Author: SM

Title: She Came

Part: 01

Universe: SM, She Came

Summary: While sitting on his deck reading a book about Roman slavery, Steve Marks, otherwise known as ‘SM’, has a surprising visitor. A young woman in her 20’s appears seemingly from out of no-where to offer herself as a sex slave, with detailed reasons. (“Now, that’s something you don’t hear every day.”)

Keywords: Intro, MF, D/s, mast, oral

Language: English

She Came Part 01

By SM

This is a work of fiction for adult entertainment. Copyright: This story is the sole property of the author (SM) and is freely available here to adults over the age of 18 for private personal use only. Reposting of this material without the express written consent of the author is strictly prohibited.

You know the drill, if you’re too young, or it’s illegal where you live, and all that, then don’t read it. How hard can it be to understand that?

Ok, if it’s hard, then just skip this story anyway, just to be on the safe side.

On the other hand, if you want to, you can leave a message at the beep. BEEEP

And if you tried to leave a message, don’t read this story, either.

Just to let my readers know, the ASSTR counting log isn’t working for my files, and the last time I checked, the ASSTR staff were swamped trying to correct some other problems, so the only evidence that these are being read are the comments. I can certainly respect them being covered up with all it takes to even live these days. So, PLEASE take a moment and send any comments, even if you just want to send “I read it” or something, to /files/Authors/SM/She_Came/A_Feedback_Form_For_SMs_Stories_She_Came.htm, and you can do that anonymously. That way I can have a better idea of how many people are reading these stories.)

The Beginning

The autumn air breezed easily across the deck outside my apartment where I was reading a book on slavery in ancient Rome. I welcomed the 2013 Colorado fall season, since we’d had such a crazy summer. First, it had been too mild and dry, and then the recent torrential rain had wreaked havoc on the land. Houses even previously far from water had been torn away from their foundations and forced downstream as if they’d been boats torn from their moorings. Thankfully, our area of high ground had been spared, but it had been chaos for thousands of people to the north of us.

Comparatively, Rome had it easy, at least at times in their history. But, the less-humid autumn breeze seemed to bring the scent of a new chapter, perhaps even a new era.

God knows, the Romans needed one, and so did we.

The young lady of perhaps mid-20 from the 3^rd building of apartments who I’d seen numerous times before walked purposefully up the sidewalk toward me. Her attitude seemed a bit different than before. I’d greeted her on several occasions over the past 5 months, but never really had seen an opportunity to start a conversation with her. She had seemed quite timid and shy, and the times I’d seen her coincided with other plans, so I hadn’t taken the time. But, today, she seemed to have an agenda, and there was nothing else going on, so apparently the opportunity for conversation had arrived.

A cargo plane and a military helicopter flew over, heading north in the cloudy sky, likely for the rescue operations for the flood victims. I thought about waving to them, but decided that would be a bad idea since I didn’t need to be rescued. At that moment, I felt rather sorry for those who truly did need to be rescued, and wished I knew how to help.

“Well, hello there,” I greeted her upon her arrival to the rail in front of my deck.

“Hello,” she smiled, her hazel eyes lighting up, seemingly anticipating something good in the offing. Her tank-top revealed much cleavage and that she wasn’t wearing a bra, as evidenced by the jiggling of her boobs with every step.

“I’ve seen you walk by numerous times, but haven’t really had the chance to talk with you. I’m Steve Marks, but my friends often call me ‘SM’.”

She giggled. “I DO hope that goes along with the usual meaning of SM.” I looked at her curiously.

“Uhmm, well, uh . . . what do you think the usual meaning of SM is?”

She blushed. “Well, sado-masochism, of course.”

“And you hope that my nickname means that?”

“Welllll . . . yes. I’ve been hoping that since I first saw you, even though I didn’t know your name until now.”

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Uhmm . . . I take it that you’re interested in that experience?”

“Uhmm . . . yes . . . although it’s a bit more complicated than that.” She blushed.

“What’s your name?”

“Cari, . . . Sir.” Clearly this was more complicated than I had imagined. She even managed to sound like that “S” was a capital letter. Another chopper flew over, and unfortunately the sky looked like more rain on the way. More flooding would not be a good thing, but at least there was hope for some to be rescued.

“Very nice to meet you, Cari. How old are you, if I may ask?”

“28, Sir.”

“I think perhaps it would be good for us to talk. Do you have the time to come in for a bit?”

“I’d love to, Sir.”

“You’ll have to come around the building and come inside, and then follow the signs to #1132. I’ll open up and meet you there.”

“Yes, Sir.” Again, it seemed as though she was saying it as a capital “S.”

She came around and nodded to me politely when she entered my apartment, almost bowing submissively to me, but not quite. Her boobs bounced freely, quite nicely rounded with medium-sized areolas and protruding nipples, as I noticed when she bent toward me.

She was somewhat curvy, her ass especially, however not exactly movie-star shape, her middle somewhat too thick to allow for her body shape to be considered a popular public sex symbol. When she walked by me, I caught the smell of lavender, and noticed that her shiny dark hair reached down her back about 6 inches. I like long hair, and especially long dark hair. For one thing, I love cumming in my lover’s hair. A ‘hair-job’, I think it’s termed now-a-days.

Her jean-skirt was rather short, and I had to restrain my thoughts from wondering what her panties looked like—or even if she was even wearing any.

All in all, I thought she looked, smelled, bounced and moved in a very sexy package. (“Note to self: keep that thought to yourself only!”)

My living room into which she entered is rather beige for the most part, apartment living being what it is, and I only own a couple of arm chairs placed strategically to watch football games on a very old television during the fall season. That is pretty much all I watch, and since I only follow one team, that doesn’t amount to a lot of time watching—and since that’s pretty much all I do in the living room, well . . ..

So, the living room isn’t exactly plush and elegant. As I mentioned, I don’t watch TV all that much, and would rather scatter my tools all over the place trying to fix something, study some more on languages like ancient Greek, write another song, or practice my guitar, not necessarily in that order. Also in the news, my dog, Zig (short for Zigfrid von Underbelly, his name from that place in London, an Old English Sheepdog) steals my tools and parts and hides them, so I often have to search for them. All that gives me lots to do. At least, it’s not boring around here. But, I digress. Something else, or someone else, ‘not-boring’ had appeared.

“Would you like a glass of wine? I have some white zinfandel, if you’d like some,” I said, dragging my mind back to present courtesies.

“Yes, Sir. I would love a glass of wine, but I don’t know all that much about wine, so whatever you have will be fine, I’m sure.”

“Please go on out to the deck then, and have a seat. I’ll bring it out.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

I poured the wine, and then rummaged around and found some crackers and Gouda cheese to munch on, a small knife to slice it with, and took them out to the deck on the only tray I had. Ok, it was actually the broken top of an old TV-tray, but it was better than nothing. I had scavenged it when I was repairing a computer some months previously, and the legs of the old TV tray which the computer had been on had collapsed. A very nice piece of wood, very nice grain oak, which now had finally been put to use.

“I don’t entertain much, so I’m not exactly prepared for guests. Hopefully, we can make do with this,” as I put the tray down on the glass table outside.

“I’m sure we can. This is more than enough for me, Sir. In fact,” she stopped mid-sentence to giggle a bit “I was hoping to entertain you, so this is very nice. Or at the very least, I was hoping you might be able to rescue me.”

“Entertain me? . . . and rescue you? I am beginning to think there is must be quite a long story here. But, before you tell me, taste the wine and see if it is to your liking.” I gestured toward the wine. “And, uhmm . . . why did you . . . uhmm . . . choose me?” I said as she took a sip.

“It’s very nice. Smooth. Very nice, Sir.” She smiled and her eyes sparkled.

“So, back to the question,” I said after a few moments.

“You look quite a lot like him. I was hoping you might have similar interests.” She voice grew soft, with high ringing tones to my sensitive ear. ‘Silvery’ was the word that came to my mind. If she could only sing like that, with a silvery voice, I’d be in heaven.

“Who is ‘him’, if I may ask?”

“My stepfather. He was my Master.”

I looked at her for a few long moments, and then took a sip of my wine. “Please have some of the Gouda cheese first. Then, I think it’s time for me to hear the story.”

Obediently, she took a wheat cracker and some of the cheese and bit into it. Her face was somewhat plain, but her eyes betrayed a deeper intensity and perhaps a deeper level of intelligence than a casual observer would assume from her appearance.

“Mmmmmmmmm. This is very good cheese.”

“I’m glad you like it. It’s Dutch cheese, named after a city in the Netherlands. I like it, too. It’s actually a bit cold—tastes better at room temperature. But, I didn’t know you were coming, so I hadn’t prepared by setting it out to warm up.” I looked at her and waited.

“I take it that you’re not offended by my comments about ‘SM’ and that my stepfather was my Master,” she said carefully, after a few moments of chewing and swallowing.

“No, I’m not offended. You’ve managed to make me quite curious about you, though.” I cut a slice of Gouda, put it on a wheat cracker, and bit into it. Another chopper flew over going north, only a slight distraction from her lavender scent and enticing cleavage.

She glanced at me and smiled. “I hope so, Sir. I’ve been curious about you, too. It only seems fair for you to be curious about me.”

I chuckled at that with my mouth full, and nodded, as if to say “Go on.”

She sighed and her eyes took on a far-a-way expression, and some moisture appeared in them. Her blinking after that only made her tears more obvious, even though she was clearly trying to hide them.

“He died 3 years ago. Since then I’ve been all alone.”

“Your stepfather . . . and Master,” I said after I had finally cleared my mouth.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. And your mother?”

“She died 5 years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He died in a car accident. A drunk driver hit us. Hit us right exactly on the driver’s door. They said he died instantly. ”

“And you survived.”

“Yes. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. But, I’m not really suicidal. He had spent years preparing me.”

“Preparing you?”

“Yes. He started doing uhm . . . things . . . sexual things . . . with me when I was very young. I don’t remember how old I was. He just played with my pussy and nipples . . . and gave me a vibrator and showed me what to do with it. It made me horny almost all the time. He and my mother used to have sex all over the place in our house, so I saw them do all kinds of kinky sex while I was growing up. But, he wouldn’t have sex with me until I turned 17. He and my mother were never legally married, so I guess he wasn’t technically my stepfather. In fact, as I understand it, Mom was still married to my real father, who I never met. I called him “Dad” anyway. But he told me for all those years that I was destined to be a sex slave, a fuck-toy, for an older man.”

I blinked as looked at her.

“So, he taught me how to be just that. Since I’m a natural submissive, it wasn’t really hard. And I believe him. That’s what I am. That’s what I want to be.”

“What did he teach you? Or, rather, how?”

“That started when I turned 17 years old. As I understand it, that’s the age of consent for sex in most states, and countries. Until then, he just fondled me and talked dirty about it into my ear while he was doing it, warmly and lovingly calling me a whore, a slut, fuckmeat, cunt and so on. He would whip me with the belt on my tits, my cunt and my ass, starting softly and then harder and harder—I came to love that, indeed . . . I miss that a lot.

“After I turned 17, most days he would just grab me and make me suck his cock until he came in my mouth. I love the taste of cum . . . I still love it. He would spank me often, pulling my panties down and fingering me afterwards. He always made me cum after he gave me a spanking. He fucked me whenever he was in the mood for it—at the dinner table, in the shower, in bed, wherever. I wore a collar for years, sometimes even when we had guests who were into BDSM. They would lead me around naked with my collar on, my tits tied up with rope or chain, with a butt plug in my ass most of the time, with a nipple chain on. The guests would jerk off on me all the time, and help out with the spankings. Some of the women would pull me under their skirt and I would suck their pussies. Or he would tie me to the bed or the door, put a blindfold on me, a vibrator in my pussy and leave me there for long periods of time. All kinds of things.

“I didn’t miss out on much. And when we weren’t being sexual, we had a wonderful time, lots of laughter and fun. They were both gifted people, and taught me tons of stuff. They were both multilingual and musicians. It was a great life, full of feeling and love.”

“What did your mom think about all the sexual stuff?”

“My mom? She was the sexiest and most loving mother any slut would ever want. She would hold me while Dad was fucking me and whisper to me how wonderful it was for me to be a slut like her and a nasty whore and a fucking-cunt, and then when he was done cumming inside me, she’d let me suck her cunt until she came, too. I love pussy cum, too—just as much as guy’s cum. She encouraged him, saying that I was clearly destined to be a slut, so they’d just as well enjoy what they could from me as long as I was with them. Sometimes, she would drag me out of bed into their bedroom half-asleep when they got horny, and sit on my face while Dad fucked me. Dad even had a couple of his friends fuck me and mom together, the ones he could trust not to tell anyone and who he was certain didn’t have any STD’s.

“Mom used to love watching me get fucked . . . she’d rub her cunt and cum. Then, later, she’d have me suck her sweet juices from her cunt-lips while she recovered. And she taught me all about cooking and housekeeping and being a secretary . . . being a woman, being a slut. She often danced naked at the parties. Like I said, I didn’t miss very much.” Her eyes were shining as she told me.

I could tell that she was getting aroused even as she was telling me about all this. Nothing in her voice indicated that she had any reservations about any of it. “So, all the sex and BDSM experiences turn you on even now?”

“Oh, YES! But that was only a part of it. They were such great parents! I loved them and they loved me. They were so warm and cuddly and happy almost all the time. The other kids at school didn’t talk about being special like that or being a fuck-toy, so I got to be the most special girl of all and apparently none of them got to be that special. I never told anybody so they wouldn’t get jealous of me. I didn’t want anyone to stop us.”

“So, when you saw me, and I happened to look somewhat like your stepdad, you thought I was the older man who was destined to enslave you.”

She looked at me a bit apprehensively, almost pleading. “Yes, Sir. I still think that. At least, I hope so.”

“Even if you don’t know anything about me?”

“Well, I can’t find out if anyone is involved in the BDSM lifestyle until I get to know them anyway. People are very private about that. I’m not a detective. Dad warned me not to use the internet to find a Master. There are too many fakes on the web. He said that my Master would show up when the right time comes.”

She cleared her throat like she was a bit nervous, and looked at me anxiously. “Besides, with a nickname like ‘SM’, even if you aren’t into BDSM, I wouldn’t be opposed to you fondling me and using me for sex, tying me up and giving me a spanking. I’ve gone 3 years without anything, so I’m desperate.”

“Now, that’s something that you don’t hear every day,” I smiled. “As it turns out, though, I AM an experienced Master.”

She reached out and grabbed my hands, looking up at my face hopefully, “Really? You ARE?”

“Yes.”

“YAY!” She said, clapping her hands delightedly for several moments, and then she sat back with a look of relief. After a very long pause, in which she began to look uncomfortable, she asked, “Well, Sir. What do you think?”

“First, I think we should go somewhere a bit more private. Out here on the deck where everyone can see us may not be the best place in the world to explore kinky sexuality. Let’s go inside.”

“Yes, Sir.” We got up and she automatically gathered up the plates and glasses to take them inside. “Where do you want to sit, Sir?”

“That’s my usual chair,” I said pointing, and then I turned and closed the blinds.

“Yes, Sir.” She put the cheese and the glasses of wine on the table beside my chair, and knelt down in front of it, head bowed.

When I sat down, and looked down at her, I could see she was trembling with anticipation. Sipping some wine, I reached over and got her glass and handed it to her. “Have some more wine, slave-Cari.”

“Yes, Sir.” She took it and drank several swallows from it.

“You asked me what I thought about all that, and my answer is that it’s got to be the most unusual story I’ve ever heard. But, I can’t see any reason you would lie, and it has a ring of truth to it, especially in your voice. You don’t seem very duplistic. Besides, I can’t see how you would gain anything by using it as a scam to steal from me.”

“No, Sir. It’s not a scam. I’m telling you the truth. In fact, I don’t need to take anything from you. My Dad, my Master, even if he wasn’t exactly my legal stepfather, left me plenty of money in his will, so I don’t need anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s managed by a legal firm he hired, so I get paid $10,000 every month, and if I need any more, all I have to do is ask and they give it to me—or at least, they would give it to me if I asked. I don’t need $10,000 every month, so I haven’t had any reason to ask for more. I’ve been putting most of that into a savings account.”

She took a sip of wine and continued, “My Master owned rental properties—LOTS of houses and office buildings. So, theoretically they are mine now. They are managed by a rental agency, and the attorneys have things set up to handle the money. They told me to just tell them if I needed anything, or if I wanted to have more control of any of it, and I could have it. The way it is now, I don’t have to do anything, and even though I know about managing property like that from my Master, there’s no reason for me to do it. The rentals bring in tons of money without me having to do anything. Besides, I’ve been looking for my new Master.” She looked up and smiled brightly at me, her eyes shining. “And, I think I’ve found Him.”

“Well, I don’t have any money, nor do I own anything particularly valuable, so even if you tried, there is nothing to steal here. And it seems that you have a lot more than I have. . . . All of this adds up to me thinking you’re telling me the truth.”

“I don’t want to take anything from you, Sir.”

“Except sex and dominance,” I grinned at her.

“Well, yes, I guess I do want that from you, that’s true, Sir,” she grinned back.

“Stand up,” I ordered mildly. She stood up, bowing her head again.

“Take off your tank-top.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said and removed it; her boobs plopped out into my view, very firm and shapely. Her nipples were already erect in anticipation. I reached out and squeezed one of them rather hard, twisting. She took a sharp intake of breath, and I could feel her skin turn a bit warmer with arousal.

“Like that?”

“Oh, YES, Sir! Thank you, Sir.” I let go of it and then slapped her tits back and forth a bit seeing her skin turn a bit red with my handprints. She closed her eyes and thrust her boobs out toward me, and squealed softly with each stroke. Then, I simply reached under her skirt and grabbed her pussy. I discovered immediately that she was in fact wearing panties, but they were very thin—and soaking wet with her juices. She moved her legs apart to give me easy access, and stood there smiling at me.

“Pull your skirt up.” She reached down to the hem of her jean skirt and pulled it up, revealing that her panties were in fact see-through, French cut style high up on her thighs, and that she didn’t shave her pubic hair. I could smell her arousal and see the wetness oozing down the insides of her thighs.

“I see you’re very turned on.”

“Yes, Sir. I am. Very much so.”

“Can you cum on command?”

“Uh, no, Sir. I haven’t had that experience. But, I can try, if you want me, too.”

“It will happen in time. All my slaves have developed that. Are you multi-orgasmic?”

“I’ve had that happen a couple of times, Sir. But, I don’t know how it works, so I can’t make it happen.”

“I will take care of that too, in time, slave-Cari. Have you ever been hypnotized?”

“No, Sir. But, I’d be willing to.”

“Good. I hypnotize my slaves and it deepens a lot of dimensions of the slave experience.”

“That’s exciting, Sir. I’m looking forward to all these things.”

“Good. But, for now, take off your panties and put them in your mouth. Then get on the floor with your cunt facing me and masturbate until you can cum when I give you permission.”

“Yes, Sir!” Enthusiastically, she slid her panties down her thighs and off, then put them in her mouth. Then she got down on the floor, her spread legs facing me, and began rubbing her cunt lips. Her bush was dark, and she’d trimmed it nicely to show off her mound. Her tits had red handprints on them where I had slapped her and her nipples were extremely hard and pointed.

I got my cock out and started stroking it, enjoying the view. My erection grew quickly.

“I want to see how many fingers you can fuck yourself with, cunt,” I said. She started spreading her labia and then inserted one finger, then another and another. She tried to insert a fourth, but that didn’t help much. “So, use 3 fingers, and fuck your cunt hard.”

She started thrusting her fingers in a pulling motion against her pelvis bone, smashing her clit hard with each pulse. Her moans and whimpers were delightfully sexy, including intense tones of desire. Her boobs were big enough to fall back onto her neck and flop back and forth with her fucking motions. I started looking forward to doing some interesting things with those boobs.

“Ok, now, pull out and start spanking your cunt. 10 swats, and make them hard ones, or I will!” She pulled her shiny fingers out of her pussy and began to slap between her spread legs.

That was a sight to see. I love seeing a slutty masochist pounding on her own pussy or tits. My erection grew even harder than it had been before. Rock-hard, it was indeed.

“Now, use your fist and pound hard on your cunt, fuck-meat!”

She really got into it then, pounding and moaning, her eyes looked like they were almost rolling back into her head in ecstasy.

“Now, CUM FOR ME!”

She came. Her thighs clamped down on her fist, and she writhed and jerked, almost lifting completely off the floor. Her undulations continued until finally, she fell back, exhausted, her legs falling open to show her glistening thighs still quivering in the afterglow. Then she started having aftershock orgasms that gradually grew weaker until she lay there breathing hard.

“You may take your panties out of your mouth now. And put them inside your pussy. Then crawl over here and suck Me off, slave!”

She reached up and removed her panties from her mouth and began stuffing them into her pussy until they disappeared from sight. Then, she dragged herself over to between my legs, still trying to catch her breath.

“You may breathe a bit before you start. Either it’s just been that long since you’ve had an orgasm, or that was a stronger one than you’re used to.”

After she finally caught her breath somewhat, she said. “Both, Sir. It was stronger than I’m used to, and it’s been a long time. A very long time.” She smiled up at me in-between deep breaths. “But, it was fantastic! Thank you, Sir.”

When she’d gotten her breath back, she bent down and started licking my cock and fondling my balls. I was still rock-hard, and very sensitive to her ministrations. It had been some time since I’d had a blowjob. She was very good at finding and licking those most sensitive spots with her soft tongue. Soon, she began sucking on me, and it wasn’t long before I erupted in her wet mouth. A white bubble appeared in the corner of her mouth as she gulped down my cream. When I was done, she lifted her mouth off and reached out with her tongue to capture that last escaped drop of cum and swallowed it, too.

As I recovered, she rubbed my legs gently, looking up at me with what looked like love in her eyes. We were silent for several moments.

Then, she said, “I’ll do anything to become your slave, Sir. Anything! I’m sure you’re the One he prepared me for.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, Sir. Anything. Please take me as your property to use and abuse as you wish.”

I looked at her. “You still know very little about Me, slave.”

“I know enough, Sir. I’m sure I’ll learn a lot more about you as days go on, if you want me to know.”

“Get us some more wine. And, pull your panties out of your horny cunt and put them on again.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She rose and I watched her ass undulate as she walked to the kitchen with the wine glasses. Her skirt fell back down partway as she walked, but seemed to get stuck about half-way, which she left there, perhaps instinctively knowing I would find that slutty and sexy. She looked in the fridge and found the wine, poured it carefully, and then returned. After she set the glasses down, she reached down and slid two fingers into her pussy and fished out her soaked panties, and slipped them back on over her thighs and over her pussy. Her entire body was slick with sweat and cunt juices, which she seemed very comfortable with, while I found it quite arousing. My cock jumped a bit at that thought as she knelt down again between my legs. She smiled up at me when she saw it move, her hair wet with her perspiration, and her skin aglow with sexual heat.

I took a sip of wine and thought about all of it. A lot to process, but it all seemed to fit pretty well, in spite of being completely crazy. I could smell, perhaps even taste, her arousal in our closeness.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to take you on as my slave just yet, but I can tell you that you’re in the running, slave,” I said to her after some time of silence.

“Thank you for that, Sir. I’ll wait forever. I’ll kiss your feet and beg You every day, and I’d love to do that even after I become your slave. I’ll crawl down the street naked to your beck and call. You can do anything you want with me, Sir.” One thing for sure, she was dramatic, at least in her imagination.

The thing is, that was an arousing image to me, I had to admit. Her crawling naked down the street to beg Me.

“Anything? Even sell you?”

Her eyes shown with genuine pain at that idea. Softly, she replied, “You would have that right, Sir, I know. But, instead of that, I’ll give you all of my money to be able to stay with you. Please accept that as an alternative. Or, maybe if you don’t want to fuck me, you can pimp me out as a whore and I’ll fuck anyone you tell me to fuck. As long as I get to see you often.”

“How can you be so sure that I’m the right One for you? You still know very little about me.”

“I don’t know how I know, Sir. I just know.”

“I have a public life to maintain, slave. I’m not sure that you would fit in it very well.”

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, Sir. If we have to hide the times I’m with you, I’ll never reveal it to anyone. I’ll become your secretary or marry you or be your maid or your housekeeper or your concubine or whatever you want, Sir.”

“How long are you willing to commit to Me for?”

“For as long as I live, Sir.”

“And, when I die?”

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. My loyalty to you will continue. I’d probably want to die at that point, anyway. I’d have no other reason to live, Sir. I’d almost lost hope when you appeared outside on your deck. And as soon as I saw you, I knew that you were the One.” Her eyes glistened, and I could see she’d thought quite a lot about all of that.

“I’m a lot older than you are, so in the normal process of things, I am likely to die quite sooner than you do.”

“I know, Sir. But, I will live out my destiny. You’re the reason for my life, Sir.”

I looked at her steadfast determination to carry this through. It was crazy.

But sometimes the craziest things in life are the most fulfilling.

There was a long silence while I thought about it. She looked at me for a few minutes with eyes brimming with tears, and then she bowed her head to the floor at my feet, and whimpered as she rubbed her face on them, kissing them even through my socks. It had been several years since one of my slaves had kissed my feet, but I found it quite enjoyable, arousing—and distracting.

“Stop that, slave. I need some time to think.”

“Yes, Sir.” She moved back until she was face-down on the floor. “Did you not like it, Sir?” she asked in a voice muffled by the carpet.

“I liked it alright, but right now it’s distracting.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I looked at her with some exasperation. All of this had just appeared today, while I was minding my own business and sitting on the deck reading a book. About slavery in Rome, and being concerned for the folks who were flooded out of their homes. I breathed out, trying to settle my own heart, my own thoughts. It was hard to believe her in the sense of “to good to be true.” Just how many slaves come to you and volunteer?

“Sir? May I speak?” she asked after some time had passed.

“Go ahead.”

“May I rub your shoulders or something so you can relax and think about whatever you want to think about?”

I thought about that. Yes, in fact, all this had tensed the muscles in my neck and shoulders. That might be distracting, but it might help, too.

“Ok . . . But, from the time you begin, you must remain silent unless I speak to you and simply massage me with no further attempts to be intimate. I might get very frustrated if you distract me again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” And so, she rose and went to the sink in the kitchen and washed her hands, taking her time. Quite a long time. Then she came back and moved behind my chair.

As soon as she touched my shoulders, I realized why it had taken so much time for her to wash her hands. Her hands were warm. She had used the water to heat them. The warmth was quite relaxing indeed.

She began on the outside of my shoulders and slowly moved in. Her touch was almost hypnotic, and I felt my neck muscles relax even when I was trying to use them to hold my head up. She caught my head as it fell forward, and pulled me back gently, moving it around very slowly to let the muscles unknot along the sides which had been heretofore balls of fiery tension.

That book on “Slavery in Rome” came back to mind. Interesting. It was not uncommon in that culture for the slave to be much more educated, or competent, or talented, than his or her Owner. Some very famous Romans had been slaves at least part of their lives. Tiro, the secretary for Cicero. Spartacus. The poet Horace’s father. Tiberius Narcissus.

Slaves could be used pretty much as their owner wanted to use them in the early part of the Roman Empire. They could be sexually exploited, and even killed without recourse. Prostitutes were most often slaves.

Her fingers kneaded my forehead as I leaned back against her boobs. This might have been a bit sneaky on her part, but I truly didn’t want to hold my head up, and her tits were as soft as a pillow.

“Besides finding a Master, what are your plans for the future?” I asked her.

“Sir? I don’t understand? I don’t have any other plans.”

“Like, were you planning to have children?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I can’t have children. My stepfather paid a doctor to perform a hysterectomy on me. He said a sex slave can’t be distracted in her loyalty to children. He said it would also remove my periods, another distraction which I don’t need.”

“Does that bother you that he did that?”

“Not really, Sir. It happened when I was 19, and by then I was already very dedicated to becoming a sex slave. I believe that being a slave is a very honorable way of life, Sir. Like the Roman slaves. Slavery is even talked about in the Bible with respect.”

“So, you disagree with the Civil Rights movement in our history?”

“No, Sir, except for someone who WANTS to be a slave. Those people were forced into slavery against their will. I don’t agree with that. I WANT to be a slave, to be owned. They didn’t want that. They were people who had other lives from which they were ripped to be slaves. That’s a horrible injustice.”

“Ok. . . . Ok. But, now, let’s go back to my question. You don’t have any plans for your future, except to be a slave for your Master?”

“No, Sir, I have no other plans. That’s partly what I meant when I said I wouldn’t have any other reason to live.”

“I’m not saying I’ve decided this, but what if I turned you away?”

“I’d just have to keep looking for my Master. In the meantime, even if you don’t want me as your slave, I would beg you to use me as your sex toy until you get tired of me. I’ve been very desperate since I haven’t been used for sex for so long. I can’t cum without being used and humiliated and . . . given pain like you do. I know you can, because you’ve already given me that.”

“I guess that qualifies you as a real slut, then.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m a real slut. And I’m a real pain slut.”

“From what you’ve said, I believe you. If you become my slave, what’s to keep you from going out and finding someone else to have sex with, if I don’t use you and stimulate you enough?”

“My loyalty to my Master is ultimate. I’d rather die than betray my Master. I have only sought you out for sex because I thought you might be the One, and because I have no other Master, Sir.” Her fingers had continued to kneed and stroke me gently.

“Besides, Sir, I went 3 years without sex when I was looking for you. Wouldn’t you say that indicates a great deal of self-control?”

“You didn’t even masturbate?”

“No, Sir. My body and mind would sometimes compensate by giving me a sexy dream of being tied up and whipped and I would wake up cumming. But I didn’t have sex intentionally. I’m only interested in having sex with you because of your similarity with my stepdad—my past Master—and your strength and ability to give me pain. I doubt I would find all of that in very many others, Sir. You’re the first who has even come close.”

“You do seem very focused about that. Again, I’m not saying I’ve decided anything, but what if I turned you away, and you never found anyone else to fit those criteria?”

Before she looked down, I saw real tears in her eyes. “I’d die.” That shocked me a bit.

She heaved a great sigh and said again. “I’d die.”

“You mean you’d kill yourself?”

“No, Sir. Eventually, I just wouldn’t have a reason to live. I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my destiny. I know in my heart that I would just die. I’d probably go to sleep and not wake up.”

“Or, wake up dead.”

“Sir?”

“It’s a joke, sorry. On those days when it was hard to get out of bed, I used to joke that I’d better not check my vital signs, because I might find out I’m dead, which would mean that I’d just “woke up dead,” something I didn’t want to know. . . . You know, . . . I’d say it in a very deep voice . . . ‘I really don’t want to know that.’ Some of my friends thought that was humorous.”

She giggled. “Well, yes, it is funny, Sir. It just caught me off guard, since we’ve been having such a serious conversation.”

“I guess I’m done with being so serious, too. I’ve asked you a lot of deep questions, and your story holds up the entire way through. Either you’re crazy or you’re just telling me the truth.”

“Or both.” And she giggled. I had to join her on that one.

“You’re fun to be with, Sir.”

“Thank you. You are, too.”

“Thank you, Sir. May I offer to rub your feet, Sir? Or is that too forward of me?”

“No, it’s not too forward, but I have another idea.”

“Sir?”

“Come here and sit on my lap.”

“But, Sir, I’m sticky and I smell like—“

“—you’ve just had the best sex in the past 3 years,” I finished for her.

She giggled again. “Yes, that’s true.”

“So, are you going to start off arguing with one of my commands?”

She moved quickly around and sat on my lap, reaching up to put her arms around my neck. “No, Sir.” Even her eyes were smiling. I pulled her close and kissed her, and she whimpered into my lips. Her body was warm and her boobs soft as cushions, her body vibrating with desire. The kiss lasted a very long time.

Neither of us seemed to notice or remember how long it lasted. But it wasn’t long enough.

This is the end of Part 1, and I’ll be adding Part 2 as soon as I write it.

I’m very interested in your comments and suggestions—or questions—so if you would be so kind to take a minute and go here and send them, I’d appreciate that very much. If you include your email (optional), I’ll try to reply as soon as possible.

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Don’t miss my other stories, including the “Her New Name Series” which you can find here, and “Buxom Mother and Daughter” which you can find here.

Thanks, and have a great day!

~SM~