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Just Say When
The last thing I heard from those gorgeous, luscious, bright red
lipswere these words: "just say when, sweetie!"
What followed was a series of sinster laughs, as she slid a long,
thinplastic gag in my mouth, down my throat and buckled it behind my
head.The joke was, of course, on me. With that thing in my mouth I
couldn'teven make a sound, muchless say "when."
That was the first step in the culmination of an
interestingrelationship with the woman that used to be my best friend,
my closestally and my soul-mate. Now, we are all that and more, we are
friends,soulmates, lovers, and, in our relationship, most importantly,
Mistressand slave.
Quite literally, my Mistress owns me. It may sound strange, but I
havegiven up all rights, privileges and duties that I once possessed
to her.Her name is Heather, and she owns me body, mind, and soul.
If you will, I'd like to take you into my world, describe how we
met,how we developed our relationship and what has become of it since.
I met Heather in high school. We dated for a year and a half. I
thoughtI knew everything about her, but I knew she didn't know
everything aboutme. I have known since I became sexually mature that I
was sexuallysubmissive. I figured it out early, for which I am
grateful. It savedme a number of hassles, turmoils and unpleasnatries
that folks often gothrough in figuring this out.
In any event, I saw something in Heather that excited me. I trusted
myinstincts, knowing that if she turned me on, there must be the seeds
ofa dominant hiding in there somewhere. She was, I thought, the
bestlooking woman I had ever seen. She was thrid in the
homecomingelection, our junior year, and was swamped with guys.
All of the guys she dated seemed like jerks, jock types, BMOC and
thelike. None of them treated her well. Or at least none of them
treatedher like she deserved to be treated. Deep down, I think she
knew that.None of her relationships lasted more than a couple of
weeks. I alwayswatched carefully. Waiting for my moment, waiting in
the shadows.
Now, I don't mean to sound like a stalker or loser. I had several
womenwho were very inerested in me. They were, however, too
interested.They wanted someone who could provide a strong, masculine
presence. Icould have faked it, but what would be the point? I wanted
Heather, andI wanted to be hers, in every imaginable way.
Shortly after she had broken up with her 15th boyfriend (in a two
yearperiod), I decided I should approach her. I knew it was risky,
arebound relationship and all that. I did it anyway, in spite of all
theconventioal wisdom.
"Heather," I asked her, "I was wondering if you would go out with
methis Friday?"
"God," she replied," I don't know, I just split up with . . . ."
There was a pause. She looked curiously into my eyes.
"Sure, why not," she continued, "what did you have planned?"
I told her that we could do whatever she wanted, and she seemed to
likethat idea.
"Well," she asked, "why don't you pick me up at 4:00 Friday, we'll go
tothe dance."
Four o'clock? That seemed weird. The dance didn't start until
eight,and I started to ask her why four, why not later.
"Do you want to go with me or not?" she asked, and that was that.
Ibabbled a response out, something like "well, uh, ummm, uh, I do,
but,uhhhh" and noticed she was turning and walking away.
"Four o'clock, then. See ya then," I chirped out, noticably rattled
bythe interaction.
The week passed, somewhat uneasily. Anytime I met with Heather in
thehall, or in class, or in the lunchroom, she always had the same
responseto me . She would tell me, "See you four o'clock, Friday,
don't belate."
Well, as fate would have it, a flat tire and an old car made me
late.fortunately, not too late. I arrived at Heather's house at ten
afterfour. We had almost four hours before the dance, so things seemed
fine.
I rang the bell.
No answer.
I rang again.
Still, no answer.
I rang over and over again.
Finally, I heard footsteps. They approached the door.
"Who is it?" Heather's voice asked.
I told her it was me.
"Oh," she paused, " I expected you here at four. I made other plans
fortonight. See you in school."
"But, I'm only ten minutes late," I screamed. There was no answer.
Itried riging over and over, but there was no reply.
I went back, sat in my car and scoped out her house. I sat there
untilmidnight. No one came or left. Nothing happened. At midnight I
headedfor home.
I slept in Saturday and spent the day, all day, trying to call
Heather.She had her own phone line, so I kept calling. Finally, she
picked upat about 8:00 p.m.
"Oh, it's you," she said with a bristle in her voice, "I thought that
itwas someone else. Oh well, what?"
I apologized and told her I'd do anything to make it up to her. I
wastruly sorry and that I had behaved badly not calling or letting her
knowI'd be late.
"So," she barked, "you have no excuse?"
I didn't know what to say, so I said what sprang to mind, the
mostnatural response that leaped from my mind, "There is no excuse
formaking you wait for anything, Heather."
There was a silence, the line went dead for a moment. Neither of
usspoke. We waited for one or the other to break the ice. It was she
whodid so.
"You have no excuse, and you're calling to say what?"
Again, I was dumbfounded, my response just popped out. "I beg
yourforgiveness, Heather. Please agree to let me make it up to you."
Clearly I was hers, and clearly she didn't know what to do with me.
Iwas, I came to find out, the first guy that wasn't full of excuses,
orlies, and who asked, nee' begged for forgiveness.
"Pity me, Heather," I continued," let me make it up to you.
She agreed, but told me I had to wait, at least a week, maybe
longer.It would be up to her. I was not to speak to her, look at her
orapproach her in any way until next Saturday. I could do nothing
exceptthink about her every waking moment, and in my dreams, she
became agreat goddess of domination and control. Soon, if I could hold
off andobey her, my dreams would become a reality. I knew it; I left
it; itseemed so right.
That week was the toughest week I have ever been through. I'd see
herin the hall and want with every fiver of my being to say
something,"hello," "how are you," anything! I resisted; I obeyed.
Friday was the toughest. All my friends said she was asking about
me,and several of her friends told me to ask her out. They promised
thatshe would go. The temptation was great, but I resisted. Final
period,Friday was the toughest test of all. It was Civics class and I
arrivedearly. She came in and sat down right next to me.
She did everything to try to distract me, sliding notes to me, putting
afull sheet of paper on my desk reading "S M I L E !" and even
playingfootsies. It was easy to see why her relationships never
lasted. Shewas a tease extrodinare! She sent mixed messages,
contradicted herselfand then turned on a dime. I, however, liked the
challenge. In fact,I thrived on the denial.
The bell rang, the end of last period. Heather slid me a final
note,this one written in lipstick, reading "you pass. My house 4:00
Sat."
I didn't know how to take it. I waited until Saturday to figure it
allout. I decicided to go. Her house, Saturday, 4:00. This time,
Iwouldn't be late!
Saturday came. I didn't sleep well, fantaszing about Heather
andmasturbating for most of the evening. My rest was spotty, but in
themorning I felt great nonetheless.
I went through several dozen outfits, trying to figure out what to
wear,and what to do. By the time I was done, I had on Khakis, a
whiteoxford shirt and a yellow and green sweater. I looked, well,
nice.
I left the house at 2:30, and drove and parked in front of
Heather'shouse. I was there by quarter to three. I sat and waited and
dreamedabout our date. At five of, I walked up the driveway,
approached thedoor and rang the bell.
No answer.
I waited and rang again.
Still, no answer, but this time I heard footsteps. I looked at my
watch;3:58.
I waited. At 3:59 and 45 seconds I rang again, fifteen seconds
laterthe door openned, and I saw Heather standing before me, dressed
in apair of jeans and a tee shirt. She looked incredibly sexy, even a
bitrough. I could tell she didn't have a bra on, and her jeans were
sotight I guess she didn't have underwear on as well.
"Come in and have a seat," she commanded. "Go to the living room
andsit in the brown chair. I'll be down when I'm ready."
She turned and slowly sauntered, teasingly, up the stairs. I made
myway into the living room, found the brown chair and sat down. I
waited.
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