Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: nostrumo@nienor.in-berlin.de
Subject: TS: Carolyn's Story by Christina Marie Dyne 
Date: 4 Nov 1995 01:47:36 +0100

			   Carolyn's Story
				  by
			 Christina Marie Dyne
			     Chapter One

	I think I was amazingly calm under the circumstances. When I
had walked out of the hotel room I was all nerves, shaking so bad that
I hadn't been sure I was able to unlock the car door. But once I had
gotten on the road all that had passed. It's only a ten minute drive
from the Howard Johnson's to the meeting place we had agreed on.
Plenty of time to come to my senses and go home. But I didn't.

	This was crazy, totally and completely insane. Driving a car
to a Dunkin' Donuts at four in the morning, hoping to meet a man that
I hardly even knew and had never met. Hoping to start a relationship
that was at best foolish and at worst dangerous... Knowing that I
couldn't possibly be what he was looking for. But hoping that somehow
this could be what I wanted and needed. I was going to go through
with it. Whether it was a matter of curiosity or desperation, I had to
find out if this could work.

	It's weird, this change that sometimes comes over me. I think
of it as a mode shift but giving it a name doesn't explain it or make
it any easier to understand. It's like the person I am inside comes
out all at once, full force. Sometimes I don't even recognize
myself... I've spent so much of my life hiding inside myself, showing
others what I thought they wanted me to be that I'm not always sure
who it is I am... When I'm like this I'm me. Magnified, less
controlled and more alive. But also quieter, gentler, less explosive.
I suppose it's like when you're drunk. You're still you, but you're
different. For me this change is somewhat like that. Intoxicating,
perhaps even somewhat addictive.

	Can one become addicted to being one's self?

	I was pondering that question when I pulled into the parking
lot. Dunkin' Donuts is the only place for miles that's open at that
time of the morning. The rest of the small shopping center was dark,
but the small coffee shop was lit and nearly empty.

	Nearly empty. I parked the car and cursed the fates. The only
other car in the parking lot was a police cruiser. Sitting at the
counter were two cops talking to a rather bored looking elderly woman
behind the counter. The three of them glanced out at me as I turned
off the engine and lights, but didn't seem particularly interested.
One of the cops was a young woman in her mid-twenties, tall and thin
with short curly black hair - looking rather butch in her cop uniform.
The other was a older man, heavy set and thinning hair.

	Cops in a Dunkin' Donuts, what a fucking concept. I wondered
what else could go wrong.

	What was I going to do now? I cursed my choice of clothing. If
I had just stuck with my original plan this wouldn't have been a
problem. I could just leave. No, I wasn't going to give up after
having come this far. I could park the car across the parking lot and
wait for him to get here. At least once he was there I would have some
shielding, someone to help divert attention away from me. That may
have been the original idea, but it wasn't going to work now. The cops
had seen me and if I just sat in my car they were bound to eventually
wonder what was going on. That I didn't need. Could I make it back to
the hotel, change, and make it back in time? No, there was only twenty
minutes before he should be there, it would take me twice that long.
Besides, it had taken me half the night to get just the look I wanted.
I wasn't going wreck all that work now.

	I could do this, I had to do this. Nothing like trial by fire,
is there?

	I grabbed my purse, a drawing pad, and got out of the car.

	Christ, this was crazy.

	Images of a jail cell danced in my head as I walked toward the
counter. The clack-clack of my heels on the tiled floor seemed like
the loudest sound I'd ever heard. It was warm in there, much warmer
than the near freezing temperature outside. I could feel three pairs
of eyes on my back as I stood next to a register and waited for the
old woman to finish her conversation with the cops. I was waiting for
one of the cops to say something to me or, worse yet, get up and come
over to me, but their conversation didn't change at all - something
about football that I really didn't catch. There was a pause, and the
old lady finally came over to help me.

	"What can I get ya', honey?" Nasally voice. Christ, she was
chewing gum like cud and had a hairdo that hadn't been current in my
lifetime.

	There was no turning back now. "A large diet coke, please," I
said in a quiet tone.

	She poured the coke and took my money, not seeming to take
much interest in me. I was praying that the two cops had a similar
attitude.

	I took the coke and walked towards the booths lined against
the opposite side of the store. Both of the cops were watching me, but
in my hyper-alert calm they, surprisingly, no longer seemed a threat.
As I passed by them the male cop, who I had named "George" in my mind,
said "Hello". His partner, "Gracie", now seemed more interested in her
coffee than in me.

	I nodded toward "George" as I walked by, and found a booth as
far from them as possible. I set my purse and drawing pad on the
table, took off my coat, and sat down. Only then did I dare to look at
"George" and "Gracie" again. "George" had his back to the counter and
was watching me, a friendly smile on his face. "Gracie" was still
contemplating her cup of coffee. I waved at "George" and tried to
return his smile. He waved back, a motion "Gracie" must have caught as
she elbowed him in the side.

	"Have some class for chrissake, John," she told him peevishly.

	He harrumphed as he turned around. "What's your problem?" He
had a thin reedy voice, not at all what I would have expected from a
man that size.

	The old woman returned, and the three of them continued their
conversation. I opened up the drawing pad, got a pencil out of my
purse, and lost myself in my drawing trying to ignore them entirely.

	It worked pretty well. Despite the fact that I hadn't really
set out to draw anything or anyone specific, the lines on the paper
formed themselves into a very good likeness of a pretty young woman. I
had no idea who she was, someone from my minds eye, but I was very
pleased with how easily the drawing seemed to flow. Was it possible
that this mode shift was good for my drawing? The thought had never
occurred to me before, it was certainly something to explore further
later.

	"Nice drawing." A deep voice, very close, said.

	I almost jumped out of my skin. How could someone have snuck
up on me? Was I that involved in my drawing? I looked up, trying to
smile and not look surprised. A tall man was looking at my drawing.
Very tall, maybe six foot six and well built. White shirt and brown
slacks, he was holding a black leather trench coat over one arm. I'm a
lousy judge of age, but he was certainly a lot older than me, maybe
mid-forties somewhere, and very distinguished looking. The confident
businessman type.

	"Carol?"

	My mind was stuck in a loop. It was all I could do to nod,
wondering if I looked as much like an idiot as I felt.

	"Do you mind if I sit down?" He had a wonderful voice, better
in person than over the phone.

	My brain finally unfroze. "No, please do."

	He nodded and sat down, an amused expression on his face. I
set the pencil down and started to put the drawing pad away.

	"No," he said, "do you mind if I look?"

	I did mind, I rarely showed my drawings to anyone, but what
was I going to do? "If you like," I said, handing him the pad.

	I could feel myself turning red as he flipped through the
pages, stopping to look closely at some of the drawings. Finally he
got to the last page, the drawing I had been working on when he had
appeared. "Self portrait?" He asked, pointing to the drawing.

	I was shocked... "No, it's not anyone. Just an idea I was
playing with." How could he think that was me? She didn't look
anything like me.

	He laughed. "Bullshit." He turned the drawing toward me.
"That's even the dress you're wearing."

	All right, so it was the same dress. Why hadn't I realized
that before? The hair was somewhat like mine as well, but the face and
body were totally different. I said nothing as he handed the pad to
me.

	"You didn't tell me you were an artist." He was finding this
very amusing.

	"I'm not, more a scribbler."

	"And a confident one at that." Now he was serious. "You know I
didn't know it was you, I almost left thinking you weren't here,
you're not exactly dressed the way we discussed."

	You could say that again. He'd wanted me to wear a dress to
our first meeting. I hadn't thought that a good idea and had told him
that I thought it best if I wear something a little less obvious,
perhaps a pair of jeans, a nice blouse, and maybe some flats. He'd
agreed, though somewhat reluctantly

	All of that had gone out the window some time last night. I'd
been so hyped when I got to the hotel that there was no way I was
going to get any sleep. Sometime in the night all sanity had left my
brain and I decided that if I was going to do this than I was going to
do it with as much class as I could. I Spent most of the rest of the
night trying to get just the right "look", and when I finally was
satisfied that I'd done the best I could the woman staring back at me
in the full length mirror was a different person. She looked almost
pretty, standing there in her gorgeous red dress with her hair tied
loosely back in a red satin bow. The smile on her pink lips made her
look younger, perhaps even sexy. The change was complete, the woman in
the mirror was not so much me as who I wanted to be.

	"I'm sorry, I just wanted to make the best first impression I
could."

	"No, that's okay," he waved his hand in dismissal, "I'm glad
you did. You look beautiful."

	He didn't, couldn't, mean that. I looked down at my cup,
staring at the straw while trying to will myself not to blush. Why do
people feel they have to say things like that when they don't mean
them?

	"Excuse me for a second," he said after a few embarrassing
seconds.

	I watched him as he got up and went to the counter. He had a
very deliberate way of moving, a bluntly athletic walk and the wide
sure arm movements of someone who commands the space around them. He
stopped at the counter and talked briefly with the elderly woman
behind the counter. I was surprised to note that "Gracie" and "George"
were gone. I take great pride in usually being supremely aware of my
surroundings, but I hadn't even noticed their departure. I really hate
it when that happens.

	He returned to the table, a cup of coffee in one hand, and sat
down. "You did make quiet the impression," he said, "and despite the
dress it really wasn't all that hard to figure out it was you - if for
no other reason than that there aren't all that many women around with
hair as long as yours anymore."

	I smiled at that. My hair is probably my one feature that I am
proud of, and in retrospect it was probably about the only thing I did
tell him about my appearance.

	"I have to admit, though," he continued, "that you're not at
all what I expected."

	"I'm sorry," I said, trying not to sound to upset. I'd known
he was going to be disappointed.

	"Sorry? What's to be sorry about?"

	"I know I'm not what you were hoping for, I tried to tell you
on the phone that I'm not much to look at."

	"I don't think you're getting my point here, Carol." He said,
very sternly. "What a slave looks like isn't the most important thing
to me, nor is their gender. What is important is a slave's potential,
their inherent submissiveness and willingness to be molded. I would be
far more interested in an average, or even plain looking obedient
slave with lots of potential than I would be in a drop dead gorgeous
slave that was disobedient and without potential. The reason I wanted
to meet you was because I read a lot of potential in your letter and a
willingness to explore it, that's very important to me. The fact that
you obviously went to a lot of work to make a good impression confirms
what I originally thought about you when I read your letter. Do you
understand what I mean?"

	I nodded, though I wasn't sure that I did.

	"I said that you didn't exactly look as I had expected, but
that isn't a bad thing." He said, seeming amused again.

	Now I was confused. "What did you expect me to look like?"

	He took a sip of his coffee, looking a little sheepish. "I
have this friend, a mistress, who has several slaves. One of them is a
young man who she likes to dress up as a whore. A blonde wig , black
leather mini, tight top, lots of make-up, stuff like that."

	"He's a transvestite?" Now I was starting to understand.

	"Umm, I suppose. Anyway, he's a good looking kid and rather a
good slave, but not what I would think of as a good looking hooker. He
always looks a little ridiculous to me, but they have a good time with
it and as I said, he is a very attentive slave. I guess that's more or
less what I was expecting you to look like."

	"Transvestites and transsexuals are very different creatures."
I said.

	"Obviously! So why don't you explain to me what the difference
is. Why is it that he always looks like a guy in drag and you don't?"

	"But I do... " I started to say.

	He held up his hand, interrupting me. "Explain the difference
between a transvestite and a transsexual."

	"I'll try, it's really kinda complicated. A transvestite is
usually a man who gets a kick, usually a sexual thrill, out of
dressing as a woman. A transsexual is someone of either gender who's
brain and body are out of synch."

	"Out of synch?"

	"Well, in my case my brain is female but my body is male. To
put it another way, gender is what's between your ears, and sex is
what's between your legs. My gender is female, but my sex is male.
This is not a good thing."

	"In what way?"

	"It's very destructive. For most people gender and sex are the
same, so they never give it a second thought. But for me the two are
at opposite extremes, forever in conflict."

	"So how do you resolve the conflict?"

	"That's were it gets complicated. I can't change me, who I am
inside, so I have to change who I am on the outside."

	"And how do you do that?"

	I sighed, just thinking about it could be a little depressing.
"Through a long, arduous, sometimes painful, and more than a little
expensive process. First you go to an electrologist who starts the
process of permanently removing facial and body hair. Then you see a
shrink who evaluates you to determine if you can go further. If your
shrink agrees then they will give you a referral to an endocrinologist
who will do an evaluation and hopefully start you on hormonal therapy.
The hormones, in my case estrogens, will change the body, feminizing
it. That causes breast growth, fat redistribution, emotional changes,
and a whole host of lesser changes. After that you're supposed to live
at least a year, and usually more than that, as your new gender. Then
you can, if you wish to, go for sexual reassignment surgery. That's
were they will remove your penis and use parts of it to construct a
vagina using plastic surgery. If everything goes well, in the end no
one will ever have to know that you were ever anything other than a
normal female in every way."

	"Sounds like a hell of a lot of work."

	"It is. In a way it's like dying and being reborn whole. It's
the only way I can every be whole."

	"So how far along are you in all of this?"

	"I've been seeing an electrologist for two years, and I've
just recently started seeing a psychologist."

	"An electrologist is the one who removes hair?"

	"Yes, removes it permanently."

	"How?"

	"By sticking a tiny little needle underneath the skin where
each hair grows," I made a little motion like that was what I was
doing, "and then zapping the follicle with microwaves or high voltage.
If they do it right that kills the follicle and hair won't ever grow
there again."

	"Ouch!"

	I laughed. "Bigtime, and you pay dearly for the privilege."

	"So that's why you don't have a beard or anything?"

	I nodded. "I used to have some facial hair, never all that
much, but it's pretty much all gone now. We're working on other areas
now."

	"And what about the shrink?"

	"I've only seen her a couple of times, but we get along pretty
well." Better than I had expected, actually.

	"What are you going to tell her about tonight?"

	"Not a thing. Don't get me wrong, but I don't tell her
anything remotely resembling the truth, I tell her what she wants to
hear."

	"I don't understand, why not tell her the truth?"

	"All I want from her is a referral to an endocrinologist. To
get that I have to convince her that I am what I say I am, a
transsexual. She has certain ideas about what a transsexual is or
should be, so I'm going to do everything I can to fit into that mold.
Look, it's a screwy system, but that's how the game is played. I don't
like it, but I really don't have much choice."

	"It does sound odd, but I'll take your word for it." He said.
"I want you to do something for me. Go to the bathroom."

	"Huh?" Go to the bathroom? Why go to the bathroom?

	"Go to the bathroom, please."

	"Okay." I couldn't figure why he would want me to go to the
bathroom, but it seemed like a harmless enough request, so I grabbed
my purse and walked towards the bathroom.

	Three men had come in while we had been talking and were now
sitting at a booth. There was also a short line at the counter, but no
one seemed awake enough to pay much attention to me. Once in the
bathroom I locked the door and decided to touch up my lipstick. It
wasn't until then that it dawned on me that maybe I'd freaked him out
a bit and he'd just wanted to leave without being rude. I thought, as
I walked out of the bathroom, that he would probably be gone, but he
wasn't. I walked back to the table and sat down, again wondering what
that had been all about. He really was very nice looking.

	"I have to admit to still being confused about some things."
He said after I'd sat down.

	"Like what?" I wasn't surprised that he was confused,
sometimes all of this still confuses me. What I was surprised by was
that he was still interested, still asking questions.

	"You started to say earlier that you thought you looked like
my friend's slave, a guy in drag."

	I shrugged. "I do, it's unfortunate, but true. When I first
got here there were two cops in here, I almost had a stroke."

	"Why?"

	"Cross dressing's still illegal in this state, things could
have gotten more than a touch nasty." I was still amazed that I had
even come in and risked it.

	"What in the world makes you think that anyone would think you
were a crossdresser?"

	"It's obvious," I said. incredulous, "all they would have had
to do is take a close look."

	"Yeah, right." He snorted. "Believe me, I've taken a close
look at you, and I'm still not totally convinced you aren't playing
some kind of game with me."

	"Excuse me?" What in the world was that supposed to mean?

	"How do I know that you're not some really tweaked out babe
with a weird sense of humor?"

	"Huh?" I had the feeling that he was playing some sort of game
with me.

	"Look, I'm willing to take you at face value, but we've been
talking for a little while now, and I've yet to see anything even
remotely masculine about you. You look like a woman," he pointed
towards the bathroom, "you walk like a woman, as far as I'm concerned
you are a woman. Okay, so your voice is a little deep, but I've known
some women with deeper voices, and more importantly you talk as a
woman would. You're not the most beautiful woman I've ever known, but
you are quiet the looker." He sat back, his arm over the booth. "All
right, so I can buy what you say about transsexuals is true. Hell, it
makes a certain amount of sense and I've certainly heard of stranger
things. I've never met anyone before who claimed to be a transsexual,
so maybe they're all like you, but there are just a few things that
don't seem to add up."

	"Like what?" This wasn't going well at all. Did he really
think I was good looking? No, couldn't be. He was playing some kind
game. I was beginning to wonder if I was the one who should just
leave.

	"Okay, you say that you've got a man's body, but if you do it
sure as hell doesn't show. How tall are you?"

	"Five foot ten," I replied. I've always hated being tall.

	He nodded. "Pretty tall, for a woman anyway. How big is your
waist?"

	"Twenty-four inches." That much, at least, I was happy with.

	"That's what I mean! How many men do you think there are out
there with twenty-four inch waists, especially at your height?"

	"A few," I said defensively.

	"Yeah, right. Why the small tits?"

	"Huh?"

	"I assume you're wearing 'padding' since you shouldn't have
any tits of your own, if what you've said is true. So why not go with
something bigger?"

	Oh shit, and this dress was cut low enough to show some, what
little I had, cleavage. Why hadn't I thought of that before? "I'm not
wearing any padding. It's a push-up bra, but this is all me."

	"What?" He wasn't a happy camper. "Let me ask you straight out
Carol, what kind of game are you playing?"

	"I'm sorry, I should have said something before, it never
occurred to me that it might be a problem. It's my body, I've always
been like this, so I didn't even think to mention it."

	"Always been like what?"

	"My body's weird, like the rest of me. I've always had small
breasts, at least since I was a teenager, I don't know why. Maybe
whatever feminized my brain feminized my body some as well, or maybe I
just wanted it so badly that it happened." There were tears in my
eyes, and I was only just stopping myself from crying. "There's other
things as well. Like you said, my waist is awfully small and I think
it's part of the reason my hair looks nice, things like that. For some
reason my body's like the rest of me, kind of stuck between being male
and being female." I picked up a napkin and carefully wiped my eyes.

	"No shit?" He seemed amazed, at what I wasn't sure.

	"No shit." I said, trying to smile. "Would you excuse me for a
second?"

	He nodded, and I once again grabbed my purse and went to the
bathroom. At least I hadn't messed up my make-up. Silly thing to worry
about, it'd been a trying morning and I hadn't slept in twenty-four
hours. No wonder I'd gotten upset so easily. I'd really wanted this to
work out, and given the last few minutes it didn't seem there was any
chance of that now.

	It took me a minute of fussing around to compose myself, and
when I'd left the bathroom the place was noticeably more crowded. I
was beyond worrying about anyone noticing me, under the circumstances
that was the least of my worries, but if it got much more crowded it
was going to be hard to carry on a conversation without being
overheard.

	"Do you mind if I ask a few more questions?" He asked after
I'd sat down, his voice gentler than it had been and a little earnest.

	"No, please do. I can understand why you were upset."

	"No, I can understand why you were upset. I shouldn't have
jumped to conclusions. One of the things you learn when you're a
master is that things are rarely what they seem. I believe you, Carol,
and I'm intrigued by your situation - it can't be easy on you."

	"It isn't, but I usually do a better job of dealing with
things than I have tonight."

	"What do you do for work?"

	That seemed like an odd question. "I work in an office doing
reports and things. Kind of a fact finder for the higher ups. Why?"

	"Do the people at work know you as Carol, or as someone else?"

	"Someone else, someone male. They've no idea that I'm a
transsexual."

	"I guess what I'm trying to figure out is how you ever manage
to pass yourself off as a man. I mean, even when you take off the
dress there's still the hair and the waist and the boobs and the way
you walk."

	"I'm not that feminine. Besides, there are lots of ways to
manage perceptions. It's like with my shrink, you feed people what
they want to see, what they expect to see. They'll fill in the blanks
and ignore, at least for the most part, anything that doesn't fit
their image of what you should be."

	"It can't be that simple."

	"It's not, not really. They're are problems and it is a
strain, but it does work for the most part." I shrugged, "sometimes I
feel like I'm not even really sure who I am, and I am sure that most
of the people who know me think that I'm weird in one way or another,
but it's enough to get me by. At least when I'm finally through with
things and can finally live my life as a woman I won't have all of
these problems to deal with."

	"Why don't you live as a woman now?"

	"I'm not ready, not yet. No one is going to be willing to
accept me as a woman now."

	"That's not true."

	"It is true." I hated contradicting him, but felt I had to.
"Maybe after I've started hormonal therapy, but not now."

	"That's bullshit. You're problem is that you've got no self
confidence whatsoever, no self image. In fact I even doubt that you've
got the foggiest idea what you look like and how other people perceive
you." That much was true, and something I forever wondered about.
Something seemed to dawn on him. "Carol, what have your lovers thought
of you? That certainly must have told you something. And by the way,
do you mostly sleep with men or women? You said in your letter that
you were bisexual."

	My cheeks were turning red again. "I've never had any lovers."

	"You're kidding, right?"

	I'm sure my cheeks were burning brightly by now. "No," I said,
shaking my head and suppressing the urge to bite my lip.

	"How old are you?"

	He should know that, I told him my age in the letter.
"Twenty-three."

	"My god," he said, laughing, "I'm sitting here with the worlds
oldest virgin!"

	I was less than amused. "I've avoided sexual entanglements."

	"Why?"

	"Because it would complicate things to much. I mean how am I
going to have a normal sexual relationship? My situation, not to
mention my body, kinda complicates things, you know? The most
important thing to me is to be viewed and treated as a woman, and it
never seemed much likely that I was going to be viewed as anything but
a bit of a freak, at least until after hormonal therapy and surgery.
I'd always planned on waiting until after surgery before trying to
start a serious relationship."

	"So why me, why now? Why did you respond to my ad?"

	"I don't know, I really don't. Desperation maybe. I've always
had two dreams, the first, of course, is to be fully female, and the
second is to be a slave. I'd always thought it best to leave the
second dream alone until after the first was completed, but there was
something about your ad that drew me. I don't know why, certainly
there wasn't anything in it to make me think that you would be
interested in someone like me, but I guess I figured that I didn't
have anything to lose. To tell you the truth, I was rather surprised
when you wrote back, and even more surprised that you wanted to meet
me. I guess the chance that I could finally find a master overpowered
my worries about whether or not it was the right time to do it."

	"I'm glad for that. I told you, Carol, as far as I'm concerned
you are a woman and I've no intention of treating you otherwise. To
tell you the truth, if I'd know how complicated things were before
hand, I might not have been interested. That would have been a great
loss, I see an amazing amount of potential in you."

	"Do you?" I found the thought of him seeing potential in me
very exciting.

	"Yes, of course I do, I wouldn't still be sitting here talking
to you if I didn't. Why do you want to be a slave, Carol? What is it
you want?"

	"It's hard to explain, I guess I worry that it's going to
sound a little nutty." More like a lot nutty.

	"So what? Tell me about your dream."

	"I dream about losing myself to a man, becoming his property.
I dream of giving up my will to him, losing even my ability to disobey
him or deny him anything. I dream of becoming so much his creature
that I think what he wishes me to think, feel what he wishes me to
feel, want what he wishes me to want. I dream of becoming a creature
of pure sex and sexuality. I dream of a day when there is nothing in
my life but serving another's wishes with no thought or need for
anything else. I guess that's kind of extreme, maybe not even
possible."

	"I wouldn't be so sure of that. They say you should be careful
of what you wish for, you just might get it."

	"That's what I'm hoping for."

	"For a man who will fashion you into the kind of woman they
think you should be?" He asked, leaning towards me.

	"Yes."

	"How can you be so sure of that, you've never even had a
chance to be the kind of woman you want to be."

	"That doesn't matter."

	"I don't think you know what you're asking for, little girl,"
he said, his voice half serious, half playful.

	"I think I do." I was very serious.

	He watched me for a second, emotions I couldn't read playing
across his face like a quickly passing storm. "Maybe you do." he said
quietly.

	We sat there in silence for a long minute. His finger on his
temple, he watched me trying to divine something. I tried to guess
what was going through his mind, but I didn't have a clue. Finally he
seemed to come to some decision. "You're almost to good to be true,
you know that?"

	"I don't know what you mean."

	He shook his head. "You wouldn't," he said ruefully, "that's
part of your charm. If you become my slave you'll lose everything, you
know. Your job, your friends, your freedom, everything."

	I shrugged. "That's going to happen anyway."

	That threw him. "What do you mean by that?"

	"Once I start hormonal therapy things will be set in motion
that can't be stopped, I'll have to 'die'. You don't think that I can
still keep the same job, the same apartment, the same friends once I'm
a woman? I'll never be a woman to them, only a freak. I don't want
that. Once I start down that road, I have to give everything up and
start again anyway."

	"Jesus, Carol, I don't know if I could keep my sanity if I
were in your shoes." That really had shaken him.

	"I don't have any choice, Sir. I can't just give up on my
dreams."

	He noticed my not so subtle 'Sir' and nodded. "What if I
required you to live with me, could you handle being a slave full
time?"

	"Eventually, if things work out, I hope that that's exactly
what will happen."

	"Eventually," he said, nodding again. "Eventually may be a lot
closer than you think, Carol. A lot of things may be a lot closer than
you think."

	Because that sounded more than a little like a threat, I
weighed his words carefully. I stared into his expressive eyes and
decided that he was only trying to warn me off, trying to make sure
that I really wanted this. I did, and I could deal with things as they
came. "Perhaps," I finally said, "I suppose I'll deal with that when
the day comes."

	"Fair enough," he said, grabbing his jacket and starting to
stand up. "Let's go."

	What? "Let's go? Where are we going?"

	He picked up my drawing pad. "You're coming with me."

	Wait a minute, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. This was
only supposed to be a first meeting to get to know each other, the
serious stuff wasn't supposed to come until later. Evidently he'd
decided otherwise. Did I really want to turn him down? Oh shit. "What
about my car?" I asked, sounding more than a little desperate.

	"Oh yeah," he said, pausing for a second. "Give me your keys."

	I reached into my purse, grabbed my keys, and handed them to
him, only then realizing that I had just cut off my only escape route.

	I followed him out of the place, hardly glancing at the rest
of the patrons - a couple of hours ago the sheer number of people in
the place, perhaps a dozen or so, would have been enough to give me
heart palpitations. Now it seemed trivial.

	I followed him out the double doors and the another set of
doors.

	"Which car is yours?" He asked.

	I pointed it out to him.

	"No one will bother it for a while. Is there anything in it
you need, clothes or anything?"

	"No." I said.

	He led me to his car, a two seat sports car of some sort,
opened the door, took my hand and helped me in. I smiled at that, it
was one of the most polite things anyone had ever done for me.

	He got in the car, started it and pulled out. "Where do you
live?"

	Uh oh. "Lowell," I said, my better judgment seeming to be on
vacation, "but I'm not staying at home. I have a motel room just up
the street."

	"Oh," he said, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow, "you are
the careful one, aren't you? Which motel?"

	"The Howard Johnson's on 3A."

	He nodded and headed the car that way. "You said that you were
bisexual in your letter, how would you know that if you've never even
had sex?"

	I occupied myself by staring at the tips of my pumps. "I don't
really, I suppose. I'm mostly attracted to men. Attractive men, like
you." I smiled and risked a glance over at him. We were stopped at a
red light and he was looking right at me.

	"Good lord, so you can be a flirt!" The light changed and he
put the car in gear.

	I giggled, feeling like a fool. "I'm sorry."

	"Don't be, you're cute when you smile."

	"I did mean that," I said, feeling sheepish.

	"I know. What about other women?"

	"I am sometimes attracted to some women. It's different,
though."

	"Different how?"

	"I don't know," I said, I really didn't know how to explain
it. "I guess I always feel jealous of them."

	He nodded. "Makes sense."

	"Because I'm a transsexual?"

	He laughed. "No silly girl, because you're a woman!"

	"Oh." I contemplated that as he pulled into the Howard
Johnson's and parked.

	"Your room key?"

	I dug through my purse again and handed it to him. He opened
his door and I started to open mine but he stopped me, wiggling his
finger at me. He got out, came around to my side and opened my door,
took my hand and helped me out. "That is how we do things, dear Carol.
You don't open doors, and you don't get into or out of a vehicle
without assistance. Is that understood?"

	"Yes Sir."

	"Good, next time I see you try to open a car door by yourself
you will be punished."

	Still holding my hand, he led me into the hotel and to an
elevator.

	"By the way," he said, "you look more like eighteen than
twenty-three."

	I tried to guess if that was a good or bad thing as the
elevator rose to the third floor, opened, and we got out.

	Finding my room, he opened the door and led me in. "Not
exactly the Ritz," he said, glancing around. "Pack up your stuff
Carol."

	He sat on the end of the bed and watched while I packed up my
things. The outfit I had originally intended to wear to our meeting
was still laid out on the dresser, the other two dresses I had brought
were hung up, and my makeup kit and hair things were spread out all
over the bathroom. It didn't take long long to pack it all back up
though, and when I was done everything was consolidated into a
suitcase, dress bag, and a make-up case.

	"Sit in the chair."

	I sat down, crossed my legs and busied myself arranging my
skirt.

	"Hands on your knees, Carol."

	I intertwined my fingers over my knee.

	"Now don't move, I'll be back in a minute."

	He picked up my things and walked out of the room.

	It was hard for me not to move while I waited for him, I tend
to be the fidgety type, but it seemed unwise to tempt fate so I kept
myself still and wondered what would happen next.

	It didn't take my finely honed observational powers to
recognize that his whole tenor had changed since we had gotten to the
hotel. He was much more commanding, more feral, more primal. He was
gorgeous and scary at the same time. Or was it me I was afraid of? He
was everything I'd ever dreamed of and yet I was so nervous and maybe
a little scared of him. I wasn't ready for this, it was all happening
to fast. I felt so small next to him. I'm not used to feeling small.
Despite being comparatively thin, my height has always given me
somewhat of an advantage. Yet despite the added apparent height
afforded by the heels of my pumps he still toward over me and had to
mass out at something approaching double my weight.

	What was taking him so long? It shouldn't have taken more than
a couple of minutes for him to get to his car and back to the room.

	Sometimes I wish my brain had an off switch.

	It was getting harder to suppress the urge to bite my lip, but
I really didn't want to mess up my lipstick.

	Why was I so nervous?

	I almost jumped through the roof when the sound of a key
entering the locked door finally came.

	"Did you already pay for the room?" He asked once he was back
in the room.

	I shook my head.

	He walked over to the chair, bent down and kissed me on the
cheek, then took my hand and helped me up. I was shaking, I couldn't
help it, as he put one arm around my waist, pulling me close to him,
and with the other gently caressed my breast through the red satin of
my dress. "Don't worry, Carol, you're going to make a magnificent
slave-girl. All of your dreams and more are going to come true in ways
you cannot imagine." Both hands around my waist now, nearly encircling
me, he lifted me up with an ease that was stunning and laid me gently
down on the bed. An arm on either side of me, he bent so close that I
could feel his breath on my cheek. "You see, little girl, your dreams
are my dreams, and my dreams will be your life." He stood up and again
took my hand to help me up.

	My heart was still pounding as he led me out of the hotel room
and to the elevator.

	When the elevator reached the first floor he led us to the
counter and before I could say anything plopped down the room key and
a credit card. I started to say something as a young woman came up to
take them, but a glance from him stopped me.

	"She'll be checking out now," he said to the woman.

	She nodded and took the key and credit card. "Was everything
okay, miss?" She asked me in the mechanical sort of way service
people have. She about my age, cute as all get out, and had a smile
that was so sweet that it threatened to give you cavities. I would
gladly have killed to be even a fraction that pretty.

	"Yes, thank you." I answered, wishing suddenly that I was
invisible.

	She ran the credit card through a machine and gave Eric a
receipt to sign and the card. He signed it, gave it back to her, and
took the copy she handed to him.

	"You two have a great day," she said as he led me towards the
doors.

	He pause, turned back towards her, and smiled. "Oh, we will.
Believe me, we will."

	The poor girl looked a touch confused. I could relate, but
over the past few minutes I'd given up on worrying about it.

	"Two rules, Carol," he said as he opened the glass doors for
me and led me out of the hotel. "First is that you don't pay for
anything. I don't even want you to have money with you, understood?"

	"Yes Sir."

	"The second is that, unless it's very important, you don't
speak unless spoken to or I otherwise make it clear that it's okay for
you to. Understood?"

	"Yes Sir."

	"Good."

				Chapter Two

	It was light by the time we reached our destination, somewhere
just north of Boston. I'd never been to this area before so I really
wasn't sure what town we were in, but I was amazed by how nice the
houses were - those that weren't hidden behind high walls and gates.

	He pulled off the road and into a driveway of just such a
place. He stopped the car at the gate, retrieved a remote from a door
pocket, aimed it at the gate which started to open, then drove
through. I noticed a camera mounted on the side of the gate following
us as he drove and wondered why in the world anyone would need
security like that in a neighborhood like this.

	Parking the car at the top of a long circular drive, he got
out, came around and helped me out. I stood for a moment staring at
the house. I'd seen bigger houses before, and I'd seen Victorian
houses many times, but I'd never seen a big old Victorian house that
was in this kind of shape - the place looked like it could have been
built yesterday, it's paint fairly gleamed and it's detailed
woodworking was in perfect shape.

	"You like it?" He asked.

	"Oh my god, it's beautiful!" I exclaimed.

	He smiled at that. "I knew you would. I've put a lot of time
and work into restoring this old place, getting it just the way I
wanted it. Kind of a hobby of mine."

	He led me up the steps, opened the door and ushered me in.

	The inside of the house was as beautiful as the outside. The
front room was large, split by a wide staircase going up to hallways
to the right and the left. There were several doors to other rooms,
most of them flanked by large vases or potted plants. A grandfather
clock was against the wall to my right, and to my left were several
chairs and a love seat set up on a Persian rug as a kind of sitting
area. And sitting on the love seat was a rather earnest young man.

	He rose as we entered and walked over to us. He was a little
older than me, maybe in his early thirties somewhere and somewhere
around six foot tall. He had a very aristocratic face, a little gaunt,
and was very thin. His short blonde hair and blue eyes looked out of
place given his somewhat dark complexion and long thin nose. He wasn't
someone that I found very attractive, but I supposed that someone with
different tastes might find him very desirable.

	"Miss." He nodded to me and then bowed at Eric. "I came as
soon as you called, Sir. I am here to serve," he intoned in a very
formal way.

	"Your service is accepted," Eric replied in that same formal
kind of way, "thank your Mistress for me."

	"I shall, Sir, thank you."

	Eric handed him the keys to his car. "There are some bags in
the car, retrieve them. Then show the lady and her bags to her room
and help her unpack." He pulled my keys out of his pocket and handed
them to the younger man. "I then need you to retrieve a car from the
parking lot of Dunkin's at Winn street and 3A in Burlington. It's a
red Toyota, license number 368 EIJ, bring it back here. I'll have
other instructions for you then."

	The man bowed again to Eric, "Sir," nodded to me, "Miss," and
left.

	"Wait for him, Carol. I've got a few things to take care of,
I'll be with you in a moment."

	I watched him walk away and through a door, dumbfounded. He
was just going to leave me here? Every time I thought I knew what was
going to happen next, he seemed to do something that threw me off
track.

	I stood there, waiting for the young man to return. I didn't
have to wait long, after a moment the door opened and he came back in
carrying my bags. He walked past me as though I wasn't even there,
and started up the stairs. "Follow me, please, Miss." He called over
his shoulder.

	I followed him up the stairs and paused at the top to admire a
portrait of a very young woman in Victorian era clothing seated in a
library with a wonderfully happy expression on her face. My guide
turned to the right and started down the hall, either oblivious to my
having stopped or to impatient to wait for my dallying. I hurried for
a second and caught up to him as he stopped at the second door on the
right and put down my things. He produced a key from his pocket and
unlocked the door, then opened it.

	Thinking that I could give him a hand, I reached down for my
suitcase. But before I could touch it he grabbed my wrist, stopping
me. "Ladies do not carry bags, Miss," he said in that oddly formal
tone of voice he always seemed to use. He was fast, very fast, and,
despite his thin frame, very strong.

	"Oh, I'm sorry." I said, having no idea what else to say.

	"Quiet all right, Miss. You're new to all this and don't know
your place yet. You'll learn."

	My place? He was right about that, I felt like I had been
transported to a foreign land and had no idea what was expected of me.

	He watched me for a second in an intense way that reminded me
of a hawk watching for prey, released my wrist, and then motioned me
into the room.

	I shouldn't have been surprised, given how magnificent the
rest of the house I'd so far seen was, but still the bedroom he had
led me to took my breath away. It was a large room, well lit and
furnished. Centered on the right hand wall was a queen size bed with a
white eyelet lace canopy and white comforter and skirt. Next to the
bed was a nightstand with a stained glass table lamp and on the other
side of the bed was a vanity with a small swivel mirror and chair. On
the wall opposite the bed was a long mahogany dresser and next to that
a full length Cheval mirror. Above the dresser was hung a large
painting, and at the dresser's farthest side from me was a closed
door. At the center of the dresser was an arrangement of fresh
flowers, and at one end was a painted ceramic pitcher and cups set on
a matching tray. At the other end was a silver handled brush, comb,
and a cut glass atomizer all neatly arranged on a gold edged mirror.
On the wall closest to me there were two doors that I assumed opened
into a closet of some sort. The walls were all paper in a bright
floral pattern and the room seemed to me to be altogether romantically
old fashioned.

	My guide brought in my things, put my suitcase on the bed,
opened it, and started to unpack my clothes. I wondered about him, how
did he fit into all of this? What was his place? Eric had spoken to
him of his "Mistress", was he a slave? He was certainly deferential to
Eric, but then I couldn't imagine anyone who wouldn't be. There was so
much I didn't know...

	"Can I help?" I asked, afraid to do anything without asking
for fear of insulting him again.

	"Of course, Miss."

	I took a stack of lingerie that he had removed from my
suitcase and neatly piled beside it, opened a drawer in the dresser
and started putting them away. I was glad to have something to do, and
besides that, I wasn't at all sure that I liked the thought of a
stranger going through my underthings.

	I almost laughed out loud at that thought, sometimes I can be
so ridiculous.

	"Why are we unpacking?" I asked him. It seemed like a silly
thing to do since I didn't think I was going to be staying here more
than a night, if that, and besides which I hadn't brought that much to
merit unpacking.

	"Because your Master commands it, Miss." He intoned, opening
up the closet and hanging my dresses up.

	Oh yeah, that would explain it. "Do you mind if I ask you
something?"

	"No," he said, "but you must understand that I shall repeat
everything we discuss to your Master."

	Oh shit, how stupid could I be? I wasn't even supposed to be
talking unless I was spoken to. Or was that only for when Eric was
around? It didn't matter now, I'd already opened my big mouth. "Are
you a slave?" I asked, desperately hoping that he wasn't going to be
insulted if he wasn't.

	"No." If he was insulted, it didn't show in his voice.

	It only took us a few more minutes to finish putting
everything away. My make-up and jewelry went into the vanity's
drawers, and he showed me that the far door went to a small bathroom
with an old fashioned claw footed bathtub where I put my blow dryer
and other hair things.

	Once back in the main room he placed my now empty bags in the
closet then turned to me and said, "You're to wait here until someone
comes for you. Do you know what size ring you wear?"

	I wasn't sure what finger he meant, but guessed that he must
be talking about my ring finger. "A Seven." At least I hoped that's
what he meant.

	He nodded. "No, I'm not a slave, Miss, I'm an apprentice. I am
studying under a great Mistress as her assistant. As such I am called
upon to serve under my betters in order to learn. One day soon I shall
be a Master myself, and will search for worthy slaves as your Master
does. I tell you this so that you will realize that things are often
not what they might at first seem. If you are worthy, and your Master
obviously believes you are, then you shall soon be entering a life
that is more complicated than the world you have known. It would be
best if you learned very early not to worry about things, not to try
to divine the intricacies of your situation. All you need to worry
about is serving those around you, leave the thinking for your Master
to take care of."

	"I'll try," I said, not sure exactly what to think of much of
what he'd said.

	"Don't worry, Miss," he said, gently stroking my cheek with
his fingers, "you'll be fine. Your Master has a gift for spotting
potential slaves. Do you know how many letters that advertisement you
responded to generated?"

	I shook my head.

	"Fifty three, I helped him sort them. Do you know how many he
responded to?"

	I shook my head again.

	"One." He smiled, the first time I'd seen him do that. "A good
slave is hard to find."

	He turned on his heel and left the room before I could say
anything more. After he closed the door, I heard the sound of a key
and the lock turning.

	I was locked in, there wasn't any obvious way of unlocking the
door from the inside. I can't say that I was all that surprised,
though, or even alarmed - it seemed to me to be something one would
expect under the circumstances. I did wonder, however, where in the
world one would be able to find old fashioned ornate doorknobs that
only locked from the outside.

	I sat down in front of the vanity and had a good look at
myself in the mirror. I didn't look to much the worse for wear, though
my lipstick could use some touching up and the lack of sleep was
starting to show in my eyes.

	I got up to retrieve my purse from the top of the dresser
where I'd put it down while helping unpack. As I did so, I looked up
at the painting and for the first time really took note of its
subject. It was another portrait, a man seated in a large, almost
throne-like chair. Like the painting I'd seen earlier, he was dressed
in Victorian clothes, leather riding boots, brown chamois knee
breeches, a white ruffled shirt, and a deep copper velvet riding
jacket. The man in the painting was Eric. I had to look twice to be
sure, the effect was so striking, an image out of time, but it was
him, no doubt of it.

	I stood for a moment studying the portrait, memorizing its
every line, then sat back down at the vanity, stealing another glance
at the painting's reflection in the mirror. I searched through my
purse, coming up eventually with my lipstick, a favorite shade of rose
pink, and some tissues. It only took a moment to touch up my lips and
put things back in my purse.

	I set my purse down beside the chair and leaned close to the
mirror, staring at my own face. What did others see when they looked
at me? What did he see? I had no idea. I could see myself, but I
couldn't see me. I couldn't imagine that anyone else looking at this
face would find it anything but odd, certainly not attractive, and
perhaps even ugly.

	What does he see? I was afraid to know.

	Fifty three letters, and he only responded to mine? Why?

	I tried to go over the contents of my letter to him, as much
of it as I could remember, wondering what in it could have sparked his
interest. There really hadn't been that much in it. I'd tried to
describe my situation as best I could, trying to be sure that he would
know that I wasn't exactly a normal woman and that I certainly wasn't
at all good looking. I'd told him of my desire to be a slave, of
course that was why I was writing him in the first place, and a little
of my dream, but I don't think I'd been able to convey things very
well to him. Certainly the fact that he's been confused at our first
meeting was proof of that.

	Maybe whatever he'd thought I would be had been what had
attracted him to my letter? Oh god, there was a scary thought. Perhaps
I wasn't at all what he was looking for? To have come this far only to
discover that his interest was only another misunderstanding? The
thought was to cruel for words, and yet I feared it might be so.

	I tried to imagine what might be coming next, but failed
totally. I'd been sitting there for at least ten minutes and for all I
knew I could be there hours longer. Why hadn't I worn a watch? Because
I don't like watches, that's why. I don't like to have to worry about
the time. Silly, if I'd worn a watch at least I'd know how long I'd
been sitting around.

	Body functions have no respect for one's situation, I ruefully
thought to myself, and I was very glad that there was a bathroom
available. I hurried while in there, not wanting to be caught with my
skirts up and sitting on a toilet, and came back into the room as
quickly as I could.

	I was really starting to feel tired, so I just and wandered
around the room, stopping in front of the full length mirror to look
at myself again, feeling rather stupidly vain as I did so. At least I
loved the clothes I was wearing. The dress was one of my favorites,
red satin with a long puffed sleeved and fitted bodice, a sweetheart
neckline, and a short flared skirt. The red spiked heeled pumps I was
wearing I'd bought specifically for this dress because they matched
its color exactly.

	I'd been worried about wearing those shoes, their almost four
inch heels raised me from tall to taller, but obviously that was at
least one thing I needn't have worried about.

	I reached up and touched the blue topaz at my throat,
suspended on a thin gold chain. There was something comforting about
it to me, its touch was somehow reassuring. I'd chosen to wear gold
instead of my more customary silver because the stone's setting was
gold. Besides the chain, I was wearing a gold ring a small topaz,
several gold bangles, and large gold hoop earrings. Beneath my silk
back-seamed black stockings was also a gold anklet. I shook my head
gently, reveling in the feel of my earrings swaying and the weight of
my oh-so-long dark auburn hair, tied back from my face in a red
ribbon, swinging from side to side.

	I smiled at my reflection. Despite realizing that I could
never do justice to such nice things, I was always happiest when
dressed thusly. Why couldn't things always be this way? Why can't I be
me?

	Who am I? Was that part of this? Was I searching for myself
amongst the wreckage of the contradictory lives I had to live?

	Someday.

	Someday, I thought to myself, someday I will be whole. Someday
all of the pieces of that shattered mirror that is my life will come
back together and I will look into that mirror and finally see myself.

	I sighed and sat back down at the vanity, wishing that my
solitude would soon end. I was tired, and that certainly explained all
of the silly mush running through my mind. I'd work hard to get were I
was, and it would take more hard work to get to were I wanted, needed
to be. Wishing that things were easier was silly, and certainly wasn't
going to make them so.

	All thoughts of being tired were banished by the adrenaline
rush that I received as a key entered the door and it again opened.

	I was expecting Eric, but instead my guide walked in, closed
the door behind him and quickly glanced around. I stood up to quickly,
knocking over my purse, and turned toward him as he came across the
room, stopping only a few feet from me.

	He had changed his clothes in the time he'd been gone...
Before he had been dressed ordinarily, blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a
long sleeved red jersey. Now he was wearing black leather jeans,
black leather motorcycle-type boots, a white tight fitting tank top,
and around each wrist were studded strips of thick leather. In his
hand he was carrying something made of leather, but I really couldn't
figure out what it might be.

	I tried to guess what, if anything, the change in his dress
meant, but gave up with a sigh. Perhaps it meant nothing, but I tended
to doubt that. It occurred to me that the change, if nothing else,
certainly was an improvement. He was thin to be sure, almost grossly
so, but he was far more muscular under that tight tank top than I
would have guessed. He was built like a dancer, thin but with every
muscle well defined. I had a feeling that he could be very fluid if he
wished to be. And, remembering the speed with which he had grabbed my
wrist just outside the door, very fast. Though he looked so odd to me,
he was nonetheless intriguing. I wished I knew more about him.

	"It's time for the ceremony, Miss," he intoned. Did he always
speak in such a formal way?

	"Ceremony?" I hadn't meant to speak, the word had slipped out
of its own volition.

	"Your Master must formally accept you as his slave. I'll need
you to remove your bracelets and the ring."

	I took the bangles off and set them on the vanity. A second
later the ring joined them.

	"And your dress."

	My dress? Oh god, I wasn't ready for this. I mean I'd expected
it, of course, eventually. But in front of Eric, preferably in the
dark, not in front of this man. How much did he know?

	"I need you to remove your dress, Miss," he repeated.

	What choice did I have?

	None.

	I undid the cuffs of my dress, reached behind and unzipped it,
and let it fall to the ground. I stepped out of the it, picked it up
and hung it over the back of the vanity's chair. I shivered a little
bit as I faced him. It hadn't seemed cold in there a moment ago, but
it certainly did now. I hadn't been this nude in front of someone
since I was very little.

	Well, not exactly nude. I was still had on my pumps, seamed
stockings, a garter belt, black lace panties with a gaff beneath,
matching black lace push-up bra, some of my jewelry, and what must
have been a rather strained smile. In some ways, though, that was
worse than being nude. I wondered what he must be thinking of my
admittedly odd body as he carefully looked me up and down.

	"That'll do," he said, "that'll do nicely."

	It took me a moment to realize he wasn't talking as much about
me as he was my lingerie. Was there something specific I should be
wearing to this ceremony?

	Standing very close to me, he reached around my head and
untied the ribbon in my hair and set it down on top of the dress. He
ran his fingers through my hair, stroking it and spreading it out
across my back. Unfolding the thing in his hands, he put it across my
eyes, blindfolding me, and tied its leather strings behind my head.

	The inside of the blindfold was some sort of furry soft
material, and it simply and effectively cut off all sight. I was
standing in front of a complete stranger, nearly nude, and I couldn't
see a thing...

	Oh boy.

	At least I no longer felt cold.

	He took both my hands into his. "The ceremony is quiet simple,
Miss," he said. "Just do exactly as you're told and answer all
questions truthfully. Do you understand?"

	I nodded.

	"Now just follow my lead. I'm going to take you downstairs."

	He released my left hand and slowly led me out of the room.
Following him down the hallway wasn't any real problem, but when we
got to the stairs I froze. Going down stairs is not a problem. Going
down stairs blindfolded might not be a problem. But going down stairs
blindfolded with high heels on? Now that, it seemed to me, was a
problem.

	"Don't worry, Miss, I won't let you fall."

	Standing in front of me, and probably a few steps below, he
let go of my hand and put his hands around my waist gripping my
tightly. I had to trust him, so I slowly made my way down the steps
sideways. It was actually easier than I had thought, just see the
staircase in your mind and you'll know where to step, but I was glad
when we made it to the bottom.

	He led me across the front room, and paused to open a door.
"More stairs I'm afraid, Miss."

	Oh great.

	Again he stood beneath me, his hands on my waist. I had no
idea what these steps looked like, only that the area seemed more
confined. I felt around for a handrail, found one, and started down...
These stairs were steeper and not as wide as the previous ones,
though, and about two steps down I overstepped and almost lost my
balance. He caught me, though, his hands clamping vice like around my
waist. My balance regained, he helped me the rest of the way down, and
I was supremely glad to be on flat ground again.

	He again took my hand and led me down a hallway, stopped, and
knocked on a door.

	"Enter!" Was the booming reply.

	I heard a door open, and my guide led me into a room, pausing
to close the door behind me.

	"Who brings this woman before me?" It was Eric's voice, deeper
and huskier than I'd ever heard it before.

	"I do, Sir," my guide replied.

	"And you are?" I could almost hear the raised eyebrow in
Eric's voice.

	"I am John Lent, second level apprentice to Mistress Simone."
My guide proudly replied.

	So that was his name.

	"You are welcome here, John Lent."

	"Thank you, Sir, I am honored."

	"Bring the woman before me."

	John led me by the arm closer to Eric's voice.

	"Remove her blindfold so that I can see her face." Eric
commanded.

	My guide removed the blindfold and I was struck with the
rather stupid thought that the blindfold had probably ruined my make-
up.

	The room we were in was larger than I had imagined from how it
sounded, and was lit only by candles in candle stands placed
strategically around the room. The walls were hung in some kind of
fabric that appeared wine colored in the candlelight and along the
back wall was a long table with several items on it. Eric was seated
on a large chair, the same one that was in the painting upstairs, and
it looked even more throne-like as it was on top of a dais that had
several small steps going up to it.

	Eric was dressed much as my guide. Tight black leather pants
tucked into thigh high riding boots, he wore a black t-shirt instead
of my guide's white tank top, and he there was nothing on his wrists.

	He studied me for a long moment, regal and supremely
confidant, a finger to his lips. He was gorgeous, a massively muscled
king, and I was the focus of all of his attention.

	"Is she owned?" Eric finally asked.

	"No Sir," my guide answered, "she enters here a free woman."

	Eric smiled. "Does she wish to leave here a free woman?"

	"No Sir," John said, "she has sought this audience in order to
sell herself into slavery."

	"Is this true?" Eric asked me.

	"Yes Sir," I nervously replied.

	"Are you worthy?" John asked me.

	What should I say? I wanted to be worthy, but...

	"No Sir," I finally replied in a voice so low that I wasn't
sure either of them would be able to attend me.

	"She says that she is not worthy," my guide said to Eric.

	"They never are," Eric replied. "Remember that, John Lent,
when it comes time for you to accept your first slave."

	John nodded. "On your knees," he said to me.

	I quickly got on my knees.

	"Crawl to me," Eric commanded.

	I crawled across the floor, stopping at the edge of the dais,
not sure if I should proceed further.

	"Kiss my feet."

	I crawled the rest of the way onto the dais, knelt before him,
kissed one boot and then the other.

	"Attend me, John Lent," Eric said to my guide.

	I had no idea what Eric meant, but I could see John go to the
table, pick up several items, and then come back behind me, out of my
field of vision.

	"Do you swear to obey me?" Eric asked.

	"Yes Sir," I answered.

	John fastened something around my ankle.

	"Do you give your life to me?"

	"Yes Sir."

	John fastened something around my other ankle and then there
was a clicking sound as the two restraints were fastened together.

	"Do you give your heart to me?"

	"Yes Sir." Taking my hand, John fastened a restraint around my
wrist.

	"Do you give your mind to me?"

	"Yes Sir."

	John fastened a restraint around my other wrist, then held me
up slightly as he fastened to two together.

	"Do you give your soul to me?"

	"Yes Sir."

	John fastened a collar around my neck, then went to stand
beside Eric's seat.

	Eric stood up. "Undo my pants."

	I sat up, hastening to comply. It's harder to do than one
would think, much harder than undoing one's own pants, and the fact
that my hands were bound together probably didn't make it any easier.
After some fumbling, though, I managed to undo the button and zipper
and pull his pants down. When he didn't say anything more I guessed
that he hadn't just meant his pants, and pulled down his briefs as
well.

	I'd never seen a penis from quite this angle before, it's an
imposing sight. More so because Eric was rock hard and it seemed to
be pointing right at me. Eric said nothing, but instead thrust his
hips at me, making my next task obvious.

	I should have been nervous or scared, after all this wasn't
exactly how I'd imagined I would lose my virginity - if indeed sucking
a man's penis could be considered loosing one's virginity - but I
wasn't. About all that was going through my mind was that I couldn't
imagine how I was going to get even a fraction of him into my mouth
without choking on it.

	I kissed his member, then licked it in long strokes trying to
figure out exactly how to proceed. Finally deciding that there was
nothing to do but do it, I took the head of his penis into my mouth
and started sucking, tounging the bottom of it and trying to be sure
that I didn't hit it with my teeth. My head bouncing up and down, and
his hips swaying gently to the rhythm, I tried to take more of him
into me with each stroke, but I don't think I was managing to get more
than a fraction of him into me. My heart racing, I brought my hands up
and gently stroked his balls, praying that I was doing things at least
partially right. My entire being was centered around the object of
desire now within my mouth, my soul praying for his orgasmic release.

	He must have been excited, for after what only seemed to be a
few minutes of effort, but just as easily could have been an hour or a
second for all the sense of time I had at the moment, I could feel his
lovingly held penis start to pulse and suddenly my mouth was filled
with an odd tasting liquid that had a consistency unlike anything else
I had ever encountered. I tried to swallow all of it, but I wasn't
fast enough and there wasn't enough space left in my mouth to contain
it all. Some leaked out the corners of my mouth, but I did manage to
get most of it, swallowing quickly as it filled me up, and feeling it
slide down my throat.

	I held there for what seemed a short eternity, his rapidly
softening cock still in me, until finally he gently pulled it out. I
licked off a pearl drop of his cum from its tip, kissed it, and then
knelt down in front of him again as he pulled up his undershorts and
pants.

	"She has given herself to me," Eric said.

	"She has given herself to you," John agreed.

	John reached down, took my bound hands, and held them up so
Eric could place a ring on my finger. "She is now my slave." Eric
said.

	"I have witnessed, she has given herself to you and you have
accepted her. She is now your slave."

	"You are now my slave," Eric said, still holding my hand, "my
property and my responsibility. This ring is a symbol of that, never
remove it."

	"Yes, Master." I said, feeling a thrill run through my body as
I used that term for the first time and realized its implications.

	"Stand, Slave." Eric said as he sat back down.

	I stood finding it easier than I had expected with my bound
ankles and wrists.

	"Go to the table and bring me the paddle you'll find there."

	I found that I could walk if I was careful, whatever bound my
ankles together allowed some play. I slowly made it to the table and
picked up an object that looked like an oversized table tennis paddle.
Returning, I handed it to Eric, wondering what he needed it for.

	"John has told me that when you were upstairs you spoke to
him, is this true?"

	Oh Christ how could I have been so stupid? Now I was sure I
knew what he needed the paddle for, and I wasn't at all looking
forward to it. "Yes Master."

	"What did I tell you about speaking?"

	I've a very good memory, to bad I sometimes forget to use it.
"You said that I wasn't to speak unless it was very important, or I
was spoken to first, or you made it clear that I was free to."

	"And did you have something important to say?"

	Now that was a debatable point, but only a fool would push
their luck at this juncture. Many different things I may be, but a
fool is not among them. "No Master."

	"Did John speak to you first?"

	"No Master."

	"Did I make it clear that you were free to speak?"

	"No Master."

	"Then you were disobedient?"

	"Yes Master." My cheeks were burning, my head down, I was
shaking badly enough that I was sure it was obvious to both of them.

	"Over my knee, Slave"

	Standing to the side of him I carefully bent over his knee,
the leather of his pants cold and smooth against my bare skin. All of
my will was eaten up by the almost physical effort it took to keep
back tears.

	"Your disobedience must be punished, Slave," Eric said,
balancing me on his arm with one hand, "so that you can learn from
your mistakes and not repeat them. For your disobedience you shall
receive ten blows to each cheek of your rear. If you attempt to move
or escape your punishment will be doubled. When your punishment is
completed you will kneel before me and beg my forgiveness for your
disobedience."

	With that he brought the paddle down and struck my bum with a
stinging blow. There was a pause, then the second blow. With the
second blow the dam burst and unbidden tears flowed from my eyes. The
third blow, then the fourth, and I was openly crying now. I lost count
then, my bum felt like it was on fire and my world was reduced to an
emotional outburst of crying, the likes of which I had never before
experienced.

	The spanking seemed to last forever, though had I been able to
think about it rationally at the time I would have realized that it
was perhaps no longer than a minute. It wasn't the pain, that seemed
almost unimportant. In the first moments it was the absolute
humiliation of having been so stupid as to have made such a dumb
mistake and brought this on myself. But when I started crying,
something I never thought I would do, it became an emotional release -
the tears were somehow almost cleansing.

	I hadn't been spanked since I was so small that I couldn't
even remember when the last time had been. Perhaps that was part of my
problem.

	The spanking must have been over, for Eric had released my
waist. I half fell, half crawled off of his knees and knelt in a small
ball where I landed. It took me a long moment to find my voice, and
when I did it was still wracked with sobs. "I apologize for my
disobedience, Master, and beg your forgiveness."

	"You are forgiven, Slave. See to it that you follow my
instructions better in the future."

	The sobs and tears were slowly starting to retreat. "Yes
Master, I shall," I said, my voice still feeling rough. "Thank you for
training me." I don't know why I said that, it was just how I felt.

	The spanking had brought out something in me that I had never
expected - I felt totally free. I was kneeling, my face still stained
with tears, in front of a man and his assistant, both of whom were
still basically strangers, my wrists and ankles bound, a collar around
my neck, and wearing only flimsy lingerie, but for the first time in
my life I felt totally free. I didn't understand it and didn't worry
about understanding it, I was finally free and that sense of freedom
was something I'd been searching for, without being able to give it a
name, for my entire life. The tears had cleared my worrying heart and
mind and left things calm and clear. He cared, he wouldn't have
bothered to correct me if he didn't. He wanted me to be his, I had no
idea why, but I would do anything to be owned by him.

	Only in slavery could the freedom I sought be found.

	"You see, John Lent? Just as I said, she's a precious jewel,"
Eric said, reaching down and stroking my hair. "Still in the rough, to
be sure, but we shall take care of that."

	"Yes Sir," John replied, his voice almost hungry.

	"Take her to the dungeon and prepare her. Then I need you to
get started on the tasks we discussed."

	"Yes Sir."

	"Stand, Slave," Eric said to me.

	I did, hopefully being a little more graceful about it than
the last time, and John took my hands to lead me out of the room.

	Just outside the door, as I had thought from the acoustics
when we'd been there before, was a wide hallway with several doors on
either side and a stairway at one end. John led me down the corridor
in the direction opposite the stairs. Because of my ankles being bound
I couldn't walk much faster than a crawl and felt that I was
constantly in danger of falling flat on my face, but John thankfully
seemed aware of this and walked slowly. supporting me when I seemed to
close to losing balance. We went around a corner and the hallway ended
in a door. John opened the door and led me through, pausing to turn on
the lights and close the door behind me.

	It was one of the oddest looking rooms I had ever seen.
Indirectly lit, the walls were painted white and adorned with all
manner of leather, steel, and chain items hung in various
configurations. There were several tables set against the walls, most
with more items spread out upon them. I couldn't even decide what most
of the things on the walls and tables were. A few were obvious,
several types of whips were hung on one wall, but most of them were a
mystery to me and the variety of things was astounding.

	There were chains hanging from a couple of places in the
ceiling, and hooks for still other things both in the ceiling and on
the walls. Against one wall was a plain four poster waterbed, hooks in
each of its posts but no sheets or covers on it. There was something
in the middle of the floor looked vaguely like something a gymnast
might use, and a couple of other larger items at various points in
this large room that totally defied my imagination.

	John led me to near the center of the room where there was a
large oval mirror set somehow in the thick plush carpeting that
covered the room's floor. Above the mirror a chain hung down from the
ceiling that despite its thin gauge looked plenty strong. I stood
next to the floor mirror while he went in search of something. It took
him a moment to find it, but finally he did, taking it off of the wall
it hung on and coming back towards me. The thing he was holding was a
round rubber ball, just a little smaller than a tennis ball, with two
strips of thin brown leather coming out of either side. Was that a
ball gag? I'd read about such things, but hadn't taken the term quite
so literally.

	Evidently it was. He put the ball against my lips and I opened
my mouth so he could insert it. He pushed the ball well into my mouth
and tied it tightly around my head.

	Great, I rather sillily thought to myself, all that crying had
probably destroyed my make-up and now this thing is going to smear my
lipstick. Fortunately it's nearly impossible to giggle when there's a
ball gag in your mouth, otherwise John surely would have been
convinced that I had lost what few marbles I possessed.

	John pointed to the center of the mirror, so I shuffled over
on to it. Taking my hands and lifting them above my head so that I
was nearly on my toes, he took my wrist restraints and somehow
attached them to the chain above me.

	He stood back to admire his handiwork for a moment, smiling
wolfishly. He went to a table, open a drawer, retrieved something,
closed the door and came back to where I was standing. My eyes bugged
out when I saw what he was carrying. Though I'd never seen one before,
there was no doubt in my mind as to it was. Two "alligator" clips
connected by a thick silver chain, obviously this was what was
referred to as nipple clamps.

	To say that my nipples are sensitive is like saying that a
hydrogen bomb is an explosive device - it only just begins to cover
it. This was an experience that I had hoped to avoid for a while, if
at all possible forever, but it was clear by his expression that this
was not to be.

	Standing directly in front of me, he reached behind me feeling
my bra strap, a puzzled expression on his face. It took him a moment,
but he finally figured out that my bra fastened in the front. He
unhooked it, pushing the cups aside leaving my small breasts exposed.
He played roughly with first one nipple and then the other, I've no
idea why since both were erect in fearful anticipation, then attached
both clamps simultaneously.

	My eyes slammed shut as pain shot out from two points on my
chest and seemed to engulf my body in a giant wave. Nearly my entire
body was covered with goose bumps and a tear escaped the corner of my
eye as he gently patted one still stinging buttock. I opened my eyes a
moment later, just in time to watch him walk out of the room.

	I was left there alone hanging nearly on my tiptoes, my bum
burning and my nipples on fire.

	In a surprisingly short amount of time my nipples went from
sending waves of fire throughout my body to just being excruciatingly
painful. I quickly discovered that any movement at all caused the
chain to sway, sending new waves of pain from my protesting and abused
nipples. I endeavored to stand as still as I could, not all that still
given that I was nearly hanging from a chain, but even my own
breathing caused the nipple clamps to move sending regular jolts of a
more minor pain over the dull numbness my nipples had become.

	I don't know how long I hung there, waiting. My mind seemed to
go into some sort of neutral, the closest thing I'd ever experienced
to it was the time between lying down and falling asleep. My eyes
closed, most of my weight supported by my arms and the chain they were
attached to, images flittered across the screen of my mind accompanied
by disassociated and seemingly random thoughts. I watched, an observer
to my own thoughts, occasionally grabbing an image or thought from the
stream, turning it over in my mind, examining it, tasting it, then
releasing it to return to whatever recess of my mind had spawned it.

	So lost was I in the inner recesses of my thoughts that I
didn't even notice when Eric entered the room. I felt him, somehow,
and slowly opened my eyes. He was standing only a few feet from me, a
concerned expression on his face that faded as I came back to the real
world and attempted to straighten up some, relying less on the chain
to support me and hardly noticing the pain my own movements caused me.

	He came to within inches of me and playfully batted nipple
clamp's chain, sending fresh pain shooting out from my breast's that I
most certainly noticed.

	"I bet you'd like to have these off?" He asked. I winced as he
lightly pulled on the chain.

	I nodded, all I could do with the ball gag stuffed in my
mouth.

	He reached around and untied the ball gag. My teeth had
actually sunk into the rubber of the ball and I had to open my mouth
further so he could remove it. My jaw was sore from being forced open
for so long, a seemingly minor thing under the circumstances, but it
hurt to close my mouth.

	Eric took the chain and placed it to my lips. Not
understanding why, I opened my mouth taking it between my teeth.

	"Then remove it," he said.

	What!?! I rewound things in my mind and played them over to be
sure that I had heard correctly. He couldn't mean... ? Could he? How
could I... ?

	But obviously he did mean for me to remove them, pull them
off.

	Oh my god.

	This was going to hurt.

	Really hurt.

	Gathering up what courage I could muster, I put my chin to my
chest and then thrust my head back. When the chain reached its limit
and the clamps pulled on my nipples a pain shoot through my body that
was so severe that everything I'd experienced before seemed mild by
comparison. I cried out, a near scream, and the chain fell from my
lips, the clamps still attached.

	"You'll have to do better than that, Carolyn," he said as he
placed the chain back between my lips.

	Determined not to have to go through that again, I bit down so
hard on the chain that I was sure I must be leaving marks and repeated
my previous motion with even more force and rapidity. I cried out
again, only this time after the clamps had released my tortured
nipples with an almost audible snap. There was another wave of
excruciating pain as the chain fell from my mouth, and then an equally
intense wave of pure pleasure flooding my body as my nipples
celebrated their release. I'd never experienced anything remotely like
it, an almost indistinguishable mixture of intense pleasure and pain,
the two mixed together like different paints forming a new and
unexpected psychic color.

	My knees collapsed from beneath me leaving me completely
hanging by my arms as things faded and my body shook from the
experience. Eric caught me as I returned to some semblance of normalcy
and my nipples, the center of my being only a moment before, returned
to being only a dull, distant, and mildly painful echo.

	Eric held me close to him, supporting me, as he reached up and
unhooked my hands from the chain above me. He put his arms around me,
holding my head to his chest as tears of relief streamed down my
cheeks. I could feel the heat of his body through his t-shirt, and was
desperately glad for the human contact that at the moment I badly
needed.

	Eventually he released me, stepped back, and inexpertly re-
hooked and arranged my bra for me, my nipples complaining as he did
so. He led me a few feet from the floor mirror and then unhooked the
link binding my wrist restraints together. Putting my arms behind me
he reattached the link, binding my wrist's behind me, and then helped
me lie down on my stomach. Taking my ankles, he attached their
restraints to my wrist restraints.

	Leaving me hog tied and lying limply on the floor, he walked
out of my field of vision. There was the sound of a drawer opening and
moments later closing, a few other sounds which I couldn't identify,
and then the sound of him lying down on bed.

	I lay there for a while, listening intently for any clue as
to what was going to happen next, but there was nothing except for an
occasional noise that sounded suspiciously like a page turning.

	He was lying in an uncovered waterbed reading? Could that be?
If so, it wasn't exactly what I had imagined happening in a B&D
dungeon and certainly didn't seem like anything I'd ever read about.

	I imagined him lying up there watching me, and wished that I
was up there with him. I wished I could feel him next to me, that I
could again feel his arms around me. I wished that I could pleasure
him instead of just lying there like a lump.

	My mind drifted around, imagining various ways of pleasuring
him. Though I realized that my inexperience in matters of lovemaking
was a handicap, my imagination was very vivid as it provided me with a
whole host of possibilities. Inexperienced I may have been, but there
was little doubt in my mind that given a chance I could turn my dreams
into reality - the intensity of my desire would see to that.

	The feel of his flesh and the taste of his sex were so very
new to me, but already their attraction was a powerful force in my
dreams.

	Time had become a fluid commodity in my mind. As before I had
no idea how long I had been lying there nor how much longer I might
be there, but I wasn't bored. Majorly spaced, perhaps, but not bored.
Various images, most all of them sexual, played out in my mind like
short movies. At one point I think I fell asleep briefly but was
awakened by some part of my mind reporting that the restraints were
starting to dig into the flesh of my wrist's and ankle's. My feet had
fallen asleep, tingling slightly, but I ignored that since there
wasn't anything I could do about it, and continued my pornographic
musings.

	After a short eternity I heard him get up. There was a pause
and some more noises that I couldn't identify, then I could finally
see him walking towards me. He unhooked my hand's from my feet, undid
the link between my wrist's, and rolled me onto my back. I lay there
limply looking up at him as he took my hands and bound my wrist's
together in front of me. There was an almost angelic smile on his face
as he finished and stood up, and it dawned on me that he was nude.

	I dreamily watched as he walked back to the bed. There were
pillows along its headboard now, which he arranged and fluffed before
laying down. He patted the bed between his legs, wanting me to join
him.

	My feet were still tingling balls of clay, I couldn't have
walked if I'd wanted to, especially not in spiked heels and with my
ankle's bound, so I crawled, even that being hard bound as I was, to
the edge of the bed. My feet had stopped tingling now and were
cramping some as the blood flowed back into them. I ignored them,
grabbed the wooden edge of the water bed to steady myself and pushed
myself up onto the bed.

	I was lying on the bed in an absurd position, supporting
myself on my elbows and looking up into his pale blue eyes. I knew
what I wanted to do, but I wasn't sure what he wanted me to do. He
nodded, still smiling, and I decided that I had the right idea.

	I inched up until his groin was just under my face, vowing to
myself that I would do better at is this time, that I would please him
and keep on pleasing him. I kissed his still soft member, then took it
lovingly into my mouth sucking and licking and kneading it as it grew
harder and larger. Before he had been totally silent, but this time he
wasn't, and I tried to use his moans to guide me as I tried to take
more and more of him into my mouth with each pass.

	I found that by keeping my breathing regular and not trying to
rush things I could take more of him into me than I had before. Not
all, probably not more than half, though that was hard to judge, but
more and more with each slide of my lips down his post. My arms were
starting to get tired, it was hard to hold myself up, but no matter
what I wasn't going to slow down now. I wanted this to badly to let
any physical limitation get in my way.

	I hardly noticed when he put his hand on the back of my head,
using it to control my rhythm. His hips were thrusting up now, in
synch with his pushing me down, forcing more of him into me with each
beat until I was sure that I was going to choke. I squashed that
thought and concentrated on trying to bring him to climax, the scent
of his manhood filling me with anticipation. He stopped suddenly, his
hips thrust in the air, and groaned loudly. I thought that I might
have accidentally hurt him, but then I felt his member start to pulse
and again tasted the wonderful gift from him.

	I lay there, with him still inside my mouth, and let my arms
relax, easing myself down as he grew soft. Finally he gently pushed my
head off of his groin and I kissed his manhood. He pulled me up next
to him and held me for a while, rocking me like a child.

	He kissed me on the forehead and rolled off of the bed,
standing up beside it. He reached down and and scooped me up into his
arms as though I was nothing more than child. Laying in his arms I
gazed at his wonderful face, feelings that I could neither describe
nor fully understand ebbing and flowing through my heart and soul as
he carried me across the room. Reaching the wall, he placed my ankle
restraints against a hook in the wall and gently laid me against the
wall so that I was hanging there upside down facing him.

	He unhooked my wrist restraints and attached each to other
hooks so that my arms were spread wide above my head, within inches of
the floor. He went and retrieved a couple of items from a table close
to where I hung on the wall. I couldn't tell what they were at first
until he took one and put it against my lips. Though again I had never
seen anything quite like it, it obviously had to be a penis gag. A
rather ridiculous looking thing, a wide rectangular strip of leather
with a smallish dildo jutting out of it and strips of leather for
securing it coming off of both ends. He placed the dildo into my
opened mouth and secured it around my head. The dildo was soft and
rubbery, much more flexible than a real penis - something I wouldn't
have been aware of only a few hours before. It penetrated my oral
orifice much further than I would have thought from seeing its
somewhat mild length and I had to stop myself from gagging, keeping my
breathing even and telling myself not to panic.

	The other item he held was an ace bandage, the kind of thing
they use to support sprains and such. I couldn't for the life of me
imagine what he might want to do with that sort of thing, but it
quickly became clear as he sat in front of me and started to roll it
around my head, covering my eyes. He had some problems with putting
the makeshift blindfold on, mostly because my hair was hanging down to
the ground and seemed to get in the way, but with care he got my eyes
fully wrapped and my world was once again dark.

	My ankles were really starting to hurt now from supporting all
of my weight in this odd position. Was this going to cause any
permanent damage, hurting my ankles or feet in some way? With my arms
tied above me and firmly secured, there was nothing I could do to ease
the pressure on my feet. I was totally bound, not in control, hung on
the wall like some kind of odd painting. There was no point to worry
about it, though my ankles hurt I could still wiggle my toes.
Obviously my feet weren't nearly as cut off as they felt, and besides,
he wasn't going to do anything that would really hurt me. I was a
bound slave, I had to trust my Master, my Lord. That trust, enforced
and magnified by my total helplessness, was the essence of the
newfound freedom I felt in my soul. I was his property, to do with as
he pleased, and wonderfully thrilled that it was so. My ankles hurt,
yes, but that would pass and they would recover. What was important
was pleasing my Lord and Master and if seeing me like this pleased
him, then I was thrilled.

	I would have gladly spent the rest of my life hanging upside
down on that wall if it would please him.

	I had thought my bondage complete, but after a moment I felt
him gently push aside my earrings and then place something into each
of my ears. I had no idea what he had done, what these were for.
Perhaps they were ear plugs? A second latter I heard the hissings of a
tape playing and decided that they must be earphones.

	Earphones? Why earphones?

	"I am a Slave," a woman's voice whispered into my ears, "I
exist only to serve and obey."

	I hung there, bound to the wall, as the words were repeated
into my ears a dozens, hundreds of times, until I lost myself in the
meaning of the words and the sound of that whispering voice flowing
into me. The words became a mantra, a phrase without meaning as it
flowed across the landscape of my mind. Images formed around the words
rising and falling with the cadence of that quiet voice.

	I watched, floating in space, as a form, my form, crawled
across the floor towards a vague shape beckoning to her. She turned,
looking up and seeing me, hungry desire in her eyes. She stood, the
ropes that bound her arms and legs dissolving into mist, and turned
towards me. "I exist only to serve and obey," she said, holding her
arms out to me. She was beautiful, sexy in a way that I could only
dream of, all luxurious hair and seductive eyes, shapely body and too
long legs. I felt myself floating toward her, merging with her, and we
resumed our crawling towards that indistinct shape that beckoned us,
the ropes having reformed.

	Was I dreaming, asleep?

	"I am a Slave," the voice repeated for the thousandth time as
the spell broke and the image collapsed.

	I am a Slave, I unconsciously repeated in my mind, unaware
that my mind's voice had used her exact intonation and inflection.

	"I exist only to serve and obey," the voice repeated.

	I exist only to serve and obey, my mind's voice echoed.

	I no longer felt my complaining legs nor noticed the faux
penis stuck deep into my mouth. My bonds were there, but they were
only normal. Had it always been like this? Perhaps I'd always been
bound this way, perhaps everything else had been a dream.

	I welcomed the waking dreams and lost myself further, unafraid
and unworried, in the soothing tones of that insidious voice.

	A small child in a church, carrying the train of my mother's
wedding dress as she walked up the aisle to meet her new husband. I
watched the wedding ceremony proceed in slow motion, a small ghost of
my childhood. "... to love, honor, and obey... " my mother said. She
turned to me and smiled as the man standing next to her placed a ring
on her finger. He also turned and smiled to me, and I was unsurprised
to see that he wasn't my step-father, but was instead Eric.

	"I am a Slave, I exist only to serve and obey."

	The church dissolved around me, leaving me standing in a sunny
field. My child form clothed in a white Sunday dress, Mary Jane's and
a white hat. She was running through the field, holding her hat,
trying to escape herself. Her father had long since been taken from
her, her mother was now gone, and her step-father was gone before
she'd even had a real chance to get to know that gentle and kind man.
She was alone, all alone, and there was no escape, no turning back
fate. She, we, dropped to the ground, exhausted, and cried as only a
child with a broken heart and no hope could cry. As our Aunt caught up
with us and helped us to stand and wiped the tears from our face, we
swore, in a child's voice but with a determination beyond our years,
that we would never cry again.

	"I am a Slave."

	That wasn't how it had been, some part of my mind said trying
to assert itself as the image of the field melted away into
nothingness. Yes, I'd been forced to wear a little black suit to the
funeral, but it didn't matter. I'd known, even before then, what and
who I was. I'd never been able to tell my mother the awful truth, the
chance had been taken from me before I was old enough to even try.

	The little girl had locked herself behind an impenetrable wall
of stone with her oath. There she slept, safe from life and hope,
never to die. My poor Aunt and Uncle had never known her, never known
me, only the wall that disturbed them so. I'd left as soon as I was
old enough, still feeling like a stranger. My Aunt's parting kiss had
felt cold and lost, but even then I hadn't allowed myself the tears I
so desperately needed.

	"To love, honor, and obey," my mother's sweet voice echoed in
my lost soul.

	"I exist only to serve and obey." The recorded voice echoed in
my daughter's heart.

	The walls were gone, the stone turned to dust, and the little
girl wasn't a little girl any more. She was a young woman, and she
wanted to live. She was me, and I could no longer hide from the world.

	"I am a Slave, I exist only to serve and obey."

	I am a woman. I am a Slave. I wish to serve and obey.

	"I am a Slave, I exist only to serve and obey."

	I am a woman. I am a Slave, existing only to serve and to
obey.

	"I am a Slave," that pretty and quiet voice repeated for the
final time. "I exist only to serve and obey."

	I was lying on my back on the thick plush carpeting, not sure
how I'd gotten there or if it was real. I wiggled my toes, feeling
them move as my ankles agonizingly complained, and decided that this
was indeed real. My bindings were gone, though the gag and blindfold
were still in place, but I had no desire to move.

	Thick leather shackles were buckled around my unprotesting
forearms, binding them closely together. My arms were pulled down to
my legs where other buckles went around my calf's, and then I was
rolled over so that I knelt, my arms and legs together, my head
touching the ground and my bum sticking into the air.

	To serve and obey a strong and wonderful man, to be his, that
was all that I wanted. All that I dreamed of.

	My panties were pulled down to where my garters met my
stockings. There was a pause, and then my gaff was untied and removed.
Something cold and wet was spread down the crack of my bum, and a
finger was slowly inserted into me.

	Was he going to take me? How badly I wanted that, for him to
enter me and leave his seed deep within my body. How badly I wished
that there was another, better way for him to take me. But there
wasn't, not yet, and until that was possible this would be almost as
good.

	The finger was removed and something else slowly inserted. No,
it wasn't him, I thought, disappointed. Whatever it was it was smooth,
thin, and tapered. It hurt as it was inserted, forcing my hole wider.
My feet, the only part of my body that I could easily move, shook and
jumped as my toes danced with each other as they wiggled. The thing
being pushed into me seemed to reach its largest point and then
shrank down some, being accepted and left inside my body.

	I was left there, my inside feeling oddly filled, for a while.
My body seemed electrified, my skin was desperate for his touch. But
it didn't come.

	Finally the thing within me was slowly withdrawn, a process
that hurt as much as inserting it had, and a new object, similar to
the first but feeling much larger, was pushed into me. I was nearly
crying in frustration, my feet dancing again, not wanting some playtoy
inside of me. I wanted him inside of me. I wanted to feel his hands on
me as he impaled me upon his member and took me for his.

	This object was definitely larger than the previous one, and
its insertion seemed unsure. It would be pushed a little further into
me, then pulled back some, then inserted some more. Each renewed
effort to put it into me made me wonder if something was going to rip,
and though I tried to relax I was totally unable to.

	There was one last gentle push and then the thing was removed
and replaced with the old small one which by now slipped into my body
with ease. I felt his hand on one bum cheek, and wondered what he was
doing, why he wasn't entering me himself. Several minutes passed, and
then I felt a warm liquid spurt onto my bum-crack and slowly slide
down.

	The object within me was removed and he rolled me back over.
The bindings were undone as I limply lay there, and then the gag was
removed. A silent tear flowed down my cheek as he removed my
blindfold. I followed his motions with my eyes as he set the things he
had removed from me carefully aside.

	He was gorgeous, a strong and wonderful god. Why hadn't he
taken me? I wasn't worthy.

	"I'm sorry, Carol, but I was afraid of hurting you."

	I didn't, couldn't understand his words.

	"Carol?"

	Dazed and confused, I stared up into the eyes.

	"Carolyn?" He said, sounding worried and shaking me. "Carolyn,
are you okay?"

	His worry and the caring in his voice brought me back.

	"Am I still yours?" I asked, desperately hoping that he still
wanted me.

	He smiled, relieved. "Oh yes, dear Carol, you are mine now and
forever." He pulled me close to his bare chest and held me tightly.
"You had me worried there, are you all right?"

	"Yes Sir, I'm fine now."

	"You're exhausted, you need to rest."

	He helped me pull up my panties and then, holding me with one
arm, he put his other arm under my knees and carried me out of the
room. My face buried in his chest, I didn't care where we were going.
Somewhere along the way John joined us, for the next thing I knew we
were back in the bedroom upstairs, the two of them standing over me as
they tucked me into bed.

	"Is she all right?" John asked.

	I was fine, why was he worried?

	"I think so," Eric replied, "I think she's just a little out
of it. I'm not sure what happened, maybe I pushed her a little to
hard."

	"You had to know."

	"I know that, John Lent, remember your place," Eric said,
seeming angry but gently caressing my face. "Someone like her, though,
they can be strong as steel and as fragile as china all at the same
time. It's a very careful game we play, don't ever forget it. You have
to mold the clay, form them into the perfect shape, but not break
them."

	"Yes Sir."

	"What a wonderful creature, " Eric said, putting his hands
over my eyes as I closed them. "Sleep, sweet Carolyn, my new and
lovely slave."

	"Sir?" John asked as Eric pulled the covers more tightly over
me.

	"Yes."

	"Is she the one?"

	"For me?" Eric asked in a voice so quiet that I barely heard
it.

	"Yes."

	"I think so, John. She's far more than I had hoped for, and
that says a lot. I hope that you someday meet one like her."

	"Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir."

	"See to it that she sleeps, John."

	"Yes Sir."

	The door closed, and I drifted off.

				Chapter Three

	I came awake slowly, unwilling to let go of the sweet and
simple dream I'd been having. Something was wrong, though, and some
part of my sleeping mind was insisting that I awaken enough to
investigate.

	I rolled onto my side and attempted to ignore that annoying
voice. The feel of satin sheets against my skin brought me fully
conscious. This wasn't my bed, wasn't my room!

	Where was I?

	My body had hurt when I had turned. Nothing specific, just a
general ache that seemed to involve most every part of me.

	What had happened?

	I was still partially dressed under the sheets. Bra, panties,
stockings, at least I hadn't gone to bed with my shoes on. I could
feel an earring pushing into my cheek against the pillow, I never
slept with earrings on. At least not dangly ones.

	How did I get here?

	I reached up and searched for my necklace. Feeling along it I
found the pendant and held it, letting the blue stone's calming warmth
flow through me. The pendant tightly in my hand, I opened my eyes.

	John was sitting in the vanity's chair, reading a book.

	My memories flooded back. The ceremony, the dungeon, the
voice, everything. I smiled to myself, it had been so wonderful, so
liberating. My endless fantasies had hardly touched the reality of the
experience. I had drank of his sex, not once but twice, and I had felt
his powerful arms holding me close. I had been under his power,
utterly a controlled slave, and it had been more fulfilling than I had
ever dreamed. No matter what else happened, these would be memories
that I would cherish for the rest of my life.

	But he hadn't taken me.

	That was sadness. He'd said that he was afraid of hurting me.
Hurt me? How? He couldn't hurt me, he only brought me joy!

	I must not be worthy of that gift yet. Yes, that had to be it.
I would be worthy, though, I would do anything to be worthy of his
attentions. I would do anything to please him.

	If he still wanted me.

	Did he still want me? I was still here, in his house. Did that
mean he still wanted me? I didn't know, but for my own sake prayed
that it did.

	"Ah," John said, finally looking up from his book, "you're
awake. Good. How do you feel?"

	"A little sore, Sir," I replied, sitting up in bed, holding
the covers to my chest with one arm, "but otherwise fine."

	"You look like hell," he said, and smiled to take the edge off
of the comment.

	He really should smile more often, I thought to myself, it
went a long way towards easing some of the hard hawkishness out of his
features. "I'm sorry, Sir."

	"Don't apologize!"

	"Sorry, Sir." It was an automatic habit.

	He actually laughed at that. "You've nothing to be sorry for,
you've had a hard day and it's to be expected that you would be a
little frayed around the edges. And you don't have to call me 'Sir',
not here, not now."

	"What should I call you," I asked, opting to be safe about
things, "Sir?"

	"Oh yes," he said, "you're right, we haven't been properly
introduced." He stood and offered his outstretched hand to me. Not
sure exactly what he wanted, I placed my right hand in his, my left
arm still protectively holding the covers to me. He gracefully bowed
and gallantly kissed my hand. "I am Jonathan Allan Lent, apprentice
white pawn to the white queen."

	"Very pleased to meet you, Mister Jonathan Allan Lent." I said
in my most formal voice. He nodded to me, still holding my hand. What
should I say? How should I introduce myself? "I am Carolyn Anne
Johnson," I took a deep breath, "apprentice slave to Master Eric."

	"I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Carolyn Anne Johnson." He
kissed my hand again, released it, and sat back down in the vanity's
chair. "Now, that's out of the way. I would appreciate it if you would
call me John. Would you mind if I called you Carolyn?"

	"I usually use Carol... " I said, hesitantly.

	He pursed his lips. "No, if you don't mind I'd prefer Carolyn.
It's much prettier."

	I hadn't really thought about it, but I suppose he was right.

	"It's not really important for you to know it right now, but
you would be more appropriately referred to as 'Slave of the white
knight', a slave cannot be an apprentice. She, or he, either is or
isn't a slave. You've been accepted, therefore you are a slave."

	"Oh, and my Master is the white knight?"

	"Yes, Master Eric holds that title and honor."

	I wasn't sure what all of that meant, but it seemed important.
"You said `not here, not now'?"

	"You will learn that there is a time and place for everything,
dear Carolyn, don't worry about it. All you need to know for now is
that when we are in a social setting, as we are now, I would prefer
that you call me John, okay?"

	"Okay. What about my Master, John? What should I call him?"

	"You will have to take that up with him, but his desires too
shall probably depend on the situation."

	Oh great. I wished there was a rule book or something that I
could study.

	"Don't worry, Carolyn," he said, noting my confusion, "you
will be trained in everything you need to know. Before long it will be
second nature and you won't even have to think about it."

	He went into the bathroom, returning with a bathrobe which he
silently held it up for me. Feeling foolishly shy, after all he'd
already seen me wearing pretty much what I was wearing, I got out of
bed and walked towards him. Turning around so he could help me into
it, I tied the bathrobe's sash and turned to face him. The bathrobe
was pretty, a white silk jacquard, but it was a little short on the
legs for my comfort.

	He was watching me intently, glancing up and down my body, and
then staring into my eyes. He held my gaze for a long moment until,
for reasons I could not explain, I broke his hold and stared down at
his plain tennis shoes.

	"Dear sweet Carolyn," he said, his voice almost sad, "you are
quite the creature."

	Was that good or bad? I wasn't sure.

	He held the vanity chair for me, indicating I should sit.
"Remove your make-up and jewelry, Carolyn."

	"Yes Sir," I responded automatically.

	"That's very good, dear. Sir or Madam is always appropriate
whenever responding to a direct command."

	I was glad that he was pleased, but to be truthful I hadn't
said it on purpose. It had just been a matter of habit and
expectations.

	Once seated in front of the vanity I looked at myself in the
mirror. God, I was a mess, make-up smeared and distorted until I
looked ghastly. I was surprised John hadn't run from the sight of me,
and glad that Eric wasn't here to see me like this.

	Fortunately I had thought to bring make-up remover. Soap and
water will, of course, do fine, but I've always preferred the
astringent feel of the remover pads. I found them in the drawer and
quickly completed the job, while John sat on the edge of the bed and
watched.

	Next came the jewelry. I removed the hoops and placed them on
the vanity with the other jewelry that was already there, and then,
with a great deal more regret, removed the necklace and gently placed
it down, spiraling the chain around its pendant. Remembering the
ring, I looked down at it and seeing it for the first time. It was
beautiful! A gold band with an inlaid white gold spiraling around it,
the stone was a large round cut blood-red ruby sitting in a Tiffany
setting and with two smaller, but still substantial, diamonds on
either side of it. Remembering my Master's commands, I left the ring
on, and that left only the anklet.

	I glanced at John, he was still watching my every movement,
and gathered up my courage. I don't know why, I knew it was stupid,
but I was nervous as hell. He had told me to remove all of my jewelry,
and the only way I could remove the anklet was by removing my stocking
first. I really didn't want to do that, to undress any further, with
someone watching me. Especially when they were watching me that much
intensity.

	Why did he keep looking at me like that?

	I sighed, I was being stupid again. John was probably just
watching me to be sure that I carried out his commands. Lifting the
hem of the robe slightly, I undid the garters on my stockings and, as
I would rather not be walking around with only one stocking on, I
carefully removed first one and then the other. Placing the sensuous
silk next to my jewelry, I bent down and removed the serpentine gold
anklet.

	John stood up when I had finished, and took my hand. Leading
me into the bathroom, I stood by the door waiting while he started a
bath. Watching him, I was stuck by another panic attack. I wasn't
going to have to bathe in front of him, was I? I couldn't! What would
he think of my nude form? Surely he would be far less than happy with
me if he saw my nude form, wouldn't he? I wanted John to like me, this
would ruin any chance of that!

	"Clean yourself up, Carolyn, you're to prepare yourself for
dinner. Is there anything you need?" He asked as he poured some kind
of fragrant oil into the water and the room was filled with the scent
of lilacs.

	Was he going to leave? "No, John, thank you. Do I have enough
time to take a shower as well?"

	He looked at me quizzically.

	"It's easier to do my hair that way," I told him. "I do have
enough time to do my hair?"

	He nodded. "Take as much time as you need, dear." He walked
out of the room, closing the door behind him.

	Finally alone, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. Undoing the
sash of the bathrobe, I let it fall off of me and then removed my
remaining lingerie. I slipped into the still running bath, enjoying
the feel of the warm water caressing and easing my sore body.

	Time to assess the damage. Considering what things had felt
like at the time, there was surprisingly little. There were no marks
on my ankles and wrists where the restraints had been, and my hands
and feet were fine. To be sure my muscles were a little sore,
especially in my shoulders and legs, but everything seemed to be
reasonably limber, no strains or pulls that I could detect. Both
nipples were still a bit numb and sore to the touch, and each had a
couple of tiny wounds, almost like pinpricks, on them. They were
caused, I'm sure by the teeth of the nipple clamps, but I wasn't
really worried about that, sure that the tiny punctures would heal
quickly. I didn't even look at my bum, sure by the feel of it that
both cheeks were a little bruised. Other than that, though, I'd often
felt worse coming out of aerobics class.

	And aerobics class wasn't nearly as much fun.

	Was fun the right word? I didn't know, I suppose it was fun.
Not in the Disneyland sort of way...

	I had to laugh at that. I could see myself sitting in the
bathtub, a man shoving a microphone in my face while a cameraman
hovered behind him. Carolyn Johnson, he would say, you've just had
your first B&D experience, what are you going to do now? And I would
excitingly exclaim, I'm going to Disneyland!

	It brought a whole new meaning to the term "Fantasy Land".

	Somehow I didn't think Disney would be thrilled with the
association.

	It was fun, though, a thrilling and exhilarating experience.
An experience that had changed me. I wasn't even sure how it had
changed me, it was all to new, but I knew that I wasn't the same
person I had been yesterday.

	Not the same at all.

	I ran the soap all over my body, using a loofa to scrub and
clean my skin, and then dunked myself under the water and rinsed.
Rising out of the water and squeezing some of the water out of my
hair, I used the soap to again lather up my legs. Picking up the
razor, I started the rather tedious task of shaving them. They really
didn't need it, I normally use an epilator at home so they'll stay
smooth for several weeks at a time, but it really couldn't hurt and I
wasn't yet ready to get out of the tub.

	I was a different person, now I was a slave. But what exactly
did that mean? What would it mean? I knew what I thought it meant,
but that really wasn't the point. What was important was what Eric
thought it meant. I really had no idea what his idea of slavery and a
B&D relationship were. He'd said that my dreams were his dreams, but
were they? I wasn't even sure what my dreams were. Of course I had
fantasies, but the specifics were really kind of vague in my mind.

	Obviously it wasn't nearly so vague in his mind. He was really
into this, if nothing else then the dungeon proved that. He, as well
as John, seemed really formal about things, as though there were a
predetermined way things should be done. The ceremony, the way Eric
and John had spoken, there was almost a religious edge to it.

	In a way, I thought, that was very appropriate.

	Maybe everyone who was into slavery and domination did things
that way?

	I tended to doubt it.

	John had referred to himself as a pawn, and Eric as a white
knight, and he'd also spoken of a white queen. Chess pieces, did that
mean anything? Were there black pieces as well? Rooks and bishops and
kings?

	There was so much I didn't know.

	Slave of the white knight? A white knight he most certainly
was. A beautiful and impressive figure, honorable and chivalrous, a
protector of the righteous who's wrath could be terrible.

	As my bum well knew.

	But even that, the spanking, had been a good thing. Not
something I cared to repeat if I could help it, but a good thing. I
hadn't imagined such a thing could have that kind of effect on me,
that it could be such a cleansing release. Hopefully I had learned my
lesson, I had no desire to incur his displeasure again.

	Nor any desire to test my bum's resiliency.

	I pulled the plug on the bathtub's drain, feeling the weight
of my body return as the buoyant and fragrant water released me. The
bathtub was wonderful, I usually didn't get to take baths since there
was only a shower stall in my apartment's bathroom. This had to be the
biggest bathtub I'd ever been in, its claw footed presence filling
almost half of the room, the pastel pink floral print wallpaper
reflecting in its white porcelain. I wished I had something like this
at home.

	I stood up, pulled the plastic curtain around the tub, and
turned on the shower. I stood motionless for a while in the shower's
stream letting its million warm tears dance on my body, and then got
about the business of washing and conditioning my long tresses.

	Did Eric have other slaves? He must, he obviously didn't just
get all of that stuff just for me. How many other slaves did he have?
He must have lots, I couldn't imagine any woman who wouldn't throw
themselves at his feet for just a chance at his attentions. I mean, it
hadn't been super important to me that whatever master I might find be
good looking, I was much more interested in how dominant they would be
and how well they could train me, but it certainly didn't hurt that
Eric not only exuded dominance, confidence, and strength, but was also
thoroughly gorgeous besides.

	It occurred to me that John was probably going to have more
than his fair share of applicants as well. He certainly wasn't
classically beautiful like Eric, but there was something intriguingly
attractive about his natural formality, his lithe dancer's body, and
his somewhat unusual appearance.

	I was surprised with myself, it wasn't like me to focus on
anyone's appearance like that. Given my own looks I'd never felt it
fair to judge others. Was it the closeness I strangely felt to both of
these men, strange because I still hardly knew either of them, what
allowed me to openly consider their attractiveness and its effect on
me? Was my new found freedom to think openly about them, these two men
who were both attractive to me in diametrically opposite ways, because
I seemed to be the focus of both of their attentions?

	I remembered what I'd thought of John when I'd first seen him
sitting on the love seat downstairs. I hadn't thought him attractive
then, obviously I'd judged him to harshly, to quickly. I hadn't even
thought I was judging him, though. Did thinking about it openly,
instead of telling myself I wasn't judging, make it more honest?

	I didn't know. Everything, even my own thoughts, seemed new to
me, changed, I couldn't assimilate it all fast enough.

	What did Eric think of me? Was I at all attractive to him?

	Finished rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, I turned the
shower off and stepped out of the tub. I dried myself off, feeling the
roughness of the terry cloth towel against my skin, and then looked
into the mirror above the sink.

	What did John think?

	Did he know what I was? At least I knew that Eric knew that
about me, and that it must not be something that caused him too much
discomfort. Maybe John knew, there was no way to guess, but if he
didn't and he found out would he be bothered? Would he hate me?

	God, I hoped not.

	Bending over the tub, I squeezed as much water out of my hair
as I could, and then rubbed it in the towel. Standing up, I once again
stared into the reflection of my own light blue eyes.

	Expressive eyes, yes, but not what I'd call pretty. Make-up
helped, but there was only so much that could do.

	I sighed and, holding my hair up in a pile, wrapped a fresh
towel around my head. It would be a little bit until my hair was dry
enough to finish with the blow dryer, so I decided that I should go
and get together whatever clothes I was going to wear to dinner.

	John might still be in the bedroom, so I decided that I'd best
put something on before going out there. My gaff was lost somewhere,
so I just put on my panties and the robe. I quickly checked myself in
the mirror as I tied the robe's sash and decided that this would have
to do.

	John was still in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and
reading his book. He glanced up as I closed the bathroom door and
followed me with his eyes as I walked to the vanity chair and sat
down. Crossing my legs and self consciously arranging the hem of the
short robe, I shyly looked up and met his look. Knowing better than to
speak first, I waited as his eyes again scanned my body and then
locked onto my face.

	"You look vastly refreshed, Carolyn," he said, reaching out
and gently stroking my cheek.

	"Thank you kind Sir," I said, smiling, genuinely pleased.

	"You're most welcome, dear lady."

	I stood up and went to the dresser. Searching the drawers, I
collected together the lingerie I wanted to wear and then went to the
closet. My red dress had been hung up next to the two other dresses
I'd brought, probably by John while I had been sleeping.

	"What dress should I wear?" I asked.

	"Whatever you like, Carolyn. Whatever you wear, I'm sure
you'll look wonderful."

	That was kind of him to say, but not very helpful. "What does
Eric like?"

	"You." He said, his tone seeming far to serious for it to be a
joke.

	I turned to look at him, wondering what exactly he'd meant by
that. He was smiling broadly, he seemed to be doing much more of that
lately, but his eyes were serious. There was something about the way
he looked at me that I just couldn't understand. Was it displeasure?
Did he know about me, know what I was? Was he unhappy to be around
someone like me? Was he unhappy to see Eric willing to take me on as a
slave?

	It didn't seem like he was bothered by being with me, we
seemed to get along fairly well. In fact he was nicer and more polite
to me than perhaps anyone else had ever been in my entire life. Why
then did he look at me like that?

	"I'm afraid, Carolyn, that you'll have to learn the white
knight's tastes for yourself." He shrugged, "I really don't know what
he prefers to see his women wearing."

	I nodded, still wondering at the intensity of his gaze, and
turned back toward the closet. Of the two remaining dresses that Eric
had yet to see me in, I slightly favored the black one, so I took it
off the hanger and hung it over the closet door. Walking back to the
vanity, I picked up my anklet and, returning to the dresser, found the
slip I usually wore with that dress. Everything in hand that I
needed, I started towards the bathroom door.

	I paused before entering the bathroom. Whatever he might think
of me, he had been nothing but a gentleman, and I truly appreciated
that. "Thank you, John," I said quietly.

	"For what, Carolyn?"

	"For being a gentleman," I said, turning toward him but unable
to meet his eyes, "and for treating me like a lady."

	"Thank you, Carolyn, I pride myself on being a gentleman -
it's an art that seems lost today. Being a gentleman, of course I
treat you as a lady should be treated, you are a lady. I knew that the
moment we met, and I cannot imagine anyone treating you as anything
but."

	"You'd be surprised," I said, smiling sadly and finally
looking up at him.

	"No I wouldn't, Carolyn," he replied, his eyes filling with
fire, "but I would be very, very angry."

	Not knowing what to say, I merely nodded and retreated into
the bathroom.

	Once behind the closed door, I quickly set my clothes down on
the toilet and sat down on the edge of the claw footed bathtub. The
depth of sadness that I had felt and the sudden fire in his eyes had
taken me by surprise, it took a few moments for me to stop shaking.

	He knew. There was no doubt of it.

	I stood up, retrieved my hair dryer from beneath the sink, and
plugged it in.

	Of course he knew, I thought, mentally kicking myself as all
sound was drowned out by the hair dryer's high pitched whine. Of
course he would know, he'd seen me nearly nude, he'd seen me without
any make-up on, how could he not know? Hell, he'd probably known from
the moment he'd met me, it wasn't at all that hard to figure out. Why
hadn't I thought of that before?

	Because he'd been nice to me. How could he know and yet still
be nice to me?

	Eric knew, and he had been nice to me as well.

	Yes, but that was different.

	How? How was that different?

	I didn't know, I just knew that it was. Eric had known from
before we'd even met, I'd been very clear about things in my letter -
or at least as clear as I could be. Eric had asked questions, he'd
made a choice and decided that I was acceptable. Had John?

	Oh my god, John had sorted the letters. Did that mean he had
read them as well? It must have.

	My long hair half dry now, I turned down the blow dryer's
heat, picked up a vented brush, and started styling it in the mirror.

	These were two very unique men, I thought as I finished drying
my hair, and I was very lucky to have met both of them.

	I put the hair dryer away and went through my lingerie.
Finding my gaff, thank god I'd brought more than one, I took my time
properly putting it on. Sitting on the edge of the tub again, I put
on the anklet. Next was a white pair of panties and a white push-up
bra, this one with a little more padding. I took the stockings out of
their packaging, a new pair of Victoria's Secret dark silk back seams,
and carefully put them on. I put on a white lace garterbelt, attaching
its garters to the stockings. Lastly came the black slip. Lace edged,
soft and flowing, its length almost exactly matched that of the dress
I planned to wear and greatly enhanced the cut of its skirt.

	I checked myself in the mirror again, and then returned to the
bedroom. John was still there, I'd assumed he would be, still sitting
on the edge of the bed and reading his book.

	I walked to the closet as he set his book down and retrieved a
pair of black pumps that were, except for color, pretty much identical
to the red one's I had been wearing earlier. Sitting down in front of
the vanity, I slipped my feet into the shoes, having felt almost nude
without them.

	I could see John out of the corner of my eye, silently
watching as I put my earrings in, put on my necklace, and slipped the
bangles onto my wrist. I picked up my purse from beside the vanity,
dropped the ring I had been wearing earlier into it, and took my
lipstick out.

	John watched silently as I applied foundation, making me a
touch self conscious. I would really have rather he returned to
reading his book, but he seemed far more interested in watching me.

	I wondered again about this oddly appealing man. How long had
he been an "apprentice pawn"? And what exactly did that mean? Why the
chess designations? A pawn was the lowest valued piece on the chess
board, but could be very powerful nonetheless. A pawn could become a
queen if it was advanced to the other side of the board. I smiled at
that; somehow I doubted that John was going to become a queen.

	After a moment for the cover-up to dry, I shook the mascara
and opened it. I've always be thankful that genes or whatever saw fit
to give me thick, full lashes.

	Next on the chess board were bishops and knights. Each were of
equal ranking, but I'd always preferred the bishop, thinking it more
useful. Come to think of it, though, a knight could certainly be more
unpredictable if you weren't paying attention. John had referred to
Eric as the "white knight", were there two white knights? Were there
bishops and all of the other pieces as well? Was there a king?

	I picked up a black eye pencil and started applying it, being
careful because my eyes tend to be sensitive and I really hate it when
I make them tear.

	Rooks would be next, the heavy artillery of the chess board.
Almost useless on a crowded board, end games were often won through
the brute force of rooks. Then there was the queen, the cruise missile
of chess pieces, she could go pretty much anywhere anyway she pleased.
Of course, her very power made her an enticing target and she had to
be carefully defended. It occurred to me that the only piece she
couldn't emulate was the knight, interesting. Oh, and of course there
was the pawn's en passant, but that was a rather rare move.

	I carefully applied light blue shadow to my eyes, thinking
more about chess and what it might mean in relation to what John had
told me than to what I was doing. Thankfully, I could probably put my
make-up on in my sleep, and I was glad for the distractions my mental
wanderings provided. If not for that I would probably have spent an
eternity debating colors and shades and "looks" with myself. Either
that, or I would have been so self conscious with John sitting there
watching me that I wouldn't have been able to do anything right.

	Lastly on the board were kings. In many ways the weakest piece
on the board, they were still what the entire game revolved around and
had to be defended at all cost. Oh yes, the queen couldn't castle,
either. An important move, that, but one that the king could only
perform if both it and the rook it was castling with hadn't yet moved.
Not only a useful move to defend the king, but also an easy way of
getting a rook into a position to be more useful.

	I used a frosty pink shadow above the blue, blending the line
between the two with the tip of my pinky. The effect was actually
better than I had expected, bringing my eyes out of hiding and
enhancing their blue.

	John was an apprentice white pawn and Eric was the white
knight. John had said that he was apprenticed to the white queen, and
he had also said that he was apprenticed to Mistress Simone, so it
seemed logical that Mistress Simone was the white queen. That meant
that there were at least three people using this same sort of
hierarchical chess based system. Were there others? I supposed that
Eric and John and this woman I hadn't met might have been just using
it between themselves, but I doubted it.

	I used lip liner to help my define my lips and make them
appear fuller, I've always thought my mouth to be to small and my lips
to thin for my face, and then put on my lipstick. I've always loved
the feel of lipstick, not to mention what it does for my looks.

	So there might be several people involved in this sort of
chess group, perhaps as many as sixteen. Or maybe even thirty two,
assuming that there were black pieces as well. Okay, so there really
wasn't any reason to assume that any such group would strictly adhere
to the chess metaphor, there wasn't any real reason for me to assume
that there was anyone besides Eric and John using the terms either. It
did make an interesting theory, in an elegant kind of way.

	I reminded myself that elegant theories had a way of being
wildly wrong, especially when there was little or no real evidence to
support them.

	I used the a plum blush to bring out my cheeks and add some
color to my disgustingly milk white skin. I'd often wished that my
skin had a little more color to it, but knew that I really shouldn't
complain. At least my complexion was clear and I rarely had any skin
trouble at all. Of course electrolysis hadn't been easy on my face,
but it had recovered surprisingly well.

	Obviously if Mistress Simone was the white queen, than this
group wasn't male only. Were all of the people involved, assuming that
there was anyone besides the three I knew of, dominants of one sort or
another? Yes, I decided, that would be the unifying factor. Eric was
obviously a dominant, he was my master! John seemed to me to most
definitely be a dominant, and the 'Mistress' in Mistress Simone's
title certainly indicated that she was probably a dominant.

	I inspected my finger nails. The polish on them was still
fairly new, and didn't need any touching up. Maybe another coat of
color? No, I decided, best to leave them as they were, they were about
as close to perfect as I was likely to get.

	John was being trained by Mistress Simone. Was that how you
got into the group, by being trained by someone already in? Was it
significant that his trainer was the white queen, ostensibly the most
powerful person in the group next to the white king? Or was it that
you had to be trained by a specific person?

	Now I was ready for the dress. I stood up, retrieved it from
where it was hanging on the closet door, and carefully slipped it on.
Pulling my hair to one side, I reached behind and zipped it up,
buckled the belt, and buttoned its cuffs.

	The dress was another one of my favorites, far more modest
than the red one I'd worn to meet Eric, I still thought it sexy in
its own sort of way. Long sleeved black silk with white lace around
its Peter Pan neckline and cuffs, it had a gathered waist, covered
belt, and a long, full skirt that reached nearly halfway down my
calf's. I loved the soft touch of the silk and the feel of its skirt
flowing with my movements.

	Would Eric like it, I wondered as I shook my hair back behind
me. I hoped so.

	Would John? I hoped he would as well.

	I walked to the full length mirror, carefully checking how I
looked in its reflected image. I was actually kind of happy with my
appearance for a change. I looked better than I had expected,
certainly better than I usually did. More natural, less strained,
whether that was because of what I was wearing or how I felt I wasn't
sure. I decided that while I wasn't in any danger of anyone thinking
me pretty, but I wasn't likely to send people running from the room
either and that was a distinct improvement over how I usually looked.

	I could see John in the mirror, still sitting and watching me,
he was obviously as patient as he was formal. I caught his eye in the
mirror and waved at him. He waved back, a stiff gesture, and glanced
briefly away. His eyes returned to meet mine in the mirror a moment
later, the reflection doing nothing to reduce the unreadable intensity
of his gaze.

	I could only recall someone looking at me even remotely like
that one other time, and that hadn't ended well.

	I'd had a friend, a male friend, who I was very close to. He
was one of the few true friends I'd ever had in my life, and we'd been
nearly inseparable for almost three years. The last time I saw him was
the morning after the night his divorce went through. I had stayed at
his house while he was at the court and that night watched him drink
himself into a stupor. I'd helped him to bed after listening to his
heartache and, worried about him, spent the night sitting on the couch
reading and listening in case he woke up.

	The next morning I had gotten up and taken a shower. Not
having brought any clean clothes, I'd just put on my pants and one of
his, on me about five sizes to large, shirts. Buttoning the shirt, I'd
tied my hair back in a braid and, hoping it might cheer him up, gone
down and cooked a large breakfast of scrambled eggs, french toast,
sausage, and hash browns.

	My cooking must have awakened him, because I had only just
started to get things on the table and started to think about waking
him up when he came downstairs looking, and obviously feeling, like
hell. As I finished up, he went to the kitchen and returned with a
cold beer. Sitting down, he opened the can and poured the beer into
his glass ignoring the orange juice sitting on the table in a pitcher.

	He hadn't missed my disapproving glare. "Just to take the edge
off," he'd said in a sheepish voice.

	Yeah, right, I'd thought to myself. I knew him better than to
bother to say anything, it was obvious that he was going to drown his
sorrows in alcohol no matter what I might think. I was worried for
this man who's friendship meant so much to me, but I was beyond
thinking that there was anything I could do to halt his long slide
into depression.

	Whatever else he was feeling, his appetite wasn't effected by
it. I filled his plate with food, and he attacked it like someone who
hadn't eaten in a week. Feeling tired, sad, and not at all hungry, I
sat at the table across from him, my legs up under me on the chair,
and sipped my orange juice as I watched him eat.

	"Is it okay?" I'd asked him as he finished with the eggs and
started in on the french toast.

	"Yeah," he'd said between mouthfuls, "it's great. You always
were a great cook."

	He'd paused then, a fork full of french toast halfway to his
mouth. He'd slowly set the fork down and looked up from the plate. The
expression on his face was the same one he got when something
important had suddenly occurred to him, or when he had just come up
with some devious idea.

	Oh no, I'd thought, he's just thought of some way to get back
at Laurie. He'd talked about it that night, wanting to hurt her some
way, wanting to get revenge for all of the hurts, real and perceived.
Laurie and I had never gotten along all that well, in fact she'd often
been down right nasty to me, so he seemed to assume that I would be
perfectly willing to help him, but I wasn't. He'd never really
understood the relationship between Laurie and I, I'm not even sure
that I had. We didn't like each other, that was for sure, but we did
respect each other and I had no desire to see her hurt. What I really
wanted was for Joe to get on with his life and forget about Laurie.
It didn't seem like that was going to happen. Barring that, I wasn't
going to allow myself to get caught up in whatever dirty tricks he had
in mind. He always seemed to take it for granted that I would go along
with whatever he wanted to do, and I usually did. But I wasn't going
to this time. If he was going to continue this little war the two of
them had going then he was going to have to do it without my help.

	He looked at me, I mean really looked at me, something he
rarely seemed to do, his eyes dancing over my face and then locking on
my eyes. For the first time in a very long time I couldn't even guess
at what was running through his mind. His eyes were like fire,
devouring me with a hungry flame that was searching for something and
seemingly finding it. His face was serious, almost cold, quizzical
and, I thought, a little confused. I quickly looked away, unable to
take his spotlight look and unable to understand how this person whom
I felt so close to and thought I knew so well could suddenly seem like
a stranger.

	Was he angry at me? Had I said or done something wrong? He had
a terrible temper, especially when he had been drinking. Though he'd
never even once been angry with me in all the time we'd known each
other, I'd seen it come on him like an evil possession that drove him
to strike out at others with a sharp tongue, and sometimes a violent
hand. My presence had always seemed like water on the flames of his
anger, cooling and calming him, but maybe it was now me that he was
angry at.

	"You shouldn't do that," he said, his voice calm and quiet.

	Yes, he was angry, he must be. But why? "Do what?" I asked as
calmly as I could, wondering if he was still drunk from the night
before.

	He picked up his beer and took a sip of it, still looking at
me over the lip of the glass. "Look so good. Sometimes I don't know
what to think."

	"What?" I exclaimed, not so much because I hadn't heard him, I
had, but because I didn't understand the words.

	He shook his head, put the cup down, and returned to his meal
not looking at me or saying another word.

	Embarrassed, I'd gotten up and gone into the kitchen. My
nerves shot, I mechanically cleaned up the mess I'd made cooking and
tried to figure out what he'd meant. After finishing his meal he'd
come into the kitchen and apologized, asking me to forget that he'd
said anything. I agreed and asked him if he'd be all right. He'd said
that he would and thanked me for taking care of him the night before.
He left then and I could hear him go upstairs to his bedroom.

	I had gathered the dishes from the dining room, finished up
cleaning the kitchen, and then checked up on him. He was asleep in his
room, snoring like a baby, looking more at peace there than he had in
a long time.

	Tired and feeling confused, I'd left him a note and gone home,
hoping that he would be okay by himself. That was the last time I ever
saw him.

	I tried to call him the next day, but never got hold of him.
I tried calling him at work the next week and when I finally talked to
him he was friendly but distant. We only talked a couple of times
after that, and he always seemed to have some reason why we couldn't
get together and see each other. I was angry and hurt, and I wanted to
confront him and ask why he was doing this, what I had done to destroy
our friendship, but I couldn't bring myself to. Eventually I gave up
and was left with only the shirt I'd worn home as tangible proof that
we'd ever been friends.

	It took me a long time to get over that hurt, and it wasn't
for weeks that I finally acknowledged that the reason it hurt so much
was that I had been in love with him. It's silly, but it wasn't until
I'd lost him that I finally realized that I'd loved him. Life can be
so strange.

	Later I heard that he and Laurie had reconciled, gotten back
together, and moved away to Virginia. I had put the shirt into a bag
and put it with my other keepsakes, trying to put my hurt and fears
about what I might have done to scare him away with it. I never did
understand why he'd looked at me like that or why he'd said what he
had, and eventually I stopped worrying about that as well.

	But that look, I thought as I pulled myself back into the
present and refocused on the image before me in the mirror, that look
had been something like what was in John's eyes whenever he looked at
me.

	I straightened the cuffs on my wrists and smoothed my skirt.
Was that look caused by the realization that the person you're looking
at isn't wholly what they seem? Was that the reason for Joe's sudden
change? Had he, just at that moment, realized what I was? I'd never
discussed my transsexualism with Joe, it had been the only secret I'd
held from him. The only secret except for how I truly felt about him,
but I had hidden that even from myself until it had been to late - not
that I ever would have told him in any event. Joe had always known me
and treated me as a man, that was a barrier that nothing could
overcome. Whatever he'd seen, or thought he'd seen, it would have been
seen through that reality.

	Had Joe suddenly put together all of the many things that he
knew about me and figured out that I was a transsexual? No, probably
not in that complete a way, but he may have grasped some of it.

	Had my transsexualism cost me my friend?

	Probably, it wouldn't have been the first time. After all,
wasn't that why I had never discussed it with him? Wasn't that because
I was sure that if he knew than he would probably hate me?

	I shuddered at the thought.

	But that look, the look I could remember Joe giving me like it
was yesterday, and the look I could see in John's eyes as he watched
me stand like a fool in front of the mirror, what did it mean?

	It wasn't anger or disgust, which was what I guess I would
have expected. Curiosity? No, that wasn't it either. Both of them
were looking at me and seeing something that fascinated them. Had Joe
been looking for the person behind the eyes, and was John looking for
the person behind the dress? No, I had felt like an open book when Joe
had looked at me like that, all of my masks suddenly and uncomfortably
stripped away, and with John looking at me now, he was, at least I
desperately hoped, seeing the real me, masks purposefully removed. For
the first time in my life freely showing myself.

	Did John like that person? He was certainly nice enough,
though I suppose I would have expected that given his politeness. Even
though he most certainly knew I was a transsexual, he'd said that I
was also a lady. Did he mean that? At least a little, I decided, I
couldn't imagine him out and out lying to me. It was thrilling to
think that someone as nice as John would think of me, even a little,
as a lady.

	Maybe Joe hadn't hated me for whatever he'd seen in me that
morning, maybe he just couldn't accept it. I could understand that,
and take it a lot better than thinking that he might be out there
somewhere still hating me for deceiving him.

	How long had I been standing there in front of the full length
mirror lost in my thoughts? I had no idea. John was still sitting on
the edge of the bed patiently watching me. I turned toward him,
meeting his eyes, and decided that though I still wasn't sure what
exactly it meant when he looked at me like that, maybe I shouldn't
assume that it was all bad. In fact, as strange as it seemed, I
thought that perhaps I even liked it, at least just a little, that he
payed me so much attention.

	I waited for him to speak, unwilling to risk another spanking
for speaking out of turn. He looked me up and down again, and I
suddenly realized that it wasn't so much a searching for something as
he was attempting to memorize the image he saw. My image.

	"Are you ready, Carolyn?" He asked after a moment.

	"I think so, do I look presentable?"

	"Presentable?" He said, incredulous. "You've got to be
kidding!"

	I shook my head.

	He put a finger to his pursed lips and seemed lost in thought
for a moment. "You're not kidding, are you?"

	I shook my head again, worried that I might have upset him.

	He stood and walked over to me, standing in front of me and
taking both of my hands into his. "You truly are quite the creature,
Carolyn, one of the most unique and attractive women I've ever met.
But you really must get over these jitters. Trust me on this, you look
fantastic." He pulled me towards him, hugging me tightly, "I wouldn't
lie to you, Carolyn. A gentleman never lies to a lady, a master never
lies to a slave, and I would never lie to you."

	I believed him. I didn't, couldn't, look fantastic, but at
least I was attractive, perhaps even pretty, to him. He was willing to
accept me and treat me as a woman, and that was something so very
important to me.

	I hoped that Eric felt similarly, and decided, as John
released me from his warm embrace and slowly bent down kissing me on
the forehead, that I really liked this very special man.

				Chapter Four

	I was somewhat surprised to find that we were going out for
dinner, I guess I had just supposed that we would be eating at the
house.

	That wasn't what Eric had in mind, however. John led me
downstairs and had me sit in the same love seat he'd been sitting in
when I had first seen him. He disappeared into a side room for a
couple of minutes, and then had come out and gone into some other part
of the house. I waited there for what seemed to be about twenty
minutes, until Eric came out of the same room John had first entered
and came over to where I was sitting.

	He looked a little tired and he'd changed clothes since I'd
last seen him. Dressed more as when we'd first met, he now had on
black slacks, a long sleeved white dress shirt, a blue tie, black
loafers, and a black leather bomber jacket. I had to smile at the
jacket, Eric was most definitely not the conventional type.

	He took my hand and helped me up then stood back a step and
made a twirling motion with his finger. It took me a second to
understand what he wanted. When I did, I did a little pirouette, my
skirts flaring out, and smiled at him.

	"Very nice, Carol," he said, returning my smile, "you look
lovely."

	I attempted to curtsy, feeling a little embarrassed. "Thank
you, Master."

	He took my hand and led me out the door. His car was parked in
front of the porch, its engine already running. He led me around the
car, opened the door, and helped me in. I was glad that the car was
already warm, not knowing that we were going out I hadn't bothered
with my coat.

	He got in and we drove off in silence. I had no idea where we
might be going, beyond assuming that it would be a restaurant
somewhere, but I kept silent and occupied myself by watching him and
trying to figure out where we were.

	He got on the highway and it wasn't to long until I recognized
the approaching Boston skyline. In all the time I've been out here I
haven't really spent much time in Boston proper, so I just watched the
landscape as he purposefully got off the highway and negotiated a
series of one way streets.

	Eventually he pulled up to an old brick faced building. While
an older man in a funny looking uniform opened the door for me and
helped me out another, younger, man went to Eric's side, talked
briefly with him, and then got in and drove off. Eric took my hand and
led me into the restaurant.

	Though it wasn't much to look at from the outside, the place
was amazing inside. Edwardian old Boston at its best, brass
chandeliers, large leather wing back chairs, rich mahogany paneling,
flickering candlelight, and a huge fireplace, somewhere a piano
quietly played. The table we were led to was right by the windows,
overlooking a snow covered park, and was enough of a distance from
other patrons that one had a sense of privacy. I'd never been one to
go to fancy restaurants much so perhaps I was easily impressed, but I
thought that this was one of the coziest places I'd ever been.

	Eric spoke to the man who seated us and then opened his menu.
Not knowing what else to do, I opened the menu I'd been given and
looked it over. It was filled with a bewildering array of options,
most of them either unpronounceable or things that I only had a vague
idea of. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything as simple as
steak or a salad, but it would have been nice if it'd come with
English subtitles.

	"Do you know what you'd like?" Eric asked me after a moment.

	"Do they have anything like a chef's salad?" I asked in
desperation.

	"You're kidding?" He said, amused.

	I shook my head.

	"I suppose so. The chef will be disappointed, but I'm sure
they can make you a nice salad."

	A moment later the man who had seated us returned with a
bottle of wine, holding it up for Eric who nodded. The man then opened
it and poured glasses for both Eric and I. Eric lifted the glass and
sniffed it.

	"Thank you, Frances," Eric said, still holding his glass.

	The man gave Eric a stiff little bow that for some reason
seemed German to me and then left.

	"To your beauty, dear Carol," Eric said, lifting his glass,
"and to your slavery."

	I lifted my glass, embarrassed, and held it as he clinked his
against mine. Matching him, I took a sip off the white wine and set
the glass down. I've never been much of a drinker, never liked the
thought of getting drunk and losing control, but the wine actually
tasted quite good. Fruity and without any heavy taste of alcohol.

	Eric smiled, probably noticing my nervousness. "Lighten up,
Carol, this is a celebration!"

	"A celebration?" I asked, trying to smile and at least look a
little less tense.

	"Yes, of course! It's not everyday that a slave gets
initiated, especially not a slave like you."

	"Oh," I said, feeling a bit stupid. Like me? That was good, it
had to be, but what exactly did it mean?

	Another man appeared next to our table, as formally dressed as
the man who'd seated us had been and with a napkin over his arm.

	"Good evening, Sir," he nodded to Eric, "and Madam," he said
to me. His eyes ran over me, scanning my face and what of my body he
could see. Very quick but unmistakable. It was the first time since
we'd come into the restaurant that anyone had even looked at me. I had
been beginning to feel like an apparition, and I'd preferred it that
way.

	"Good evening, Georges," Eric said, a hard edge to his tone.

	The man's eyes left me and snapped back to Eric. What had he
been looking for? Did he know? Perhaps, I thought, but did it really
matter? Yes, it did, but at least that wouldn't be dangerous. I
couldn't imagine anyone saying anything with Eric sitting right there.

	"Would you like to hear the specials tonight, Sir, or are you
ready to order?" The man asked, sounding for some reason like he
already knew the answer.

	"I'll have the usual."

	"Yes Sir," the man said, seeming a bit disappointed, "a t-bone
steak, rare, boiled baby red potatoes, and pea soup?"

	"Of course."

	Obviously this was something they'd done before. I couldn't
understand why the man seemed disappointed, but I had to admit to
being a bit surprised by Eric's order myself. I hadn't seen anything
nearly as simple, nor understandable, as a t-bone on the menu.

	"And for the lady?" He asked Eric.

	"She'd like a chef's salad."

	"A chef's salad?" The man said, seeming almost crestfallen.
"Yes Sir."

	He glanced again at me, a small nod, and then left. I watched
him carefully as he walked towards the back of the restaurant. Quick
stiff movements, straight back, he seemed a rather odd man to me.

	"What's the matter?" Eric asked as the man disappeared behind
a door.

	"Nothing Sir."

	Eric raised an eyebrow.

	"It's just the man, he was looking at me very oddly."

	"So?"

	"He knew."

	"Knew what?" Eric said seeming genuinely confused.

	I reminded myself that this wasn't something Eric would be
used to dealing with. "That I'm a TS."

	"A TS?"

	"A transsexual, Sir."

	Eric laughed. "Oh, that. What in the world makes you think
that Georges knew anything, or for that matter that he would care?"

	Now my cheeks were turning red, and I felt a little angry. "Of
course he would care! Who wouldn't? I think he knew because of the way
he looked at me."

	"Calm down, Carolyn," Eric said, his tone serious.

	"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, my anger draining out of me, "I
don't mean to act like such a fool. It's just that you've never had to
deal with this."

	"You're right, I haven't walked in your shoes, but I can
imagine that things aren't always easy on you. You really need to get
over yourself, though. I've known Georges a long time, and he wasn't
looking at you any differently than he's looked at a dozen other women
I've brought in here. Besides, even if he did know, so what? Would it
really matter?"

	"It could be... dangerous."

	"Dangerous how?"

	I shrugged. "People might say things, maybe even do things,
I'm not really sure. I imagine that some people could get rather nasty
if they knew."

	"Imagine? So you don't know?"

	I shook my head.

	"Nothing nasty has ever happened to you because someone knew?"

	"When I went into Dunkin' Donuts to wait for you was the first
time I'd ever been in public as Carol." I hoped he would understand my
meaning.

	"Oh," he said, seeming surprised.

	"I mean, there's been plenty of people who've suspected.
That's kind of hard to avoid when you look as odd as I do, but no
one's ever known."

	"Have the people who've suspected been nasty to you?"

	"Sometimes."

	"So you always assume the worst?"

	"Yes."

	"Why?"

	How could he ask that? "You don't understand, Eric!" Oh shit,
I hadn't meant to call him that. I put my hand to my mouth. "Sorry
Sir."

	"For what? Calling me Eric? That is my name, dear, don't worry
about it. I know who I am, I don't need a 'Sir' or 'Master' to remind
me that you're my slave. I thought John had explained all of that to
you."

	"He said that I should ask you how you preferred to be
addressed."

	Eric nodded, picked up his drink and sipped from it. "John has
a tendency to be a little to careful. There's a time and place for
everything, dear, address me as seems appropriate to the situation. If
you're wrong, I'll correct you. Understood?"

	"Yes Sir."

	He smiled. "And 'Sir' is not appropriate for this situation."

	"Yes Eric."

	"That's better," he said, setting his glass down. "You're
right, Carol, I don't understand. I want to, though, need to, so
you're going to have to explain. Why do you assume that people are
going to treat you badly?"

	"It's hard to explain," I said, taking a deep breath.

	"I know, but you're going to have to try."

	Right then the food arrived sparing me from having to say
anything for a moment.

	Georges came to the table, a plate laden tray balanced on one
arm. He set a salad in front of me, set a napkin covered basket in the
center of the table, and then placed Eric's plate and a bowl in front
of him. "Enjoy your meal," he said before he left.

	Eric reached into the basket, got a hot roll, and attacked his
bowl of soup. I picked up my fork and started eating my salad. There
seemed to be a little of everything in it, and the dressing - I assume
it was the house dressing - was fine, but I wasn't really hungry. I
probably should have been considering I hadn't eaten in nearly a day,
but I tend to eat on an odd schedule anyway and I don't think my
nerves were helping much. I picked at my salad for a little bit and
then set my fork down and got a roll.

	Eric had finished his soup, and was looking at me. "Not
hungry?" He asked.

	"Not really," I said.

	He nodded and started devouring his rather raw looking steak.
"Maybe you could try and explain what you meant to me, then."

	I tore small pieces off of the roll in my hand and ate them as
I wondered how I could make things clear to him. "In my day to day
life things are a little strange. When I meet people and have to
interact with them they're always a little confused. Sometimes they
think I'm a woman, sometimes they think I'm a man, and that's okay.
Most often, though, they're not sure, and that's a real problem."

	"How so?" He asked, sipping his wine between bites of red
meat.

	"People don't like ambiguities, especially not gender
ambiguities. I make them uncomfortable, and that can make people very
hostile."

	"And you think you're ambiguous?"

	"Yes, of course. Don't you?"

	He stopped his dissection of the steak for a moment and locked
his eyes on mine. "Ambiguous, Carolyn? Not in the least." He resumed
his campaign against the by now almost decimated meat. "But what I
think isn't what I'm trying to understand, what you think is. So
people are hostile, and you think that's because you're ambiguous?"

	"They're not always hostile, but it happens more than I'd
like."

	He finished up his steak and stabbed a baby potato. "Have you
ever thought that maybe people would be a little less confused if
you'd stop lying to them?" He asked, pointing his fork at me.

	What was that supposed to mean, I thought, sure that I'd said
something to make him angry. Lying to them how? By not telling them
the truth? How could I tell anyone the truth? Then they really would
hate me.

	"I'm sorry, Carol," he said after a moment, "that came out a
little harsher than I intended." He ate the potato on the end of his
fork.

	"No, that's okay Eric. I'm just not sure I understood what you
meant."

	"Let's see, maybe if I go at this from another direction." He
at another boiled potato. "How long have you been a transsexual?"

	"As far back as I can remember, I suppose. I didn't really
have a name for it until I was twelve or so."

	"Okay, how long have you been a woman?"

	"My whole life!" I said.

	He nodded. "That's what I thought. So why don't you stop
trying to pretend you're something you're not?"

	"It's not that simple, Eric." Didn't he understand?

	"Isn't it?" He asked, finishing the last potato and wiping his
lips with a napkin.

	"No, of course it isn't. What's inside my head may be female,
but my body doesn't quite agree."

	"Your genitals, you mean?"

	I shrugged. "Those too."

	"How many people get to see your genitals? I can't imagine
that's what's stopping you."

	"It's not just my genitals, Eric, it's all the rest of me as
well."

	"Is it? You don't seem to be having any problems so far. If
you're getting looks, and you are, I assure you that it doesn't have
anything to do with your somewhat unusual status."

	"That's because I'm with you."

	"Huh? What does that have to do with it?"

	"You're kind of a shield. No one's going to give me a second
glance when I'm standing next to you. Besides, if anyone did think
something about me was strange, I can't imagine they'd say anything
with you here."

	"You're right, of course, at least about the last part. If
anyone so much as looked at you cross-eyed I'd feed them their liver,"
Eric said with a rather evil grin, "but it doesn't seem like I've been
spending a lot of time defending your honor, dear lady." Eric swept
his arm across the room. "And as for no one giving you a second
glance, it seems to me that you attract more than your fair share of
attention. None of it negative, unless you wish to think of lecherous
looks as negative."

	I glanced around the room, something I'd consciously been
avoiding doing. He was right, at least partially. I caught a rather
evil look from a short blonde woman sitting at a table near the middle
of the room, as well as an appraising look from the man seated next to
her. A man standing by the entrance caught and held my eye for a
moment as the woman he was with spoke hurriedly with the man who had
seated us. There were a couple of others, mostly men, who looked away
quickly as my eyes swept over them. I had no idea what to make of it.
Why did they look away? Why had the blonde looked so pissed? None of
this seemed good, and the restaurant had gotten far more crowded than
I had been aware.

	I looked back at Eric as he raised a hand and snapped his
fingers. A loud noise that seemed to cut through the sound of the
quiet piano and the noise of patron's talking, I had no idea what he
was doing. I glanced around the room again, and it seemed that now
half the place was looking at us. Eric picked up his glass and
finished his wine, smiling mischievously at me.

	"Yes Sir," Georges said, having seemingly appeared out of no
where.

	"A question, Georges, if you don't mind."

	Georges noticed Eric's empty glass, picked up the wine bottle
and refilled both our cups. "Certainly, Sir."

	"My companion here," Eric said, nodding at me, "do you notice
anything unusual about her?"

	Oh my god.

	Georges looked at me, smiling. "Unusual, Sir? No, there's
nothing unusual about her, at least nothing unusual for one of your
dining companions."

	Nothing unusual for one of his dining companions? Had Eric
lied to me? He'd said that he'd never known a TS before. No, why would
he lie to me? It didn't make sense.

	"Meaning?" Eric said, a touch of annoyance creeping into his
voice.

	"Meaning, Sir, that it is well known that the White Knight
always seems to be with beautiful women. Many of our customers are not
so fortunate," Georges said, shrugging "or perhaps they have different
tastes."

	Say what?

	Georges had called Eric the White Knight!

	"So you do think she's beautiful?" Eric asked, watching me
carefully.

	Georges seemed confused, looking first at me and then back at
Eric. "Of course, Sir. Don't you?"

	"Yes, I do, Georges. I'm afraid it's the lady who has her
doubts."

	"You're kidding, Sir?" Georges asked, his voice a touch
incredulous.

	"No, Georges, I'm not. Do you think she'd be one who would
draw some attention?"

	"Draw some attention? I'd certainly say that she's drawn my
attention."

	"Careful, my good man, you'll pull something." Eric said,
chuckling.

	"Yes Sir. Will there be anything else? Should I clear away the
dishes? Some dessert perhaps?"

	"Would you like any dessert?" Eric asked me.

	I nervously shook my head.

	"I didn't think so," Eric said. "No Georges, no dessert
tonight. If you'll just clear away the plates, please."

	Georges started gathering up the plates. When he got to my
salad he glanced up at me. "Was there something wrong with the salad?"
He asked Eric.

	"I wouldn't know, Georges, you'll have to ask her."

	Georges looked at me and I shook my head.

	"Perhaps Madam should eat a little more," Georges said as he
placed my plate on top of the others and left with the dishes.

	"He is right, you know. You eat like a bird." Eric said.

	"Sorry."

	Eric waved his hand in dismissal. "Doesn't matter right now. I
seem to recall that you were saying something about your body not
being female? It seems to me that perhaps that's not how others see
you, is it?"

	"I'm not sure how others see me, Eric. I never have been."

	"No, I wouldn't imagine you have the foggiest notion of how
others see you. How many people do you think know that you're a
woman?"

	"You and John. Georges, maybe."

	"Georges, Maybe? Jesus, Carolyn, what in the world does it
take to convince you? Do you really think that no one else knows? That
no one else has ever figured it out?"

	"There's some people I know who maybe have their suspicions."
I said, feeling defensive.

	"Have their suspicions? Surely you jest! I'd be willing to bet
a whole lot of money that they've got more than just suspicions.
You're not that good a liar, Carolyn, no one is. What you're trying to
hide is to fundamental to who you are. Maybe you're a great actress, I
don't know, maybe you're able to deflect some people, but anyone who
knows you well has to know who you are. The person sitting across the
table from me didn't just come into existence the moment we met."

	"No one knows me well," I said, the words sounding sad in my
ears.

	"Because you won't let them?"

	"Yes." Simple and sweet, there was no other answer I could
honestly give him.

	He picked up his glass and sat back in his chair. "So that's
it, eh? Well that explains a lot, an awful lot. It makes sense, I
should have figured it out myself. You don't let anyone get close to
you, and so no one ever gets to see the truth beneath the lie."

	I nodded. I wouldn't have called it a lie, but basically he
had things right.

	"That's so sad, Carol. You must feel so lonely."

	I looked away from him so he wouldn't see the tears in my
eyes. "Sometimes."

	"So why don't you stop it? Why don't you stop trying to be
something you're not? Why don't you let people get close, let them
know who you are?"

	I held my breath for a second, trying to calm myself and stomp
out the pain I was feeling. Why was he doing this? He wasn't trying to
hurt me, but I was hurt nonetheless. I turned back to him and
carefully wiped the tears from my eyes. "Because I can't, Eric. I
can't."

	"Why not?" He asked, his voice so quiet I almost didn't hear
him.

	"Because," I said, taking a deep breath, "if they knew then
they would hate me."

	"Hate you?"

	I nodded, barely holding back more tears.

	"I don't think so, Carol, I really don't. And if some of them
did hate you, maybe you're better off without them."

	"That's easier to say than to face, I'm afraid."

	"And that's the problem, you're afraid. You have ever right to
be. Believe me, Carol, I'm not trying to belittle your situation, I'm
really not. I don't imagine for a moment that things are easy for you
or that there aren't good reasons for why you see things the way you
do. I am trying to tell you that maybe things aren't quite the way
they appear to you. You're going to have to face your fears sometime,
aren't you?"

	"I'm trying, Eric, I really am."

	"I know, dear." He picked up the wine bottle and refilled his
glass. "Why did you come to see me dressed the way you did?"

	"I don't know."

	"I think you do, Carol."

	Oh god, could he be right? "Because I didn't want to lie to
you?" Could it be that simple, staring me right in the face like that?
My head didn't know, but my heart said yes.

	"Weren't you afraid?"

	"I was terrified!" Terrified only barely began to touch it.

	"Why?"

	"Because of the other people who were already there."

	"Why were you afraid of them?"

	"Because I was sure someone would know, someone would say
something. I told you that there were two policemen there, one of them
could have arrested me or something."

	"Did anyone know?"

	"I don't know."

	"You don't know? Did anyone say anything to make you think
that they thought you were anything other than what you appeared to
be?"

	"No."

	"Did the police arrest you?"

	"Of course not."