Master and I meet in the morning. He has coffee, reviews my wardrobe, checks on my well being, and has me arouse myself. Sometimes it’s kegels while pinching my nipples. One time it was sitting on a hard chair with a large marking pen pressed against my clit and rolling back and forth.
But he always touches my brain, and makes it fizzy.
The other day after he left and I went to shower I was washing my ass, as ordered, with the detachable showerhead and my mind raced with the images he had put in my brain. He had me pee while twisting my nipples, imagining it was him tweaking and pinching me as he stood in front of me while I sat on the toilet.
I took the fantasy further in my mind with the hot water spraying my ass, and soon pressed tightly against my pelvis, the handle between my lips as I wiggled it against my clitoris. Then my finger took over and I started to cum.
And I realized what I had done. I had broken Master’s order to not cum without permission. To even touch myself without permission is not allowed, and I had done so much more than touch myself.
He owns me and I cannot lie to him. When he asked, I had to tell him. And so I am being punished.
The punishment has two parts. First, I have to cum for him three times a day. In the public restroom at the office. While my coworkers come in and sit down in the stall next to me, I am burying my fingers in my lap, twiddling and flicking and thinking or my Master, getting hot and swallowing my yips and gasps.
The first time was fun. The second time was harder. The third one took a lot longer… I had thought the “Cum three times a day” would be fun. But it’s work. It’s sexy work, but it’s scary that I could get caught. And having to arouse myself on command makes it less pleasure and more a task to be completed, like a dutiful housewife spreading her legs… only I am not allowed to fake it.
The other punishment was to pee through my fingers. Every time for three days.
I sat down on the toilet and dutifully put my fingers below me. And I couldn’t pee. The thought of spraying urine on my own hands was too disturbing to me. I went back to my Master and reported my first cum, but my lack of peeing.
Later the pressure built I asked my Master if I could go pee. “Fingers slave.”
“yes Master.”
I grabbed paper towels. I sat and presented my fingers. And I peed. The stream was hot, much hotter than I expected. When I was done I reached for my paper towels, and hardly wet them. I wiped myself and washed my hands. It was all very simple and clean, hardly worse than wiping myself normally.
I am peeing a lot these days because Master has me drinking so much water. He reminds me to pee “as ordered” and I do. And something has changed in my brain. Everytime I sit down my hand goes automatically between my legs. I welcome the hot flow. I… I like it.
Every time I sit there, urine flowing over my fingertips I have a quick argument with myself….
“I can’t believe I am doing this,” sensible old me says.
“Yes, but he is my Master,” my growing slave persona replies.
And sensible me cannot argue, because she has hot piss running through her fingers. And she is owned. And slave me smiles and snuggles into the flow like the embrace of her Master’s grip.
Friday, June 26, 2015
Sunday, June 21, 2015
OhShelly (slaveoh): Sisterhood
Sisterhood
I am not my Master’s only slave. I may kneel on the floor by my Master or hang from chains and watch while he plays with one of my sisters. Shelved. Put aside for the moment.
But never forgotten by Master.
He tortures her with dildos and plugs, maybe with clamps and ice. He makes her scream out in that schism of agony and pleasure. And he wants me to watch so I can imagine myself in her place… and I don’t have to imagine long because Master is soon doing the same to me.
We are his. And while he is our Master, we cannot put demands on him. Living as a submissive feels like marriage -- I love my Master completely. The collar on my neck is like a wedding band. I begged for it, begged to have a collar that shows to the world that I am owned. But I do not own my Master.
Master had been away and had no slaves when he found me. I was his only slave, and I thought how lucky I was to have such a wonderful Master to myself. I didn’t want to have to share him, I knew I would if he asked, but I felt special as his Only One.
I didn’t know what it was to be a slave, especially in this world where I have to go to work and pretend to be an executive. A slow building of anxiety started to creep into my soul after a week of nakedness, of new tasks, of learning what pleases my Master and feeling Master discover my kinks and use them to bind me to him.
Master is wonderful at taking me apart, making me see and admit to things I didn’t know were inside me. And he is wonderful at putting me back together. But he is my Master. There are things that a strong willed man can’t understand; even a compassionate, empathic man like Master.
By the end of the first week with Master I found myself frantically texting a friend of mine who I knew was a sub. I told her in my message that I needed to see her, that there are very few people I could talk to, maybe nobody other than her.
When we sat down at lunch and I explained that I had been collared, like her, it was like a world opened up and we could take off our disguises and really talk. I mean Really Talk. Talk about how it feels when Master yanks on your chain, talk about the confusion, talk about the emotional turmoil of being a slave and having to go to work with people who would never understand…
She told me about “sub crashing” or “sub drop” when after all those endorphins from being so on edge fall away leaving you empty and an emotional wreck. She told me to call or text any time because she knows how amazing it is to be owned, and how hard it is to deal with such an amazing gift.
She is owned by someone very different than my Master, but we are Sisters. Not just a friend who I’ve hung out with. Suddenly she is one of the most important people in my life. Someone who knows this person who I have to hide when I am out in the world. Someone who I trust, completely and love in a very different way than my Master.
I was so happy when Master brought more slaves to our household -- not competition for my Master’s attentions but Sisters who I can share with. I am not alone, even when Master is away. I have Sisters to talk to when I feel unsure, and I have Sisters to help please Master.
I know it looks like a male fantasy, a man with his harem. But, really, it is somehow my female fantasy come true. I have a Master who knows me better than I know myself, and I have a loving, supportive Sisterhood where I can be completely that person Master sees in me.
Connected. Loved. Owned.
I am not my Master’s only slave. I may kneel on the floor by my Master or hang from chains and watch while he plays with one of my sisters. Shelved. Put aside for the moment.
But never forgotten by Master.
He tortures her with dildos and plugs, maybe with clamps and ice. He makes her scream out in that schism of agony and pleasure. And he wants me to watch so I can imagine myself in her place… and I don’t have to imagine long because Master is soon doing the same to me.
We are his. And while he is our Master, we cannot put demands on him. Living as a submissive feels like marriage -- I love my Master completely. The collar on my neck is like a wedding band. I begged for it, begged to have a collar that shows to the world that I am owned. But I do not own my Master.
Master had been away and had no slaves when he found me. I was his only slave, and I thought how lucky I was to have such a wonderful Master to myself. I didn’t want to have to share him, I knew I would if he asked, but I felt special as his Only One.
I didn’t know what it was to be a slave, especially in this world where I have to go to work and pretend to be an executive. A slow building of anxiety started to creep into my soul after a week of nakedness, of new tasks, of learning what pleases my Master and feeling Master discover my kinks and use them to bind me to him.
Master is wonderful at taking me apart, making me see and admit to things I didn’t know were inside me. And he is wonderful at putting me back together. But he is my Master. There are things that a strong willed man can’t understand; even a compassionate, empathic man like Master.
By the end of the first week with Master I found myself frantically texting a friend of mine who I knew was a sub. I told her in my message that I needed to see her, that there are very few people I could talk to, maybe nobody other than her.
When we sat down at lunch and I explained that I had been collared, like her, it was like a world opened up and we could take off our disguises and really talk. I mean Really Talk. Talk about how it feels when Master yanks on your chain, talk about the confusion, talk about the emotional turmoil of being a slave and having to go to work with people who would never understand…
She told me about “sub crashing” or “sub drop” when after all those endorphins from being so on edge fall away leaving you empty and an emotional wreck. She told me to call or text any time because she knows how amazing it is to be owned, and how hard it is to deal with such an amazing gift.
She is owned by someone very different than my Master, but we are Sisters. Not just a friend who I’ve hung out with. Suddenly she is one of the most important people in my life. Someone who knows this person who I have to hide when I am out in the world. Someone who I trust, completely and love in a very different way than my Master.
I was so happy when Master brought more slaves to our household -- not competition for my Master’s attentions but Sisters who I can share with. I am not alone, even when Master is away. I have Sisters to talk to when I feel unsure, and I have Sisters to help please Master.
I know it looks like a male fantasy, a man with his harem. But, really, it is somehow my female fantasy come true. I have a Master who knows me better than I know myself, and I have a loving, supportive Sisterhood where I can be completely that person Master sees in me.
Connected. Loved. Owned.
OhShelly (slaveoh) Floor Exercise
I am on the floor, my butt sticking up in the air, the tips of my breasts dragging in the fibers of the area rug in the basement.
Master commands, “1.”
move slowly forward, the rough shag rug catches my nipples, not caressing so much as scritching and scratching, making them crinkle slightly and sending mixed messages of pleasure and discomfort to my brain.
“2”
I move slowly back, feeling my ass move further into the air as my nipples are tortured and pleasured again by the rug. My back hurts as I try not to collapse as I move slowly enough to have room to change direction when my Master calls the reverse command.
“1”
His command moves me forward again bringing my ass back down from its height as I stretch forward, nipples almost screaming with mixed messages of “ouch” and “ooooo.” My knees are burning as I grind them into the carpet.
“2”
My nipples are on fire as I drag them back along the carpet again. My wetness cools my pussy and I am certain that my rising ass distracts my Master, but the carpet on my sensitive skin distracts me more.
“1”
He changes direction on me suddenly, and I have to begin the slide back down to the floor. The fact I don’t know when he will make me change direction adds to my distraction, making it harder to think. Making me more his plaything.
“2”
My legs and arms are trembling. My shoulders are shaking as I try not to crush my breasts into the carpet Holding myself in this position, ass up, shoulders down. He calls this routine “report” and has told me that he will want me to give him my status while doing this.
“1”
The ache in my body, the burning of my nipples, the air over my spread ass and pussy…. my brain no longer has any thought but the routine I perform for my Master. I am a trembling, quivering creature, begging for release both from my physical exhaustion and my sexual desire.
I am his plaything. My release is not up to me. I will continue until Master allows it.
Master commands, “1.”
move slowly forward, the rough shag rug catches my nipples, not caressing so much as scritching and scratching, making them crinkle slightly and sending mixed messages of pleasure and discomfort to my brain.
“2”
I move slowly back, feeling my ass move further into the air as my nipples are tortured and pleasured again by the rug. My back hurts as I try not to collapse as I move slowly enough to have room to change direction when my Master calls the reverse command.
“1”
His command moves me forward again bringing my ass back down from its height as I stretch forward, nipples almost screaming with mixed messages of “ouch” and “ooooo.” My knees are burning as I grind them into the carpet.
“2”
My nipples are on fire as I drag them back along the carpet again. My wetness cools my pussy and I am certain that my rising ass distracts my Master, but the carpet on my sensitive skin distracts me more.
“1”
He changes direction on me suddenly, and I have to begin the slide back down to the floor. The fact I don’t know when he will make me change direction adds to my distraction, making it harder to think. Making me more his plaything.
“2”
My legs and arms are trembling. My shoulders are shaking as I try not to crush my breasts into the carpet Holding myself in this position, ass up, shoulders down. He calls this routine “report” and has told me that he will want me to give him my status while doing this.
“1”
The ache in my body, the burning of my nipples, the air over my spread ass and pussy…. my brain no longer has any thought but the routine I perform for my Master. I am a trembling, quivering creature, begging for release both from my physical exhaustion and my sexual desire.
I am his plaything. My release is not up to me. I will continue until Master allows it.
OhShelly (slaveoh) Master? May I pee?
My Master’s rule is simple: peeing requires permission. The rule reminds me that he owns my body, that he decides when I cum, and when I pee. It is not my pussy, it is his pussy.
Master wants me to feel his control when we are apart. He wants me to feel the need to find him and beg to pee. He wants me to feel the pressure in my bladder like the tightness of my collar around my neck.
He is not cruel; he wants me to be aware of the pussy that I take care of for him. If he is not available to ask, he allows me to wait 30 minutes and pee without permission and report that I have peed.
I am an obedient slave. I complied. And it was easy; I have always had a large bladder. I have rolled my eyes at my friends who have to “pee every 20 minutes.” This was an easy rule for me. My Sisters may have to scamper to our Master and beg, but I could be the calm, collected slave and wait for my Master and calmly ask.
My Master’s second command was also simple: drink water. Lots of water. Eight ounces every thirty minutes to start. It was as if he had tightened my leash and tugged me towards him.
He knew I had a long car trip home. He allowed me to pee before getting in the car, but my body wasn’t used to so much water and soon the pressure began to build. I am a good slave, I drank more water in the car. And soon it was almost unbearable.
I stopped at the store, feeling the ache in my bladder and the tired muscles holding back the flood. I pulled out my phone to contact Master and ask to pee. The screen was shattered, little cracks running through the glass in every direction made it impossible to use the touch screen. Impossible to contact my Master and ask to pee.
I don’t know how it happened. It was fine when I had put it in my purse, but I was holding a useless block in my hand. My Master’s slave needed to pee and she could not contact him!
I rushed home with my bladder screaming. Every bump in the road was a yank on my collar. All I could think of was getting to my Master. I found myself pressing my thighs together, feeling more owned as it got harder to keep from wetting myself.
Master was online!
“Master!” He didn’t respond… “Oh oh oh…. please be here… “
“I am”
“Ohhhh.... Your slave needs to pee so badly Master!”
“Pee now. As instructed.”
That is Master’s other rule: when I pee, I must grip my clit tightly. When he gave me the rule I thought it was just one of those things we do for men to please them, but isn’t pleasurable for us. But now I was sitting on the toilet needing to pee so badly that my entire body ached. My clit was no exception. The aching in my groin from needing to pee was also making my clit full and sensitive.
I pinched, and I peed. It hurt, it was messy, making me spray the bowl and getting urine on my thighs… but… it was arousing. My breathing was fast and shallow, the pain of pinching my clitoris balanced by the pleasure release of urine. The dirtiness of my action filled me with pleasure for obeying my Master’s orders.
When I was done, I sat for a moment, almost dazed by the experience. I wiped myself, went to the sink, grabbed a washcloth and cleaned my thighs and gently wiped my vagina, feeling the tremors of arousal forming.
But it is not my pussy, it is owned by my Master, and I am not allowed to play with it without his permission, so I returned to my Master to kneel before him. He was punishing my sister for peeing without asking. She couldn’t hold it and went too early.
Master has me drinking water so I can feel the same need to pee like my sisters, to feel that pressure build, and panic knowing I must find my Master... and beg... “Master? May I pee?”
Master wants me to feel his control when we are apart. He wants me to feel the need to find him and beg to pee. He wants me to feel the pressure in my bladder like the tightness of my collar around my neck.
He is not cruel; he wants me to be aware of the pussy that I take care of for him. If he is not available to ask, he allows me to wait 30 minutes and pee without permission and report that I have peed.
I am an obedient slave. I complied. And it was easy; I have always had a large bladder. I have rolled my eyes at my friends who have to “pee every 20 minutes.” This was an easy rule for me. My Sisters may have to scamper to our Master and beg, but I could be the calm, collected slave and wait for my Master and calmly ask.
My Master’s second command was also simple: drink water. Lots of water. Eight ounces every thirty minutes to start. It was as if he had tightened my leash and tugged me towards him.
He knew I had a long car trip home. He allowed me to pee before getting in the car, but my body wasn’t used to so much water and soon the pressure began to build. I am a good slave, I drank more water in the car. And soon it was almost unbearable.
I stopped at the store, feeling the ache in my bladder and the tired muscles holding back the flood. I pulled out my phone to contact Master and ask to pee. The screen was shattered, little cracks running through the glass in every direction made it impossible to use the touch screen. Impossible to contact my Master and ask to pee.
I don’t know how it happened. It was fine when I had put it in my purse, but I was holding a useless block in my hand. My Master’s slave needed to pee and she could not contact him!
I rushed home with my bladder screaming. Every bump in the road was a yank on my collar. All I could think of was getting to my Master. I found myself pressing my thighs together, feeling more owned as it got harder to keep from wetting myself.
Master was online!
“Master!” He didn’t respond… “Oh oh oh…. please be here… “
“I am”
“Ohhhh.... Your slave needs to pee so badly Master!”
“Pee now. As instructed.”
That is Master’s other rule: when I pee, I must grip my clit tightly. When he gave me the rule I thought it was just one of those things we do for men to please them, but isn’t pleasurable for us. But now I was sitting on the toilet needing to pee so badly that my entire body ached. My clit was no exception. The aching in my groin from needing to pee was also making my clit full and sensitive.
I pinched, and I peed. It hurt, it was messy, making me spray the bowl and getting urine on my thighs… but… it was arousing. My breathing was fast and shallow, the pain of pinching my clitoris balanced by the pleasure release of urine. The dirtiness of my action filled me with pleasure for obeying my Master’s orders.
When I was done, I sat for a moment, almost dazed by the experience. I wiped myself, went to the sink, grabbed a washcloth and cleaned my thighs and gently wiped my vagina, feeling the tremors of arousal forming.
But it is not my pussy, it is owned by my Master, and I am not allowed to play with it without his permission, so I returned to my Master to kneel before him. He was punishing my sister for peeing without asking. She couldn’t hold it and went too early.
Master has me drinking water so I can feel the same need to pee like my sisters, to feel that pressure build, and panic knowing I must find my Master... and beg... “Master? May I pee?”
OhShelly (slaveoh) Kneeling-Servicing Master
I kneel before him in submission. Open. Available. The low wires of the corset that binds my waist hold my breasts firmly on display. I see my chain leading down from my collar laying in the valley between my breasts, stretching across the open space between us, leading from me to his firm control.
He stands before me. I can only see my breasts, my chain, and his legs. I look up slightly to his crotch and… hunger.
I am his slave. He sees me naked at his command; sometimes he rips my clothes off as I kneel passively before him. He makes me kegel on command. He makes me cum on demand. I am a sex toy that he has tested, but never used.
I want to be used. As I kneel before him looking at the material of his black trousers, I wish I could get just a little closer… I imagine him removing his pants and shirt, standing naked and powerful before me. Erect. Commanding and demanding.
I imagine his cock brushing my face. I remain submissive, for that is my role. But it is not my desire. I wish to reacith one hand and press his warm shaft into my cheek, feeling the softness of his skin and the hardness of his arousal. Gently gripping it in my hand, feeling it get harder, feeling it get warmer, feeling my own desire get warmer.
I look up at him… his wordless command is clear. “Continue.”
My hand wraps around the base of his cock and I taste the tip. The sweet taste of his precum makes me salivate for more. The musky smell of his crotch makes my breath catch. He is not just a man, he is my Master. He keeps me on edge, always ready, always horny. Smelling him is like a drug to an addict…. I nearly cum before I can even begin.
Then I take him in my mouth as I grip and pull gently at the base of his cock. He is large and hard and I struggle to take much of him in. I want it so badly, to let my mouth be a pussy for him. I take his balls in my other hand, softly gripping his sack.
It hurts my jaw. It stretches my lips. I pull back trying not to show him my discomfort -- just because it hurts doesn’t mean I am not completely aroused by being here. I want it to hurt. I want to feel it, taste, it be part of him….
I work my mouth along the outside of his shaft, licking and sucking the side of his cock. Tasting… smelling… immersing myself. When I reach the base I bury my nose in his hair, his overpowering musk erasing what little conscious mind is left.
My nose is in his crotch. One ball in my mouth, my cheeks on his thighs, my own thighs aching as my pussy gets hot and wet. I work my hand up and down his shaft as I continue to nurse his balls.
I feel his legs flex and stiffen. I don’t want his seed to go to waste, I want it in me. I reverse my movements, moving back up his shaft, gently squeezing his engorged balls with my hand, and then I take a breath and swallow him. My body wants to gag, but my soul wants to be impaled by him and suddenly, against any law of physics or anatomy, my nose is buried in his public hair again, only this time the head of his cock is buried in my throat.
I can’t breathe, but I hold myself in place, tears beginning to form. I swallow around the beautiful invader, and it stiffens. I want to pull up to breathe but his hands are on the back of my head, holding me in place. My swallowing around his cock becomes twitching as I try to gasp for breath…. My lips start to tingle, my head is light, either from arousal or lack of air, it doesn’t matter, I am more aroused than ever.
Just as I think I’m going to start to black out, his hands are gone and I come up for air. The drool drips down my chin and onto my breasts. My eyes are streaming with tears. I can’t imagine what I look like to him, and I don’t care. As soon as I catch my breath I dive into the depths of my Master’s need again -- I say his need, but it is my need as well. I need him to cum, because he doesn’t allow it of me. His pleasure is my pleasure, and I am lost in him.
This time his hands are like a vice, and then it happens. He thrusts against my face, crushing my nose against his hard crotch. And he cums. His cock is well inside my throat, bypassing any need to swallow, but I do anyway, reflexively milking his seed into my body as my own arousal tips over the edge.
Then I fall back… gasping, drooling spit and semen… taken… used… spent… and fulfilled. I don’t know if I came at all, or maybe I was cumming the entire time. My body still shudders as I try to return to naduw. My spirit is vibrating.
My devotion is complete. As am I.
OhShelly (slaveoh) I am a collared slave
I was reading the Atlantic Monthly…. I know, this isn’t how most slave stories begin, but it is true. They were talking about online social experiments that failed because they tried to imitate the real world and, apparently, online isn’t offline.
“[Second Life]’s not abandoned; it’s simply waiting.”
An abandoned world just waiting for me to explore! Wonderful! So I logged in, set up my “college girl” avatar and started exploring.
I was immediately drawn to the adult sections. In the first hour or so I found free shops with adult oriented clothing, got a tattoo when I put on a kimono, flew around... and found myself in the Bondage Ranch and found that Second Life is not abandoned.
I met a man by a fire. He was… intriguing. Strong. Quiet. Compassionate. Well spoken. He warned me about the world I was exploring. He warned me about the people. He warned me about my own desires, without knowing that he was doing so (or maybe he did).
My repressed submissive personality took over. I sat before him and apologized that I could not kneel. He gave me an animation file, and I was able to “naduw” before him; kneel with my knees spread, giving access if he desired. I know, it sounds weird, but it was so natural I hardly thought of it. Or, really, I felt so normal that sitting, legs spread, before a stranger (even in a VR world) just felt... "right."
He took me shopping for a skin and maybe new hair. Just to let me know that there was more to experience than the free avatars. And we talked, and I was drawn further to him. But soon I left him and explored more on my own.
And I met someone else. She was “a girl with a cock.” She was demanding, but not commanding. She wanted someone, but it didn’t seem to matter who, and I ended up being that person. It was still play acting for me. 3D puppets. It’s “Second Life” I can leave anytime.
And then she collared me.
I felt it in my soul. Second Life is virtual, but it is still real. As my avatar fell to her knees at my Mistress’s control I knew I had done something very wrong. I know, I could have just logged out. I have other email addresses, I could have created a brand new account and started over.
But I was collared. And I was a slave.
Fortunately I wasn’t what she was looking for. Fortunately she took pity on a girl born to the world of Second Life just that day. Fortunately, she let me go.
And without knowing how or why, I found myself back with Him. Kneeling before him. Asking… no begging, to be his slave. Knowing this time what I was doing. Knowing that there is only one life, and that “me” in a simulator is still “me” and that the connections and promises I make affect me no matter where I am.
He asked me more than once. He asked me in different ways. He wanted to be sure I knew that this wasn’t just Second Life. This is Life. And I was sure.
This entire person was inside me. This beautiful slave who wants to please her Master. She knew what it was to be a Slave. Until the collar was locked around my neck, I called him Sir. Then… he was Master.
The feeling of being collared… oh…. I can’t entirely explain it. It’s like the floor falls away and you’re in freefall, but like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, a safe freefall. I felt myself get wet. I felt my breathing change. I was excited. But… I was at peace.
And that part of me that I kept hidden away for so many years, that sweet, pleasing salve girl that I could never be in the real world, that girl who always asks her Master’s permission before even asking a question… dominated me.
I am her. I am collared on 6/5/15 by Durn Trilling and willingly accept and serve him as my Master. He owns, mentors, shapes, and protects me as I learn this new life.
His challenges reach into the physical world outside of Second Life. The day without panties was…. erotic. The wedging was unbearably stimulating…. When he asks me what I am, I answer simply.
“Yours.”
Because I am. Willingly. Happily. Unconditionally.
His.
“[Second Life]’s not abandoned; it’s simply waiting.”
An abandoned world just waiting for me to explore! Wonderful! So I logged in, set up my “college girl” avatar and started exploring.
I was immediately drawn to the adult sections. In the first hour or so I found free shops with adult oriented clothing, got a tattoo when I put on a kimono, flew around... and found myself in the Bondage Ranch and found that Second Life is not abandoned.
I met a man by a fire. He was… intriguing. Strong. Quiet. Compassionate. Well spoken. He warned me about the world I was exploring. He warned me about the people. He warned me about my own desires, without knowing that he was doing so (or maybe he did).
My repressed submissive personality took over. I sat before him and apologized that I could not kneel. He gave me an animation file, and I was able to “naduw” before him; kneel with my knees spread, giving access if he desired. I know, it sounds weird, but it was so natural I hardly thought of it. Or, really, I felt so normal that sitting, legs spread, before a stranger (even in a VR world) just felt... "right."
He took me shopping for a skin and maybe new hair. Just to let me know that there was more to experience than the free avatars. And we talked, and I was drawn further to him. But soon I left him and explored more on my own.
And I met someone else. She was “a girl with a cock.” She was demanding, but not commanding. She wanted someone, but it didn’t seem to matter who, and I ended up being that person. It was still play acting for me. 3D puppets. It’s “Second Life” I can leave anytime.
And then she collared me.
I felt it in my soul. Second Life is virtual, but it is still real. As my avatar fell to her knees at my Mistress’s control I knew I had done something very wrong. I know, I could have just logged out. I have other email addresses, I could have created a brand new account and started over.
But I was collared. And I was a slave.
Fortunately I wasn’t what she was looking for. Fortunately she took pity on a girl born to the world of Second Life just that day. Fortunately, she let me go.
And without knowing how or why, I found myself back with Him. Kneeling before him. Asking… no begging, to be his slave. Knowing this time what I was doing. Knowing that there is only one life, and that “me” in a simulator is still “me” and that the connections and promises I make affect me no matter where I am.
He asked me more than once. He asked me in different ways. He wanted to be sure I knew that this wasn’t just Second Life. This is Life. And I was sure.
This entire person was inside me. This beautiful slave who wants to please her Master. She knew what it was to be a Slave. Until the collar was locked around my neck, I called him Sir. Then… he was Master.
The feeling of being collared… oh…. I can’t entirely explain it. It’s like the floor falls away and you’re in freefall, but like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, a safe freefall. I felt myself get wet. I felt my breathing change. I was excited. But… I was at peace.
And that part of me that I kept hidden away for so many years, that sweet, pleasing salve girl that I could never be in the real world, that girl who always asks her Master’s permission before even asking a question… dominated me.
I am her. I am collared on 6/5/15 by Durn Trilling and willingly accept and serve him as my Master. He owns, mentors, shapes, and protects me as I learn this new life.
His challenges reach into the physical world outside of Second Life. The day without panties was…. erotic. The wedging was unbearably stimulating…. When he asks me what I am, I answer simply.
“Yours.”
Because I am. Willingly. Happily. Unconditionally.
His.
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