ONE DAY AT A TIME
by Stella
"Come
on, Millie. It's just a game." Charlotte looked imploringly at
her friend across the table in the corner of the cafe.
"Not
my idea of a game, being someone's slave for the day." Millie
sipped at her coffee, wrinkling her nose as she did so.
"It's
for charity," Charlotte insisted, her own coffee untouched in
front of her. "It's not even a day, really... eight
hours."
"Ten," corrected Millie. "I saw
the notice too, remember? Twelve until 10 at night."
"Okay,
but it's not a real slave thing."
Millie raised her
eyebrows. "And how do you know what a real slave thing is? Bryan
puts you in chains or whatever they do in the harem? I can see you in
see-through baggy pants."
"Knowing Bryan, I wouldn't
get much housework done if I was made to go round like that."
Charlotte grinned. "But seriously, it's nothing like that. We
just go up for auction, someone theoretically buys us and all the
money goes to charity. Something in Africa."
"Famine
Relief. Yes, I got that bit." Millie leaned towards her friend,
dropping her voice. "And what if you get someone who doesn't
just want all their polishing and cleaning done? Or rather, they want
more polishing in the bedroom?"
"For goodness sake,
Millie! This is the local church that's organising this: you think
there's anyone among the congregation who does things like... like
that?"
"Not sure about old Mr Garton. I reckon he'd
bid a hundred pounds just to have you wander around in your
underwear." Millie laughed. "Two hundred if you were in a
harem outfit with chains on."
Charlotte pouted. "The
vicar says we can refuse if we don't think it's anyone we feel
comfortable with."
"I still don't get why St
George's is doing this. Usually, they'd just wave a few collecting
tins round, or have a bring and buy sale. Or a coffee morning."
Millie sighed and toyed with her cup. "Reverend Lewis must be
desperate for some thrills."
"No! It's just fun.
Anyway, I don't think the world can take any more of Mrs Jenkin's
heavyweight fairy cakes. I think we have to support the church, and
Africa."
"Big project. But there's a lot of things
the Church could do." Millie raised her eyebrow. "I mean,
we could all play strip poker, right?"
"You're not
taking this seriously, Millie." Charlotte sounded
offended.
"Okay, okay... If it keeps you happy I'll join
in this ridiculous slave auction idea. But I better raise at least
one hundred pounds or I'm not doing it. I am certainly not working my
rear off for some minimum wage scandal. Agreed?"
Charlotte
smiled and finally started on her coffee. "Agreed," she
said.
* * * * * * *
"Two hundred and fifty
pounds," said Mrs Delavere as she opened the door of her house
to the caller. "I do hope you're worth it, Millie." She
said it without much of a smile.
"I hope I'm worth it
too," said the younger woman, stepping into the house. "It
was very good of you to give I mean bid so much. I am
sure it will help a lot of children in Af"
"Yes,
yes," the middle aged woman waved the point aside. "Charity
should be generous and beneficial. But then, it should also begin at
home."
Millie nodded, looking round at the house from
where she stood in the hall. Lots of polished wood, a few carpets,
plenty of pictures on the wall that obviously would need a dust,
flowers in vases that definitely needed to be rearranged or
replenished. Yep, she thought, plenty to do here. "Where do you
want me to begin?" She asked, trying not to sound too
resigned.
Mrs Delavere looked at her. "Begin?"
"Yes...
um, the things you want me to do here."
"But you
aren't dressed for it," said the middle aged woman.
Millie
stood in her jeans and sweater, complete with comfortable old
trainers and wondered what the older woman meant. This was the
perfect outfit for cleaning out anyone's garage. "I'm sorry,"
she said, staring blankly. "I thought I was here to clean."
Mrs
Delavere smiled. "And what gave you that idea?"
Millie
had no idea what gave her that idea, other than Charlotte and the way
their conversation had gone. She had assumed that was what was on
offer, that was why people like her and her friend stood on the stage
in the church hall and let people from the local community make bids.
"But... What else does a slave do?"
"I would
have thought something more interesting than pushing a hoover round,
wouldn't you?" The older woman paused. "Millie, I chose you
as you were by far the best of the women on display. If I wanted
someone to dig the garden I would have picked that young man, Bryan
whatever his name is. Your friend's husband."
"I
hadn't planned on digging gardens," said Millie. Actually, she
hadn't planned on doing anything outdoors, though her wellington
boots were in the car.
"Then what do you want to do? You
really want to spend the next however many hours cleaning my house? I
have a woman who comes in to do that, for which I pay her. As my
payment for you is now with the vicar and hopefully earmarked for
Africa, I feel I can do whatever a slave owner does."
A
strange chill settled over Millie. "Mrs Delavere, you
said"
"Please, I insist on you calling me
Mistress."
Millie's jaw gaped. "M-mistress?"
she managed to say.
"Of course. Can you think of a better
way of defining the difference between us? No, I thought not
so tell me the point you were going to make."
The chill
in Millie got colder. She found it hard to say the words. "The
b-best on show," she said weakly. "Y-you said I... I was
the best one there."
"Most attractive I meant.
Listen, slave, if I have to look at you I want someone I like looking
at. Now, we are wasting time. As the terms of our deal say, I own
you. And as you are dressed entirely inappropriately, you can go
upstairs and find your slave outfit on the bed in the spare room.
Please change and come down. I will be in the living room." With
that, Mrs Delavere turned on her heel and left her stunned slave-girl
standing in the hall.
* * * * * * *
Whatever Millie
expected, a harem outfit wasn't it. Yet there on the bed in the spare
room was exactly the sort of outfit Millie had teased Charlotte
about. See-through baggy pants, gathered at the ankle with a leather
band and a cropped see through top with a high neck and long sleeves,
again gathered at the wrist by the same type of leather band. Bands,
she noted, that fastened with a small gold buckle.
The sort of
mock sex-play outfit you might see being sold in Soho. It even had
something that looked like a gauze veil that hooked over the ears and
sat on the bridge of the nose.
Millie sat on the edge of the
bed and didn't know what to think. This was outrageous she
knew that. She felt a mixture of anger and helplessness at what had
happened: a simple charity event had turned in to some sort of
humiliation. Women like her didn't dress up as nurses, policewomen,
nuns or anything. And certainly not some ridiculous outdated idea of
a female in a harem.
She resolved that this little venture was
over. She stood up and walked to the door. if there was any problem
over this the church could give the money back to the crazy Mrs
Delavere.
At the door to the bedroom, Millie stopped. It would
be easy to walk out, probably no problem for the vicar to hand the
money back. On the other hand, two hundred and fifty quid was a lot
of money. It would do a lot of good in Africa. If this Mrs Delavere
was willing to pay so much to get Millie here, and into this silly
outfit, perhaps she could be persuaded to pay some more. She wasn't
short of money and just maybe she would write a cheque for more. In
fact, she could damn well double it. Millie smiled.
She went
back and peeled her clothes off. This would cost Mrs Delavere, she
thought with a grin.
* * * * * * *
"I can see your
underwear," said Mrs Delavere from where she sat reading a book,
as Millie presented herself. "As far as I know slave girls don't
wear a black bra and pink knickers."
Millie blushed. She
had hardly come prepared to display her underwear, and there was no
way she was going to do this with nothing on underneath, a point she
explained.
"My good girl," said Mrs Delavere. "The
clothes are see-through for a reason, and you are here to show me
what a good slave you are. I would suggest you go back upstairs and
remove your all-too-obvious underclothes. They spoil the look."
The
younger woman stared as if the older one was mad. Then she remembered
the money angle, the charity. "Okay, I will go and take them
off, but it will cost you."
"Really?" It was
said in such a way that suggested she didn't think so.
"An
extra �100," said Millie, faltering a little under the
woman's stare. "Then I will do it."
The older woman
sat on the sofa, then sighed and put her book down carefully. "You
seem to be forgetting I am the Mistress and you are the slave. I have
paid, I own you, you obey me. What part of that don't you
understand?"
Millie felt a burst of rage and she clenched
her fists. This wasn't going the way she thought it would. "If I
go back upstairs then I take this off and I put my normal clothes on
and I go home." She said it sharply, as if there was no
argument.
"Then I suggest," said Mrs Delavere in her
infuriatingly level and untroubled voice, "you take them off
down here."
"I don't believe you know what you are
saying," fumed Millie. "Who do you think I am?"
"A
slave," said the older woman curtly as she went back to her
book.
Millie stood there for a good two minutes, trying to
think what she could say as a retort. Finally she asked: "And
what do I do when I am your slave?"
"Nothing,"
said Mrs Delavere without looking up. "Slaves aren't required to
do anything."
Millie gulped. This surely was some bizarre
joke. "So I take my bra and panties off here then, in front of
you?"
"Bra and knickers," corrected the woman
without looking up. "I am rather old fashioned about these
things. But if it helps you, I won't look while you take them
off."
"Help me? How does it help me to take
everything off and parade around naked?"
"You aren't
parading naked as you call it. You will have clothes on." The
response was flat, as if the truth was undeniable.
"Haven't
you noticed, you can see through this," snapped Millie.
"Yes,
and it would look so much better without that mismatched set of
underwear." The woman pointedly went back to her book.
Discussion over.
Millie hovered, feeling both ashamed at her
poor choice of underwear that morning and annoyed that she was in
this position. She ought to turn around and walk out of this crazy
woman's house, but instead propelled by the feeling she didn't
want to back down she took off the thin layer of gauze she was
wearing (though not the thin veil) and took off her bra and pants.
Then she pulled the harem trousers and crop top back on. "Satisfied?"
she demanded of the woman who, good as her word, hadn't watched any
of it.
"I have a name," said the woman still not
looking at her.
"Satisfied Mrs Dela" Millie
stopped herself. "Okay. Satisfied then, Mistress?"
Mrs
Delavere looked up finally, a thin smile on her lips. "Of
course, but no need to be angry. You really do look so much better
without your underwear. Now please tidy them up and come back
here."
Millie was furious, and also not a little
embarrassed. Although the older woman hadn't looked at her naked
breasts and her dark bush of hair through the gauze, Millie's charms
were all too obvious. Not sure what to do about any of this, she
scooped up her discarded clothes and stalked upstairs to put them
with her jeans and top and trainers in the spare bedroom. For a
moment she toyed with the idea of putting everything back on and
leaving, but that she told herself would be admitting defeat. She
took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and went downstairs.
"Now
what?" she said, then added quickly with just a hint of
derision, "Mistress."
"Good, you are learning,"
smiled Mrs Delavere. "It is amazing what a little re-orientation
of the mind can do, isn't it?"
"I never wanted to be
a slave," said Millie, feeling her face grow red under the veil.
The older woman was looking at her breasts, the way her nipples poked
at the thin material. I must be cold, thought Millie, if they are so
hard.
"But you did," smiled Mrs Delavere, now gazing
at the mass of black pubic hair at Millie's lower belly. "That's
why you entered the auction. You wanted to serve."
"I
wanted to help the church," protested Millie, feeling herself
tremble a little under the other woman's relentless gaze.
"Of
course," said her mistress indulgently. "Don't we all."
She went back to her book, quite comfortable with the younger female
standing there in front of her.
After a few moments Millie
asked: "Now what, Mistress?"
"Now nothing. You
can stand there or, perhaps better, kneel in front of me. I will give
you instructions later."
Millie felt annoyed. "I
can't just kneel."
"Can't kneel what?"
"Can't
kneel, Mistress."
Mrs Delavere sighed and closed her
book. "There is still this insistence on your part, slave, that
you can't do what you are told. You can and will do whatever I tell
you." She shook her head. "So much pointless resistance to
change. You know, I thought it was supposedly us older people who
disliked change."
"But I don't want to
change!"
"Yet you have, slave. You have come here
and submitted to me, almost without question." She looked Millie
up and down. "You have shed all your old clothes and put
something new on, something that exposes you. Yet you still think you
aren't a slave. That you have free will."
Millie's eyes
blazed angrily. "You keep calling me Slave. I have a proper
name!"
"Not," said Mrs Delavere with a
suppressed hint of annoyance, "while you keep fighting this. Do
as you are told and there are benefits. Rewards."
"Rewards?
Like what?"
The woman reopened her book. Again,
discussion ended.
For five minutes Millie stood her ground,
refusing to move and determined not to do anything else. She stared
hard at the older woman, who was quietly enjoying her reading. Then,
bursting with frustration, Millie knelt in front of her. Knees
together and hands in lap.
Mrs Delavere looked up for a
second. "That's better. Hands behind back, please, in my
presence."
Angrily Millie snapped her hands behind her,
not worried now that her hard-nippled breasts were even more on show
as they thrust forward. A silence settled on the room for a minute or
two before the older woman said quietly: "Knees apart. Wide
apart."
Millie felt like screaming. She had done
everything this woman wanted and it wasn't enough. Now she had to
open her legs as if she was some slut who didn't care whether her sex
was displayed, the pink of her innermost place on show. She was
ashamed and oddly aroused, feeling her clitoris swell. But she did
what she was told and kept her eyes down, mostly to hide the tears
that formed in the corners of her eyes.
* * * * * * *
Quite
how long Millie remained on her knees in this exposed position, hands
behind her, she had no idea. She wasn't sure if there was a clock in
the room but in any event she didn't dare look up, keeping her eyes
down on the carpet. Her knees were aching and her back was feeling
the strain of one position, but as much as she wanted to move she
didn't.
It must have been an hour at least. And all she could
do was think about her place.
Putting aside the obvious
humiliation of her position and the fact that she was so much on
show, Millie began to understand how liberating it was being like
this. She had started out resenting everything this woman had made
her do, but as she knelt in her subservient position she began to
realise that like this she had no cares and no responsibilities. She
didn't have to toil or be concerned she was doing a good job, didn't
even have to worry if anyone liked her or approved of her.
For
the first time in years Millie could simply be. All she had to do was
what she was told, and if she wasn't told anything then she simply
had to wait. True, she was virtually naked in front of a stranger
and, indeed, she had no say in what was being done to her. But she
was free of any cares, because she had no responsibilities.
Everything about this was telling her to not resist, just to accept
it all.
A slow, warm feeling of happiness, a contentment she
hadn't known since she was a small child spread through her. She
began to cry with the release of this mysterious inner joy.
"Stand
up, slave," said Mrs Delavere quietly. She had put down her book
and was looking at Millie. The younger woman got to her feet but kept
her hands behind her, legs slightly apart, tears of happiness
coursing down her cheeks and soaking the thin gauze of her
veil.
"I'm sorry, Mistress," Millie said.
"Sorry,
slave, about what?"
"This. My crying."
"I
have no objection to you doing so, but do you know why you are
crying?"
"Yes Mistress, I think so." Millie
sniffed back her tears. "I remember what it was like when I was
a little girl and had to do... sorry, this is silly."
"Far
from it. Continue."
"Mistress... When I was a little
girl I could be happy, just doing what I wanted. Having no cares. Not
being worried or anxious." Millie paused. "Getting approval
for just being me."
"I haven't given you any
approval yet."
"No, Mistress," Millie felt a
wave of sadness, but she tried to smile. "Yet you do approve of
me, being like this."
"Hmm, perhaps," Mrs
Delavere pursed her lips. "Why, slave, do you think you came
here?"
Millie shrugged. "Charity," she said
unconvincingly.
The older woman shook her head. "A good
and worthwhile excuse, but no. Now, what would happen if I told you
that you could go? Put your own clothes back on and leave. Your
slavery over."
"Mistress, no" began
Millie and then felt foolish and blushed a little. She was struggling
within with something she had never considered before. "I... I
would be sad."
"Why?"
"I don't
know."
"Nonsense, you know full well. Say it,
slave!"
Millie gave a small gasp and looked distressed,
consumed by doubts and thoughts that she had never experienced. Her
voice when she spoke was faint but honest. "Sad because you
haven't... You haven't used me."
"At last,"
said Mrs Delavere as she stood up, looking pleased. "We are
beginning to get somewhere."
"Mistress?"
"Slave,
you have come to the conclusion as all submissives must, that you
need to be owned and used. I own you, but I haven't used you yet. I
won't until you are totally liberated from all the burdens that weigh
you down."
"Mistress, I don't understand."
"Of
course not, because you still think you have some freedom of choice."
The older woman smoothed down her skirt slowly and deliberately. "I
want you to follow me upstairs."
Millie's heart leapt
inside her chest, and her sex tightened with a pulse of
excitement.
Mrs Delavere in her sensible skirt and jacket with
flat shoes and pale tights, looking nothing like a dominant woman
might do, led the way. Millie gripped her left wrist in her right
hand behind her back and hurried along behind, feeling both terror
and hope suffuse her whole being.
The older woman led the way
to the spare room where lay all Millie's clothes and shoes. She
gestured to them and then to a wooden box against one wall. A box
with nails half sticking out of the top and a hammer beside it.
"Slave, you will put your clothes in that box and use the hammer
to nail the lid down. Then you will carry the box downstairs and put
it outside the back door, next to the rubbish bin."
"Mistress!"
gasped Millie.
"I'm sorry," said the woman curtly.
"Was my order not clear enough?"
"Yes,
but..."
"Then do it. I will wait for you
downstairs." Mrs Delavere turned and left the room, leaving
Millie standing in a state of shock and confusion.
* * * * * *
*
"I have done it, Mistress," said Millie,
presenting herself before the older woman, hands as always behind her
back.
"Good, now push your chest out more," said Mrs
Delavere without looking up from her book. "Be proud of your
tits, slave."
"What? I mean... I beg your pardon
Mistress, but"
Mrs Delavere looked up. "Oh
dear slave, still that pointless resistance to change. That petty
objection to a word as necessary and as simple as 'tits.' And I was
so hoping you were smarter than that. So, what do you suggest I do
now?"
"I don't... Mistress, I thought you wanted to
use me?"
"Only when you are ready to be used."
"But
the old clothes! I did it. I nailed the box shut and put it
outside."
"So? That wasn't a difficult thing to do.
You want praise for something as basic and as simple as that?'
"But
Mistress, they are my clothes."
"Were, slave. They
were your clothes. You don't need them now that you have
something better to wear." She went back to her book. Then she
said quietly: "You seem to have forgotten how to
kneel."
Immediately Millie dropped to her knees on the
rug and spread her legs wide. Perhaps a little wider than before to
show she really was subservient, and pushing her breasts her
tits out even more.
She knelt like that for half an
hour in that pose, feeling the pain in her knees and the insistent
pulse in her sex, while the Mistress read her book. Then Mrs Delavere
said: "Do you know what I'm reading, slave?"
"No
Mistress."
"It's a book about how to make a woman
submissive. How to make her want everything that happens to her, even
would you believe how to beg for more." Millie's
cunt spasmed afresh at the idea of asking for more. "So how do
you think your submission is going?"
"I... I don't
know," said Millie, feeling confused.
"Come now. You
must know, slave. You are the one submitting to me, so tell me how
you feel."
Millie swallowed hard. "Please, Mistress.
I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"That you
might reject me, that I'm not good enough." Millie felt fresh
tears in her eyes.
"And why would I do that,
pray?"
"Because I don't do what you want, Mistress.
Because I resist." Millie felt shamefaced as she said it, that
she might not be good enough. She felt even more excited by the idea
that she wanted to be good enough.
"If I tell you what to
do, and you do it, then how might I reject you then?"
Millie
swallowed hard, trying not to break down in tears. She had seen the
photograph on the table beside where the older woman was sat. A
pretty blonde female with a thin gauze veil. She really had tried
hard not to think about it, but she knew she had no choice. "You
might reject me Mistress because..." Her voice cracked and tears
fell. "You have someone else who obeys you more than me."
"Of
course." Mrs Delavere was triumphant. "Of course there will
be someone else. There was someone else before you and there will be
someone else after you. Did you really think being my slave would be
forever?"
"No Mistress," said Millie miserably.
She felt terrible at the prospect of being abandoned, that some other
woman younger, prettier would try on this harem outfit
and kneeling with legs apart and tits thrust forward learn to gaze in
awe at her Mistress.
"The life of a slave must always be
a little fearful, a little unsure. This is not a marriage. Not a
situation where we seek balance or equality. Trust me, we are not
partners or even soul-mates." Mrs Delavere was sitting forward
now, the whole of her attention on Millie. She wasn't a handsome
woman, but she exuded that inner strength and certainty that made
Millie want to worship her. "You are here to serve me as my
slave," she continued, "and will continue to be my slave as
long as I want. You will dress how I choose, display yourself as I
say. Your whole being will be focused on me and my needs, even when
you are alone and waiting. But you will never be sure."
"But
Mistress, what if I love you?" Millie was shocked at hearing her
own words tumble out.
"Love, ah yes... The emotion that
solves all ills." The older woman chuckled. "Such an
empty-headed notion. You see, your love is of no interest to me. Dear
slave, I do not want love. I want strict devotion. I want you to
serve me, fear me, worry about what I will do to you next. I want you
to tremble every time the phone rings in case it is your replacement
calling, fear that answering the door will let you see for the first
time the woman who will take your place."
"But she
won't love you like I do." Millie had finally abandoned all
pretence at independence, at holding back.
"Perhaps not,
but I don't want her love any more than I want yours. I would have
thought that was obvious from what I've said."
Millie bit
her lip under the veil. "How can I show you that you don't need
another slave, Mistress?"
"If only you knew, but you
don't. There will be a day when I will tire of you, or an opportunity
will come along when I acquire someone with bigger tits that haven't
started to sag, a firmer arse that hasn't lost its shape, a narrower
waist, fuller lips and clearer eyes. I may even put the local vicar
up to the idea of a regular slave auction charity event." Mrs
Delavere's eyes twinkled. "Wouldn't that be fun? Perhaps your
friend Charlotte"
"No, please! Not her!"
Panic gripped Millie and she clenched her hands tight behind
her.
"My my, slave. You were so defiant when you arrived,
so sure of yourself, so strong! And look at you now. Open and
submissive and ready to please me." The Mistress reached forward
and stroked the slave's face through the thin veil, feeling the wet
tears run down her face. Millie closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek
on the soft, cruel hand.
"Please Mistress. I know I was
slow, but I can learn."
"Oh I never doubted it. You
had the look of a slave-to-be from when I first saw you. Believe me,
this was nowhere near as difficult as it might have been." She
sighed. "I just wonder why so many young women today don't
recognise that they need to be dominated. All this feminism nonsense,
I expect, clouding their minds. Not everyone can be the one on top:
someone has to be underneath."
Millie nodded, not wanting
the hand to leave her face. "Perhaps Mistress, they never had a
woman like you to own them."
"Perhaps," laughed
Mrs Delavere. She stopped stroking her slave's pretty, tear-streaked
face, leaned in and planted a kiss on the lips through the veil. A
surprisingly tender kiss full of promise.
"Oh Mistress,"
said Millie as fresh excitement plunged through her whole being.
"Please, again."
"Dear Slave Millie
there, you have regained your name I will kiss you again, but
only through your gauze veil and only when I am ready." Her hand
had come up and rested on Millie's tit, feeling it through the harem
top, and the younger woman shivered. She said please, please
and pushed her breasts forward, wanting them to be caressed and her
hard nipples teased.
"Oh Slave Millie, such a silly
girl." The Mistress hadn't let go of her kneeling captive's
breast but she wasn't doing anything, not caressing or pinching or
stroking. "If I pleasure you, slave, you will think I care about
your emotions. You will focus on your needs and not mine. You will
think about me loving you and get confused. You are here to serve me,
that's all. So tell me."
"I am here to serve you,
Mistress," repeated Millie. And then she added in the barest
whisper, "but may I dream of making love to you?"
"You
may dream and hope your dream comes true one day. But only I know the
certain outcome." She settled back in her chair and picked up
her book, returning to reading more about how to dominate a
female.
Millie felt a burst of pride that she had been
selected to serve, that she might just have a chance of the older
woman's hands on her and deep inside her. She tried to get her legs
wider apart, her shoulders back a little more. She had been chosen
for today and that was all she could expect. All she could do was
hope that this slavery was for more than one day, that she would
serve tomorrow as well. If she was very good and completely open,
then perhaps the day after too.
But she had to take it all
just one day at a time, as her Mistress demanded.
* * * * * * *
One Day At A Time. Copyright � 2007 Stella Engle. Return to Stories List