Confession by Tarquin

I awoke in a neatly furnished, unfamiliar basement.  I found myself lying on a small, single bed, completely naked.  I raised my hands to feel a rough, studded leather collar around my neck, which was leashed by a light chain to the bedrail.  I was free to move around apart from this. It was long enough to access most of the room, but not the stairs.

I called out for help, but there was silence. I knew what had happened. I had met her online, we had got to know one another.  There had been flirting.  When we met, I was feeling stressed, fed up, and frustrated. She kept ordering drinks, and I kept putting them away, while she nursed hers gradually. She was encouraging, sympathetic.  She seemed all encompassing. I had already fallen for her before we had met.  But that night, I became lost in her.  I didn't realise the danger I was in.

She had got me to sign some forms, which I obediently did, signing myself legally into her possession. I would have no recourse to object or complain to whatever she might do to me.  I was so drunk by the time we drove to the tattoo parlour. As this recollection came to me, I checked to find her name, Charlotte, inscribed indelibly down my naked thigh in ornate, black letters: 'Charlotte's Whore'.  I tugged at my collar and pulled hard at the chain, but it was all firmly in place. She had left copies of my written submission on the desk, for me to examine. As I did this, I wondered what she had in store for me. Reading on, I could see that I had given myself up to be not only her submissive, but her slave.

She was a few years younger than me, but I felt naive and foolish around her.  She knew exactly how to play me.  When she came in for the first time, her simple summer dress showed off the mesmerizing curve of her breasts and legs, and the heels she wore could melt whatever resistence I tried to muster.
We did not speak at first, as I drank in her features and looked up into her dark eyes. She stood over me as I lay on the bed, naked and pathetically trying to cover myself.  I knew it was pointless objecting to any of this.  I wanted it and I didn't want it.  But I was going to get it.

She confirmed that I was now her slave, and began to explain my duties, the first of which was to 'fucking kneel' always in her presence.  This, I of course did.  I was to address her as 'Mistress', of course.  Since I would not be permitted to leave the house for some time, few other protocols were needed for now. I was for the time being to be known only as 'fucktoy', 'slut' or 'whore'.  She smiled as she saw my tattoo, and run her fingers across the words playfully.  I looked up at her as she touched me, and she slapped me hard across the face, crying 'No, slut!'. I was not to look her in the eyes without permission.

In those first few weeks, my main duties were to keep the house clean, cook and wash up.  I was not allowed to touch my Mistress, but if I did well she would reward me with a warm kiss on the cheek or pat on the behind. If I did not do well, the punishments were various.  Minor mistakes, such as being late to begin a chore or not completing it quickly or well enough would result in being chained spread-eagled to my bed and slapped severely or otherwise gently tortured.  If the misdemeanour was more serious, she would cuff my hands behind me and bind my feet. I would be given a severe spanking, and then left alone, still tied, usually butplugged and gagged. I would sometimes wonder how much of this I could take, but there wasn't really much possibility of changing anything. I could try to escape if I took some of her clothes and made a run for the car, perhaps, but I was terrified of being caught. Her punishments for serious mistakes were severe. She would tie me up tightly, take the biggest dildo she had and fuck me like her bitch, all the time calling me her whore and slapping my ass and cock.  If she got really mad, I wondered what she would do.

As I became more familiar with her preferences and likes, I was given more responsibility. I was allowed an apron so I could cook and clean more easily, though it would be taken away for punishments. I was allowed sometimes to dry her after bathing, though I could not touch her with my hands, and sometimes I was permitted to help her dress. Again, touching was minimal, but the part that gave me real pleasure was being allowed to place her shoes or boots on her feet. I tried to hide how much I loved this responsibility, but the more I performed this task, the more it aroused me physically.  She knew this was my main pleasure, and would indulge me or take it away as another means of control.  Over time, the threat of not being able to do this was more of a worry to me than being fucked hard and beaten.

I was never really permitted to converse much with her, but sometimes she did use me as her fucktoy.  I would usually be gagged and bound for this to ensure that I would not touch her or seek my own pleasure or fulfilment. Usually, she would fuck me with the dildo first to ensure that I was compliant and submissive. I would be allowed to pleasure her orally, and if she wished to, I would be placed on my back and she would ride me to her satisfaction. It was extremely difficult not to cum too early in these situations, and I knew that doing so would result in a beating and no privileges for quite some time. But she was often kind, and if I cried out through my gag that I was going to cum, she would slow down or let me have a break. When she was satisfied, if I had been good enough, she would finish me off with her hand. I was deeply grateful for this and the feeling of loyalty and obedience grew within me.

But slaves have no real rights. Though her ownership of me had become familiar and I was growing to adore my Mistress, she had other plans for her life. I think she was fond of me and felt I had done a good job, but she had to move away and could not keep a slave for the time being. My clothes were returned and I was sent back out into the world, lost and alone, searching for a new start. She kept the papers that proved her ownership of me.  I still have the tattoo.  She may have more use for me, but only time will tell.