Ready to Begin

You may ask who I am, but I am afraid to tell you. For admitting it, saying it out loud, will change everything. My life is a lie. My world is an illusion. I am not like you. I am different. On the surface I seem like everyone else, but inside there is darkness, something I have tried to shut out. Only now I cannot go on living this lie. I cannot contain the beast that rages within me. It must be let out, and it knows who it wants. It wants her...

I watch her from up close. I see the signs that she is susceptible to my desires, to my influences, to my darkness. She has the illusion of confidence, but my position allows me to see beyond that, see her weaknesses, her vulnerabilities, what I can make her. Each day part of her seems to fade, and each day she moves closer and closer to my control. I smile. It will come soon. Every day I watch her beautiful face, her eyes that enchant me, her smile that displays her immaculate teeth, her long dark hair, and her full breasts. I must have her.

But how? That is the question I must answer. My position makes things difficult. Every day is the same routine: "Yes Miss Jones," "certainly Miss Jones", "right away Miss Jones". It sickens me. My heart screams that this is not how it should be. I should not be subservient to her. She should be crawling on her knees before me, pleasing me, acting on my every whim and pleasure. But how? How can I make it happen? What if I'm wrong? I see obstacles at every turn, but this makes the darkness inside me rage ever more. It makes my desires stronger. It makes my soul blacker.

I research. I study. I learn. Hours pouring over books, over websites, engaging in conversations with others, trying to determine what it is that is inside me, rationalising my desires, understanding what I am. I become part of a community. I form relationships with others, some like me, some that are not like me. Some that are subservient.

I meet a woman. She is sweet. She is innocent. She is corruptible. I begin her training and indeed my own. Through her I begin to understand what it is that I am. I control her. I bend her to my every whim. I hurt her. I pleasure her. I control her. I feel alive inside, knowing that this is what I have been searching for, this is what has been eating at my insides all of my life. This is everything I have wanted. But it is wrong. I do not care about this woman. She means nothing to me. She is not her. We go our separate ways, and again I am faced with the same dilemma. How can I make her mine?

I wait. The agony of this torture is excruciating. "Yes Miss Jones", "right away Miss Jones", "anything else Miss Jones". Every word scars my soul. I make a decision. I will wait no longer. My plan must go into motion. My discussions with my peers have led to a well formed plan developing. I cannot scare her off. I must lead her into this world and then corrupt her. I go into her office, under the pretext of serving her. HAH! No more of this! Soon it will be her serving me! I see that she has been looking at websites, contact websites, and I smile inwardly. It takes me an instant to change her screen, to set it up so that she sees what I want to see. The process has begun. Now I must wait.

I go home. I log on. She is there. A profile has been created that can be no one but her. At last! My heart beat thumps in my chest. I must control. I remember my lessons. Control is key to everything. Key to my release. Key to her release. I enter my response, constructed a thousand times, and press send. The bait is there. My understanding of her is everything. It cannot fail.

It doesn't fail! She responds! Immediately I send out the contract. This was the moment. Once the contract was signed I could be sure of everything. Sure of her, sure of her desires, sure of my control. I hand it to her in my illusion of submissiveness. Bah! This will be no more soon! She takes it, trying to pretend it is something else, trying to hide it from my eyes. I stifle a smile. Control! I leave her to sign it, and am not surprised to hear her call for me in no time at all. She gives me the contract, signed and sealed, and with it goes her freedom. I move forward my plan.

I respond, giving no clue as to who I am, and give her very specific instructions. Little does she know that I will be observing her, looking for clues to her obedience. I instruct her to meet me at a local hotel. A safe place. I instruct her on what to wear, both in terms of her outward appearance and her underwear. I instruct her to wear no make up. I prefer her that way, and only a touch of perfume. She must obey. I instruct her to stay quiet upon our first meeting, and to only respond upon my questioning. Finally I instruct her not to allow herself to orgasm until we meet. This last one is for me, and to observe the changes in her between now and Friday night, when her training will commence. It gives me great pleasure to watch her state of discomfort increase as the days go by, seeing the glaze in her eyes as she obviously becomes aroused at thoughts of what is to come.

Friday comes. It cannot come soon enough. I arrive at the hotel and she is already there. Good. This was planned. I enter the room, and as expected she is in the bathroom. I hear rustling, then silence. She knows I'm there. My heart beats faster. I anticipate her nervousness, her fear. It arouses me. I stand in the centre of the room and wait, but not for long. She appears out of the bathroom, more beautiful, sexier than she has ever looked before. She is glowing. She is ready.

Her face never leaves the floor as she approaches me, never looking at me, and this pleases me. She knows what she is doing. She kneels at my feet and utters, quietly, with a faint quiver in her voice, the most arousing words I have ever heard:

"I am ready to serve and please only you, master."

The words echo through my mind. She is ready to serve only me. I stand before her, her master, her owner, and my love for her only deepens. She is the one for me. I feel complete.

I stand and look down upon her, enjoying my position, reveling in my power. I feel drunk upon it. Finally, after an eternity I speak, almost forgetting the instructions that I had given her.

"Remember I told you not to speak at all to me till the end, slave."

I flush with power at this unexpected opportunity. I feel the urge to impress my control on her fully, and to let her know that disobedience will be punished. But not too much. The limits have not yet been identified....

I pull her hair roughly, forcing her head back, the bright light glaring in her face, making her eyes squint as I grip her neck, not tight enough to strangle her, but enough to leave red marks. I rub her jaw softly with my finger, enjoying the moment. I repeat the instructions. I ask her if she understands. She nods. The temptation to punish further is great. I feel a dark desire in my heart to inflict more pain on this woman, to punish her for not saying the simple words of "yes master", but something pulls me back. A fear perhaps, that too much, too soon, would drive her away.

I instruct her to stand and to raise her head to the ceiling. I cannot give away who I am yet. That will come at the end, the final humiliation. I walk round her, taking my time to observe her closely, her face soft and sweet, her breasts firm and round, her ass tight and attractive. My desire builds. I stop behind her, enjoying her discomfort, and with a sweeping motion my hand stings her ass, first one cheek and then the next. I hear a whimper and my satisfaction is great. I move to her face to see the effect this is having on her. I observer her closely, so closely that she will be able to feel my breath on her skin. I sense fear. I sense apprehension. But I also sense pleasure. She is enjoying this. My arousal deepens.

I take the blindfold from my pocket, a soft cloth, and place it over her eyes. My identity must remain a secret until the end. I see her bite her lip as she stands before me, trying to hide the fact she is trembling, but she does not realize yet that her Master sees everything. I smile again. The satisfaction that I receive from this is overwhelming. The lust building up inside me, the desire to have my way with my slave, my slut, my.... No. I must control. Not yet. For both of us....

I walk away from her, leaving her standing blindfolded in the middle of the room. I take my time, regaining my control. I reach into my bag, brushing aside the change of female clothing that I brought with me and take out the scissors. I walk towards her slowly, allowing her to hear the noise of the scissors as I approach her, playing on her senses, trying to make her more nervous. I press the blades against her skin; hearing her inhale her breath as the metal brushes against her, then proceed to cut up her skirt, destroying it. The top is removed next, quickly. I take a second to take in her body, dressed only in the underwear that I had requested, before finally destroying them too. My cock thickens as the last remnants of her clothing fall from her and she is left before me, naked.

She is magnificent. She is everything that I had always imagined. I feel something stir inside me, no longer malevolent, but something softer, something else...... I let words slip from my mouth;

"Slave you are very beautiful"

Immediately I scold myself inwardly. This was not what I wanted! I see her smile and my anger softens, but no! This is not how this should be! I wanted to be brutal! I wanted to create fear! I wanted......I wanted her to love me. And yes, I want to love her too, but later...much later.....

I compose myself and begin to examine her. My fingers trace her body methodically, exploring every inch of her skin, familiarizing myself with my new slave. Her nipples are hard. I bite them. I see teeth marks against her skin where my mouth had been. I smile. I pull the lips on her pussy apart, and roughly force two fingers inside her. She is wet already. I gain new satisfaction in knowing that she is enjoying this. I knew she would. She moves, forcing me to scold her. "

Slave you are not aloud to move!"

With that I pinch her nipples with my free hard as a punishment. She must obey. I smile as I begin to test her responses, my fingers working inside her pussy, pleasuring her, trying to make her move or moan at my ministrations. Again and again I slide them inside her, fucking her with my fingers. She moves. I withdraw my fingers and slap my hand down hard on her ass. Red marks appear. I feel satisfied.

My arousal is too great. My control is weakening. I must have release. I must use my slave for the first time. I grab her breasts roughly and pull her down to her knees. She falls, collapsing onto her knees, and I can see that it hurts. My cock throbs. It angers me. I slap her face with my cock.

"See what you have done to me?"

I bellow at her, slapping her face with it over and over again, feeling it swell even more at the contact against her face. I grab her breasts, squeezing them roughly, and move in front of her. I rub my cockhead against them, precum oozing onto her soft delicious breasts. I slide my cock between them, fucking them, squeezing them against my cock as I use her body.

She is enjoying it. Perhaps too much. She has been steadily building towards her climax for some time. I have seen the signs. She must not orgasm until I want her to. I give her a command:

"Slave you will cum for me hard when I tell you to!"

She looks bewildered, but I trust that I know her needs better than she knows them herself. I take my cock from between her tits and press it to her lips.

"Take your master cock in your mouth now slave."

She opens her mouth obediently, and I force it inside her mouth, thrusting deep inside until I hear gag. I hold my cock inside her, choking her, bringing tears to her eyes, before forcefully guiding my cock in and out of her mouth and throat, fucking her face. She has never been used like this before, the shock apparent on her face. She moves visibly closer to orgasm.

I reposition us both so I can reach her pussy, my cock never leaving her mouth, and I take her clit between my fingers. I squeeze hard. My fingers are soaked with her juices. I manipulate her clit while I violate her mouth with my cock, choking her with every thrust, pushing myself closer and closer to orgasm as I use her body for my own satisfaction. The realization that she is finally mine, and that finally I am using her in ways I had only dreamed of pushes me over the edge, and with one final thrust I fill her throat with my cum, sending spurt after spurt inside her, choking her.

She is close to orgasm too. She has been for some time, but like a good slave she has obeyed her Masters wishes. She deserves to be rewarded. Her body shakes with the need to orgasm. I am a kind Master. I remove my fingers from her clit and move behind her. My lips against her ear, I whisper:

"Slave, I command you to cum now"

With these words I slam three fingers inside her tight wet pussy. She obeys her Master. She comes hard, almost violently, the need that had been building up inside her finally released. She collapses in a heap, and I stand and walk to the chair, sitting down to observe her.

"Crawl to the bathroom and dress yourself and remove that blindfold so you can properly meet your master when you return. I put your clothes back in there".

It is done. I have finally fulfilled my desire. Now there is only one thing left to do and that is to reveal who I am to her. Of all the things to have happened this is the one thing I have been least certain of. I feel an anxiety build inside me. What if she rejects me? Control! Be calm! She wants this as much as you do. Needs this as much as you do. I calm myself, and sit awaiting her return.

Finally she appears, clothed again, but the marks on her body serving as a reminder of what has just occurred. She crawls towards me, still on her knees, still not looking up. I speak in my firmest voice:

"We are done you may rise and meet with your eyes, slave".

She stands, but does not look. She must know who I am. I take her chin gently with my fingers and slowly raise her head. Our eyes meet. Her eyes widen. She murmurs something illegible, the shock written all over her face. I explain everything. How I knew what she needed in her life, how I directed her towards the website, how I maintained my anonymity. I see her still struggling, and I take her into my arms, holding her tightly against me.

"But why did you not tell me before?" she asks.

"That my lady is none of your business. This is my private life".

I remain stern, but caring. This is how it must be. I instruct her on how we will continue, how I will remain as her secretary, but out with she will be mine to do with as I please, and she smiles lovingly back at me. I have released her, and she will always be mine.