weekend and he must’ve looked. The fact that he’d gone shopping for her this week, and lingerie shopping at that, made her smile with delight.
Eagerly, she pulled on the G-string, stockings and belt, fastening the front clasps easily enough. The back ones were a little harder to reach and she twisted around several times trying to catch one. She giggled as she realized she must look like a dog making his bed turning around and around like that. Finally catching it, she fastened the back of her stockings and stood to look at herself in the mirror.
And the word popped into her mind again. Slut. Standing there in such sexy garments—garments she never would’ve had the courage to purchase for herself, her pert nipples made the sheer fabric stick out. Her pubic hair showed around the tiny scrap of the G-string and she remembered his request when she was tied. He wanted her to shave. Could she? Her hand ran through her soft hair and toyed with it a moment. Could she actually do that? Swallowing hard, she knew she would. Briefly she remembered the incident about breakfast and how she’d determined she wouldn’t be back next weekend. And here she was actually contemplating fulfilling an action he wanted her to do outside of their time together.
She turned to look at herself from another angle and knew, dressed like this, she looked the part. She was a slut—a slave for his use. She needed to look those words up in the dictionary when she got home. Was there a difference between slave and slut—or whore? There was suddenly so much she didn’t know.
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she realized he wanted her dressed this way. It was how he expected to see her when she went to him. It was her master’s will that she look this way. Sarah had to sit down on the bed as the thought took hold.
Phillip wanted her to look like a slut. What must he think of her to want her to dress like this? By buying her these clothes and putting them out for her to wear…were they like a costume? Was this a part she was to play? Or did they represent something more—something he wanted from her. Yes. Her heart beat hard. That was it right there. The relationship they were developing was not a game to him—he wanted a slave—a real slave who would do what he wanted when he wanted without question and without hesitation. If he needed a cleaning lady or a cook, he could command her to be that. If he wanted a slut, then he expected her to dress like one, to act like one, to become one.
Her head reeled with the implications. Images of the morning flashed before her inner eye—his mastery of her, and her need to be mastered. There was no doubt her body responded to his manipulations. In fact, that was why she’d come back this weekend. She liked the way Phillip controlled her. And she liked pleasing him. His cheeks would get this cute little dimple in them each time he smiled and she liked getting him to smile.
Standing again, she took another look in the mirror. Was he right? Was there a slut hiding inside her? Throwing her hands up in frustration, she slapped them on her thighs and sighed. Well, she wasn’t going to find out here. Only time with Phillip would give her that answer. Taking a deep breath, she turned from the mirror and went out.
He was spread out on the couch, his face buried in the newspaper he had bought that morning. For a moment, she hesitated. He hadn’t called her; how should she approach him? Finally she walked around to the front of the couch and simply knelt in her customary position, waiting for him to notice her in her new finery. Putting her hands behind her and spreading her knees put stress on the fabric and she closed her eyes briefly against the sudden thrill.
Hearing the rustle of the newspaper, her eyes flew open and she looked straight ahead as she’d been taught. He set the paper on the low table before him and commanded her, “Stand, slave.”
She rose, keeping her hands behind her. “Put
Eagerly, she pulled on the G-string, stockings and belt, fastening the front clasps easily enough. The back ones were a little harder to reach and she twisted around several times trying to catch one. She giggled as she realized she must look like a dog making his bed turning around and around like that. Finally catching it, she fastened the back of her stockings and stood to look at herself in the mirror.
And the word popped into her mind again. Slut. Standing there in such sexy garments—garments she never would’ve had the courage to purchase for herself, her pert nipples made the sheer fabric stick out. Her pubic hair showed around the tiny scrap of the G-string and she remembered his request when she was tied. He wanted her to shave. Could she? Her hand ran through her soft hair and toyed with it a moment. Could she actually do that? Swallowing hard, she knew she would. Briefly she remembered the incident about breakfast and how she’d determined she wouldn’t be back next weekend. And here she was actually contemplating fulfilling an action he wanted her to do outside of their time together.
She turned to look at herself from another angle and knew, dressed like this, she looked the part. She was a slut—a slave for his use. She needed to look those words up in the dictionary when she got home. Was there a difference between slave and slut—or whore? There was suddenly so much she didn’t know.
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she realized he wanted her dressed this way. It was how he expected to see her when she went to him. It was her master’s will that she look this way. Sarah had to sit down on the bed as the thought took hold.
Phillip wanted her to look like a slut. What must he think of her to want her to dress like this? By buying her these clothes and putting them out for her to wear…were they like a costume? Was this a part she was to play? Or did they represent something more—something he wanted from her. Yes. Her heart beat hard. That was it right there. The relationship they were developing was not a game to him—he wanted a slave—a real slave who would do what he wanted when he wanted without question and without hesitation. If he needed a cleaning lady or a cook, he could command her to be that. If he wanted a slut, then he expected her to dress like one, to act like one, to become one.
Her head reeled with the implications. Images of the morning flashed before her inner eye—his mastery of her, and her need to be mastered. There was no doubt her body responded to his manipulations. In fact, that was why she’d come back this weekend. She liked the way Phillip controlled her. And she liked pleasing him. His cheeks would get this cute little dimple in them each time he smiled and she liked getting him to smile.
Standing again, she took another look in the mirror. Was he right? Was there a slut hiding inside her? Throwing her hands up in frustration, she slapped them on her thighs and sighed. Well, she wasn’t going to find out here. Only time with Phillip would give her that answer. Taking a deep breath, she turned from the mirror and went out.
He was spread out on the couch, his face buried in the newspaper he had bought that morning. For a moment, she hesitated. He hadn’t called her; how should she approach him? Finally she walked around to the front of the couch and simply knelt in her customary position, waiting for him to notice her in her new finery. Putting her hands behind her and spreading her knees put stress on the fabric and she closed her eyes briefly against the sudden thrill.
Hearing the rustle of the newspaper, her eyes flew open and she looked straight ahead as she’d been taught. He set the paper on the low table before him and commanded her, “Stand, slave.”
She rose, keeping her hands behind her. “Put
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