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My name was once Tanya. I gave up that name three years ago when I gave myself to Master. He brought out of me the truth of who I am, and in doing so took possession of my self in every way that matters.
We met online in a chat room for singles. He told me later that he sensed in me right away a hint of who I could become. He is older than I, and had a wife once, but he said that with her he couldn't have the kind of relationship he hungered for - the kind of relationship he has with me. They parted ways and he began his new search. I, meanwhile, had never been in a serious relationship. In looking back, I think part of me knew that none of the boys I had been intimate with could offer me what I wanted, even if at the time I couldn't have put it into words.
I rebelled against my desires, thinking that if I were strong enough, I could push them away. I cut my hair short, and got piercings and adopted a hard personality. This served me well at University, and got me a degree with honors in history, though I have no idea even now what I would have done for a career.
When He found me, he simply talked with me for the longest time. Many of the boys in the chat room simply wanted sex - cyber or otherwise - but He never brought it up. In retrospect, I now know that he wanted a woman he could possess in ways that went far beyond sex. And I feel lucky that I was the one he chose to own.
We talked for weeks online, sometimes every night. As we got more intimate with our thoughts, we become more intimate with our bodies as well. The first time he ordered me to masturbate, I recall the awkwardness of having to use my left hand to type while furiously fingering my wet pussy with my right. After I had come, I looked back all the typos and one word sentences and was embarrassed. His response was to buy me a camera for the computer.
He bought one for his computer too, but he almost always was content to command me rather than seek his own pleasure. As he watched me do his bidding, I often caught a glimpse of his intense stare. Since becoming his, I've regularly seen that look. I swear, he can see through me and deep into my soul. At first, he was content for me to pleasure myself, but he started adding pain as well. Until I met Him, I had no idea the potent impact of mixing pleasure with pain. With his help, I've discovered how powerful it truly is. Sometimes I marvel that I ever achieved orgasm before without it.
We finally met in person a few months later. We lived only about 50 miles apart, so I visited his house. The first time I visited, we did nothing but talk over tea. Part of me wanted - expected - him to strip and ravage me, but he was a perfect gentleman, and I was a perfect lady. By the time I said goodbye and walked back to my car, I was as horny as I could ever remember being. I frantically drove back home and called him on my computer and confessed my aching desire for release to him. He responded by ordering me to spank myself with my hairbrush and then finger myself to orgasm. When I was done, he promised that next time I visited, I would not leave frustrated.
He made me wait a week before I could return. During that week, he did not play with me. He did not forbid me from masturbating, but he did not explicitly say I could, so I tried my best to keep my mind away from my cunt as much as possible.
When I arrived at his house again, he had me stand in the middle of the living room with my hands behind my back. I was wearing a knee-length black skirt, G string panties, 3 inch heels and a tight blouse with a plunging neckline. He put on some soft music and told me to do a strip-tease for him. He sat on his couch with a neutral expression, but with the all too familiar stare in his eyes. I nervously started to move with the music. I closed my eyes and the thought of performing for his pleasure made my pussy tingle. As I gyrated my hips, I pulled the blouse up over my head and tossed it to the side. Then I reached down and felt for the zipper on the side of the skirt and unzipped it. I turned to the side and slowly lowered my skirt just enough to reveal my naked ass below the G string. I turned the rest of the way - back to him - and lowered my skirt, bending over as I did, giving him a view of my ass and panty-covered pussy. I stepped out of the skirt and kicked it over by the blouse. I straightened back up and turned around to face him. Then I reached behind me and undid the catch on my bra. As I let it snap free, I moved my arm up to shield my breasts from his view. I took the bra off, keeping one arm in front of my breasts, teasing him. I then moved a hand in front of each one and slowly moved my hands from protecting to projecting, cupping each one from underneath and lifting them as seductively as I could. Finally, I dropped my hands down to my waist and quickly took my panties down, revealing my freshly waxed, naked pussy. Now that I was naked before him, I put my hands back behind my back and thrust my naked breasts out towards him.
He told me to come with him as he walked past me and down a hallway. I followed him to a room in the back of his house. It was probably once a second bedroom, but at first glance it more resembled an exercise room. Except that instead of exercise equipment, the room was filled with bondage implements. He had a saltier cross, a spanking bench with cuffs attached at various points, a rack on the wall filled with straps, canes and paddles... I look back now and embarrassed by my naiveté in that moment. How shocked I was, even though I had an inkling already of what he could do! And now, looking back from my vantage point having experienced firsthand every single thing possible in that room and remembering that moment only reminds me how far I have come since then.
He looked at me and asked me if I was afraid. I told him I was. He said he knew I was - that if I had said "no," he knew it would have been a lie. He said if I ever said "Mercy," he would stop and release me immediately. But he also said that if I trusted him, he would do his best for me. It seemed like an odd way to phrase it at the time, but looking back it makes perfect sense. In giving myself to him, he has guided me to levels of pleasure I never knew existed. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
He guided me over to the spanking horse. He had me spread my feet apart and attached cuffs to my ankles, immobilizing them. Next, he had me bend over the padded top of the horse. It was at just the right height to make this comfortable, despite having my legs spread wide, knowing I was completely on display for him.
Next, he brought my hands under the padded top surface of the horse, making me reach under. He brought my hands upwards and then placed them on my pussy, making me jump with surprise. He told me to pleasure myself. He didn't have to ask twice. My pussy was throbbing already with his preparations, and I started to work my fingers over myself, moaning as I did. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walk over to the case on the wall and come back with something, but I couldn't see what it was. Without warning, I felt the first impact on my ass as he started to spank me with what I learned later was a small leather paddle. It startled me enough that I stopped working on my pussy. Then I felt the stinging heat and heard myself whimper in response. He spanked again, this time on the other cheek, and again, I felt the sting. He spanked again, and then told me to keep pleasuring myself. It was hard to keep my hands in the right spot as he spanked, since each impact made me jump a little bit. I finally just held my hand on top of my clit and rubbed while he kindled a fire in my ass. The tears started running out of my eyes as I cried out with each blow on my ass, and each rub on my clit. My first orgasm blindsided me and I heard myself make an animalistic noise as I strained against my bondage. He stopped spanking as I thrashed and panted.
He let me rest for a moment, and then went to the cabinet. I watched as he put the paddle back and selected a cane. He flexed it in his fingers, and then swished it through the air, making it whistle, and making me shudder with fear. He came over behind me pulled my hands back to the top of the horse, attaching them to cuffs at either side of the horse. He then stood behind me and tapped the cane against my burning ass. A second later, I heard the swooshing noise of the cane and then felt a searing, burning line across my ass, making me scream, my eyes screwed shut. After a moment, the cane flew through the air again, followed by another searing pain stripe on my ass. I have no idea how long he caned me or how many strokes I got. My mind went strangely blank in a way that's become so familiar to me since then. He must have stopped but I don't remember. I remember the sensations slowly coming back to my consciousness. I felt the hot tracks of my tears running down my face, the dull throbbing in my ass, my voice hoarse from crying, my running nose making me sniffle.
He released me from my restraints and helped me up. He gave me a wad of tissue to blow my nose and wipe my eyes, and then held me while I calmed down. I closed my eyes and kissed him. Only then did it occur to me that I was completely naked except for my shoes and that he was fully clothed. I felt ashamed that I had had such pleasure but he had had none. But he held me and said that he was proud of what he was able to achieve through me, and that there would be plenty of opportunity to get his own gratification.
I think back on that first time and remember how amazing it felt at the time. But I can say now in retrospect that it was truly just the beginning. He has used my mind and body since then as his own personal experiential canvas. He has reminded me periodically since that day that if I was ever uncomfortable with anything he did that I could say "Mercy" and he would stop. But I have never found it necessary to do so. He knows me so well - better than I know myself in some ways - that he can take me as far as I can, but no further.
I know I was made to be his. I thank my lucky stars every day that found my way into his possession.
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