Freshman Year Girlfriend

==> Prologue

I met Jacquelyn about two months into my freshman year of college.  I look back now on the wild relationship we had now that it's over and I have the benefit of perspective.  We were inseperable for nearly eight months, thirty-two weeks spanning the calendar between Halloween and the Fourth of July, which was the weekend it all ended and she was committed to the mental facility that still is her home even now, almost a year later.

I thought of her yesterday as I watched the fireworks and the memories were both exciting and frightening.  I realized that I was absentmindedly stroking a forming erection as I reminisced on those wild months with her, wild months in which she dominated me and used me as we lived out our mutual fantasies, and during which I came to realize that my kinky and exciting girlfriend was actually what she had told me she was on that night we first spoke to eachother.

She was a little bit insane.

Now, as I look back, I avoid the memories of the three times she had to bring me to the hospital when our games got out of control and instead I think of the intense all-night games we played and of her incredible hunger for hard, raw exhausting sex.  I think back to the nights we kidded ourselves that we were meeting to study while knowing that we were meeting so that she could satisfy her urge to punish and degrade me, I, her utterly willing and craving subject.

I remember her bent for artistry and creativity, and her electric intellect.  I also remember her bouts of irrational jealousy and explosive anger.  Her complete obsession with having total control.  Her crazy swings between syrupy sweetness and furious vengefulness.  The many times I feared for my life while under her spell, times I was unable to break away despite pain that exceeded even my masochistic sexuality.  I remembered also the white-hot eroticism of our raging affair, and how deeply embroiled we became in our reckless and lustful whirlwind of depraved and joyous dominance and submission.

I recalled how it ended that Saturday, the day after last July 4th, and how she ended up back in the mental institution that had been her home for three years as a teenager and was again her home for this past year.  They'd come and taken her away because a man she'd been with that night had escaped from her bonds and called 911 as she chased him across the campus in the nude and holding a large butcher's knife.  She had been screaming incoherently as the police tackled her, and she had been judged a threat to herself and others.

Which is exactly what I had discovered for myself, finally, earlier that day as I myself escaped from her and drove all the way to a friend's apartment miles away to hide from her.  We'd been playing, as usual, but her games recently had begun to stretch the limits of my obscene tolerances.  The final straw had come when she'd tied me to a heavy wooden cross she'd made out of rough four-by-fours and left the apartment to go buy, as she said, "Some really big nails and a hammer so I can crucify you for real."

As soon as she'd left, I had realized that she was serious and at that moment I realized that this had to end.  So I feverishly had wriggled out of the ropes, found my clothes hidden in her apartment, and I had run to my car and gone straight onto the highway.

I heard later that night that she'd gone over the edge and had been arrested after picking up a random guy and scaring him to death with her strange ways and mercurial emotions.  So the police had cuffed her on the grounds and the psychiatrist had determined that she had lost her grip on reality once again.

A year ago tonight had been our last together.  I've spoken to her twice, by phone, most recently six months ago, and both times she'd been heavily drugged.  Her mother used to call me a lot, looking for answers, but hadn't now for a long time.  Which was good, because I had no real desire to get close to Jacquelyn's mother.  Gina, Jackie's mom, had her own twists and obsessions and had repeatedly insisted during my time with her daughter that Jackie and I were going to be married as slave and Wife.  Gina was herself only borderline sane.

All of this would be a total shock to anyone who had been there when I'd first met Jackie.  She seemed like such a quiet, shy, and, perhaps, even a nerdy girl.

I think back to how we met... my mind drifts back in time...

==> Chapter One

It's Halloween night.  I parked my little silver Honda CRX behind my dormitory and noticed that most of the lights were out and there were only a few students still out and about.  It was about three in the morning.  I'd just driven back to campus after spending the night with my hometown high-school girlfriend and the aftereffects of the keg beer I'd drunk earlier were wearing off.  I was hoping there were still some parties going on.  My date with my girl, Anne, hadn't gone that well and I was beginning to realize that the long-distance thing wasn't working.  We'd ended up half-heartedly making out for a bit, and she'd grudgingly allowed me to satisfy my "little fetish", as she called it, by letting me suck on her toes for a minute or two.

But with my college being over a hundred miles away and with her still finishing the last year of high school, we were drifting.  Only two months had passed since the end of summer and our swearing to eachother that we'd stay together despite the distance, but two months had been long enough for her to begin to eye the local guys again just as I was meeting and flirting with the college girls.

I'd always liked the sort of girl that was a little on the freaky side.  Anne was a very pretty but very straight-laced girl, and had zero interest in even talking about the fantasies I'd tried to bring up with her.  Mild stuff like being over her knee and spanked, or being tied up.  I'd never even broached discussion of my true depth of fantasy.  Her semi-amused, semi-disgusted response to my meekly asking to kiss her feet told me to go no further, and to be happy with that.

I found a whole different world at school.  I saw girls who dressed in black and used black makeup and streaked hair to express themselves, and I saw posters for weird and kinky parties sometimes posted on campus.  I'd been to one on the sole weekend that I hadn't gone home to be with Anne.  I'd met a few girls who had really interested me, but I was determined to be faithful and hadn't done more than flirt, gawk and drink.  But my appetite had been whetted.

As long as I can remember I'd had a ridiculous craving to submit to women.  Along with that I'd developed a raging foot fetish and some exceedingly twisted fantasies.  As I silently masturbated every night, trying to come without waking up my room-mate, I envisioned Anne stomping on me, pissing on me, whipping me, making me suck her feet and even drink her piss or eat her shit.  I fantasized of being tied up and beaten, caged for hours, tortured on racks by beautiful Gothic girls.  I dreamt of being humiliated by my girlfriend in public, following behind her on a leash or having to lick her dirty shoes or be slapped by her in public.

And not a single attractive woman ever passed my eyes without my mentally removing whatever shoes she was wearing and imagining her moist, hot, fragrant bare feet.  If a pretty girl left her shoes in the same room with me, it was only a matter of seconds between the time I was left alone with them and the time my nose was buried inside their musty and delicious interior.

But I digress in thought here. Back to the story of how I met Jackie.

It was a little before three in the morning as I walked toward the mostly-darkened dormitory.  On a whim, I decided to take a walk around.  I wasn't ready to sleep, and maybe I'd stumble onto some late-night happening.  I turned about and headed toward the center of campus.  On the way I passed a pair of drunken couples in costume as well as a group of kids circled around a puking friend.  When I reached the center quadrangle I saw that it was empty except for a lone seated figure under one of the fake gaslights that lit the cobblestone square.  I couldn't see if it was a girl or boy, but I kept walking closer.  I looked across the street to see if there was any activity at Shooter's Pub, but I already knew that last call was at two.

I casually walked toward the seated figure.  I saw now that it was a girl, kind of a ragamuffin type, and that she was highlighting lines in a textbook.  She didn't look up, so I slowed a bit and took in the sight of her.  She was overdressed for the weather.  It was brisk and a bit breezy, but she was wearing a heavy woolen parka, plaid and brown and lumpy, that had a faux-fur fringed hood that she'd pulled tight to encircle her face.  She was wearing a long, heavy rumply skirt that covered whatever she wore on her feet.  She was also wearing a scarf.  A hint of her hair was visible peeking out of the fake fur circling her face and I saw that it was blond and straight.  I could only see the top half of her face but she was definitely cute.  Nice eyes and nose.  Her lips were pursed and she was gnawing on the end of the fat yellow highlighter.  I looked again to her feet, as is my obsession, but the pleats of the dowdy skirt were piled over them.  I couldn't even tell if she was short or tall, thin or fat.  I casually said hello as I came within earshot of her.

She looked up at me and I saw that she was quite pretty, but a bit shy looking.  Her eyes were wide and looked like they might be bright blue, although it was hard to tell in the limited wash of lamplight.  I expected nothing more than a return "Hello" from her, but instead her face brightened and she said "Hey, do you know anything about Sacher-Masoch?"

My heart leapt fiercely in my chest, but I immediately switched to female-proximity mode and repressed any outward signs of excitement.  Of course I knew about Sacher-Masoch.  I knew everything about him.  In fact, I'd stolen a paperback copy of "Venus in Furs" from a bookstore when I was sixteen and had read it late at night by flashlight until it had fallen apart.   This, after all, was the namesake of my favorite secret word: Masochism.  I stopped and casually replied with a smirk, "Maybe.  What do you want to know?"

She patted the empty seat beside herself on the stone park bench.  "Sit here, for a sec, I have to write a paper for my psych class on him by tomorrow afternoon and I just started reading."

I wandered over nonchalantly and sat down.  I crossed my legs in front of me, outstretched, letting her see that my legs were pretty good.  I was wearing old tight Levi's jeans and a fresh pair of Nike Airs.  I had a red windbreaker over my favorite blue chambray shirt.  I had my Red Sox hat on, forward, not backward like so many idiots like to do.  I'm about six feet tall and have light-brown hair and blue eyes of my own.  I've never had trouble with girls and I know I'm good looking.  But so was she, although as I got closer I saw that she was unkempt and sloppy and that the hair peeking out of her tightened furry hood was a bit greasy.  Her clothes were all old and bulky and unflattering, and I noted that she had a slight odor that betrayed a lack of recent bathing.  Which was fine with me, as I kind of like that.

I'm weird.

She flipped back a few pages in her textbook and showed me the beginning of the chapter.  There was a painting next to the text, and I quickly recognized it as the famous "Venus in Furs" that had adorned so many copies of the paperback, including mine.  "I have to write just three pages on his life and how his name turned into a psychological term.  'masochism', I guess.  It's pretty weird.  Do you know about it?"

She'd pronounced 'masochism' with a soft 'ch' sound.  I corrected her.   "It's mass-o-kiz-um, not shiss-um," I replied with a gentle smile.  Her scent was strong and I felt the familiar tingling between my legs as I sat inside her aura.  I squeezed my legs together imperceptibly to trap my penis under my thighs as it began to stiffen.  She was really cute.  Her teeth were nice but she had a hint of some food aroma on her breath.  Onions, maybe.

"Okay," she giggled, "mass-o-kizz-um.  What's that?  It says here that the word stands for people who like pain.  And that he was one of those people and wrote about it.  Books, papers, that kind of stuff."

"Well, I know enough about him to write three pages.  I'm in the same course.  Never saw you there before.  Psych 101?"

"Yeah, Psych 101, but I never saw you either.  There's two.  The Monday-Wednesday-Friday one at nine AM, and the other at one PM.  You must be in the one PM class," she said as I noted with pleasure the lilt in her girlish voice.

"Yup," I replied, and then stuck out my hand for a shake.  "I'm Jamie Caldwell."

She lost her smile and stared at my hand as if startled.  "Um, I don't like..." she began, then drew a breath and continued with a sigh, "I'm sorry, but I'm weird and I don't really like shaking hands.  I'm sorry."

I withdrew my hand and there was an awkward silence.  Finally, she broke it and asked "Do you have a cell phone?   I'm Jacquelyn Finch.  Jackie."

I did, and we exchanged numbers.  She asked if I'd meet her in the library after morning classes and if I'd help her with her paper.  It was our first planned meeting together.

I wandered back to the dorm, saw that my roommate was still out, grinned for him and his apparent luck, and I drifted to sleep quickly once I'd masturbated to thoughts of Jackie whipping my bare ass as I slaved away at writing her paper for her only to have her spit in my face and kick me in the balls.  I rubbed the sperm off my hand with a paper towel and tossed it under the bed.

In the morning, I slept through my classes and just got up in time for lunch at the dining hall.  For the first time, I noticed her in public.  She was alone at a table eating a plate of french fries that were soaked in ketchup.  She ate with her fingers as she read a paperback with her free hand.  She was dressed so mousily that I realized why I'd never noticed her.  She dressed to hide her looks, either consciously or sub-consciously.  Today she was dressed in the same heavy wool skirt that lumpily reached to the floor, and it looked like the same forest-green sweater she'd had on under her ugly plaid parka last night.  The parka was over the empty chair next to her.  Her hair messily protruded from underneath a knit beanie cap of black and gray checks on her head.  She had a sloppy ponytail of her nicely-hued blond hair flopping out over her back, and I saw that her hair was long, but a lot of it was just sticking out in multiple directions from underneath the squash of the tight cap.  In this better lighting, I confirmed that her eyes were indeed blue.  Bright blue, and wide.  She had very pale white skin and a hint of freckles across her pert nose.  She had a few zits on her shiny forehead, but she was quite cute under the surface.  She chewed with her mouth open, though.  And she was still wearing the long raggy gray scarf around her neck.

I sat down with my food at a table across the cafeteria from her.  Moments later, a couple buddies joined me and other than a few quick glances over to her table, I paid her no mind.  I was due to meet her in the library in two hours.  No need puppying after her.  Soon, she was gone, and I had seen that nobody had joined her.

I played a little Frisbee until two o'clock, then drifted up to the library.  I found her on the fourth floor in a study room.  I knocked on the open door and she looked up to me and smiled.  "You came!" she said, as if surprised.

"Yeah, I'm here," I said as I dropped my bookbag onto an empty chair.

"So let's sit and you help me write my paper, okay?" she asked, still standing, her hands upturned toward me in a sort of old-fashioned gesture.  I winked at her and we sat across the table from eachother.

She had two books open in front of her as well as her laptop.  She'd begun the paper's title page, a single line centered in bold reading "Sacher-Masoch and the Origins of Masochism".  Under that, her name and in the corner today's date.

"I read the chapter on him last night, and I'm almost done with his book," said Jackie as she flipped up the paperback to let me see the familiar image of the voluptuous Venus standing over a man on all fours at her feet.  She stood, holding a black single-tail whip, with her fur coat open to reveal a bit of cleavage that hinted at total nudity beneath.  The man had an expression of despair, but I knew that a true masochist would be loving every second of the scenario portrayed on that book cover.  Especially with the light-red whip marks criss-crossing his naked back.

"So, what do you think?" I asked as Jackie put the book back on the table.  I saw that she'd highlighted several passages on the two open pages.  She was near the end, indeed.

This intriguing girl scrunched her eyebrows as she thought of an answer to my question.  She twiddled the highlighter as she began to speak.  "It's kinda weird.  But I get it."

I absorbed that and waited for Jackie to continue as my pulse sped.  What exactly did she "get"?  I picked up the hint of her aromatic scent as my tingling penis began to awaken.  I clamped down on it with thigh muscles.  She was wearing the same skirt and top as last night.  This excited me for some reason.  I loved her strong hint-of-laundry/hint-of-sweat/hint-of-something else sexy scent.

"I get what makes the dynamics of their relationship tick," she finally answered without looking up at me.  She went on after a moment.  "But I think that they're both insane."

I didn't answer right away, to see if she was going to continue.  When she didn't, I was not confident about continuing down this path too quickly, so I changed the subject.  I knew that my emotional craving to trade places with Masoch in "Venus in Furs" would be too obvious for this shy girl if I talked about it, and I didn't want to scare her away.

"So, want to write the paper?" I asked brightly.

"Yeah, actually, since you know the stuff, can you kinda write it and then let me add to it?" she asked sweetly.  She may as well have batted her eyes.  Of course I agreed immediately.

As I took her laptop across the table and pivoted it toward myself, she stood up and said "Want a Coke, or something?" 

"If you're going, yeah.  A Diet Dew."

She walked off toward the elevator.  The vending machines were on the first floor.  From this study room I could see through the side window into the central core of the building, which was hollow.  The library was six stories high with a central atrium that went all the way from the ground floor to the roof, and the stacks were wrapped around the atrium.  I watched Jackie get into the elevator, and then emerge four floors below.  I used this moment to quickly scan her laptop's desktop icons.  I found "My Documents" and opened the folder.  I was instantly amazed when a gigantic folder list opened.  Hundreds of folders.  I quickly scanned the titles, noting that she was standing down at the vending machines already, feeding quarters into one of them.  The files were mostly innocuously named, old school stuff and the like, but then I saw "Ramblings".  I opened it and a document icon appeared.  It was also named "Ramblings".  I clicked on it and had a minute or so to read with amazement.  It was a solid, huge block of stream-of-consciousness writing.  No paragraphs or punctuation, and a lot of capitals mixed in.  Careless spelling.  Each block was dated.  I read the block dated with yesterday's numbers:  "10/31/05".  My heart began to beat faster as I digested Jackie's typed words quickly.  I recall this general paraphrasing of how it began:  "So some guy tonight notices me right when I'm reading this weird fun shit at three in the morning in the quad and I'm having my period and he seems nice not macho like I hate and I think I liked him by his smile and smell and he has okay eyes and a nice bod but he wanted to shake hands and I almost lost it and slapped him and had to bite my lip WHY do I always get that urge to strike out and why am i liking this book so much..."

I looked down to the first floor and saw that Jackie was heading to the elevators.   I also noticed that she was taller than I'd thought, probably about five-seven or eight, and quite thin, but that her breasts were a bit outsized for her frame.  Hard to really tell with the bulky sweater, but her scarf at least was off her neck.  It was piled on the floor next to her chair across from mine.  She still wore the skullcap over her messy blond hair, though.

I knew I only had a moment so I scanned down a few dates lower and read another snippet of her "Ramblings" dated "9/9/05":  "I have to do laundry I think but why should I just so other people don't have to smell me i like my smell and if someone doesnt then why do i care oh hell shit jacquelyn you're just lazy..."

I quickly shut all the open files except for the paper I was going to write for her.   I expected her to return any second, but she didn't.  Five minutes passed.  I guessed she must have stopped after getting off the elevator for some reason.  I didn't see her out there through the glass.  So I read the copy of "Venus" she'd been highlighting.  And my excitement built further as I noted that the sentences and passages she had highlighted were pretty interesting.  She'd heavily highlighted the brief "Author's Biography", particularly the passages regarding Sacher-Masoch's eventual commital to an insane asylum.  Odd.  In the textual body itself, her highlights focused on the quotes of Madame Venus.  I could tell that she'd pressed down fairly hard over some of the highlights as the yellow ink had dried thick and brightly... I recall some of the passages:

"You mean you are now my slave without illusions, and for that reason you shall feel the weight of my foot without mercy."

"The more cruelly she treats him and the more faithless she is, the worse she uses him, the more wantonly she plays with him, the less pity she shows him, by so much the more will she increase his desire, be loved, worshipped by him. So it has always been, since the time of Helen and Delilah, down to Catherine the Second and Lola Montez."

"...No, it is more beautiful by far, than if cruelly I enjoy the tortures, which my beauty excites, and virtuously reject the poor fellow who is pining away for me. I am young, rich, and beautiful, and I live serenely for the sake of pleasure and enjoyment."

"You interest me. Most men are very commonplace, without verve or poetry. In you there is a certain depth and capacity for enthusiasm and a deep seriousness, which delight me. I might learn to love you."

"Very well," said Wanda, contracting her small but strongly arched brows, "it seems to me it would be rather entertaining to have a man, who interests me and loves me, completely in my power; at least I shall not lack pastime. You were imprudent enough to leave the choice to me. Therefore I choose; I want you to be my slave, I shall make a plaything for myself out of you!"

I heard approaching footsteps and I cleared my face of any expression that might betray the incredible excitement I felt at reading these passages that Jackie had so heavily highlighted.  This indeed, I thought to myself, was very, very good information.  I determined to take this slowly and to see where it would lead.  Perhaps this meant nothing other than an idle curiosity of Jackie's part, or perhaps she herself was a submissive or even a lesbian submissive!  I didn't know yet.  I planned to play it cool with this curious, shy, unique girl.

I began to type the opening paragraph of the Masoch paper as Jackie returned to the study room.  I'm very efficient when writing non-scientific papers, and I already had an outline formed for this little toss-off three-pager.  I knew I'd type straight through and be finished in under an hour.

Jackie sat in the chair across from me and slid a Diet Mountain Dew across the table.  I couldn't see her face behind the flipped-up screen of the laptop, but I saw her hand as she pushed the bottle next to the keyboard.  Her nails were nice, but unpainted and untrimmed.  This girl simply didn't care about her superficial appearance, as her rambling had seemed to indicate.  Again I realized that this somehow deeply excited me.  I'd been clenching down a boner for the whole time I'd been in the study room and it began to swell again as she got close to me with her strong scent.

As I hammered away at the paper, she asked me if I wanted my drink.  I paused, smiled over the screen at her, and grabbed the Mountain Dew.  I twisted off the cap and raised it to my lips.  As I took a swig, I noticed a strange odor coming off the plastic at the top of the bottle.  It took me a moment but then it hit me:  The bottle smelled like pussy juices.  Poontang.  I surreptitiously rubbed the pad of my thumb over the plastic as I read what I'd typed onscreen.  There was a hint of stickiness, I thought.  My head reeled as I displayed outward calm.  Could she have?  Could it be?  I decided I was imagining things and finished the paper in silence as Jackie leaned back in her chair and dozed off.

When I was satisfied with what I'd written and had proofed it for typos, I sent it to the library's printer and gently told the apparently-dozing Jackie "It's done."

She popped right awake and said "Get it, could you?  I'm kinda tired."

"Sure," I replied, and off I went on the first little task for her that she'd gotten without using "Please."  There would be many, many more... but this first time being sent off by her on a tiny little command was enough to fully harden my penis.  I had to tuck it back with a quick swipe of the hand just to make it back to the study room with the printed pages and without a tent in my pants.

"Gimme it," she said as soon as I walked into the room.  She held out her hand.  I passed it to her.

"Sit for a sec while I read... do you have anywhere to be?" she asked.

I didn't, other than for the semi-regular four o'clock bong hit circle that would be forming in my dorm room shortly.  But I could pass that up to be in this girl's presence.

Jackie scanned the paper quickly with her highlighter again in her hand.  The end of that thing was covered with the chinks and divots of her toothmarks.  I liked her little pink tongue flashes as she read and chewed away, occasionallt high-lighting.

When she was finished, she slid the paper across to me and said "Let's talk about the parts I marked.  Read the first one."

I read a paragraph back to her, the fourth paragraph on the first page, wherein I'd connected Sacher-Masoch's proclivities to what we now refer to as "masochism."  I'd quoted him from the text of "Venus" as follows:  "Oh, please do," [Masoch] cried half-shuddering, half-enraptured. "If the foundation of marriage depends on equality and agreement, it is likewise true that the greatest passions rise out of opposites. We are such opposites, almost enemies. That is why my love is part hate, part fear. In such a relation only one can be hammer and the other anvil. I wish to be the anvil. I cannot be happy when I look down upon the woman I love. I want to adore a woman, and this I can only do when she is cruel towards me."

I read this to her and looked up as I finished.  She had an odd, inscrutable expression on her face as she watched me intently, but said nothing as we proceeded through the paper.  I think she was reading me.  Later events would suggest truth in that surmise.

Not long after, as it was getting dark outside, she had me fix a few things within the text then told me that she had to go drop off the assignment in her professor's mailbox.  I'd already done this assignment for my own Psych class, and had turned it in early as I usually do.  I'd been assigned the same sort of thumbnail on a far less interesting subject: Paul Masser and his educational theories.

As we exited the library and were about to split off in different directions, I turned to her and haltingly asked if she'd like to have dinner.  She shook her head no, then said "Nah, I can't, I really have to do laundry."

I replied quickly, and perhaps a bit too eagerly, "I'll help you, if you want?"  My voice tailed off as I finished.  I almost bit my tongue as I realized how puppy-dog this offer seemed.

But she took me up on it.  "Okay, walk me to drop this off, and then come with me to do my laundry."

I noted silently that she didn't say "HELP me do my laundry", she'd simply said "to do my laundry".  Hmmm, I thought to myself for the hundredth time that afternoon.  And what WAS that on the Mountain Dew bottle, anyway?

As we crossed campus toward the mailbox kiosk for the instructors and professors, we had a little small talk.  How many in your family, hometown, and so on.  She has an older sister who still lives at home and never graduated high school.  A loser, Jackie said.  And she described her mother as flaky, intense, and manic-depressive.  Her father had run off years ago, and she knew not where.  I told her of my standard suburban upbringing.  Youngest child of three, two older sisters, parents divorced when I was five, and I lived with my mother until going to college.  Both of my sisters had married and moved out of state.

After the paper had been dropped into her Psych professor's slot, Jackie turned to me in the dim and empty hallway surrounding the kiosk and practically whispered "You know we're not going to my place to have sex, right?"

I laughed this off with gusto.  "No!" I replied, "Course not.  Let's get to know eachother."

To that, she curiously replied "You might not want to get to know me.  We'll see.  I'm pretty weird.  Let's go."

I pondered that, almost asking her to expound but deciding not to, as we walked the two blocks in the chilly November air to her building.  She had the single apartment on the fourth floor of a Victorian thriple-decker.  The attic was hers, and it had been converted years ago to be a separate space from the rest of the house.  There was a set of wooden stairs built into the back of the building that accessed her "front" door on the back of the house.  I saw that she had three bags of trash piled on her landing.  And a few cardboard case boxes of some random California Pinot Noir brand, chilling.

"Stay here for a second," she requested as she unlocked the creaky old door and pushed inside.  I heard the snap of old-fashioned lightswitches as she pre-checked her house for a visitor.  I smiled at this to myself.  From the open door wafted more of her scent, stronger, almost rich in its concentration.  My half-boner began to rise once more.

"It's a mess," she casually warned as she waved me inside, "but you're a guy, so you probably don't care.  Want wine?"  She held up a bottle of the Pinot, stoppered, half-full, with a querying look on her face.

I bantered back with "Whaddya have, a fake ID?  How'd you get all this wine at eighteen?"

She didn't smile.  She seemed to frown for just an instant before dead-panning "Someone left it all here, but I don't see them anymore and they never came back to get it."

She put the bottle down on the kitchen counter and walked away.  "I have to go to the bathroom.  Serve yourself, and pour me one, too," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared.  I heard the distinct "clunk" of a boot falling from a foot to the floor.  And then another as she shed her other shoe.  Her footsteps now sounded like sock paddings as she went into the bathroom down the end of the unseen hallway and I heard an old door click shut. 

I picked up the bottle of wine as I tried to resist peeking around the corner to get a look at her shoes.  They had sounded heavy, like boots.  I couldn't resist.  I tip-toed a few steps and looked to the right, down a short hallway.  The floors of the apartment were old oaken hardwood, and my tip-toeing still squeaked.  But I caught a quick look and saw that she'd been wearing a pair of very small duckboots.  Dark green, rubber-over-leather duckboots with black laces and heavy black rubber soles.  They looked worn, scuffed, and ancient.  I returned to the kitchen counter and poured two glasses of wine into cheap crystal flutes she'd put out.  I now took a better look at my surroundings.

As I sipped, I could hear Jackie peeing through the thin wall separating this kitchen and the bathroom.  I simply love the tinkling sound of a girl pissing hard.  My mouth watered as i wished she were squatting over my face, or even better, filling my wine glass. 

The kitchen was her typical sloppy mess.  The basic color was yellowed white.  The appliances were old, sixties-vintage, except for the mis-matched 70's Harvest Green refrigerator.  There was no dishwasher, and the sink was half-full of dirty pots and plates.  The counter was piled with odds and ends, small appliances mish-moshed between schoolbooks and newspapers and empty fast-food soda cups with straws still implanted and askew.  The cabinet doors were dirty around their handles, the floor was spotted and speckled with drips and drops dried onto the old blue linoleum, and the rickety ovalline kitchen table that sat under the yellowed light fixture hanging from the center of the ceiling was stacked with more detritus.  There were at least seven or eight old pizza boxes stacked on top of the papers and books that lined its surface, and more junk sat on the seats of the sixties-style bent-steel-and-vinyl-padded blue chairs.  She apparently read a lot of magazines and newspapers.  And never threw them away.

Jackie must have needed to go "number two" as well as "one" because she was still in the washroom and it was pretty quiet in there except for an occasional plooping noise.

Along the wall opposite the cluttered dirty counter stood a battered white sideboard upon which she'd piled her laundry, apparently.  A huge pile of unsorted clothes, sheets and towels spilled out of two massively over-filled wicker laundry baskets.  Some small things had fallen to the floor; a balled-up white gym sock (with an enticing stain of grime) and some semi-stiff face cloths.  A tall purple-plastic clothes hamper stood to the right of the laundry-smothered sideboard, and it too was jam-packed with Jackie's panties and more delicate stuff.  To the left of the sideboard stood an over-under dryer-washer that probably was the most junior appliance in the kitchen.  It looked to be about ten years old.

I finished up my glass of wine and was about to head to the counter for a refill when I heard the toilet flush and then a loud "Oh, fuck!" from Jackie.  Startled, I put down the wine glass and went to the hall, where I saw her standing in the bathroom doorway in her black socks and her hands on her hips.  She was staring at the bathroom floor with an angry facial expression.  She was reddening.  Suddenly, she picked up a blocky yellow candle that was sitting on a tiny wooden rack next to the open door and she threw it as hard as she could at the bathroom's vinyl floor.  I heard the impact and the slide, and then a crash as the heavy candle hit something else and knocked it over.

And then Jackie spun into a tantrum!  She screeched a slew of obscenities as she kicked over the wooden candle-stand.  She punched the wall hard enough that I worried about the bones in her hand.  She picked up a hairbrush that was lying on the floor and whipped that into the bathroom where I heard it hit what sounded like a tiled wall and clatter into what was definitely a tub or shower stall.

I trotted the fews steps down the hall and reached out to calm her, and instead she turned her fury on me.  "Don't touch me! I don't like it!" she screamed in my face, and then she proceeded to touch me, indeed, very hard with her fists, pounding my chest as she emitted a high-pitched shriek.  She kicked my shins as well, and I backed away.  I kept saying "What's wrong?  What's wrong?" but she just went on screeching through gritted teeth as she backed me up the hallway with her little hard-hammering fists.

She calmed down and backed away from me, heaving breaths, her face dark-red with anger.  She turned her back on me and cooled off as her back hitched and dipped with the effort of hyperventilation.  She bent over a bit and put her hands on her knees.  She took the knit cap off her head and whipped that into the bathroom, and was done.  She slowly turned around, smoothing her tangled hair with both hands as she faced me with eyes closed and brow pink and beaded with sweat.  Having learned that interfering with her was not helpful, I simply stood and waited for her to open her eyes.  When she did, she smiled serenely.

"Um, sorry," she began, then grabbed another deep breath.  "Sorry."

"It's okay," I assured.

"No, no, I get mad too easily."

"What happened, can I help?"  I asked.

She pointed to the bathroom floor on her left, where light spilled into the hallway in which we stood facing eachother.  She pointed with both palms face up and arms extended as if sarcastically inviting me to take a look at the bathroom floor for myself.  So I did.  I gingerly stepped past her and looked inside.

The dingy old powder-blue bathroom was tiny, and the sink was the very old fashioned heavy ceramic of the twenties.  Stained black where the water had flowed for eighty-odd years.  There was an old clawfoot tub and shower pipe with a new cheap vinyl curtain hanging on rings.  A radiator stood against the left-hand wall.  It was painted with scores of layers of thick white paint, and needed another coat.  But the floor was the issue.   The floor and the toilet, which was filled with yellow-brown murky water to the rim and was still slowly flowing onto the cracking tiles of the flooring.  A wad of dissolving toilet paper slowly rotated in the mess, and the tiles themselves around the toilet were covered with the filthy wastewater and a few chunks of Jackie's shit.

Naturally, I'm utterly twisted, so the sight and smell started my cock on its journey toward hardness once again.  Although I was only eighteen and had never actually seen an attractive girl's shit close-up before, I'd fantasized so many times about smearing it all over myself, rolling in it... having a girl squat over my face and make me her toilet...

Jackie interrupted my brief rapture.  "Um, what are you thinking about, Jamie?" asked the cute, scraggle-haired eighteen-year-old blond.  She was close enough that I could pick up her alluring scent even above the fresh stink of her shit.

"Oh... nothing... I can fix this," I gearshifted.

"I can't ask you to do that, Jamie... that would be gross," she replied, but there was enough lilt in her voice that I could tell she was leaving the option open.

I bit.  "No, get me some paper towels or rags and I'll take care of this.  I can fix the toilet, too."

Jackie immediately popped off to the kitchen.  Her anger seemingly gone, she was now perky and cheerful.  Wild swing, I thought to myself.  I looked at the toilet again, which had stopped running and was now just sitting there all clogged up and filled to the rim with the reeking water.  The toilet paper wad still slowly revolved, though.

She came back with a roll of paper towels and a plastic grocery bag.  She also had a can of Lysol "for after", as she said.

"Do you have a plunger?" I asked.  She frowned and shook her head.

I internally sighed.  I'd have to unplug the toilet manually, then.  "Then this could get grosser," I told her, "you may not want to watch."

"Okay," she replied, and actually closed the bathroom door with me inside.  I heard her bounce off to the living room I hadn't seen yet.  It was down at the other end of the hall.  I assumed the closed door across from the bathroom was her bedroom.  There was a newly-installed angle-iron and combination lock set above the doorknob.  It was locked firmly, but I knew that the door wouldn't survive a few good kicks no matter how strong that Masterlock was.

So, she'd left me to clean up her bathroom and fix her toilet.  With the door closed behind me, I was free to really take a good first-ever look at a girl's fresh shit.  My cock was rock-hard as I knelt down in front of the toilet.  I took a deep, long breath of the odor and found that I loved it for its absolute foulness.  Every rich breath was more intoxicating.

I mopped up loose water with the paper towels and scooped up her soggy shit with a clenched wad of new towels.  I found a piece of wood in the wooden cabinet under the sink that used to be the handle to a plunger and used that to stir the toilet until the mess suddenly dropped away through the plumbing with a snorting whoosh.  I test-flushed the toilet and it ran clear.  I finished mopping up the floor and then washed my hands.  I took one last deep breath of Jackie's shit stink from the plastic bag filled with soiled paper towels and then tied it shut.  Finally, I coated the whole drying area with a dose of the Lysol and exited the bathroom to announce that I was done.

At the other end of the hall I saw the flickering light of a television against the cracked white-yellow plaster of that room,  and I heard the sounds of MTV.  On the floor to my left were the duckboots that the girl had taken off and dumped there earlier.  Helpless to stop the urge, I bent over silently and lifted the top boot up to my face.  I got my nose into the leg hole and breathed deeply of her foot scent; it was thick and rich and powerful, and it was obvious that these boots had spent many hours upon her feet over many months, if not a few years.  I took another breath, then a third, and decided not to risk getting caught.  I placed the boot back the way it was.

I went through the kitchen and tossed the bag of towels out the back door to rest on top of the other three trash bags piled there, then went down to the living room.  Jackie was lying on an old brown naugahyde sofa with her head cradled in her arms and her legs curled to her body fetal-style.  She was still wearing the green sweater and the old wool skirt.  She'd shucked off her socks, however, and my eyes lit up as I saw her bare feet cuddled together with the insteps facing me.  I took a step closer and said, haltingly, "Jackie?" without taking my eyes off those beautiful pink-toed jewels.

She didn't respond, so I took another step and again called her name a bit more loudly.  She stirred and sat up with closed eyes and stretched languidly.  She swung her feet flat to the floor in front of the couch and her skirt immediately flowed over them.  She yawned and stretched again, then looked at me with a sleepy expression.

"Bathroom's done," I announced, waiting for my praise for such an above-and-beyond mission.

Instead, she replied with "Let's take a look."  She hopped up and strode down to the bathroom.  I followed behind.  She flipped the light on and bent to get a close look at the floor around the now-cleared toilet bowl.

She pointed to a bit of puddle that I'd missed behind the base of the toilet.  "Could you get that too?" she asked, and resumed her inspection.  She pointed out another spot, and then said "And while you're there, you may as well wipe down the base of the whole thing with the Lysol."

Not knowing whether I liked this or not, but thinking I did enjoy being bossed around by this pretty and sloppy girl, I retrieved the towels and Lysol to finish up.  As I did the final check, Jackie was behind me with a glass of wine.  She held it out to me once I'd finished washing my hands again, and she put forward her glass as if to toast.  I clinked mine off of hers, and she said "To you a toast, toilet-boy."

She drained her wine with one swig.  "Drink up, I gotta sleep, toilet-boy," was her next sentence.  I drained my wine and stopped a sudden splutter.  I hadn't drunk much wine at that point in life.

Before I knew what was happening, she was standing by the open back door.  A chilly breeze blew in as she waved me out of her apartment with a slight smile.  "Laundry will have to wait, I guess," she said as I passed by her slowly, waiting to see if there would be an opening for a kiss or whatever, but it was obvious that there was not.  "I have your cell, I'll call you tomorrow, Jamie," she said as I faced her on the wooden outer landing.  "Oh, and since you're going down, take those bags and put them in your dumpster on the way."

She was pointing at the trash bags piled on the landing.  "Sure," I replied, and lifted them all up off the sticky decking.  She closed the door without another word, and I trudged back toward my dorm by way of the dumpsters.  I tossed the three trash bags into an empty vat, but hesitated a moment over the bag that contained the paper towels smeared with Jackie's shit.  As I knew I would simply have to do, I crunched the bag down and jammed it into my pocket, feeling the lumps of shit inside against the plastic.  I practically ran to my dorm and dashed into the bathroom.  I went straight into one of the stalls, closed the door, and ripped the bag open.  The odor, that fantastic odor of the shit of a beautiful eighteen year old girl, rushed out and enveloped me.  Lustfully, I found a lump of the soft light-brown mess and scooped it up with my hand.  I smeared her shit all over my face, hard, rubbing the stink in, relishing it, my cock surging.  I took a sample taste with my tongue but decided to get that much deeper another time.  Instead, I opened my pants and grabbed another lump of her shit with my right hand.  I furiously masturbated for no more than ten seconds before coming hard, spewing against the inside door of the stall.  I sank back and relaxed for a minute or two, breathing hard and cooling off as I let her fresh rich stench envelop me and fill my every breath for a while until I finally showered and went to bed with my head reeling over this strange and wonderful girl.

In the dark I heard my cell phone ringing.  I awoke and sat up on the little bed in my dorm room wondering who'd be calling at this hour.  I reached for the cell and looked at the digital alarm clock on my nightstand at the same time.  It was a little before five in the morning.  I glanced at the incoming number and saw that it was Jackie.  Okay, now I was intrigued, but at 4:55 in the AM on a school night?  I had class at nine, and I'd already skipped a day yesterday.  

"Hullo?" I blearily answered and was surprised when she had a perky, awake-sounding chipper voice. 

"Jamie?" she said, and then continued right on with this:  "Something's bothering me.  When I was in the bathroom tonight, I heard you tip-toeing and I just can't figure out what you were doing.  Why did you need to tip-toe?  Nobody does that unless they're being sneaky.  So... why were you sneaking?"

Flabbergasted and befuddled, I rubbed my eyes and mumbled "I don't remember."

She came right back with "You don't remember why you were tip-toeing?"

I blew it... I should have said "No, I don't remember tip-toeing at all," but in my drowsy state I just said "Nope."

There was a pause, and then in a very low voice dripping with impact she said "You need to get over here and we need to talk.  Now."

She hung up.  For a moment I sat there, thinking that perhaps I should just go back to sleep and forget this girl, as it didn't look like she was really into sex so far, and was a little rude despite the fun I had being bossed around by cute girls.  But then, I remembered the strange ramblings I'd read on her computer and the passages she'd highlighted in Masoch's book.  And also... what WAS that on the Mountain Dew bottle?

I got up and dressed.  I put a cap on over my messy bed-head hair and stumbled downstairs.  The cold blast of night air woke me right up as I left the dorm, and minutes later I was trotting up the back staircase to Jackie's attic apartment.

She was in the kitchen watching for me when I got there.  She looked pissed.  Her arms were crossed, her face was red and frowning, and she was glaring at me as I opened the door.  She also looked ridiculously sexy.  She was in her sleeping clothes... a pair of cotton sweatshorts, gray, and a long white tee shirt.  Her feet were encased in little ankle-booties that had little rubber spots on the sole for grip.  Again I noticed just how tiny her feet were for a five-foot-eight girl.  And high-arched.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing at a kitchen chair before her.  I did, and I looked up at her face with a blank expression on my own.

She glared at me for a few seconds and then said this: "I think there's something between us, Jamie, but I can not stand lies.  At all.  I think you're lying to me about tip-toeing.  I need you to drop your defenses and tell me why you were tip-toeing while I was in the bathroom, or we're done before we even start."

Now, I was tip-toeing because I wanted to get a look at her shoes that I'd heard her shed before going to the bathroom.  And it was pretty obvious that she knew that I was tip-toeing, so I couldn't really deny the entire thing.  Plus I'd admitted it on the phone when I got caught sleepy by her call.  So I thought about what to say was the reason, and drew a blank.  And just as I was about to open my mouth, she was before me, bending a bit, smiling gently at me.

"Just the truth, Jamie.  Why were you sneaking?"

After one more brief pause, I let the truth go.  "I wanted to look at your shoes," I mumbled.

"What?  You wanted to look at my shoes?  Why did you have to sneak for that?" she exclaimed, obviously bewildered.

I kept on with the truth.  She pulled a chair up and sat facing me, curious and wide-eyed.  Her intoxicating scent wafted over me; her bedtime clothes were as rich with her aroma as her other infrequently-washed wardrobe seemed to be.  As she sat I got a quick flash of her bare chest.  Her breasts were large, round, perfect, and pointing up at the ceiling.  Her entire body was more clearly revealed in these clothes, and I confirmed just how perfect she was; superb round ass and great legs leading to those tiny feet.  Pretty face, wide blue eyes, well-proportioned upper lip over a sexy fat lower lip.  No makeup yet nice and red naturally... she was delectable.  I smiled inside as I recaled breathing the fumes of her shit from the plastic bag earlier while jerking off my shit-smeared penis... her shit...

Back to the truth.  Why was I sneaking a peek at her shoes?  "Because I have a foot fetish and I'm ashamed of it," I answered meekly, eyes downcast.  I folded my hands together in my lap and I honestly had no idea how she would respond.

Her response was to go get her computer.  She quickly fired up the Dell laptop and Googled "foot fetish".  For the next half hour, she waded excitedly through porn sites and clinical descriptions while asking me questions.

It became clear to me that this girl had never really looked at a porn website before.  Not in depth and with curiosity.  The first item she opened was a basic foot fetish site.  Women displaying their feet to the cameras, sample videos of guys on their knees sucking heels and bare feet and licking boots.  She showed this to me and asked, incredulously, "You like this?"

I nodded yes.  She pointed to a guy with his nose buried in a pair of dirty girls' sneakers.  "You like smelling feet?" she asked brightly.

"Only girls' feet," I mumbled.

Next she came upon "foot worship" and sat there agape, in genuine awe, as she watched women being worshipped by kneeling men.  For the first time, Jackie saw a woman's foot crammed into the mouth of an eager, slavering and groveling male who was only too happy to suck the sweat from between his mistress's toes.

Over and over, throughout the thirty minutes, she kept pointing to different images and vidclips of foot fetish and worship while asking me the same question:  "You really like this?"

And each time, my honest answer... yes, yes I did.

Eventually Jackie decided that she wanted to check out the web all by herself.  She wanted me to leave.  It became obvious by her sudden change in body language and lapse into completely ignoring me.

She turned her back to me as she swept past foot fetish sites and foot worship sites.  I sat there for a while, started to feel fidgety, and finally piped up with "Uh, Jackie, you want to be alone?"

She swung around in her chair and looked right at me with a totally deadpan look on her face.  Her hair, which she'd clasped into a rough ponytail, hung over her right shoulder.  Her bootied feet were crossed at the ankles, and she crossed her arms as she seemed to glare at me.

Finally, as my heart began to sink, she spoke.  "Yeah, I want to be alone now, but I want to see you very soon about some things... okay?"

"Sure, Jackie," I said with a relieved smile.  "Whatever, whenever."

She reached forward and put her hand over my mouth.  She looked directly into my eyes and said this:  "In a second, I'm going to take my hand away, and if you still want to stick with 'Whatever, whenever' then believe that I'll take you seriously.  I'm kind of weird, Jamie, and if you really want to get with me, you need to know that I'm very, very committed to the things I decide to do... okay?  So, when I take my hand away, if you really mean what you said, you need to get on your knees right here in front of me and say it again. And if not, just stand up and leave when I take it away.  Here goes... one, two, three."

When she withdrew her hand, I fell to my knees before her.  I looked up at her pretty face and drank in her scent as she emotionlessly regarded me below her.  I could pick up the faintest scent of her crotch scent as I knelt so closely to her well-worn pajama shorts.

"For real?" she asked.  "Whatever, whenever?"

I nodded yes.

"Okay," she said, abruptly ending the drama.  "I'm not sure what that means, Jamie, but I'm gonna learn, and I have to remind you that I think I'm a little crazy."

"Yeah," I suavely replied, "but you're incredibly gorgeous."

She didn't even smile.  She just kept on looking at me for a moment before lifting her bootied right foot and holding the sole of the cotton sock over my upturned face.

"Take a quick whiff, Jamie," she said as she rubbed her sole across my nose and lips, "and I'll be in touch, probably.  Bye.  Go."

She turned back to her computer as she motioned dismissively with a wave of her hand toward the door.  I walked out and went back to my dorm, still smelling the faint whiff of her delicious foot scent that her unwashed sock had left on my lips.

==> Chapter Two

I got back to the dorm and found that my roommate was awake.  Mark is a Jewish guy from Long Island, comes from a fairly wealthy family (as do I) and has a new girlfriend every three weeks.  Apparently tonight had been the end of one of his relationships and the beginning of another.   We stayed up talking for an hour or so as I told him about Jackie, and he was aware of her.  She was in one of his classes, and he'd talked to her, but she'd put him off because he'd thought she was a little sloppy and he didn't think she was clean, even if she was cute.  He said she wore the same clothees for days at a time and got a little bit on the smelly side at times, and she didn't seem to care.  On top of that, she'd been really quiet and even rude when he'd approached her after a class one day, so he'd never pursued her.  He didn't think she'd been with anyone at all from what he'd observed... always kept to herself.

I told him that I liked her, and that I'd helped her with a paper.  He asked me "But what about Anne, back at home?  Aren't ya gonna stay faithful?"

He stretched out the word "faithful" to be mischievous... I told him that the long-distance thing wasn't really working.  He said he knew it wouldn't. Told me to have good luck with Jackie, maybe make her get some modern clothes and take a shower.  I laughed.  My cock tingled just thinking of her.  I liked her strong scent and aloof attitude. The way she'd made me smell her sock for a second before sending me off was my masturbation fantasy that night after lights-out.

In the darkness, my phone rang.  Mark woke up first and said "Who the fuck is calling you at five in the morning?"  He handed me my phone and went back to bed with a pillow over his ears.

I opened the cell and saw that it was Jackie.  "Hello?" I answered, groggy, taking her middle-of-the-night call for the second night in a row.

"Get over here, Jamie," was all she said.  She hung up.

"She wants me," I told Mark as I snapped my phone shut and got up to dress.  My heart was pounding. 

Mark rolled over and groaned.  "Good, go fuck her, and then tell her to wait until eight from now on before she calls."

I practicaly ran over to her house and dashed up the stairs.  She was waiting in the kitchen, looking out the window, as I arrived.  She was dressed in the same clothes and there was a rich odor of coffee filling the kitchen.  She'd made a pot and was sipping from a ceramic mug as she let me in.

A space had been cleared on her kitchen table and she'd put her laptop and attached printer in the center of the swept-clear area.  I saw at least a dozen sheets of freshly-printed papers stacked messily to the right of the keyboard.  She sat down and pointed to the chair to the right of her own at the table.  "Throw that stuff on the floor and sit in that chair," she ordered.  "Want coffee?"

I nodded yes, and she handed me a clean mug.  I poured a cup of black brew and sat down on the newly-cleared chair.  I noticed that the top sheet of papers she'd printed up was a story from a BDSM site that featured stories written and submitted by members.  I'd read the story before.  I had read just about every BDSM story site and all the good femdom stories.  This one was titled "Travels With Aunt Paula" and it was one of my favorites.  She'd highlighted it here and there. She loved her highlighter.

"Just sit there and drink the coffee.  I want to ask you some questions," she deadpanned as she picked up the sheaf of papers.

I obeyed her.  She went through her highlights, scanning sheets, as I sipped.  Finally, she went back to the "Aunt Paula" story and asked me "Do you go to the sites on the web that have these sex stories?"

"Yeah, I do, sometimes," I replied.

She looked right at me, her blue eyes blazing.  "Be totally honest, or you'll be out of my life, Jamie.  I don't need anybody."

I nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Did you ever read this story?"  She showed me the first page, which had the title in bold across the top.

"Yes, I know it well."

"And how long have you been looking at these stories?"

"Since I was a kid.  At night in my room on my computer."

"I haven't slept since you left.  I've been looking at all of the 'Femdom' stuff and I think it's really, really interesting," she said with an odd, mischievous look on her face.

I nodded noncommittaly.

"I think I want a slave," she said, flatly, as if she were saying "I think I'll have some oatmeal."

Again I nodded, concealing my excitement.  I squeezed my thights to hold down my growing erection.

She leafed through pages for a few minutes as I sipped away.

She saw that I'd emptied my mug and told me to get a refill.  "We're not going to classes today," she told me as I sat down again.

"Okay," I answered.  I was going to let her call all the shots.

"You're my slave," she said suddenly, again in the same flat matter-of-fact tone she'd used a few sentences before.

I nodded.

"Say it, Jamie.  Say 'I want to be your slave, Jackie'."

"I want to be your slave," I stammered, my heart leapin into my throat.  She smiled a bit, then leafed through her pages until she found a highlighted section she wanted.  She began to read it out loud, a passage from one of the femdom stories:

"And she gave her slave her rules.  If he was going to be her slave, she told him, he'd have to obey her at all times without question or he would be punished severely," she read, and then looked up at me.  "I like this section of this story, Jamie.  I am totaly new to this, so I want to just borrow these rules from this story.   Are you ready?"

"Yes," I answered, breathlessly.

"Here they are," she stated, then began to read out loud from the page again.  "Rule One, slave will obey any and all commands of his Mistress without question.  Rule Two, slave will address his Mistress as Mistress, or Mistress Jackie, (I put my name in there, Jamie) only.  Rule Three, slave will refer to himself only as 'slave'.  Rule Four, slave will not make eye contact with his Mistress unless she orders it and will only look at her feet when in her presence.  Rule Five, slave will think of himself as his Mistress's property, and not as a human being.  And finally, Rule Six, slave will always think of and attempt to service any and all of his Mistress's commands and desires and will always put her pleasure and needs before his own."

She put down the papers, crossed her arms over her large breasts, and stared at my eyes.  Devilishly.  "Let me tell you a little bit about myself, Jamie," she started, "as soon as you agree to these rules.  Do you?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Yes what?" she immediately fired back.

"Yes, Mistress Jackie," I meekly replied.

"And why are you looking at my face, slave?  Where should your eyes be?"

She held up her right foot, the little ankle-bootie still there, but a bit grimy now from walking around her dirty apartment on it.  She waggled her foot and I dropped my gaze to the grimy sole of the white cotton slipper.

"Good, slave, keep it there.  So, what are you?  tell me."

"I'm your slave, Mistress Jackie."

"I decided I like 'Princess' better than 'Mistress'.  Call me 'Princess Jackie'."

"Yes, Princess Jackie."

"Here's a little about me, before you decide to commit to being my slave, Jamie.  After I'm done, I'll ask you again, okay?"

"Yes, Princess," was my answer.

"Okay.  First of all, I think I'm a little crazy.  I have wild mood swings.  I suppress all my emotions until they just explode.  And I have wild emotional swings.  You'd have to deal with that.  Okay?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Alright, there's more.  I'm a virgin.  Total.  Because I've never felt like following all the rules girls are supposed to follow.  I never wear make-up.  I don't shave my legs or my armpits, and certainly not my private area.  I don't care how I dress, and I don't know how to cook, and I don't take showers unless I feel like it, and I don't worry what other people think.  And I really only care about two things... school, and me.  Okay?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Fine, but here's the rest.  I get horny, but all I've ever done is... play with myself.  I never wanted to have sex because I can't stand the idea of a guy being on me, or in control of me.  Now that I've read all this, though," and she swept her arm to indicate the papers and computer, "I know that what I want, but didn't know I want, is for me to be in total control.  I realized tonight that what turns me on is to have a guy be my total slave.  And I mean total... one slip and I think I'd lose interest in you.   And, by 'slave', I don't mean 'sex slave'.  I mean, totally, true, all-the-time, everything slave.  And..." she paused for a moment to lift my chin up with one hand, "look at me, slave," she said and I looked again into her deep beautiful eyes, "and I am very, very obsessive and controlling, and I get weird and angry and emotional and irrational, and... extreme.  When I'm into something.  You understand?"

"Yes, Princess, I do," said I, "and I like it."

"Then you think you want to be my slave?  I mean, total?  Do whatever I say?"

"Yes, Princess."

"I just want to reiterate that I don't mean just my 'sex-slave'.  I mean total slave, around the clock, 24/7.  Starting now."

"Yes, Princess."

"I want you to prove it first then.  I'm going to bed now, but you're going to do all my laundry.  You're going to wash it, dry it, and then fold it all.   And stack it neatly on that sideboard."  She pointed to the massive pile of dirty washables that were burying the two wicker laundry baskets and the sideboard they sat upon.  "When you're done, I want you to knock on my bedrom door.  But then kneel on the floor facing away from my bedroom.  I don't want you to see it yet, and I never let anyone in my bedroom."

"Yes, Princess," I replied.  I was actually excited about the task of doing her laundry as she slept, of course.  Beside the slavery aspect, I looked forward to having a chance to smell all those dirty panties and socks piled in the overstuffed purple plastic clothes hamper standing next to the sideboard.

"Fine, slave.  I'm going to bed.  Wake me up like I said when all the laundry is nicely sorted and piled for me."

"Yes, Princess."

"Get your eyes back on my feet, then, and follow the rules.  There will be more.  I'm tired.  Help yourself to coffee if you want.  But before I go, I want you to kneel on the floor there..." she pointed to the dirty patch of linoleum at her feet, "and kiss the bottoms of my slippers."

I knelt and stared at her feet, ankles crossed over eachother on the floor below my face.

She lifted her right leg and crossed them so that the right bootie dangled in front of my nose, inches away, so that I could feel the warmth of her tiny foot radiating from within.  The scent of the bootie was very strong, very intoxicating rich girlfoot aroma.  I moved to kiss it, my lips pursed and eyes closed, when she jerked her foot away.

"Rule for kissing my feet, slave, is this:  Always the lowest foot first, and only with your lips.  No tongue, no nose.  And hold your breath while you do it, because watching you smell my foot freaks me out.  Maybe that will change.  And also, 'kiss my feet' means 'one kiss each' unless I say different.  Go ahead and kiss them."

My heart fell a bit as I realized I wasn't going to be able to catch an intoxicating whiff of her socks as I kissed, but there was still all that laundry to have fun with.  I knelt way down low, my left cheek almost touching the floor as I laid one peck on the top of her left bootied foot.  I then rose a bit and laid a single kiss on the sole of her upper right foot's cotton-clad sole.

She stood up as I remained kneeling.  "Last thing, slave, just one more time I want to ask you if you understand three things... say 'Yes, I understand, Princess' to each as I remind you... One, I'm a little crazy."

"Yes, I understand, Princess."

"Two, if you're my slave it means total slave.  It means all the time, and it doesn't mean 'sex-slave'.  I've never had sex and I guess I won't until I know my partner is totally under my control as my total slave.  Understand?"

"Yes, I understand, Princess."

"And third, I get obsessive when I get into things, and I think that this is what I've been missing in life, so I'll probably get obsessive with having a slave, and you'll have to deal with that.  It means that there may be no stopping once we start, if you understand what I mean... do you?"

"Yes, I understand, Princess."

"Then do my laundry while I get some rest.  Oh, and I don't want you to be smelling my stuff.  Just do the wash but don't you dare put my stuff up to your nose.  Have fun."

She whirled and walked away, her long tee shirt waving in the breeze behind her to reveal a flash of her sleeping shorts and her perfect thin thighs.  Her scent remained after she had left, and I drank it in.  I heard the quick whir of the combination lock on her bedroom door as she unlocked it.  I heard the lock being snapped into place on the inside of the door once she was inside, and then I heard her body flop onto her bed.  It was so quiet in the apartment that I could hear her deep breaths as I looked at the pile of laundry and decided how to begin.

I pushed all of the dirty clothes and linens off onto the floor and emptied the wicker laundry baskets on top of this pile.  I thoroughly enjoyed the sharp Jackie scent that filled the air as her thoroughly-overworn soiled laundry fell through the air.  This was an involuntary smelling, I assured myself, as I took deep, erection-sustaining whiffs.  This was the beginning of the most extreme experience of my young, eighteen-year-old life.

I began to sort delicates from regular stuff, and then darks from lights.  I started the first load.  I figured there were about six in total.  I poured a cup of coffee as I fired up her washer-dryer combo with this initial pile. 

Ten minutes later, as the washer changed cycles and became quiet for a moment while I sat in one of the cheapy old kitchen chairs sipping coffee, I heard a distinct noise from Jackie's locked bedroom.  It was a rhythmic squeaking of bedsprings.  I also heard her low, intermittent chirps as she masturbated.  She was going fast, and fairly hard at it.  I smiled as I listened to her climax just before the washer kicked into gear and drowned out her delicious noises from the other room.

When the load finished, she was still going at it.  Fast squeaks jackhammered away as I transferred the wet clothes to the dryer and started a second wash load.

Every time the washer stopped I heard Jackie beating off in her bedroom.  Through all six loads of wash, she never stopped.  When all her clothes were washed and dried, hours later, and I had folded and stacked them neatly on the sideboard, I saw that it was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning.  My first class had already come and gone, but she'd said we weren't going to classes this day.  Oh well, I thought to myself, I'll just get the notes from people.

As I finished up and took a final survey of my hard work, the squeaking was still going on inside her room.  I knocked on the door and knelt facing away from it.  The tiles of the hallway floor were old and cracked, and unswept.  Bits of trash lined the base of the walls here and there.  On the floor before me was a used tampon wrapped in toilet paper; it had obviously been there for a while.  This girl really didn't care about the rules, I smilingly realized.

The moment I knocked on her door, the squeaking stopped.  Then there was a single noise from the boxspring as she hopped off her bed and I heard the lock being dialed open inside.  She opened the door and stepped behind me.  She locked it again from the outside and pulled it firmly shut, then just stood there looking down at me.

"Did you hear any noises from my room, slave?" she finally asked in sort of a tremulous voice.

"Yes, I heard something, Princess."

"I was masturbating. I couldn't stop.  I was thinking about what I want to do with you now that I have a slave.  I can't believe I never thought about it before.  I'm so totally into it."

I nodded as she paused.

"I like to masturbate, slave.  Do you?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied honestly and sheepishly, squelching a grin.

"I think there's nothing wrong with it.  I think people should be able to masturbate whenever they feel like it, and nobody should even look twice."

I nodded again.

"I got in trouble when I was little, slave.  Wanna know why?"

"Yes, princess, if you want to tell me."

"I do, and we're going to tell eachother everything, by the way.  Total honesty.  Right, slave?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Okay, well, I got in trouble when I was five.  I was in kindergarten and we were all sitting in a circle on the floor while the teacher was reading a book to us.  And I felt like playing with myself, so I just unzipped my pants and started doing it.  Well, anyway, that's how I found out that you can't just do that.  And I got spanked when I got home.  And that was the last time I ever let anyone see my vagina.  Except my doctor.  And my mother.  No guy has ever seen it.  And nobody ever touches me.  And now I know why.  Because I'm weird.  I only want to be touched by someone I own completely.  A slave, I now understand.  You'll have to understand that and be patient and earn it, right slave?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied with my heart hammering.

"Good. Let's see the laundry.  See it you did it right.  Follow me... but, you know what?  Crawl."

I crawled behind her.  She pointed to a spot on the kitchen floor and told me to kneel there.

She examined the laundry quickly and decided it was fine. 

"Now I want to see websites again.  You're going to get started on cleaning my apartment like a good slave while I get busy checking out all the slave and femdom sites you like so much.  What a world I've been missing!"

I nodded, realizing that she really meant it about me being her slave, and not her sex-slave.  But she'd dropped enough hints for me about earning her trust that I was totally committed to her that I was ready to do whatever she wanted unless this got really boring.

"I want to look at fetish sites.  What's your biggest fetish, slave?"

"Um... definitely feet, Princess."

"Yeah... weird... I don't know about that one... kinda weird... I might let you kiss my feet after you've proven yourself, but I don't know if I'd like that.  But anyway, after feet fetishes, what's your next biggest fetish?"

"I guess... bondage and discipline."

"Is that what they call 'B&D' on the web?"

"Yeah, Princess."

She wrote it down.  "What's next after that in your fantasies?"

I thought for a moment.  Definitely, I knew, being peed on or in was next, but I was still a bit bashful.  I said something safer: "Something called 'ball-busting', Princess, but I've only looked at it and thought about it.  Never done it."

She wrote it down.  She shifted in her chair so that her feet, still in those same booties, were right in front of my face.  "Kiss my feet."

I bent a bit and gently kissed her lower foot one time on top, and then her upper foot once on the bottom.  She giggled.  "Cool," she said.  "Now, crawl over to the hall and bring me back one of my boots with your teeth."

I crawled to the duckboots and bit the edge of one.  I carried it back to her.  I knelt and dropped it at her feet.  "Put it on my foot, slave, then get the other one and do that.  Then, clean the bathroom top to bottom.  You'll find all the cleaning stuff under the sink in there.  Make sure you clean the whole room, and get those cobwebs off the ceiling.  And wash the window.  And don't forget to get behind the toilet."

I tied her shoes as she typed and surfed through sites, making notes.  I stood up and took a step toward the bathroom to begin the next task, but she stopped me: "Whenever I am sitting, you crawl.  I don't like having my slave stand when I'm sitting.  Understand?"

"Yes, Princess, understood."  I crawled to the bathroom and got started by pulling all of the cleaning supplies from under the sink in there.  There was a bag of rags, assorted sprays, a bucket and a scrubbing brush.

I started from the top, the ceiling, then scrubbed the walls.  She interrupted me from time to time with questions.  The first time, as I was wiping down the base of the wall behind the dusty radiator, she appeared in the doorway holding a sheet of printed paper in one hand while her other hand absent-mindedly massaged her crotch through her shorts.  I saw that the light-gray material was spotted with the moisture of her pussy, and that the cotton itself was wrinkled from her damp fingers rubbing away as she'd surfed.  She excitedly asked me, "This site has a story about a woman punishing her slave for playing with himself without her permission!  I like this!  New rule:  you can't play with yourself unless you ask me first.  Understand?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied as I worked on a spot of grime near the bottom of the baseboard before me.

"That means if you're alone and you want to masturbate, you need to call me and ask.  And if I say you can't, you can't."

"Yes, Princess."

She read a little bit of the story, silently, before saying this:  "As a matter of fact, the mistress in this story puts a thing on her slave called a 'chastity belt' to stop him from playing with himself.  I want to get one today."

"Okay, Princess," I replied.

"Soon as the bathroom's done, we'll go.  Do you know where to get one?"

I knew of only one place.  There was a sex shop in town, right off the highway, a few miles from our college campus.  I'd driven there a few times.  I had a few DVDs from there... feet, femdom, the usual.  "Yes, there's a little shop by the interstate.  It's kind of seedy."

"I don't care.  We're going there after the bathroom's done, and I'm going to own your penis priveleges."  She giggled.  She read a bit more as I scrubbed away and then burst out with this:  "As a matter of fact, I want an even stronger rule.  I don't want you to even get a hard penis when you're not with me.  And when you are I want you to ask if it's okay.  Any time you get an erection when you aren't with me, you need to call me and tell me.  Understand?"

I stammered back, "But I'm an eighteen-year-old guy!  We get hard all the time... all day long!"

She looked at me for a moment and I could feel her consternation as she thought about this.  I was looking at her feet, of course, but could tell that she was in ponderment.

"I don't care, slave," she finally stated in a slow, measured low tone, "that just means you'll be calling me a lot.  Got it?  Do not get hard without me knowing."

I slumped for a moment.  I felt her eyes on me.  I knew that I could deal with being in a chastity belt around her, but I also knew that I got hard about ten times a day, and that I wouldn't be able to wear a chastity belt in the dorm because my roommate would see it, and our dorm showers weren't private... it was a big room with showerheads ringing the walls.

"What's the matter, slave?  Be honest."

"Well, I get hard just from seeing a pretty girl for one second walking around.  Or if a girl in class dangles her flip-flop.  Or in the middle of the night.  And I can't wear a chastity belt in the dorm because we don't have private showers."

I thought she would have to think about this before responding, but she immediately got angry and in a raised voice said "I don't give a fuck!  If you get hard, you call me.  When you're in public, don't look at girls!  I don't want my slave looking at other females anyway!  And as far as the belt goes, I don't fucking care!  Either you don't let anyone see it and only take showers here, or you let them see it and tell them your Princess or girlfriend or whatever makes you wear it!  Got that?"

I didn't reply.  She kicked me in the ribs, hard, with the flat of her left foot and I tumbled onto my side, shocked.  I drew a breath and hitched up, feeling a deep bruise where she'd made contact and having lost my wind.  I gasped and clutched my side as she moved in and used her heel like a jackhammer, kicking straight down goose-step style on the middle of my back right on the spine.  Her heelbone met the point of my vertebra solidly and I cried out "Owwww!"  Another sharp pain set in there to match my ribs.  I fell flat to the floor, but as I started to get up, she stomped down on my neck and put her weight down, pinning me cheek-to-floor with my ass in the air.

"slave," she began in an evil and threatening voice, "I haven't talked much about this, but if you don't do what I say, I will punish you.  I will make sure that it really is a punishment, too, and not just something you'll whack off to later.  It's too late to back out, slave.  I want your penis under my control, and you're going to do what I want you to do.  Do you think I care if you're a little embarassed in your dorm?  I don't!  Do I care if your buddies ask you why you're so pussy-whipped that you wear a chastity belt for your girlfriend?  No! Not!  Now roll over on your back!"

She lifted her foot off my neck and I rolled over.  She put the foot now on the front of my neck and bore down on my adam's apple a bit as she softened her tone and continued: "slave, I already told you, anything, everything, you're my slave, and I told you that like four times and you agreed four times.  Right?"

"Yes, princess."

"Then now you know what I meant.  And believe me, you are going to do it.  Too late to back out.  I want to own you.  I get wet just thinking about having a slave.  I don't want to have to go find another one now that I found you.  Understood?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied, but I was already thinking about cheating a bit on her rules when not around her... this was just a fun game.

"Good."  She lifted up her foot and told me to kneel before her again.

"Get down close to my feet, honey" she now said in a cutesy little-girl voice.  "Put your face right down there and smell my feet like you want to.   Like I know you want to."

I loved this changing of gears, and I very enthusiastically began to take deep whiffs of her socked feet.  God I loved that rich small of well-worn socks on unwashed pretty girls' feet.   I took deep breath after deep breath as she went on speaking in the cutesy voice:  "You like this so much that I know you'll be my slave.  Because I read about how to reward a slave... and I know you love my feet.  Sometime I might let you even kiss them.  I might even let you worship me... maybe.  But you have to prove yourself.  And one more thing... stop smelling and look at me."

I looked up at her and saw the ultra-serious but somewhat overly-intense wide-eyed look on her face.  I saw a hint of her slightly-crazy depth in that look, for the first time.  As I looked into her eyes, she slowly intoned "There is no way back, slave... and if you break any rules I give you and I find out, I... will... punish... you."

She kept on staring into my eyes until the mood became a bit uncomfortable.

But she shifted gears wildly again and chirpily smiled and said "But for now, finish the bathroom and then let's go get your chastity belt!"

She wheeled away and left me to work with bruised ribs and a hot spot in the iddle of my back from her two hard kicks.  Her long, thin legs certainly had some power.

About a half-hour later, as I was scrubbing the layers of grime off the inside of the clawfoot tub, she interrupted again.  She stood in the doorway and read from another printed sheet she'd made, and then asked me in that excited voice again "Have you ever thought about really extreme slave stuff?"

I stopped scrubbing for a moment and haltingly replied with the truth.  "Uh... yes I have, here and there, Princess."

"Well, I'm reading a story now about a mistress who keeps her slave in a cage.  Cool..."

And that was all.  She went back to her computer and I went back to cleaning her filthy bathroom.  Occasionally, as two hours passed and I moved toward finishing up by scrubbing the toilet, I heard her printer fire off a few pages or a random giggle or chortle from the kitchen.

As I was squeezing a rag out into the bucket, she called to me from the kitchen "You haven't had any erections, right slave?"

"No, Princess," I lied.  I made a slight private grimace as I did this.

"Really?" I suddenly heard from right behind me.  She'd come into the bathroom.  "Roll over, and lay on your back," she ordered.  I did.  She put her right foot onto the denim covering my hard penis.  I was obviously erect.

She frowned.  "Obviously, slave," she started as she ground her socked heel painfully into my boner, "I have to break you of your lies, and I have to break you in general.  Honesty, or punishment, slave."

She now lifted her foot and stomped down hard onto my balls.  I erupted in pain and sat up in shock as the fireball formed in my belly.  She kicked me right in the face to set me on my back again.  I moaned loudly and she told me to shut up.  I grasped my balls through my jeans and felt them swelling a bit.  I fought off a slight wave of nausea as my whole torso felt the fire of a sudden kick to the testicles.

"Just like I read in that 'Aunt Paula' story, your balls really are vulnerable... wow.  Don't lie to me unless you want more, slave.  If you get erect, you get my permission."

"Yes, Princess," I groaned.

"Finish fast, I want to get that belt on you."  She left the room.

Not too long after, I finished.  The bathroom was as clean as it would ever get as a result of my three hours labor.  "Finished, Princess," I called out.

She walked in to inspect.  "Good enough," she said after a few minutes of looking around and pointing out random spots for me to clean.  "Let's go get that chastity device."

We walked to my car.  When we got there, she held out her hand, palm up, and said "I drive.  Slaves don't drive."

I gave her the keys and directed her to the sex shop from the passenger seat.  When we pulled into the parking lot, it was jammed.  There were about twenty spaces next to the converted house-trailer of a store to park, and we got the last one.   It was about five in the afternoon, chilly and windy, and nice cars stood next to old beaters in the popular shop's lot.

We went inside and passed the owner, a late-forties woman who was fat, unattractive, and friendly, and scooted past the furtive customers guiltily leafing through the merchandise.  Jackie and the owner, who was a lesbian who split the business with her partner, were the only women in the place.  Some guys turned to look at Jackie only to turn away in disappointment when they saw me right next to her.

She spotted the display of S&M gear in one corner and led me straight to it.  There was a table display and a lot of stuff hanging from wall hooks.  She found the selection of chastity devices.  With zero discretion or degree of privacy, she exclaimed over the various pacages as other customers stole glances.  I knew that some were jealous glances and others disdainful.

She picked out the belt she wanted to put on me.  It was an expensive chrome-steel, leather and acrylic device that strapped a clear cup over the slave's cock and left only a tiny hole to pee through.  It locked via a key the slave's owner could hold.  It was high-quality; tough and true, not a toy.  To take it off without the key would require a heavy pair of shears and would render it obviously broken post-escape.

Jackie wasn't done.  She also picked out a set of wrist and ankle cuffs along with a heavy wooden paddle and a four-foot flogger made of leather strips.  "I like whips, I think," she said as she fingered the selected whip lovingly.  Her pretty face glowed under the knit skullcap that tamped down her tangled blond hair.

I paid for it all with my spending-money credit card and pondered how I would explain the charges to my mother when she went to pay the bill.   Hopefully, like most times, she'd just pay it without looking at it, but this was over four-hundred dollars.  I'd just say it was for textbooks.

After we'd gotten back into the car and were a mile into the return trip, Jackie spoke up.  We'd been in silence, both of us in deep thought, up to that point.  I was in excited but worried trepidation over the speed in which this was progressing; she was smiling and mumbling here and there as she drove too fast toward her apartment.

"I want to stop somewhere else," she said, and took a sharp right onto one of the town's broader streets.  She pulled into a Pet Palace and parked.  "Come on," she urged as she hopped out of the car.  Her heavy wool skirt swished as she strode quickly through the automatic doors.

She went straight to the section for dogs and picked out a chrome-steel dog cage.  It was one of the heavy four-by-four ones, about three feet tall, with a padded mesh floor and steel bars a quarter-inch thick set about an inch apart forming the ceiling and sides.  The door was set with heavy hinges and had a flange for a padlock.  She also had me buy a thick collar and a choke-chain style leash.

I stood in the aisle as she pointed out the cage to the sales clerk.  He had a warehouse guy send it up to a front register.  As we walked toward the front of the store, I whispered into Jackie's ear, "I don't know if I can put this on my credit card... my mom might ask me what it is..."

Jackie turned to me and said "Oh really?  So, you won't find a way?  You'll just tell me I can't have it?"  She was staring at me with her hands on her hips as I stared at the floor by her feet, which were obscured by the long woolen skirt.

"No, Princess," I whispered.  "Let's get the stuff."

I decided I'd just figure out a story if my mother asked me what the charges were for.   I'd tell her I'd helped somebody who'd bought a dog, and that I was going to get reimbursed.  Yeah, that should do it.

The cage came unassembled in a flat box, and the clerk helped me tie it to the roof of my car.  Princess sat in the driver's seat and waited.

When we got back to her house, she had me drag the heavy box up the three flights of stairs.  She made some waffles.  The big brown box sat propped against the wall of the living room as we ate, and while we ate we talked about my slavery to her.  Banter.

"You'll have to be ready for me, I have a crazy imagination," she said between bites.

"I'm ready, Princess," I confidently told her as I took a sweet bite of my own.  The waffles were the frozen variety; she'd cooked them in a little counter oven.  The syrup was store-brand fake maple.

"After we eat, I think I need to start breaking you in," she replied.  "Are you ready?"

I spread my arms dramatically.   "I'm yours!" I declared.

"Good.  I want you to take off your pants."

I stood up and took off my pants as she chewed another dripping bite of the waffles.

"Now take off your underwear and go stand in the corner of the living room next to the TV.  Make sure your nose is in there."

I dropped my jockeys.  She looked at my penis for a second and said "Okay, now I've seen it.  I never saw a penis before, you know, except in pictures.  Go wait for me in the corner.  Hands on head.  Remember, if you get hard..."

"Tell you, Princess," I finished for her.  I walked down the hall to the TV room and got myself into the corner to the right of the TV with my nose pressed into the corner against the glossy yellowed white paint.  The room was dimly lit by a nightlight plug-in on the wall behind me, and I could hear cars passing on the road three flights below through the window to my left on the other side of the television.

A while later, she walked up behind me and pressed her fragrant body against my back.  She was nude.  I could feel her soft skin and large breasts pressing into me.  She clasped my hands with hers and cuffed me sexily with the new shackles.  She whispered into my ear "I'm going to whip you now" as she used one leg to cut me at the knees gently and send me to all fours.

She cuffed my ankles as I knelt on hands and knees facing the corner.  She put the choke chain around my neck.  She pulled it tight and leaned back, using her weight to cinch the chromed steel links against my neck, squeezing until I gasped and rolled onto my side, unconscious instantly.  The last thing I heard before the black spots invading my vision merged together and I passed out was her tinkling giggle.

I awoke to the feeling of warm liquid splashing onto my face and the sound of Jackie's laughter.  My first conscious breath was filled with the rich scent of her body and the hot smell of her piss as it coated my face and soaked my hair.  Underneath my head I felt ome sort of a towel or pad, and my eyes were blindfolded with soft cloth knotted in a loop around my skull.  The blindfold was soaked with her urine and stung my eyes a bit.

My hands were cuffed together and rested on my stomach.  I had been stripped naked.  My ankles were cuffed together as well, and she'd used some sort of rope or twine to bind my knees and to tie the chain between my ankles to something heavy as an anchor; probably a leg of the sofa.  She was giggling constantly as she finished pissing on my face.

"I guess you woke up, slave?" she said with mirth in her voice, "I'm glad, because I want you to be awake for my first-ever whipping.  I'm so wet just thinking about it, but you can't see.  I don't want you to see my body nude right now... nobody ever has, and you haven't earned it yet."

She stepped away from me and ordered me to turn over onto my front.  With some struggling I did so, as the bonds were tight and the ankle chain was tied closely to its anchor.  In a minute or two, I was lying on the towel she'd spread on the floor, face down, her cooling piss slathered and drying all over my body.  The odor was strong.

She had me lift my pelvis so that she could shove several pillows under it.  At that moment, she locked the chastity belt onto me, and it would stay on me, other than for the periodic supervised removals she conducted over me, for the next eight months.  I felt the cool acrylic cup press down onto my semi-hard penis, and then the tightening of the belt and cup as she pulled the device's straps tight.  The padlock was snapped into place.  She jingled the key on its chain next to my ear and whispered "I control your penis, now, slave... the key's going into a hiding place."

Next, she pulled my pee-soaked hair up so that my head lifted and under my face she placed one of her duck boots.  She dropped my head back down and my nose and mouth were buried inside the fragrant old footwear; her intoxicating footstink filled my senses as I took deep, deep breaths.  My cock hardened inside the unbreakable plastic cup of the newly-installed belt.  It swelled until it painfully surged against the relentless restraint.

She added another pillow under my pelvis to raise my naked ass higher.  My wrists, cuffed under my stomach, were pressed between flesh and toweled floor and my face was levered even harder into her boot so that my nose was touching the lining of the inner sole.  Every breath was now air that passed through the boot's vent holes and across the sweat-soaked lining.

"I've never whipped anyone before, slave," she told me as I heard the rustling sound of the whip being lifted off the coffee table.  "So I have no idea really how it feels.  But I can't wait to beat you.  I really, really love this whole thing.  Do you want me to whip you?"

"Yes, Princess," I said, my heart thumping, every molecule of my body energized as I lay there bound up and soaked in urine with my face buried in her old shoe.  My reply was muffled.

"Good.  I'll be back in a while.  Right now I want to just let you stay like that while I think about how you're all tied up and I'm gonna masturbate."

She padded away down the hall and unlocked her bedroom.  She left the door open, though, with me all tied up, and she flopped onto her bed.  "I'm nude, slave, think of that..." she called to me as her bed began to squeak.

A long, long time passed.  Hours.  The squeaking of her bedsprings never stopped, or even slowed, as she masturbated herself furiously.  She came silently, or didn't come, as I heard no orgasmic sounds, just the occasional grunt or short moan as she went on and on.  My body, tied tightly, began to stiffen.  The boot encasing my face became damp and hot with my breath, enriching its incredibly strong scent of her tiny feet.  My cock stayed hard the entire time, pressing throbbingly against its plastic prison.

The bonds started to become uncomfortable as time passed.  I squirmed a bit, but tight bonds had always been a fantasy of mine and this actual experience was amazingly erotic.  When would she ever come back?  I pined for her.

Suddenly, the squeaking of the bed ceased and I heard her approaching footsteps.  The boot was jerked away from my face.  Cool air met the dampness of my cheeks as she spoke to me:  "I feel like whipping you now.  I couldn't make myself come.  So I'm gonna do my first-ever whipping of a slave while I make myself come."

She lifted the whip.  "You need to be quiet, slave, cuz I don't want people to hear this.  There's nobody living in the downstairs, but there are neighbors next door on both sides."

She tested the whip against the worn naugahyde of the sofa.  A few hard lashes.  My penis twitched and throbbed with each splatting lash of leather on faux leather.

"Here comes my first-ever lash," Princess gurgled, and then the whip came down.  The four foot leather strips, nine thin black strands, bit into my buttocks.  Hard.

She gleefully let out a laugh and whipped again, even harder.  "I'm whipping my slave!" she exclaimed as she delivered blow after blow, lash after lash, extremely hard, very rapidly, across my ass and thighs and back.  "I want to make you bleed!" she cried as she grunted sweetly with the next twenty exertions.  The pain was incredibly intense as lashes fell across welts, and as my skin began to develop cuts and abrasions.  "Blood!" she yelled after another hard lash to my ass, and then the really poured it on as I began to buck and twist uselessly in the shackles and ropes.  I began to moan and had to grit my teeth to avoid crying out.  She kept on beating me.

"I love this!  Do you love it, slave?" she asked me as she paused for breath.

"Yes... Princess..." I grunted.  I was absolutely on fire and I could feel tiny rivulets of blood seeping down my sides.

"You're bleeding a little, slave... I really love it.  I love you," she cooed.

She whipped my ass one hard stroke, and repeated "I love you."

She tossed the whip onto the couch and knelt beside me.  With a fingernail, she traced some of the bloody welts on my ass and I heard her suck my blood off the fingertip.  "I love you, slave," she said again.  "I love you."

I lay there in a silent frenzy, emotions whirling, sexually excited but mentally wary.  This had been my first whipping, and reality turned out to be far more painful than my many masturbatory fantasies had been.  But now that she'd stopped, the feeling of lying there bound and beaten and bleeding was exquisite.  I relished the sensation of my drying wounds and the thin streams of blood that criss-crossed the sides of my bruised ribcage.

"I love you, too, Princess," I gasped.

"I so love you," she answered.  "I could eat you up."

"I love you, Princess, hurt me, beat me, torture me..." I simply wailed to her.

"I will, my love, I will, I will."

She sat down and laid her bare legs across my buttocks, mashing the backs of her knees into my bloody flesh.  The sting of her sweating skin against my abraded ass was thrilling.

She stood up and repositioned herself so that her raw, swollen dripping pussy, fragrant and scorching, was against my face.  She used her legs to push into me, hard, as she said "Lick my juices.  Eat my pussy.  I've never been eaten.  Lick my clit."

I began to suck on her swollen lips blindly, tasting the pungent juices, absorbing the rich aroma, feeling her wetness increase until she was bucking against my face painfully until she came.  A rush of juices squirted from her cunt as she orgasmed, then orgasmed again.  She bent my nose hard from side to side as she mashed her pelvis against me and I felt the cartilage flexing painfully and a bloody nose burst.  I felt the flow of blood dripping out of my left nostril onto the floor as she kept on attacking and I kept right on eating her, sucking her hard clit, drinking her strong juices, swallowing them as they mixed with my blood.

When she finally exhausted herself, she stood over me breathlessly for a moment and then let herself collapse onto me.  She hooked her ankles around my cuffed ones, and she hugged me from behind with her full weight pressing against my beaten posterior.  Her face pressed against mine, and she whispered in my ear as we both cooled down... "I love you, slave, you're mine forever... I'll never let you go, ever... I want more... I want to get so deep and so dark until it's evil... I so want to own you and torture you and just grind you down and then love you, love you, love you... to death..."

As I absorbed the deliciousness of her sweating naked body pressing into the welts she'd cut into me I whispered back "I love you too, Princess Jackie... I'll follow you wherever you lead... I want to be your thing, your beating boy, your total slave forever..."

We fell asleep that way.

==> Chapter Three

The buzzing of the alarm clock in her bedroom awoke us.  She jerked awake and got up off of me, our skin separating with slurping sounds as the dried juices and blood and sweat surrendered.  My welts screamed painfully and then subsided as her weight lifted free, and some of the deeper cuts began to well up with fresh blood a bit.  She ran down the hall and slaped the alarm off, then ran back to where I lay bound and naked.

"Oh my god!" she yelled, "I have a fucking nine o'clock class and it's eight o'clock!  I don't have time to untie you now... when's your first class?"

"I have a nine also, princess," I mumbled, sleepily realizing that I was still blindfolded.

"Well, I have to get dressed and go all the way to Mumsford Hall for my Psych class... so you're going to have to skip.  When's your second class?"

I told her that I had Biology at ten and then my French Lit class at one-fifty, and that was all for the day.

"I'll be back to let you up for French.  But I'll do you a little favor," she said sweetly, "to help pass the time."

She stood over my head and I smelled her bare little feet as they brushed against my ears.  "I'm gonna piss on you again, mark you, my love," she sang softly as her urine flowed.   "I'm marking you as my slave."

"I have to pee, too, Princess," I meekly offered as her piss soaked my hair again and pooled against my cheeks, soaking the piss-reeking towel under my face.

"Then piss, and later you'll clean it up," she replied matter-of factly.  "But... while I'm in class I want to have something great to think of with you lying here all tied up... I want you to suffer...  I got it."

She hopped up and away and I heard the refrigerator door open and close.  She was back in a flash and sat on my bare ass.  Her cunt was still wet and hot, and I could actually feel the hardness of her little clit against my super-sensitive flesh.  Suddenly, a firey pain mixed with a chilly sensation of liquid spattered across my back.

"Tabasco!" she shouted, shaking the contents of the bottle onto my wounds.  "Ouch!" she laughed.

She stood up and shook out the rest of the bottle onto my ass, where the pepper liquid burned and seared into the many thin stripes of her whip-welts there.  The agony was intense.  She then used her bare foot to smear and mash the sauce into my skin as I moaned and yelped, biting down, trying not to scream.  I bucked and twisted and groaned as the fire really set in, and the pain peaked and held at a bearable level.  Utter heat, hot lashmarks stinging and burning.

I heard her getting dressed, and then her bedroom door being shut and locked.  The tromp of her boots approached me again, and she stood over me as she buttoned up either her top or sweater; I couldn't see.  My bare backside continued to protest the pepper sauce in my wounds as my penis continued to celebrate it.  "I'll be back at lunchtime, and then we'll have a bite before you go to class.  But I can't leave you like that... I need a little insurance against noise while I'm gone.  Yesterday's panties," she advised me as she pushed a frilly mass of fragrant cotton into my mouth, deeply.  "Of course, they were the day before's panties, too... I don't change them every single day."

She tied them into my mouth tightly with more of the thin rope before leaving.  "I love you," she called out as she went out the door, slamming it and turning the lock behind her.

"I love you too," I grunted through the gag.  I tasted her dried juices melting against my tongue, and I sucked on her soiled underwear for the next three hours until her return.

When she got home, she silently untied my bonds, sighing a bit as she fretted over the knots.  She'd never tied someone up before and was finding that untying is a lot more difficult than tying.  I could sense her anger building as she got more violent, jerking the ropes, and then finally storming off to the kitchen to return with a knife.  With dangerous swipes, she cut all of the ropes off of me and then unlocked the shackles.  "Go pee," she said as she removed the blindfold.

I ran to the bathroom as she followed.  I instinctively grabbed the doorknob to close it, but she stuck out her booted foot to stop me.  I saw that she was wearing the same outfit, again, and enjoyed the rush of scent she exuded.  "No closed doors, slave.  When you're with me, you never ever close a door between us.  No privacy for you.  Understood?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Go to the bathroom."

I peed as she watched.  I really needed a shower as well, what with the bloody smears on my face and backside and the dried urine crusting my hair.  I could smell myself and her piss.

"I need a shower before class, Princess," I appealed.

She glared at me as I stared at her booted feet meekly.  "No, you can wash the blood off your face and hands, but I want you to stay marked with my urine for now."

I dressed as she watched, her arms still crossed in front of her, and her attitude seeming to be a bit bothered or angered.

"Let's go have lunch, slave."

"Where, Princess?"

"We're going to fast food.  Something on the strip.  And then you're dropping me back off here while you go to class."

"Yes, Princess."

She drove my car and picked McDonald's on a sudden whim.  She went through the drive-thru and asked me what I wanted.  I got a Big Mac combo and she got the chicken sandwich deal.  She drove to a little park a block from campus and parked in a side lot where there were no other cars.  A guy and his son were flying a kite in the field about a hundred yards away, but otherwise the place was deserted at this time on a weekday.  "Come around to my side of the car," she ordered as she parked.

I opened the door and got out.  As I started to walk around the car she barked "Hey! Slave!  I'm sitting!  Why are you walking?"

I dropped to my knees and crawled around the car until I reached her open door.  I glanced over at the kite-flyers, but they were too far away to really notice.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing to the asphalt next to her open door.  She swung around on her seat and dangled her boots out.  She opened the McDonalds bag and took out the Big Mac.  She opened the cardboard box and dumped the sandwich onto the asphalt in front of me, and followed it with the fries.  Using both boots, she stomped the pile of food and ground it with hard twists of her soles until nothing was left but a mashed-up pile of potato, bread, meat and sauce under her boots.  I knew what was coming; the delicious humiliation I was about to be subjected to.  My cock swelled inside the belt.

"Eat, slave," she flatly intoned, pointing at the mashed pile on the ground.  "And then clean my boots."

I began to lick up my lunch from the ground under her feet.  She silently watched me as she chewed her own lunch.  I had to swallow grit and pebbles, but I loved every second of the intense humiliation.  It was so deliciously degrading, and she was so matter-of-fact about it.  She played with herself with a hand down her skirt as she watched me.  When the asphalt was relatively clean, she pointed to the sole of her left boot and I licked and sucked the mashed meal off of that, and then the right boot.

"We still have half an hour before your class, and I feel like beating you, slave," she told me as I knelt before her.  "Go bend over the back of the car and drop your pants and underwear."

I immediately complied.  The slight burn of the tabasco was still there, but the welts had started to subside.  I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans.  With hooked thumbs, I lowered my pants to my knees and exposed my striped and reddened ass.  I bent over the car trunk and put my hands behind my neck.

"You have a really good ass, you know," she sweetly told me as she pulled my belt free from my pants.

"We have fifteen minutes before we need to go," she said as she looped my belt over and tapped it against my buttocks lightly a few times.  "Fifteen minute beating is what you'll get.  Let's see... fifteen minutes is nine hundred seconds, so if I do one every five seconds, I can beat your ass almost two hundred times.  I'm going for two hundred.  Better stay quiet so the kite guy doesn't see us."

When she finished, I was literally crying, tears flowing hard and dripping onto the paint of my car's rear deck and darkening the slightly faded paint.  I sobbed through the last forty lashes as she re-opened all the welts.  She showed me the belt when she finished the two-hundredth lash so that I could see the smeared blood there while she giggled.  My ass was so swollen that my underwear felt tight when I pulled it up gingerly over my insulted flesh.  It immediately adhered to the sticky surface of my striped and seeping crimson gluteus.

"Get in the car, slave," she giggled as she handed me the belt, "after you put your belt back on."

As we drove back to her house, she told me "I want to keep your body marked all the time, slave.  I really, really love this whipping thing.  Tell me I can whip you whenever I feel like it."

"Please, Princess, whip me whenever you feel like it."

"I so love you, Jamie, slave, I love you love you love you.  Say you love me."

"I love you, princess."

"Do you love being my slave?  Would you do anything I said?"

"Yes, Princess."

"What if I wanted to go farther?  Do you want to sink really deep into the pit?  I do.  Because I love you, Jamie, slave."

"I do, Princess."

"Then after your class, come straight to my house.  I'm going home to masturbate and think of how I'm going to abuse you more later today, my love."

"Yes, Princess."

"Slave, on your way back from class, I want you to stop at the hardware store or WalMart and get some of those screw-in steel hooks, the big ones, like plant-holder hooks, so I can put them into the floor and tie you down to it.  Get like ten of them."

"Yes, Princess."

"And while you're there, I want you to buy something you want me to beat you with tonight.  Surprise me with something that's not meant to be a whip that I can use on you like a whip."

"Okay, Princess."

"Are you hard, slave?"

"I haven't been soft since we met."

"Well, remember when you're not with me... no looking at other girls and you stay soft.  And you call me if you get hard."

"Yes, okay, Princess, I will."

"Again, slave... absolutely no looking at other girls.  Or I'll kill you, and then we won't be able to get married."

I startled as she said this, and I inadvertently looked up from her booted feet as required to her face.  She frowned at me and jerked the car over to the right, parking on the shoulder with a hard stomp on the brakes.  She grabbed my throat and my hands flew up instinctively to defend.  She screamed in my face, violently, "DO NOT LOOK AT MY FACE UNLESS I SAY TO!  GET YOUR HANDS DOWN!"

I dropped my hands to my lap and she used both of hers to squeeze my throat, pushing her thumbs hard into my windpipe.  I lifted my hands again, just a reaction, and she squeezed harder.  "Pass out!" she yelled into my face, and then she spit at me, a huge blob of saliva, right into my face.  "KEEP YOUR EYES DOWN AND YOUR HANDS DOWN!  I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT TO YOU!"

I sat meekly, allowing her to evilly grin at me while she choked me into unconsciousness.  I fought the urge to fight her and just sat there to allow the blackness to descend.  She never let up, and indeed pressed ever harder, until I slumped over toward her and passed out.

Blearily, the fog lifted, and I awoke.  It was later; the scenery had changed.  We were sitting in the car in the driveway of her apartment.  Jackie was dozing with her back against the driver's door and her boots in my lap.  My throat was sore, and the thumb marks she'd bruised into my neck were throbbing.  I looked in the mirror and saw two nickel-sized black marks where she'd pressed down.  My penis had finally gone soft and it felt small and damp inside its plastic retainer.  I looked at the clock and saw that I'd missed the first half-hour of my last class of the day.  As I stirred, so did Jackie and she awoke smiling.  "Okay, go to class and do the other stuff.  I'll see you right here afterwards.  No looking at other girls."

She got out of the car and bounded up the stairs to her place.  I went around to the driver's seat and drove to class, luckily finding a parking space right outside the hall.  I grabbed my bookbag from the back seat and took a quick look at myself reflected in the driver side window.  The bruises looked like they might be hickeys, and my eyes were only a little red from the crying and the choking.  My cock began to harden as I ran inside to class.

I found a seat near the back of the room and jumped into note-taking.  My roommate Mark was at the end of my row, and when he saw me he gave me a "thumbs-up" sign to acknowledge my triumph of being out all night with the new girl.

He had no idea.

After class, Mark approached me and asked if I wanted to go play Ultimate with him and some other guys, but I told him I was heading over to Jackie's.  He took a couple obvious whiffs of me and said "Sheesh, Jamie, do you know you kinda smell like piss?"

I laughed, wanting to hurry away, and just said "Really?  We were fucking, and I didn't shower yet... sure it's not sweat?"

He sniffed again and wrinkled his nose.  "Nope, dude, you smell like piss."

I shrugged and hurried off.  "See you later!" I called over my shoulder.

"Don't forget poker tonight, dude, it's Friday!" he called back.

"Maybe!" was my response as I left earshot and reached my car.

The second I was driving, I dialed Jackie's cell phone.  She answered on the first ring:  "Yeah, slave?"

"I'm hard," I told her.

"For me, or because you broke my rule and looked at another girl?"

"For you, Princess."

"Good.  Stay hard.  Go do what I told you and hurry here, I'm wet.  I want you to play with.  I'm masturbating right now."

"I will, Princess Jackie," I told her, and she simply replied "I love you, slave Jamie."

She hung up as I told her I loved her, too.

As I pulled into the WalMart lot, my phone buzzed with an incoming text message.  I looked at the single word there:  "Pain".  Followed by a smiley :-).

I quickly found the ten screw-in loops she'd asked for, and then set about looking for something for her to whip me with later.  I started in the toy department and looked at toy shovels and jump ropes, but moved on.  In housewares, I actually picked up and carried around an electrical extension cord for a while, but dropped that when I got to automotive and saw some heavy rubber fan belts for cars.  I picked out the longest loop I could find, a heavy rubber oval about two feet long, and thought about how exquisite the pain would be from it when she beat my already-welted body.  The thing weighed about two pounds, and the rubber was thick with squared edges, maybe a half-inch.  It would deeply impact my flesh and the edges would cut a bit, which I knew would make her happy and would leave me with delicious, stinging welts to relish after the horrible session was over.  I bought the stuff and drove to her apartment with my head singing in anticipation and my heart and cock throbbing.

As I pulled into her driveway, I saw that the house was completely dark.  I climbed the stairs with the bag of purchases and found a note on her back door written in pink highlighter ink: "My mom flew in suddenly.  Took bus to airport.  Be back at ten.  Go in living room and see note there."

I turned the knob and found that she'd left the door unlocked.  I flipped on the kitchen light with a snap of the old-fashioned switch and went to the living room.  In there, I saw that she had assembled the dog cage we'd bought at the pet supermarket.  It was sitting in the center of the room, door open, a new combination Masterlock hanging open from the wire mesh.  Another note was taped on top of the cage:  "Strip and get in.  Lock yourself inside and wait for me.  Love, Princess Jackie."

Attached to the back of the note was a photograph.  It was a Polaroid of Jackie from perhaps two years prior.  She was sitting on the front steps of a house with a paper plate of watermelon slices in her lap, and she was grinning as she ate one.  Her hair was shining in the sun, long and blond, and she was in a bikini.  Her bare feet were crossed in front of her extended legs with her soles facing the camera.  Those tiny feet that seemed small for her long, thin legs and skinny frame.  Her eyes looked blazingly blue in the photo, and her breasts bulged against the orange bikini top.  She was so thin with such small feet and large breasts.  Next to her stood an older woman, probably about forty years old, with her hand on Jackie's shoulder.  The woman was beautiful and thin as well, with darker blond hair styled in a shorter pert cut and a pretty face.  She smiled brightly and had matching blue eyes.  She wore dark blue walking shorts and a gray tank-top.  Her breasts were big, but sized for her frame.  She was on her tip-toes and wearing flip-flops and I saw that her feet were small and high-arched.  She was Jackie's mother.  I would have guessed this anyway, but Jackie had written on the picture with a ball-point pen.  An drawn-on arrow pointing to her own face was captioned "Will beat you tonight" and an arrow to her mother's face was captioned "Mother of girl who will be beating you".

At the bottom of the picture, on the white paper border, Jackie had written "See you at ten, love you!" in blue pen ink.

I stripped down to just the chastity belt, cock still throbbing, and got inside the cage.  It was just big enough to sit Indian-style with my head slumped back and leaning into a corner, or to lie down with my knees up and my feet propped against the side of the cage.  I could also curl up in a fetal position on the thin padding with my back against the heavy chromed-steel mesh wall.  I sat down, leaning under the ceiling, and pulled the cage door shut.  With a breath of exclamation, I snapped the lock shut and imprisoned myself to wait for my new eighteen-year-old girlfriend.  I hoped her mother wasn't coming with her... that would be weird.  Surely she was getting a hotel room, right?

I realized after a few minutes that I should have gone to the bathroom before getting into the cage, but it was too late.  I needed to go both ways.  But I relaxed and waited out the digital clock on the cable box, watching the red LED numbers tick from six to seven to eight to nine o'clock.  I really started squirming with the need to go to the bathroom as I watched time pass 9:30... and time seemed to slow eternally from then on.

At ten o'clock, Jackie still hadn't returned.  At five past, I heard my cell phone ringing... inside my pants pocket outside the cage.  Hurriedly, I hooked my index finger through the wire bars and grabbed the hem of my jeans.  I pulled them forward and got a better grip as the phone rang a fourth time.  I managed to grasp the phone inside my pocket and squueze it out onto the floor, where it clattered onto the hardwood.  I grabbed it between two fingers by the antenna and pulled it into the cage.  It was my roommate.  I answered, dejected, and he said "Dude! Poker!  Where are you!"

"At Jackie's," I replied flatly.

"You sound bummed," he replied.

"Nah, just waiting for her to get back.  She went to the airport to pick up her mom."

"So, you're spending Friday night with this girl you just met three days ago and you're hanging alone waiting to hang out with her and her mother?" Mark quipped with sarcasm.

"Sort of... yeah," I replied, thinking about how I was currently locked in a cage in my new girlfriend's apartment.

"Already whipped," Mark told me.  "Whipped!"  And he hung up.

He had no idea.

At eleven o'clock, as I squeezed my thighs together to placate the need to pee and clenched my sore swollen butt against the other need, the phone rang again.  It was Jackie.

"Hello, Princess," I answered.

"Hi, it's not Jackie," said a bright woman's voice, "It's her mom Gina.  My plane was delayed a bit, and we're just leaving the airport now.  Jackie's right here, but she wanted me to tell you that she loves you, and if you need to go to the bathroom in the cage, just pull up the matting and use the tray underneath, okay?"

"Uh... okay," I replied in embarassed/excited trepidation.  "Thanks, I guess," I added.

"No problem.  We're going to go grab a few things and we'll be there in about an hour.  Bye, Jamie!"

Gina hung up.  I stared at the phone.

At just past midnight, headlights lit up the walls of the living room and I heard a car parking in the driveway below.  Happy voices of Jackie and her mother got louder as they thumped up the stairs.  The door burst open and I heard the sound of packages and luggage being dropped.  The hallway light was snapped on, and the interior of my cage lit up.  I'd held my pee and was bursting with the need to go.  I didn't want to use the tray under the cage.

"Let me see him," I heard Gina say.

"Okay!" Jackie's bright response.

There was a clattering of boots and heels as the women entered the living room.  Gina turned on the light as Jackie greeted my fetal form with "Hi, slave!"

I groaned "Hi, Princess, I really need to go."

Jackie paused for a moment then turned to her mom.  "He didn't go potty yet."

"He'll go soon enough.  Let's have some drinks while we watch him in there."

"Okay," Jackie replied, and they went back to the kitchen where I could hear their banter as they made some sort of beverages. 

"He's cute," offered Gina.

"Good bod, yeah, and obedient," replied Jackie.

"Like your dad was, honey," Gina laughed back.

"Dad apparently couldn't take it," said Jackie.

"Nope.  Couldn't.  Can this one?"

"I'll find out.  I love him."

"Good," replied Gina, "that keeps everything in control.  When I stopped loving your father is when I got out of control, and that's why he ran away."

"I'll love Jamie forever," sighd Jackie, "I so love this whole thing.  I never knew that you and dad were mistress and slave until tonight."

"And I always wondered if you got the gene for it... and you did."

"I did.  Let's go drink in the living room and watch Jamie."

Their glasses clinked with ice cubes as they took seats on the sofa.  Gina asked if Jackie had any movies.  Jackie put in the Titanic DVD and they drank while the movie started.  I kept my eyes on Jackie's booted feet as my bladder ached and intestines growled.

The women became engrossed in the movie and fell silent.  From where I was, I could only see their feet.  Jackie had kicked off her boots and socks and was stretching out her bare feet toward the cage, legs under the coffee table.  Gina was still wearing her black heels and her feet were flat to the floor to Jackie's left.  They were indeed small, and I could see that they were high-arched from my glances at the sides of the shiny shoes.  Nice feet.  The thought of their damp scent after being encased in those patent-leather heels for hours was erection-worthy, but I'd been hard forever despite my bladder pain.

During a long silence as the Titanic cruised toward the iceberg, I meekly called out "Princess, please, I really need to go to the bathroom..."

Gina jokingly said "Did you hear something?"

Jackie giggled and said "Nope... musta been the wind."

As the captain of the Titanic was saying "I do believe you'll get your headlines, Mister Ismay," I wheedled out once more "Please Princess, may I go to the bathroom?"

Gina heard me and said to her daughter "Why don't we join him?"

Jackie said "What do you mean?"

"Watch," said the older woman, and she stood up and crossed around to the cage.  She carefully took off her heels and climbed on top of the cage.  "Make him watch me," she said to Jackie.

"Slave, look up at my mom," ordered my Princess.

I looked up to see Gina, thin and pretty, squatting on top of the cage.  Her soles were pressed against the wire mesh and rectangles of her foot-flesh pressed between the bars.  She was wearing a short skirt and she'd hiked it up.  She wasn't wearing panties, and I could see her thickly-haired bush directly above my face as I lay on my side in the little steel prison box.

"Here goes, Jamie," Gina giggled to me a bit tipsily from the Margeritas they were making, "Feel free to join me!"

Hot urine rained down in a gusher onto my face and neck.  She had obviously held it for hours, and now she was letting loose with gusto.  She sprayed the sharp-smelling fluid all over me, waggling her pelvis as she aimed down onto my captive form, and I lay there passively, taking it, loving it, as the women laughed and giggled loudly.  She soaked me in her urine before it trickled to a few final spurts onto my face, then stopped.  "I so love pissing on a male," exclaimed Gina as she hopped off the cage and put her shoes and panties back on.  "Your turn, honey," she told Jackie.

"I need to go pretty bad, but I have to go number two as well, and I can't go one without going two when I have to go both, get it?" Jackie giggled, slurring a little, and then took a huge gulp of Margerita.

"I can take it if you can," Gina replied.  "Poop on him!"

"Ya think?" asked Jackie back, tentatively.

"Sure!  Poop right on him through the cage!"

Jackie clambered on top of the cage carefully and squatted where her mother had been.  The bars above were still dripping intermittently with piss down onto me as she spread her knees and tucked up her thick skirt.  Her rich body aroma wafted down to my widening nostrils.  She hooked the hem of her panties and carefully drew them down her legs and off, and then she settled into her squat as I watched her bared crotch for the first time.

"He's never seen my vagina, you know," Jackie told her mother, who had retaken her seat on the couch.

"I'll drink to first times!" cheered Gina, raising her drink with a sound of clinking ice cubes as she raised the toast.  She gulped.

"I've never pooped on anyone before, either," added Jackie with a giggle.

"Another first!" called Gina with another toast to the air.

Jackie squatted for a while and I watched her anus pucker as she tried to let go.  Gina paused the movie to watch, and the room was silent except for our heavy breathing.

"Take your time," Gina soothed.

"I'm shy," replied Jackie as she repositioned so that her asshole was pressed right to the top of the cage and between the bars right over my face.  I lay there, stock-still, my need to piss and shit momentarily forgotten, as my heart thumped and awaited this newest realization of an old fantasy.

A few minutes passed as Jackie fidgeted and grunted up there.  I kept totally still, utterly relishing the moment I would feel the first splatter of her hot urine and dense shit hitting my body.  I hoped my face was positioned just right to catch the bulk of it.

Finally, just as Gina was saying "Take your time, honey" again, the flood opened.  Urine trickled down, hitting my cheek and left eyelid, then increased.  "Here comes one," I heard Jackie say just before a warm lump of her shit landed on my ear and slid off.  Another followed, and then a long hot mass of turd splatted against my cheek and forehead and stuck there as more piss and looser shit, reeking, watered down onto it.  Soon my neck and the exposed side of my face were covered with her waste and the cage filled with the strong acridity of feces.  "Smells," said Jackie as she finished with one last spurt and a dribbled few lumps onto my hair.

"Make him clean you, now, hon," Gina said.  "Open the door and stick that pretty ass in his face."

Jackie landed with a two-footed thump next to the cage.  She spun open the lock and opened the door.  She said to me "Did you like that, slave?"

"Oh, yes, Princess" I replied, enraptured, enthralled, and stinking of her aromatic waste.  My face was sticky and my left eye squeezed shut under the layer of pasty dark feces and acidic yellow liquid.

"Do you love me, slave?"

"Yes, Princess, I love you," I worshipfully moaned, "I love you."

Gina laughed and claped her hands.  "You two will be married some day soon.  Slave and mistress."

"Princess," Jackie corrected as she backed her rear end into the cage. 

"Clean my crotch, Jamie," she ordered.  She reached back and spread her asscheeks, her milky-white, thin, flawless globes, to reveal her shit-stained little rosebud and piss-drippy vagina.  Some of the pee had run down the crevice of her ass and mixed with the shit.  Gratefully, I bent forward and sucked it all up while relishing the acrid and bitter taste of her precious wastes.  I left her cleft gleaming and pink in no time.

For the remander of the night, the women drank and watched TV while ignoring me.  The need to go to the bathrom returned.  As they finished their final movie and final drink, Gina said "Am I sleeping on this couch?"

"Yeah, I'll get some blankets and a pillow."

Gina got settled on the couch next to the cage.  "Just leave him in there for the night, I'm too tired to deal with him," she said to her daughter.

Jackie agreed.  "Piss and poop in the cage, slave," was all she said before turning out the light.  "Goodnight, mom, goodnight slave, I love you."

"I love you too, Princess" said I, her piss-soaked, shit-smeared asslicking boyfriend of three days.  She and her mother had both pissed on me as I lay in a cage.  Great intensity.  I loved it.  I loved the scent of Jackie's mother, her perfume, that I could pick up over the reek of Princess's shit as Gina lay on the couch.

She slept quickly, and I soon followed, curled up inside the soiled, stinking dog cage for the night.

Freshman Year Girlfriend

==> Chapter Four

As the sun began to shine through the living room windows, I awoke inside the cage.  My skin was sticky from the dried shit and piss, and the open welts were burning with a bit of inflammation where the filth of the shit had met raw skin.  The bars of the cage above were coated in a brownish, muddy mixture of dried shit and piss, and the white mat that padded the floor was covered with stains and speckles where Jackie and her mother's shit and piss had dried.  When I rolled over upon awakening, the mat rolled with me and the pool of my own waste where I'd finally given in during the night and relieved myself into the pan under the cage was revealed.

I sat up and peeled the stinky mat off of me, and bumped my head on the roof of the cage.  I groaned and rolled onto my side.  My left eye was blocked with a patch of Jackie's dried shit and I peeled it off with my fingers as I waited for the pain in my head to clear.

Gina was sitting up on the couch, wearing a clean white terrycloth robe, sipping a fresh mug of coffee, and watching me bemusedly.  "Morning, Jamie," she chortled as I blearily stared at her, blinking.  I dropped my eyes to her feet wondering if Princess's rule about looking at other women applied to her mother.  I decided not to take the chance and kept my gaze off of her face.  Her feet, however, were bare, and she had them extended in front of her and protruding from under her soft white robe.

"Morning," I replied.

"You can look at me, Jamie.  I'm not just another girl."  She laughed.

I looked at her face and noted again just how youthful she was for her age.  At forty, she looked thirty, and was as thin as her daughter.  Her hair was tossed and bedweathered, and looked really sexy.  She had wide blue eyes that she'd passed on to her daughter, and her skin was smooth and wrinkle-free except for light laugh lines around her eyes.  Her little feet were only lightly veined, and the skin just a bit shiny with her age.  Her toes were short and plump and neatly trimmed, and she wore nail polish, unlike her daughter.  Her legs were shaved, too.  Her toenails were deep fire-engine red.  Glossy.

"Jamie, it's Saturday, and today what's going to happen is this.  Jackie's going to go off to do whatever she wants to do, and you and I are going to get to know eachother.  I want to make sure that you're the right kind of little boy for my little girl."

I nodded from inside the cage, feeling ridiculous as she sat there in her pristine white robe and spoke to me as I knelt inside a filthy locked dog cage while covered in dried female waste on a soiled and stained cotton mat.

She smiled at me as I locked eyes with her.  I nodded again, semi-awestruck.  She was so beautiful.

"Today, I just want to spend time with you, Jamie," she continued, then took a big sip of her steaming coffee, and went on:  "I want to get to know you.  Mentally, physically, and emotionally.  I want to see that there's no chance that your devotion to my daughter would ever waver, and that you're free of a single dangerous male bone in your whole body.  Including that bone between your legs."

I nodded again as she took another sip.   Behind me, Jackie padded into the room and stood watching.  "Everything cool?" she asked.

Gina nodded and said "Go take a bath, Jackie, you need one.  And then put on some fresh clothes from all that laundry your little boy here did for you.  And then see me for some cash, because you're going out for the day in my rental car, and you're going to get some things to make your home here better to hold a slave.  And me and Jamie here are going to explore his mind and make sure that he's ready to commit to you."

Jackie nodded assent and padded away on her bare feet.  She returned to her room, and shortly thereafter I heard her get into the shower.

Meanwhile, Gina had sat herself closer to the cage.  She'd let her robe fall open so that her bare vagina was openly exposed to me.  She had a very thick bush of curly hair that was the same dirty-blond shade as her hair.  She spread the terrycloth flaps of the robe so that as she sat and sipped, her spread legs plainly displayed her pussy.

"I'm only going to be here for today and tonight.  I fly back home tomorrow, Jamie, so I want to spend today with you.  Let me talk, and you listen, while I tell you about Jackie and me.  Okay?"

"Yes, Gina."

"First of all, I want you to call me 'Queen Gina', since I am the mother of your Princess.  Okay?"

"Yes, Queen Gina."

"Also, I want to hear you call me 'queen' because I intend to actually queen you a lot during our day today.  Do you know what 'queening' is, Jamie?"

I nodded negatively, wide-eyed.

"How old are you?" she giggled.

"I'm eighteen, Queen," I replied.

"Eighteen and already covered in girl-shit and locked in a cage.  Good for you!" she laughed.

I nodded slowly.

"Anyway, Jamie, 'queening' is the act of a superior female like myself sitting directly on the face of an inferior slave like yourself.  You'll be queened quite often during your life as my daughter's slave, if I approve of you.  But anyway..." she paused to pick up her purse and pull out a pack of Newport 100's.  "Yeah, I smoke, Jamie," she said as she lit up.

I shrugged; it didn't bother me.

"Anyway, Jamie, little eighteen-year-old male, you do know that you're actually a very good-looking boy, right?"

I shrugged again.

"Oh, no, you are, boy.  You have nice hair and eyes, and a very good body.  Very nice legs and ass.  Do you know if you have a good cock?  I need to see it."

Again, I shrugged.

"When Jackie gets out of the shower, I'll get the key for that chastity belt and see about that cock of yours."

She tapped her ashes into a ceramic bowl as she regarded me.

"You're really pathetic looking now, though... all covered in my daughter's dried-up shit!" she laughed.

Another shrug from me.   I felt the cracking and sticky fecal matter flaking off my skin every time I moved.  The stench was still there, but had receded as the shit and piss had dried.  The pee actually smelled stronger than the shit now, and I could actually smell the deep stink of my urine-bathed skin.  I really, really stank of female urine.  I had indeed been marked.

"Okay, here's my plan.  Once my daughter gets out of the house, you're going to bathe, and dress, and then we're going to go out for a really nice lunch.  And we're going to talk.  Honestly.  Deeply.  And I'm going to tell you all about what you can expect from my dear little skinny blond sadist, and you're going to answer all the questions I have about you.  Then, we're coming back here and I'm going to get a little more intimate with our conversation.  Finally, you'll be cleaning that cage and getting back inside until Jackie comes back home, and then the real fun starts."

I nodded.

"With me, Jamie, you can talk openly.  I'm going to be your Mistress-in-Law one day if things work out.  Your Queen by marriage.  You will marry my daughter, I think, and you'll both be happy ever-after, as they say, if I'm right.  We'll find that out today."

"Okay, Queen," I replied.

"You can call me Gina, Jamie, unless you want to throw in a 'Queen' here and there."

"Okay, Gina," I answered.

"You really are cute," she marveled.

"Thanks, Queen," I smilingly replied.

"You're devestatingly cute."

"Thanks."

The shower was turned off.  Down the hall, we heard Jackie getting out of the tub and brushing her teeth.

"How long have you known you were a submissive male?" Gina asked me with a straight, clinical expression on her face.

"As far as I can remember," said I, "always."

"Well, what is the first time you remember where you connected the idea of your submissiveness to an action?"

"I was young... very young," I started.  I paused to see if she'd exhort me.  She didn't.

"How old were you when you first asked to kiss a girl's foot?"

"Just last year, with my old girlfriend."

"So, seventeen?"

"Yes, Gina... and she doesn't like her feet kissed."

"You say she 'doesn't', Jamie, as if she is still in your life.  Is she?"

I pondered this.  "Sort of," I said, "but... we're pretty much done."

Gina looked at me with a bemused expression again.  "You're done with her, Jamie, if you want to be owned by my daughter.  You can't possibly have any feelings for another female if you expect my daughter to be your personal Princess, you know."

I nodded.  I didn't really care about Anne now that I'd met Jackie.

"No, not caring isn't enough, Jamie," said Gina, raising her voice.  "You need to be done with her, totally."  She stood up.

I quickly reacted.  "Yes, Gina, I won't ever call her again!  We're done... it's been ending, anyway."

Gina shook her head.  "No, Jamie, it needs to be more final.  Today the first mission before we have lunch will be to end whatever you had with your old girlfriend.  What's her name?"

"Anne, Queen Gina," I replied.

"And how far do you go back with Anne, Jamie?"

"High school, sophomore year," I let her know.

"Give me your cell phone," ordered Gina as she stood right next to the cage with her palm outstretched.  I handed it to her through the bars.

"Jamie, I'm going to sit on top of this cage and piss on you while you tell your old girlfriend that you love someone else, and for her to go to hell and never call you again.  Understand?"

My mouth formed an involuntary frown as I listened to this.  It was a hard concept to digest.  Although I'd drifted away from Anne, and I knew it was going to end, she'd been my girl for years now, and was my first kiss and first fuck.  She had the first pussy I ever tasted.  I'd deeply loved her when we saw eachother every day in school.  She was pretty and loving and as far as I knew she thought we were together as a couple with just a hundred miles between us.  I knew she wasn't expecting to be dumped suddenly.

Gina searched my cell phone's number list until she found Anne's entry.  She dialed it.  I heard her listen to Anne's voice as she sat above me on top of the cage.  She'd spread out the flaps of the robe so that her freshly-washed pussy was bared and spread right above my face.  I could smell baby powder on her dewy lips.

Gina hung up after confirming that Anne had answered.  She handed me the phone through the bars.  "Call her, and have a talk with her, and tell her that you've fallen in love with someone else, and before you hang up, tell her to go to hell.  You need to use those words.  If you don't, you're not ready for Jackie, believe me."

I simply held the phone in one hand and stared at Gina through the filth-caked bars as she looked down at me.  Her pretty face held an air of resolution.  She nodded at me as if to confirm her words while spurring me on.

So, I thought to myself, it's time to dump Anne.  And do it for Jackie, my new Princess.  I decided to just do it, just go ahead and cut through the crap, just break it off, just slice her off of me.  I hit the "Redial" key.

My high-school girlfriend picked up after only one ring.  She was so cheerful as she said "Hi Jamie!  How are you?"

"Okay, I guess," I answered flatly.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.  After three years, we knew eachother.

"Nothing... I'm just..." I paused.

"Just what, Jamie?" she asked, concern in her voice, maybe a hint of dread already.

"I fell in love with someone else, Anne, and we're done," I choked as I spoke these words, almost vomiting.  Tears sprang to my eyes as I rolled onto my side inside the cage, feeling the filth flake off of me in shards and pebbles.

Anne didn't reply for a long time, and then I heard a hitch and a sob on the other end of the line.  "I guess I knew it, Jamie... I knew it."

"I knew it too, Anne," I replied coldly, and I got myself ready to deliver the final required blow as Gina watched triumphantly from the roof of the cage.  She had positioned herself over my head and had pulled down her panties.  As I prepared to deliver to my three-year girlfriend the final blow, Gina opened her bladder and started to piss all over my head, face, back and neck.  The flow carried away some of the sticky dried shit her daughter had dropped all over my upper body.

I let a pause pass over the line before I finally spoke to Anne, who I pictured sitting there on the edge of her Raggedy-Anne bed as she talked on the phone, with cold and final tones.  "I wanted to be your slave, Anne, and you wouldn't even let me kiss your toes without laughing.  Go to hell."  And I hung up as I heard her gasp.

I hung up in her face.

"Give me your phone, now," Gina ordered as she let the final cascade of her morning urine splatter over my shoulders.  I handed it up to her through the bars.  She looked at the display and memorized Anne's number, i surmised.

"That's all, Jamie," she advised me.  "Never call or take a call from that number, ever again."

I nodded.  To the other side of the cage, Jackie had come back into the room.  She had a curious look on her face as to ask "What's going on?"

Gina picked up on it and said "Oh, your little boy slave had a piece of unfinished business I helped him take care of.  How are you, honey?"

Jackie spun on one foot, letting her skirt fly out around her.  She had showered and blow-dried her hair and she'd dressed in less-bulky, more-modern clothes than usual.  "I picked out her outfit," Gina whispered to me.

I locked onto Jackie's feet as she stood there.  She was wearing dark blue basketball sneakers, low-topped Keds, with white laces and white stripes down the side.  They looked ancient and cracked and beaten up.  No socks.  She was also wearing a skirt of thin linen that only reached down to her ankles instead of dragging on the floor like the ubiquitous woolen skirt, and on top she had on a tight tee-shirt of fluorescent orange with a purple and gold flower emblazoned upon its face.  Her huge round breasts defiantly thrusted upward against the thin cotton material.  No bra, and they still stood up proud and round.

Her hair was in a long blond ponytail down her back.  She looked delicious.

"Honey," Gina began, "you look marvelous.  Take my rental car and go out until tonight.  Late.  Me and your little boy here are going to get acquainted."  Gina flipped a credit card at Jackie, and my Princess caught it between clapping hands looking surprised.

"How much?" she asked happily.

"Be cool.  Have fun, don't be an idiot," Gina replied.

Jackie smiled down at me and told me to look up at her.  I did, and she grinned so that my heart melted for her.  "Have a great day, Princess," I mewled lovingly.

"Have fun with my mom," she replied with a knowing leer.  "What time, mom?"  she directed to Gina.

Gina, still sitting on the cage above me with her bare cunt dripping on my head said "Oh, I guess about ten tonight.  But call first."

And out the door went my Princess, armed with keys to a new car and a gold card.

As soon as Gina was sure that Jackie was away for the day, she turned back to me inside the cage.  She unlocked it and told me to go shower off.

When I returned, squeaky-clean and fresh, she had laid out my clothes and had me get dressed.  She shook her head disapprovingly as she regarded my casual outfit.  "We need to go by your home and get you into a nicer outfit before we go to lunch," she advised.

I drove to my dorm.  Gina sat in the passenger seat for the short trip and massaged my crotch through and against the plastic and steel of the chastity belt's cup.  When I had parked, she told me to dress in a nice dressy-casual outfit.  I ran to my dorm room and found my roommate was there, lying on his bed and reading while listening to something on headphones.  Mark sat up and shed the headgear when I burst in.

"Wow, two nights in a row, eh buddy?" he said gleefully.

"Yeah," I replied, "and now I'm going to lunch with her mom.   I need to dress."

Mark shook his head in fake sadness.  "Already meeting the mom," he joked.

"Yup," I replied as I chose clothes.  I went into the bathroom to change so as to hide the chastity belt.

"See ya," I called to my roomie as I ran toward the stairs.

I'd put on a fresh polo shirt and khaki trousers.  On my feet were nice new Docksiders.  Gina approved, and off we went.

She directed me to a swanky Italian-Continent restaurant downtown that I'd never dared venture into.  We were led to a table, and we sat across from eachother in a quiet corner.  A blush-colored fresh rose was between us on the small round lacquered surface over which a black-and-white tablecloth was draped.  Gina quickly kicked off her heels and put her bare feet in my lap.   They were hidden by the material.

"Okay, Jamie, during this meal, you're going to answer all my questions and let me know everything about your life so that I can tell if my daughter should marry you and make you her lifetime slave boy.  And man, later.  Got it?"

"Yes, Queen," I smiled.  She rubbed her small toes firmly against my plastic-cupped balls.  My cock was tingling and swelling.  "Do I need to call Jackie about being hard?" I asked, "It's one of her rules.  I have to call her whenever I get hard when she's not with me."

"By all means," replied Gina.

I dialed Princess and got her on the second ring.  "I'm hard, Princess," I told her.

"My mom's making you hard?" she chortled.

"Um, yeah," I told her.

"Cool!" she exclaimed, and then said "Have a great day!  I just bought a new paddle for us!"

"Great, Princess!" said I.

"Do you love me to death?" was her response.

"Oh yeah, I love you to death, Princess."

"Even when I shit on your face?" she asked devilishly.

"Yeah.  Even then, Princess.  Even more then."

She laughed.  "Let me talk to mom."

I handed the phone to Gina, who kept her feet pressed into my khaki-covered chastity belt.  Rubbing hard.

After a couple moments of general banter, Gina hung up and handed the phone to me.  As I tok it, it rang.  Gina kept it and looked at the display.  It was Anne.

"I want you to answer," she said to me with a raised eyebrow, "and I want you to tell her that she sucked in bed and that you're with a much prettier girl now who knows how to fuck you.  And I want you to say something to her that will hurt her."  She handed me the phone to do the deed.  Her bare toes pressed ever more firmly against my captured penis.

I answered.  Anne sounded distraught as she said "J-J-J-Jamie?"

"Yeah, that's me," I tossed off.

"What's happening?" Anne cried, and I heard the tears in her voice.  But thoughts of my new Princess made me cruel as that beautiful Princess's mother watched me.

"Nothing's up, Anne, but I need to tell you that you sucked in bed, and I found a real girl here who likes to have real sex.  She knows how to fuck, unlike you, who sucks at it and has a smelly pussy to boot.  Don't call me anymore, cunt."  And I snapped the phone shut on my heartbroken ex's sudden cry.

The phone rang immediately.  Gina looked at the display reading "Anne" and said "Just call her a cunt and hang up."

I answered.  Anne, sobbing, said "Not so fast, Jamie, what is happening?"

I simply and coldly responded with "Fuck you, you cunt."  I hung up again.

Seconds later, another ring.  "I'm coming there," Anne shrieked through hard tears, "right now."  And she hung up.

I told Gina what Anne had said.  "Fine," Gina said back, "who cares?  You'll be in my daughter's apartment and she won't find you."

I shrugged.  I put the phone away.  We forgot about the matter.

A polished waiter arrived and described the luncheon specials.  A coiffed busboy poured filtered icewater.  Steaming hot crusty bread arrived.  Menus were given to us by the hostess.

"During this meal, Jamie" began Gina as she lightly buttered a slice of the delectable bread, "you will remain silent other than to answer my questions.  I will lead.  You will follow.  Clear?"

"Yes, Queen," I replied.

"Good.  First, you are to take this key, go into the men's room, and take off that chastity belt.  You will bring both discretely back to me."

I took the key from her laquer-polished-nails hand and retreated to the bathroom.  In a stall, I figured out how to remove the chastity device and my cock sprang proudly to life once it was gone.  Pink impressions in my pelvic flesh showed just how tightly the apparatus had been bound to my body.

The belt rolled up into a ball that I could cradle and hide.  I dashed back to the table after zipping up and handed it along with the key to Gina.  She stowed the belt in her big black purse, and dropped the key into her bra with a quirky smile.

"Sit there and be quiet, Jamie," she ordered.  Her feet returned to my now-freed crotch.  She skillfuly unzipped my khakis with her toes as she pretended to examine the menu.

"Remember, shut up except to answer questions, right?"

"Yes, Queen Gina," said I with my own quirky smile.

The waiter reappeared, ready to take an order.  "Just start us off with two Bloody Marys," Gina sweetly requested.  The waiter glanced at me, decided that I was close enough to drinking age to let my mother order for me, and nodded.

The drinks were back in a flash, the glasses sweating in the warmth of the restaurant, perfectly garnished and expertly mixed.  I took a tiny swallow of this unusual new drink while Gina swallowed a quarter of hers in one draught.

"Drink faster, Jamie, we're having a few drinks to loosen up before we eat."

I took a gulp and choked down the strange tomato-vodka concoction.  I then smiled at her and chugged down the rest of the drink.  She smiled back and did the same.  She ordered another round.

We drank these more slowly and I started to feel the warmth of the alcohol hit my brain.  I also felt her toes stroking my bare hard cock.  They felt warm and delicious.

When the waiter stopped by, Gina ordered a half-dozen raw oysters.  I'd never had these.  She told me not to worry.

We had another round of Bloody Marys before the oysters arrived.  When I saw the strange-looking appetizer appear on the table, I was revolted by the clotted gray lumps in their cold ugly shells.  But Gina set me straight.  She lifted one of her bare pretty feet over the table and plucked an oyster up with her toes.  Looking around the place quickly, she determined that nobody was watching our private corner and she pushed her foot and the food into my face.  I swallowed my first oyster off of her fragrant toes.

"Good, Jamie.  You just passed a test.  You'll bend and accept the spontanaeity of your mistress."

I smiled.

"Ah, but that is just the first test," she continued with a raised eyebrow.  "Next, you must show that you will let yourself be embarassed in public for your mistress.  When the waiter returns, I will feed you another toe-oyster, and you must suck it from between my toes and swallow as he watches.  Are you prepared?"

"Yes, Queen," I replied.  What did I care what the waiter thought, now that I'd told my old girlfriend to got hell, called her a cunt, and had been shitted on by my new girlfriend?  What did I care, now that I was ready to be a total, unquestioning slave?

Gina plopped her bare right foot on the table and clasped on oyster between her big toe and second toe.  She drew har leg back under the table.  Her left foot stayed in my crotch.

When the waiter approached, Gina lifted her foot to my lips and pressed the warmed oyster aginst my mouth as he halted upon the sight.  Then, nonplussed, he shook off the vision of the 18-year-old boy eating an oyster out from between the bare toes of a beautiful 40-year-old woman as if it were routine, and he classily asked Gina for our luncheon order.

"Well, Antoine," she replied, "I'll have the filet, medium rare and butterflied, no bacon.  And what do you think my little slave boy would like to lick off the bottom of my feet?"

The waiter looked at me with an expression of mirth, and then smiled broadly at Gina.  "You can't be too obvious with your slave here, girl," he directed to my Princess's mother.  It was obvious that he was a little gay.  "But there's a penne pasta dish with sliced summer sausage that would be perfect to pick up with your little toesies and stick into his mouth."

And so I ate my meal in open public from between her toes.  As passersby glanced or gawked, Gina kept reminding me that  "Some will be delighted, some will be disgusted, and some would die to trade places with you."

On to dessert and another round of drinks.  Gina ordered us a pair of Sambucas and a slice of tiramisu.  "Next test, Jamie," she told me.  "Will you get on your knees before my daughter in public?"

She sliced the confection in half and put part of it onto a clean bread plate.  She lowered that to the floor next to her chair.  She had me kneel between her spread knees and lick up my dessert like an animal as patrons passed by.  Some clucked, most passed without reaction, and one guy whistled and called out "Can I go next?" as Gina smiled back and waved at him.  I finished my degraded dessert at her feet and got back up on my two knees.

"Okay, Jamie, you've passed all the easy public stuff.  Let's pay and move onto the next test.  They keep getting harder... and if you fail any of them it would be difficult for me to recommend to my daughter that she marry you and keep you as her lifetime slave."

I internally processed that "marry/lifetime" bit again, but gave nothing away.  Good to go on for now, I reasoned.  Jackie was hot!  And her mom was crazy-cool.  My cock had never stayed hard this long and my fantasies were getting realized one at a time... rapidly.

"What's the next test, Queen Gina?" I asked as she signed for dinner.

"Public punishment, Jamie.  I need to test your willingness to be punished in a few different public places."

"Okay," I murmured.  Fine with me.  When was she going to get to the hard tests?

Gina told me to drive to WalMart.  I pulled into the parking lot for the second time in two days.  She had me drive around until we found a spot under one of the lot lamps that was brightly lit.  I parked where she pointed.

"Get out and bend over the trunk, Jamie" Gina directed.  "This is how children get punished in public."

I knew, because I had already bent over the trunk for her daughter's whip just recently.  I told her this.

"Jackie's already spanked you over the car trunk?  In public?" exclaimed Gina incredulously.

"Yep," I replied, "first night, if I recall."

"Then we need to skip right to the harder tests," Gina replied.  "Fuck WalMart.  We need to have our intimate talk.  But let me give you the final public test.  I need to know that whatever my daughter orders, you'll comply.  Other than being maimed, I guess, or killed, unless that's your bag."

Silence for a moment as I drove out of the lot and took a right as she pointed.

"I need to kick you in your balls in public."

I nodded again.  Fine with me.

She had me pull over in front of a Chinese restaurant's walk-up window.  We parked.  She turned to me in the car and said "You're going to prove that if my Jackie wants to hurt you in front of a bunch of strangers, you'll just let her and you'll just take it.  Here, you're going to get out of the car and stand on the sidewalk by that line of people getting Chinese, and you're going to spread your legs wide.  No belt on your balls now, slave, remember, it's in my purse."

"Okay, Queen Gina," I answered.

"I'm going to let those people look, and then I'm going to kick your balls.  Hard.  And you're going to take it, no complaints, no falling over and whining, no crying like a little baby.  You're just going to get back in the car with me and we're driving to Dunkin Donuts to do it again.  And then 7-11.  And then the Shell station after that.  And then at the Cumberland Farms store.  And then at the liquor store.  And then at the McDonalds.  And Wendy's, Arby's, Taco Bell, KFC, Burger King, and Pizza Hut.  And then it's back to the apartment to get a little more intimate with the testing."

"Yes, Queen," I responded breathlessly.  How fucking exciting was Jackie's mother!

"Go stand with your legs spread."

I got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk next to the line of people.  I spread my legs and put my hands behind my back.  Gina walked around to face me, then turned to the slightly interested line of ten or twelve people waiting to order take-out.  "My little boy has been bad, " she announced loudly to the small crowd, "and I need to punish him.  I punish my boy by letting him know how vulnerable males are with those ugly turkey-gizzard balls they have hanging right in front like that.  I kick him there and make him cry."

None of the twelve people watching said a word.  Half of them pretended not to have heard her, and they turned away or turned to the side to fake interest in something else, like the hedge next to the building or their watches.  Of the other six people, three guys turned to look and smiled, one young Asian girl clapped, and the young couple at the end of the line smiled at eachother before looking on with interest.

Gina backed up two steps and then smiled at the small crowd.  She posed sexily in her short dress and heels and tossed her dirty-blond hair.  She flashed her perfect teeth, blue eyes, and slim body.  She called out "Now I'm gonna punish my boy!  Watch this!"

She strode forward and kicked my crotch with a wicked and well-aimed blow.  Even through my jeans, the sound of her foot meeting the base of my balls was palpable.  I remembered my orders.  I held my position, I stifled my cries, and I didn't buckle over or scream in pain.   I just bit my tongue, hard, and squinched my eyes a bit as I simply allowed the huge fireball of pain to rise within my abdomen.  I stumbled a bit as my bearings momentarily deserted me, and I gritted out a pair of very strong pangs from my abused testes, but I managed to get back into the car and close the door behind me.

Gina was there in seconds, beaming at me.  "You don't get enough feet, do you, Jamie?"  she asked, and she slowly backed the car out of the parking space as I squinted out the window.  I watched a few of the people in that line for Chinese pointing at our car and talking animatedly.

"Do I get enough feet?"  I replied.  "Huh?"

"I mean, your foot fetish is really strong, isn't it?  For a kid your age?  How old are you again, eighteen?" Gina asked as she drove through the late afternoon with dark black sunglasses on.

"Eighteen, Gina, yeah."

"Well, are female feet your favorite thing?  I know my daughter doesn't like to be touched.  It'll be a while, maybe months, until you get to lick her feet, you know."

"Oh," said I, not happy at this, but in a strange way excited that I'd probably be denied, teased and abused by Jackie before I earned any contact with her precious body.

"But are feet your biggest fetish, Jamie?" she persisted happily.  I was only too happy to oblige.  "Yeah, big time," I told her.

"Do you like my feet?" she asked, smiling but looking, actually, a little bit apprehensive.  I immediately wanted to reassure her... I saw Jackie's mother as so beautiful then, so unbelievably exciting and sexy.  Her tiny feet and her high arches, her well-worn soles and ridges... ach!

"I think your feet are incredibly beautiful, Queen, incredibly."

"My daughter made a rule that you aren't to look at other girls' feet, but I told you you could.  What do you make of that, Jamie?" she asked.

Now I had to think.  What answer would be correct?  I knew that as Jackie's mother, anything I said was going to get back to my Princess Jackie in some form... eventually.  So, either Gina wanted to fool around with me secretly, without Jackie knowing, or she was trying to bait me to see if, on a technicality,  I'd break the rule her daughter had given me.

I decided to play it safe.  "I am Jackie's slave.  I worship her feet, and I can worship yours unless she's there to tell me to."

A long pause ensued.  She put her shoes back on and turned to a normal passenger-seat position.  "But I can kick your balls, you twisted sick little boy, and I will.  Dunkin Donuts is coming up.  Pull in there."

My balls were still throbbing from her last kick, but I felt I could take another easily.  I really hated the actual kick to my crotch, but I was really loving this after-effect feeling.  A kick to the balls, I had discovered, is horrible at the moment of impact, but is a delicious and long-lasting deep pain that intensifies wonderfully when the woman who has given you this kick with her feminine foot is still there and giggling at you while you float down from suffering to relishing the pain she's given you.

I pulled into Dunkin Donuts and turned to Gina as we sat there with our respective hands on the door handles to get out.  "Kick me as hard as you can, please, Queen," I earnestly said to her before we exited.

"Fine," she said.  "Go inside and get in line.  I'm going to come in right after you and turn you around, slap you as if we're arguing, and then kick your balls again.  You will then chase me out of the coffee shop and plead with me to forgive you, and then you will get down on your knees in the parking lot and kiss my shoes while everyone watches."

This scenario was repeated five more times, with added twists, until Gina was satisfied and my testicles were swollen to the size of tennis balls.  Red and blue tennis balls.  In front of crowds at all the places she'd listed.  As we got back into the car after the final public punishment and humiliation test, Gina told me to unzip my pants and stay hard all the way back to Jackie's apartment.  It was almost three in the afternoon, and winter gloom was setting in.  But I was jubilant in my pain and Gina was thrilled with her "adorable slave boy."

As we drove back to the place, she told me that the next couple hours would involve my kneeling naked before her while she made me bare my soul about my depth of submissiveness and my future fantasies.

Then I'd clean the cage and wait for my new girlfriend to come home while locked inside.

As my cock throbbed with this anticipation, I noticed that there was a strange ache in my testes that seemed to be growing; a sharp pain.  I tried to ignore it but it grew stronger until it started to hurt more than just a simple sexual pain.  Sweat broke out on my forehead and I guess I looked a little pale because Gina suddenly asked me "Do you think you're injured, Jamie?"

I gasped a bit as I replied "I... think... maybe."

She smiled and said "Relax; I'm a nurse, you know.  Let's get back to Jackie's apartment and I'll take a look.  Feel free to rub yourself with your hands if you like."

I relaxed a little as I gratefully moved my hands to my scrotum and was surprised at the tight, shiny feel to the dotted skin that covered my swollen jewels.  The spot that really hurt was the area at the top of my sack where my balls descended from my pelvic cavity.  I could feel a hot and really painful area where there was a further bump even beyond the swelling that had turned my golf-ball sized nuts into tennis balls.  I could feel a surface cut too, as well as an abrasion where her hard heels had mashed my jeans against the delicate skin.

When we got to the apartment, Gina told me to wait for her in the living room while standing with my nose in the corner next to the TV and my pants and underwear lowered to my knees.  I did.  She fussed about in the kitchen and bathroom for a bit before she came to see me.  On her way into the room, she turned on the lights and had me stand before her as she took a seat on the couch.

"Let me see those swollen balls, slave boy," the gorgeous slim mother of my new Princess ordered.  She was grinning.  "Take off your jeans and underpants and stand before me with your pelvis thrust forward and your hands on your head.  Actually, strip down to nothing."

I did as she commanded and she very clinically grasped my scrotum with her cool right hand while leaning forward for a close look at my bruised genitals.  "Kicked you pretty good, I see," she flatly remarked.  She fingered the cut and throbbing area of heated pain.  "Cut you a little, nothing serious."

She diagnosed a particularly severe localized contusion caused by the tip of her shoe against my sack where it ground against the pelvic bone.   She told me to go get some ice from the freezer and put it into a Ziploc bag and come back.

I did, and she had me kneel before her again with the ice pack held against my balls with both hands.  My cock shrank down to a nub with the freezing cold, but the swelling also began to recede.

"Stay there," she softly said, and she kissed me on the lips gently before heading back to the kitchen.  I heard her rummaging through her little carry-on bag.  Her cell phone rang while she was out there and I heard her end of the conversation with Jackie:

"Hi, Jacquelyn."

"No, we're back at your place, and we're about to start talking."

"Yes, he passed the public tests easily, but I'm going to interview him now and get into the little boy's submissive soul."

"No, I didn't show him your note yet.  I'm about to."

"I guess about two hours.  When are you coming back?

"Okay, honey, see you at six.  Bye-bye.  Have fun.  Don't miss anything on the list to buy that I gave you."

"Good!  Ha ha ha,  good.  Oh, good!  Hah.  Excellent.  See you then.  Bye."

She flipped her cell closed and told me from behind "I'm going to change clothes.  Be right there... you stay like that, Jamie."

I held the ice pack for ten minutes as she busied herself in the bathroom.  My balls started to feel either numb or cured by the time she returned.  She stopped behind me and told me to close my eyes.  I did.  I could smell her newly-applied perfume.

She sat on the sofa as I knelt there naked with my eyes squinched shut, smiling.

"Open your eyes and look at me, slave-boy," Gina ordered.

I opened my eyes and took in the intoxicating vision of Gina sitting on the sofa before me.  Her dirty-blond hair was unclipped and tousled sexily.  Her blue eyes were wide and boring into me even as her full lips dazzled me with their perfection.  She was wearing a soft white Angora sweater that invited cuddling with its pureness.  It was tight enough to enhance her curves, but loose enough to appear to swaddle her thin torso.  It was not a low-cut sweater, but revealed a patch of pink and creamy skin at its collar.  Although forty, her neck hadn't developed the wrinkling lines and angles that women eventually inherit from the passing of the years.

More interestingly, she had her legs spread wide open to reveal her pussy in the shadows of the short black leather skirt she was wearing.  Her tiny feet were encased in glossy black stilletto pumps with pointed toes and scuffed soles; the heels were razor-thin and nearly five inches long.  Her legs were bare and creamy-white, flawless.  Her ankles were slender and the tops of her little peds were lined with the faintest hints of elegant veins.  Her high arches revealed themselves above the cut of her outrageous shoes.  She was leaning back on the sofa in this sexy black-and-white and utterly feminine ensemble with her knees held high by her little hands and her shoes spread and dangling left and right so that when I opened my eyes my first view was of her blond-fringed spread vagina only two feet from my face.

"Look at my cunt, Jamie," she said as she looked into my eyes with a smirk.

I looked.  My penis began to rise despite the ice-pack I still held there.

She took the ice pack from me and told me to put my hands together behind my neck and just kneel there with my legs spread, staring at her shadowed pussy.

"Look down at your shriveled and ugly little male organ, and then at my artful and beautiful female organ, the gateway to all life, Jamie," she softly ordered.   I did.

She closed her legs after watching me gaze from my shrunken iced cock to her spread and moist pearl a few times.  She put her heels flat to the floor and together right between my spread knees.  She put the ice pack down in an ashtray to her right and leaned forward.  "Right now, you are in the universe of female-clothed, male-naked, Jamie.  I am sitting on a comfortable couch and have the power to cover myself if I want to; you are kneeling subserviently before me and your ugly sex organ is exposed to me at my will.  I'm choosing now to hide my vagina from you, but your swollen balls and shriveled little pink penis are on view to me and I can enjoy this power, knowing that I caused the dark bruises and swelling that your balls are showing, and I can giggle at just how pathetic you are and how easily I can control you because of your ridiculous male sex urges."

She sat back and demurely crossed her legs, allowing her left foot to hang just two inches from my nose.  She brushed the tip of her tiny, slender black shoe against my nose, then let the heel fall so that the pump dangled from her shapely toes like a slow pendulum.  The faintest whiff of her delicate and captivating foot scent wafted to my nostrils as she continued to tease me with the slow flicking dangles of the tiny shoe before my nose.

"I made mistakes with my former husband, Jamie.  Jackie's father.   I never determined the absolute depths of his commitment to serving me and the extent of his submission to the superior sex, females, before taking him as my slave.  And he left because he wasn't as committed or as submissive as I had assumed.  I won't let my daughter make that mistake.  So..."  and now she brushed the flat of the shoe against my lips, holding it there ever-so-lightly, "I am going to ask you some questions and have you do some small things for me, so that I can determine if you are truly willing, at your young age, and with your attractive physical appearance, to give yourself and your life and all of your soul to her and dedicate yourself solely to her pleasure and her needs.  Making your own life meaningless unless you are serving her.  Let me ask you, Jamie, as an opener... do you think that you are truly submissive enough to give yourself over to a female as her utter and total slave?"

"Yes, Queen Gina, I do," I rasped.  My penis, freed from the ice-pack, was already fully hard despite the ache of my throbbing, bruised balls.  They were still huge and tight and purple-black.

"You may think so, Jamie, but let us find out.  My daughter is totally naive about the world of dominance and submission.   She is naturally dominant, and I've nurtured that for a long time, but she is only now discovering the world of outlets for her natural dominance, and the power this gives her as a young female.  She is also very, very sadistic, although she'd never be able to speak to that because of her naivete.  But I've known since she was a tiny girl who laughed when she saw others in pain or being punished.  When she would giggle as she slapped or kicked the little boy she played with next door.  Who made up a spanking game as a little girl and played it with her friends until they didn't want to come over and play with her anymore.  Because she made them cry.  When she went out of her way to stomp on bugs and kill them, grinding her little-girl shoes until the creatures were smashed.  When she became a loner without knowing it was because she so enjoyed being mean to her playmates and from the day I came home and found her sitting on one little neighbor-boy's chest with her feet on his face while he cried and struggled to get up as she laughed and ate a popsicle.  When her uncle, rest in peace, confided in me that when he'd babysat her one night, she'd casually asked him if she could sit on his chest and slap his face.  When I found cartoons she'd drawn of her standing on boys with her arms up, or, later, of muscular guys tied up to trees or walls.  Or when she was older and I heard her masturbating every single night in her room and I asked her what she was thinking of when she played with herself, which I encouraged, of course, and she told me 'Spanking Anthony', our cute little neighbor-boy, or 'Slapping Paul and sitting on his face' referring to the teenager I'd hired to watch her when I went out on dates.  Or when I saw how enraptured she became during any sort of torture scene in a movie or TV show.  And how her hand would go to her crotch.  So... I ask, now, Jamie, because you are only eighteen and I assume you've not had much experience as a submissive... are you ready to be owned by a girl who I know is sadistic?"

"Oh, yes, yes, Queen Gina," I replied with deep earnestness.

"Ah, you say that, and I believe you feel that, but let's spend the next two hours exploring that, and many other things, yes?"

"Yes, Gina," I nodded enthusiastically.  My mouth was watering and my cock, in her full and unfettered view, stood up to its full seven inches of thick length.  Tiny red crescents marked the tight skin of my erection where her shoes' edges had impacted it while taking her hard kicking earlier.

"Honesty is critical, Jamie.  As I know Jackie has insisted with you.  She knows little of the actual machinations of owning and enjoying a male slave, but she has the instinct, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Gina."

"And she is probably even further out there on the fringes because she cares little about what others think of her.  Her dress, her bathing habits, her arrogance about make-up and shaving her armpits, for example, would you agree?"

"Yes, Gina."

"And you are strangely attracted to this quality of my daughter's, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Be absolutely honest.  Tell me about the very first moment you can remember in your life when you knew you liked to be hurt by girls."

I easily remembered.  I told her of a fantasy I'd had when I was young where I was tied up by a group of girls I went to school with wherein they'd spit on me and kick my face.  I told her of a time when one of my school friend's younger sisters had thrown hard little green acorns at me when I was visiting and how I'd pretended I didn't like it but then would masturbate to it for months afterward.

"And the first time you knew you wanted to lick and worship the feet of pretty girls."

I told her of a time I'd been sitting on the floor in front of the couch in  my childhood TV room while being babysat by a teenage girl who was chatting on the phone and I'd edged ever closer to her waggling bare foot.  How I'd innocently planted a little-boy smooch on her sole.  How she'd been angered and had spanked me and sent me to bed.  How I'd gotten bolder and bolder with each of her babysitting sessions with my pursuit of her feet and the subsequent punishments until my mother had talked to me about it and shamed me into stopping, but how I hadn't stopped masturbating to the fantasy and the memories.

"Tell me, Jamie, of the first time you masturbated to the thought of being tied up and totally controlled by a girl."

I responded with an easily recalled memory of suddenly creating a masturbation fantasy one night that had me hangin nude from my wrists in the middle of our TV room while various girls from my life laughed at me while they threw things at me, spit on me, punched me, whipped me with their belts or shoes or anything else.

"Do you masturbate to the truly degrading aspects of submission such as being a human toilet for a girl?"

"Yes..." I replied a bit slyly.

"Does that mean you've masturbated to the idea of eating a girl's actual shit?"

"Oh, yes, Gina, sure"

"Have you eaten female shit before?" she asked with a high eyebrow, still dangling that shoe before my face as I knelt ramrod-hard and buck naked before her.

"No... I've never even come into it sexually until just this past day, Gina."

"And did you like the reality as much as the fantasy?"

I paused for a moment before responding thoughtfully, "I loved the thought of it afterward so much that the actual act of being shitted on by Jackie was one of the greatest feelings I've ever had, but at the moment it was a lot more intense than I expected."

"What about eating my daughter's shit?  Her actual hot feces as they drop from her anus into your mouth and you have to chew them and swallow them?  Do you masturbate to that?  If you knew it would happen tonight would you be scared or would you be excited?  Or would you leave?"

"I'd be both," I replied with utter honesty, "both excited and scared, but I would stay and I wish it were going to happen.  I hope it does.  I can't wait."

"But," she raised that eyebrow again and brushed her sole against my cheek, "you realize that the actual act of eating a female's feces is very difficult in practice, right?  That the idea is a turn-on, but that shit really does stink and it really is dirty, filthy, and incredibly hard to actually chew up and swallow, right?"

"Yeah, Gina, Queen, I know, but again I so love the feeling after I do something that I get through the actual doing just to have the memory."

"Fine, Jamie," she stood up as she spoke, "Let's have a little test.  Come with me."

She arose and walked a few steps toward the hallway.  "Just walk behind me, Jamie," she told me when I seemed doubtful as to whether she wanted me to crawl or walk.  My erection flopping heavily, I followed her to the bathroom.  Again I marveled at the beauty of Jackie's slender and divine mother.  Her leather-skirted buttocks were round and full but proportional.  The tight skirt shifted sexily as she led me down the hall.  We passed the encrusted dog cage with its piss and shit-soiled padding on the way.

Gina told me to kneel in front of the toilet.  She pulled her skirt and panties down and sat facing me, and she had me scoot forward until my chin rested on the rim of the toilet ring and my face was pressed lightly against her fragrant blond-fringed pussy.  "I'm going to use the toilet, now, Jamie, and you're going to get your face right in between my legs and into the bowl as I do it.  And you're going to take nice, deep breaths as I go, while I seal your face in there with my thighs.   Come on."

She pushed my head down between her thighs until the clear water of the freshly-cleaned toilet was inches below my face.  She squeezed my head between her firm thighs, darkening the sight below my eyes.  "Now, Jamie, I am going to start.  Your only job is to take deep breaths without responding negatively.  It's an insult to your mistress to indicate that her shit smells bad or that you aren't grateful for the chance to eat it."

She began to piss and shit.  Her urine flowed in a strong steady stream that splashed bubbles up against my nose, chin and cheeks.  Her first turd was preceded be a loud fart and a splatter of reeking spray.  This first concentrated blast caused my stomach to turn, but I fought to suppress the feeling and show no physical reaction.  I took deep breaths of her pungent fecal aroma and strong, acidic urine smell.

"Well done, slave-boy, but I could sense your initial distaste for the smell of my shit.  If you give my daughter the slightest indication that you don't like the smell of hers, you and I will have a big problem."

I grunted "Yes, understood, Queen Gina."  I was beginning to realize that Gina was the key to any future as Princess Jackie's slave.  "Please test me more, Queen Gina, I want to prove myself to you..." I began.

"And you will have that chance.  I want you to kneel up on your knees, and then I want you to lick my ass clean after I finish.  Kneel up."

I got up before her on my knees and watched as she finished using the toilet.  She let a few more smaller dark turds fall into the water and another gusher of piss, and then stood up with her ass facing my mouth and she bent slightly.  She spread her perfect asscheeks with her palms to reveal a tiny pink sphincter surrounded by a darker ring of flesh, all of which was flecked and smeared with her fresh shit.  "Lick my ass clean lovingly, slave, or you'll end up watching my precious daughter from across the campus cafeteria and wishing you'd been more enthusiastic when you had a chance to get past my little test."

I dove in with my face and open mouth and slathered my wet tongue across her soiled anus, sucking and licking every morsel of her warm shit until her cleft was pink and shining.  I continued even when there was no more; I waited for her to tell me to stop.

"Good enough, now let's move onto the next phase.  Go kneel in front of the sofa again and wait for me.  Pelvis out, hands behind head, little slave boy."

I awaited her arrival.  It was nearly five, and hour until Princess Jackie would come back to join this scenario.  Gina changed clothes behind me as I knelt for her.

She stepped back around me and took her seat on the couch once more.  She had put on a pair of tight jeans and a loose tan sweater of thick cable-knit.  On her feet were a pair of white canvas tennis shoes, old and scuffed, and cut low.  Brownish outlines of her tiny toes were worn into the tops of the sneakers, and the laces were pulled tightly into long bows.  My mouth watered as I gazed at these sexy shoes, and as I imagined the rich scent of her feet, sockless, that had imbued itself into the cloth and soles over the many hours she'd obviously worn them.

"Stay up on your knees with your penis thrust out like that, Jamie," she ordered as she lit another of her long menthol cigarettes.  She very, very lightly placed the instep of her right foot against the sore and still-swollen scrotum holding my abused testes.  She slowly leveraged it higher into my sack by placing her left foot underneath the right's heel and crossing her ankles there just below my crotch.  She began to gyrate her feet so that my bruised nuts were massaged gently yet still a bit painfully.  She smiled at me as she did this; I remained stoic externally and utterly aroused internally.  My penis hardened within 30 seconds and saluted her.

"Good slave-boy," she laughed as she blew out a puff of bluish smoke, "that's the best thing about you teenage submissives.  Always horny, ready to get hard."

I nodded.

"Next phase is this:  before I tell my daughter that I think you're a true male slave, you need to show me that you understand the idea of worshipping your own mistress while putting all other girls out of your mind.  It takes time, but you need to be trained so that you instantly are aroused by your Princess, but conditioned to ignore other girls.  Understand?"

"Yes, Queen Gina, I think," I answered.

"Well, here's a little beginning test."

She presented a small black leather purse, plopping it on the sofa to her left and unzipping it.  From inside she drew out a series of Ziploc bags, ten of them, and laid them out on the cushioned seat beside her.  Each of the sandwich-style bags contained either a pair of plain white cotton panties or a white cotton ankle-sock.  There were five of each.  She flattened them out and set them in a pair of rows.

"What you see here, slave-boy, are the tools of the next little test.  Some day, you will be so conditioned to worship your mistress, Princess Jackie, above any other female that you won't even feel a stirring of that ridiculous cock of yours unless you're in her presence.  But of course, right now, you're totally untrained and constantly horny for any half-way decent girl that passes over your transom.  To start your training, I have this little exercise.  In each of these bags are a pair of panties or socks that I've taken from the dirty laundry of a young girl, pretty girls like my Jacquelyn, that I've had under my nursing care at the hospital where I am employed.  Over the past two days, I've kind of scouted out some targets and stolen their dirty laundry.  One of the pairs of panties, however, and one of the dirty socks are my daughter's.  I'm going to have you smell those and memorize her scent.  Then, I'm going to have you close your eyes as I put the socks and panties, one at a time, over your nose.  You're going to tell me if you're smelling your Princess or if you're smelling another girl.  Every time you get one wrong, I'm going to have to punish you... and I'll do that by grinding my dirty old tennis shoes against your oh-so-swollen poor little balls.  Get it?"

"Yes, Queen," I breathed out in a deeply excited low voice.  This little game sounded deeply erotic and exciting.  I felt my heart speed up once again in Gina's presence.

"As soon as you've gotten her socks and panties right, just by her personal scent, and without an error for three consecutive guesses, I'll know that you know how to identify your own personal mistress well enough to worship her... and her only, as she deserves.  But if you can't do that before Jackie gets back, I'll be forced to let her know that I think you're not true slave material."

I solemnly nodded.

Gina stubbed out her cigarette and opened up one of the panty bags.  She pulled out a tiny pair of the white cotton undies and spread them so that the crotch could be placed tightly against my nostrils.  She pressed them against my face while still holding her sneaker against my balls with just a little bit of twinging pressure.

"Take a deep breath of these, slave-boy," she ordered.  "These are my beautiful daughter's soiled panties.  Memorize her precious scent."

I inhaled deeply.  I tried to form a mental imprint of the musky, tangy scent that flooded my nasal passages.  I took several deep breaths before she took them away.

"Now, her dirty sock."

She pressed the little white sock against my nose next, firmly, and the intoxicating aroma of a lightly-grimed, deeply-scented female foot invaded my brain.  My surging cock stood high, hard, throbbing and purple.  Again I memorized the musky, vinegary, salty-sweet scent.

"Now, random panties and socks, Jamie.  Tell me if they're your Princess's or not.  Get three in a row right and you pass the test."

She started with a pair of Princess Jackie's panties.  I immediately guessed correctly.  The test was over quickly.  She tried a strange sock.  I guessed correctly.  She tried to trip me up with the same pair of Princess panties that had been first.  I knew they were Jackie's soiled underwear right away, and the test was over.

Gina seemed a bit disappointed in not having created a reason to punish me, but was outwardly pleased that I'd so quickly learned her daughter's scent.

"I'm impressed, little boy... not bad.  I want to give you a little reward... would you like me to spank you a little bit?"

I nodded yes.

"Okay... let's redden your ass.  And what a cute little ass!" Gina exclaimed as she motioned me to get over her lap.  "Get your penis between my legs, there you go," she said as I let my weight settle across her thighs, which she locked around my hardened penis tightly.  She began to spank, pretty hard, as I got ever more erect.  I really love spankings...

After about five minutes of steadily increasing spanks, she pushed me off her lap and had me lie on the floor before her, face up.  She put her shoes over my face, sideways, so that she could pop her bare heels out of them and let me get my nose into the arches of her feet.  She had me stay like that for another five minutes or so, breathing the scent of her warm, damp feet mixed with the scent of the leather of the stillettos.

"Okay, enough reward, slave, you drag that filthy dog-cage out to the deck and hose it clean, then towel dry it.  Put the dirty mat in the wash first.  Be done quickly and drag it back in here."

It took me about forty minutes to completely scrub and hose the shit off the chrome-steel wires and bars of the dog-cage.  I swapped the mat from washer to dryer during this time, and by six o'clock, when Princess was due to return, I was once again locked into the clean cage with Gina sitting on the couch, heels up on the coffee table, so that her soles pointed at my face inches away through the bars.  She'd let me use the bathroom to brush my teeth and use the toilet before locking me in, naked but for my collar and the chastity belt, which she'd re-applied and snapped into tight locking position.  She'd cuffed my wrists in front of me with the heavy chain shackles.  My ankles were shackled to the cage floor behind where I knelt, hunched over, with the ceiling pressed against my hunched-over back within the three-foot space allowed by the containment's size.

"When my daughter gets back, I'm going to supervise as she gives you a few lessons in how to serve her.  Then I'll watch and guide her as she gives you a very severe punishment designed to test your pain acceptance potential.  Not because you've been bad, but because I need to see that you will accept an extreme amount of punishment from my daughter without reacting negatively or, worse, turning on her.  Also, of course, because I know how sadistic she is in her secret heart, and I need to make sure that you're able and willing to take the pain she gives even when she gives it to you just because she feels like it.  Understand?"

"Yes, Queen Gina."

"Does it excite you that you're going to be tortured tonight before you go to sleep in your cage?"

"Yes, it does, Gina... I'm nervous but excited."

"You're going to be severely, severely tortured, you know... not just a little whipping and tying up.  It'll be harsher stuff designed to cause a slave a strong level of punishment-degree pain, not session-degree pain.  Do you know the difference, slave-boy?"

I didn't, exactly, but I could surmise from what she'd said that one degree of pain was far beyond "fantasy"-type pain where a mistress ties up her slave and beats him for a while and they both enjoy it; punishment pain would be enjoyable only for the mistress, and hell on the slave.  But I knew that even if I hated the pain during the punishment, I would love its memory afterwards and relish that memory with a surge of excitement... many times.  I told Gina this.

She smiled and said "You will certainly have a lot to remember, then.  Your torture will be harsh and degrading."  But before that, you'll be a guinea pig while I teach Jackie a few things about how to dominate you in general.  She's a natural, but she's totally naive."

I nodded as she grinned at me.

"Tell me what you're thinking about right now, slave.  Your mental picture.  Honesty, always, of course... now!"

I was, at that moment, picturing Gina's feet in my mind.  But not the scuffed soles of her stillettos that faced me through the side of the cage, inches away.  I was picturing them bare and dirty, covered with grime and bits of dirt, as if she'd walked barefoot all day.  I was picturing her ordering me to lick them clean as she sat upon the couch.  "I'm picturing your dirty bare soles, Gina... and you making me lick them clean as you sit there on that sofa.  Reading and ignoring me."

She giggled.  "Perhaps the next time you visit me, or I visit Jackie.  But I have to leave tonight, as you know, on that plane at three in the morning.  Jackie's taking me to the airport and then bringing the rental car back tomorrow.  Then, you're all hers... but I'll be talking to both of you almost every day until you either are or aren't her permanent slave-for-life."

She checked her watch and said, "It's quarter after six... I'm calling Jackie."

She dialed her cell and spoke with her daughter for a while.  It was obvious that she was still out shopping and wouldn't be back until seven.

Gina hung up.  "Forty-five minutes, slave-boy.  I'm going to take a nap.  You stay quiet and still, don't rattle your chains.  I sleep very lightly."  She snapped off the lights and lay down on the couch.  Soon I heard her light breathing as she dozed in the darkness.  I stayed perfectly still in the semi-uncomfortable position; my knees were pressed against the thin mat and the wire mesh below it and were beginning to ache.  My cock, of course, was as hard as a rock and throbbing against the Lexan acrylic cylinder that imprisoned it in the chastity belt.  My balls, still a bit swollen and sore from Gina's hard kicking, filled their cup entirely.

After a while of this, at least an hour, my knees really beginning to throb in this unaccustomed position, I heard a car pull into the driveway three floors below.  I heard steps coming up the stairs, and the back door burst open.  Lights came on, and Jackie was home.  She rushed in to the room past the cage and excitedly called to her mother "Hi, I'm back, wake up!  Wake up!"

Jackie was holding up two big canvas shopping bags, and she then pivoted and put them down on top of the cage.  "Oh, hey, Jamie," she grinned at me, "ready to be a guinea-pig-slash-torture-slave tonight?"

"Yes, Princess, definitely," I blurted.

"Okay... I know I can't wait.  Now stay there and shut up while we get ready."

I nodded.

Gina and Princess retreated to the kitchen to discuss the plan in whispers.  When they returned, Princess unlocked the dog-cage while Gina unlocked the shackles.  Soon I was kneeling up on my knees with my hands on my head and wearing only the collar and belt.  Gina attached a chain leash to the collar and handed the other end to Princess.  They'd had me push the coffee table away from the sofa to create space in front of the couch.  A thin, fake Oriental rug was under my knees.

"Okay," Gina began, "first thing is to learn how to properly worship your Princess's body, slave.  A slave must know how to give pleasure to his mistress, as that is his only purpose in life.  As we go along here, we're also going to formalize your rules.  From now on, you will live your life under a strict set of rules, and if you violate any, you will receive punishment.  It will be a punishment designed not to fulfill your fantasies, but to condition you to follow all of your owner's rules.  Rule number one," and now Gina paused to turn to Princess, "write this down, honey," she directed as Princess picked up a notebook that she'd taken from one shopping bag, "Rule One is this: 'Slave Jamie is a piece of property owned by Princess Jackie.  He will at all times think of himself as a thing she owns, and no longer as a person with rights.'"

Princess scribbled this down.

Gina continued.  "Rule Two: 'Slave Jamie will never look at or speak to any females other than Jackie, or myself if I am present,  unless ordered to by her.  In her presence, he will always keep his gaze locked onto her sacred feet, and outside her presence will avert his gaze from other females.  If he is forced to converse with another female, he will not make eye contact and will keep the conversation as brief as possible.  He is to ignore other females if they attemp to speak with him casually, even if he seems rude by doing so."

Princess scribbled down Rule Two.

When she finished, she looked back to her mother. 

"Rule Three," continued Gina, "Slave will not have any erections outside of his Princess's presence without her permission.  If he does, he is to report the transgression to her immediately by cell-phone, which he must carry at all times."

Princess continued to scribble as Gina went on with the list of rules.  Eventually, the entire list looked like this:

Slave Rules

1) Slave Jamie is a piece of property owned by Princess Jackie.  He will at all times think of himself as a thing she owns, and no longer as a person with rights.

2) Slave Jamie will never look at or speak to any females other than Jackie, or myself if I am present,  unless ordered to by her.  In her presence, he will always keep his gaze locked onto her sacred feet, and outside her presence will avert his gaze from other females.  If he is forced to converse with another female, he will not make eye contact and will keep the conversation as brief as possible.  He is to ignore other females if they attempt to speak with him casually, even if he seems rude by doing so.

3) Slave will not have any erections outside of his Princess's presence without her permission.  If he does, he is to report the transgression to her immediately by cell-phone, which he must carry at all times.

4) Slave Jamie will move into his Princess's home and be under her supervision at all times.  He will go to his classes and return immediately to her apartment once they are concluded.  He will go nowhere other than classes or her home unless she commands or allows it, with one exception: he will take his breakfast, lunch and dinners at the dining hall on campus, but he will sit by himself at a single table and avoid contact with others.  If approached by male friends, he will act normally and converse with them, but will avoid this if possible, and will immediately report by cell-phone to Princess whenever he is unable to avoid eating alone.  If there is time between finishing a meal and his next class, slave will spend this time in the home of his Princess.  When she is not at home during a time when slave is required to be there, he will sit on the deck outside her door and study, regardless of weather, until her return.

5) Slave Jamie will refer to Princess Jackie as 'Princess' or 'Princess Jackie' whenever alone in her presence, and will refer to her as 'Jackie' while others, excepting Queen Gina, are present.  He will refer to himself only as 'slave' or 'this slave' while alone in her presence.  In the presence of others, excepting Queen Gina, he will refer to himself as 'I' or 'Jamie'"

6) Slave Jamie shall not think about or picture any other female nor shall he fantasize except about his Princess.  He will be tested often by way of responding immediately to the following command from his Princess:  She will say 'Mental picture, slave' and he will immediately describe his current thoughts on pain of punishment.

7) Slave will have contact with his family only with his Princess's knowledge.  If he receives calls from family, he will not answer his phone and will instead call his Princess so that arrangements can be made for her to be present at the time of contact.  Family visits will be handled under Princess's direction as they occur.

8) Slave Jamie will be responsible for all chores and tasks required in maintaining both his Princess's domicile and her body.  He will clean her home each and every day immediately after returning from classes, and he will immediately follow all of her orders in regard to bathing and beautifying his Princess as she desires.

9) Slave Jamie will eventually become his Princess's toilet slave, meaning that he must learn to consume without mess or spillage any and all of her bodily wastes as she so commands, and to be available to her as a toilet whenever she may require one.

10) Slave Jamie will request permission to speak to his Princess by asking politely 'May this slave speak?' and obtaining her consent before proceeding.  If she ignores him, he will wait at least an hour before asking permission again.

11) Slave will use the bathroom only with the permission of his Princess.  If granted, he will be required to immediately thereafter thoroughly clean and disinfect whatever surface of the bathroom he has touched or which has touched his waste products, including the tub if he has showered or bathed within it.

12) Slave will think of himself as an inferior to the the female sex.  He is to think of himself as filthy and foul, as if covered with pathological bacteria and filth, and as if he carries a foul stench.  He is to think of himself as an untouchable, as a walking pile of filth and feces that exists only to serve his Princess.

13) Slave Jamie is to think of his Princess as a living goddess, as a sacred being, and is to develop a deep and loving feeling of worship not only for her, but for the very clothes she wears, wastes she excretes, and ground she walks upon.

14) Princess will indeed love Slave Jamie, but her love for him is without restriction, restraint or commitment of any kind.  She is free to develop any kind of relationship she may desire with others, even sexual relationships if desired, and may terminate the Mistress-slave relationship with Slave Jamie at any time.  Slave Jamie, however, may not terminate the relationship without the permission of Princess and may indeed only separate from her with her permission or upon punishment up to and including the loss of his life.  If, at any time, Princess loses her feelings of love for her slave, she will release him.

15)  Slave will be kept in near-constant chastity and will expect to be allowed to climax only on extremely rare occasions.  The purpose of this is to ensure that the slave is in a constant state of desire for his Princess and therefore more malleable, compliant, and able to be used and manipulated to her liking.

16) In the home of Princess and slave, when alone together or with Gina, slave will keep himself naked except for his collar and chastity belt, unless directed otherwise, and will never walk upon two feet when Princess is sitting or lying down.  He will only crawl in that situation.

17) Slave Jamie will understand that slavery often involves long periods of boredom, long periods of carrying out menial tasks in service to his Princess, and long periods in solitary bondage, and slave will condition himself to enjoy these periods as a tribute to his devotion to his superior.

18)  Slave Jamie will understand that there is no logic or rationality attached to the commands or desires, or actions, of his Princess and will merely submit to any command, desire, action or treatment that she inflicts upon him.  No rewards are to be expected, and any punishment to be given will be at her immediate whim and do not have any connection to past behavior or routine.  Rules may change whenever Princess feels like it.

19) When being punished, slave is to make every possible effort to remain silent and obediently accepting of the pain; slave will hold in mind that violating this rule will not be pleasing to his Princess and may indeed result in increased punishment.  Princess will direct any emergency treatment slave may need during the course of his slavery.

20) Slave Jamie will inform his Princess of any money or gifts that he receives from any party, and she will determine their usage as if she had received them herself.

21) When in Princess's presence without any tasks to be specifically performed, slave will place himself under her feet so that his face can be used as her footrest.  He will lie flat on his back with his arms at his side and perform as a motionless piece of furniture.  If she is moving about, he will walk behind her at a minimum of three steps until she settles, and then he will perform as footrest for her.

22) In public together, slave will always follow three steps behind Princess Jackie with his gaze upon her feet.  When she is sitting in public, he will wait for her to be fully seated before he himself sits down, and he will keep his eyes down or on her feet.  Often he will be commanded to seat himself at her feet or to perform as footrest, at her discretion, and he will comply despite the potential embarassment this may cause him.  He will also accept any public punishment she may choose to inflict, including but not limited to public face-slappings or spankings.

23) For appearance's sake, slave will occasionally be ordered to spend time with friends or at his dorm room.  During these times, all rules still apply except that he may freely converse with other males, and males only, and never about his relationship with Princess regarding his status as her slave; this is to remain private between the three of us unless Princess decides otherwise.

24) While slave will never be ordered to sexually interact with other males, Princess is free to order him to service any female in any way that she may desire.

25) All of the above is subject to change at any time, more rules will be added constantly, and none of this becomes effective until midnight tonight.  At midnight, Princess and Queen will decide whether to offer slave status to Jamie, and if he is utterly willing to commit to all of the above for the rest of his life, or until he is released by Princess, he will become her permanent slave and will follow all of these rules.

And that was the list that Princess scribbled down.  She closed the notebook, put down the pen, and awaited Gina's next direction.

I continued to kneel before them.  I had my eyes locked onto the tops of Princess's old duck boots as she sat to my right with them planted on the floor.  Gina had her feet up on the coffee table that stood behind my naked back.   She was now loosely holding my leash.

"Time to learn proper body worship, slave-boy," she began, "and that means you now need to learn to properly satisfy my daughter with passion and worship.  We'll start with foot-worship, then move on to anal worship, armpit worship, and finally, after you brush and sanitize your mouth and teeth, how to worship her sacred vagina.  A slave must know how to make his mistress orgasm with his tongue, mouth and lips... or he's worthless.  Understood?"

Yes, Queen Gina," I answered.

"Okay, honey," Gina now said to her eighteeen-year-old scruffy yet beautiful daughter, "move in front of your kneeling boy-slave."

Princess sidled on the sofa to face me and planted her boots between my knees.  Gina got up and pushed the coffee table out of the way so that she could stand behind me.  She fished through one of the shopping bags and took out a rubber bicycle tire tube.  It was large and thin, designed for a ten-speen bike, and deflated.  It formed a perfect whipping strap that would deal a harsh, grippy blow and also re-ignite the many wounds and welts already criss-crossing my back.  She dangled it in front of my face and let it brush against my chin, lips and cheeks.  I could smell the new rubber scent.

"If you make mistakes as I direct this little training, slave-boy, you'll get a really nice lash from this bicycle tube, get it?"  asked Gina.

"Yes, Queen Gina," I responded.

"Okay, then let's begin your lesson on foot worship.  Understand the following:  we know that as a slave, it is a pleasure for you to worship your Princess's body, especially her feet, since you have a foot fetish.  Therefore, you are required to maintain an erection at all times whenever your Princess allows you to worship her body.  At all times.  However, of course, you are never to climax!  Also, your worship must be done not to please you or your fantasies, because your needs are totally unimportant.  Your worship of her sacred body is meant only for her pleasure.  If your fantasies are satisfied by carrying out her commands, fine, but remember at all times that you're a worthless piece of filth, and exist only to serve my daughter.  Understood?"

"Yes, Queen Gina," I replied as she stood directly behind me with the bicycle tube loosely wrapped around my neck right above the collar.

"Jackie, time now to order your slave to remove your footwear."

Jackie used a firm voice that wavered with suppressed giggles to command "Slave, take off my shoes, gently."

I bent over a bit as Gina held the tire tube around my neck, and as Princess pulled the leash a bit more tautly.  I began to reverently untie the old laces of her left boot.  I loosened them a bit with delicate moves, and then pulled the boot off of her heel with my left hand cupping the rubber sole and my right hand gently lifting her ankle.  I slid the boot softly free of the bare foot within its tight confines and was welcomed with that first rush of strong scent released by her moist, unwashed bare foot exiting its leather and rubber home.  I took my first close-up gaze at Princess's bare little foot.  Her nails were unpainted and needed trimming.  Under each toenail except the pinky she had a thin crescent of black dirt.  Between her toes I saw the gleam of moisture on the pink webbing spotted by little bits of grime and lint.  Her insteps had a very fine patch of blonde hairs across the alabaster skin.  Thin blue lines of veins decorated her skin, and there was a red ring of impression where the boot's top collar had gripped above her delicate ankle.  Her soles were a deeper pink, slightly yellow where the thicker skin protected her sacred feet, and grime was well-ground into her heel and the ball of the foot.  Her high arch was speckled with lint and dark flecks of dirt.  The ridge under her toes was damp and dirty.

"Now, Jackie, command him to rub those red impressions out of the skin above your ankle while holding the sole of your foot against his face.  His face should support the weight of your leg and foot while he gently rubs your injured skin."

Jackie nodded and ordered "Slave, hold my foot up with your face and rub those red marks out of my ankles."

I hardened within the plastic cup of the belt until my penis actually throbbed painfully within.  Ever-so-reverently, my heart racing, I pressed my face against the sole of her precious foot as I lifted her leg up.  I tilted my neck to allow her foot to rest on my face with the arch pressing against my nose and the heel resting on my chin.  I could feel rough callused skin at the back of her heel.  Gina saw this and said "He'll have to learn how to properly pamper your feet, too, Princess.  Get rid of those heel-ridges and trim your nails."

Jackie nodded as I rubbed away for a few minutes.

"Okay, now it's time to worship her foot, every inch, with your tongue, and to clean up all that grime on her soles and get all that toe-jam out from between her toes," Gina interjected.  "Jackie, order him to wash your feet with his tongue."

Jackie rested against the sofa cushions and ordered "Slave, wash my foot with your tongue.  Start at my toes and work your way down as you cleanse every inch of the grime and toe-jam.  Swallow it all... give me a tongue-washing foot-massage."

"Good!" said Gina as I began my reverent scrubbing of my new girlfriend's big toe for the first time.  The taste of her foot was incredibly arousing.  She carried the salty taste of her sweat and the scent of vinegar and dirt and cheese between her toes.  I mopped out the little hard bits of grime and the soft lint and swallowed dozens of tiny times.

Gina bent over a bit to look down at my crotch to make sure I was hard.  Of course I was.

I did both of Jackie's feet until my tongue was a bit sore from the friction, and then it was time to move onto anal worship.

"Okay, Princess," Gina began, "Have him get on his fours and face you, and you get on the couch with your ass right in his face.  Have him lower your jeans and panties and get his nose right into your ass-crack."

The drill was laid down by Gina, and Princess ordered me through it.  Start with long slathers from the bottom to top of her anal cleft, and then swirl around the fragrant brown rosebud of her anus before getting my tongue as deep into her as I could while rapidly licking and sucking her asshole.  Jackie wasn't at all obsessed with hygeine, of course, and therefore her asscrack was very aromatic and her anus flecked with tiny bits of gluey shit that I eagerly lapped up.  Soon, she was gleaming. 

We moved through armpit worship and soon Princess was nude and clean and relaxed and well-worshipped except for in her most important place.  For the first time, I was granted the privelege of viewing my Princess's sacred vagina.  Her bush was thick and untrimmed, blonde hair that was more like fur than curls of thick pubic hair.  Her scent was deep, rich, and musky with traces of ammonia and her sweat.  She was quite wet, with vaginal juices seeping from between her lips and thin labia.  Her clit was hard and visible, red and gleaming from its little folded envelope.

Under Gina's tutelage, I was schooled in how to properly suck on that clit and those lips without stopping for air.  This tutelage was interspersed with several hard lashes of the bicycle tube, and then, as Princess began to buck her hips and moan as I suckled and flogged her clit with my lips and tongue, a steady rain of the blows came down on my back and shoulders until a juicy gush of liquid from Jackie's vagina signaled her orgasm.  Gina had me continue through another and another until Princess grabbed my hair and shoved my face away.  She heaved on the couch, knees up and legs spread, juices flowing, her chest rising and falling, as she came down from the high of her first oral climax.  I knelt, proud of myself, enjoying the sting of the lashes, smiling, with my eyes back on her now-clean little feet.

After a little banter between mother and daughter, Gina addressed me again.  "Slave, you're actually proving yourself fairly worthy with the worship part of tonight's process, but it's now past ten, and we have less than two hours to get through the hard part: your torture session, your punishment-degree torture session.  Get on top of the coffee table face-up.  Spread your arms up and out and scoot down so that your wrists are at the corners."

I did.  Gina rummaged through the shopping bags and took out a series of cuffs and restraints, showing Princess how to apply them all, until I was lying on my back with wy wrists tightly bound to the corners of the table above my head and my legs lifted high over my body and knees tied to my shoulders.  My ass was lifted and wide-open with my legs spread, and a pillow propped underneath.  In my mouth was an inflatable gag that stretched my cheeks and silenced me.   Straps held my torso flat to the table at seven places, and my head was held between a steel vise with flat plates that made it impossible to move my neck from side to side.  The vise was firmly clamped to the table, and a band strapped across my forehead.

Now that she had me lying fully exposed, Gina removed the chastity belt.  My freed cock sprang to vertical position, saluting them in its fully-erect position, and my balls bulged out in their bruised and welted splendor below.

"Now, Jackie," Gina said to her daughter, "it's time not to have just a regular, fun punishment session, but a true torture session that would be equivalent to what you'd do if he broke a rule.  To cause him an incredible degree of pain, you know, actual torture-torture.  Get it?"

"Yeah, mom," said Princess breathlessly.  "How?"

"Start with the nipples, then the cock and balls, and then the ass.  Then keep on adding torments and beating until your slave is crying freely.  You have to get tears flowing, or it isn't punishment, it's fun, get it?"

"Yeah... but how to start?"

The procedure began with Gina teaching Jackie how to do each of the following, in order...  nipple clamps were put on me, and tightened until they blazed pinpoints of fire.  Thin chains from these were hung over the sides of the table and heavy weights attached until I thought they'd rip my nipples off.  My balls were wrapped at their base with tight thin twine until they bulged and shined in tightness and then Gina showed Jackie how and where to apply forty alligator clips, each of which bit into the tightly-drawn skin.  Blood beaded up around the tip of each clamp.  My cock was slid into a metal cylinder and then a dozen screws set into it were tightened until they dug into my erection and spiked it from top to bottom while biting into flesh and causing blood to well out of each tiny wound.  A mousetrap was clamped onto the bulging exposed head of my circumcised seven-incher, and another thin chain attached to this before weights were added that pulled my cock toward the end of the table pointing straight down and stretching it against the deeply biting screwtips of the cylinder.  It felt like the skin was bulging and ripping as more weight was added to the chain, and the chain itself was so taut that it pushed down hard across the split between my clamped balls painfully.  Into my asshole went a thick buttplug, and Gina showed Jackie how to inflate it until I had to squeeze my eyes shut to take the incredible painfulness of my stretched rectum and sphincter.  Gina then slathered hot pepper sauce all over my clipped balles and clamped penis head, and then on the ring of flesh surrounding the buttplug.  They sttod back and laughed as I began to cry when the heat really set in and burned.  I felt light-headed as I openly sobbed, muffled by the fully-inflated gag in my mouth, tears running down my cheeks and spattering onto the dark wood of the coffee table.  My erection was gone, but the cylinder nad weights held my penist stretched to beyond its seven-inch normal erection length, so Gina tightened the biting screws studding the cock-cylinder even further.  Next, the beating began.

Starting with my face, Jackie was directed by Gina as she slapped my inflated cheeks over and over with increasing speed and strength.  The flat of her palms met my face with a loud splat at least a hundred times until my cheeks were dark red and swelling.  Random blows caught my eyes as well, making them swell up a bit.  I cried and sobbed throughout, trying to stay silent, but unable, as Jackie moved on to the whip.

Gina demonstrated the use of the five-foot bullwhip that Princess had purchased, then directed her daughter as she took over, starting with my claves, then knee-backs, then thighs, and then my spread-wide, plugged ass.  She counted off fifty lashes to each of these four areas, delivering two hundred lashes, each of which raised a thick red welt and drew a line of thin blood, as I passed out from the pain.  My tears were exhausted as I passed from a state of pain to a state of mere acceptance of the beating; numbness set in so that I actually felt the impact of each blow, but did not feel a fresh blaze of pain with impact.  I had gone into a numbed shock, feeling a dizzying light-headedness, until I saw stars and blackness overcame my senses.

I awoke to the strong smell of an open revival salt that Gina was showing Princess how to use.  I heard, through the haze of awakening, her tell her daughter "When your slave passes out during punishment, you have to wake him up like this, see?"

"Okay," I heard Jackie reply as Gina waved the little salt under my nose.

I returned to full consciousness as Gine withdrew the smelling salt and told her daughter that, at this point in such a punishment, she needed to simply add more tormenting devices and then let me stay in bondage for a long time while saturated with pain.  And to watch from time to time to make sure that if I passed out to revive me with another salt.  They proceeded to put more clamps onto my bruised balls and tighten the penis screws.  Heavy clamps were added to my ass cheeks until I felt them digging in across every whipped and welted inch.  More hot sauce was slathered on.  Fire built again, and again I passed out with dizzying reeling of my brain, in the overload of senses and pain.

I awoke to another smelling salt, and was left alone to lie there as the women went off to the kitchen to have a snack and a glass of Jackie's Pinot.

At midnight, it was time to take Gina to the airport, and my stiff and beaten frame was released from the table.  I trembled and bucked as each clip and clamp was removed, the blood pressure returning with a fiery rush each time, and the cuffs and straps removed.  Gina demonstrated how to use alcohol to sterilize all the bleeding wounds, and then jackie's cool hands took over until the stripes and welts and bite-marks of the clamps were stinging with the cleansing alcohol.

They left the gag in my mouth, but removed the buttplug.  My chastity belt went back on, and as Jackie pulled the strap tight she giggled at my wincing when the cup and tube pressed tightly against my beaten, wounded cock and ball flesh.

Into my cage I went, on my side with my hands cuffed behind my back, and one ankle chained to the rear side's thickest bar.  The lights went out, and the women went to whisper in the kitchen about my fate.

And thus begins the next part of my story:  I agreed to become the slave to Jackie, follow all of the rules outlined that day, and to go forward as her property even as my body reeled from the pain and injury of the punishment.  Gina was driven to the airport by Jackie while I was tasked with copying the list of rules, memorizing it, as I lay inside the little dog cage with the notebook and pen.  Jackie uncuffed my wrists, then locked one loosely to the bars beside the cage door so that I could write but was still bound to the cage by one wrist and one ankle.   She also tossed in a bottle of water and a small bag of Frito's. 

For good measure, she got on top of the cage and urinated on me, right onto my head and neck, then stuck her ass through the door so that I could lick her clean of piss.  She locked me in, Gina said goodbye, and off they went as I began to memorize the rules that would be my firm life guide for the next eight months...

Freshman Year Girlfriend

==> Chapter 5:

When Jackie returned to the house at nearly five in the morning she took a moment to wake me up and talk to me before going into her bedroom for the night.  She turned on the light in the living room, and I awoke as she sat on the sofa, and she waited patiently as I stirred and became aware of her presence. 

Her first words to me as I shook off the grogginess and locked my eyes onto her feet were: "I wanted to give you one last chance to get out of the slavery you promised to me tonight.  I want you to know that I'm really happy about owning you and that you've agreed to all the rules, but I realized as I was driving my mom to the airport that you might have said 'Yes' to this in the heat of the moment, and I thought you ought to have a chance to walk away before I fall totally in love with you and become obsessed with owning and dominating you..." she trailed off as I knelt in the cage, listening raptly.

She stopped speaking for a moment and kicked her boots off with her toes.  She hadn't put socks on before dressing to drive to the airport, so her feet were bare.  I could smell them immediately as they had baked inside those hot old leather and rubber clunkers.  She scooted down on the couch and pressed her right sole against the bars nearest my face.  "I love this foot fetish stuff," she giggled.  "If you really want to be my slave and follow all the rules, then lick the bottom of my foot through the bars."

I licked feverishly the exposed damp pinkness of her fragrant foot as she sat in silence and enjoyed the feeling.  "I never liked being touched, Jamie," she cooed, "but I loooooove this.  Keep licking.  I think I'm going to have to lose my virginity, by the way.  To you.  But you'll be tied up nice and tight because I'll be nervous.  I've never even put my whole finger in my pussy before, and your penis looks a lot bigger.  I think I still have my hymen."

I kept on licking as my cock grew hard and tall against its restraining cup.  "May I speak, Princess?" I asked while still licking her foot.

"Yes..." she whispered.

"I am hard, Princess," I advised.

"Good... you don't need to tell me you're hard when you're worshipping me... only when you're not with me... you need to STAY hard when you worship me..." she whispered back.

Twenty minutes of silence passed as I eagerly worshipped both her feet through the cage's bars.  Both of her soles were cleansed by my happy tongue.  I grew incredibly horny, but there was no release for me.  Jackie, however, had run one hand down the front of her skirt and was slowly rubbing her clit as I worked.

Eventually, she came.  Quietly.  She stood up after a moment of deep breathing and stripped herself bare.  As I stared at her feet, she covered the top of the cage with her skirt and sweater, laying them flat.  She then squatted in front of the cage door and unlocked it.  "Face," she commanded, and I presented my face while on all fours.  "Open your mouth wide," was next.  I did.

Jackie stuffed her wet panties into my mouth.  I tasted the tang of her fresh cum as she thumbed my jaw shut.  "Suck on them all night.  Sleep well, slave... in the morning we begin our new life together..."

She stood up, giggling again, and snapped off the light.  Darkness descended as I heard her open the lock to her bedroom and then lock it from the inside.  For hours, as I intermittently slept in the confining and uncomfortable cage, finally finding that the fetal position was best for sleep, I heard the springs of her bed squeaking as she masturbated and masturbated.  It was the last sound I heard before falling asleep and the first sound I heard when I awoke.  I looked at the clock on the cable box and saw that it was nearly noon on Sunday.  Light filtered past the sides of the drapes and dimly revealed the quiet room.

My body ached from the curled night on the cage's barely-padded mesh floor, and I really needed to use the bathroom both ways.  But she was still jerking off fast and hard, so I resigned myself to waiting while knowing that I could use the pan under the cage if need be.

An hour later, she stopped the squeaking and I heard her emerge from her bedroom, carefully locking the door from the outside with the transferred combination padlock, before approaching the cage.  She'd put on her dirty cotton slippers, the thick booties with the rubber dots on the soles, and these made a soft padding sound as she got nearer.  She stopped before the cage door and squatted down, naked, her lightly-furred crotch spread before my face and emitting that worked-over pussy odor that is so tangy and erotic.  Her dried juices were crusted all around her lips and matted her light, straight pubic hair.

"Okay... first day... first thing, slave, is you need to clean my pussy."

She unlocked the cage door, pulled out her now-soaked panties from my mouth,  and had me stick my head out.  She sat on a pillow with her legs spread wide and pressed her clotted crotch against my face.  "Suck and lick 'til I say stop, Jamie," she ordered.  I licked and sucked up her strong-tasting juices and felt the crustiness dissolve on my lips and tongue as I swallowed the deliciousness.  She suddenly farted, loud, blasting my face with her gas.  "Oooooh... smell that, slave," she giggled as she farted again.  I breathed deeply of her gasses and kept licking rapidly, sucking, swallowing.

She stood up and had me crawl out and lie on the floor, face-up.  "Today," she began as she stepped up onto my chest and steadied herself with one hand on the edge of the coffee table, "today, you're going to start by going down to the diner and bringing back breakfast.  And the Sunday Boston Globe.  Get dressed in the jeans and shirt you were wearing, but no underwear and no socks.  Your wallet is in top of the pile, but I get it back when you return... you only hold your wallet when I say so.  Go now, and bring back one of those special omelettes they do, with home fries, and also a coffee, a large, for me.  Get yourself whatever you want.  Hurry."

She got out of my way to watch me dress.  I had to go to the bathroom, and I asked for permission to speak.  She gave it, but she told me to wait until I got back from the diner before I could go.  She said she wanted to think about my suffering while I waited for the food. 

The diner, as always, was crowded at Sunday noon.  It took nearly a half hour to have the order in hand and by that time I was squeezing my buttocks to hold myself together with the great need to go to the toilet.  The chastity belt pressing on my penis reduced the need to pee a bit, but I felt the ache in my bladder.  I rushed back to the apartment with her breakfast and two coffees as well as the pancakes and grits I'd bought for myself.

At the door, Princess held out her hand and said "Wallet."  I handed it over.  "Strip," she flatly ordered next, and added "remember, strip as soon as you get through this door unless there's someone here other than me or the rare time my mother's here, right slave?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied.  She took the diner bag from me as I stepped out of my pants and folded them over the back of a kitchen chair.  When I was naked except for the collar, which some folks in the diner had sort of glanced at, and the belt, Princess seated herself at the table and cleared a spot for herself to eat.  I dropped to my hands and knees as required whenever she was seated (or lying down) and waited, staring at her feet.  She had put on her gray shorts and a white tee shirt.  I stared at the grimy cotton slippers as she crossed her ankles under the table and opened up the bag of food.

"Oh, yeah, you need the bathroom, right slave?" she asked liltingly.

"Oh, yes, Princess Jackie," I moaned back, squirming.

"Okay, go use it, and remember the rules about cleaning up..."

I practically busted my knees getting down the hall to the dingy bathroom.  I'd cleaned it just two days before, but she'd already sloppied it up.  Her used towel was on the floor, there were two balled-up tissues next to the base of the sink, and she hadn't flushed the toilet after using it this morning.  Her piss yellowed the water with its rich scent and her feces sat in a pyramid at the bottom of the bowl.  I sat down and found that peeing and shitting through the holes in the chastity belt required control and precision.  I managed to get the job done, then delicately wiped clean with five or six tries of tissue paper.  I flushed both of our loads, then used the toilet brush to wash the bowl.  I then washed my hands, wiped down the sink rapidly, erasing her toothpaste blobs, and used the Lysol to sterilize both of my foulness.  I remembered that I was just a filthy, bacteria-covered piece of male shit, and I smiled as I crawled back to Princess's feet.

On the floor next to her chair was the styrofoam container holding my pancakes and grits.  Princess had shucked off her slippers and had both of her pretty bare feet planted in the middle of the food.  She'd dumped the little container of syrup all over the tops of her insteps and toes, and a mush of grits and cakes squished up between her pink digits.  "Look at me," she sweetly said, and I saw that her bright blue eyes twinkled devilishly as she said "I want you to eat your meals off my feet a lot, I think, Jamie... I guess I really, really like this foot-slave stuff.  It makes me feel powerful.  Go ahead and eat."

As she slowly consumed her meal, I got my face down there and sucked up my breakfast.  Every few minutes, she'd absently and slowly mash the pancake-grit-syrup mixture with her feet and then lift a sole for me to clean up or point her toes so that I could suck the mush from between them.  Eventually the styrofoam was empty and spotless.  She'd finished her meal as well.

"I want you to clean the apartment today while I read the paper, slave.  Bathroom, hall, kitchen, living room.  After that I don't know what's next, but I'll probably think of something.  Come be my footrest when you think you're finished, or, if I'm in my room, knock on the door and kneel away from it.  Remember, you're not allowed to look inside my room.  Okay?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Oh, and if the apartment isn't spotless, I think I'll have to punish you.  Make sure all the trash is bagged and on the back deck.   Start now."

She took the paper to her room and locked herself inside.

I started with the bathroom.  I scrubbed every inch until it sparkled.  The hall meant I had to find a vacuum cleaner, and I did, in the linen closet.  I put all the folded towels and sheets in there and neatened it as well.  I swept cobwebs from the tops of the walls in every room, wiped and dusted, checked and re-checked my work, and made the piles of crap in the kitchen into neater piles on shelves and in the empty little pantry cabinets.  I even set the oven to clean itself and wiped out the inside of the refrigerator.  Feeling finished, I knocked on her bedroom door and knelt down with my back to it.

"Just stay there, you loser," she snapped at me through the door.

I knelt as I watched the light fade away outside.  I watched time click away on the kitchen clock.  My heels were digging into my buttocks and the welts there, which had been painless all day, started to feel itchy and irritated.  I felt stickiness and realized that some of the cuts had re-opened and I shifted my weight.  Two hours had passed in silence and it was now almost sundown.

Suddenly I heard steps and the door being unlocked.  She jerked it open and threw my wallet at me, bouncing it off my back.  "Dress yourself!" she almost shouted, "Go to the Home Depot and get a piece of rubber hose, one-inch in diameter and five feet long.  Also get a plastic bucket with a sealable lid and a roll of duct tape.  Then go to Walgreen's and get five of the really wide Ace bandages, the longest they have.  I have an idea.  Hurry the fuck up.  I don't like not having privacy, and I'm going to fix it right now.  Hurry UP!" she shouted, and kicked me in the back very hard with her socked foot.  The kick made a thud and stung as it smacked against one of the healing welts there.  It throbbed as I scrambled to my feet.

A half an hour later, I was kneeling away from her bedroom door again with two bags of the items requested.  Inside I heard the familiar squeaking of her bedsprings.  This girl, I thought to myself, masturbates a LOT.

I didn't know whether to knock so I didn't, thinking I'd wait for her to stop rather than disturb her.  A half hour later, she still hadn't, and I debated internally only to be interrupted by angry footsteps and a jerking open of the door behind me.  She saw me there and shrieked "How long have you been here, you stupid fucking FREAK?"

"A half hour, Princess!" I replied, alarmed.

"I told you I wanted privacy and that's why I sent you and then you come back and stay there for thirty minutes ANYWAY?" she yelled.  "You're a stupid fucking piece of sick SHIT!" she added loudly.  "Go to the living room and get on the coffee table with your ass in the air facing the TV! Now!"

I practically ran. 

She stormed into the room two minutes later and dropped an armload of stuff to the floor beside me where I couldn't see.  She jerked my ankles together and cuffed them tightly with the heavy shackles.  She moved to my wrists and slammed them into tight handcuffs.  She roughly grabbed my hair, jerked my head up, and wrapped a heavy linen scarf around my eyes, tying tightly in back to blindfold me.  She commanded "Open!" as she slapped my lips with the back of her hand, and filled my mouth with the inflatable gag.  She angrily pumped it to maximum, stretching my jaws and bulging my cheeks painfully.

"I am going to SO fucking WHIP you!" she screamed.  I heard her lift the new four-foot flogger from the floor.  "You are to ALWAYS knock on my door after I send you away, understand?"

"Yes, Princess," I mumbled behind the huge gag.

"I'm going to whip the shit out of you, you fucking pig, and you'll maybe learn to respect me!  And then," she paused to lower her tone to a dangerous level, "then, I'm going to use that stuff I sent you for to show you how I'm going to have my privacy when you're here and I want it."

She backed behind me as I wondered how Ace bandages, duct tape, a hose and a bucket were going to give her privacy, but my thoughts were quickly shattered as the whip fell upon my streaked and raw thighs with a vicious sound and a terrific blow.

"One hundred!" she announced.  "Take it!"

Jackie began to count off, down from a hundred, as she put all the force and fierceness of her anger behind a series of vicious whip-lashes that fell in rapid succession across my blistered ass and thighs as I bucked and squirmed.  Blood began to flow by the time she got down to twenty, and she threw the whip to the floor.  "You're fucking blood is spattering all over the fucking floor!" she screamed.

She yanked off the blindfold and deflated the mouth gag before yanking it out of my mouth.

"Go get dressed and go back to Home Depot and get a plastic dropcloth like they use for painting a room.  HURRY!!!"

I rushed to get to my clothes and winced as I pulled my jeans over my newly-lashed ass.  She had me turn away from her so that she could check to make sure blood wasn't obviously seeping through the denim.  Satisfied, she barked "Get the fuck back here immediately!"  She grabbed my wallet off the table and threw it at me. I caught it.

"And when you get back, the hundred starts all over!  HURRY!!!" she literally screamed.  Her face was red with rage and her forehead streamed with sweat.  Under her arms her cotton tee shirt showed the darkness of sweatstains as well and I saw the dark patches of the fine underarm hair there that she refused to shave.

I rushed to the store, my ass burning against the car seat, and I had to lift my butt a bit to be able to drive.  I was back withing twenty-five minutes.

I rushed up the stairs, stripped, and found her waiting for me in the living room with whip in hand.  She'd put on a yellow rain slicker that covered her body from head to ankles.  She'd drawn the belt tightly closed around her waist and tied it into a bow.

"I don't want your blood getting on me while I whip you," she explained.  She pointed to the wall next to the TV.  There I saw two of the iron screw-in loops I'd bought screwed into the wall a foot below the ceiling.  A kitchen chair stood there.  She'd obviously used the chair to get up high enough to screw in the thick hooks.  She'd tacked a blanket below the hooks so that the wall was covered.  She told me to spread the drop-cloth on the floor below the blanket.  As I did so, the excitement of the impending punishment mixed in my swirling, fevered mind with the fear of the whipping I was about to get from this girl that she intended to be so fierce that the floor and wall needed to be shielded from my spattering blood.

"I have a towel and a box of smelling salts on the table here, you ridiculous pig," she told me as I spread out the drop cloth.   "Put out your hands."

I stood before her with my eyes on her slippers, which poked out from under the oilcloth slicker she wore.  She put a wrist shackle on each of my offered arms.  The mouth gag went back in.  No blindfold.

"Get up on the chair and hook your wrists to the loops," she ordered.  As I stood on the chair and placed my second wrist into the hook, she told me to get ready for the chair to be pulled out.

As she twisted the chair away I fell several inches and jerked to a halt with my tiptoes three inches above the floor.  She knelt down between my legs and carefully screwed another of the iron loops at the level of my left ankle, but a foot away wide.  Then another a foot wide of my right dangling ankle.  Cuffs went on, and then she spread my legs and hooked them to the new wall anchors.  I now hung from the wall by my wrists against the blanket.

"And now, you privacy-violating dumb piece of shit," she intoned dangerously, "a hundred lashes.  Ten at a time, so that I can rest between each set.  I'm going to make you bleed, and I'm going to love this.  And you should know that I'm angry, and that I used to love to torture and kill bugs and frogs when I was a little girl.  When I was five or six I used to catch frogs or toads and put them in jars and use a magnifying glass to burn them until they died.  I used to babysit for a little boy when I was older, and I used to spank him until he cried every single time, and then lie to his mother when she got back about things he'd done that made me have to punish him.  And I used to make him stand in the corner for the whole time she was gone with his pants down.  I just wanted you to know that I love hurting things, and that I'm really looking forward to punishing you a lot... a real, real, real LOT!"

With the last word of the sentence she flailed out with the whip with all of her strength and the nine thin, hard strands of the flogger slashed across the tops of my thighs with a wicked whallop.  She stepped forward after counting "Ninety-nine," to run her fingers across the set of welts she'd raised.  "But no blood yet."

She stepped back and grunted as she lashed out again, this time meeting the flogger with hurricane force to the dome of my asscheeks.  Fire strafed across them and I bucked against the wall.  "Blood!" she cried triumphantly, then, "Ninety-eight!"  I could hear the lilt in her voice as the blows now rained down, ten seconds apart, each counted off with her happy cry, until she got to ninety.  She dropped the whip onto the drop-sheet on the floor, and I saw the faint outline of its strands mark the plastic with thin curling lines of my blood.  I felt a thin hot trickling down the backs of my thighs as well, and saw tiny red speckles like a galaxy that had spattered onto the yellow wall-blanket as the blood-coated flogger had lashed forward.

She was breathing heavily.  "Ninety to go, and I'm taking a short break.  Don't go anywhere, slave-boy!" she giggled as she practically skipped down the hall to her bedroom.  The squeaking began almost a moment after she'd locked herself behind the door.

I hung, panting around the gag, my nose bubbling and with the beginnings of tears in my eyes, as my mind whirled.  Endorphins were kicking in to counter-balance the onslaught of this pain, but my masochism was so deep that I thoroughly enjoyed hanging there, bleeding from the worst whipping imaginable, and all at the hands of an eighteen year old girl that I'd only met a few days before.  My God, she was so lithe and thin and raw and beautiful.  Oh, her feet, oh how I had loved groveling inside the cage to lick her precious sweat from their pink soles...

There were ninety lashes to go and yet I felt no fear at all.  I felt only a fulfilling satisfaction that is the ultimate reward of the rare male masochist who has fallen in love with a female sadist.

In the room down the hall, this so-rare girl was busily giving herself an orgasm marked by the increasing speed and sound of the squaky bed.  Only minutes passed before I heard an audible gasp and moan, and then she was back behind me with whip in hand.

And so the pattern repeated itself as ninety became eighty, then fifty, with longer breaks in between, and as the blanket became spattered with more red drying into brown and the light-gray dropcloth gathering bigger spots of blood droplets that began to join and merge into a thin layer of my blood.  I felt multiple tiny rivulets of the hot liquid from my flayed ass to my thrashed thighs running all the way down to my dangling toes, where the tiny drops would hang for a minute before falling away to the protective plastic three inches below.

She began to wipe the whip with the towel after every two or three strokes.

When there were twenty lashes to go, I was hanging from my wrists, unaware of their pain, and in an ecstatic trance that only the truly masochistic can achieve under such torture.  An hour had passed, and each lash of the whip made not a solid whack as it landed, but a wet splash.  My toes were dripping every five seconds now.  I looked down at them through hooded, dreamy eyes and guessed that she had whipped a half-pint of blood out of me.  I smiled, then grinned, and anticpated the last twenty.  Every neuron in my ears awaited the sound of Jackie's return.

But my new girlfriend played her own trick on me.  When she returned, instead of taking up the whip that my striped and oozing flesh so craved, she sat on the sofa and turned on the television.  She picked up the paper and began to flip pages.  She didn't speak to me as I hung there at all.  She was letting the pain set in, letting my body return to sensitivity, letting my head clear.

An hour went by.  I knew it was an hour because I heard the beginning and ending of a Discover Channel documentary pass.  She flipped channels and watched back-to-back Simpsons episodes as I became aware of the ache in my wrists and the purpleness of my hands.  I felt the welts and cuts itching as they began to knit and the fire set in.  Swelling raised the welts to ultra-sensitive hard ridges all across my ass and thighs. 

After "Seinfeld" she finally turned off the TV and spoke to me in barely a whisper.

"The last twenty are going to be with this long wooden spoon, slave," she began, "now that you're all cleared up and sensitive and aching.  I'm going to beat you right on top of those swollen welts, aiming for the worst ones, and every single hit is going to hurt.  So.  Much."

A mixture of dread and joy thrilled me as she sidled up behind me and showed me the end of the three-foot long wooden spoon.  It was a decorative item made of heavy maple, meant to hang on a kitchen wall and perhaps wrapped with ribbon or fake fruit.  The handle was thin but the spoon itself was six inches long and flat, barely a bowl cut into it, and three inches wide like a paddle.

"Twenty," she began as she stepped back, and then my world burst into flames.  Tears rushed up and out of my eyes as I writhed against the thick steel anchors holding me to the wall.  The friction of my knees against the blanket burned.  I literally screamed but the gag muffled all but the faintest sound.  Another harsh and explosive blow landed across the hottest parts of my ass.  Blood broke anew and rewetted the dry rivulets upon my thighbacks.  Eight more blows fell until I hung, in pain alone and free of any pleasure, sobbing into the gag, my nose and eyes gushing, and my mouth blubbering around the rubber filling it.  The clear liquids mixed with the newly resurrected red flowing droplets.

She dropped the spoon to the table after wiping it and once again retreated to her room to masturbate fiercely.

When she took me down a half-hour later, I fell limply to my knees and sobbed silently, simply flushed with gratuity that the beating had ended.  I could not have withstood much more, I realized, without passing out.  The last twenty were sheer, unadulterated torture, and I felt weakness resulting from the physical application of her beating as well as the small but impressive amount of blood loss.

She simply stood there over my hitching body for a minute and giggled.  She leaned down to remove the wrist shackles and then the ankle shackles.  She had me kneel before her and tilt my face up so that she could remove the gag, but she placed her finger across my lips to indicate silence.

"Look at me," she cooed, and I opened my eyes to gaze into hers.   She was flushed, and her skin covered with a sheen of sweat, but she was grinning in deep satisfaction.  Her expression was loving and gentle.  "Hug me, Jamie," she whispered, and spread her arms.  I fell against her, still on my knees as she squatted, and my bare wet chest met the rubber of her raincoat.  She lightly gripped my back and pulled against me, avoiding touching the welts on my lower half.  Our necks intertwined as we gently rocked there on the blood-spattered drop cloth.  I saw that the soles of her white slippers were stained red, and that the front of the yellow slicker was spotted everywhere with drying droplets.  She squeezed me tighter while breathing hotly into my ear "I love you, I love you, I love you, I sooooo love you...."

Eventually, as both of our breathing returned to normal, she slowly unclasped me and had me kneel before her.  She sat on the end of the coffee table and peeled the socks off her feet.  The soles were red except for where the little rubber gripper pads patterned across them.  She tossed them to the side and sat there reading the paper as I followed her next order:

"Lick your whip-blood off my soles, Jamie, my love."

And so I did.  She finished the paper over the next two hours as I gently worshipped and cleansed her sacred feet of the stain my blood had left upon her soles and toes.  It was pure heaven.

At eleven PM, she stood up, casually checked each of her feet with a quick lift and glance, and simply said "We have class tomorrow... time for bed.  Get in your cage."

I crawled into the cage, gingerly, not letting the flayed flesh of my ass and upper thighs touch the padding or bars.

"We haven't eaten since lunchtime," she said, "are you hungry?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied, "and I have to use the bathroom.

"No, slave, you're going to have to get used to using the tray in your cage when you need to go, okay?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied resignedly.

"You're my love, but you are also an animal, slave, and I want your use of my toilet to be thought of as a privelege, not a right."

I nodded.

"So, like I said, are you hungry?" she changed the subject.

"Yes, Princess."

"Then I'm making some hot dogs.  Want one or two?"

"Two, please, Princess," I answered.

"Two it is.  Be back soon.  Ketchup, mustard or both?"

"Both, Princess," I told her.

A few minutes later the microwave finished and she returned with a plate containing three hot dogs.  One was on a bun.  The other two were neatly lined with a stripe of ketchup and mustard, but no buns held them.

"Your dinner is going to be eaten from my asshole, Jamie," she said as she saw my curious face.

She giggled again and ate her hot dog in four bites.  Then she stood up and shucked off the raincoat to reveal her glorious and alabaster naked body.  She turned around and told me to look at her ass as she stood with spread legs and spread her cheeks with the split fingers of her left hand.

With her right hand, she slowly pushed one of the hot dogs into her anus and I watched as the ketchup and mustard was pushed into a blob coating her cleft while the weiner disappeared into her rectum.  With a dainty final push, she popped the last half-inch inside herself and her sphincter closed over it to leave just the dab of red-yellow condiments coating it behind.

She stuck her finger through the bars and had me clean off the ketchup and mustard there, and then she sat on top of the cage.  "Get up and suck it out and eat, Jamie," she giggled.

And so I had dinner with a specially added spice courtesy of my new girlfriend, who giggled throughout.

"Are you thirsty?" she asked as I finished swallowing the second dog.

"Yes, sure, Princess," I happily replied.  This was great!

She returned with a 20-ounce bottle of water.  She uncapped it and took a huge swig, and then another, having me watch the whole time.

When the bottle was half-empty, she smiled devilishly at me and held it between her legs.  She produced a simple plastic kitchen funnel.  She put the nozzle into the bottle and, of course, filled it back up with a jet of her deeply yellow urine.  She set the bottle next to the door of the cage and put a plastic straw into it.  She watched happily as I drained it.

"We're not quite done, Jamie," Princess said as she took away the bottle.  "I told you that I had an idea about how I can have privacy when you're here.  And I had you obtain a few things."

She fetched the bags I'd bought earlier with the Ace bandages, duct tape, hose, and the little bucket that had a snap-on cap that made it airtight.

She also went to get a butcher's knife and a pair of scissors from the kitchen.  "Nice neat drawers now, slave!" she remarked about my earlier job cleaning up.

She picked up the five-foot long rubber hose.  It was a flexible but thick black rubber hose with a one-inch bore.  She used the knife to cut one end so that it now had two flaps.  She unlocked the cage and had me stick my head out.  She put this end of the hose over my nose and mouth so that every breath I drew was through the hose.  Next, she wrapped an entire band of Ace bandage around and around my head until the hose was firmly affixed to my face and my mouth was sealed.  After that, she used two more rolls of the bandage to cover my entire head from chin to crown with bandages.  She left only my ears exposed above my neck.  With duct tape, she now wrapped this entire assembly to form a padded skull mask that had the rubber nose-tube for breathing and the open holes for my ears.  Next, she wrapped a whole band of Ace around both ears until a thick layer drowned out all sound, then used the duct tape again to seal this to the mask.  Now, I was in the dark and deaf with only the hose to breath through.  Finally, the final Ace bandage she wrapped below my jaw and around the top of my head so that my mouth was held firmly shut within this padded band, and more duct tape made it permanent.  My heart beat rapidly as I relished the exotic thing she was creating.  Ah, sweet bondage and sweet surrender of control.

When this part was finished, she'd created a tight removable head mask that she could use to make me silent, blind, and deaf.  But she wasn't done.

She removed the mask so that I could see what she was doing.  With the knife, she traced a hole in the top of the plastic bucket that was approximately the same diameter as the other end of the rubber hose.  She fed the hose through the hole and used wrapped duct tape inside and out to seal the hose into the bucket top with an airtight connection.  Finally, she cut another, tiny hole in the lid of the bucket and snapped it tightly onto the container.  She put the mask back on my head and watched me take breaths.  Every breath I took now came through the bucket and was strongly tinged with the sweet smell of fresh rubber.  She tested the airtight quality by putting her finger over the smaller hole she'd made on the lid of the pail, and sure enough, it blocked my air supply.

She removed the mask and smiled at me.  "Now, when I want privacy, I can seal off your sight, hearing and make you silent... but there's more.  Watch."

She popped the lid off the pail completely and set it aside.  She stood up and straddled the open top, then squatted a bit.  As I watched, she shit into the pail and her soft light-brown turds splatted onto the clean plastic of the bucket.  The strong stench rose up and filled the area as my heart pounded and we both smiled.

"Get the idea, my love?" she asked me.

"Yes, Princess, yes," I grinned back.

The cover went back over the bucket and she sealed her fresh turds inside with a few loud snaps.  The mask went over my head.  Every breath I now took passed directly through the pail and its contents... her rank, acrid, wonderful fecal waste.  But the airtight bucket effectively sealed the stink inside so that she would not have to smell it... only me.

She had me back into the cage again with the mask on my head.  The door closed with just enough of a gap for the rubber hose to squeeze through.  She locked me inside to lie there in blind and deaf silence, breathing her shit stench, for the entire night.  My cock swelled maximally as I revelled in this absolute degradation.

Before long, she left me there to sleep on my side as I avoided touching my wicked wounds to the mat or cage bars.

I awoke once.  In the middle of the night, I pulled up a corner of the mat and pissed the cage tray underneath.  This began the process of getting used to sleeping above my own waste within the cage.

In the morning, Princess woke me up so that I could shower and bathe.  She herself simply put on clothes and the knit cap over her messy hair as I sanitized the shower stall and sink of my filth.  I winced and groaned as my cuts and welts stung under the lukewarm shower spray.  I soaped them gingerly and dabbed them dry after finishing.  I met Jackie in the kitchen, where she was filling her canvas book-bag.

"When you get home, your routine will start with cleaning the cage and the bucket, then the rest of the house.  Remember the rules.  Got your cell phone?" she asked brightly.  She removed my collar (but not the belt, of course) and watched me dress.

"I do, Princess."

"Then be good.  MENTAL PICTURE, SLAVE!"  she suddenly called out.

I knew what to do, and my mental picture was of the classroom I was headed to and the seat I was thinking of picking in order to avoid the sight of any of the girls in there.  I described this to her immediately.  She smiled as I gazed at her duck-booted feet.

"Jamie, let's walk to campus together," she softly said.  "Holding hands."

I walked at her side and held her hand as she made an exception to the three-steps-behind-me rule.  Along the way we bantered like any regular young couple.  She told me she wanted to cook her specialty this evening, and for me to come home rather than go to the dining hall for dinner.

As we reached the part of the grounds where we'd have to part to go our separate ways to class buildings, she turned to me and said "Kiss me, Jamie."

We had our first real, deep soul kiss.  Her tongue darted and swaddled my own as she put her passion behind it, and she held my face with her soft hands while grinding her body against mine.  When we finally broke apart, she whispered to me "I'm not going to wear socks anymore, Jamie, most of the time... that way, my feet will get nice and sweaty for you all day... do you like that?"

"Oh God, yes, Princess."

"That doesn't mean you'll get to kiss them every day, you know... but you'll know that most of the time I've gone sockless inside my smelly old shoes all day..." she giggled.

"Oh, cool, Princess..."

"Oh, and another thing... in the summer or winter, like it is now, I still wear my duckboots.  So you can start looking forward to hot, humid, sweaty, boiling summer heat that makes the pavement I walk on all day get sooooo, sooooo yucky hot and makes my poor widdle feet get all stinky and need a slavie-boy to cween them all UP."

She said this last in a super-cutesy Betty Boop voice that just melted me.

She grabbed my crotch and said "Hard?" while giggling.

I was, and I nodded yes.

"Well, get soft, slavie-boy... I'm leaving you... for now... just as soon as you get down and kiss my right toe."

I looked around and saw others nearby, on their own ways to their own classes, but I didn't care.  I dropped to my knee and planted a peck on her boot tip as she offered it up.

"See you after class, Jamie!  Love you!" she called as she hurried away, wool skirt swishing and her book-bag swinging from her hand.

"Love you too, Jackie!" I called back.

My first class was in a giant lecture hall with amphitheatre seating.  I sat in the front row where I'd not be able to see any other students.  I kept my eyes down as the room filled up and I took notes copiously to keep my mind off anything that might give me a forbidden erection.  The fire in my ass assisted in keeping me soft, and I alternated sitting on the sides of my ass cheeks to avoid putting the fresh wounds flat to the wood of the chair.  The seventy-five minutes passed ever-so-slowly, and then it was time to go back to meet Princess at her apartment before returning for my eleven-fifteen class and then lunch.

On the way to her house I felt that familiar tingling of my balls that signalled an oncoming erection, and then my cock began to twitch.  Inexorably, as my itching wounds rubbed against my tight jeans, I grew harder and then had a full erection throbbing against the acrylic casing that held it tightly imprisoned.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket right there on the sidewalk and dialed Princess.  She answered on the second ring.  "Yeah, slave?" she answered coyly.

"I'm...I'm hard, Princess."

"Why?"

"It just happened."

"Are you near any girls?"

"No... I'm alone on the sidewalk half-way to your house."

"Well, slave," she slowly answered, "I know that, because I'm fifty yards behind you watching you from behind a bush.  Good boy.  See you at home."

She hung up, and I let my erection rage while I whistled my way to her staircase.

I knelt on the deck and waited for her as required.  It was a chilly day, and the breeze was starting to kick up.   Clouds had rolled overhead and it looked like a November snow might be coming.  I shivered as I waited, and soon she appeared.  She smiled up at me, and then she ran up the stairs.

The door was unlocked in an instant and soon we were both stripping feverishly.  She was making primal grunts and squeals as she threw aside her clothes.  She pushed me to the floor on my back and sat on my face, hard.  I groaned as my welted ass slapped hard against the vinyl of the kitchen surface.  I bucked upward with my hips but she cried "Make me come, slave!" as she sat her wet pussy right onto my lips.  She unlocked the chastity belt as I began to slurp at her clit and swallow her juices, and she ripped it off.  She grasped my freed erection with both hands and began to roughly stroke me hard, showing her inexperience with penises, as she squezzed and stretched my sore skin.  I kept on eating her out as she dropped her lips to the head of my cock and gave her first attempt at a blow job.  She was just guessing at the procedure and it was painful and rough, but I loved it.  She came as she sucked too hard on the tip of my cock.

Her cum flowed onto my face as she spurted and I greedily lapped it up.  She was bucking and banging my face as she came two more times, loudly, with moans.  Then she settled down and queened me, her full weight on my nose and mouth, cutting off my air as she gently twiddled my penis with her fingers.  I began to see spots as I tried to draw a breath and couldn't.  I bucked very hard, but I knew that I could never dare to eject her from my face, and I simply passed out and went limp.

The next thing I sensed was the harsh chemical smell of a smelling salt as she revived me.  Her face was stitched with worry that melted into deep relief as I awoke.  "Oh my God!" she cried.  "I thought I killed you!"

She threw her arms around my neck and we lay on the floor like that for five minutes, gently rubbing nakedly against eachother, as she whispered into my ear, over and over, "I love you... I love you..."

I soared with joy as I answered her back... "I love you too, Princess... I'm your slave... you own me... do whatever you want to me... I'd die for you..."

She got up on her knees and smiled down at me.  "Do you want to skip 11:15 classes and just hang out here and play?" she smiled devilishly.

My 11:15 was Calculus, which I really needed to stay on top of.  But... this was just too exciting.  I replied "Well, my 11:15 is a hard class, but it'd be fun to stay here and play," I said tentatively.

Her reaction stunned me.  She instantly turned to stone and said in a flat, angry tone "No, what you're saying is that there are girls in your 11:15 that you don't want to miss seeing, right?"  She glared down at my face.

I looked right at her and said, earnestly, "No!!!  It's Calculus!  It's really hard!  If I miss it I fall behind!"

She slapped my face and stood up.  "Why are you looking at me!?!" she yelled as she started to dress.  "Eyes on my feet, you worthless lying piece of shit!"

Perplexed and flummoxed, I rolled to my side and stared at her feet as she dressed feverishly and angrily.  She grabbed her book-bag and yanked the door open.  She yelled down at me "Go to your fucking class, then, asshole, and then lunch.  I'll see you back here after.  And you can fuck off for the rest of the day!"

I tried to call out, but the door was slammed shut before I could say a word.  I heard her stomp down the stairs as I threw on clothes and tried to catch up to her, but she was practically running away and was inside a building before I could.  I had to go back for my backpack and then on to Calculus, which I couldn't even concentrate on because I was so upset about the totally unexpected reaction of my new love.

After class I dragged my worried self to the dining hall and half-heartedly tried to eat a sandwich at a table in the corner while I buried myself behind an open book.  Unfortunately, my roommate Mark saw me and came over to the table.  He sat down and saw immediately that I was bummed out.

"Whassup, dude?" he asked brightly, snapping his fingers under my downturned face.

"I don't feel like talking," I glumly answered, putting down the half-eaten roast-beef sub.

"Where you been, Jamie?  With that new girl?"

"Yes, I have, Mark," I replied defensively.

"Well, you're getting deep really fast... already three whole days with her.  Watch out, man."

"Yeah." I flatly replied.

"Well, whatever.  You're wearing the same clothes you had last time.  At least come get some clothes, dude," he remarked before pulling away while shaking his head.

I dialed Princess to let her know about the contact as the rules required, but she simply answered the phone, said "Whatever," and hung up.

I walked slowly toward her house.  When I got to the top of the stairs I saw a sticky-note in her handwriting attached to a pane of glass in the old door.  It read "Just sleep at your dorm tonight.  I'll call you whenever.  Rules, remember."

I hung my head in disappointment as I read this, but at least she'd referred to the rules.  I walked slowly back to the dorm and let myself into the room.

Mark wasn't there.  I quickly changed clothes while I had the room to myself.  I put on baggy long underwear and a tee shirt before new jeans and a long shirt so that when it was time to sleep I'd have a covering over my welts and the chastity belt.

I studied half-heartedly while clutching my cell phone.  It never rang.  Eventually, I went to sleep.

Much later, a rowdy and drunken Mark stumbled into the room.  He was happily surprised to find me there, and said so.  I perked up a bit.  He'd drunk quite a lot and was flushed red.  He told me he was just there for a minute to grab a few things and then was heading back out to meet up with a girl he'd just met at Shooter's.  But then he said something that really surprised me:  "Hey, dude, you know your new girlfriend?" 

I nodded yeah, go on.

"Well, I just passed her.  She's out on a bench in the quad right there," and he pointed out the window of our room, "and she's sitting there staring up at the building."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Yeah, dude, for reals!  She's just sitting there, and I just put two and two together!  What's up with that?"

I shrugged.  I had no idea, but this was interesting.

He gathered up his backpack and smiled as he dramatically dropped a few condoms into it.  "I'm off!  Good luck and good night!"

The door closed behind him and the darkness resumed.  I crept over to the window, staying in shadow, and peered out.  There she was, sitting on the bench as he'd said, but she wasn't staring upward.  She was dialing her cell phone.  Instantly, mine rang.  I dashed over to the nightstand, saw that it was she who was calling, and breathlessly answered "Yes, Princess!"

"Why did your light just come on?"  she asked, voice full of suspiscion.

"Um, my roomate just blew through, Princess... why?  How'd you know?"

"I'll ask the questions, okay?" she replied haughtily.  "I know because I came to check on you."

"Okayyyy," I replied.

"If you don't get some respect in your voice, I'm hanging up, Jamie," she said flatly.

"Yes, Princess," I replied meekly.

"Tell me that you really wanted to go to class today because you didn't want to miss the lecture and it had nothing to do with any girls there."

I repeated this with passion and earnestness.

"And you love me and you'll never, ever leave me or deceive me?"

"Never, ever, Princess," I replied.

"No, say it.  Say 'I love you and I will never, ever leave you and I will never, ever deceive you."

I repeated this as well, but a tiny spark of doubt about this whole thing flared in the pit of my stomach.  However, she completely doused the spark with her next sentence:  "Fine, then come out here and get over my lap right in the middle of the quad and prove it by letting me spank you right here."

I grabbed my backpack and jacket and ran down to her as quickly as I could.  My heart was in my throat as I realized that at this moment I was making a decision to publicly be known as her slave, or at least as a very strange and pussywhipped dude.  She was sitting on the center bench of the quad.  Four dorms faced it, each full of windows, many of which were lit.  It wasn't that late, and a lot of students would still be awake.  People would be crossing that quad on their way in and out of the dorms constantly for the next few hours.  All four dorms had entrances letting out onto the open space of grass and sidewalks.  I passed a group of four girls coming into the dorm as I exited.  I kept my eyes averted as their loud chatter bounced off the walls behind me as I ran through the cold air to my Princess.

She was sitting up with her legs out before her and was pointing to the ground before her outstretched feet.  The soles of her duckboots were lit by the fake gaslight on a pole right next to the bench.  As I got close, she said "Kneel".

I knelt before her on the sidewalk.  To our left, a big gaggle of kids had just walked onto the grass at the upper left corner of the quad.  Behind me, I heard a loud guy's voice as some people exited my dorm and started across the space.  To my right I could hear loud music from a dorm room.  In every window it seemed I saw movement.

"Kiss my soles, Jamie," she ordered as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

I got my face down to the ground and began to kiss her soles.  Footsteps behind me grew louder as the guys from my dorm approached.  Soon, their voices were right on top of us and it was impossible that they weren't seeing this.  They went silent and passed five feet to the left as I groveled.  Once they were another twenty feet away, they burst into laughter.  The group to the left was now crossing diagonally to get a closer look.  I heard a girl say "Hey, what's that guy doing?" as another said "Hey, look!"

I heard their steps cease and could sense their curious eyes as they stood perhaps fifty feet away to grin at the spectacle.  Jackie didn't care, and I allowed myself to not care.  I kissed her dirty rubber soles ever more fervently.

"Time for your spanking, now!" Jackie said loudly.  I heard a few titters in response from the group to the left.

I got over her legs with my butt facing the group of watchers.  As the jeans pulled tight across my welts and cuts, I felt the burn set in again.

"I'm going to spank you fifty times, slave," Jackie told me in a voice loud enough for the curious to hear.  More titters and a guffaw.

She began to smack my sore ass, hard, and rapidly.  She counted the strokes off as she set my rear end aflame.  "Bad boy!' called out a male voice from the group.

As she finished, she spilled me off of her lap and sttod up.  I rubbed my denim-covered ass as I caught a glance of those who'd observed; there were at least twenty kids standing there.  They started to disperse as they saw that the spectacle was over.

Jackie had one more part to her show.  Loudly she said "I brought your collar, Jamie!" and was rewarded with one more round of laughter from the exiting crowd.

"You go, girl," a lone voice called out, and then they were around the building and gone.

"Now, slave," Jackie told me in a lower voice, "you're in all the way.  We're going back home.  Go up to your room and grab your toiletries and as much clean clothes as you can carry, then get back to our home."

She walked off briskly as I rose to my feet and hurried inside.  At least this necessary part of becoming a slave was now over, and I'd deal with the fallout some other day.

I ran off to be hers.