat down, she pushed it inside Amy’s mouth.

“Clean this,” she said, smiling, and backed the car out. They had nearly arrived at Anne’s home. Amy sucked her juices off the egg and put it back in Anne’s purse, smiling like a little kid on Christmas.

Anne watched Amy, smiling softly. The way the young woman had cleaned her, and the egg, had been to Anne’s satisfaction, and as the Mercedes 300 SEL had stopped at the end of the driveway, Anne climbed down and went to open the passenger’s side door. “Come with me, pet,” said Anne, with a smile. Anne offered her right arm for Amy to cling to, and the short walk to Anne’s home, up a slight slope to a two-story, modern home, with large windows, exposed to the South. Anne unlocked the door and opened it. “Come on in, Amy. Welcome home,” said Anne, opening the front door wide open.

Amy walked in, completely surprised. She had grown up in middle city apartments, even the place back in Yountville had seemed luxurious to her, and she could fit three of those in this place. “You live here alone?” she gasped as she walked through each of the rooms. Anne led her around, showing her everywhere, and ended in the living room, standing before the huge glass-paned window. Beyond the ground sloped down, and it seemed like all of the town spread out around them.

“Just me,” Anne said sadly, but with a wistful smile. “But now there is also you.” Amy turned from the window and walked over to her. “Thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity. I hope I do not screw this up, Miss.” Her blue eyes shifted, and she looked beyond Anne. A series of photos had been set in frames on a fireplace mantle. They showed Anne at various points in her life. Some of the photos showed another woman accompanying Anne. They looked so happy, and it was clear they were a couple. “Is this Julia?”

Anne was smiling throughout the tour; in the living room, when Amy looked at the picture Anne had taken of Julia on their fifth anniversary, Anne’s smile faded. “Yes, that was Julia,” said Anne. “That was the day when Julia asked me to solder her collar. Two years before Julia knew that she did not have much longer to live.” Anne stroked the picture frame, and her eyes closed.

Despite Anne’s efforts, and her attempts to hide it, tears dripped from her eyes. Anne whispered, “I miss you,” and stroked the picture frame. Aloud, Anne said, “Julia would have wanted this, though, that I am not alone in this world, and… and she would have loved you, Amy.” Amy wrapped her arms around Anne from behind, holding her tight and resting her cheek against Anne’s back. “I have some pretty big shoes to fill, don’t I?” she looked at the picture and sighed… She said to herself, “Actually… She has really cute, small feet.”

Anne sighed softly and turned after touching the picture frame. She said, “You do not have any shoes to fill, Amy. Julia’s service was Julia’s, and your service will be different than hers. I know you cannot replace Julia, no one can. What I look forward to, is to know you, and your service.”

Amy kissed the nape of Anne’s neck and then took a step back. “So, silly question but I have to ask. Which room is mine? I do not want to presume.”

Anne stroked Amy’s hair and fixed them, arranging them behind Amy’s ears. “Your room is the one next to mine, of course. Unless you wish to not have a room, in which case my room will also be your room.”

When she finished, Amy found Anne in her room, having changed into something more suitable for home, and beamed. “So, as my first duty in my new home as your new girl… How about I make us lunch? The moving guys will not be here for a few more hours.”

Anne smiled and cupped Amy’s right cheek. “That is a fantastic idea, Amy. You will find the kitchen to be as well-equipped as a restaurant’s. Make something light for both of us, though. That is my only requirement.”

Amy smiled and turned so fast that her ponytail flicked the door frame. She walked to the kitchen and spent a few minutes familiarizing herself with the layout, the cupboards, and the stock. She made some of her special grilled cheese sandwiches, using asiago, mozzarella and dill, and some peach-flavoured iced tea.

She also took some ground beef out to thaw as she thought of the dinner plans for later. Finally, she carried the two plates and the two glasses waiter style out to the dining room. Setting them up with napkins as fancy as she could manage, she returned to Anne’s room and put on her most serious, butler face. “Luncheon is served on the veranda.”

While Amy was busy, Anne had changed to an ethereal, flowing sundress, and cork-soled wedged sandals, their long straps carefully tied to adorn Anne’s ankles. When Amy came and announced lunch was ready, Anne smiled. She came close to Amy, and said, “Wonderful. I am hungry, I cannot wait.” Following Amy, Anne took her time to revel in Amy’s beauty. She was at least as attractive as Julia and had a spring to her step that made her endearing and desirable.

The dining room was the most minimalistic, ethereal part of the house. It was facing a large, continuous window facing south, and the indoor dining room featured a glass-top table with a brushed iron base, while the veranda sported a large, sunny deck with a teak table and chairs under an awning. It was there, in the glory of a late summer early afternoon, where Amy had set down the plates for lunch. The sandwiches and iced tea were perfect for the hot weather. “Wonderful idea,” said Anne, with a smile. “I approve.”

Amy beamed. This was what it was like being a slave, she thought. The smallest sign of approval brought her tingling pleasure. She would do her best to please Anne in every detail and set about interviewing her, asking her about everything. Favourite foods, colours, styles, smells… anything. She was determined to bring some life and sunshine into this house, which, as beautiful as it was, had a cold, lonely feel. She thought about Anne, walking the halls and the echoes of Julia’s ghost following her. No wonder she spent so much time on the road. She would build a small shrine to Julia on the mantle, and then try and rearrange some things to bring a new feel, a new life into the place.

The next few days were days of adjusting, of Anne getting to know Amy, the house, and Anne’s rules. Anne was absolutely free to go anywhere, Downtown St. Helena and its stores were ten minutes away on foot, and the house’s garden was bordered by oaks and pines, arranged in sparse groves, while a cypress hedge marked the limits of the property. Amy could wear whatever she wanted, with the exception of two occasions.

Anne had made sure that Amy knew about those two occasions after that light lunch on the veranda, it had been among the things Amy had interrogated Anne on, whether there were rituals that she had to follow for Anne. She had been specific: “There are two rituals that I like, Amy. At your choice, you may adopt them or not. The first one is a ritualized send-off when I leave, where you will kneel like I told you, naked, with your legs open and your hands behind your back, and say, ‘I pray you have a good day Miss, your pet Amy hopes it will serene and fruitful.’ The other is a ritualized greeting for when I come back home: You will kneel with your legs open, naked as well, wrists crossed behind your back, and say, ‘Good evening Miss, I hope your day was serene and productive, your pet Amy welcomes you to your home.’ after that, you’ll kiss my left foot.”

Amy’s training went on for two months like Anne had promised; in that lapse of time, Anne and Amy came to know each other quite well and understand each other, as if Amy was an extension of Anne’s body. At the end of the two months, with classes starting in three more days, Anne watched the changes that had happened to the house at that time. From minimalist and rigorously clean, the house had become a home, full of objects, antiques, crafts, all of Amy’s and Anne’s interests, on display.

There were even two rescued cats, Shadow, and Tiger, which Anne had brought in, dehydrated and malnourished, and had brought back to health with a patient, loving care, and attention.
Amy was as dutiful a student of BDSM as she was when she was in her art classes. She learned each new assignment with a thirst for information. She knelt naked for Anne so much that she just stopped wearing clothes around the house. She loved kissing Anne’s feet when she greeted her, especially once she discovered Anne had a slight foot fetish. She loved cooking and cleaning, and she made sure Anne approved of all her decoration ideas.

Being a slave was so much more rewarding and exciting than she ever dreamed it would be and she fell into the role with natural ease. Her love of serving blossomed and her love of Anne became a deep, passionate need. She realized she had fallen in love one day and the thought took her breath away. When Anne was gone, she would talk to Julia, asking her what she thought and how Amy should proceed, and imagining her responses.

Amy learned to cook Anne’s favourite foods and discovered Anne liked Amy’s favourites as well. They seemed to be compatible in every way and even Anne remarked one day that it was amazing, they had never had a fight… About anything. The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. What was a trial run at first became routine quickly.

They kept saying it was a consideration collar, but both realized at once that it was only formality that kept Amy from accepting a full-time collar. By the third month, she knew she would be asking Anne to weld it on her when it was time. She expected to outlive Anne, who was almost 15 years her senior, but she never wanted to have another Mistress again, and so time passed, until the day came, almost one year to the date of their first encounter, when Anne called Amy at home and told her to get dressed in her small, black dress, stilettos, and no underwear of course. “We are going out.”

Amy dressed and did her hair and makeup, wondering where Anne would take her. She did not know about the rumours that had spread among the BDSM society in this area, about Anne being back on the scene. Anne had never denied nor confirmed it with her friends. But tonight, it was time to unveil Amy.

At 7:30 PM sharp, Anne and Amy emerged from the house, Anne wearing a long, black, gown, and Amy clothed with her small black dress. Anne opened the passenger’s side for Amy and then entered the car herself. She drove South, past Yountville, Napa, and Vallejo until she reached a nice part of Berkeley. The house where Anne parked looked discreet and inconspicuous, but there were several cars on the sidewalk that while not out of place, were more luxurious than the place’s average.

Two valets opened the front doors, one for Anne and one for Amy; they looked like valets, at least, but there was something that was not part of the valet uniform: Under the white shirts, there were thick leather collars, visible when they moved. Anne offered her arm to Amy, and said, “Welcome to the Twin Roses club, my pet” just as they crossed the door.

The Twin Roses was an upscale BDSM club, of which Anne was a founding member. As such, she had a room all to herself. This night, though, it was different. Anne had asked to use the whole club for an event and had invited all the other members. On the main hall, on Anne’s instructions, there was a pedestal, a book stand, an armchair, and a pillow. There were at least 20 couples of men and men, men and women, and women and women, the dominants distinguished by elegant eveningwear or suits, the submissives by their revealing attires.

Amy looked around a bit surprised. She had been studying BDSM clubs online, trying to prepare, but she still felt like the new kid in school. She blushed as she looked around at everyone. They all looked so beautiful, and happy. Do I look like that? She wondered. She tugged at the bottom hem of her dress and followed along behind Anne, not that she had a choice, and Anne made sure to leash her the moment they stepped out of the car.

Amy was surprised when they applauded Anne’s, and Amy’s, arrival and it took her a moment to realize this whole party was for her benefit. Her heart sped up. Amy had been hinting at getting her real collar, the one that marked her graduation from training and consideration, to being Anne’s full-time slave. Anne had been very cagy, always avoiding the subject or simply dropping it with a “not yet mine.” This was completely by surprise.

In the main hall, Anne led Amy to where the pillow was, and said, “Kneel, pet, facing me, with your legs closed and hands crossed on your lap.” As soon as Amy knelt, Anne went to the pedestal. Over it, there was a wooden box, one that was closed. Anne clipped the leash to an O ring on the armchair, and sat down on the armchair, looking at Amy. The book stand was positioned in such a way that Anne could read it without standing up. She started to read: “On the road from Vallejo to St. Helena…” then Anne looked around, “Screw this script,” she said, “I’ll ad-lib this one,” said Anne, and continued, “The young woman kneeling in front of me today captured my attention by the graceful way with which she served where I first noticed her, and how she was always polite to everyone, and how she sought that her customers were happy, even if they were complete asses to her. That server, full of potential and curiosity, caught first my curiosity, then my interest, and then my mind, with her insightful conversation, and finally, my heart.

When I discovered Amy, the two years of loneliness, mourning and pining for Julia that I had spent on my own were over. The beauty of her service, and the pureness of her heart and soul, won me over. Today, this young woman is here, before all of you, because I know she has had something on her mind that she would like to confess.” Anne looked at Amy, and said, “Amy, my pet, you may speak your heart and mind freely.”

Amy stared at Anne, completely dumbfounded. “I… I did not even know we were coming…” She squeaked and got chuckles from around the room. “Um… Well, first off… I did not really know anything about this lifestyle when we met. I have learned much, not just about BDSM, but about myself. I have always felt unfulfilled, always thinking I was missing what other people seemed to know. Ever had that feeling that you had just missed the punchline of a joke? That was life to me. I knew something was missing. These last… Wow, has it been a year already? This last year has really opened my eyes. I have never felt so happy, I never felt like I truly belonged, until I met Anne. I am not sure how else to put it, but… In every way imaginable, I feel whole, and normal when I am on my knees before you. I love you. And… And I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

Anne smiled. She was overjoyed to hear Amy speak in that way; it was after all a command to speak freely. Anne said, “Amy, are you telling me that you wish your consideration to end? That you wish to beg for my slave collar, pet?” Anne looked straight into Amy’s blue eyes, bent forward and intensely focused on Amy.
Amy’s eyes widened, and then she smiled. Oh! That is what she wanted! Amy leaned forward a little, keeping her back straight, lowering her eyes in what she hoped looked like a demure, submissive way.

“My Mistress, I have been praying for this day since you first placed this collar on me, the day I finally get to take it off.” This got some more giggles. “I beg you to end my consideration, I beg you to please stop pretending like we should be together. Because we do not have to pretend. I want to be yours, I want to be your slave, your sub, your pet. I want to please you, and I promise to be loving, obedient, and faithful. Please, remove this collar my Mistress, and give me your slave collar. If you feel I have earned it, I want to be your slave forever.”

Anne stood. She said, “Your consideration is ended as of now, Amy.” Then, she opened her clutch and took the black velvet bag that contained the key to Amy’s black leather collar. Anne slipped it in, and with a click, it opened. Then, Anne wrapped the now well-worn, shiny leather collar, and put it on the pedestal. She paused and paused, and paused again, looking at Amy. “As for your plea… I accept it.” Anne opened the box, and finally, its contents were evident. It was an engraved collar, made of gold; the engraving read, “Amy – Anne Marquez’s slave” but it was not readable from where Amy was. Anne took the collar, and said, “Pull back your hair.”

Amy’s eyes widened. It was beautiful. The black collar was easily passable as a choker, but this was a collar and anyone seeing it would know what it was. It was the most beautiful thing Amy had ever seen and with tears in her eyes, she leaned forward and lifted her hair on top of her head.

Anne unlocked and took off the leather collar and knelt on her right knee. She then placed the gold collar around Amy’s neck, closed it, and locked it. There was a soft click as the latch caught and held the collar in place. The collar’s design featured an embedded lock, which allowed for a flawless, smooth circle adorning Amy’s neck. Anne took a small key and turned it clockwise. There was a louder, clearly audible “click” meaning that the collar was locked in place.

Anne put away the key and said:
“What are you, Amy?”
“I am a slave, Mistress,” she replied.
“That means you are property, Amy. To whom do you belong?”
“I belong to you, my Mistress, I am Mistress Anne’s property.”
“When do your duties to me as your Mistress end?”
“Never, my Mistress.”

Anne took a leash holder that was inside the box. Then, she took the leash from the O ring on the armchair to the leash holder Anne held in her left hand. “Stand, and turn around, mine. Show proudly the symbol of your servitude.”

Amy got to her feet, turning with red cheeks and bright, blue eyes. The room erupted in applause. There were full-length mirrors all over the place, placed on the walls every five feet with the Dominant chairs placed between them strategically. This was to give the place a larger, more palace-like feel, to increase the light from the low lamps, and for those who liked to show their slaves what their faces looked like when taken from behind. Amy stood, looking at herself in the mirror across from her. The collar was a little lighter than the colour of her hair, shiny and slick.

It stood out, it would always be the first thing that drew people’s eyes. For the rest of her life men would stare at her tits, as men did, then he collar, then her eyes, but eventually they would drift back down to her collar. Women would look into her sky blue, bright eyes, then down at the collar. The collar was not just a part of her, it was her definition. “I am a slave,” Amy said softly.
Anne rested her hands upon Amy’s shoulders.

With deliberate, calm, Anne said, said, “This is Amy. She is my personal slave. She is my property and no one else’s.” Anne cleared her throat, and turned Amy around; and without warning, Anne kissed Amy hard, possessively, for about twelve hours boiled down to about two minutes of real-time. When Anne broke the kiss off, she said, “My Amy is still a maiden-in-waiting. It is my prerogative to keep her as she is until I decide otherwise.” Then, Anne slid a hand down to Amy’s perfect, heart-shaped backside, and patted it. Sitting down, Anne said, “Kneel to my right, open and facing the room, Mine.”

Amy nearly collapsed, and Anne knew it. The kisses were breathtaking and powerful, Amy often commented in the darkness of their bedroom that Anne’s kisses were like kissing a power cable. It often left her feeling weak-kneed and she was thankful usually she was either laying down or kneeling when Anne did it. Her legs shook and she would have melted to the floor had Anne not tightened and held her a moment, letting her catch her breath. As usual, when the kiss parted Amy had a starry look on her face, she relished Anne’s kisses. She edged the pillow over from in front of Anne’s chair to just in front of the armrest, then knelt on it, with her legs open and her dress hiking up, her palms on her thighs.

She smiled at the room. Dominant and submissive men and women came up to congratulate them. All of them were friends with Anne, and all of them knew of her possessiveness. While it was often tradition for Dominants to pass around a newly collared slave for public use on the first night as a kind of a break the ice ritual, they knew that when Anne ever decided to share Amy it would be when Anne was ready. It did not take long after that that a bell rang three times.

“Strip, mine,” Anne whispered, and Amy saw that the rest of the slaves in the rooms were getting undressed. Amy was a bit shy, but not much. Being shy really had never been an issue with her. It did not take long before sex started among the couples, sometimes sharing. Surprisingly, the sex in the cub was very ordered. Some of the men would take their slaves, but none ever actually released inside them. Some of the slaves were also passed around to friends, and again no actual orgasms were achieved, not by the Dominants anyway. There were contests to see who could make a slave orgasm the fastest.

Two hours later there was the dinner bell. Slaves served drinks and food, Amy followed them in and out of the kitchen and once everyone was set to eating the slaves knelt by their owners, each with their own plate of food. They were not to touch the food; their owner would feed them. It was all overly exciting to Amy, and while there was a strong, sexual undercurrent there was also a definite sense of style and control.

After dinner was an hour of cocktails and more sex that was more like playing than actual sex. Anne gave Amy to a friend of hers to let her play with her female slave. Amy kissed her and ate her pussy, only the second pussy she had ever tasted, and as fun as it was, it was not anything like being with Anne. An hour later was the main event, a Master who was a professional, gave a whipping demonstration with his slave, who came just from being whipped. He was so good he never broke her skin.

When Amy returned from playing with the other female slave, Anne stood up, and said, “Come, Mine. We are going upstairs.” Anne then clipped a leash to Amy’s collar and led her up. There were three rooms along the second-floor hallway: One read, “Staff only,” one read “Mr. Summers,” and the last one read, “Ms. Marquez.” Anne opened that room and led Amy in, locking the door behind her.

With the door locked, Anne beheld Amy. This girl that she had met a year ago, an art student at UCB called Amy, was now known in the lifestyle to be Anne’s. She looked at Amy, who was beautiful as a classical statue, standing there, with a beautiful, gold collar at her neck, engraved with the words “Amy – Anne Marquez’s Slave.” In its simplicity, the collar felt like a wedding band for the neck. Anne had taken with her the box that had contained Amy’s final collar. In it, there was a smaller box. Anne said, “Take the small box, my Amy, and open it.”

Amy stared at herself in the full-length mirror. There are so many of those, she thought. The collar almost glittered. It was incredibly beautiful. Amy turned and looked inside the collar box. A ring indented the box’s red velvet lining. In the centre was a small box. Amy walked over, naked breasts bouncing slightly, and picked it up. Her heart sped up; it was the kind of box rings came in. She swallowed hard and opened it.

As soon as Amy opened the box, she could see clearly what was there. It was one gold band, without ornaments. Anne said, “Pick up the ring, Mine. There is an inscription on the inside. Please, read it.” Anne had in the meantime closed the little distance between Amy and herself and was standing next to her slave. Anne had that look of expectant nervousness that usually preceded particularly important requests. Anne had reason to be nervous: She had asked for a particular engraving on the inside of the ring: “Anne Marquez – Amy’s Mistress” and besides the engraving an infinity symbol.

Amy stared at the ring. It looked like her collar, but smaller. She felt a lump in her throat, and tears slipped down her cheeks. Her knees trembled and she dropped to her knees, looking up at Anne. She took one hand in hers and held up the ring with the other. “Anne Marquez, will you marry me?”

Anne offered her left hand to Amy. She said, “Yes, Mine, I will marry you, happily, and without a doubt. Do you remember when I told you, ‘Don’t call me Mistress?’ Belay that, mine, now you may call me Mistress, and you may also call me… Wife.”
Amy leapt up and screamed happily, throwing her arms around Anne, and smothering her in kisses. “I love you so much my Mistress” she giggled insanely. “Oh, my God! I… No… I guess I do not have anyone to tell. Oh, my family!”

Anne looked at her ring finger. Somehow before leaping up, Amy had managed to slip in the band in, and now it glittered in the same way as Amy’s collar did. Voice slightly shaking, Anne said, “I hope your family is into kink weddings, Mine. Because yours will certainly be kinky,” and held Amy tightly. Amy could feel Anne’s tears on her shoulder, the hug was tight, warm, loving, possessive, and seemed to last forever and ever; when Anne finally released Amy and held her hands, reality had cheated them both: The forever and ever had lasted about five minutes. Anne was blushing hard and squeezed Amy’s hands in hers. “This,” said Anne, “This is the happiest night of my life, Amy. You… you brought me back to life.”

Because of the lengthy, elaborate collaring ceremony, it was 3 AM. There was no way Anne was going to drive at that time, so she decided to spend the night at the club with Amy. Anne’s room had a bed, and that night both women slept soundly, and made tender love in a non-penetrative manner for the last time. In the morning, a Sunday, the two women woke up early, arranged themselves the best they could, including extensive showers, and returned home.

It would have been a strange sight for sure, to see two women in evening wear, slightly dishevelled, driving into St. Helena’s main street in a long, blue Mercedes Benz, at almost 9:00 AM, one wearing a short, black dress, a thick gold choker, strap sandals, and nothing much else, the other wearing a red long gown, a small clutch, a gold ring on her left ring finger, if it hadn’t been Anne’s car.

Because it was Anne, the sight went unnoticed by the few locals that were up and about. At Anne’s home, both women got out of the car, and as Amy was about to step in, Anne stopped her, shaking her head. “No, mine, you won’t cross the threshold.” Anne smiled mischievously and as Amy squawked, Anne picked her up and carried her slave into the house, closing the door behind her with a bump of the hips.

Amy giggled and squealed as Anne lifted her up. “Oh, my God! Are you serious?” “Oof, I’m going to put you on a diet,” Anne teased as she continued to carry Amy into the bedroom. She dumped the small blonde on the bed and turned around, lifting her hair. Amy giggled and curled her legs under herself, then reached up and unzipped Anne’s dress.

The way it slid down Anne’s body and left her in a sexy, red thong, revealing her soft curves, took Amy’s breath away. Anne turned once more, there was a twinkle in her eyes, and she looked Amy over with a predatory grin. Amy grabbed the pillow and held it against herself like a shield.

“Oh no! Stop those thoughts, my Mistress, Wife, and owner! You are getting a blushing, innocent virgin on your wedding night!” she smiled back with her best, innocent, naive dumb blonde smile.

Anne leaned and rested her arms on the bed. She moved, and moved, and moved again until she was on all fours on the bed. “No,” Anne said, “I am not getting a blushing, innocent virgin. I have my innocent, blushing virgin bride on my bed, and I have… plans… for her.” Anne settled, legs curled under herself, and slowly touched Amy, caressing her cheeks, her hair, her shoulders… Everywhere Anne could touch, she did.
Amy giggled as she got into position, on her hands and knees.

She sighed and moaned everywhere Anne touched her. It really was no surprise that she got wet quickly, she would get wet hearing Anne’s car pulling into the driveway. She opened her knees as Anne pet her petals and mewled like a kitten when Anne brushed her nails over her sensitive nipples. She kept her eyes closed and remained as still as she could, moving as Anne directed. She never felt as alive and happy as when she was with Anne.

“I liked that club,” Amy said, her voice a little husky. “Everyone was so nice, and it was much more… classy than I thought it would be. I had always thought it would be more like a Roman orgy, I guess. But everyone was very well… disciplined. It must be on account of all those control issues.”

Anne slowly ran her fingers up and down Amy’s back. She delighted in the small goosebumps that erupted on Amy’s smooth, pale skin. She slipped the straps of Amy’s dress down her shoulders and arms. With nothing on under it, Amy’s round, firm breasts were soon freed; Anne then tugged it over Amy’s hips and ass. Slowly, Amy lifted hands and knees, one after another, until Anne pulled the dress free and tossed it aside. Amy shivered in her nudity, biting her bottom lip as Anne’s fingers circled her areola and pinched and tugged on her nipples.

“Ah…” Amy writhed, and Anne stopped. “Steady, my slave,” Anne smiled, and Amy groaned, locking her elbows and legs. Anne’s fingers continued to move, over Amy’s belly button, down to her bald little pussy. Anne often wondered if Amy lived in a perpetual state of sexual excitement, but the truth was Amy got like this whenever Anne was around, she never got a sexual thrill from anything else. Her folds were hot, dripping wet, and soft as butter. Anne slipped a finger just inside her and Amy nearly had an orgasm, Anne pulled it out and ran her wet finger around Amy’s pucker and pushed in slightly.

Amy’s arms and legs shook with the need to push back but she held her ground. The bed shifted as Anne moved behind her. Anne’s fingers pulled open her small blossom and her tongue dipped inside her slave’s moist crevasse. Amy threw back her head and gasped, it felt like a fire had erupted and spread from her pussy through her entire body.

Anne licked, slowly, up, down, her tongue would only momentarily seek out Amy’s small pearl, then would move away, back up following her petals to her taint, then back down.

“Oh… God… I… I cannot… I need to come,” Amy moaned. “No,” Anne said sternly, then laughed softly and… Whack! Amy felt Anne’s hand come down on her ass. The pain shot through her, and Amy jerked. Her eyes glazed over as the pain spread out and centred on the heat building in her pussy. The spanking went on for a while, Anne never hit the same place twice, moving across both ass cheeks and the tops of Amy’s thighs.

Amy felt her pleasure peak, and then Anne stopped. Amy turned to look back and Anne said in that calm, authoritative way of hers, “Eyes front.” Amy stared straight ahead as Anne shifted to the far side of the bed, opening a drawer. Amy shivered in pleasure. Anne was doing something, and then her hands went back on Amy’s ass, kneading and pinching, lifting her hips.

Amy moaned and felt something thick, bulbous, and rubbery, pressing against her pussy, rubbing up and down slowly.
Anne slowly rubbed Amy’s plush, spanked butt cheeks; slowly, because she wanted to remember how Amy felt, how her skin trembled under Anne’s fingers.

She rubbed and pinched, and spanked. Hearing Amy plead and nearly orgasm when Anne had spanked her had gotten Anne hot, and wet, and it had been then that Anne took the decision to claim Amy’s virginity. Anne moved a moment to the head of the bed and opened the nightstand on her side.

She took out a harness and attached to it a strap-on dildo. The fake penis was excessively pink, but it was about as firm and long and thick as an average, healthy, circumcised human penis. That was what Anne was rubbing slowly against Amy’s pussy, making the rubber member wet and warm with Amy’s natural moisture and heat.

Slowly, because she wanted to remember this night for a long time, Anne wrapped her right arm around Amy’s waist, and rubbed slowly Amy’s slit with the left hand, teasing the labia, around the clitoris, and the taint. In a soft voice, Anne said, “to whom does this pussy belong to?” while slipping a finger inside Amy, right to Amy’s hymen, and rubbing slowly. “Y-yours, Mistress, it is your pussy to do as you wish,” said Amy, panting and writhing under Anne’s ministrations. Amy was ready, and now it was up to Anne. She removed her finger from Amy’s pussy and spread Amy’s outer petals wide.

The strap-on dildo slid into Amy, just the head, so Amy could feel it inside her, and Anne said in a whisper, “Say whom you belong to, pet.” Amy panted and shivered; legs trembling, she said, “I-I belong to Mistress Anne, I… I am Mistress Anne’s slave.” Anne whispered, softly, right in Amy’s ear, “Yes, mine, you belong to me, heart, soul… And… Body.” Immediately after Anne said “body,” Anne gave one rock of her hips, and the strap-on dildo pushed through past Amy’s hymen.

The pain was intense, but not as bad as she had always dreaded. Maybe because of how much she desperately wanted this, maybe because of how worked up Anne had gotten her, the pain flared white hot and was gone, replaced with the incredible, indescribable feeling of being filled. Amy cried out, and pushed back, lowering to her elbows to lift her ass higher, she felt Anne withdraw a little, then back in again. It went deeper, and Anne stopped, letting Amy’s tight pussy adjust to the new intruder, then back and in again, going on until there was no pause, and Amy was rocking back against her, moaning, panting, like the slave she was.

Anne took her time, slowly rocking and grinding her hips against Amy’s backside, the dildo filled Amy’s passage completely, rocking back and forth inside Amy. Anne bent over, her breasts brushed against Amy’s back, and she whispered, “You are no longer my pet, Amy… You are my slave.” Anne panted and moaned, the dildo’s panel pressed against Anne’s pussy, making her wet and needy too. Anne picked up her pace, her grinding either increasing in pace and becoming shallower, or slow-paced and deep. Anne flushed darkly and held Amy closer to her, and moaned hotly, shivering, and whispered… “Let it go… Mine…”

Amy pushed back, harder, and faster, it felt like it was in her tummy, the dildo was in so deep she could almost taste it, and she wanted more, wanted it harder, deeper. Anne’s breasts and hard nipples pressed into her back, and she said, “Slave… Your… Slave…” she panted between hard thrusts. Then suddenly the world exploded around her, and the powerful orgasm slammed through her; she howled, her ass slamming back into Anne’s hips, and oh god Anne kept going, kept pushing and pulling, Anne was taking her as she was having her orgasm and the thought made her orgasm again… And again… And again…

Amy must have blacked out. Anne was still holding her, panting in her ear. “I love you,” Amy whispered. Anne had made Amy hers, had taken her, and filled her, and, at some point, Anne had orgasmed too, but everything was a blur. Anne was no longer wearing the strap-on and was holding Amy close, on her left side. As soon as her senses cleared, Anne said, “I love you… Mine…” Anne’s pause was significant, and the way she had said “Mine” carried the sure conviction of stating an undeniable truth. The sun was rising, both women had made love through the night, and the bond that had started to form that evening in a roadside diner was now complete. After years of mourning, Anne had been reborn, and once again had a slave at her side, the last one she would ever need.

Hello esteemed members of the League, please let me introduce myself: My name is Anne Skydancer, and I will be posting occasionally posts that have to do with domination, submission, and/or other related topics. Occasionally, I will also publish some fiction I have written with Kitten, my partner and slave.

As a way of introduction, a few words about me.

I am mostly active at my sim, where I lead my family, the Skydancer family. No, it has nothing to do with other Skydancers or Skydancer families out there; my family is composed of people from diverse backgrounds and nationalities.

Like I hinted above, I am (or used to be) a female Dominant; what I have not said is that while I remain versatile in the fact that I am more than able to be a female Dominant, i now prefer to submit and be led. In that regard, I am committed to, collared, and owned by my Dominant, Rip Decker, who allows me to serve and / or play with others, so long as my activities do not curtail my service to him. You may spy me (or me and my Dominant) either at the League or elsewhere in SL — but don’t be surprised if, after seeing me kneeling at the League, you spy me at another venue with my slave in tow at the end of a leash.

I look forward to meeting you all at the League.