****** My New Life Begins by Randy Lavery ******
===============================================================================

My New Life Begins


When my marriage broke up, I decided I wanted a complete new beginning, so I
quit my job, loaded up my personal belongings, and drove away.

I had been in regular contact with an old school friend, Stan, getting together
once every year or so while on vacations and visiting on the phone regularly,
so he was aware that I had been thinking about getting a divorce for some time.
He was, therefore, not surprised when I called him up to tell him of my
decision. Knowing that I wanted to begin again in a new setting, he invited me
to come to his home city and offered me the extended use of his guestroom while
I looked for work and a permanent place to live.

"Are you sure?" I had asked. "What does your wife think about this?"

When he assured me that she had quickly agreed with the idea when he first
raised it, I accepted the offer. That's how I found myself living temporarily
with Stan and his wife, Marla, and their kids.

I had begun developing a free-lance writing career a few years earlier, though
I still was not making enough at it to go without at least part-time work, so
one of the first things I unpacked was my word-processor, setting up a desk
area in one corner of the guest-room. Whenever I was not out looking for a job
or, later, out working the job I found, I holed up in my room tapping away at
the computer keyboard.

Marla was home most days, and if I was out she would take phone messages for me
and leave them on my desk. Especially early in the job hunting process, there
were usually three or four messages a day waiting for me when I came in to
begin my evening of writing. I didn't worry about Marla coming into my room,
even though some of what I was working on were the female domination stories
and fantasies which I wrote partly for eventual sale but mostly for my own
amusement. Screen saver programs allow me to leave work in progress in place on
my computer while maintaining the private nature of that work. This way I don't
have to go through the start-up procedures anytime I want to write; I can just
sit down, bring up the system exactly where I left off, and begin.

One reason I stayed in my room by myself so much, though, was that Stan and
Marla themselves did not get along real well. It was not uncommon to hear them
arguing in some other part of the house. I politely stayed out of the way, and
as soon as I could I found a place of my own to live--a small, two bedroom
bungalow in a still nice but older part of town. It was clean and the price was
right, so I signed a lease.

Stan and Marla helped me move in. While Stan and I went to get my belongings
from the storage locker and over to my new home, Marla went to the rental
agency to pick up the key for me.

The two of them were helpful, but they did spend a lot of the day bickering
with each other. After we finally had everything unloaded, Stan went for pizza
and beer while Marla and I unpacked pots, pans and dishes in the kitchen.

She expressed an interest in me and my writing, asking about what I was always
working on. We visited about that in general, about the breakup of my marriage,
and she told me some about the problems she and Stan were having. I had known
Marla since she started dating Stan in college, and I considered her a friend
as well. Since we had always had an open relationship that included easy,
honest conversation, our visit seemed pretty ordinary even though I thought I
caught her watching me out of the corner of her eye occasionally.

Though I remembered it later, I didn't think much about it at the time.

It was a couple of weeks before I was completely settled in and could begin
writing again. I was working a part time job which kept me busy and away from
the house three full days a week, so I had to manage my time pretty carefully
the other four days. I tried to limit my personal fun writing, the f/d stories
and fantasies, to not more than two to three hours a day. Articles for
immediate sale got at least five to six hours of effort each writing day. Some
of that time involved research, and occasionally I had to go to the local
university library or some other source of information for my current projects.

On my trips around town, I tried to travel a different way each time in order
to more quickly familiarize myself with my new community. On one of those
trips, I happened to pass an adult book store which was advertising the
"largest selection of leather items" in the area. I circled around the block
and came back.

The shop did have an extensive collection of leather and other bondage gear. It
also had a large selection of female domination video tapes and printed
material. It had been several years since I had been in a porn shop that
catered to my favorite fetish as this one did, so I bought a copy of every f/
d tabloid, paperback book, and magazine they had, and rented a couple of the
videos.

When I finally got to the library, I could hardly concentrate on my research.
Eventually I gave up and headed back to the house, dumped my sack of erotica
onto the coffee table, and stuck a tape into the VCR. I have a double cassette
dubbing machine, so I shoved a blank tape into the other slot and made a copy
of the movies as I watched them.

For nearly eight hours I was immersed in the world of dominant women and their
submissives, both male and female. The first three hours were spent watching
the videos of the women using and abusing their devoted slaves. Then I read
every word of every tabloid, and scrutinized every photograph in the magazines.
I checked the ads in the publications for local area dominants, making note of
the few who were listed.

Eventually I tossed the last magazine back onto the table with all of the
others scattered there. I looked at the stack of female domination paperback
books, then realized that I had to get up and go to work in the morning and so
could not even begin to think about reading another word. I put the videos back
into their cases and put them by the door so that I wouldn't forget to turn
them back in, labeled my copy of the tapes and laid it back down on top of the
VCR, then gathered up the half-dozen or so unread books and took them into the
bedroom where I placed them between the phone and the alarm clock.

I peeled my clothes off and kicked them towards the corner, then turned and
faced the dresser mirror to check myself out. The reflected image showed a mid-
30's guy, slight pot belly but by no means a fatty, slightly balding, and with
a semi-erect uncircumcised cock projecting from the reddish-blonde tangle of
his pubic hair. I reached for my cock and stroked it lightly, watching in the
mirror as it began to swell and stiffen. The foreskin began to retract a
little, revealing the slotted tip of the purple, bulbous head already
glistening with pre-cum juice.

I was incredibly horny. If having had no sexual partner available since leaving
my wife almost four months earlier wasn't enough, eight hours of intensive
exposure to my favorite fantasy subject matter had driven my sexual desire sky
high.

I stroked my cock a little harder, pulling the foreskin back all the way. I
groaned softly as I realized that my nuts were ready to empty themselves.
Quickly I flopped onto my back on the bed and then began to pump my stiff dick
in earnest. With my free hand I massaged my testicles, rolling and kneading
them inside their scrotal sack. In only a few moments I could feel every muscle
in my body tensing for a mind-blowing orgasm. As it hit I gave my balls a
squeeze.

A wad of white cream blasted from the tip of my cock. As the first shot
splashed into the forest of my chest hair, another rocketed into the air,
landing in a sticky trail across my abdomen and trailing off toward my right
nipple. I kept stroking for another minute, and with each pull milky white
liquid poured out of my stiff rod, dribbling across my hand and into my pubic
curls.

I laid there for a few minutes, slowly unwinding, then got up and staggered to
the bathroom to clean up. While I was there I emptied my bladder, then turned
out the light and headed for my bed where I was quickly unconscious.

The next morning I nearly overslept. I barely had time to dress and brush my
teeth before flying out the door to my part time job. I did remember to pick up
the sack containing the f/d video tapes I needed to return, though there would
not be time to take care of that chore until after work.

Late that afternoon when I turned in the videos at the porn shop, I selected
two more to rent (and copy for my own collection). There were no new magazines
or books yet, but I did find in the leather collection a cock and ball harness
which I decided to buy. I could hardly wait to get home and put it on.

When I got to my house, I dug the leather and metal harness out of the sack and
then tossed the sack with the tapes onto the sofa as I headed into my bedroom.
There I quickly stripped and, after a close inspection to figure out the proper
procedure, I fastened the harness around my penis and scrotum. Immediately my
cock began to swell, but the restraint prevented obtaining an erection and
created the sweet ache of unsatisfied desire.

As I was admiring the appearance of my harnessed genitals in the mirror, the
phone rang. I had to move the stack of female domination paperback books to
answer; it was Marla inviting me to have dinner with her and Stan. My initial
inclination was to defer, but since I didn't have to work the next day and
could either stay up late or else take time tomorrow to watch my rented videos,
I decided to accept the invitation.

After hanging up, I turned back to the mirror to examine my reflected image. I
liked what I saw; the leather and metal restraint on my cock and balls was
exotic looking, and I could feel my lust level rising as I checked the effect
from several different angles. Sadly, I reached for the buckle to take it off,
then suddenly realized that I didn't have to remove it at all. I could just
pull my clothes back on and leave the harness in place.

I paused on my way out the door, and picked up the f/d magazine from the top of
the neat stack on the end of the sofa. I could feel my cock stirring and
straining against its bonds under my pants as I flipped through the pictures of
leather-clad women and bound submissive men and women. I lingered over a photo
of one dominant working the spiked heel of her boot into the asshole of her
male slave, then moved on to stare with lust at a depiction of a submissive's
face being smothered between the smooth globes of his mistress's ass cheeks.

It took a major effort of will to close the magazine and drop it back into the
pile with all the others there on the end of the sofa, but I managed to do it
and walked out of the house.

Dinner was pleasant. The kids departed for their part of the house as soon as
dessert was over and Stan, Marla and I sat around the table and visited.
Several times I caught Marla looking at me with a smile that suggested both
amusement and curiosity. I wasn't ever able to tell what was on her mind, but I
did occasionally glance at my lap to see if there was any outward sign of the
bondage gear I was wearing under my slacks. As near as I could tell, though,
there wasn't.

Toward the end of the visit I helped Marla clear the dishes from the table
while Stan went to tell the kids to turn down their stereo. As we were loading
the dishwasher, Marla thanked me for my help and commented that Stan never did
things like that. He has a bit of an attitude about men's and women's role in
life, she complained, and indicated she found it difficult to put up with at
times. Sometimes, she said, she got so pissed off at him that she just had to
leave for awhile to cool down and get her head back together.

I told her that I understood because sometimes I found Stan and his attitudes
really irritating, too, and that if I could do anything for her to help she
should let me know. She smiled that smile again and said she might just do
that. I wasn't sure how to take it.

As soon as I could politely do so, I left and headed back toward my bungalow. I
spent the whole twenty-five minute drive fantasizing, conjuring up in my mind
the images and stories from my new pornographic acquisitions. By the time I
pulled into my driveway my cock was throbbing in its bonds.

I hurried into the house, locked the door, and began peeling my clothes off. It
was still early enough that I could watch at least one of my rented videos, so
I dug one out of the sack and inserted it into the playback slot on my VCR,
then picked up the tape I was dubbing onto from the shelf beside the unit and
loaded it into the other slot.

It took me a minute of scanning the duplicate tape to find the end of the
previous recording, which surprised me since I didn't remember doing anything
with the tape other than stopping and ejecting it. I knew that I had been tired
and anxious to get some sexual release the night before, so I chalked the
situation up to just not remembering that I had partially rewound the tape,
perhaps accidentally, before removing it.

When I was satisfied with the positioning of the copy tape, I hit the dub
button and then tossed myself down on the sofa to watch the ass beatings and
abuse the dominant women were inflicting on the submissive men in the
recording. By the time the last slave had been fucked up the butt with a dildo
and I stopped the tape, I was on fire. My lust level was approaching an all-
time high as attested by the way my cock was straining to burst out of the
harness suppressing it.

I went to my bedroom and dragged a footlocker out of the closet. I had to
rummage through a dresser drawer to find it, but I eventually located the key
and unlocked the hasp. Removing the upper tray in the locker revealed the
little collection of f/d material I had managed to gather together over the
years of living mostly in places where my favorite fetish was not represented
in the local adult book shops. I realized as I looked at my paltry pile that I
had more than doubled my stock with the previous day's purchases.

Also in the bottom of the footlocker there was a crumpled gym bag, which was
the actual object of my activity. I removed it and opened the zipper, then
dumped the contents onto my bed. Several dildos of different sizes and shapes,
a couple of butt plugs, a small pouch containing one studded leather and
several metal cock rings of varying size, an anal probe, a tube of lubricant, a
pair of metal handcuffs, and a bundle of soft nylon rope lay in a heap on the
sheet.

In comparison to the implements I had seen used in the magazines and videos I
had looked at in the last thirty-six hours, it was a meager display. I shook my
head to think that this was all I had to show for nearly ten years of trying to
satisfy my secret urges while living with a woman who wouldn't even try to
understand, let alone be supportive of my needs.

I almost smiled as I looked at my secret stash and thought of how much pleasure
I had been able to give myself over the years with these few toys. Then I did
smile when I realized that since I was single again and living on my own there
was no longer anything to prevent me from getting anything I needed or wanted
to use in satisfying my base urges. I could begin to live out all of my
fantasies including, if I wished, possibly finding a dominant mistress to
serve.

Mixed in with the dozen or so magazines and tabloids in the bottom of the
footlocker was a thick spiral notebook. I picked it up and flipped through it.
It was a collection of handwritten fantasies that I had created during the
period when I was first really coming to grips with my submissive, masochistic
desires and discovering at the same time that my then wife would never be
involved in the scene with me. I remembered the deep depression I went through
when I realized that I was a submissive person with no one to whom I could
submit. I had discovered at the time that the best I could hope for was to find
ways to satisfy myself through occasional self-inflicted bondage and abuse.

Over the years I had invented the sort of things I wished someone would do to
me, written stories about them, and as often as I could I had acted out the
base and degrading things which emerged from my lust-driven mind. The most I
had ever been able to accomplish had been a couple of extended weekend sessions
of self-abuse when my wife was out of town visiting her mother, but looking
back I realized that those times when she was gone and I was free to act out my
deviant needs were the only truly happy times I had in the last years of our
marriage.

I promised myself that from that moment on I was going to live out my desires
full time, and never again deny myself the kind of satisfaction I craved. I
decided on the spot that I would begin to search out a dominant female to whom
I could submit, but that I would not hold back from acting out any fantasies I
had in the meantime. I was determined that my new life would be different.

I picked up a medium sized dildo and ran my tongue up and down the length of
it. Then I picked up a larger, realistic looking artificial cock and began to
suck on the bulbous head. I slid it deeper and deeper into my mouth, and I
closed my eyes as I concentrated on the sensation of this large phallus working
its way toward my throat. Then I took a deep breath and swallowed the spongy
head of the tool. I managed to get it part of the way into my throat before my
gag reflex kicked it back out. I took another deep breath and tried again. This
time it went farther into my hungry throat before the reflexes pushed it out
again. On the third try I managed to suck it all the way into my gullet,
holding it there for a moment with the replica scrotum resting against my chin.
At last I tugged the object back out of my mouth, relishing the sensations of
the flared head moving up from my throat and the long shaft sliding between my
grasping lips. At last I swirled my tongue around the head of the dildo,
feeling each crease and groove with the sensitive tip.

Laying aside the phallus at last, I picked up the anal probe and the lubricant,
then squeezed some of the gel onto the knobby end. As I walked across the room
to a full length mirror I spread the slippery stuff over the end and down the
shaft of the tool.

When I reached the mirror I squatted down in front of it and reached past the
cock and ball harness restraining my genitals to smear some of the lubricant on
my asshole. Then I placed the knob at the tip of the anal probe against my anus
and pushed it into my rectum. It had been months since I had been able to get
out my toys and play with them, and my asshole was tight, but it began to
loosen up a little as I pushed the probe deeper into my butt. I could feel the
lump that represented the leading end of the probe as it slid past my prostate.

I began to slide the tool in and out, pumping the probe from my rectum ever
deeper into my bowel. Soon my strokes were sinking in so deep that the ridge
which separates the handle from the shaft of the probe was pressing against my
sphincter. I turned and twisted so that I could watch in the mirror the tool
which was invading my rear. Several times I experienced what can only be
described as an orgasm as I alternately buried and withdrew the object.

I became crazed with lust; I wanted the tool as deep into my gut as I could get
it, so I pushed it in until the flared ridge was once again pressing against my
anal muscle. Then I turned over and just sat down on the floor. The base of the
handle was pressed against the carpet and my weight was driving my body
downward against the ridge circling the probe. For a moment it felt like my
anus was being turned inside out as the tool pushed inexorably deeper than ever
before into my ass. There was a brief stab of pain as I rocked my body around a
bit, and then suddenly the flare had passed through the sphincter into my
rectum and my full weight sagged against the floor.

I leaned back and raised my legs to expose my penetrated asshole to view in the
mirror. Only the handle of the probe protruded from the tightly stretched ring
of muscle which marked the lower opening of my inner passage. I placed my
fingers against the base of the handle and pressed it inward, watching it
slowly disappear from view until only the last inch remained exposed.

I had never had anything so deeply buried in my butt before. The experience had
me absolutely frenzied with lustful desire; my body was trembling and sweat was
streaming off of me. The leather straps of the genital harness looked as if
they were ready to burst from the pressure of my cock trying to achieve an
erection.

Every time I took my hand away from the base of the tool it began to slide back
out until I could feel the flared ridge pressing outward against the inside of
my anus. Several times I pressed the tool slowly back in, feeling every
movement of the handle as it slid through my throbbing asshole, and then let it
work its way back out again.

Finally I could wait no longer. I sat up once again, pressing the tool back
into my butt, then began fumbling with the clasp on the harness restraining my
cock. As it opened and the device fell away, my dick almost instantly exploded
to erection. Pre-cum juice was fairly pouring from the small opening at the tip
of my organ which had been revealed as my foreskin retracted. I pulled the
prepuce back the rest of the way, stretching the skin tight as I squeezed the
shaft, then began to rhythmically slide my fist up and down the length of my
stiff rod. Soon my body was rocking in time with the pumping action of my hand,
causing the tool buried deep in my ass to pulsate inside my body.

The speed of my stroking gradually increased, and I moaned loudly as my body
tensed up. I held back my release as long as I could, savoring the sweet agony
of satisfaction deferred, and thought as I did so of the years I had endured
with a wife who simply refused to understand or respond to my needs. As far as
I was concerned, this was my moment of final emancipation from her. I was
determined that I was going to achieve on my own the satisfaction which she had
denied me.

With that thought I rolled onto my back from the sitting position and let
myself go. Years of suppressed frustration and rage welled up, and my whole
body lifted itself off of the floor as my groin thrust itself forward. My
asshole clamped down tight on the probe handle which was protruding through it
as I roared my angry release.

A solid stream of creamy semen erupted from the bloated end of my cock like the
gush from the nozzle of a fire hose. Jet after thick jet of jism blasted into
the air, landing in hot, sticky ropes across my upper torso. Splatters of spunk
splashed onto my face in several places. It seemed as if my ejaculation was
never going to end as I thrust my body into the air and pounded my rigid cock.
At last, though, the dark fury which had been hidden deep inside of me had
expended itself. My knotted muscles relaxed and I collapsed into a heap on the
floor, panting for breath and still moaning with satisfaction.

It seemed like an eternity before I managed to get myself up from the floor.
The probe imbedded in my ass was beginning to ache, so I raised my legs to
expose my pierced ass to view again and slowly pulled the object out of my
rectum. Once the flared ridge managed to pass through the anus the probe fairly
shot out, barely slowing down as the knobby end popped free. The probe was
streaked brown, with a clump of shit clinging to the tip, so I did not dare lay
it down. Instead I carried it, staggering all the way, to the bathroom where I
tossed the anal toy in the sink and turned on the hot water before getting a
towel to wipe up all the cum which coated my body.

After cleaning myself up, I used some soap to clean the last traces of shit
from the anal probe, then wiped it dry as I stumbled back to the bedroom. I
tossed the object back into the gym bag where it had been stored, then gathered
up the rest of my sex toys to put them away. As I picked up the pouch
containing the leather and metal cock rings, a couple of the metal ones fell
out onto the sheet. When I picked them up with a sweeping motion of my left
hand, one ring hooked itself over the ring finger where it suddenly looked like
an oversized version of the wedding ring I used to wear.

I stared at the ring for a moment, then smiled as an idea formed in my mind.

I had considered my wedding ring to be a symbol of the life I had with my ex-
wife, I thought, and I really ought to replace it with a symbol of the new life
I was beginning. Since that new life was more involved with myself and my
sexual needs and desires and therefore an internal rather than an external
relationship, I considered it appropriate that such a symbol should be private
and not as readily evident to others as the ring on my finger had been. I
quickly took the larger of the metal rings in my hand and placed it on my cock,
then worked it down to the base of my organ where it was rooted to my groin. I
chuckled to myself over the similarity to the effort it had required to get the
ring on my wife's hand at my wedding.

Turning to face myself in the mirror, I pulled back the foreskin of my penis to
expose the spongy glans and the coronal ridge where it flared out from the
fleshy shaft of my slowly swelling cock. I placed the remaining metal ring
against the pale purple head so that it encircled the urethral opening, and
said, "I place this cock ring on my penis now as a symbol of the pledge I am
making to myself that I will no longer allow myself to be denied the
satisfaction of my sexual needs and desires. Unless commanded to remove it by a
dominant person to whom I am in voluntary submission, I will wear at least this
one ring at all times from this moment on as a constant reminder both to live
out my fantasies to the fullest, always looking for new ways and opportunities
to satisfy my need for abuse and degradation, and to remember that the ultimate
goal I am pursuing is to submit myself to a dominant woman and serve her
completely."

I pressed the metal ring over the slowly engorging head of my cock until it
snapped into place in the groove behind the coronal ridge, then held my
ornamented organ up to view in the mirror as I said, "With these rings I am
completely divorced from my former lifestyle of frustration and occasional
furtive attempts to find satisfaction, and am wedded to my new life of self-
abuse, self-degradation and self-satisfaction. What I do now will not be undone
by anyone until I receive from my future dominant mistress the symbol of my
status as her submissive servant."

For the first time in a long time I felt a warm glow and real peace as I
climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over me. As I snuggled down to go to
sleep I could feel the normally covered sensitive head of my cock rubbing
against the sheet beneath me, and sensed more than felt the hard metal rings
encircling my cock and holding back the foreskin. I was smiling as I drifted
off to dreams of my new lifestyle.

Since I didn't have to work the next day, I slept in late before crawling out
of bed shortly before noon. I stood in front of the mirror again and admired
the look of my cock with the metal rings at its base and restraining the
foreskin. The latter feature made my dick look more like the vast majority of
penises, with a sort of circumcised appearance which I found novel for my
organ. For a moment I wondered if I should have myself cut, but then decided
that there was no reason to do that unless desired by the domina to whom I
would ultimately give myself.

Seeing the rings on my cock did remind me of the vows I had taken the night
before, though, and so that I would not forget them I went to my study and
fired up the computer word processor to put them in a concrete form.

As best I could I recreated on paper the "wedding vows" I had spoken, then
printed out a copy. Not satisfied with the appearance of the text, I switched
to a desk-top publisher and converted the vows into a small poster. Happy with
the final result, I took the printout back to the bedroom and taped it to the
mirror so that whenever I saw myself with my new rings I could easily renew the
pledges they symbolized to me.

After taking care of my morning toilet needs, I hurried to the living room
where I loaded the unwatched rental video into the VCR and started the dubbing
process as I flopped down on the sofa to soak in the images of female dominance
which fueled the flames of my libido. My ornamented cock was quickly standing
at attention; I began lightly stroking the exposed sensitive purple knob as I
stared at the TV screen. The "wedding rings" I had given myself were enough
smaller than the diameter of my erect penis that they created a very pronounced
indentation at the point where the head flared out from the shaft and where the
shaft itself joined my body, and I also noted that they restricted blood flow
out of the organ. My knob was a much darker shade of purple than usual, the
skin was extremely tight and shiny, and my whole cock appeared swollen to a
bigger size than normal.

The constricting metal bands also pinched a bit and, when combined with some
light stroking of the distended business end of my organ, created a tingling
ache that reached deep into my inner being and convinced me that I was on the
right track. I wanted to desire and yearn for satisfaction; I wanted to give
myself completely to someone who would let me expend myself in total service. I
wanted to really experience for myself the kind of lifestyle I had been able to
know only in my imagination.

Discipline was the key, I knew. When the videotape ended, therefore, I did not
lean back and masturbate as I so desperately wanted to do, but instead forced
myself to defer my sexual satisfaction and be productive instead.

Since careful time management had proven its value in developing a writing
career while still working another job, I decided to apply the same sort of
principles in creating my new lifestyle. The first step was to create a plan, a
list of longterm goals with a series of objectives to meet along the way to
accomplishing my purpose. Once again I went to my computer and sat down to
write.

After staring at the computer screen in deep thought for awhile, I realized
that I really had only one major goal for the future: to find a dominant
mistress to whom I could submit. This was the ultimate thrust of the pledge I
had made to myself the previous night. A secondary goal was to be as prepared
as possible when I finally found my domina so that I could give myself to her
without reservation as to how she could use and/or abuse me. I subordinated the
pledge I had given myself regarding my intended lifestyle of "self-abuse, self-
degradation and selfsatisfaction" under the latter goal in the form of a set of
objectives which I believed would both satisfy my desires during my search for
my mistress and also prepare me mentally and physically for complete and total
servitude afterwards.

The first step toward achieving both goals was to determine what kind of
mistress I wanted and, conversely, the type of slave I wanted be. This last one
was easy: total. The other one took some thought before I decided that I did
not want one of the manhaters so often described in the f/d literature, but
rather wanted a domina who would lovingly allow me to prove my love and
devotion by performing any act or accepting any treatment which she desired.

To help me focus my thoughts, I first took a survey I found in one of the f/
d tabloids, marking the activities that I loved, liked, or disliked and then
took that information and put it in the form of a rough draft version of an ad
announcing my availability for service. After printing the document and setting
it aside for polishing, I moved on to develop an agenda for preparing myself to
perform the type of services and to receive the kinds of abuse I had identified
for my ad.

To prepare myself for bondage, I proposed to build up a collection of
restraints and other bondage implements and, as much as possible, to use them
on myself. To train for discipline, I began preparing a list of punishments
which I could apply to myself in the event I failed to carry out satisfactorily
any of my assignments. To prevent myself from selecting only certain "easy"
penalties, I would write a brief computer program to randomly choose from the
list and set it up so that either I activated the discipline process on command
or else the computer would automatically announce a punishment at random times.
I would duplicate this program in connection with a list of humiliations which
I began to create as well.

Training myself for the various forms of toilet service required some thought.
There was no problem in preparing myself to receive golden showers since I had
been giving them to myself for years, and had even figured out ways to give
myself brown showers as well. I had also, on occasion, performed basic toilet
service for myself, either by urinating in a glass and drinking it or by
contorting my body into such a position that I could pee directly into my
mouth. It was apparent to me that where I was most in need of additional
training was in the area of advanced (or complete) toilet service.

To move toward the goals of being fully prepared to serve a domina without
reservation as well as to satisfy my craving for abuse and degradation, I
decided to begin treating myself more as a toilet and so set down a few rules.
First, whenever possible I would avoid wasting my body wastes by letting them
simply go down the pipes. Instead I would at the very least collect my urine
and save it for later use, or else either shower myself with it or recycle it
at the time. I concluded that there were two options for recycling my piss, and
that they corresponded to the two openings to my alimentary system: I could
take it orally either from a glass or fresh from the "spigot," or I could reuse
it anally in the form of a piss enema. Frequent brown showers and golden
nuggets were also on my training plan.

Second, to enhance my preparation for providing advanced toilet service, I
decreed that as often as possible, but not less than three times a week, I
would eat something which had been in my ass. The prototype for this rule was
an experience from the days of my attempts to satisfy my desires whenever my
wife was away. I had fucked my ass with a hot dog wiener once, and in a moment
of inspired depravity I had wrapped the weenie in a piece of bread, squirted it
with mustard and eaten it after I was finished. Starting from that beginning, I
had invented for my fantasies all sorts of meals that included anal activity.
This rule would incorporate my earlier ideas into the new lifestyle I was
beginning.

Realizing that this was still not the same thing as full and complete toilet
service, I set down a third rule requiring that, whenever possible, I should
hand deliver my shit to the hopper for disposal rather than simply depositing
it and flushing it away. I figured that this would condition me to the next
most complete form of toilet service possible, and would help me get ready for
the ultimate goal of serving as my mistresses toilet.

With that goal firmly in mind, then, I knew that with the help of these rules I
could push myself ever closer to my objective.

The only other major activity mentioned in my proposed ad for which I needed
advance preparation was in submission to dildo training. I wanted to perform
well when the doma I found to serve wanted to butt-fuck me, not acting like
some vaporish virgin but rather taking it like a seasoned pro. Towards that end
I decided that the regular use of a butt plug or some other device to stretch
out and loosen up my anus, plus frequent self administered fucking with medium
to large sized dildos would have me in fine shape to play the role of whore for
my mistress.

Regarding the other items on my list, either I felt I was prepared already for
them or I could see no practical way to experience them until I had found my
mistress. After all, how could I perform body slavery, anal adoration, or oral
worship without someone to receive my services?

Satisfied at last with my training plan, I printed it out and reviewed it.
Reading the document and realizing that the bizarre sexual practices it
described would be an ongoing part of my lifestyle for the foreseeable future
was extremely erotic to me. By the time I had read the last line of the brief
paper my cock was standing at attention, throbbing slightly as it pressed
against the metal rings constricting it. I leaned back in my chair and closed
my eyes as I lightly stroked my engorged organ, savoring the sweet agony of
sensitive nerve endings overdriven from unaccustomed treatment. Lust for
release and satisfaction began to consume me like some inner flame, but I
forced myself to stop fondling my cock and to get up and go into the other
room.

I putzed around for a bit, straightening up a little as my hard-on slowly
subsided. Then I opened the refrigerator and removed a plastic gallon jug which
I used for ice water. There was only a small amount left, so I took off the lid
and drank it down. The cold water entering my system emphasized the pressure
which had been building in my bladder for the last hour or so as I had been
working at my computer. Sticking the tip of my dick into the neck of the jug, I
relaxed and let a huge load of piss pour into the container. Well over half a
quart of pale yellow liquid sloshed around in the bottom of the bottle when the
flow from my dick had trickled to an end. I squeezed out a few more squirts,
then capped the container and put it back in the fridge.

With that act I was on my way in my new lifestyle. I spent the rest of the day
getting things set up and rolling toward my objectives, putting on clothes and
leaving the house only long enough to return the two video tapes and pick up
something to eat. Before making that trip out, though, I went to the bathroom
and laid down in the tub where I gave myself a golden shower. I allowed the
piss to air dry on my body, pulled on a loose pair of shorts and a shirt over
my still damp skin, then left to run my errands. All the way out and back I
could smell the faint aroma of the urine which had soaked into my flesh.

The next couple of weeks were almost like a honeymoon as my long-suppressed
sexual desires became a major factor in my life. I denied myself nothing in the
way of self-gratification, and experimented with all of the bizarre ideas which
I had developed over the years of extensive and intensive fantasizing. The
taste
of my own piss and even my shit became familiar to me as I gradually increased
the level of my "toilet training" program. I seldom left the house except to go
to my job, and even then I always wore the leather and metal bondage harness
under my clothing. I rented and copied the rest of the f/d videos at the adult
book store, and any time a new magazine, tabloid or book came in I bought a
copy for my growing collection. I also began acquiring additional bondage
devices and restraints which I used on myself frequently.

My computer programs for self-domination and abuse grew increasingly
sophisticated over that period of time as well, and I derived immense
satisfaction from forcing myself to perform whatever acts the machine displayed
on the screen.

I spent an increasing amount of time each day wearing a butt plug until
eventually I was able to leave one in for hours at a time. Some days I would
come home from my job at about 4 pm and immediately insert an anal device, then
leave it there until I was ready to go to bed around midnight. In addition I
took one of my dildoes and ass-fucked myself virtually every day that I did not
work my outside job, gradually working up to longer and thicker tools as I
obtained them. I frequently used a mirror to carefully examine my bung-hole,
and it was very evident that the training program was having the desired effect
of stretching and loosening the muscles to facilitate easier penetration.

As part of my training process I also kept a daily journal in which I recorded
all of the things I was doing to myself, noting especially any time I had
crossed a major threshhold or added a new way of abusing or degrading myself.
Many of the latter came from developing ways to do to myself the things I was
seeing or reading about in the f/d videos and publications I was adding to my
collection.

I celebrated the one month anniversary of my new life by stopping at the adult
book store and buying a chastity belt on my way home from work. This was a
leather waist strap with a narrow strap that ran down between my legs and back
up tightly through the crack of my butt. There was a metal ring in the front
for my genitals to hang through, and attached to the lower strap was a small
butt plug. The heavy waist band was designed to buckle and lock in place.
Earlier I had bought a leather cock corset and ball stretcher which I planned
to wear as accent pieces with the new chastity belt.

I hurried home with my new purchase, anxious to put it on. I had set myself the
challenge of spending at least 24 hours with my asshole continuously
penetrated, and had known when I first saw it that the chastity belt device was
one way to accomplish this feat. I had not been able to keep something in my
ass all night before because a butt plug big enough to not pop out by itself
became very uncomfortable after very many hours, but a device small enough to
keep in almost indefinitely required constant reseating and would invariably
slip out of my anus during the night. The design of this device would insure
that the plug would stay embedded in my rectum until the belt was removed.

My plan, therefore, was to put the belt on as soon as I got home and not remove
in until at least the next evening and with a challenge goal of spending the
second night wearing the harness as well. I thought it would be a major
accomplishment if I could leave the device in place at least until I got ready
to leave for work over 36 hours later.

I grabbed the mail from the box as I opened the door to my little house and
then, after locking the door behind me, I tossed the bundle onto the coffee
table as I started stripping.

Once I had my clothes off I carried them along with the sack containing my new
bondage device to the bedroom. I dropped them into the laundry pile and then
unwrapped my harness. After thoroughly cleaning the anal plug I assembled the
harness and fitted it to my body, taking care first to coat the plug with
petroleum jelly for long lasting lubrication. The narrow penetrater slid easily
into my now-stretched anus until it was firmly seated in my rectum. I snugged
up the strap that passed through my crack and fastened it tight. After working
my genitals through the metal ring and positioning everything properly, I first
tested and then applied the provided small padlock to the front of the belt. If
all went as planned, I was not going to use the key again for somewhere between
24 and 36 hours.

I didn't pause to pose in front of the mirror until I had slipped on and laced
up the cock corset and locked the leather ball stretcher in place as well. Only
then did I spend five minutes admiring the sight of my leather and metal
harnessed body, twisting and turning to view myself from many different angles.
I could feel my cock trying to swell as I got hornier by the moment, but the
leather corset laced around it allowed only the bulbous head to show any sign
of swelling.

The strap tightly drawn between my cheeks rubbed a bit as I walked back to the
living room. There I plopped my harnessed butt down on the sofa and began to
sort through the mail. Most was junk, but there was one envelope that stood out
from all the others. Not only was there no return address, but there was also
neither stamp nor any other sign that the postal service had in any way handled
the letter. It was plainly addressed to me at my address, but apparently it had
been hand delivered.

After ripping off the end of the envelope and sliding out the enclosed piece of
paper, I unfolded the letter and read to my absolute astonishment a response to
the ad seeking a dominant mistress which I had written but not yet mailed.

I jumped up and ran to my desk. The final draft of the ad was laying right on
top of the prepared envelope where it was waiting for me to buy some stamps and
mail it. I picked up my ad and checked it against the letter which I had
received. Point for point they corresponded: warm and caring dominant, absolute
and total service, strict discipline, humiliation, complete toilet service, the
works. Whoever had written the letter almost had to have seen my ad, even
though that ad had never been published anywhere.

To make matters more confusing, if possible, the letter had no signature or
return address. Instead, I was instructed to indicate my acceptance of this
unidentified person as the dominant person to whom I would render my complete
submission by showing the corner of a red handkerchief from my right front
pants pocket until I was contacted again. The writer indicated that failure to
do so would be proof that I was not serious about placing myself in submission
to a dominant and that there would be only one chance given. I would not know
when or where I would be checked for compliance, only that it would happen very
soon and that contact would be initiated soon thereafter.

I slumped into my chair, stunned. It was one thing to be planning for finding
someone to whom I could submit, and it was yet another for a dominant to appear
and lay claim to me. I read and re-read the letter several times as I tried to
figure out what was going on.

How could someone have hand delivered to me a letter which addressed so
precisely my private desires and fantasies? The answer could only be that
someone had knowledge of them other than just myself. Clearly someone had seen
my unmailed letter. That meant that someone had been in my house when I was not
there. If they had been there once, they could have been there many times. If
they had been there many times, they would have had plenty of opportunity to
read the books and magazines I had been collecting, view the videos I had been
copying, and also examine the sexual toys and bondage devices I had been
playing with. I had not been concerned to keep things put away out of sight
since I had no reason to hide them I had thought. The printed version of the
debauched vows I had taken was openly taped to the bedroom mirror, and even the
journal I was keeping which recorded my bizarre practices had been laying on my
desk where it would have been easily accessible. I could only assume that
whoever had sent me this letter knew absolutely everything.

On the other hand, I knew virtually nothing about this other person. I had no
way of knowing, for example, if my correspondent was male or female, except
possibly a vague hint in the line about warm and caring domination. It could be
anyone. Someone who had access to my home apparently. Someone from the rental
agency? I tried to remember faces but couldn't. A former resident of the house?
The rental people had assured me that the locks had been changed before I moved
in, that was why I had to wait to pick up the key until the day I took
possession, so that seemed unlikely. I was baffled.

Beyond the issue of who, though, was the question of my response. Should I
accept a dominant about whom I knew nothing at all? I didn't want to end up in
pieces in some nut's freezer, after all. There was definitely risk. What if it
was a male writer? I thought it unlikely, but possible. I had not had sex with
a guy since I was fooling around as an adolescent. On the other hand, I had
enjoyed it and occasionally fantasized about such things as well. I guessed
that, if I accepted and it did turn out to be a dominant male I could deal with
it. Assuming that it was a female, though, it could be anyone. I could wind up
serving a fat old woman. I had no way of knowing in advance. I was totally at
risk and making a choice in the dark.

The other side of the coin was that risk was inherent in my desires anyway.
Answering ads in the magazines and tabloids carried no guarantees of safety. As
for the rest of it, if the letter writer was anywhere close to being what was
described, it would be about as perfect a match as I could hope for. After all,
the response appeared tailored exactly to what I had been thinking about asking
for.

I read the letter through once more and then realized that my cock was standing
up as erect as it could in its leather corset. A little bead of pre-cum juice
glistened at the tip of my tool, and as I wiped it up with my finger and stuck
it in my mouth I realized that there was no real question to be decided. This
letter offered what I had been dreaming of and preparing for all this time, and
I knew without hesitation that I was going to accept.

I had just gotten up to go look for a red handkerchief to put in my pants
pocket when the phone rang, interrupting me. It was Stan, inviting me over for
a special dinner that evening to celebrate the 16th birthday of their youngest
child. I could hardly refuse a request for such an event, so I agreed to
attend.

After hanging up the phone, I went rummaging through drawers until I found a
red bandana which I then placed in the pocket of the pants I would be wearing.
I paused in front of the mirror and reflected over whether or not to remove the
chastity belt device before going over to Stan and Marla's. I could think of no
good reason to prevent me from leaving it on, though, so I just went ahead and
dressed over my bondage gear.

I stopped by the front door before I went out and made sure that the corner of
the red cloth was plainly visible hanging out of my front right pocket. Since I
had no idea who had sent the letter, I had no choice but to begin signaling my
acceptance immediately. For all I knew, there was someone with binoculars
waiting to check me out for compliance as I walked out the door right that
minute. I wanted to take no chances on screwing up what appeared to be the
chance of a lifetime to find what I had dreamed of for years.

I spent the entire drive over to Stan and Marla's house wondering about the
letter and all that it implied. Certain things began to make sense. Many times
since I had moved in to my little house I had found myself wondering about
things which did not seem to be as I had left them. Magazines neatly stacked
when I had no recollection of stacking them. Books moved from where I had
thought I had placed them. Perhaps the video tape had not been positioned at
the end of the tape not because of anything I had done but because already
someone had been entering my home and examining my private desires.

The thought that someone knew my deepest, darkest secrets I found disquieting
and yet also thrilling. I had tried, years before, to communicate my yearnings
to my wife, but she would have none of it. Since then I had kept it all buried
inside of me, putting it in written form perhaps but then keeping that locked
away somewhere. I knew when I embarked on a course leading to finding a
dominant to whom I could submit that I would eventually have to openly confess
my needs to someone else. Now that moment of confession was at hand. I glanced
at the flash of red cloth protruding from my pocket and thought that for one
person the handkerchief represented complete confession and was an open
invitation saying that I was ready to be used and abused.

When I arrived at my destination, Marla greeted me at the door with a quick
hug, thanking me for coming over on such short notice. Apparently the birthday
dinner had been a spur of the moment affair planned when a party for the
daughter and her friends had been postponed due to some conflict in scheduling.
I went to the family room where I greeted the birthday child and teased her
about turning "sweet 16." She blushed nicely as I gave her the present I had
purchased on the way over, then threw her arms around me and gave me a quick
kiss on the cheek as she thanked me for her gift. Though it was difficult, I
managed to resist the temptation to pat her on the fanny; she was the first
girl I had held in months. I settled instead for just enjoying the feel of her
soft young breasts pressing against me. At that moment I was glad for the
bondage gear I was wearing under my clothes since a full-blown, unrestrained
hard-on would have been embarrassingly difficult to hide.

Dinner was enjoyable, even though I became self-consciously aware about midway
through that my leather harness creaked slightly as I moved. No one seemed to
notice, though, and I managed to excuse myself to the bathroom where I was able
to adjust the gear enough to silence the squeak. Afterwards, I once again
helped Marla clear the table while Stan set up the movie projector to show the
home movies that parents take of their children to embarrass them with when
they get older.

The kids had headed for their rooms soon after the movies ended, and Stan,
Marla and I sat and visited about some of our shared history. Eventually Stan
had yawned, looked at his watch with the usual "look at the time" comment and
began packing up the projector and screen. It was after midnight as Marla
walked me to the door and said good night, and that she'd see me soon.

I barely made it home, got my clothes off and crawled into bed before I was
deep into sleep. I dreamed of dominant women and occasionally dominant men as
well, taking turns fucking me in the ass.

I spent most of the next day working on an article I had to finish and get out.
I had thought about straightening up, putting away all of my f/d magazines and
books and stashing my sexual toys, taking down the printed out vows I had taken
and hiding the journal I was keeping, but decided that there was no point. If
someone had been coming in and looking at my stuff before it was too late to
prevent it, and if not there was no real reason to hide it all away. I did have
to make several trips out, though, and each time I was careful to have the red
handkerchief visible in my pocket.

By midday the pressure in my gut to take a shit had built up to the point of
being painful, so I did unlock my chastity belt and remove it long enough to
unload. I immediately put it back on, though, since I was determined to wear it
until the following morning when I got up and prepared to go to my job. The
rest of the day passed uneventfully, and I went to bed after the late night
news, still wearing my restraints. Once again my dreams were filled with people
standing in line to ass-fuck me.

I got up the next morning and headed to the bathroom where I removed my leather
restraints in preparation for a hot shower. As soon as the cock corset came off
my dick swelled to enormous hardness. The metal ring which held my foreskin
retracted pinched deep the flesh of my organ, and the metal ring at the base of
it caused the whole thing to take on a dark, angry color as it throbbed in
front of me. Between the sweet ache in my ass which had been penetrated and
stretched partially open continuously for over 36 hours and the ongoing sexual
excitement resulting from the promised contact from someone to whom I could
submit myself, I was incredibly horny.

I stood under the hot shower and soaped up my cock, then began to stroke it. My
bloated tool was on fire from the internal pressures threatening to explode it
and the external stimulation of my hot soapy hand sliding up and down the
length of it. Within seconds I could feel my nuts tightening up as every muscle
in my body drew taut. I kept up the pumping action of my hand until at last I
felt it start to blow. The metal rings around my organ seemed to increase the
pressure driving my orgasm, for when the first blast of cum shot from my dick
it sprayed in a solid stream all the way to the far wall of the tub area. I
could feel my muscles convulsing as they pumped what seemed to be gallons of
sticky semen into the steamy air. Thick ropes of sticky goo slowly washed
toward the drain as I leaned against the wall and squeezed the last of my sperm
out of my nuts and pumped it out of my cock until it hung in long strands
dangling from my hand. When it was finished I could barely muster the energy
necessary to get the bar of soap and wash away the dregs of my ejaculation.

I stumbled through the rest of my preparations for the day and headed off for
work, making sure of course that the red cloth was peeking from my pocket.
There was, after all, no way of knowing when or where my confession would be
observed by the only person who could understand its meaning.

The day seemed to drag on forever, but eventually I was able to head for home.
I stopped on the porch and checked the mail for any communication from my
correspondent. Finding none, I unlocked the door, stepped in and stopped dead
in my tracks dumbfounded.

Sitting on the sofa with her feet propped up on the coffee table, and reading
the most recent issue of one of the f/d tabloids was Marla.

"Well, come in and close the door," she said as she started folding up the
publication to lay it aside. "I've been waiting for you to get here."

I closed the door behind me and out of habit hit the lock. As I stumbled across
the room in a daze I looked around. The VCR was playing one of the f/d tapes I
had recorded. My journal was sitting on the sofa next to Marla, open to the
latest entries. The room seemed to be spinning slightly and I felt as if I
couldn't breathe. I pulled the red handkerchief from my pocket, held it out,
and tried to speak.

"You?" I managed to croak.

Marla laughed and said, "Me. Surprised you, didn't I?"

I could only nod.

She reached out and took the cloth from my hand. "I was so happy to see this
the other evening. I wasn't sure you would go through with it."

"I...I had to. I wanted it so badly I couldn't pass it up. But...you? We've
known each other and been friends for years. You're married to one of my best
friends. I couldn't..."

She waved the red cloth and said, "You already have. This symbolizes your
unconditional submission to the one who sent you the letter. That's me. You
don't have to worry about anything now but how well you serve me. The rest of
it is my concern."

I stared silently at the floor, trying to sort out my feelings.

"It is what you want, isn't it?" she asked.

I slowly nodded that it was.

"Speak up."

"Yes. It really is what I want. I can think of no one I would rather serve than
you. I have adored you since I first met you, but you were already dating Stan,
and I wouldn't do anything to interfere between you. I love you."

She looked me in the eyes and said, "I know. I've known for years. And I love
you, too. Over the years I grew to realize that you were the kind of person I
wanted. That's one reason Stan has been such an annoyance for the last several
years. I was tired of him and his attitudes."

"But you were married, too, and I just put it out of my mind. I knew that you
loved me, and I loved you as well, but neither of us was in a position to do
anything about it. But when Stan said that you were leaving your wife and
suggested letting you stay with us till you got started over again, I was only
too happy to say yes. I wanted the chance to compare the two of you up close,
because I was willing to make a change."

"I discovered your secret by accident. I was putting a message on your desk one
day while you were out, and I bumped the keyboard of your computer. Something
suddenly appeared on your screen, and I read it. Then I went back to the
beginning of what you had written and read the whole thing. The next time I had
the chance, I opened up other files and read more of the things you had
written, and the more of the female domination things I read, the more I wanted
to have someone...no, to have you serving me."

"When you moved in here I picked up the key for you, and had a copy made for
myself before I met you and Stan over here. I've been coming in a couple of
times a week ever since to see what you're doing. When I found the final
version of your ad looking for a dominant, I knew I had to act quickly. I
wanted you for myself."

I didn't know what to say.

"You are mine now, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm yours."

"Good," she said as she leaned back against the sofa cushion, "that's what I
was wanting to hear you say. Say it again: who do you belong to?"

"I belong to you, Marla."

"Say it again: who do you belong to?"

"I belong to you, Marla."

Marla smiled. "Take off your clothes, my new slave. I want to see the rings you
put on as a symbol of your new life."

I began to disrobe as Marla leaned back and watched. "I've been reading all of
your nasty reading material and watching your videos for some time now," she
said as I dropped my shirt to the floor and began to unfasten my belt, "and it
has gotten me real interested in this new lifestyle you've been craving and
also given me lots of ideas for things to do with you."

She licked her lips sensuously as my pants hit the floor and I stepped out of
them. After peeling off my socks, the only item of clothing left on my body was
my briefs, which were bulging conspicuously in the front. I hesitated briefly,
but when she said nothing else I began to work the tight briefs down over my
hips and butt. As I pulled the elastic waistband forward to clear my genitals,
Marla leaned forward for a closer look. I shoved the fabric all the way to the
floor and then straightened back up for her inspection.

"Mmmm...., nice," she purred as she reached for my groin. I had worn only a
leather genital strap that day, so my cock and balls stood out nicely from my
body. The metal rings around the base of my cock and restraining my foreskin
glistened in the light as she touched them lightly. My organ was quickly
swelling toward erection, and Marla responded by stroking it and saying, "Yes,
that's right. I want to see you hard."

I had no choice but to comply; my dick could not have been prevented from
stiffening if I had so desired, which I did not anyway.

Quickly my cock achieved a swollen, angry purple color. Marla traced the
indentation around the base where the metal ring constricted it. "Does that
hurt?"

"Sometimes it is a little uncomfortable," I replied, "but I like the
sensation."

"And what about this other ring here behind the head of your prick?"

"Same thing. I trade a little occasional discomfort for some really intensely
erotic sensations."

"What do you mean?"

"Because I am uncircumcised, the head of my dick has been covered up most of my
life and so protected from the rubbing and chafing effect of wearing clothes.
Because of that the nerve endings are still real sensitive. With the ring
holding back my foreskin I can feel even the slightest stimulation. A touch,
pressing against the sheets in bed, even my clothes rubbing back and forth
keeps me in at least a low level of sexual arousal at all times."

"I like that thought. I may add another symbol that you belong to me later, but
for now, these are sufficient to show that you are mine. That means that the
vows that you took need to be modified to reflect your new status, doesn't it?"

"Yes, maam."

"Well, then," she said as she stood up in front of me, "make your new vows
right now."

I fell to my knees in front of her. "I give myself to you, Marla, to use as
your complete and total slave. I am yours to use as you see fit, and I will
perform any act you command, and submit to any treatment you wish to give me,
no matter how degrading or humiliating or painful. I do this out of love for
you, to prove my devotion to you, because I have nothing to give you except
myself. All I want to do is to satisfy your every need, want or craving, and I
will do anything to accomplish that goal."

I looked up into her face and saw that she was flushed with excitement, her
eyes gleaming. She lifted my chin slightly and gazed into my eyes as she
returned my pledge. "I accept you as my slave, Randy. I have discovered that I
want to be served by someone completely devoted to my satisfaction, someone who
derives his own satisfaction from pleasing and pleasuring me. I have also
discovered a side of myself that takes pleasure in strange ways, and I need
someone to play out my stranger desires with. Your cock rings will be the
symbol that you belong to me. As long as you are wearing them, you can be sure
that we will both be satisfied in our new lives together."

Her mention of our new lives together sent a cloud across my face. "What's
wrong?" she asked.

"Are you going to leave Stan, then?"

"Not just yet. First of all, I want to let the kids finish growing up some. I
figure after Janice finishes high school in another year I can leave Stan
without too much trouble. Beyond that, though, I have decided that Stan
deserves something special as my parting gift to him, but I haven't decided
exactly what or how yet. The one thing that could change this plan, though, is
Stan himself. If he keeps becoming more and more of an asshole it will be
harder and harder for me to stay. For the kids' sake I intend to try, though."

Talk of Stan and her kids had diverted my attention away from the intensity of
the moment, and my cock had begun to soften slightly. Marla noticed and gave it
a little prod with her foot, making soft clucking sounds as she did so. As she
pulled her foot back, the drool of juice which was leaking from the pee-hole at
the tip of my cock spread across the shiny leather surface of her shoe.

"Uh, oh," she said. "I can't go home with your dick prints on my shoes. Clean
that off."

I bent forward and began to lick the traces of my dick juice off of her shoe.
When I was finished she pushed the other foot forward and ordered me to make it
match the first.

Marla had me remain in the kneeling position when I had finished licking her
shoes clean, and she walked around me to check out her new property. Her hand
was cool as it slid over my ass, and then she let it slide down between my legs
to caress my balls and swollen cock. She ordered me to reach back and spread my
butt for her, and as I pulled my cheeks apart she began to explore my asshole
with a finger.

"You seem to have been successful at stretching your anus out," she commented.
"I'll bet this will be easy to fuck any time I want. And I do want to fuck you.
I've been fantasizing about it a lot lately."

Her index finger slowly slid through my anal opening as Marla worked it in as
far as she could reach. I moaned softly as her finger writhed about in my
rectum before she slowly withdrew it.

"You like this, don't you?"

"Ohhh, yess," I said as she pushed her finger back into my ass.

She withdrew it again and then began pushing in again, this time with two
fingers. She probed my rectal opening several times, then as she added a third
finger and began to force them into me she said, "I've never played with a
guy's ass before. Stan butt-fucked me a couple of times when I was having my
period and he was horny, but the one time I touched his asshole he jumped up
and made it very clear that I was never to touch him there again. He said only
a fag likes his ass messed with."

She paused with her three fingers pressed deep into my rectum. "Are you a fag,
Randy?"

I was panting with arousal brought on by her repeated probing of my ass, but I
managed to answer. "No, not really. I guess you could say that I am bisexual
since I did fool around with a couple of guys when I was a teenager and I
sometimes do fantasize about being assfucked by a guy or else sucking off his
cock, but I haven't actually done anything like that in twenty years."

She twisted her fingers in my anus and I groaned as she asked, "Would you have
sex with a guy if I ordered you to? Suck him off or let him fuck you? Or would
you fuck him?"

"Of course. I will do anything at all if it pleases you to have me do it."

She withdrew her fingers from my rectum and stepped around to my head. She
lifted up my face and then pushed into my mouth the fingers with which she had
been probing my butt. I began to suck on them to clean off any traces of shit.

Marla smiled and said, "I'm glad to hear that, because I have just had a great
idea for my parting message to Stan when the time comes."

She pulled her fingers from between my sucking lips and then ran them through
my hair. "I have to be going soon," she said, "but before I go I want to see
you make yourself cum. Get up on the sofa next to me and do it. I've been
fantasizing for weeks now about you over here with your pornography and bondage
toys, whacking off as you dreamed about being a sexual slave, and it always
gets me hot. So now I want to see you do it."

I got up and sat on the sofa next to where she was sitting. She turned and
faced me as I grasped my bloated cock. Pre-cum juice was streaming out of the
little slit, and I smeared it all over my tool for lubrication as I began to
slowly beat my meat for her. She settled back for the show as my breathing
quickly became ragged and my hips began thrusting upward as I stroked my cock.

"Yes, that's it. Make yourself cum. Pump harder. I want to see you shoot."

I increased the tempo of my pounding fist on my swollen cock, and with the
other hand reached down to fondle my nuts. I kneaded them roughly as my body
began to tense up. Suddenly my release was there and I squeezed my balls hard
as I continued to pump my stiff shaft. White cream spewed from my cock as I
hunched upward against my pistoning fist. Jet after jet of jism sprayed wildly
as I groaned loudly.

"Aaaahhhhhrrrrrr....."

I could feel hot cum splattering my face on even the third and fourth blasts.
Eventually my orgasm subsided, though, and I slumped back down into the sofa.

"Wow! I've never seen anything like that before," Marla said admiringly. "It
was even wilder than I imagined."

I was still gasping for breath, but I managed to say, "Well, to be honest, that
one was wilder than usual."

"I should hope so, or else you'd have to repaint your house very frequently to
cover up the cum stains on the wall. Look!"

I turned to see what she was pointing to and was amazed to see that the wall
above me was well splashed with sticky white cream which was beginning to run.
Marla tossed me my discarded briefs and I used them to wipe up the mess, then I
slumped back onto the sofa.

Marla got up, then leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips. "Thanks for
the show, but I have to be going."

I started to get up but she pushed me back down and said, "No, stay there. In
fact don't move until all of that cum has dried completely. I want you to leave
it on your body till I come see you again tomorrow."

With that she let herself out the door and disappeared. As I sat there on the
sofa, surrounded by my female domination oriented porn, with an explicit video
still playing softly on the TV, and with my sperm slowly drying on my naked
body I realized that I truly was achieving my goal of entering into voluntary
slavery to a woman I had adored for years. I smiled wryly as I also realized
that I had just performed a nude masturbation show for a woman whom I had yet
to see undressed. My cock stirred slightly as I began to imagine what my new
life was going to be like with my new dominant mistress, and then I was
dreaming of Mistress Marla standing naked over me and doing unspeakable things
to me as I slipped into an exhausted sleep.