How it all Began (Conclusion)

This experience started here.

All right, here's the conclusion. Bethany (my new roommate) and I were in an argument about the morality of slavery. She had just claimed she would like to be a slave...

She said, "I would be a horrible slave owner. I can’t even keep myself on the straight and narrow, much less someone looking to me to make their decisions. I make terrible decisions. I decided to buy a car I couldn’t afford, and clothes I didn’t need, and I ended up practically on the streets. But I would be a great slave.”

“If you became a real slave,” I sternly replied,“and were not just playing a role in someone’s kinky fantasy, he would have all the control. What if he hurt you? What if he told you to do degrading things or things you didn’t want to do? The only place I know of for sure that has slavery is Africa, and you would just be a sex-object there. Raped and constantly pregnant.”

She clenched her fists on her knees. “I wouldn’t be a slave to someone who would be vicious. I wouldn’t give away my freedom to just anybody. But you are very kind and gentle. You are loving, and strong. I would offer myself to you in an instant if I thought you would take me.”

I stared at her, stunned again. This girl never ceased to amaze me. “You can’t be a slave,” I started. She interrupted me.

“Why not, if I want to be? Do you have any idea what a load off my mind it would be? If I thought, ‘I had better check with my mistress’ before I made any decisions, I wouldn’t have to take responsibility for the decisions. I wouldn’t have to live under stress or guilt.” She gave a playful shrug. “You would have the bigger responsibility by a long shot.”

I was distressed by her suggestion. “Are you afraid I’m going to kick you out on the street? I’m not. I actually love having you here. You don’t have to debase yourself to keep a roof over your head.”

She scooted closer to me on her knees.“I don’t consider it a debasement to dedicate myself to one person’s pleasure. I would be a very good slave. Very obedient and submissive.”

I had no doubt that that was true, but I stood up and moved away from her. “You hardly know me,” I said, pacing a few feet.

“I think I know you better than a lot of people,” she replied.

“You don’t owe me anything,” I argued, looking back at her. “I took you in of my own free will. I don’t expect you to do anything for that service.”

“I know,” she answered. She pulled a face. “I wasn’t Brad’s slave, and I lived off him for almost a year. I wasn’t my mom’s slave and I lived with her for my whole life. I’m not telling you I will serve you just because you let me stay here for a couple weeks.” She got off the couch and moved toward me. “I really want to do this. I want to serve you anyway. If I was your little slave, I would wait on you, hand and foot, just like on the island.”

“There are no female slaves on the island,” I argued, trying to divert her.

She stood before me, looking down at her hands, and said, “I know. But you’re attracted to women, anyway. Male slaves could never really be taken care of with you.” She glanced up. “But I could.”

“Is this a sex thing?” I asked. “Because I’m pretty much still a virgin, and I don’t know if I’m in to role-playing.”

*Laughing hysterically* Reading that line makes me want to point at my innocent self and say "Really? Not into role-playing?" in a very sarcastic tone. But I try to be nice to myself because when I'm not, my slave gets into a snit.

Bethany shook her pretty head. “No, not at all,” she insisted. “I mean, it could be whatever you wanted once you accept me as a slave. If you wanted a completely platonic slave/mistress relationship, I would accept whatever you said.”

I widened my eyes at her. “What if I told you to do something you did not want to do? Like…” I floundered for an example. “Dance around in your underwear.”

“Right now?” she asked, reaching for the waistband of her skirt as if to remove it. She was teasing me, but I grabbed her hands anyway, in case her teasing turned into actually removing her clothing.

“No,” I said. “It’s just an example. And if you did not want to dance around…? What then?”

Bethany pondered. “I would trust you,”she finally answered. “I would trust that it was what you wanted, and I would put your desires above my own.”

“Okay,” I said, and she seemed elated. But I went on, “And what if you didn’t? What if I said, ‘dance around in your underwear’ and you were like ‘I don’t feel like it’ and didn’t do it?”

She pushed her lower lip out thoughtfully. “I don’t think it would ever happen,” she said. But then she smiled a kind of mischievous smile. “I guess you could spank me.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed at that suggestion. This game she was suggesting was definitely kinkier than I was. I returned to my couch and sat down.

*Pausing to laugh her ass off* Sorry, I can't help it. I really thought I was so vanilla. It's almost embarrasing to read this now as my life has so drastically altered since this conversation.

Mistress, forgive me for pointing out that your readers probably just want this story to be finished. Please continue.

Okay. *Still kind of laughing* The rest of the conversation...

“I’m serious,” she said, but she did not look serious. “I would submit to any kind of punishment you deemed appropriate if I failed to serve you well. But I don’t think that will happen, because I am well-prepared to be the best slave you could ever hope for.”

Isn't it cute that she thought she would never need discipline? *Peals of laughter again*

Mistress is clearly not equal to finishing this story, so I will take over from here and let her sit over there laughing at me.

“You’re crazy,” Nichole replied.

I nodded. “Maybe.”

“What would your family say if you called up and said, ‘hi dad, hi mom, I’m going to become a slave and submit my will and my destiny into the hands of a girl who brought me home a few weeks ago’?”

I came to the couch, but instead of sitting beside her, I lowered myself to my knees in front of her, and took her hands. I did feel so much better on my knees. It felt right, like I had come home.“My mom would probably call me a whore and my dad would say ‘better than that Brad bastard.’ But they would both ultimately be happy that I was happy.”

“But what if you weren’t,” Nichole said, with pain in her eyes.

That's because I was afraid you would be very unhappy as a slave. That was the part that concerned me the most about all of this. I would be responsible for someone else’s happiness. I was doing a pretty bad job of making myself happy. How could I take on someone else’s decisions and expectations?

Mistress, I am happy. I'm at ten. Well, nine, because you were laughing at me. But still very happy.

I'm glad. I do want you to be happy. I wanted that even back when we were having this conversation.

“I’m not going to pretend it would all be good times,” I whispered. “Probably I will be a brat sometimes, and maybe you won’t always be attentive to my needs, but…” I squeezed her hands. “If you let me try, I think you will find that I will be very happy as your little slave. I will submit myself to your will completely. I will follow the very rules you created for your book characters to follow.” I squeezed her hands again.“Please? Just let me try, and if you are unhappy with my service, you can release me at any time.”

I was anxious that I should be accepted by her. Nichole was the best person I had ever known.

She still is.

And I was an unmitigated disaster. I needed her, but more than anything I needed to believe that she wanted me. I needed to be wanted. And not just in a sexual way. I figured that if she could accept my service, that would be the most powerful acceptance in the world.

That wasn’t the part that concerned me. The part that worried me was that she would be unhappy and be stuck because she had given me her freedom. I did not think I could take on that kind of responsibility

“I don’t know,” Nichole said, and she looked extremely uneasy. But I could see her weighing the possibilities in her eyes and that gave me hope.

I squeezed her hands harder, rose high on my knees, and kissed her softly on the lips. “Please?” I begged.

She swallowed.

Because I realized in that moment that I was definitely gay. If there had ever been any doubts, they were gone.

“What would I call you?” she asked.

I grinned and sat back on my knees with an excited squeal. “Whatever you like. But not my name! We will be starting a new life together, so all my previous ties are in your hands. What do you want to call me?”

All right, lovely, I'm going to finish the story now. You've done a great job.

Controlling.

Back when this happened, that would have slayed me. Now, it just makes me smile in controlled self-satisfaction. Be quiet now.

She needed a name. Calling her simply “slave” seemed very coldhearted. But, as she stared up at me through her lashes, with the look I adore, I knew. “Pura,” I said. “It means innocent and clean. Because, as you know, when a slave becomes a slave, what they were before is washed away. It’s like a rebirth.”

She nodded. She had read my books; she knew the routine. “And I will call you Mistress,” she said decisively.

I grinned a teasing grin at her. “That’s not exactly your decision, is it?” I asked.

She blushed to her hairline. “No,” she agreed. “I guess it’s not. I’m sorry; I’ll get better at this submission thing as I go.”

“I think 'Mistress' is as fine a title as anything,” I said to ease her embarrassment. I had only been teasing her. Then I hunched my shoulders and said, “This is weird.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But in a good way, I think.”

I stared down at the girl, really looking at her, really thinking about her and the possibility that she could be mine. I meant it in a sweet way, not in an “I own you” sense. I could have a relationship with this beautiful girl who evidently trusted me enough to submit her will over completely.

“I’m not sure how I’ll feel about this tomorrow, but for right now it’s a good sort of weird,” I agreed.

“I feel like I should do something for you right away,” Pura said. “To commemorate this moment. If it’s not too forward to ask, Mistress.” She blushed again.

I blushed at the title, but I said, “I think that would be appropriate. I would love for you to get me some ice water, Pura.”

Her chest swelled in pride and excitement over hearing the name, and she bounced to her feet. “Yes Mistress,”she agreed, and went away to do my bidding, getting me a glass of water as her first official slave act.

And that's how it happened. I am sure I just thought we were playing a game, but for Pura, this was the singlemost important moment of her life.

True. And it was amazing. I celebrate the anniversary of this day every year with more reverence than a birthday or a wedding anniversary.

Me too. I love you, baby.

I love you, Mistress.