I wanted to call this story “Trust Me” but my publisher felt that it needed something more explicit as one of my first stories in the genre – in fact, the first story I had published as a BDSM story alongside Slave Girl: The Interview. Either way, I wanted this story to reflect someone’s very first introduction to a BDSM lifestyle…I think I managed it OK!
Here’s a teaser, hope you enjoy.
Excerpt (adult content):
With trembling hands I peel open the package, full of apprehension. Inside is a pair of serious fuck-me high heels, very strappy, I am not sure I could even walk in them. There is a set of four leather loops, two slightly larger than the other two, that fasten with Velcro and are fitted with heavy-duty steel D-rings. I set them aside, and look at the dress: it is leather, short, halter-necked, and backless. Not just backless above the waist, but backless below it as well. Other than the halter neck, only the waist-band and the hem of the skirt extend all the way around the back, both of them buckle like belts.
I stare at it.
Wear the contents of the package, and an overcoat, and nothing else.
I look for any underwear, and there is none, just one last loop of leather that buckles closed like a dog-collar. In fact, exactly like a dog-collar, it even has a nametag on it. Peering closely, I can see it is engraved: SLAVE ANNE.
A chill runs down through me, followed by a hot thrill. My skin prickles with goose-bumps as if all my hair is standing on end. My nipples harden almost to the point of being painful, and my pussy is hot and wet. Tonight I will be going out wearing an outfit that is the most objectifying, sexualizing, and degrading outfit I will ever have worn in my life. I will even be wearing a collar that declares me to be a slave.
No wonder Chris wanted to know if I trusted him, if I didn’t, I would be outraged. Instead, I look at the outfit with mounting excitement. I have butterflies to be sure, but I do trust Chris? I really want to be with him, but is this the way I want to do it? Well…why not? It’s kinky, but actually I find it quite exciting.
I go to shower, and get myself ready. Without doubt I want to make sure everything is as perfect as it can be, from my Brazilian to my perfume. Finally I turn to the items he sent me again. The short leather loops clearly go around my wrists and ankles, and being fastened by Velcro they are quick and easy to don.
Finally I look at the dress and it makes a shiver run down my spine. It will strap to me a little bit like an apron, leaving my back and more importantly my ass completely exposed. If I bend over, my pussy will peek at anyone behind me. It is so obviously to be worn to sexualize me, draw attention to my exposure and underline that I am there to spank and fuck. It will make me look like some fetish porn-star or hooker, yet instead of being offended or scandalized I actually feel very, very horny.
The leather is cool and slick on my skin as I take the waist band, draw it around my slim middle, and buckle it in the small of my back. I lift the fitted top, finding it offers good support for my breasts, and buckle the halter at the back of my neck. Now my cleavage is presented to any person in front of me. Lastly, I take the strap that runs around the hem of the skirt. The skirt is so short itself that the buckle sits just underneath my bare ass. I fasten it, and look at the effect in my full-length mirror.
From the front, I look hot in a sexy black leather mini-dress; turning, I look like a hooker advertising her assets. The effect from the rear is everything I both anticipated and feared. I totter on the ridiculously high heels a little until I get the hang of them. They are a pain, but they make my legs look awesome in the mirror.
“Knockout, babe,” I whisper, looking in the mirror again.
That leaves one item.
My hands tremble as I pick it up, and I lift the metal tag to see the engraved legend again: SLAVE ANNE.
A shiver of fear and excitement runs down my bare spine. Again my skin tightens, and I get goose-bumps. My nipples stand to attention, and my pussy moistens up. Dear God, I am turned on by this! With shaking fingers, and a stomach full of anxiety, I slide it around my throat and carefully buckle it closed, arranging the name-tag to hang forward.
A horn honks in the street below my apartment window, and I peek out to see a taxi waiting. Is it time already? I grab a coat and my purse and rush out. The coat brushes the naked skin of my back and buttocks as I trip down the steps to the front door.
“Miss Schneider?” The cabbie greets me, and I nod.
He drives me a short distance across town, to an apartment block much larger than mine. The driver informs me that he has been paid, and that I want apartment number seventeen.
I step out of the taxi, and the chilly wind circulates under my coat, reminding me of my near-nakedness. I press the buzzer and wait.
There is a click as the front door pops open.
No question as to who it is from the intercom, just an open door.
Feeling slightly spooked, I step inside, my senses heightened and prickling as I take in everything. There are two doors on either side of the broad entrance hall, apartments one through four, and an elevator and stairwell ahead of me. My heels click echoingly across the floor. I call the elevator, and the doors glide open. With my heart in my mouth, I step inside. My apprehension is growing, and so is my excitement. What has Chris planned? What kinds of things is he into?
The elevator climbs to the fourth floor, and stops. I step out, and see the door to seventeen is slightly ajar, with a note taped to it: Come in, shut the door, and take your coat off.
This is the point of no return, I realize. Another shiver runs through me, and I am hot in spite of my state of undress under my coat. My nipples are hard, and my sex is wet already. I am about to find out what it is like to be Chris’ slave for an evening.
Barnes & Noble: http://tinyurl.com/p95xpaa