I remember the day I knew I was owned. It wasn't the first time I submitted. It wasn't the first time I felt his collar tighten around my neck. It wasn't even the first time I climaxed at his command. These things that signify the connection between a Dom and submissive, though great milestones in our relationship, did not cement that knowledge.
My first act of submission towards Peter was simple. When he told me I must call him Sir at every opportunity I felt a warmth and gladness that I found hard to understand. Maybe it was because I wanted so badly to earn that privilege from him. Offering him my service and my body, watching over time the way he accepted my offerings, building trust between us. He earned my trust and I earned his. When our relationship became formal. When he'd decided he would dominate and protect me I was so very proud. Honorifics were not something either of us used lightly so when it became my duty to use them towards him I felt it set me apart from the other submissives that clamored for his attention.
It was many months later that his collar was offered to me. It was after a dinner where I was simply an ornament on his arm. He'd guided me through the evening. Choosing what I would wear, opening the doors I was to enter, ordering the food I was to eat. He set tasks for me that only his slut would carry out.
I was his slut, so when I was told to undo the buttons on my skirt from my hem to my waistband I did so without hesitation. When I was ordered to touch my clit while he ordered our dinner, there was no question as to where my hand would be. When he reached over the table and unbuttoned my blouse one button below my breasts, I sat still, with my head held high, my cheeks pinked but my smile shone. To be able to amuse him this way thrilled me inside. To serve my purpose as his toy and do it with pride swelled my heart. The love I saw in his eyes at the table will forever be etched in my mind.
When we returned to his home that night, he stripped my partially fastened clothing from my body and forced me to my knees. He told me to close my eyes and hold my hands out. I did so, and waited. I heard rustling and movement and waited for his crop to fall or belt to lash against my palms. Instead I felt an item laid across my hands. I kept my eyes closed.
When I heard the words "You can look now slut." my eyes flew open and there in my hands was a collar with my name pressed into the leather. Jenny. Black leather with silver inlaid paint. My name shone out in the dim light of the livingroom. I looked up at Peter, my eyes glassy with tears. He asked if I wanted it, if I wanted to be his. All I could do was nod, my emotions threatening to explode into tears of happiness. He took the collar and wrapped it around my neck as tears streamed down my cheeks.
He beat me hard, he fucked me hard, my screams pierced the night like never before. By the time we were done we were both drenched in sweat, limply melded together in a tangle of limbs. I was officially owned by Peter, not knowing that there was more to being owned than wearing a collar, I was thrilled that he wanted me that much. It was then I knew he owned my heart.
Time went by and I, the happy submissive, strove to make my Master proud. There was nothing I wouldn't do for him. Our play was heavy and intense, full of orgasm denial and control. He loved to hear me beg. He loved to hear me cry for him. I relied on him for my sexual satisfaction and gratefully took what he permitted me to have. I was rewarded far more than I was denied and our bond grew stronger than I ever imagined it could.
The first time I came at his command I was sure he owned my body wholly. He teased and tormented me all night, never allowing my release; building the tension in my body until I was sure I would explode in frustration. I begged and pleaded with him to let me come, but he was having none of it.
With Peter's cock pressing deeply into my throat, himself seconds away from his own climax, he commanded in a voice so strong and deliberate. "Come slut!" and an amazing process took hold of me.
Without a touch to any erogenous zone on my body, with only his command and his cock spasming in my throat, my body convulsed into its own climax. Together we experienced a most wonderful climax and binding of souls. Both of us amazed at the reaction my body had to his command. The months of denial, and begging for release had finally culminated into this wondrous event. My body had learned to respond to his voice. He'd truly taken control of my heart and my body.
We transgressed into a new level of dominance and submission. He continued to train me to climax on his command. There were times it didn't work and we would dissect those circumstances, fine tuning the way he spoke to me, his timing, the length of time I needed to be fully under his control. Though it was a process, it was something we both wanted and the journey we took to perfect his control was far from work.
Time after time, night after night we practiced diligently. What worked best? Was it pain? Was it humiliation? Was it building the tension in my body with pleasure? We tried and tested it all. Whipping, caressing, begging, anything we could think of that might allow me to respond to his voice. That strong commanding tone that demanded my body do as it was told. Experiments succeeded and experiments failed. But we learned. My body learned.
Our test, my test, came one evening at a fetish night at a local club. Our group had rented the place for the evening and we were able to attend in fetish gear and play publicly. I loved attending those events. It was so freeing for me to be able to walk into a room and express my chosen lifestyle without fear of what anyone else thought.
Peter chose my clothes for me. I laughed when I saw what he'd picked out. I was to be his scarlet woman. My red leather corset that pushed my nipples above the cups, a cloud of red tulle that fell just above my knee for my skirt, black sheer stockings, black lace garter and strappy stiletto's that would be secured by small gold locks at my ankles.
Well I understood the look he was pushing for so I pulled my hair up high, letting curls fall down in wisps at my face and the back of my neck. I changed the beads in my nipple rings from the simple gold ones to garnets. My collar showcased on the pale exposed skin of my neck.
I felt like a princess, albeit a sexy and sensual one, when we walked into the club arm and arm. Peter was my dark prince, dressed from head to toe in black with a ruby tie stud piercing his black tie. We made a stunning pair.
The toybag didn't accompany us so I expected the evening would be simply social. We sat with friends at a table near the main stage where we had a good view of the players as we talked. Conversation at our table ranged from politics to caning techniques. It always struck me funny the things we talked about when we were with our lifestyle friends. Nothing was taboo.
Peter could flick one of my nipple rings and nobody blinked an eye. But then, we all were expressing our D/s relationships in one way or another. There were pony girls and pony boys in their full festive regalia, people on leashes, submissives kneeling on the floor, being used as footstools or tables. There was flogging and spanking happening all around the room at the play stations. Whips cracked, people moaned, music poured from the DJ booth.
Near the end of the night we watched a spectacular fireplay scene. It was breathtaking to see the flames ripple across Patrice's back. I watched closely and hoped Peter was paying attention as well. We were scheduled for a seminar on fireplay in a couple of weeks and I could hardly wait.
As the last scene on the main stage was cooling down when Peter took my hand and lead me away from the table. I thought we were leaving until I realized we were heading towards the stage.
"We're playing?" I asked, wondering what we'd use when the toy bag was definitely still at home.
Peter only nodded and pulled me closer, facing him. He fiddled with my nipple rings. Twisting them, turning them, sending tiny flutters of pleasure through my body. He'd pull them so I would gasp at the electric jolt of pain that would catch me off guard. He kissed me, my lips, my neck, my face, aiming me into the submissive headspace I entered when he touched me. He was preparing me. This was not my time to speak. Just feel.
I was focused on Peter, staring into his eyes, getting lost in their depths. He pulled a blindfold from his pocket and covered my eyes with it. All the while whispering to me. Calming me, exciting me, drawing my mind away from where we were. He took control of me, his willing subject, and he guided me onto the stage.
Peter had me stand with my legs spread. I felt him add cuffs to my ankles and as he pushed my legs wider I felt a spreader bar being attached as well. My wrists were pulled forward as he placed cuffs on them then they were chained above my head. I heard the tearing of Velcro and my tulle skirt was ripped off my waist.
My heart was pounding. Was I facing the room or was my back to it? I didn't know. All I knew is I was more exposed than I'd ever been at a public event. My breasts were completely out of my corset, nipples erect, the deep rose color in stark contrast to the white flesh of my breasts. I wasn't wearing a thong so my shaved pussy was completely exposed to the elements, and anything else Peter might decide to expose them too.
I was excited. I was scared. I was listening for Peter. His whispers continued as he set me up on the stage. I focused on him, needing to know he was close by. Hearing him call me his slut, hearing his threats to fuck me here on the stage. That he was going use me in front of all my friends. That it was time to show them all just what a whore I was. He was going to make me crawl, make me beg. Make me cry. He was making me wet.
Then the whispering stopped, the music that was playing stopped and there was silence all around me. I strained my ears to hear anything. There was nothing. I could feel the cuffs that gripped my ankles and wrists, the corset that tightly hugged my body, but other than that there was silence and darkness.
"Cum now!"
"Come for me slut, do it now!"
His words shocked me. They came from directly in front of me and my head snapped forward. He continued to demand my climax. Sometimes loud, sometimes quiet. I could feel my body react to him. My nipples began to ache, heat grew in my pussy, my pelvis began to push forward. I grasped the chain that held my arms above my head.
Ribbons began to grow inside my body, one from each nipple and another from my clit. They snaked within me causing my insides to flutter as they rushed to meet each other, to twist and entwine themselves within my groin. They pulled, they throbbed and I could feel myself fall into oblivion as an orgasm began to churn inside me.
I could hear Peter, but he seemed very far away when at last the floodgates opened and my desire to obey him overwhelmed what little awareness I had of my surroundings. I climaxed.
I remember getting to that point. I don't remember the orgasm itself. I know I began to wail, I know my body began to writhe. I was told later that my body began to spasm and that the only thing holding me up was the chain. I was told I was loud. I was told I screamed. I was told that everyone in the room watched us.
I don't remember any of that. The next thing I remember was being in Peter's arms, my head buried in Peter's chest. The blindfold was gone, there was a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and Peter's arms holding me upright as I slumped against him. He was whispering to me. Telling me I was a good girl, telling me I was his. I was a good little slut. Stroking my hair, bringing me back to the world. I felt so warm and so safe in his arms.
It was then, when I became aware of my surroundings, that I realized what had happened. He'd taken complete command of me. He'd set up the test and I'd passed. I gave myself over to him that night. He had everything I had to give. He owned it all. He owned me.
