Stephanie

She woke up, confused, her thighs sore and bruised, her groin aching and covered with the dry spend of her and her Master's--the thought jarred her, feeling natural even as her stomach twisted in consternation--lust.  She moaned, and pulled herself out of her bed, changing the sheets and climbing into the shower.  She couldn't relax, her mind running over the previous evening again and again, seeing his face, reliving his words, his actions, and her own horrible, perverted responses.  She leaned against the wall of the shower, the water streaming over her lithe body, her breathing quickening as she remembered his words, that he would call her today.

Did she want to see him again, she asked herself.  No, that wasn't the question.  Did she want him as her Master?  That was, she finally admitted to herself, the real question.  She couldn't deny how he had made her feel, couldn't deny how her own submission, whether to Jeff or to his friend, had sent her into a haze of lust, a haze where the only thing that mattered was to please them, to please the dominant man, to be a kajira.  She shuddered under the warm water, her body responding to her thoughts, her hand slipping down between her legs, feeling the soreness and the heat there.  She moaned again as she slid her fingers softly across her clit, pleasure flooding through her as she remembered how he had made her heel, made her crawl beside him to her own bed to be used.

Pictures of her own use by a virtual stranger flashed through her mind as she teased herself gently, ashamed even as she brought herself closer and closer to release, ashamed of her need, of her fantasies come to life.  Even close to an orgasm her stomach remained in turmoil, clenching in worry as she thought of her future, the thoughts interspersed with her fantasies as she masturbated.  What would happen if she didn't accept Jeff's friend--she didn't even know his name--as her Master?  Did she have a choice?  What would happen if Amy found out about her and Jeff?  How could she keep everything secret?  What could she do?  What was going to happen?

As she gasped out her orgasm shame overwhelmed her and she began to cry, shaking her head, her hair, heavy with water, slapping against her back and shoulders.  She wanted to stop, but knew that she couldn't, knew that her need was too great.  She would talk to him, talk to Jeff's friend, tell him that she would be his, the mere thought making her body flush with lust, but that it had to be secret, that no one could know.  For now, she would dry off, dress, do some early morning studying, go to class, and be a student, not a kajira.

It was when she was leaving Moffitt that her phone rang, and her stomach lurched as she saw a number that she didn't know.  She answered, hoping and fearing that it was him.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hello.  Stephanie?"

"Yes."

"This is Steve.  We met last night."

"..."

"Where are you right now, Stephanie?"

"Near Moffitt library."

"Meet me out front of Wellman.  You know where that is?"

"Yes."

"Good.  I'll see you there in a few minutes."

She held the phone to her ear after he had hung up, her heart racing, her body flushing at the thought of seeing him again.  She thought of her clothes, flip-flops, sweat-pants, and a sweat-shirt, a bag over her shoulder, and wondered what he would think of her.  Then she shut all thought from her mind and headed over to Wellman.

Her steps faltered for a second when she saw him, sitting on the grassy arc in front of Wellman, the sight of him jogging a memory, and she remembered:  Steve.  His name was Steve.  As his name flashed through her mind, she realized that her breathing was quick, and her stomach knotted.  Her fingers clutched convulsively around the strap of her backpack as she squared her shoulders and strode over to him, conscious of his eyes watching her, appraising her, making her heart speed up.

"Hello Stephanie.  Sit down," he said as she paused, standing over him, unsure of herself.

She slid gracefully to the grass, keeping her eyes on his legs, noticing for the first time he was wearing jeans, and that his shoes were New Balance.  She crossed her arms, holding them close to her chest; she couldn't look at him, couldn't keep her stomach from fluttering nervously.  She didn't know what to expect, and the uncertainty was sending little shivers of nervousness through her body.  She flinched slightly as she felt his hand rest against her knee as he leaned forward, his lips pressing against her forehead as he kissed her.

"Now now, don't be that way, Stephanie," he said, patting her knee, humiliation washing over her at his tone, as if he were speaking to a child, and she didn't know why she didn't just stand up, tell him off, and walk away, but his hand was still resting on her knee as he turned to pick up something.

She raised her eyes, watching him as he turned away, wondering at her response to him the previous night, the thought bringing a flush to her face.  Why had she reacted so strongly, why had she responded the way she had?  It was the way he had spoken to her, like he was speaking to her now, simply, matter-of-fact, giving her commands, praising her for obeying, giving life to her fantasies of submission.  With Jeff, she realized, it had been, for him, solely about the sex, about having her to use whenever and wherever he pleased.  Her submission was secondary.  With Steve is was her submission that he wanted, the sex a sign of that submission.

The thoughts flashed through her mind in the few seconds he took to pull two thin chains from his bag.  He turned toward him, and it felt like an electric current passed through her as she met his eyes.  He held her gaze, and she felt her lips parting slightly and a warmth begin to grow in the pit of her stomach.

"What are you, Stephanie?"

Her voice came out in a whisper, "Your kajira, Master."

She saw him smile, and then his lips were on hers, and the warmth in her stomach spread to her cunt and her body trembled in lust.  When he pulled away she was gasping.

"Very good, Stephanie," he said, smiling.  "We understand each other.  I have some gifts for you."  He handed her two chains, a platinum choker and a platinum anklet.  "Put them on."

As she slid the choker around her neck, she listened as he explained, trying to keep from shaking.

"I cannot collar you like you deserve, not yet," she shuddered at that, "because I don't want anybody to get the wrong idea about my girl," she flushed as he smiled at her again.  "Instead, you will wear the choker and the anklet as a mark of your slavery to me.  Only take them off to clean them, understand?"

When she nodded, he continued.  "Good.  As far as anybody else is concerned, you're my girlfriend."  He handed her a piece of paper.  "This is my address.  Come by my place at 8 tonight--it's not too far from your apartment.  Oh," he continued, his eyes raking her body, a slight frown on his face, "and wear something nice."

With that he stood and left, as if he knew that she would obey, as if there were no doubt in his mind that she was his.  She watched him walk away, one hand playing with the choker around her neck and the other with the anklet brushing against her ankle, her mind seeming to blank out everything except the fact that she was now, truly, really, a kajira.