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Subject: Title story: "Slave" Author: Loredich 88789037
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Date: Thu, 19 Oct 2006 19:31:47 +0000
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Slave
This is the first part of a story under construction. Any opinions would be
most welcome.
I
Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a woman? I doubt you have. You
enjoy a position of power and control that few women ever experience. You revel
in stature and status that is given to you as a birthright. Do men understand
this innate superiority? Do men recognize the power they have? I know most of
them use it, but do they question it, analyze it, turn it over and over in
their minds?
And it comes as no surprise that few women even dream of seizing this power for
themselves. Few women realize that their femininity can be as persuasive a
weapon as the natural power of maleness. If men are the hereditary oppressors,
as contemporary feminism would have you believe, then women have been their
willing toadies. There is power in femaleness. There is a secret influence that
women can wield.
Most women never suspect this.
Have you ever wanted to experience the other side of the coin, then? I have. As
a woman I have hungered to feel as though I am the unquestioned master. Have you
ever wanted to submit, to feel as though you exist and behave as the consequence
of another's wishes?
Yes. I simplify. I oversimplify, perhaps, but in questions of sexual politics it
is sometimes more effective to use a blunt tool than it is to use a sharp one. I
want you to understand me.
I am not one of these unsuspecting lackeys that make you comfortable. I reject
that position. I do not style myself as your equal--this time I am your
superior. I want to know how that feels, to control and manipulate as you,
quintesentially male, have done without thought.
And you look at me with raised eyebrows--one beautiful dark brow shoots up as I
tell you quietly that you are to take off your clothes. You laugh, then realize
that I'm not smiling. You realize that this isn't one of our playful moments.
You realize that this is somehow different.
You do as you are told. You take off your clothes, item by item. I watch as
your body emerges from its protective cocoon, and, as always, I am moved.
This time, however, I maintain a position of bored hauteur. How many times
have you remained unmoved by my nakedness? I want you to know how it feels. I
want you to be me.
And your skin is smooth, white and fragile-looking in the dimness of the room.
You look somehow vulnerable, penis not yet erect, puzzled look on your face. I
like this. I like knowing that I have thrown you off-balance. I like knowing
that the exercise has begun. And will you do as you're told?
"Lie on the bed," I tell you, my tone neither playful nor soft, but impersonal
and cool. There is a lesson to be learned, you see, and I choose not to cloud it
with tenderness. Your lips curve as you begin to protest, and I curtail the flow
of words before they begin. "You will do as you are told. Otherwise, you will be
punished."
You start to speak, chuckling slightly, perhaps a bit nervous. "Hey, you're in
charge, then."
"Correct," I answer, neither sharing nor acknowledging your amusement. "Here are
the rules. You will not speak unless you are spoken to. You will not move unless
requested to. You will address me as your mistress, and you will function as my
slave. Is that clear?"
You look puzzled, but I can see the beginnings of arousal as your upper chest
begins to flush pink in the dimness. "Yes, mistress."
And you still think this is a game, don't you? You are playing along,
humoring me, but that isn't enough. I desire your submission and compliance,
and I will have it.
"Lie on the bed," I tell you. "On your back, arms and legs spread." You move to
obey me. This is good. As you participate, the playful mood will leave you. I
plan to make sure of that. You arrange yourself on the bed, with your legs
slightly parted and your arms reaching above your head towards ...
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