admin

At 30, the peak of my female hormones screaming at me to do something with them other than finger my softest parts, I found myself still alone. I was afraid I wasn't beautiful enough, yet every time I looked in the mirror (other than on fat days) I thought I looked pretty good. Sexy, even. Long dark hair, pretty eyes, and a nice (though not perfect) line of curves that complimented the mild tan of my skin.

Sexuality for me was always my most profound expression, though more often than not it was my mind that "went the farthest". My boyfriends had ranged from the timid to the adventurous, but I think I may have scared some of them a little with my own wild side.

But what happened to me was something I could never have expected, even if I did fantasize about certain aspects of it now and again.

Her name was Jennifer, and at 19, she was the youngest in the Abnormal Psych class I was taking just for fun at the Junior College. She was infectiously funny, and she was also drop-dead stunning in an innocent way that made me both envious, and in that tiny fantasy part of me, a little excited. She had shoulder blade length supra-soft looking brunette hair, much lighter than mine, but not blonde. A smallish face that was very bright when she smiled (which was often), a petite body that was very well toned but still curvy. Honestly, she had the body and face most women would die to have, and in a different way, so would virtually every man.

We became great friends, having lunch just about every day, and going to movies and to clubs on weekends. Without noticing it at first, I found myself answering probing questions from her whose depth into my psyche increased each time we went out together. After six months of this, I did start to wonder.

Then at last I came to understand what was happening when one night at my home, after we had been drinking wine, I insisted she stay over instead of driving home.

Sitting on the couch, she had gotten ready for bed by stripping down to her panties and a white satin camisole, and she sat with a half-empty glass of wine in her hand.

"Why do you always ask me those questions?" I said out of the blue. "Am I going to be your term paper?"

She giggled, her bright smile infecting me so that I smiled too. "No. But I have been making sure you were the right one to ask!"

"What else do you have left to ask? You know just about everything!"

Stretching languidly, she set down her wine glass and swayed gently across the room, glancing back at me over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen. I did try not to watch her body, but the skin of the small of her back was exposed right down to the start of the cleft in her bottom. I swallowed.

What she did wouldn't even enter my brain's processing area. It was like seeing something totally surreal, and your mind just won't comprehend it.

Jennifer was standing next to my pantry, and she took the extra dog collar I had there off the ring, and she placed it around her neck, looping it through, then locking it into place. It didn't have studs or anything, but the effect was immediate. This 19 year old girl had just put a black dog collar on her own neck in my house, and now she was walking back toward me, her eyes now smoky and bedroomy, and she was definitely swaying her hips.

My mouth was wide open, and dry as a desert rock bed. Nothing was coming to my mind. It had been emptied. I could only gape as she came toward me, then knelt onto the carpet at my feet, her hair spilling out over her back, the black of the collar stark against the lightness of her skin.

And she was still smiling.

"I have one more thing to ask," she said breathily.

I could only croak out a noise in response.

"I watched you for awhile, and I asked you all those questions because I had to be sure it was you," she said, "and it is. I want you to take me...if you accept, I want you to have total control over me in every way. Every word of yours a command to me. Anything you want at all."

Though this was more than any part of me could handle, I still managed to stammer, "But I'm not gay..."

She smiled brighter, shaking her head so that her hair shimmered. "I said in every way. If you only want me to be your maid, that's fine. Whatever you want. If you say yes, I don't make the rules, you do."

"Why...?" I asked, still stunned, still looking into those innocent, smoky green eyes.

Shrugging, she said, "When they're young, some people want to backpack around Europe...explore the world. This is what I want to explore. Will you take me?"

"I...," I stuttered again, breathing really hard as I looked at her, kneeling, her bare feet pouting out from under her bottom, her knees parted, her camisole open enough that I could see down to the swell of her breasts. I was really starting to breathe too fast. "I...I mean how long? A day, A week..."

"No," she said. "Until you want to release me. It's up to you."

I swallowed air deeply, closing my eyes, and as I exhaled, strange words came from my mouth. "What if I didn't release you?"

There was no pause. She poker oyna said quietly, "Then I guess we'd live happily ever after."

I don't know what made me say it, but I can still hear it echoing in my mind as I whispered, "Yes. Yes, I'll take you."

* * *

So there it was. I had my own 19 year old sumptuous brunette slave, to do with as I pleased. It was incomprehensible, really. That night, moments afterward, she was still looking up at me, her collar on tight, her eyes smoky and green and hungry for something that I didn't know how to give her then. But she was mine, not the reverse. So I told her just to sit there, exactly as she was, while I figured out what I wanted to do.

I paced. I cooked myself some food, which I couldn't eat. I put on three different CD's, but none were right. All the while I watched her, just sitting there, bare feet under her satin panties, back slightly arched, looking up at the place where I had been on the couch. She hadn't moved at all.

I stood behind her, looking down her back. The cleft of her cheeks was even more visible from my vantage point, and those pouty little toes. She still didn't move. reached out and touched her hair, just to see if I could. It was soft, blown-dry but well conditioned so it was full of body. At that point she did move slightly, tilting her head back to give me more access to her hair. Her reaction startled me, and I pulled away, going back into the kitchen to get another glass of wine.

I sat at my kitchen table then, just watching her not move at all. Her hands were on her slightly parted thighs, and I could see the pink of her feet beginning to turn a little bluish from the constant pressure, but still I just watched. For over an hour. My mind racing.

What had I done? What would I do? I could 'release' her right now, and be done with it...but then again, I knew I couldn't. I didn't want to. I had no idea what I wanted to do with her, or have her do to/for me, but to have my own voluntary slave is a thing that literally never happens, and yet here it was. She was mine. All mine.

I went to her then, knelt behind her, much like she was doing, and I reached both hands out for her hair. Again, she tilted her head back, this time much farther, so I could look down the bridge of her nose to her parted lips, and I just sat there, playing with her hair. I stroked it, I smelled it, I braided it and unbraided it. I got up, so eager with excitement that I felt like I was five and it was Christmas morning, and I brought back my brush. I brushed her hair over and over, her head tilting this way and that while my fingers ran through her brunette mane. The tiny moans she gave when my fingers would brush her neck or ear, even these didn't bother me. This was mine. I could play with her hair if I wanted, for as long as I wanted. She would never complain, and no one could stop me.

I have never had so much fun with hair.

It took an hour or so, and at last it was getting very late, and I was tired, though I still sort of wanted to play with her hair. Instead I got up, got pillows and blankets out, while she waited, not moving, and then I asked her to stand up out of the way, and stretch her legs while I made up the sofa bed. I knew I could have had her do it, but my toy was still new, and I wanted to show her I appreciated her. When I was done, I told her to go to bed, and dream sweet dreams.

It was another two hours before I could get to sleep, lying there as I was in my room, knowing that my very own girl was out there sleeping.

* * *

In the morning, though both of us had slept only a little, a told her to go to work as she normally would, but to make certain that from now on she always wear silk or satin panties and camisoles under her clothes. When she came home from work...my home, not hers...she would strip to her underwear, and place the collar around her neck. That was to be her attire always in my home.

She nodded, smiling...almost beaming with joy, and she went off to work, while I sat there, still stunned, but it had begun to sink in. I had given her my first order, and she had nodded her compliance with actual eagerness! I called in sick to my job that day, while I began to plan what I would do with my own little girl.

The first days and nights were pretty routine, as I taught her what I wanted for dinner, etc...however, I loved cooking, and sharing in general, so we would both be in the kitchen, giggling and cooking. Of course, sometimes I would begin to get seriously wet when I would suddenly realize that I was wearing clothes, and Jennifer was wearing only silk underwear. Sometimes...like that first night...it was even really skimpy, exposing her tummy and her navel, with very high-riding french cut panties that came way up on her hip, and not-quite-thong backsides.

Also, she was wearing a collar.

After two days, I sought out one of those adult stores, and I bought her a studded leather black collar, which she put on with enormous pride. While I was in that store, though, I noticed a lot of other things for slaves, things I'd only fantasized about. I couldn't bring myself to canlı poker oyna get any at first, but the thoughts kept nagging at me. By that first weekend, when she was giving me regular back and foot massages, and cooking with me, and doing laundry and dishes with me, and always wearing her collar and her lingerie, I got up the nerve to go back to that adult shop.

I was truly like a kid in a candy store. It took me only moments to get over my embarrassment and fear of the men in there who were trying desperately not to stare at me. I stood there in the "B