The Outsider
Copyright 2009 by EC
EC's Erotic Art & Fiction - http://www.ecgraphicarts.com/
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(warnings: language, adult themes, public nudity, sex between adults)

Chapter 23 - A collar from Mrs. Peters

Ruthie struggled with another issue during March.  She realized something she 
really had not wanted to think about.  Increasingly she was attracted to Jen.  
Whenever the two women were in the room together it was very hard for Ruthie 
to keep her eyes off her roommate.

The two roommates continued their nightly ritual of “unwinding time” at the 
window.  “Unwinding time” was a chance for Jen to relax and look across the 
Pacific Ocean towards her home in New Zealand.  For Ruthie “unwinding time” 
was something she always looked forward to with anticipation, but for her there 
was no relaxing.  Her hungry eyes were always fixated on Jen’s body and her 
mind was running wild with sexual desire.

Ruthie was keeping a strange secret from Mike, one that she could not have 
articulated even to herself.  If Jen had shown even a hint of attraction towards her, 
Ruthie would have done anything her roommate wanted.  She wanted Jen to hold 
her in her arms and take charge of her.  She started having submissive fantasies.  
Seeing her roommate's attractive body during “unwinding time”, or sitting at her 
desk, or lying on her bed, or standing at her wardrobe…aroused feelings that she 
had not experienced since she had last seen her ninth-grade teacher Mrs. Sylvia 
Peters...and that was nearly four years ago.

The conflict in her mind grew.  She deeply cared for Mike, but was not attracted 
to him.  Her feelings towards Jen were much more sexual, but she did not like 
Jen’s standoffish personality.  So…she loved one person, but her sexual fantasies 
focused on a different person.

----------

By the second week in March, Ruthie’s counselor started to be curious about the 
relationship she was having with her new roommate.  She noticed that Ruthie 
became nervous and blushed whenever she asked about Jen and how things were 
going with her.  It was not hard to figure out that Ruthie was attracted to her.  
Hartman was curious whether there was any chance Ruthie was going to attempt 
to express her feelings and, if so, how Jen would react.

The counselor knew that bringing up the topic of Jen would greatly complicate 
her sessions with Ruthie, because she was about to open up the issue of her 
client’s sexual orientation.  However, that might explain some of the problems she 
was having with Mike.  She started with asking Ruthie about her feelings towards 
her roommate, to which the student responded that it was nice that Jen was 
compatible and that it was nice to be living with someone who was a lot quieter 
than Shannon and who respected her.  When Hartman got her client to talk about 
“unwinding time”, her suspicions about Ruthie’s feelings towards Jen were 
confirmed.  Finally she got Ruthie to admit that she enjoyed looking at Jen’s body 
and was attracted to her.

Hartman asked Ruthie if she had ever expressed her feelings to her roommate and 
what she hoped might happen in the future.  Ruthie blushed but shook her head.  
For once she was realistic about a relationship.  She knew that Jen was going to 
be leaving in May, that she was desperate to go back home, that she was not 
particularly friendly, and anyhow, she had a boyfriend.  Hartman correctly figured 
that out of courtesy, Jen indulged Ruthie in conversation and tolerated her, but did 
not much care for her.  Well, at least someone other than Mike was being 
courteous to Ruthie…better than what she had the semester before…

----------

The week before Spring Break started, a couple of Dr. Hartman’s clients canceled 
their weekly appointments, leaving her several spare slots in her schedule.  She 
decided to offer one to Ruthie, with the idea of spending the extra time getting her 
client to talk about her life in high school and her last year in middle school.  

The counselor already knew about Ruthie’s move from Lincoln to Salinas and 
some of the unpleasant experiences that followed.  However, Hartman wanted to 
learn more about that time in her life, because she was convinced her client’s first 
year in Salinas was crucial to the way she developed throughout high school.  She 
also was curious about Ruthie’s romantic interests in middle and high school, 
because not once had the student mentioned anything about dating anyone other 
than Mike.

Hartman started with Ruthie’s last two years in high school, with the intention of 
working her way backwards through her client’s life.  Before she met Mike, 
Ruthie had not gone out with anyone for a year and a half, not since the Junior 
Prom.  Not one single time did she go out with anyone during her senior year in 
high school.  

So what happened at the Junior Prom?  She rebelled against her mother to go, 
sneaking out of the apartment and knowing there would be hell to pay when she 
got back.  Starting with that ominous beginning the evening got progressively 
worse.  She wore her best dress, but it was not a prom gown so she was viciously 
ridiculed.  The guy she went with did not care in the least about her dress, because 
what he had in mind was being rewarded afterwards.  He had a bottle of rum and 
several cans of Coke in a cooler in the back of his car, with the idea of getting 
Ruthie “loosened up” after the dance was over.  After the dance they “went for a 
drive”.  She was totally scared of what was going on, but was just as afraid of 
going home, knowing that her infuriated mother was waiting for her.

Ruthie’s date drove her to one of the hills that overlooked the road between 
Salinas and Monterey.  At that point she knew that it was too late to get out of 
what was about to happen: the choice was either “doing it the easy way” or 
“doing it the hard way”.  She was terrified, but also was vaguely curious to see 
what her mother’s church was so stressed out about, so she did not put up much 
resistance.  Not only had she never had sex before; she had never had any alcohol 
before.  Yes, the booze did indeed loosen her and made her relax.  It didn’t take 
much for her to get totally drunk.

Her memory of what exactly happened in the back seat of her date’s car was very 
convoluted.  She was intoxicated, sick, and disoriented.  She remembered that it 
took him a very long time to work up an erection and all the while she was getting 
dizzier and dizzier.  He pushed her onto the seat, pulled off her skirt and panties, 
and mounted her.  He had trouble getting in.  He thrust and grunted.  Ruthie felt 
pain, but nothing else.  

So, that was it?  That was what everyone was making such a big deal about?  
Then she blacked out.

A few minutes later she was awake, stumbling around, and throwing up on the 
gravel road.  She did not remember much of the trip back to Salinas.

By the time she returned to her mother’s apartment, Ruthie was sober enough to 
dread what awaited her as soon as she went back inside.  She expected her mother 
to slap her face to pieces, but when she went back in, Doña Lisette was crying.  
She didn’t ask for an explanation, because it was very clear what had happened.  

Ruthie’s mother did not speak to her for several weeks afterwards.  She never 
spoke to Ruthie about what happened that night, because she was overwhelmed 
with shame.  She never forgave her daughter and from that point forward always 
looked at her with bitterness and hurt.  Although they never spoke about Junior 
Prom night, both women felt the memory of that squalid incident weighing on 
them every time they were together.

Hartman tried to figure out if what happened to Ruthie legally constituted rape.  
She didn’t resist because she was drunk, and it was obvious she was drunk 
because her date had planned ahead to have sex.  The counselor would have 
considered that rape because of the rum, but she knew a lot of juries would 
disagree.  Ruthie was aware of what was likely to happen when she agreed to go 
with her date in his car following the dance and, drunk or not, she did not really 
resist.  At least she did not get pregnant…had that happened then her life really 
would have been messed up, because there was not a chance her mother would 
have allowed her to have an abortion.  As bad as the trip to that gravel road had 
been for Ruthie, it could have been a lot worse.  Hartman pointed that out to her 
client, who responded by listlessly shrugging her shoulders.

Ruthie’s Junior Prom experience, which started out as an attempt to rebel against 
her mother and ended so badly a few hours later, proved to be a traumatic turning 
point that eliminated any chance she could have friends or positive experiences 
during her senior year.  Instead she became more of a recluse, shut up in her room 
as much as possible during her final months in high school.  

She had another reason to isolate herself during her final year, because Gerardo 
already had graduated.  For the first three years in school Ruthie could count on 
Gerardo’s fist to keep any potential tormentors at bay, but during her senior year 
that protection was gone.  The only person with whom she had any interaction in 
school at all was her cousin Rosa.  Ruthie was aware that her situation put Rosa in 
a dilemma, because Rosa wanted to be as nice as possible to her cousin, but she 
had her own circle of friends and Ruthie definitely did not fit in.  So, Ruthie tried 
to impose as little as possible and retreated to her books and her fantasies.  

By the middle of her senior year she became aware that she was the top-ranking 
candidate for a university scholarship from her class.  That piece of good news 
encouraged her to live for the future and write-off high school altogether.  She 
read, she studied, and she focused on how much better things were going to be as 
soon as she could get out of Salinas.

----------

Dr. Hartman became increasingly interested in her client’s past as she unraveled 
the events that had formed her character.  So far there were four that she was 
aware of: the death of Ruthie’s grandmother, the move to Salinas, Junior Prom, 
and most recently, her interactions with Mike and Shannon.  She was aware that 
there was still a gap in her knowledge of the girl’s past: what, if anything, 
happened between the move to Salinas and Junior Prom.  It was very likely the 
fiasco of Junior Prom was triggered by something else, because if Ruthie had 
developed any self-esteem prior to the end of her junior year, there is no way she 
would have allowed her date to take her out of Salinas and get her drunk so he 
could have sex with her.

The next event Hartman learned about was the evening after Bible study Ruthie 
realized she no longer believed in God.  Ruthie was much more eager to talk 
about that than she had been to talk about the Junior Prom.  She gave Hartman the 
same details she gave Mike, going on and on about why she became so hostile 
towards the Christian message.  OK…so there’s another question answered, 
thought Hartman, why Ruthie wasn’t getting any support (or input, which would 
be a better way to put it) from her church at the end of her junior year.  Ruthie, in 
her own mind, had formally rejected anything her church would have had to say 
about her behavior and relationships, which was precisely why she rebelled and 
went to the prom against her mother’s wishes.  

----------

Hartman invited Ruthie to another extra session, with the hope of exploring a 
specific event in her life.  The counselor was interested in her client’s first 
crush…her first feelings of love for another person.  Ruthie blushed and fidgeted.  
She talked about her first kiss when she was 12, which happened just a couple 
months after she arrived in Salinas.  It was with one of Gerardo’s friends.  At the 
time Ruthie was hanging out with her cousins, because her mother had not yet 
been able to change her work schedule to stand watch over her during the 
afternoons.  Ruthie spent her time at her cousins’ house and there were plenty of 
other friends coming over as well.  Ruthie kissed on a dare from Rosa, with a kid 
who was definitely interested in her.  The kissing dares went on for a couple of 
days.

Doña Lisette was horrified when she found out what was going on.  She screamed 
at Rosa and Gerardo, berated her brother for running “den of fornication”, and 
severely punished Ruthie, forcing her to sit at the dining room table for five entire 
evenings.  Each night Ruthie had to sit four hours without moving.  The first night 
she badly had to go to the bathroom after she had been sitting for an hour.  Her 
mother denied her permission to get up, saying that it was “God’s punishment” 
for being such a slut.  For three hours Ruthie sat in agony, desperately waiting for 
the night’s session at the table to end.  Those were three of the longest hours of 
her life.

The incident motivated Doña Lisette to push much harder to get her work 
schedule changed and get Ruthie away from her “degenerate” cousins.  Three 
weeks later Ruthie’s mother managed to alter her schedule, and the girl’s 
afternoons hanging out with Rosa and Gerardo came to a quick end.

So…Hartman was curious.  What happened at school?  Was Ruthie interested in 
that friend of Gerardo that she kissed?  Ruthie blushed and fidgeted…before 
finally answering “not really”.  

“But there was someone you liked?  Someone else, maybe?”

Ruthie nodded.

“Maybe…you’d like to talk about him?”

Ruthie blushed more and ran her fingers through her already disheveled hair:

“I…it wasn’t a ‘him’, Dr. Hartman…”  Ruthie took a deep breath.  “This is kinda 
embarrassing…to have to talk about…” 

“You don’t have to talk about it, Ruthie.  But if you’re here trying to figure out 
why your life has gone the way it has, you do have to be aware of yourself and 
what things in your past might have affected you.”

Ruthie sat quietly, working up the nerve to share something with Hartman that she 
had never spoken about to anyone.  She stared at the floor…

“I…you know when I was like…in my freshman year of high school…I had a 
thing for my English teacher.  I’d have all these fantasies about her.  Her name 
was Mrs. Peters.  I’d guess she must have been about 40 when I had her class.  
She was tall and thin, always well dressed, very severe, and had this big yardstick 
in her hand when she was teaching.  The other kids hated her, but she had this 
way in class that no one ever messed with her.  She was the only white teacher in 
the school the kids took seriously…’cause she had this way…I don’t know how 
she did it…but this way of always being in charge, even around the gang-bangers.  
She knew how to make you feel really small…just by looking at you in her 
special way…and she had these sarcastic comments…and the kids were afraid of 
her…but I really liked her…”

Ruthie paused…trying to think about how she could put her disjointed memories 
together to express them coherently.

“She was totally different from any woman I knew.  You gotta remember that I 
had been going to my mom’s church for a year, and they were totally into the 
submissive and serving woman…you know that it was Eve’s fault that people sin 
and bullshit like that…so women were ‘sposed to be on a guilt trip over Eve’s 
screw-up and always do what guys told them…and here was Mrs. Peters…she 
was totally the opposite of what they were teaching in my church…walking 
around with her big yardstick and cutting into anyone who messed with her.  She 
was totally in charge…and it was the first time since I moved to Salinas that I 
ever saw someone like that.  I mean…I was just as afraid of her as everyone 
else…but I really started liking her.”

“I was having all these fantasies anyway…you know…my thing with running 
around the apartment naked…and then I read a story on the Internet in the library 
about this middle school principal who got fired because he was paddling students 
(all boys, I think) in his office in their underwear.  The whole idea of standing in a 
vice principal’s office, just in my underwear…totally fascinated me…and then I 
started having all these fantasies about it.  I wanted to be a bad girl and go to the 
principal’s office and strip down to my underwear and be all scared while I was 
waiting to get paddled…and then I saw something else…on the Internet…It was 
at the public library…and I was waiting for a computer…and this guy got off but 
I guess he must have forgotten to log off…and there was this website he was 
looking at…from Europe…and it was showing these schoolgirls getting punished 
by teachers…and the girls were totally naked…and the teachers were hitting them 
with canes.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing…and I started going through the 
pictures…some of the teachers were guys and some were women…but the girls 
were always naked…and I was thinking it’d be really neat to live wherever they 
punished girls like that.  And here I was…really getting into the pictures and 
looking around…and then the guy’s session timed out and the computer logged 
him off.  I was totally upset about it…’cause I wasn’t paying attention to the name 
of the website, or else I would’ve tried to find it and look around some more…but 
seeing those girls…all naked and getting their butts whipped…I can’t tell you 
what it did to how I was thinking about things…”

Ruthie fidgeted and started talking faster.

“So the next day I go back to school, and there’s Mrs. Peters, walking around with 
her big yardstick and threatening some gang-banger with detention and being all 
sarcastic with him and making him look like a total idiot.  And I started thinking 
about her and her yardstick and that country where they’d take schoolgirls into the 
principal’s office and make ‘em take off all their clothes and beat them in the 
nude…and then I was wanting that to be me and Mrs. Peters.  I wanted to be in 
her detention and I wanted her to punish me.  I would have loved to have stayed 
after school...and she’d pull up my dress and pull down my panties...and use the 
yardstick on my bare butt.  Later on I fantasized about her making me get 
completely undressed, pulling down the blinds, and having to do chores around 
the classroom in the nude before she spanked me with the yardstick.  I’d fantasize 
about her paddling me too…like those kids that got that vice principal in 
trouble…but I’d be totally naked while she was doing it.”

Hartman reflected about her client’s situation…how something as simple as 
reading an article and spending a few minutes looking at a pornographic website 
on a library computer that had been left up purely by coincidence…how that 
could have had such an effect on her client, her sexual fantasies, and how her 
teacher got mixed up in those fantasies.  She commented:

“I’m going to guess you were a good girl in her class.  One of her best students.  
Never once got in trouble.”

Ruthie nodded.

“She liked me…was a lot friendlier to me than she was to most of her 
students…she spent time going over my papers and assignments after class.  She 
was paying attention to me, but I was really shy…but I always wanted to be 
around her…and I’d come into her room and help her clean up…I think she was 
wondering why I’d want to spend my free time helping her in her room, but she 
let me come in…and then for the second half of the year she appointed me student 
aide for the class…I helped her get field trips organized and stuff like that…and I 
was doing everything I could to make her happy…but at the same time I was 
having all these fantasies about her punishing me…you know…hitting my butt 
with her big yardstick…She’d lay out my assignments on her desk and show me 
what I was doing wrong and was telling me that she expected me to do better.  
She’d say ‘Ruthie, I know you can do better and it’s what I expect from you.  
Please don’t disappoint me with your next paper.’  And I now know that she was 
just trying to get me to write well so I could do better in my other classes…but I 
really wanted to please her…I mean…I would have done anything she wanted.”

Hartman wondered about Mrs. Peters…wondering if she really was so oblivious 
to what her student was feeling towards her.  She doubted that, because Ruthie 
was unable to hide what she was feeling at any moment.  It must have been 
obvious to the teacher that the girl did indeed have a crush on her.  The thought 
crossed Hartman’s mind that perhaps Mrs. Peters felt something for Ruthie as 
well…maybe not love…but perhaps appreciation that among all those hostile 
students there was one who stood out, who really cared for her.  Hartman was 
sure that Mrs. Peters never took advantage of her student, because if she had, that 
would have come out in her client’s narrative.  Nevertheless, it was interesting 
that Ruthie’s teacher let her come into the classroom after hours and appointed 
her the class student aide.  She would have liked to talk to Mrs. Peters to get her 
perspective on the student, but knew that overcoming the confidentiality 
restrictions of the school district would take up too much of her time.  Ruthie was 
not the counselor’s only patient, after-all.

“Let me throw out a thought for you.  You wanted Mrs. Peters to love you, but at 
the same time you wanted her to punish you.  Am I close?”

Ruthie fidgeted and blushed furiously.  She nodded.

“I wanted to be hers, Dr. Hartman.  I…uh…I don’t know how to say it…but I 
actually wanted to belong to her…be like one of those serving girls from ancient 
Egypt…you know, the ones who ran around the palaces in the nude serving their 
mistresses.  That’s what I wanted to do with her.  I would have done anything she 
wanted…and I wanted her to whip my butt if she ever got upset with me.”

Ruthie then made a confession that horrified her the moment it came out of her 
mouth.

“At night, when my mom had gone to bed…I’d think about Mrs. Peters…I’d be in 
my bed…rub myself…you know…my clit…and I’d come…have these really 
great orgasms…thinking about her…”

“So, what you really wanted was to have a submissive relationship with her...for 
her to be your mistress…or maybe like a slave owner.  I think they use the term 
‘pet’ in some B&D circles, if I’m not mistaken.”

Ruthie, still blushing furiously from her confession about masturbating while 
thinking about her teacher, nodded.  Fascinated with what her client was telling 
her, Hartman couldn’t resist asking if Ruthie’s fantasies included wearing a collar 
for Mrs. Peters.  

“Yes, but that was later on…when I was thinking about a collar.  This’ll sound 
funny, but my fantasies started with her just punishing me after class.  It was later 
on that I was thinking about her taking me to her house.”

“…and that would’ve meant leaving your mom’s place, running away, so you 
could go live with Mrs. Peters?”

Ruthie nodded.

Hartman noticed that time was running out in the appointment.  She silently 
cursed the unyielding clock, because she was convinced that she finally had hit on 
the one event in Ruthie’s life, the enormous frustration of wanting a totally 
impossible love; that may have made overridden everything else that she had to 
endure in her unhappy existence.  There was no question she would have 
struggled not only with frustration, but also with guilt because what she wanted 
was so much the opposite of what her church expected of her.

And yet, was what Ruthie wanted really the opposite of her church’s teachings?  
Maybe it wasn’t.  Maybe what Ruthie was doing was sexualizing her church’s 
message.  In a way she was rebelling because she wanted to be dominated by a 
woman instead of a man, but the lifestyle was not that different in its entirety, just 
in the details.  Ruthie wanted to submerge herself, give herself totally, not to Jesus 
but to Mrs. Peters.

With her very limited time, there was only one way that Dr. Hartman could get 
the story of Ruthie’s obsession with Mrs. Peters in the detail she wanted.  She 
already knew Ruthie wrote much better than she could speak.  Why not ask her to 
write a story about herself and Mrs. Peters?  That way, instead of having to waste 
time sitting through her client’s blushing and fidgeting, Hartman would have the 
entire story at the beginning of the next session, and would have the rest of the 
hour to assess its importance.

“Ruthie, I am going to give you an assignment for our next time together.  I want 
you to close your eyes.”

Ruthie closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

“Let’s go back in time and change what happened to you in the ninth grade.  We 
are living in an alternate world, one in which what you want is what you get.  In 
that world, you are in Mrs. Peters’ class.  You are looking at her…and you know 
that whatever you want to happen with her will happen.  Imagine.  What I want 
from you is the story, on paper, of what’s going to happen in our alternate world.  
Remember this is your world, your reality, so anything is possible.  That’ll be 
your assignment.  Are you OK with that?”

“Yes, Dr. Hartman.”

----------

That night Ruthie took her place at her computer in Mike’s room (she still hadn’t 
gotten around to moving it) and for a few minutes stared blankly at the screen, not 
sure what she should do.  Then her counselor’s words came back to her: “…you 
are in Mrs. Peters’ class.  You are looking at her…and you know that whatever 
you want to happen with her will happen.  Imagine.”  OK…so that was where her 
story would begin, sitting in class.  Ruthie started typing:

I sat up front of her class…watching as Mrs. Peters walked around with her 
yardstick.  She was so much in control…she knew what she was doing and sure of 
herself…always.  

It didn’t matter to me that she was 40 and the lines already started to form in her 
face.  To me she was beautiful.  I was afraid of her, but that was the way it had to 
be.  I couldn’t have loved her if I didn’t fear her.

She noticed me…and she started making me stay after class so she could go over 
my papers…she pointed out the smallest mistakes and said:

“I expect better out of you, Ruthie.  I expect you never to disappoint me.  Maybe 
your hoodlum classmates can afford to repeat their mistakes over and over, but 
that is something you can’t do.  I won’t allow it.  And there will be consequences 
if you ever disobey me.  Do you understand me?”

She held her yardstick and looked at me.  I trembled, because I knew that she’d 
have to punish me if I ever failed her.

I’m not perfect.  I was not able to remember every mistake I made that she had 
already corrected.  She did remember.  The first couple of times she made me stay 
after class and clean up.  But then her patience started running out.  She told me if 
I was careless again the consequences would be more severe.  Unfortunately I was 
just a high school student…and not as responsible as she wanted.  I did let her 
down again…I did repeat yet another foolish mistake.  She took a deep breath and 
I cast down my eyes.

“You understand what this means, Ruthie.”

“Yes, Mrs. Peters, I understand.”

“Very well, young lady.  Close the blinds and take off your clothes.  You are 
going to learn never to disappoint me again.  You’re too important for me to 
simply allow you to fail.”

“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”

So I did what she told me to do.  My heart was pounding as I closed the blinds.  I 
was terrified and embarrassed, because I was actually going to have to be naked 
in front of Mrs. Peters.  Yes, I was scared, but I was also excited, because deep 
down it was what I wanted, and I knew she wanted it to.

My hands were shaking when I stripped.  She watched me as she tapped her 
yardstick in her hand.  She ordered me to put my clothes in a cabinet and to hand 
her the key.  She put the key in her purse.  I knew that she would not give me my 
clothes back until she was pleased with me…and that was something I’d have to 
work hard to accomplish.

She came up to me and grabbed my arms.  She looked hard into my eyes.  I 
wanted to cry from the shame of having her angry with me, but with every bit of 
my strength, I forced myself to look at her.  She squeezed my arms in a vice-like 
grip.  I knew I’d not be able to escape if I tried.  Already I was hers.

“What am I going to do with you, Ruthie?  I gave you a simple request: to not 
repeat mistakes on your assignments once I’ve pointed them out to you.  How 
could you have let me down like that?”

I shook with fear.

“You’re better than the others.  Way better.  But every day, every minute, every 
word you write, you have to prove it.  Prove that you are better.  I will not tolerate 
mediocrity from you.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes Mrs. Peters.”

“And so what do you think I ought to do with you, since you refused to meet my 
expectations?”

“I ‘spose you ought to punish me, Mrs. Peters.”

“Exactly.  I need to punish you.  It’s not something I want to do, because I love 
you, but I cannot tolerate you being mediocre.”

My heart jumped.  For the first time Mrs. Peters said she loved me!

“I want you to think about what is going to happen.  The best way to contemplate 
what is about to happen is for you to go up to that chalkboard and write ‘I am a 
bad girl and I deserve to be punished.’  You write that over and over, until the 
board is full.  When you are finished, I will punish you.”

“Yes Mrs. Peters.”

And so I wrote, over and over, “I am a bad girl and I deserve to be punished.”  
Mrs. Peters watched me, all the time tapping her hand with her yardstick.  She 
commented:

“This yardstick is too flimsy for your training.  I’ll need to get a paddle, or maybe 
a cane.”

I glanced over, terrified but excited.  I knew she was looking at me, admiring me.  
I wanted her to look at me.  I so much hoped that she thought I was pretty.

When I was finished writing my lines, Mrs. Peters again grabbed my arms.

“I do love you.  No matter how much I have to hurt you, I want you to remember 
that.”

She led me to the teacher’s desk and made me bend over.  She tapped the insides 
of my legs with the ruler to make me spread my feet.  For a long time she ran her 
hand over my bottom, massaging the tender skin and touching my anus and my 
vulva.  I was so totally scared…but I started getting wet.  Mrs. Peters ran her 
fingertip along my pussy and touched my clit.  Then she held her wet fingertips in 
front of my face so I could see.

“Don’t ever try to keep a secret like this from me again.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”

She stood behind me, tapped my vulnerable bottom with that big ruler, and struck 
me hard, right across both ass-cheeks.  Oh…it hurt so bad…but I was so happy, 
the punishment finally had started.

She hit me over and over.  It hurt so bad…but I knew it was what I needed.  I was 
brave; I never once got up or moved my feet.  I lay across the desk the whole time 
as she hit my poor bottom.  Every so often she’d stop and run her hand over my 
sore skin, tracing the welts with her fingertips.

When she finally stopped, she let me stand up.  She hugged me as I cried into her 
chest.  She took my chin with her fingertips and forced me to look at her.

“You did good for a first time, Ruthie.  I’m very proud of you.”

“You’re proud of me, Mrs. Peters?”

“Of course I am.  You’re not a diligent girl, but you are brave and obedient.  I 
wish I had a girl like you.”

We hugged each other for a long time.  Finally I asked if she wanted me to get 
dressed.

“No love, not yet.  I want you to finish cleaning the room, and I’m going to want 
a few pictures of you.  Then you can get dressed.  It’s too bad about the school 
dress code, because a girl like you shouldn’t be wearing clothes.”

“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”

Ruthie ended that section and started a new one.

Throughout the fall semester Mrs. Peters continued pushing me.  She didn’t 
punish me very often, because I really did try to please her.  But she kept me 
naked in her classroom every afternoon when classes were over.  I had to clean up 
the room to her specifications, and she would not let me get dressed until I was 
done.  There were a few times she’d grab my arm, lead me down the hallway to 
the teachers’ lounge, and she’d make me clean there.  I was always naked, of 
course.  I was scared someone would see me, but I also was scared because 
whenever she took me into the hallway I knew I had displeased her and that I 
needed to be spanked.

She made me practice the class material, made me memorize lots of big words, 
and made me read really hard stuff.  Often she’d make me bend over her desk and 
she’d rub my bottom while she was talking to me.  I loved it when she touched 
me.  I wanted more.

On Christmas Eve I decided to run away from home.  I told my mom I couldn’t 
stand living with her anymore and that I was gonna go back with my dad, but that 
was a lie.  I was going to go over to Mrs. Peters’ place.  I so much wanted to be 
with her.  I went over with nothing, because I wasn’t ever going to have my own 
stuff again.  On the way to her place I stopped at a Fast-Mart and picked up a 
card.  In my very best handwriting I wrote:

Dear Mrs. Peters:

Because you mean more to me than everything and everyone else in the world, I 
am giving myself to you as your Christmas present.  I love you, and I want to 
spend the rest of my life serving you.  My existence has only one purpose; to 
submit to your wishes and make you happy.  My life, my soul, and my body no 
longer belong to me: everything that I am is now yours.

Your loving pet, Ruthie

I also bought a big Christmas bow, the biggest I could find.  Then I went to Mrs. 
Peters’ house.  I took off my clothes on her front porch and threw them in her 
trash can.  I’d never need them again, because she had said that a girl like me 
shouldn’t be wearing clothes.  I was shaking with cold and anticipation while I 
tied the bow around my neck.  Then I went in.  The door was unlocked.  I snuck 
into her living room and got on my knees next to her Christmas tree.  I held the 
card in my hand and waited.  It was exciting and scary to think that I had just 
done the very last thing in my life I’d ever do without being ordered.

I waited on my knees for about 15 minutes.  I heard my Mistress get up and 
listened to the sounds of her getting dressed.  She came into the living room and 
was surprised to see me kneeling naked next to her Christmas tree with a big bow 
around my neck.  Without saying anything, I held up the card.  She took it from 
me and read it.

“Stand up, Ruthie.”

I stood.  She took the bow off my neck.  She ran her hands over my body.  She 
kissed me.

“You do understand that I’ll have to train you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”

“And this is the life that you really want?”

“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”

I blushed.  My new Mistress ran her fingers over my vulva and kissed me again.

“You are the best present I could ever receive, Ruthie.  Thank you.”

Ruthie ended the second section and started the third one.

I knew that Mrs. Peters would be very strict with me, that she would expect me to 
pay attention to detail and try my best at every task she gave me. We both knew 
that, when I gave myself to her, she would demand that I would understand the 
full meaning of the commitment that I had made. My life under her would be one 
of service, not of relaxation. My existence would never be easy. She would see to 
that. If my life was going to be easy, then there was no point in having her as my 
Mistress.

We both knew that there would be times she’d have to punish me. That was what 
I expected, and what I wanted. She promised me never to punish me without first 
making sure I understood why I had to be punished, but she also made sure that I 
understood that if she was going to punish me, my place in life was to accept her 
discipline. I could expect to feel the switch, or the belt, or the paddle on my 
unprotected bottom. She would punish me out of love…but whenever she’d 
punish me…she’d have to hurt me. I understood that. It is the role of a pet to 
accept discipline and never question her Mistress. 

The days right after Christmas were exciting for me, because that was the week 
my Mistress started teaching me how to be a proper pet. I learned what it was to 
truly serve my beloved owner. She indulged me during those first few days…even 
allowing me to make mistakes. She was fair to me…letting me know that I was 
allowed to make any particular mistake…once. If I made the same mistake again, 
she would punish me.

“You are just learning…my lovely pet, but you are smart girl and I know you will 
make an excellent servant. But you also will know, not to test my patience. It is 
up to you to make yourself worthy of serving me.”

One thing that she did that surprised me: she did not collar me right away. She 
explained why; that the collar was an honor I had to earn. She’d collar me, once 
she knew for sure that I was worthy of having her as my owner. As she put it:

“The collar is a lifetime commitment, for both of us. You need to really want it, 
because once you assume the collar, you will not be taking it off. Once I give you 
the collar, I will be committed to properly caring for you for the rest of my life.”

Ruthie ended the third section of her narrative and started on the fourth:

On New Year’s Eve, Mrs. Peters took me out for the first time. She was going to 
spend the evening with a small group of her friends, and wanted me to accompany 
her to serve her throughout the party. She told me that, although I had a long way 
to go, I was well-enough trained that I knew the basics of service and I should do 
fine. 

I knew that so far I had pleased my Mistress, because otherwise she would not 
have felt confident displaying me to her friends. I was naked, of course. I would 
always be naked, no matter where I went or whom my Mistress chose to hang out 
with. As a pet, I was not permitted to have any material possessions, and of course 
that included clothing of any type. I knew that being denied the privilege of 
covering myself was going to be a condition of my commitment to a lifetime of 
servitude. I knew that from the very beginning: it was what I wanted and what I 
expected.

My Mistress expected me to perform well and make me proud of her. It was the 
chance for me to put into practice what she had taught me so far. I was scared, not 
because I faced an evening being naked in a room full of strangers, but because I 
knew that I was facing my first real-life test as the pet of Mrs. Peters. If I 
displeased her, I would be punished, or worse yet, I might even put my collar at 
risk. I just had to do what I needed to please my Mistress. I just had to.

I did well that evening. I brought my Mistress wine and food on cue. When I was 
not serving, I knelt beside her chair. She gently caressed my shoulder, and her cue 
that she needed something was to lift her hand. She did not have to tell me what 
she wanted, because I already knew her well enough to understand her tastes in 
drinks and food. I knew the order in which she wanted to be served things, having 
been given that instruction over the past week.

When I was kneeling I was quiet, but my Mistress allowed me to look up at the 
other guests. I could see they all admired me. My Mistress received plenty of 
compliments for having such as pretty pet and one who was so well trained. She 
smiled and commented:

“Would you believe that I’ve only had her for a week? Such a lovely sweet girl, 
isn’t she? And she’s a smart girl, so easy to train. So far she’s really worked out.” 

I knew that I could not let such compliments go to my head. I still had a long way 
to go, before I would finally earn the precious collar that Mrs. Peters was keeping 
for me.

Ruthie concluded and wrote her fifth and final entry:

Mrs. Peters trained me for three months.  She said I was a smart girl and easy to 
train, as far as obeying orders was concerned, but a real pet must go way beyond 
simple obedience.  To be a true pet, I’d have to know my Mistress as well as she 
knows herself, to be able to glance at her and know immediately what she wanted.  
A pet no longer has her own identity.  Her Mistress becomes her identity; her 
Mistress’s wishes are her wishes; she knows what to do without being told.

She had to punish me several times.  Her favorite implement was a leather switch, 
but sometimes she liked to use a paddle.  I always was responsible for bringing 
her the implement with which I was to be castigated.  I knelt and held it out to her.  
Then she positioned me, making me place my bottom on prominent display…I 
was always scared, but through the pain and tears of my punishments I was 
always grateful she was taking the time to properly train me.

On my birthday, my Mistress cuffed my hands behind my back and ordered me to 
get into her car.  She drove to a very reception hall.  An employee was waiting to 
let us in through a side door.  He looked over my uncovered body, but my 
Mistress told him to leave.  Her expression scared him off, clearly saying: “Back 
off.  This girl is mine, and no one else’s.”

She led me into an elegant room.  We stopped in the middle of the room and I 
instinctively knelt.

“Today is your birthday, Ruthie.  It is a special day, as special for me as it is for 
you.”

My Mistress laid a box in front of me and un-cuffed my wrists.  With a simple 
flicker of her eyes, she ordered me to open it.  I obeyed…and oh, I was so happy!  
It was a collar!  My collar!

The collar was beautiful…its surface covered with fine Chinese ceramic.  It was 
not a decoration, however.  It was very sturdy and made of solid steel, with a 
large ring in the front.  It had a self-locking latch that could not be opened once it 
was shut.  It was a permanent collar.  Engraved into the ceramic was the message:

This girl is the property of Sylvia Peters.

My Mistress caressed my cheek with her fingertips.   I kissed her hand.  Oh…I 
was so excited…I finally was going to be wearing my Mistress’s collar…and not 
just any collar, but one that was beautifully decorated and finely engraved…that 
showed how much she really thought of me.

I held up the collar…and she took it.  She lowered it over my neck.  I felt the cold 
steel touch my skin.  Slowly she closed the collar, and then I heard a metal click.  
It was done.  I now was collared.

My Mistress motioned that I needed to stand up.  She led me to a large mirror.  I 
looked at myself.  I no longer was Ruthie Burns.  I now was the property of Mrs. 
Peters.  Yes, I was hers.  She trusted me enough to grant me the privilege of 
wearing her collar.  For the rest of our lives, I would serve her and she would take 
care of me.  She kissed me and traced my breasts with her fingertips.

“Happy birthday, my lovely girl.”

----------

When she finished writing, Ruthie spent the rest of the afternoon masturbating.  
Her conversations with Dr. Hartman had brought to the surface very intense 
fantasies that she had suppressed for years, but had never been able to forget.


