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Freshman Year Girlfriend

==> Prologue

I met Jacquelyn about two months into my freshman year of college.  I look back now on the wild relationship we had now that it's over and I have the benefit of perspective.  We were inseperable for nearly eight months, thirty-two weeks spanning the calendar between Halloween and the Fourth of July, which was the weekend it all ended and she was committed to the mental facility that still is her home even now, almost a year later.

I thought of her yesterday as I watched the fireworks and the memories were both exciting and frightening.  I realized that I was absentmindedly stroking a forming erection as I reminisced on those wild months with her, wild months in which she dominated me and used me as we lived out our mutual fantasies, and during which I came to realize that my kinky and exciting girlfriend was actually what she had told me she was on that night we first spoke to eachother.

She was a little bit insane.

Now, as I look back, I avoid the memories of the three times she had to bring me to the hospital when our games got out of control and instead I think of the intense all-night games we played and of her incredible hunger for hard, raw exhausting sex.  I think back to the nights we kidded ourselves that we were meeting to study while knowing that we were meeting so that she could satisfy her urge to punish and degrade me, I, her utterly willing and craving subject.

I remember her bent for artistry and creativity, and her electric intellect.  I also remember her bouts of irrational jealousy and explosive anger.  Her complete obsession with having total control.  Her crazy swings between syrupy sweetness and furious vengefulness.  The many times I feared for my life while under her spell, times I was unable to break away despite pain that exceeded even my masochistic sexuality.  I remembered also the white-hot eroticism of our raging affair, and how deeply embroiled we became in our reckless and lustful whirlwind of depraved and joyous dominance and submission.

I recalled how it ended that Saturday, the day after last July 4th, and how she ended up back in the mental institution that had been her home for three years as a teenager and was again her home for this past year.  They'd come and taken her away because a man she'd been with that night had escaped from her bonds and called 911 as she chased him across the campus in the nude and holding a large butcher's knife.  She had been screaming incoherently as the police tackled her, and she had been judged a threat to herself and others.

Which is exactly what I had discovered for myself, finally, earlier that day as I myself escaped from her and drove all the way to a friend's apartment miles away to hide from her.  We'd been playing, as usual, but her games recently had begun to stretch the limits of my obscene tolerances.  The final straw had come when she'd tied me to a heavy wooden cross she'd made out of rough four-by-fours and left the apartment to go buy, as she said, "Some really big nails and a hammer so I can crucify you for real."

As soon as she'd left, I had realized that she was serious and at that moment I realized that this had to end.  So I feverishly had wriggled out of the ropes, found my clothes hidden in her apartment, and I had run to my car and gone straight onto the highway.

I heard later that night that she'd gone over the edge and had been arrested after picking up a random guy and scaring him to death with her strange ways and mercurial emotions.  So the police had cuffed her on the grounds and the psychiatrist had determined that she had lost her grip on reality once again.

A year ago tonight had been our last together.  I've spoken to her twice, by phone, most recently six months ago, and both times she'd been heavily drugged.  Her mother used to call me a lot, looking for answers, but hadn't now for a long time.  Which was good, because I had no real desire to get close to Jacquelyn's mother.  Gina, Jackie's mom, had her own twists and obsessions and had repeatedly insisted during my time with her daughter that Jackie and I were going to be married as slave and Wife.  Gina was herself only borderline sane.

All of this would be a total shock to anyone who had been there when I'd first met Jackie.  She seemed like such a quiet, shy, and, perhaps, even a nerdy girl.

I think back to how we met... my mind drifts back in time...

==> Chapter One

It's Halloween night.  I parked my little silver Honda CRX behind my dormitory and noticed that most of the lights were out and there were only a few students still out and about.  It was about three in the morning.  I'd just driven back to campus after spending the night with my hometown high-school girlfriend and the aftereffects of the keg beer I'd drunk earlier were wearing off.  I was hoping there were still some parties going on.  My date with my girl, Anne, hadn't gone that well and I was beginning to realize that the long-distance thing wasn't working.  We'd ended up half-heartedly making out for a bit, and she'd grudgingly allowed me to satisfy my "little fetish", as she called it, by letting me suck on her toes for a minute or two.

But with my college being over a hundred miles away and with her still finishing the last year of high school, we were drifting.  Only two months had passed since the end of summer and our swearing to eachother that we'd stay together despite the distance, but two months had been long enough for her to begin to eye the local guys again just as I was meeting and flirting with the college girls.

I'd always liked the sort of girl that was a little on the freaky side.  Anne was a very pretty but very straight-laced girl, and had zero interest in even talking about the fantasies I'd tried to bring up with her.  Mild stuff like being over her knee and spanked, or being tied up.  I'd never even broached discussion of my true depth of fantasy.  Her semi-amused, semi-disgusted response to my meekly asking to kiss her feet told me to go no further, and to be happy with that.

I found a whole different world at school.  I saw girls who dressed in black and used black makeup and streaked hair to express themselves, and I saw posters for weird and kinky parties sometimes posted on campus.  I'd been to one on the sole weekend that I hadn't gone home to be with Anne.  I'd met a few girls who had really interested me, but I was determined to be faithful and hadn't done more than flirt, gawk and drink.  But my appetite had been whetted.

As long as I can remember I'd had a ridiculous craving to submit to women.  Along with that I'd developed a raging foot fetish and some exceedingly twisted fantasies.  As I silently masturbated every night, trying to come without waking up my room-mate, I envisioned Anne stomping on me, pissing on me, whipping me, making me suck her feet and even drink her piss or eat her shit.  I fantasized of being tied up and beaten, caged for hours, tortured on racks by beautiful Gothic girls.  I dreamt of being humiliated by my girlfriend in public, following behind her on a leash or having to lick her dirty shoes or be slapped by her in public.

And not a single attractive woman ever passed my eyes without my mentally removing whatever shoes she was wearing and imagining her moist, hot, fragrant bare feet.  If a pretty girl left her shoes in the same room with me, it was only a matter of seconds between the time I was left alone with them and the time my nose was buried inside their musty and delicious interior.

But I digress in thought here. Back to the story of how I met Jackie.

It was a little before three in the morning as I walked toward the mostly-darkened dormitory.  On a whim, I decided to take a walk around.  I wasn't ready to sleep, and maybe I'd stumble onto some late-night happening.  I turned about and headed toward the center of campus.  On the way I passed a pair of drunken couples in costume as well as a group of kids circled around a puking friend.  When I reached the center quadrangle I saw that it was empty except for a lone seated figure under one of the fake gaslights that lit the cobblestone square.  I couldn't see if it was a girl or boy, but I kept walking closer.  I looked across the street to see if there was any activity at Shooter's Pub, but I already knew that last call was at two.

I casually walked toward the seated figure.  I saw now that it was a girl, kind of a ragamuffin type, and that she was highlighting lines in a textbook.  She didn't look up, so I slowed a bit and took in the sight of her.  She was overdressed for the weather.  It was brisk and a bit breezy, but she was wearing a heavy woolen parka, plaid and brown and lumpy, that had a faux-fur fringed hood that she'd pulled tight to encircle her face.  She was wearing a long, heavy rumply skirt that covered whatever she wore on her feet.  She was also wearing a scarf.  A hint of her hair was visible peeking out of the fake fur circling her face and I saw that it was blond and straight.  I could only see the top half of her face but she was definitely cute.  Nice eyes and nose.  Her lips were pursed and she was gnawing on the end of the fat yellow highlighter.  I looked again to her feet, as is my obsession, but the pleats of the dowdy skirt were piled over them.  I couldn't even tell if she was short or tall, thin or fat.  I casually said hello as I came within earshot of her.

She looked up at me and I saw that she was quite pretty, but a bit shy looking.  Her eyes were wide and looked like they might be bright blue, although it was hard to tell in the limited wash of lamplight.  I expected nothing more than a return "Hello" from her, but instead her face brightened and she said "Hey, do you know anything about Sacher-Masoch?"

My heart leapt fiercely in my chest, but I immediately switched to female-proximity mode and repressed any outward signs of excitement.  Of course I knew about Sacher-Masoch.  I knew everything about him.  In fact, I'd stolen a paperback copy of "Venus in Furs" from a bookstore when I was sixteen and had read it late at night by flashlight until it had fallen apart.   This, after all, was the namesake of my favorite secret word: Masochism.  I stopped and casually replied with a smirk, "Maybe.  What do you want to know?"

She patted the empty seat beside herself on the stone park bench.  "Sit here, for a sec, I have to write a paper for my psych class on him by tomorrow afternoon and I just started reading."

I wandered over nonchalantly and sat down.  I crossed my legs in front of me, outstretched, letting her see that my legs were pretty good.  I was wearing old tight Levi's jeans and a fresh pair of Nike Airs.  I had a red windbreaker over my favorite blue chambray shirt.  I had my Red Sox hat on, forward, not backward like so many idiots like to do.  I'm about six feet tall and have light-brown hair and blue eyes of my own.  I've never had trouble with girls and I know I'm good looking.  But so was she, although as I got closer I saw that she was unkempt and sloppy and that the hair peeking out of her tightened furry hood was a bit greasy.  Her clothes were all old and bulky and unflattering, and I noted that she had a slight odor that betrayed a lack of recent bathing.  Which was fine with me, as I kind of like that.

I'm weird.

She flipped back a few pages in her textbook and showed me the beginning of the chapter.  There was a painting next to the text, and I quickly recognized it as the famous "Venus in Furs" that had adorned so many copies of the paperback, including mine.  "I have to write just three pages on his life and how his name turned into a psychological term.  'masochism', I guess.  It's pretty weird.  Do you know about it?"

She'd pronounced 'masochism' with a soft 'ch' sound.  I corrected her.   "It's mass-o-kiz-um, not shiss-um," I replied with a gentle smile.  Her scent was strong and I felt the familiar tingling between my legs as I sat inside her aura.  I squeezed my legs together imperceptibly to trap my penis under my thighs as it began to stiffen.  She was really cute.  Her teeth were nice but she had a hint of some food aroma on her breath.  Onions, maybe.

"Okay," she giggled, "mass-o-kizz-um.  What's that?  It says here that the word stands for people who like pain.  And that he was one of those people and wrote about it.  Books, papers, that kind of stuff."

"Well, I know enough about him to write three pages.  I'm in the same course.  Never saw you there before.  Psych 101?"

"Yeah, Psych 101, but I never saw you either.  There's two.  The Monday-Wednesday-Friday one at nine AM, and the other at one PM.  You must be in the one PM class," she said as I noted with pleasure the lilt in her girlish voice.

"Yup," I replied, and then stuck out my hand for a shake.  "I'm Jamie Caldwell."

She lost her smile and stared at my hand as if startled.  "Um, I don't like..." she began, then drew a breath and continued with a sigh, "I'm sorry, but I'm weird and I don't really like shaking hands.  I'm sorry."

I withdrew my hand and there was an awkward silence.  Finally, she broke it and asked "Do you have a cell phone?   I'm Jacquelyn Finch.  Jackie."

I did, and we exchanged numbers.  She asked if I'd meet her in the library after morning classes and if I'd help her with her paper.  It was our first planned meeting together.

I wandered back to the dorm, saw that my roommate was still out, grinned for him and his apparent luck, and I drifted to sleep quickly once I'd masturbated to thoughts of Jackie whipping my bare ass as I slaved away at writing her paper for her only to have her spit in my face and kick me in the balls.  I rubbed the sperm off my hand with a paper towel and tossed it under the bed.

In the morning, I slept through my classes and just got up in time for lunch at the dining hall.  For the first time, I noticed her in public.  She was alone at a table eating a plate of french fries that were soaked in ketchup.  She ate with her fingers as she read a paperback with her free hand.  She was dressed so mousily that I realized why I'd never noticed her.  She dressed to hide her looks, either consciously or sub-consciously.  Today she was dressed in the same heavy wool skirt that lumpily reached to the floor, and it looked like the same forest-green sweater she'd had on under her ugly plaid parka last night.  The parka was over the empty chair next to her.  Her hair messily protruded from underneath a knit beanie cap of black and gray checks on her head.  She had a sloppy ponytail of her nicely-hued blond hair flopping out over her back, and I saw that her hair was long, but a lot of it was just sticking out in multiple directions from underneath the squash of the tight cap.  In this better lighting, I confirmed that her eyes were indeed blue.  Bright blue, and wide.  She had very pale white skin and a hint of freckles across her pert nose.  She had a few zits on her shiny forehead, but she was quite cute under the surface.  She chewed with her mouth open, though.  And she was still wearing the long raggy gray scarf around her neck.

I sat down with my food at a table across the cafeteria from her.  Moments later, a couple buddies joined me and other than a few quick glances over to her table, I paid her no mind.  I was due to meet her in the library in two hours.  No need puppying after her.  Soon, she was gone, and I had seen that nobody had joined her.

I played a little Frisbee until two o'clock, then drifted up to the library.  I found her on the fourth floor in a study room.  I knocked on the open door and she looked up to me and smiled.  "You came!" she said, as if surprised.

"Yeah, I'm here," I said as I dropped my bookbag onto an empty chair.

"So let's sit and you help me write my paper, okay?" she asked, still standing, her hands upturned toward me in a sort of old-fashioned gesture.  I winked at her and we sat across the table from eachother.

She had two books open in front of her as well as her laptop.  She'd begun the paper's title page, a single line centered in bold reading "Sacher-Masoch and the Origins of Masochism".  Under that, her name and in the corner today's date.

"I read the chapter on him last night, and I'm almost done with his book," said Jackie as she flipped up the paperback to let me see the familiar image of the voluptuous Venus standing over a man on all fours at her feet.  She stood, holding a black single-tail whip, with her fur coat open to reveal a bit of cleavage that hinted at total nudity beneath.  The man had an expression of despair, but I knew that a true masochist would be loving every second of the scenario portrayed on that book cover.  Especially with the light-red whip marks criss-crossing his naked back.

"So, what do you think?" I asked as Jackie put the book back on the table.  I saw that she'd highlighted several passages on the two open pages.  She was near the end, indeed.

This intriguing girl scrunched her eyebrows as she thought of an answer to my question.  She twiddled the highlighter as she began to speak.  "It's kinda weird.  But I get it."

I absorbed that and waited for Jackie to continue as my pulse sped.  What exactly did she "get"?  I picked up the hint of her aromatic scent as my tingling penis began to awaken.  I clamped down on it with thigh muscles.  She was wearing the same skirt and top as last night.  This excited me for some reason.  I loved her strong hint-of-laundry/hint-of-sweat/hint-of-something else sexy scent.

"I get what makes the dynamics of their relationship tick," she finally answered without looking up at me.  She went on after a moment.  "But I think that they're both insane."

I didn't answer right away, to see if she was going to continue.  When she didn't, I was not confident about continuing down this path too quickly, so I changed the subject.  I knew that my emotional craving to trade places with Masoch in "Venus in Furs" would be too obvious for this shy girl if I talked about it, and I didn't want to scare her away.

"So, want to write the paper?" I asked brightly.

"Yeah, actually, since you know the stuff, can you kinda write it and then let me add to it?" she asked sweetly.  She may as well have batted her eyes.  Of course I agreed immediately.

As I took her laptop across the table and pivoted it toward myself, she stood up and said "Want a Coke, or something?" 

"If you're going, yeah.  A Diet Dew."

She walked off toward the elevator.  The vending machines were on the first floor.  From this study room I could see through the side window into the central core of the building, which was hollow.  The library was six stories high with a central atrium that went all the way from the ground floor to the roof, and the stacks were wrapped around the atrium.  I watched Jackie get into the elevator, and then emerge four floors below.  I used this moment to quickly scan her laptop's desktop icons.  I found "My Documents" and opened the folder.  I was instantly amazed when a gigantic folder list opened.  Hundreds of folders.  I quickly scanned the titles, noting that she was standing down at the vending machines already, feeding quarters into one of them.  The files were mostly innocuously named, old school stuff and the like, but then I saw "Ramblings".  I opened it and a document icon appeared.  It was also named "Ramblings".  I clicked on it and had a minute or so to read with amazement.  It was a solid, huge block of stream-of-consciousness writing.  No paragraphs or punctuation, and a lot of capitals mixed in.  Careless spelling.  Each block was dated.  I read the block dated with yesterday's numbers:  "10/31/05".  My heart began to beat faster as I digested Jackie's typed words quickly.  I recall this general paraphrasing of how it began:  "So some guy tonight notices me right when I'm reading this weird fun shit at three in the morning in the quad and I'm having my period and he seems nice not macho like I hate and I think I liked him by his smile and smell and he has okay eyes and a nice bod but he wanted to shake hands and I almost lost it and slapped him and had to bite my lip WHY do I always get that urge to strike out and why am i liking this book so much..."

I looked down to the first floor and saw that Jackie was heading to the elevators.   I also noticed that she was taller than I'd thought, probably about five-seven or eight, and quite thin, but that her breasts were a bit outsized for her frame.  Hard to really tell with the bulky sweater, but her scarf at least was off her neck.  It was piled on the floor next to her chair across from mine.  She still wore the skullcap over her messy blond hair, though.

I knew I only had a moment so I scanned down a few dates lower and read another snippet of her "Ramblings" dated "9/9/05":  "I have to do laundry I think but why should I just so other people don't have to smell me i like my smell and if someone doesnt then why do i care oh hell shit jacquelyn you're just lazy..."

I quickly shut all the open files except for the paper I was going to write for her.   I expected her to return any second, but she didn't.  Five minutes passed.  I guessed she must have stopped after getting off the elevator for some reason.  I didn't see her out there through the glass.  So I read the copy of "Venus" she'd been highlighting.  And my excitement built further as I noted that the sentences and passages she had highlighted were pretty interesting.  She'd heavily highlighted the brief "Author's Biography", particularly the passages regarding Sacher-Masoch's eventual commital to an insane asylum.  Odd.  In the textual body itself, her highlights focused on the quotes of Madame Venus.  I could tell that she'd pressed down fairly hard over some of the highlights as the yellow ink had dried thick and brightly... I recall some of the passages:

"You mean you are now my slave without illusions, and for that reason you shall feel the weight of my foot without mercy."

"The more cruelly she treats him and the more faithless she is, the worse she uses him, the more wantonly she plays with him, the less pity she shows him, by so much the more will she increase his desire, be loved, worshipped by him. So it has always been, since the time of Helen and Delilah, down to Catherine the Second and Lola Montez."

"...No, it is more beautiful by far, than if cruelly I enjoy the tortures, which my beauty excites, and virtuously reject the poor fellow who is pining away for me. I am young, rich, and beautiful, and I live serenely for the sake of pleasure and enjoyment."

"You interest me. Most men are very commonplace, without verve or poetry. In you there is a certain depth and capacity for enthusiasm and a deep seriousness, which delight me. I might learn to love you."

"Very well," said Wanda, contracting her small but strongly arched brows, "it seems to me it would be rather entertaining to have a man, who interests me and loves me, completely in my power; at least I shall not lack pastime. You were imprudent enough to leave the choice to me. Therefore I choose; I want you to be my slave, I shall make a plaything for myself out of you!"

I heard approaching footsteps and I cleared my face of any expression that might betray the incredible excitement I felt at reading these passages that Jackie had so heavily highlighted.  This indeed, I thought to myself, was very, very good information.  I determined to take this slowly and to see where it would lead.  Perhaps this meant nothing other than an idle curiosity of Jackie's part, or perhaps she herself was a submissive or even a lesbian submissive!  I didn't know yet.  I planned to play it cool with this curious, shy, unique girl.

I began to type the opening paragraph of the Masoch paper as Jackie returned to the study room.  I'm very efficient when writing non-scientific papers, and I already had an outline formed for this little toss-off three-pager.  I knew I'd type straight through and be finished in under an hour.

Jackie sat in the chair across from me and slid a Diet Mountain Dew across the table.  I couldn't see her face behind the flipped-up screen of the laptop, but I saw her hand as she pushed the bottle next to the keyboard.  Her nails were nice, but unpainted and untrimmed.  This girl simply didn't care about her superficial appearance, as her rambling had seemed to indicate.  Again I realized that this somehow deeply excited me.  I'd been clenching down a boner for the whole time I'd been in the study room and it began to swell again as she got close to me with her strong scent.

As I hammered away at the paper, she asked me if I wanted my drink.  I paused, smiled over the screen at her, and grabbed the Mountain Dew.  I twisted off the cap and raised it to my lips.  As I took a swig, I noticed a strange odor coming off the plastic at the top of the bottle.  It took me a moment but then it hit me:  The bottle smelled like pussy juices.  Poontang.  I surreptitiously rubbed the pad of my thumb over the plastic as I read what I'd typed onscreen.  There was a hint of stickiness, I thought.  My head reeled as I displayed outward calm.  Could she have?  Could it be?  I decided I was imagining things and finished the paper in silence as Jackie leaned back in her chair and dozed off.

When I was satisfied with what I'd written and had proofed it for typos, I sent it to the library's printer and gently told the apparently-dozing Jackie "It's done."

She popped right awake and said "Get it, could you?  I'm kinda tired."

"Sure," I replied, and off I went on the first little task for her that she'd gotten without using "Please."  There would be many, many more... but this first time being sent off by her on a tiny little command was enough to fully harden my penis.  I had to tuck it back with a quick swipe of the hand just to make it back to the study room with the printed pages and without a tent in my pants.

"Gimme it," she said as soon as I walked into the room.  She held out her hand.  I passed it to her.

"Sit for a sec while I read... do you have anywhere to be?" she asked.

I didn't, other than for the semi-regular four o'clock bong hit circle that would be forming in my dorm room shortly.  But I could pass that up to be in this girl's presence.

Jackie scanned the paper quickly with her highlighter again in her hand.  The end of that thing was covered with the chinks and divots of her toothmarks.  I liked her little pink tongue flashes as she read and chewed away, occasionallt high-lighting.

When she was finished, she slid the paper across to me and said "Let's talk about the parts I marked.  Read the first one."

I read a paragraph back to her, the fourth paragraph on the first page, wherein I'd connected Sacher-Masoch's proclivities to what we now refer to as "masochism."  I'd quoted him from the text of "Venus" as follows:  "Oh, please do," [Masoch] cried half-shuddering, half-enraptured. "If the foundation of marriage depends on equality and agreement, it is likewise true that the greatest passions rise out of opposites. We are such opposites, almost enemies. That is why my love is part hate, part fear. In such a relation only one can be hammer and the other anvil. I wish to be the anvil. I cannot be happy when I look down upon the woman I love. I want to adore a woman, and this I can only do when she is cruel towards me."

I read this to her and looked up as I finished.  She had an odd, inscrutable expression on her face as she watched me intently, but said nothing as we proceeded through the paper.  I think she was reading me.  Later events would suggest truth in that surmise.

Not long after, as it was getting dark outside, she had me fix a few things within the text then told me that she had to go drop off the assignment in her professor's mailbox.  I'd already done this assignment for my own Psych class, and had turned it in early as I usually do.  I'd been assigned the same sort of thumbnail on a far less interesting subject: Paul Masser and his educational theories.

As we exited the library and were about to split off in different directions, I turned to her and haltingly asked if she'd like to have dinner.  She shook her head no, then said "Nah, I can't, I really have to do laundry."

I replied quickly, and perhaps a bit too eagerly, "I'll help you, if you want?"  My voice tailed off as I finished.  I almost bit my tongue as I realized how puppy-dog this offer seemed.

But she took me up on it.  "Okay, walk me to drop this off, and then come with me to do my laundry."

I noted silently that she didn't say "HELP me do my laundry", she'd simply said "to do my laundry".  Hmmm, I thought to myself for the hundredth time that afternoon.  And what WAS that on the Mountain Dew bottle, anyway?

As we crossed campus toward the mailbox kiosk for the instructors and professors, we had a little small talk.  How many in your family, hometown, and so on.  She has an older sister who still lives at home and never graduated high school.  A loser, Jackie said.  And she described her mother as flaky, intense, and manic-depressive.  Her father had run off years ago, and she knew not where.  I told her of my standard suburban upbringing.  Youngest child of three, two older sisters, parents divorced when I was five, and I lived with my mother until going to college.  Both of my sisters had married and moved out of state.

After the paper had been dropped into her Psych professor's slot, Jackie turned to me in the dim and empty hallway surrounding the kiosk and practically whispered "You know we're not going to my place to have sex, right?"

I laughed this off with gusto.  "No!" I replied, "Course not.  Let's get to know eachother."

To that, she curiously replied "You might not want to get to know me.  We'll see.  I'm pretty weird.  Let's go."

I pondered that, almost asking her to expound but deciding not to, as we walked the two blocks in the chilly November air to her building.  She had the single apartment on the fourth floor of a Victorian thriple-decker.  The attic was hers, and it had been converted years ago to be a separate space from the rest of the house.  There was a set of wooden stairs built into the back of the building that accessed her "front" door on the back of the house.  I saw that she had three bags of trash piled on her landing.  And a few cardboard case boxes of some random California Pinot Noir brand, chilling.

"Stay here for a second," she requested as she unlocked the creaky old door and pushed inside.  I heard the snap of old-fashioned lightswitches as she pre-checked her house for a visitor.  I smiled at this to myself.  From the open door wafted more of her scent, stronger, almost rich in its concentration.  My half-boner began to rise once more.

"It's a mess," she casually warned as she waved me inside, "but you're a guy, so you probably don't care.  Want wine?"  She held up a bottle of the Pinot, stoppered, half-full, with a querying look on her face.

I bantered back with "Whaddya have, a fake ID?  How'd you get all this wine at eighteen?"

She didn't smile.  She seemed to frown for just an instant before dead-panning "Someone left it all here, but I don't see them anymore and they never came back to get it."

She put the bottle down on the kitchen counter and walked away.  "I have to go to the bathroom.  Serve yourself, and pour me one, too," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared.  I heard the distinct "clunk" of a boot falling from a foot to the floor.  And then another as she shed her other shoe.  Her footsteps now sounded like sock paddings as she went into the bathroom down the end of the unseen hallway and I heard an old door click shut. 

I picked up the bottle of wine as I tried to resist peeking around the corner to get a look at her shoes.  They had sounded heavy, like boots.  I couldn't resist.  I tip-toed a few steps and looked to the right, down a short hallway.  The floors of the apartment were old oaken hardwood, and my tip-toeing still squeaked.  But I caught a quick look and saw that she'd been wearing a pair of very small duckboots.  Dark green, rubber-over-leather duckboots with black laces and heavy black rubber soles.  They looked worn, scuffed, and ancient.  I returned to the kitchen counter and poured two glasses of wine into cheap crystal flutes she'd put out.  I now took a better look at my surroundings.

As I sipped, I could hear Jackie peeing through the thin wall separating this kitchen and the bathroom.  I simply love the tinkling sound of a girl pissing hard.  My mouth watered as i wished she were squatting over my face, or even better, filling my wine glass. 

The kitchen was her typical sloppy mess.  The basic color was yellowed white.  The appliances were old, sixties-vintage, except for the mis-matched 70's Harvest Green refrigerator.  There was no dishwasher, and the sink was half-full of dirty pots and plates.  The counter was piled with odds and ends, small appliances mish-moshed between schoolbooks and newspapers and empty fast-food soda cups with straws still implanted and askew.  The cabinet doors were dirty around their handles, the floor was spotted and speckled with drips and drops dried onto the old blue linoleum, and the rickety ovalline kitchen table that sat under the yellowed light fixture hanging from the center of the ceiling was stacked with more detritus.  There were at least seven or eight old pizza boxes stacked on top of the papers and books that lined its surface, and more junk sat on the seats of the sixties-style bent-steel-and-vinyl-padded blue chairs.  She apparently read a lot of magazines and newspapers.  And never threw them away.

Jackie must have needed to go "number two" as well as "one" because she was still in the washroom and it was pretty quiet in there except for an occasional plooping noise.

Along the wall opposite the cluttered dirty counter stood a battered white sideboard upon which she'd piled her laundry, apparently.  A huge pile of unsorted clothes, sheets and towels spilled out of two massively over-filled wicker laundry baskets.  Some small things had fallen to the floor; a balled-up white gym sock (with an enticing stain of grime) and some semi-stiff face cloths.  A tall purple-plastic clothes hamper stood to the right of the laundry-smothered sideboard, and it too was jam-packed with Jackie's panties and more delicate stuff.  To the left of the sideboard stood an over-under dryer-washer that probably was the most junior appliance in the kitchen.  It looked to be about ten years old.

I finished up my glass of wine and was about to head to the counter for a refill when I heard the toilet flush and then a loud "Oh, fuck!" from Jackie.  Startled, I put down the wine glass and went to the hall, where I saw her standing in the bathroom doorway in her black socks and her hands on her hips.  She was staring at the bathroom floor with an angry facial expression.  She was reddening.  Suddenly, she picked up a blocky yellow candle that was sitting on a tiny wooden rack next to the open door and she threw it as hard as she could at the bathroom's vinyl floor.  I heard the impact and the slide, and then a crash as the heavy candle hit something else and knocked it over.

And then Jackie spun into a tantrum!  She screeched a slew of obscenities as she kicked over the wooden candle-stand.  She punched the wall hard enough that I worried about the bones in her hand.  She picked up a hairbrush that was lying on the floor and whipped that into the bathroom where I heard it hit what sounded like a tiled wall and clatter into what was definitely a tub or shower stall.

I trotted the fews steps down the hall and reached out to calm her, and instead she turned her fury on me.  "Don't touch me! I don't like it!" she screamed in my face, and then she proceeded to touch me, indeed, very hard with her fists, pounding my chest as she emitted a high-pitched shriek.  She kicked my shins as well, and I backed away.  I kept saying "What's wrong?  What's wrong?" but she just went on screeching through gritted teeth as she backed me up the hallway with her little hard-hammering fists.

She calmed down and backed away from me, heaving breaths, her face dark-red with anger.  She turned her back on me and cooled off as her back hitched and dipped with the effort of hyperventilation.  She bent over a bit and put her hands on her knees.  She took the knit cap off her head and whipped that into the bathroom, and was done.  She slowly turned around, smoothing her tangled hair with both hands as she faced me with eyes closed and brow pink and beaded with sweat.  Having learned that interfering with her was not helpful, I simply stood and waited for her to open her eyes.  When she did, she smiled serenely.

"Um, sorry," she began, then grabbed another deep breath.  "Sorry."

"It's okay," I assured.

"No, no, I get mad too easily."

"What happened, can I help?"  I asked.

She pointed to the bathroom floor on her left, where light spilled into the hallway in which we stood facing eachother.  She pointed with both palms face up and arms extended as if sarcastically inviting me to take a look at the bathroom floor for myself.  So I did.  I gingerly stepped past her and looked inside.

The dingy old powder-blue bathroom was tiny, and the sink was the very old fashioned heavy ceramic of the twenties.  Stained black where the water had flowed for eighty-odd years.  There was an old clawfoot tub and shower pipe with a new cheap vinyl curtain hanging on rings.  A radiator stood against the left-hand wall.  It was painted with scores of layers of thick white paint, and needed another coat.  But the floor was the issue.   The floor and the toilet, which was filled with yellow-brown murky water to the rim and was still slowly flowing onto the cracking tiles of the flooring.  A wad of dissolving toilet paper slowly rotated in the mess, and the tiles themselves around the toilet were covered with the filthy wastewater and a few chunks of Jackie's shit.

Naturally, I'm utterly twisted, so the sight and smell started my cock on its journey toward hardness once again.  Although I was only eighteen and had never actually seen an attractive girl's shit close-up before, I'd fantasized so many times about smearing it all over myself, rolling in it... having a girl squat over my face and make me her toilet...

Jackie interrupted my brief rapture.  "Um, what are you thinking about, Jamie?" asked the cute, scraggle-haired eighteen-year-old blond.  She was close enough that I could pick up her alluring scent even above the fresh stink of her shit.

"Oh... nothing... I can fix this," I gearshifted.

"I can't ask you to do that, Jamie... that would be gross," she replied, but there was enough lilt in her voice that I could tell she was leaving the option open.

I bit.  "No, get me some paper towels or rags and I'll take care of this.  I can fix the toilet, too."

Jackie immediately popped off to the kitchen.  Her anger seemingly gone, she was now perky and cheerful.  Wild swing, I thought to myself.  I looked at the toilet again, which had stopped running and was now just sitting there all clogged up and filled to the rim with the reeking water.  The toilet paper wad still slowly revolved, though.

She came back with a roll of paper towels and a plastic grocery bag.  She also had a can of Lysol "for after", as she said.

"Do you have a plunger?" I asked.  She frowned and shook her head.

I internally sighed.  I'd have to unplug the toilet manually, then.  "Then this could get grosser," I told her, "you may not want to watch."

"Okay," she replied, and actually closed the bathroom door with me inside.  I heard her bounce off to the living room I hadn't seen yet.  It was down at the other end of the hall.  I assumed the closed door across from the bathroom was her bedroom.  There was a newly-installed angle-iron and combination lock set above the doorknob.  It was locked firmly, but I knew that the door wouldn't survive a few good kicks no matter how strong that Masterlock was.

So, she'd left me to clean up her bathroom and fix her toilet.  With the door closed behind me, I was free to really take a good first-ever look at a girl's fresh shit.  My cock was rock-hard as I knelt down in front of the toilet.  I took a deep, long breath of the odor and found that I loved it for its absolute foulness.  Every rich breath was more intoxicating.

I mopped up loose water with the paper towels and scooped up her soggy shit with a clenched wad of new towels.  I found a piece of wood in the wooden cabinet under the sink that used to be the handle to a plunger and used that to stir the toilet until the mess suddenly dropped away through the plumbing with a snorting whoosh.  I test-flushed the toilet and it ran clear.  I finished mopping up the floor and then washed my hands.  I took one last deep breath of Jackie's shit stink from the plastic bag filled with soiled paper towels and then tied it shut.  Finally, I coated the whole drying area with a dose of the Lysol and exited the bathroom to announce that I was done.

At the other end of the hall I saw the flickering light of a television against the cracked white-yellow plaster of that room,  and I heard the sounds of MTV.  On the floor to my left were the duckboots that the girl had taken off and dumped there earlier.  Helpless to stop the urge, I bent over silently and lifted the top boot up to my face.  I got my nose into the leg hole and breathed deeply of her foot scent; it was thick and rich and powerful, and it was obvious that these boots had spent many hours upon her feet over many months, if not a few years.  I took another breath, then a third, and decided not to risk getting caught.  I placed the boot back the way it was.

I went through the kitchen and tossed the bag of towels out the back door to rest on top of the other three trash bags piled there, then went down to the living room.  Jackie was lying on an old brown naugahyde sofa with her head cradled in her arms and her legs curled to her body fetal-style.  She was still wearing the green sweater and the old wool skirt.  She'd shucked off her socks, however, and my eyes lit up as I saw her bare feet cuddled together with the insteps facing me.  I took a step closer and said, haltingly, "Jackie?" without taking my eyes off those beautiful pink-toed jewels.

She didn't respond, so I took another step and again called her name a bit more loudly.  She stirred and sat up with closed eyes and stretched languidly.  She swung her feet flat to the floor in front of the couch and her skirt immediately flowed over them.  She yawned and stretched again, then looked at me with a sleepy expression.

"Bathroom's done," I announced, waiting for my praise for such an above-and-beyond mission.

Instead, she replied with "Let's take a look."  She hopped up and strode down to the bathroom.  I followed behind.  She flipped the light on and bent to get a close look at the floor around the now-cleared toilet bowl.

She pointed to a bit of puddle that I'd missed behind the base of the toilet.  "Could you get that too?" she asked, and resumed her inspection.  She pointed out another spot, and then said "And while you're there, you may as well wipe down the base of the whole thing with the Lysol."

Not knowing whether I liked this or not, but thinking I did enjoy being bossed around by this pretty and sloppy girl, I retrieved the towels and Lysol to finish up.  As I did the final check, Jackie was behind me with a glass of wine.  She held it out to me once I'd finished washing my hands again, and she put forward her glass as if to toast.  I clinked mine off of hers, and she said "To you a toast, toilet-boy."

She drained her wine with one swig.  "Drink up, I gotta sleep, toilet-boy," was her next sentence.  I drained my wine and stopped a sudden splutter.  I hadn't drunk much wine at that point in life.

Before I knew what was happening, she was standing by the open back door.  A chilly breeze blew in as she waved me out of her apartment with a slight smile.  "Laundry will have to wait, I guess," she said as I passed by her slowly, waiting to see if there would be an opening for a kiss or whatever, but it was obvious that there was not.  "I have your cell, I'll call you tomorrow, Jamie," she said as I faced her on the wooden outer landing.  "Oh, and since you're going down, take those bags and put them in your dumpster on the way."

She was pointing at the trash bags piled on the landing.  "Sure," I replied, and lifted them all up off the sticky decking.  She closed the door without another word, and I trudged back toward my dorm by way of the dumpsters.  I tossed the three trash bags into an empty vat, but hesitated a moment over the bag that contained the paper towels smeared with Jackie's shit.  As I knew I would simply have to do, I crunched the bag down and jammed it into my pocket, feeling the lumps of shit inside against the plastic.  I practically ran to my dorm and dashed into the bathroom.  I went straight into one of the stalls, closed the door, and ripped the bag open.  The odor, that fantastic odor of the shit of a beautiful eighteen year old girl, rushed out and enveloped me.  Lustfully, I found a lump of the soft light-brown mess and scooped it up with my hand.  I smeared her shit all over my face, hard, rubbing the stink in, relishing it, my cock surging.  I took a sample taste with my tongue but decided to get that much deeper another time.  Instead, I opened my pants and grabbed another lump of her shit with my right hand.  I furiously masturbated for no more than ten seconds before coming hard, spewing against the inside door of the stall.  I sank back and relaxed for a minute or two, breathing hard and cooling off as I let her fresh rich stench envelop me and fill my every breath for a while until I finally showered and went to bed with my head reeling over this strange and wonderful girl.

In the dark I heard my cell phone ringing.  I awoke and sat up on the little bed in my dorm room wondering who'd be calling at this hour.  I reached for the cell and looked at the digital alarm clock on my nightstand at the same time.  It was a little before five in the morning.  I glanced at the incoming number and saw that it was Jackie.  Okay, now I was intrigued, but at 4:55 in the AM on a school night?  I had class at nine, and I'd already skipped a day yesterday.  

"Hullo?" I blearily answered and was surprised when she had a perky, awake-sounding chipper voice. 

"Jamie?" she said, and then continued right on with this:  "Something's bothering me.  When I was in the bathroom tonight, I heard you tip-toeing and I just can't figure out what you were doing.  Why did you need to tip-toe?  Nobody does that unless they're being sneaky.  So... why were you sneaking?"

Flabbergasted and befuddled, I rubbed my eyes and mumbled "I don't remember."

She came right back with "You don't remember why you were tip-toeing?"

I blew it... I should have said "No, I don't remember tip-toeing at all," but in my drowsy state I just said "Nope."

There was a pause, and then in a very low voice dripping with impact she said "You need to get over here and we need to talk.  Now."

She hung up.  For a moment I sat there, thinking that perhaps I should just go back to sleep and forget this girl, as it didn't look like she was really into sex so far, and was a little rude despite the fun I had being bossed around by cute girls.  But then, I remembered the strange ramblings I'd read on her computer and the passages she'd highlighted in Masoch's book.  And also... what WAS that on the Mountain Dew bottle?

I got up and dressed.  I put a cap on over my messy bed-head hair and stumbled downstairs.  The cold blast of night air woke me right up as I left the dorm, and minutes later I was trotting up the back staircase to Jackie's attic apartment.

She was in the kitchen watching for me when I got there.  She looked pissed.  Her arms were crossed, her face was red and frowning, and she was glaring at me as I opened the door.  She also looked ridiculously sexy.  She was in her sleeping clothes... a pair of cotton sweatshorts, gray, and a long white tee shirt.  Her feet were encased in little ankle-booties that had little rubber spots on the sole for grip.  Again I noticed just how tiny her feet were for a five-foot-eight girl.  And high-arched.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing at a kitchen chair before her.  I did, and I looked up at her face with a blank expression on my own.

She glared at me for a few seconds and then said this: "I think there's something between us, Jamie, but I can not stand lies.  At all.  I think you're lying to me about tip-toeing.  I need you to drop your defenses and tell me why you were tip-toeing while I was in the bathroom, or we're done before we even start."

Now, I was tip-toeing because I wanted to get a look at her shoes that I'd heard her shed before going to the bathroom.  And it was pretty obvious that she knew that I was tip-toeing, so I couldn't really deny the entire thing.  Plus I'd admitted it on the phone when I got caught sleepy by her call.  So I thought about what to say was the reason, and drew a blank.  And just as I was about to open my mouth, she was before me, bending a bit, smiling gently at me.

"Just the truth, Jamie.  Why were you sneaking?"

After one more brief pause, I let the truth go.  "I wanted to look at your shoes," I mumbled.

"What?  You wanted to look at my shoes?  Why did you have to sneak for that?" she exclaimed, obviously bewildered.

I kept on with the truth.  She pulled a chair up and sat facing me, curious and wide-eyed.  Her intoxicating scent wafted over me; her bedtime clothes were as rich with her aroma as her other infrequently-washed wardrobe seemed to be.  As she sat I got a quick flash of her bare chest.  Her breasts were large, round, perfect, and pointing up at the ceiling.  Her entire body was more clearly revealed in these clothes, and I confirmed just how perfect she was; superb round ass and great legs leading to those tiny feet.  Pretty face, wide blue eyes, well-proportioned upper lip over a sexy fat lower lip.  No makeup yet nice and red naturally... she was delectable.  I smiled inside as I recaled breathing the fumes of her shit from the plastic bag earlier while jerking off my shit-smeared penis... her shit...

Back to the truth.  Why was I sneaking a peek at her shoes?  "Because I have a foot fetish and I'm ashamed of it," I answered meekly, eyes downcast.  I folded my hands together in my lap and I honestly had no idea how she would respond.

Her response was to go get her computer.  She quickly fired up the Dell laptop and Googled "foot fetish".  For the next half hour, she waded excitedly through porn sites and clinical descriptions while asking me questions.

It became clear to me that this girl had never really looked at a porn website before.  Not in depth and with curiosity.  The first item she opened was a basic foot fetish site.  Women displaying their feet to the cameras, sample videos of guys on their knees sucking heels and bare feet and licking boots.  She showed this to me and asked, incredulously, "You like this?"

I nodded yes.  She pointed to a guy with his nose buried in a pair of dirty girls' sneakers.  "You like smelling feet?" she asked brightly.

"Only girls' feet," I mumbled.

Next she came upon "foot worship" and sat there agape, in genuine awe, as she watched women being worshipped by kneeling men.  For the first time, Jackie saw a woman's foot crammed into the mouth of an eager, slavering and groveling male who was only too happy to suck the sweat from between his mistress's toes.

Over and over, throughout the thirty minutes, she kept pointing to different images and vidclips of foot fetish and worship while asking me the same question:  "You really like this?"

And each time, my honest answer... yes, yes I did.

Eventually Jackie decided that she wanted to check out the web all by herself.  She wanted me to leave.  It became obvious by her sudden change in body language and lapse into completely ignoring me.

She turned her back to me as she swept past foot fetish sites and foot worship sites.  I sat there for a while, started to feel fidgety, and finally piped up with "Uh, Jackie, you want to be alone?"

She swung around in her chair and looked right at me with a totally deadpan look on her face.  Her hair, which she'd clasped into a rough ponytail, hung over her right shoulder.  Her bootied feet were crossed at the ankles, and she crossed her arms as she seemed to glare at me.

Finally, as my heart began to sink, she spoke.  "Yeah, I want to be alone now, but I want to see you very soon about some things... okay?"

"Sure, Jackie," I said with a relieved smile.  "Whatever, whenever."

She reached forward and put her hand over my mouth.  She looked directly into my eyes and said this:  "In a second, I'm going to take my hand away, and if you still want to stick with 'Whatever, whenever' then believe that I'll take you seriously.  I'm kind of weird, Jamie, and if you really want to get with me, you need to know that I'm very, very committed to the things I decide to do... okay?  So, when I take my hand away, if you really mean what you said, you need to get on your knees right here in front of me and say it again. And if not, just stand up and leave when I take it away.  Here goes... one, two, three."

When she withdrew her hand, I fell to my knees before her.  I looked up at her pretty face and drank in her scent as she emotionlessly regarded me below her.  I could pick up the faintest scent of her crotch scent as I knelt so closely to her well-worn pajama shorts.

"For real?" she asked.  "Whatever, whenever?"

I nodded yes.

"Okay," she said, abruptly ending the drama.  "I'm not sure what that means, Jamie, but I'm gonna learn, and I have to remind you that I think I'm a little crazy."

"Yeah," I suavely replied, "but you're incredibly gorgeous."

She didn't even smile.  She just kept on looking at me for a moment before lifting her bootied right foot and holding the sole of the cotton sock over my upturned face.

"Take a quick whiff, Jamie," she said as she rubbed her sole across my nose and lips, "and I'll be in touch, probably.  Bye.  Go."

She turned back to her computer as she motioned dismissively with a wave of her hand toward the door.  I walked out and went back to my dorm, still smelling the faint whiff of her delicious foot scent that her unwashed sock had left on my lips.

==> Chapter Two

I got back to the dorm and found that my roommate was awake.  Mark is a Jewish guy from Long Island, comes from a fairly wealthy family (as do I) and has a new girlfriend every three weeks.  Apparently tonight had been the end of one of his relationships and the beginning of another.   We stayed up talking for an hour or so as I told him about Jackie, and he was aware of her.  She was in one of his classes, and he'd talked to her, but she'd put him off because he'd thought she was a little sloppy and he didn't think she was clean, even if she was cute.  He said she wore the same clothees for days at a time and got a little bit on the smelly side at times, and she didn't seem to care.  On top of that, she'd been really quiet and even rude when he'd approached her after a class one day, so he'd never pursued her.  He didn't think she'd been with anyone at all from what he'd observed... always kept to herself.

I told him that I liked her, and that I'd helped her with a paper.  He asked me "But what about Anne, back at home?  Aren't ya gonna stay faithful?"

He stretched out the word "faithful" to be mischievous... I told him that the long-distance thing wasn't really working.  He said he knew it wouldn't. Told me to have good luck with Jackie, maybe make her get some modern clothes and take a shower.  I laughed.  My cock tingled just thinking of her.  I liked her strong scent and aloof attitude. The way she'd made me smell her sock for a second before sending me off was my masturbation fantasy that night after lights-out.

In the darkness, my phone rang.  Mark woke up first and said "Who the fuck is calling you at five in the morning?"  He handed me my phone and went back to bed with a pillow over his ears.

I opened the cell and saw that it was Jackie.  "Hello?" I answered, groggy, taking her middle-of-the-night call for the second night in a row.

"Get over here, Jamie," was all she said.  She hung up.

"She wants me," I told Mark as I snapped my phone shut and got up to dress.  My heart was pounding. 

Mark rolled over and groaned.  "Good, go fuck her, and then tell her to wait until eight from now on before she calls."

I practicaly ran over to her house and dashed up the stairs.  She was waiting in the kitchen, looking out the window, as I arrived.  She was dressed in the same clothes and there was a rich odor of coffee filling the kitchen.  She'd made a pot and was sipping from a ceramic mug as she let me in.

A space had been cleared on her kitchen table and she'd put her laptop and attached printer in the center of the swept-clear area.  I saw at least a dozen sheets of freshly-printed papers stacked messily to the right of the keyboard.  She sat down and pointed to the chair to the right of her own at the table.  "Throw that stuff on the floor and sit in that chair," she ordered.  "Want coffee?"

I nodded yes, and she handed me a clean mug.  I poured a cup of black brew and sat down on the newly-cleared chair.  I noticed that the top sheet of papers she'd printed up was a story from a BDSM site that featured stories written and submitted by members.  I'd read the story before.  I had read just about every BDSM story site and all the good femdom stories.  This one was titled "Travels With Aunt Paula" and it was one of my favorites.  She'd highlighted it here and there. She loved her highlighter.

"Just sit there and drink the coffee.  I want to ask you some questions," she deadpanned as she picked up the sheaf of papers.

I obeyed her.  She went through her highlights, scanning sheets, as I sipped.  Finally, she went back to the "Aunt Paula" story and asked me "Do you go to the sites on the web that have these sex stories?"

"Yeah, I do, sometimes," I replied.

She looked right at me, her blue eyes blazing.  "Be totally honest, or you'll be out of my life, Jamie.  I don't need anybody."

I nodded solemnly in agreement.

"Did you ever read this story?"  She showed me the first page, which had the title in bold across the top.

"Yes, I know it well."

"And how long have you been looking at these stories?"

"Since I was a kid.  At night in my room on my computer."

"I haven't slept since you left.  I've been looking at all of the 'Femdom' stuff and I think it's really, really interesting," she said with an odd, mischievous look on her face.

I nodded noncommittaly.

"I think I want a slave," she said, flatly, as if she were saying "I think I'll have some oatmeal."

Again I nodded, concealing my excitement.  I squeezed my thights to hold down my growing erection.

She leafed through pages for a few minutes as I sipped away.

She saw that I'd emptied my mug and told me to get a refill.  "We're not going to classes today," she told me as I sat down again.

"Okay," I answered.  I was going to let her call all the shots.

"You're my slave," she said suddenly, again in the same flat matter-of-fact tone she'd used a few sentences before.

I nodded.

"Say it, Jamie.  Say 'I want to be your slave, Jackie'."

"I want to be your slave," I stammered, my heart leapin into my throat.  She smiled a bit, then leafed through her pages until she found a highlighted section she wanted.  She began to read it out loud, a passage from one of the femdom stories:

"And she gave her slave her rules.  If he was going to be her slave, she told him, he'd have to obey her at all times without question or he would be punished severely," she read, and then looked up at me.  "I like this section of this story, Jamie.  I am totaly new to this, so I want to just borrow these rules from this story.   Are you ready?"

"Yes," I answered, breathlessly.

"Here they are," she stated, then began to read out loud from the page again.  "Rule One, slave will obey any and all commands of his Mistress without question.  Rule Two, slave will address his Mistress as Mistress, or Mistress Jackie, (I put my name in there, Jamie) only.  Rule Three, slave will refer to himself only as 'slave'.  Rule Four, slave will not make eye contact with his Mistress unless she orders it and will only look at her feet when in her presence.  Rule Five, slave will think of himself as his Mistress's property, and not as a human being.  And finally, Rule Six, slave will always think of and attempt to service any and all of his Mistress's commands and desires and will always put her pleasure and needs before his own."

She put down the papers, crossed her arms over her large breasts, and stared at my eyes.  Devilishly.  "Let me tell you a little bit about myself, Jamie," she started, "as soon as you agree to these rules.  Do you?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Yes what?" she immediately fired back.

"Yes, Mistress Jackie," I meekly replied.

"And why are you looking at my face, slave?  Where should your eyes be?"

She held up her right foot, the little ankle-bootie still there, but a bit grimy now from walking around her dirty apartment on it.  She waggled her foot and I dropped my gaze to the grimy sole of the white cotton slipper.

"Good, slave, keep it there.  So, what are you?  tell me."

"I'm your slave, Mistress Jackie."

"I decided I like 'Princess' better than 'Mistress'.  Call me 'Princess Jackie'."

"Yes, Princess Jackie."

"Here's a little about me, before you decide to commit to being my slave, Jamie.  After I'm done, I'll ask you again, okay?"

"Yes, Princess," was my answer.

"Okay.  First of all, I think I'm a little crazy.  I have wild mood swings.  I suppress all my emotions until they just explode.  And I have wild emotional swings.  You'd have to deal with that.  Okay?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Alright, there's more.  I'm a virgin.  Total.  Because I've never felt like following all the rules girls are supposed to follow.  I never wear make-up.  I don't shave my legs or my armpits, and certainly not my private area.  I don't care how I dress, and I don't know how to cook, and I don't take showers unless I feel like it, and I don't worry what other people think.  And I really only care about two things... school, and me.  Okay?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Fine, but here's the rest.  I get horny, but all I've ever done is... play with myself.  I never wanted to have sex because I can't stand the idea of a guy being on me, or in control of me.  Now that I've read all this, though," and she swept her arm to indicate the papers and computer, "I know that what I want, but didn't know I want, is for me to be in total control.  I realized tonight that what turns me on is to have a guy be my total slave.  And I mean total... one slip and I think I'd lose interest in you.   And, by 'slave', I don't mean 'sex slave'.  I mean, totally, true, all-the-time, everything slave.  And..." she paused for a moment to lift my chin up with one hand, "look at me, slave," she said and I looked again into her deep beautiful eyes, "and I am very, very obsessive and controlling, and I get weird and angry and emotional and irrational, and... extreme.  When I'm into something.  You understand?"

"Yes, Princess, I do," said I, "and I like it."

"Then you think you want to be my slave?  I mean, total?  Do whatever I say?"

"Yes, Princess."

"I just want to reiterate that I don't mean just my 'sex-slave'.  I mean total slave, around the clock, 24/7.  Starting now."

"Yes, Princess."

"I want you to prove it first then.  I'm going to bed now, but you're going to do all my laundry.  You're going to wash it, dry it, and then fold it all.   And stack it neatly on that sideboard."  She pointed to the massive pile of dirty washables that were burying the two wicker laundry baskets and the sideboard they sat upon.  "When you're done, I want you to knock on my bedrom door.  But then kneel on the floor facing away from my bedroom.  I don't want you to see it yet, and I never let anyone in my bedroom."

"Yes, Princess," I replied.  I was actually excited about the task of doing her laundry as she slept, of course.  Beside the slavery aspect, I looked forward to having a chance to smell all those dirty panties and socks piled in the overstuffed purple plastic clothes hamper standing next to the sideboard.

"Fine, slave.  I'm going to bed.  Wake me up like I said when all the laundry is nicely sorted and piled for me."

"Yes, Princess."

"Get your eyes back on my feet, then, and follow the rules.  There will be more.  I'm tired.  Help yourself to coffee if you want.  But before I go, I want you to kneel on the floor there..." she pointed to the dirty patch of linoleum at her feet, "and kiss the bottoms of my slippers."

I knelt and stared at her feet, ankles crossed over eachother on the floor below my face.

She lifted her right leg and crossed them so that the right bootie dangled in front of my nose, inches away, so that I could feel the warmth of her tiny foot radiating from within.  The scent of the bootie was very strong, very intoxicating rich girlfoot aroma.  I moved to kiss it, my lips pursed and eyes closed, when she jerked her foot away.

"Rule for kissing my feet, slave, is this:  Always the lowest foot first, and only with your lips.  No tongue, no nose.  And hold your breath while you do it, because watching you smell my foot freaks me out.  Maybe that will change.  And also, 'kiss my feet' means 'one kiss each' unless I say different.  Go ahead and kiss them."

My heart fell a bit as I realized I wasn't going to be able to catch an intoxicating whiff of her socks as I kissed, but there was still all that laundry to have fun with.  I knelt way down low, my left cheek almost touching the floor as I laid one peck on the top of her left bootied foot.  I then rose a bit and laid a single kiss on the sole of her upper right foot's cotton-clad sole.

She stood up as I remained kneeling.  "Last thing, slave, just one more time I want to ask you if you understand three things... say 'Yes, I understand, Princess' to each as I remind you... One, I'm a little crazy."

"Yes, I understand, Princess."

"Two, if you're my slave it means total slave.  It means all the time, and it doesn't mean 'sex-slave'.  I've never had sex and I guess I won't until I know my partner is totally under my control as my total slave.  Understand?"

"Yes, I understand, Princess."

"And third, I get obsessive when I get into things, and I think that this is what I've been missing in life, so I'll probably get obsessive with having a slave, and you'll have to deal with that.  It means that there may be no stopping once we start, if you understand what I mean... do you?"

"Yes, I understand, Princess."

"Then do my laundry while I get some rest.  Oh, and I don't want you to be smelling my stuff.  Just do the wash but don't you dare put my stuff up to your nose.  Have fun."

She whirled and walked away, her long tee shirt waving in the breeze behind her to reveal a flash of her sleeping shorts and her perfect thin thighs.  Her scent remained after she had left, and I drank it in.  I heard the quick whir of the combination lock on her bedroom door as she unlocked it.  I heard the lock being snapped into place on the inside of the door once she was inside, and then I heard her body flop onto her bed.  It was so quiet in the apartment that I could hear her deep breaths as I looked at the pile of laundry and decided how to begin.

I pushed all of the dirty clothes and linens off onto the floor and emptied the wicker laundry baskets on top of this pile.  I thoroughly enjoyed the sharp Jackie scent that filled the air as her thoroughly-overworn soiled laundry fell through the air.  This was an involuntary smelling, I assured myself, as I took deep, erection-sustaining whiffs.  This was the beginning of the most extreme experience of my young, eighteen-year-old life.

I began to sort delicates from regular stuff, and then darks from lights.  I started the first load.  I figured there were about six in total.  I poured a cup of coffee as I fired up her washer-dryer combo with this initial pile. 

Ten minutes later, as the washer changed cycles and became quiet for a moment while I sat in one of the cheapy old kitchen chairs sipping coffee, I heard a distinct noise from Jackie's locked bedroom.  It was a rhythmic squeaking of bedsprings.  I also heard her low, intermittent chirps as she masturbated.  She was going fast, and fairly hard at it.  I smiled as I listened to her climax just before the washer kicked into gear and drowned out her delicious noises from the other room.

When the load finished, she was still going at it.  Fast squeaks jackhammered away as I transferred the wet clothes to the dryer and started a second wash load.

Every time the washer stopped I heard Jackie beating off in her bedroom.  Through all six loads of wash, she never stopped.  When all her clothes were washed and dried, hours later, and I had folded and stacked them neatly on the sideboard, I saw that it was nearly eleven o'clock in the morning.  My first class had already come and gone, but she'd said we weren't going to classes this day.  Oh well, I thought to myself, I'll just get the notes from people.

As I finished up and took a final survey of my hard work, the squeaking was still going on inside her room.  I knocked on the door and knelt facing away from it.  The tiles of the hallway floor were old and cracked, and unswept.  Bits of trash lined the base of the walls here and there.  On the floor before me was a used tampon wrapped in toilet paper; it had obviously been there for a while.  This girl really didn't care about the rules, I smilingly realized.

The moment I knocked on her door, the squeaking stopped.  Then there was a single noise from the boxspring as she hopped off her bed and I heard the lock being dialed open inside.  She opened the door and stepped behind me.  She locked it again from the outside and pulled it firmly shut, then just stood there looking down at me.

"Did you hear any noises from my room, slave?" she finally asked in sort of a tremulous voice.

"Yes, I heard something, Princess."

"I was masturbating. I couldn't stop.  I was thinking about what I want to do with you now that I have a slave.  I can't believe I never thought about it before.  I'm so totally into it."

I nodded as she paused.

"I like to masturbate, slave.  Do you?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied honestly and sheepishly, squelching a grin.

"I think there's nothing wrong with it.  I think people should be able to masturbate whenever they feel like it, and nobody should even look twice."

I nodded again.

"I got in trouble when I was little, slave.  Wanna know why?"

"Yes, princess, if you want to tell me."

"I do, and we're going to tell eachother everything, by the way.  Total honesty.  Right, slave?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Okay, well, I got in trouble when I was five.  I was in kindergarten and we were all sitting in a circle on the floor while the teacher was reading a book to us.  And I felt like playing with myself, so I just unzipped my pants and started doing it.  Well, anyway, that's how I found out that you can't just do that.  And I got spanked when I got home.  And that was the last time I ever let anyone see my vagina.  Except my doctor.  And my mother.  No guy has ever seen it.  And nobody ever touches me.  And now I know why.  Because I'm weird.  I only want to be touched by someone I own completely.  A slave, I now understand.  You'll have to understand that and be patient and earn it, right slave?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied with my heart hammering.

"Good. Let's see the laundry.  See it you did it right.  Follow me... but, you know what?  Crawl."

I crawled behind her.  She pointed to a spot on the kitchen floor and told me to kneel there.

She examined the laundry quickly and decided it was fine. 

"Now I want to see websites again.  You're going to get started on cleaning my apartment like a good slave while I get busy checking out all the slave and femdom sites you like so much.  What a world I've been missing!"

I nodded, realizing that she really meant it about me being her slave, and not her sex-slave.  But she'd dropped enough hints for me about earning her trust that I was totally committed to her that I was ready to do whatever she wanted unless this got really boring.

"I want to look at fetish sites.  What's your biggest fetish, slave?"

"Um... definitely feet, Princess."

"Yeah... weird... I don't know about that one... kinda weird... I might let you kiss my feet after you've proven yourself, but I don't know if I'd like that.  But anyway, after feet fetishes, what's your next biggest fetish?"

"I guess... bondage and discipline."

"Is that what they call 'B&D' on the web?"

"Yeah, Princess."

She wrote it down.  "What's next after that in your fantasies?"

I thought for a moment.  Definitely, I knew, being peed on or in was next, but I was still a bit bashful.  I said something safer: "Something called 'ball-busting', Princess, but I've only looked at it and thought about it.  Never done it."

She wrote it down.  She shifted in her chair so that her feet, still in those same booties, were right in front of my face.  "Kiss my feet."

I bent a bit and gently kissed her lower foot one time on top, and then her upper foot once on the bottom.  She giggled.  "Cool," she said.  "Now, crawl over to the hall and bring me back one of my boots with your teeth."

I crawled to the duckboots and bit the edge of one.  I carried it back to her.  I knelt and dropped it at her feet.  "Put it on my foot, slave, then get the other one and do that.  Then, clean the bathroom top to bottom.  You'll find all the cleaning stuff under the sink in there.  Make sure you clean the whole room, and get those cobwebs off the ceiling.  And wash the window.  And don't forget to get behind the toilet."

I tied her shoes as she typed and surfed through sites, making notes.  I stood up and took a step toward the bathroom to begin the next task, but she stopped me: "Whenever I am sitting, you crawl.  I don't like having my slave stand when I'm sitting.  Understand?"

"Yes, Princess, understood."  I crawled to the bathroom and got started by pulling all of the cleaning supplies from under the sink in there.  There was a bag of rags, assorted sprays, a bucket and a scrubbing brush.

I started from the top, the ceiling, then scrubbed the walls.  She interrupted me from time to time with questions.  The first time, as I was wiping down the base of the wall behind the dusty radiator, she appeared in the doorway holding a sheet of printed paper in one hand while her other hand absent-mindedly massaged her crotch through her shorts.  I saw that the light-gray material was spotted with the moisture of her pussy, and that the cotton itself was wrinkled from her damp fingers rubbing away as she'd surfed.  She excitedly asked me, "This site has a story about a woman punishing her slave for playing with himself without her permission!  I like this!  New rule:  you can't play with yourself unless you ask me first.  Understand?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied as I worked on a spot of grime near the bottom of the baseboard before me.

"That means if you're alone and you want to masturbate, you need to call me and ask.  And if I say you can't, you can't."

"Yes, Princess."

She read a little bit of the story, silently, before saying this:  "As a matter of fact, the mistress in this story puts a thing on her slave called a 'chastity belt' to stop him from playing with himself.  I want to get one today."

"Okay, Princess," I replied.

"Soon as the bathroom's done, we'll go.  Do you know where to get one?"

I knew of only one place.  There was a sex shop in town, right off the highway, a few miles from our college campus.  I'd driven there a few times.  I had a few DVDs from there... feet, femdom, the usual.  "Yes, there's a little shop by the interstate.  It's kind of seedy."

"I don't care.  We're going there after the bathroom's done, and I'm going to own your penis priveleges."  She giggled.  She read a bit more as I scrubbed away and then burst out with this:  "As a matter of fact, I want an even stronger rule.  I don't want you to even get a hard penis when you're not with me.  And when you are I want you to ask if it's okay.  Any time you get an erection when you aren't with me, you need to call me and tell me.  Understand?"

I stammered back, "But I'm an eighteen-year-old guy!  We get hard all the time... all day long!"

She looked at me for a moment and I could feel her consternation as she thought about this.  I was looking at her feet, of course, but could tell that she was in ponderment.

"I don't care, slave," she finally stated in a slow, measured low tone, "that just means you'll be calling me a lot.  Got it?  Do not get hard without me knowing."

I slumped for a moment.  I felt her eyes on me.  I knew that I could deal with being in a chastity belt around her, but I also knew that I got hard about ten times a day, and that I wouldn't be able to wear a chastity belt in the dorm because my roommate would see it, and our dorm showers weren't private... it was a big room with showerheads ringing the walls.

"What's the matter, slave?  Be honest."

"Well, I get hard just from seeing a pretty girl for one second walking around.  Or if a girl in class dangles her flip-flop.  Or in the middle of the night.  And I can't wear a chastity belt in the dorm because we don't have private showers."

I thought she would have to think about this before responding, but she immediately got angry and in a raised voice said "I don't give a fuck!  If you get hard, you call me.  When you're in public, don't look at girls!  I don't want my slave looking at other females anyway!  And as far as the belt goes, I don't fucking care!  Either you don't let anyone see it and only take showers here, or you let them see it and tell them your Princess or girlfriend or whatever makes you wear it!  Got that?"

I didn't reply.  She kicked me in the ribs, hard, with the flat of her left foot and I tumbled onto my side, shocked.  I drew a breath and hitched up, feeling a deep bruise where she'd made contact and having lost my wind.  I gasped and clutched my side as she moved in and used her heel like a jackhammer, kicking straight down goose-step style on the middle of my back right on the spine.  Her heelbone met the point of my vertebra solidly and I cried out "Owwww!"  Another sharp pain set in there to match my ribs.  I fell flat to the floor, but as I started to get up, she stomped down on my neck and put her weight down, pinning me cheek-to-floor with my ass in the air.

"slave," she began in an evil and threatening voice, "I haven't talked much about this, but if you don't do what I say, I will punish you.  I will make sure that it really is a punishment, too, and not just something you'll whack off to later.  It's too late to back out, slave.  I want your penis under my control, and you're going to do what I want you to do.  Do you think I care if you're a little embarassed in your dorm?  I don't!  Do I care if your buddies ask you why you're so pussy-whipped that you wear a chastity belt for your girlfriend?  No! Not!  Now roll over on your back!"

She lifted her foot off my neck and I rolled over.  She put the foot now on the front of my neck and bore down on my adam's apple a bit as she softened her tone and continued: "slave, I already told you, anything, everything, you're my slave, and I told you that like four times and you agreed four times.  Right?"

"Yes, princess."

"Then now you know what I meant.  And believe me, you are going to do it.  Too late to back out.  I want to own you.  I get wet just thinking about having a slave.  I don't want to have to go find another one now that I found you.  Understood?"

"Yes, Princess," I replied, but I was already thinking about cheating a bit on her rules when not around her... this was just a fun game.

"Good."  She lifted up her foot and told me to kneel before her again.

"Get down close to my feet, honey" she now said in a cutesy little-girl voice.  "Put your face right down there and smell my feet like you want to.   Like I know you want to."

I loved this changing of gears, and I very enthusiastically began to take deep whiffs of her socked feet.  God I loved that rich small of well-worn socks on unwashed pretty girls' feet.   I took deep breath after deep breath as she went on speaking in the cutesy voice:  "You like this so much that I know you'll be my slave.  Because I read about how to reward a slave... and I know you love my feet.  Sometime I might let you even kiss them.  I might even let you worship me... maybe.  But you have to prove yourself.  And one more thing... stop smelling and look at me."

I looked up at her and saw the ultra-serious but somewhat overly-intense wide-eyed look on her face.  I saw a hint of her slightly-crazy depth in that look, for the first time.  As I looked into her eyes, she slowly intoned "There is no way back, slave... and if you break any rules I give you and I find out, I... will... punish... you."

She kept on staring into my eyes until the mood became a bit uncomfortable.

But she shifted gears wildly again and chirpily smiled and said "But for now, finish the bathroom and then let's go get your chastity belt!"

She wheeled away and left me to work with bruised ribs and a hot spot in the iddle of my back from her two hard kicks.  Her long, thin legs certainly had some power.

About a half-hour later, as I was scrubbing the layers of grime off the inside of the clawfoot tub, she interrupted again.  She stood in the doorway and read from another printed sheet she'd made, and then asked me in that excited voice again "Have you ever thought about really extreme slave stuff?"

I stopped scrubbing for a moment and haltingly replied with the truth.  "Uh... yes I have, here and there, Princess."

"Well, I'm reading a story now about a mistress who keeps her slave in a cage.  Cool..."

And that was all.  She went back to her computer and I went back to cleaning her filthy bathroom.  Occasionally, as two hours passed and I moved toward finishing up by scrubbing the toilet, I heard her printer fire off a few pages or a random giggle or chortle from the kitchen.

As I was squeezing a rag out into the bucket, she called to me from the kitchen "You haven't had any erections, right slave?"

"No, Princess," I lied.  I made a slight private grimace as I did this.

"Really?" I suddenly heard from right behind me.  She'd come into the bathroom.  "Roll over, and lay on your back," she ordered.  I did.  She put her right foot onto the denim covering my hard penis.  I was obviously erect.

She frowned.  "Obviously, slave," she started as she ground her socked heel painfully into my boner, "I have to break you of your lies, and I have to break you in general.  Honesty, or punishment, slave."

She now lifted her foot and stomped down hard onto my balls.  I erupted in pain and sat up in shock as the fireball formed in my belly.  She kicked me right in the face to set me on my back again.  I moaned loudly and she told me to shut up.  I grasped my balls through my jeans and felt them swelling a bit.  I fought off a slight wave of nausea as my whole torso felt the fire of a sudden kick to the testicles.

"Just like I read in that 'Aunt Paula' story, your balls really are vulnerable... wow.  Don't lie to me unless you want more, slave.  If you get erect, you get my permission."

"Yes, Princess," I groaned.

"Finish fast, I want to get that belt on you."  She left the room.

Not too long after, I finished.  The bathroom was as clean as it would ever get as a result of my three hours labor.  "Finished, Princess," I called out.

She walked in to inspect.  "Good enough," she said after a few minutes of looking around and pointing out random spots for me to clean.  "Let's go get that chastity device."

We walked to my car.  When we got there, she held out her hand, palm up, and said "I drive.  Slaves don't drive."

I gave her the keys and directed her to the sex shop from the passenger seat.  When we pulled into the parking lot, it was jammed.  There were about twenty spaces next to the converted house-trailer of a store to park, and we got the last one.   It was about five in the afternoon, chilly and windy, and nice cars stood next to old beaters in the popular shop's lot.

We went inside and passed the owner, a late-forties woman who was fat, unattractive, and friendly, and scooted past the furtive customers guiltily leafing through the merchandise.  Jackie and the owner, who was a lesbian who split the business with her partner, were the only women in the place.  Some guys turned to look at Jackie only to turn away in disappointment when they saw me right next to her.

She spotted the display of S&M gear in one corner and led me straight to it.  There was a table display and a lot of stuff hanging from wall hooks.  She found the selection of chastity devices.  With zero discretion or degree of privacy, she exclaimed over the various pacages as other customers stole glances.  I knew that some were jealous glances and others disdainful.

She picked out the belt she wanted to put on me.  It was an expensive chrome-steel, leather and acrylic device that strapped a clear cup over the slave's cock and left only a tiny hole to pee through.  It locked via a key the slave's owner could hold.  It was high-quality; tough and true, not a toy.  To take it off without the key would require a heavy pair of shears and would render it obviously broken post-escape.

Jackie wasn't done.  She also picked out a set of wrist and ankle cuffs along with a heavy wooden paddle and a four-foot flogger made of leather strips.  "I like whips, I think," she said as she fingered the selected whip lovingly.  Her pretty face glowed under the knit skullcap that tamped down her tangled blond hair.

I paid for it all with my spending-money credit card and pondered how I would explain the charges to my mother when she went to pay the bill.   Hopefully, like most times, she'd just pay it without looking at it, but this was over four-hundred dollars.  I'd just say it was for textbooks.

After we'd gotten back into the car and were a mile into the return trip, Jackie spoke up.  We'd been in silence, both of us in deep thought, up to that point.  I was in excited but worried trepidation over the speed in which this was progressing; she was smiling and mumbling here and there as she drove too fast toward her apartment.

"I want to stop somewhere else," she said, and took a sharp right onto one of the town's broader streets.  She pulled into a Pet Palace and parked.  "Come on," she urged as she hopped out of the car.  Her heavy wool skirt swished as she strode quickly through the automatic doors.

She went straight to the section for dogs and picked out a chrome-steel dog cage.  It was one of the heavy four-by-four ones, about three feet tall, with a padded mesh floor and steel bars a quarter-inch thick set about an inch apart forming the ceiling and sides.  The door was set with heavy hinges and had a flange for a padlock.  She also had me buy a thick collar and a choke-chain style leash.

I stood in the aisle as she pointed out the cage to the sales clerk.  He had a warehouse guy send it up to a front register.  As we walked toward the front of the store, I whispered into Jackie's ear, "I don't know if I can put this on my credit card... my mom might ask me what it is..."

Jackie turned to me and said "Oh really?  So, you won't find a way?  You'll just tell me I can't have it?"  She was staring at me with her hands on her hips as I stared at the floor by her feet, which were obscured by the long woolen skirt.

"No, Princess," I whispered.  "Let's get the stuff."

I decided I'd just figure out a story if my mother asked me what the charges were for.   I'd tell her I'd helped somebody who'd bought a dog, and that I was going to get reimbursed.  Yeah, that should do it.

The cage came unassembled in a flat box, and the clerk helped me tie it to the roof of my car.  Princess sat in the driver's seat and waited.

When we got back to her house, she had me drag the heavy box up the three flights of stairs.  She made some waffles.  The big brown box sat propped against the wall of the living room as we ate, and while we ate we talked about my slavery to her.  Banter.

"You'll have to be ready for me, I have a crazy imagination," she said between bites.

"I'm ready, Princess," I confidently told her as I took a sweet bite of my own.  The waffles were the frozen variety; she'd cooked them in a little counter oven.  The syrup was store-brand fake maple.

"After we eat, I think I need to start breaking you in," she replied.  "Are you ready?"

I spread my arms dramatically.   "I'm yours!" I declared.

"Good.  I want you to take off your pants."

I stood up and took off my pants as she chewed another dripping bite of the waffles.

"Now take off your underwear and go stand in the corner of the living room next to the TV.  Make sure your nose is in there."

I dropped my jockeys.  She looked at my penis for a second and said "Okay, now I've seen it.  I never saw a penis before, you know, except in pictures.  Go wait for me in the corner.  Hands on head.  Remember, if you get hard..."

"Tell you, Princess," I finished for her.  I walked down the hall to the TV room and got myself into the corner to the right of the TV with my nose pressed into the corner against the glossy yellowed white paint.  The room was dimly lit by a nightlight plug-in on the wall behind me, and I could hear cars passing on the road three flights below through the window to my left on the other side of the television.

A while later, she walked up behind me and pressed her fragrant body against my back.  She was nude.  I could feel her soft skin and large breasts pressing into me.  She clasped my hands with hers and cuffed me sexily with the new shackles.  She whispered into my ear "I'm going to whip you now" as she used one leg to cut me at the knees gently and send me to all fours.

She cuffed my ankles as I knelt on hands and knees facing the corner.  She put the choke chain around my neck.  She pulled it tight and leaned back, using her weight to cinch the chromed steel links against my neck, squeezing until I gasped and rolled onto my side, unconscious instantly.  The last thing I heard before the black spots invading my vision merged together and I passed out was her tinkling giggle.

I awoke to the feeling of warm liquid splashing onto my face and the sound of Jackie's laughter.  My first conscious breath was filled with the rich scent of her body and the hot smell of her piss as it coated my face and soaked my hair.  Underneath my head I felt ome sort of a towel or pad, and my eyes were blindfolded with soft cloth knotted in a loop around my skull.  The blindfold was soaked with her urine and stung my eyes a bit.

My hands were cuffed together and rested on my stomach.  I had been stripped naked.  My ankles were cuffed together as well, and she'd used some sort of rope or twine to bind my knees and to tie the chain between my ankles to something heavy as an anchor; probably a leg of the sofa.  She was giggling constantly as she finished pissing on my face.

"I guess you woke up, slave?" she said with mirth in her voice, "I'm glad, because I want you to be awake for my first-ever whipping.  I'm so wet just thinking about it, but you can't see.  I don't want you to see my body nude right now... nobody ever has, and you haven't earned it yet."

She stepped away from me and ordered me to turn over onto my front.  With some struggling I did so, as the bonds were tight and the ankle chain was tied closely to its anchor.  In a minute or two, I was lying on the towel she'd spread on the floor, face down, her cooling piss slathered and drying all over my body.  The odor was strong.

She had me lift my pelvis so that she could shove several pillows under it.  At that moment, she locked the chastity belt onto me, and it would stay on me, other than for the periodic supervised removals she conducted over me, for the next eight months.  I felt the cool acrylic cup press down onto my semi-hard penis, and then the tightening of the belt and cup as she pulled the device's straps tight.  The padlock was snapped into place.  She jingled the key on its chain next to my ear and whispered "I control your penis, now, slave... the key's going into a hiding place."

Next, she pulled my pee-soaked hair up so that my head lifted and under my face she placed one of her duck boots.  She dropped my head back down and my nose and mouth were buried inside the fragrant old footwear; her intoxicating footstink filled my senses as I took deep, deep breaths.  My cock hardened inside the unbreakable plastic cup of the newly-installed belt.  It swelled until it painfully surged against the relentless restraint.

She added another pillow under my pelvis to raise my naked ass higher.  My wrists, cuffed under my stomach, were pressed between flesh and toweled floor and my face was levered even harder into her boot so that my nose was touching the lining of the inner sole.  Every breath was now air that passed through the boot's vent holes and across the sweat-soaked lining.

"I've never whipped anyone before, slave," she told me as I heard the rustling sound of the whip being lifted off the coffee table.  "So I have no idea really how it feels.  But I can't wait to beat you.  I really, really love this whole thing.  Do you want me to whip you?"

"Yes, Princess," I said, my heart thumping, every molecule of my body energized as I lay there bound up and soaked in urine with my face buried in her old shoe.  My reply was muffled.

"Good.  I'll be back in a while.  Right now I want to just let you stay like that while I think about how you're all tied up and I'm gonna masturbate."

She padded away down the hall and unlocked her bedroom.  She left the door open, though, with me all tied up, and she flopped onto her bed.  "I'm nude, slave, think of that..." she called to me as her bed began to squeak.

A long, long time passed.  Hours.  The squeaking of her bedsprings never stopped, or even slowed, as she masturbated herself furiously.  She came silently, or didn't come, as I heard no orgasmic sounds, just the occasional grunt or short moan as she went on and on.  My body, tied tightly, began to stiffen.  The boot encasing my face became damp and hot with my breath, enriching its incredibly strong scent of her tiny feet.  My cock stayed hard the entire time, pressing throbbingly against its plastic prison.

The bonds started to become uncomfortable as time passed.  I squirmed a bit, but tight bonds had always been a fantasy of mine and this actual experience was amazingly erotic.  When would she ever come back?  I pined for her.

Suddenly, the squeaking of the bed ceased and I heard her approaching footsteps.  The boot was jerked away from my face.  Cool air met the dampness of my cheeks as she spoke to me:  "I feel like whipping you now.  I couldn't make myself come.  So I'm gonna do my first-ever whipping of a slave while I make myself come."

She lifted the whip.  "You need to be quiet, slave, cuz I don't want people to hear this.  There's nobody living in the downstairs, but there are neighbors next door on both sides."

She tested the whip against the worn naugahyde of the sofa.  A few hard lashes.  My penis twitched and throbbed with each splatting lash of leather on faux leather.

"Here comes my first-ever lash," Princess gurgled, and then the whip came down.  The four foot leather strips, nine thin black strands, bit into my buttocks.  Hard.

She gleefully let out a laugh and whipped again, even harder.  "I'm whipping my slave!" she exclaimed as she delivered blow after blow, lash after lash, extremely hard, very rapidly, across my ass and thighs and back.  "I want to make you bleed!" she cried as she grunted sweetly with the next twenty exertions.  The pain was incredibly intense as lashes fell across welts, and as my skin began to develop cuts and abrasions.  "Blood!" she yelled after another hard lash to my ass, and then the really poured it on as I began to buck and twist uselessly in the shackles and ropes.  I began to moan and had to grit my teeth to avoid crying out.  She kept on beating me.

"I love this!  Do you love it, slave?" she asked me as she paused for breath.

"Yes... Princess..." I grunted.  I was absolutely on fire and I could feel tiny rivulets of blood seeping down my sides.

"You're bleeding a little, slave... I really love it.  I love you," she cooed.

She whipped my ass one hard stroke, and repeated "I love you."

She tossed the whip onto the couch and knelt beside me.  With a fingernail, she traced some of the bloody welts on my ass and I heard her suck my blood off the fingertip.  "I love you, slave," she said again.  "I love you."

I lay there in a silent frenzy, emotions whirling, sexually excited but mentally wary.  This had been my first whipping, and reality turned out to be far more painful than my many masturbatory fantasies had been.  But now that she'd stopped, the feeling of lying there bound and beaten and bleeding was exquisite.  I relished the sensation of my drying wounds and the thin streams of blood that criss-crossed the sides of my bruised ribcage.

"I love you, too, Princess," I gasped.

"I so love you," she answered.  "I could eat you up."

"I love you, Princess, hurt me, beat me, torture me..." I simply wailed to her.

"I will, my love, I will, I will."

She sat down and laid her bare legs across my buttocks, mashing the backs of her knees into my bloody flesh.  The sting of her sweating skin against my abraded ass was thrilling.

She stood up and repositioned herself so that her raw, swollen dripping pussy, fragrant and scorching, was against my face.  She used her legs to push into me, hard, as she said "Lick my juices.  Eat my pussy.  I've never been eaten.  Lick my clit."

I began to suck on her swollen lips blindly, tasting the pungent juices, absorbing the rich aroma, feeling her wetness increase until she was bucking against my face painfully until she came.  A rush of juices squirted from her cunt as she orgasmed, then orgasmed again.  She bent my nose hard from side to side as she mashed her pelvis against me and I felt the cartilage flexing painfully and a bloody nose burst.  I felt the flow of blood dripping out of my left nostril onto the floor as she kept on attacking and I kept right on eating her, sucking her hard clit, drinking her strong juices, swallowing them as they mixed with my blood.

When she finally exhausted herself, she stood over me breathlessly for a moment and then let herself collapse onto me.  She hooked her ankles around my cuffed ones, and she hugged me from behind with her full weight pressing against my beaten posterior.  Her face pressed against mine, and she whispered in my ear as we both cooled down... "I love you, slave, you're mine forever... I'll never let you go, ever... I want more... I want to get so deep and so dark until it's evil... I so want to own you and torture you and just grind you down and then love you, love you, love you... to death..."

As I absorbed the deliciousness of her sweating naked body pressing into the welts she'd cut into me I whispered back "I love you too, Princess Jackie... I'll follow you wherever you lead... I want to be your thing, your beating boy, your total slave forever..."

We fell asleep that way.

==> Chapter Three

The buzzing of the alarm clock in her bedroom awoke us.  She jerked awake and got up off of me, our skin separating with slurping sounds as the dried juices and blood and sweat surrendered.  My welts screamed painfully and then subsided as her weight lifted free, and some of the deeper cuts began to well up with fresh blood a bit.  She ran down the hall and slaped the alarm off, then ran back to where I lay bound and naked.

"Oh my god!" she yelled, "I have a fucking nine o'clock class and it's eight o'clock!  I don't have time to untie you now... when's your first class?"

"I have a nine also, princess," I mumbled, sleepily realizing that I was still blindfolded.

"Well, I have to get dressed and go all the way to Mumsford Hall for my Psych class... so you're going to have to skip.  When's your second class?"

I told her that I had Biology at ten and then my French Lit class at one-fifty, and that was all for the day.

"I'll be back to let you up for French.  But I'll do you a little favor," she said sweetly, "to help pass the time."

She stood over my head and I smelled her bare little feet as they brushed against my ears.  "I'm gonna piss on you again, mark you, my love," she sang softly as her urine flowed.   "I'm marking you as my slave."

"I have to pee, too, Princess," I meekly offered as her piss soaked my hair again and pooled against my cheeks, soaking the piss-reeking towel under my face.

"Then piss, and later you'll clean it up," she replied matter-of factly.  "But... while I'm in class I want to have something great to think of with you lying here all tied up... I want you to suffer...  I got it."

She hopped up and away and I heard the refrigerator door open and close.  She was back in a flash and sat on my bare ass.  Her cunt was still wet and hot, and I could actually feel the hardness of her little clit against my super-sensitive flesh.  Suddenly, a firey pain mixed with a chilly sensation of liquid spattered across my back.

"Tabasco!" she shouted, shaking the contents of the bottle onto my wounds.  "Ouch!" she laughed.

She stood up and shook out the rest of the bottle onto my ass, where the pepper liquid burned and seared into the many thin stripes of her whip-welts there.  The agony was intense.  She then used her bare foot to smear and mash the sauce into my skin as I moaned and yelped, biting down, trying not to scream.  I bucked and twisted and groaned as the fire really set in, and the pain peaked and held at a bearable level.  Utter heat, hot lashmarks stinging and burning.

I heard her getting dressed, and then her bedroom door being shut and locked.  The tromp of her boots approached me again, and she stood over me as she buttoned up either her top or sweater; I couldn't see.  My bare backside continued to protest the pepper sauce in my wounds as my penis continued to celebrate it.  "I'll be back at lunchtime, and then we'll have a bite before you go to class.  But I can't leave you like that... I need a little insurance against noise while I'm gone.  Yesterday's panties," she advised me as she pushed a frilly mass of fragrant cotton into my mouth, deeply.  "Of course, they were the day before's panties, too... I don't change them every single day."

She tied them into my mouth tightly with more of the thin rope before leaving.  "I love you," she called out as she went out the door, slamming it and turning the lock behind her.

"I love you too," I grunted through the gag.  I tasted her dried juices melting against my tongue, and I sucked on her soiled underwear for the next three hours until her return.

When she got home, she silently untied my bonds, sighing a bit as she fretted over the knots.  She'd never tied someone up before and was finding that untying is a lot more difficult than tying.  I could sense her anger building as she got more violent, jerking the ropes, and then finally storming off to the kitchen to return with a knife.  With dangerous swipes, she cut all of the ropes off of me and then unlocked the shackles.  "Go pee," she said as she removed the blindfold.

I ran to the bathroom as she followed.  I instinctively grabbed the doorknob to close it, but she stuck out her booted foot to stop me.  I saw that she was wearing the same outfit, again, and enjoyed the rush of scent she exuded.  "No closed doors, slave.  When you're with me, you never ever close a door between us.  No privacy for you.  Understood?"

"Yes, Princess."

"Go to the bathroom."

I peed as she watched.  I really needed a shower as well, what with the bloody smears on my face and backside and the dried urine crusting my hair.  I could smell myself and her piss.

"I need a shower before class, Princess," I appealed.

She glared at me as I stared at her booted feet meekly.  "No, you can wash the blood off your face and hands, but I want you to stay marked with my urine for now."

I dressed as she watched, her arms still crossed in front of her, and her attitude seeming to be a bit bothered or angered.

"Let's go have lunch, slave."

"Where, Princess?"

"We're going to fast food.  Something on the strip.  And then you're dropping me back off here while you go to class."

"Yes, Princess."

She drove my car and picked McDonald's on a sudden whim.  She went through the drive-thru and asked me what I wanted.  I got a Big Mac combo and she got the chicken sandwich deal.  She drove to a little park a block from campus and parked in a side lot where there were no other cars.  A guy and his son were flying a kite in the field about a hundred yards away, but otherwise the place was deserted at this time on a weekday.  "Come around to my side of the car," she ordered as she parked.

I opened the door and got out.  As I started to walk around the car she barked "Hey! Slave!  I'm sitting!  Why are you walking?"

I dropped to my knees and crawled around the car until I reached her open door.  I glanced over at the kite-flyers, but they were too far away to really notice.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing to the asphalt next to her open door.  She swung around on her seat and dangled her boots out.  She opened the McDonalds bag and took out the Big Mac.  She opened the cardboard box and dumped the sandwich onto the asphalt in front of me, and followed it with the fries.  Using both boots, she stomped the pile of food and ground it with hard twists of her soles until nothing was left but a mashed-up pile of potato, bread, meat and sauce under her boots.  I knew what was coming; the delicious humiliation I was about to be subjected to.  My cock swelled inside the belt.

"Eat, slave," she flatly intoned, pointing at the mashed pile on the ground.  "And then clean my boots."

I began to lick up my lunch from the ground under her feet.  She silently watched me as she chewed her own lunch.  I had to swallow grit and pebbles, but I loved every second of the intense humiliation.  It was so deliciously degrading, and she was so matter-of-fact about it.  She played with herself with a hand down her skirt as she watched me.  When the asphalt was relatively clean, she pointed to the sole of her left boot and I licked and sucked the mashed meal off of that, and then the right boot.

"We still have half an hour before your class, and I feel like beating you, slave," she told me as I knelt before her.  "Go bend over the back of the car and drop your pants and underwear."

I immediately complied.  The slight burn of the tabasco was still there, but the welts had started to subside.  I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans.  With hooked thumbs, I lowered my pants to my knees and exposed my striped and reddened ass.  I bent over the car trunk and put my hands behind my neck.

"You have a really good ass, you know," she sweetly told me as she pulled my belt free from my pants.

"We have fifteen minutes before we need to go," she said as she looped my belt over and tapped it against my buttocks lightly a few times.  "Fifteen minute beating is what you'll get.  Let's see... fifteen minutes is nine hundred seconds, so if I do one every five seconds, I can beat your ass almost two hundred times.  I'm going for two hundred.  Better stay quiet so the kite guy doesn't see us."

When she finished, I was literally crying, tears flowing hard and dripping onto the paint of my car's rear deck and darkening the slightly faded paint.  I sobbed through the last forty lashes as she re-opened all the welts.  She showed me the belt when she finished the two-hundredth lash so that I could see the smeared blood there while she giggled.  My ass was so swollen that my underwear felt tight when I pulled it up gingerly over my insulted flesh.  It immediately adhered to the sticky surface of my striped and seeping crimson gluteus.

"Get in the car, slave," she giggled as she handed me the belt, "after you put your belt back on."

As we drove back to her house, she told me "I want to keep your body marked all the time, slave.  I really, really love this whipping thing.  Tell me I can whip you whenever I feel like it."

"Please, Princess, whip me whenever you feel like it."

"I so love you, Jamie, slave, I love you love you love you.  Say you love me."

"I love you, princess."

"Do you love being my slave?  Would you do anything I said?"

"Yes, Princess."

"What if I wanted to go farther?  Do you want to sink really deep into the pit?  I do.  Because I love you, Jamie, slave."

"I do, Princess."

"Then after your class, come straight to my house.  I'm going home to masturbate and think of how I'm going to abuse you more later today, my love."

"Yes, Princess."

"Slave, on your way back from class, I want you to stop at the hardware store or WalMart and get some of those screw-in steel hooks, the big ones, like plant-holder hooks, so I can put them into the floor and tie you down to it.  Get like ten of them."

"Yes, Princess."

"And while you're there, I want you to buy something you want me to beat you with tonight.  Surprise me with something that's not meant to be a whip that I can use on you like a whip."

"Okay, Princess."

"Are you hard, slave?"

"I haven't been soft since we met."

"Well, remember when you're not with me... no looking at other girls and you stay soft.  And you call me if you get hard."

"Yes, okay, Princess, I will."

"Again, slave... absolutely no looking at other girls.  Or I'll kill you, and then we won't be able to get married."

I startled as she said this, and I inadvertently looked up from her booted feet as required to her face.  She frowned at me and jerked the car over to the right, parking on the shoulder with a hard stomp on the brakes.  She grabbed my throat and my hands flew up instinctively to defend.  She screamed in my face, violently, "DO NOT LOOK AT MY FACE UNLESS I SAY TO!  GET YOUR HANDS DOWN!"

I dropped my hands to my lap and she used both of hers to squeeze my throat, pushing her thumbs hard into my windpipe.  I lifted my hands again, just a reaction, and she squeezed harder.  "Pass out!" she yelled into my face, and then she spit at me, a huge blob of saliva, right into my face.  "KEEP YOUR EYES DOWN AND YOUR HANDS DOWN!  I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT TO YOU!"

I sat meekly, allowing her to evilly grin at me while she choked me into unconsciousness.  I fought the urge to fight her and just sat there to allow the blackness to descend.  She never let up, and indeed pressed ever harder, until I slumped over toward her and passed out.

Blearily, the fog lifted, and I awoke.  It was later; the scenery had changed.  We were sitting in the car in the driveway of her apartment.  Jackie was dozing with her back against the driver's door and her boots in my lap.  My throat was sore, and the thumb marks she'd bruised into my neck were throbbing.  I looked in the mirror and saw two nickel-sized black marks where she'd pressed down.  My penis had finally gone soft and it felt small and damp inside its plastic retainer.  I looked at the clock and saw that I'd missed the first half-hour of my last class of the day.  As I stirred, so did Jackie and she awoke smiling.  "Okay, go to class and do the other stuff.  I'll see you right here afterwards.  No looking at other girls."

She got out of the car and bounded up the stairs to her place.  I went around to the driver's seat and drove to class, luckily finding a parking space right outside the hall.  I grabbed my bookbag from the back seat and took a quick look at myself reflected in the driver side window.  The bruises looked like they might be hickeys, and my eyes were only a little red from the crying and the choking.  My cock began to harden as I ran inside to class.

I found a seat near the back of the room and jumped into note-taking.  My roommate Mark was at the end of my row, and when he saw me he gave me a "thumbs-up" sign to acknowledge my triumph of being out all night with the new girl.

He had no idea.

After class, Mark approached me and asked if I wanted to go play Ultimate with him and some other guys, but I told him I was heading over to Jackie's.  He took a couple obvious whiffs of me and said "Sheesh, Jamie, do you know you kinda smell like piss?"

I laughed, wanting to hurry away, and just said "Really?  We were fucking, and I didn't shower yet... sure it's not sweat?"

He sniffed again and wrinkled his nose.  "Nope, dude, you smell like piss."

I shrugged and hurried off.  "See you later!" I called over my shoulder.

"Don't forget poker tonight, dude, it's Friday!" he called back.

"Maybe!" was my response as I left earshot and reached my car.

The second I was driving, I dialed Jackie's cell phone.  She answered on the first ring:  "Yeah, slave?"

"I'm hard," I told her.

"For me, or because you broke my rule and looked at another girl?"

"For you, Princess."

"Good.  Stay hard.  Go do what I told you and hurry here, I'm wet.  I want you to play with.  I'm masturbating right now."

"I will, Princess Jackie," I told her, and she simply replied "I love you, slave Jamie."

She hung up as I told her I loved her, too.

As I pulled into the WalMart lot, my phone buzzed with an incoming text message.  I looked at the single word there:  "Pain".  Followed by a smiley :-).

I quickly found the ten screw-in loops she'd asked for, and then set about looking for something for her to whip me with later.  I started in the toy department and looked at toy shovels and jump ropes, but moved on.  In housewares, I actually picked up and carried around an electrical extension cord for a while, but dropped that when I got to automotive and saw some heavy rubber fan belts for cars.  I picked out the longest loop I could find, a heavy rubber oval about two feet long, and thought about how exquisite the pain would be from it when she beat my already-welted body.  The thing weighed about two pounds, and the rubber was thick with squared edges, maybe a half-inch.  It would deeply impact my flesh and the edges would cut a bit, which I knew would make her happy and would leave me with delicious, stinging welts to relish after the horrible session was over.  I bought the stuff and drove to her apartment with my head singing in anticipation and my heart and cock throbbing.

As I pulled into her driveway, I saw that the house was completely dark.  I climbed the stairs with the bag of purchases and found a note on her back door written in pink highlighter ink: "My mom flew in suddenly.  Took bus to airport.  Be back at ten.  Go in living room and see note there."

I turned the knob and found that she'd left the door unlocked.  I flipped on the kitchen light with a snap of the old-fashioned switch and went to the living room.  In there, I saw that she had assembled the dog cage we'd bought at the pet supermarket.  It was sitting in the center of the room, door open, a new combination Masterlock hanging open from the wire mesh.  Another note was taped on top of the cage:  "Strip and get in.  Lock yourself inside and wait for me.  Love, Princess Jackie."

Attached to the back of the note was a photograph.  It was a Polaroid of Jackie from perhaps two years prior.  She was sitting on the front steps of a house with a paper plate of watermelon slices in her lap, and she was grinning as she ate one.  Her hair was shining in the sun, long and blond, and she was in a bikini.  Her bare feet were crossed in front of her extended legs with her soles facing the camera.  Those tiny feet that seemed small for her long, thin legs and skinny frame.  Her eyes looked blazingly blue in the photo, and her breasts bulged against the orange bikini top.  She was so thin with such small feet and large breasts.  Next to her stood an older woman, probably about forty years old, with her hand on Jackie's shoulder.  The woman was beautiful and thin as well, with darker blond hair styled in a shorter pert cut and a pretty face.  She smiled brightly and had matching blue eyes.  She wore dark blue walking shorts and a gray tank-top.  Her breasts were big, but sized for her frame.  She was on her tip-toes and wearing flip-flops and I saw that her feet were small and high-arched.  She was Jackie's mother.  I would have guessed this anyway, but Jackie had written on the picture with a ball-point pen.  An drawn-on arrow pointing to her own face was captioned "Will beat you tonight" and an arrow to her mother's face was captioned "Mother of girl who will be beating you".

At the bottom of the picture, on the white paper border, Jackie had written "See you at ten, love you!" in blue pen ink.

I stripped down to just the chastity belt, cock still throbbing, and got inside the cage.  It was just big enough to sit Indian-style with my head slumped back and leaning into a corner, or to lie down with my knees up and my feet propped against the side of the cage.  I could also curl up in a fetal position on the thin padding with my back against the heavy chromed-steel mesh wall.  I sat down, leaning under the ceiling, and pulled the cage door shut.  With a breath of exclamation, I snapped the lock shut and imprisoned myself to wait for my new eighteen-year-old girlfriend.  I hoped her mother wasn't coming with her... that would be weird.  Surely she was getting a hotel room, right?

I realized after a few minutes that I should have gone to the bathroom before getting into the cage, but it was too late.  I needed to go both ways.  But I relaxed and waited out the digital clock on the cable box, watching the red LED numbers tick from six to seven to eight to nine o'clock.  I really started squirming with the need to go to the bathroom as I watched time pass 9:30... and time seemed to slow eternally from then on.

At ten o'clock, Jackie still hadn't returned.  At five past, I heard my cell phone ringing... inside my pants pocket outside the cage.  Hurriedly, I hooked my index finger through the wire bars and grabbed the hem of my jeans.  I pulled them forward and got a better grip as the phone rang a fourth time.  I managed to grasp the phone inside my pocket and squueze it out onto the floor, where it clattered onto the hardwood.  I grabbed it between two fingers by the antenna and pulled it into the cage.  It was my roommate.  I answered, dejected, and he said "Dude! Poker!  Where are you!"

"At Jackie's," I replied flatly.

"You sound bummed," he replied.

"Nah, just waiting for her to get back.  She went to the airport to pick up her mom."

"So, you're spending Friday night with this girl you just met three days ago and you're hanging alone waiting to hang out with her and her mother?" Mark quipped with sarcasm.

"Sort of... yeah," I replied, thinking about how I was currently locked in a cage in my new girlfriend's apartment.

"Already whipped," Mark told me.  "Whipped!"  And he hung up.

He had no idea.

At eleven o'clock, as I squeezed my thighs together to placate the need to pee and clenched my sore swollen butt against the other need, the phone rang again.  It was Jackie.

"Hello, Princess," I answered.

"Hi, it's not Jackie," said a bright woman's voice, "It's her mom Gina.  My plane was delayed a bit, and we're just leaving the airport now.  Jackie's right here, but she wanted me to tell you that she loves you, and if you need to go to the bathroom in the cage, just pull up the matting and use the tray underneath, okay?"

"Uh... okay," I replied in embarassed/excited trepidation.  "Thanks, I guess," I added.

"No problem.  We're going to go grab a few things and we'll be there in about an hour.  Bye, Jamie!"

Gina hung up.  I stared at the phone.

At just past midnight, headlights lit up the walls of the living room and I heard a car parking in the driveway below.  Happy voices of Jackie and her mother got louder as they thumped up the stairs.  The door burst open and I heard the sound of packages and luggage being dropped.  The hallway light was snapped on, and the interior of my cage lit up.  I'd held my pee and was bursting with the need to go.  I didn't want to use the tray under the cage.

"Let me see him," I heard Gina say.

"Okay!" Jackie's bright response.

There was a clattering of boots and heels as the women entered the living room.  Gina turned on the light as Jackie greeted my fetal form with "Hi, slave!"

I groaned "Hi, Princess, I really need to go."

Jackie paused for a moment then turned to her mom.  "He didn't go potty yet."

"He'll go soon enough.  Let's have some drinks while we watch him in there."

"Okay," Jackie replied, and they went back to the kitchen where I could hear their banter as they made some sort of beverages. 

"He's cute," offered Gina.

"Good bod, yeah, and obedient," replied Jackie.

"Like your dad was, honey," Gina laughed back.

"Dad apparently couldn't take it," said Jackie.

"Nope.  Couldn't.  Can this one?"

"I'll find out.  I love him."

"Good," replied Gina, "that keeps everything in control.  When I stopped loving your father is when I got out of control, and that's why he ran away."

"I'll love Jamie forever," sighd Jackie, "I so love this whole thing.  I never knew that you and dad were mistress and slave until tonight."

"And I always wondered if you got the gene for it... and you did."

"I did.  Let's go drink in the living room and watch Jamie."

Their glasses clinked with ice cubes as they took seats on the sofa.  Gina asked if Jackie had any movies.  Jackie put in the Titanic DVD and they drank while the movie started.  I kept my eyes on Jackie's booted feet as my bladder ached and intestines growled.

The women became engrossed in the movie and fell silent.  From where I was, I could only see their feet.  Jackie had kicked off her boots and socks and was stretching out her bare feet toward the cage, legs under the coffee table.  Gina was still wearing her black heels and her feet were flat to the floor to Jackie's left.  They were indeed small, and I could see that they were high-arched from my glances at the sides of the shiny shoes.  Nice feet.  The thought of their damp scent after being encased in those patent-leather heels for hours was erection-worthy, but I'd been hard forever despite my bladder pain.

During a long silence as the Titanic cruised toward the iceberg, I meekly called out "Princess, please, I really need to go to the bathroom..."

Gina jokingly said "Did you hear something?"

Jackie giggled and said "Nope... musta been the wind."

As the captain of the Titanic was saying "I do believe you'll get your headlines, Mister Ismay," I wheedled out once more "Please Princess, may I go to the bathroom?"

Gina heard me and said to her daughter "Why don't we join him?"

Jackie said "What do you mean?"

"Watch," said the older woman, and she stood up and crossed around to the cage.  She carefully took off her heels and climbed on top of the cage.  "Make him watch me," she said to Jackie.

"Slave, look up at my mom," ordered my Princess.

I looked up to see Gina, thin and pretty, squatting on top of the cage.  Her soles were pressed against the wire mesh and rectangles of her foot-flesh pressed between the bars.  She was wearing a short skirt and she'd hiked it up.  She wasn't wearing panties, and I could see her thickly-haired bush directly above my face as I lay on my side in the little steel prison box.

"Here goes, Jamie," Gina giggled to me a bit tipsily from the Margeritas they were making, "Feel free to join me!"

Hot urine rained down in a gusher onto my face and neck.  She had obviously held it for hours, and now she was letting loose with gusto.  She sprayed the sharp-smelling fluid all over me, waggling her pelvis as she aimed down onto my captive form, and I lay there passively, taking it, loving it, as the women laughed and giggled loudly.  She soaked me in her urine before it trickled to a few final spurts onto my face, then stopped.  "I so love pissing on a male," exclaimed Gina as she hopped off the cage and put her shoes and panties back on.  "Your turn, honey," she told Jackie.

"I need to go pretty bad, but I have to go number two as well, and I can't go one without going two when I have to go both, get it?" Jackie giggled, slurring a little, and then took a huge gulp of Margerita.

"I can take it if you can," Gina replied.  "Poop on him!"

"Ya think?" asked Jackie back, tentatively.

"Sure!  Poop right on him through the cage!"

Jackie clambered on top of the cage carefully and squatted where her mother had been.  The bars above were still dripping intermittently with piss down onto me as she spread her knees and tucked up her thick skirt.  Her rich body aroma wafted down to my widening nostrils.  She hooked the hem of her panties and carefully drew them down her legs and off, and then she settled into her squat as I watched her bared crotch for the first time.

"He's never seen my vagina, you know," Jackie told her mother, who had retaken her seat on the couch.

"I'll drink to first times!" cheered Gina, raising her drink with a sound of clinking ice cubes as she raised the toast.  She gulped.

"I've never pooped on anyone before, either," added Jackie with a giggle.

"Another first!" called Gina with another toast to the air.

Jackie squatted for a while and I watched her anus pucker as she tried to let go.  Gina paused the movie to watch, and the room was silent except for our heavy breathing.

"Take your time," Gina soothed.

"I'm shy," replied Jackie as she repositioned so that her asshole was pressed right to the top of the cage and between the bars right over my face.  I lay there, stock-still, my need to piss and shit momentarily forgotten, as my heart thumped and awaited this newest realization of an old fantasy.

A few minutes passed as Jackie fidgeted and grunted up there.  I kept totally still, utterly relishing the moment I would feel the first splatter of her hot urine and dense shit hitting my body.  I hoped my face was positioned just right to catch the bulk of it.

Finally, just as Gina was saying "Take your time, honey" again, the flood opened.  Urine trickled down, hitting my cheek and left eyelid, then increased.  "Here comes one," I heard Jackie say just before a warm lump of her shit landed on my ear and slid off.  Another followed, and then a long hot mass of turd splatted against my cheek and forehead and stuck there as more piss and looser shit, reeking, watered down onto it.  Soon my neck and the exposed side of my face were covered with her waste and the cage filled with the strong acridity of feces.  "Smells," said Jackie as she finished with one last spurt and a dribbled few lumps onto my hair.

"Make him clean you, now, hon," Gina said.  "Open the door and stick that pretty ass in his face."

Jackie landed with a two-footed thump next to the cage.  She spun open the lock and opened the door.  She said to me "Did you like that, slave?"

"Oh, yes, Princess" I replied, enraptured, enthralled, and stinking of her aromatic waste.  My face was sticky and my left eye squeezed shut under the layer of pasty dark feces and acidic yellow liquid.

"Do you love me, slave?"

"Yes, Princess, I love you," I worshipfully moaned, "I love you."

Gina laughed and claped her hands.  "You two will be married some day soon.  Slave and mistress."

"Princess," Jackie corrected as she backed her rear end into the cage. 

"Clean my crotch, Jamie," she ordered.  She reached back and spread her asscheeks, her milky-white, thin, flawless globes, to reveal her shit-stained little rosebud and piss-drippy vagina.  Some of the pee had run down the crevice of her ass and mixed with the shit.  Gratefully, I bent forward and sucked it all up while relishing the acrid and bitter taste of her precious wastes.  I left her cleft gleaming and pink in no time.

For the remander of the night, the women drank and watched TV while ignoring me.  The need to go to the bathrom returned.  As they finished their final movie and final drink, Gina said "Am I sleeping on this couch?"

"Yeah, I'll get some blankets and a pillow."

Gina got settled on the couch next to the cage.  "Just leave him in there for the night, I'm too tired to deal with him," she said to her daughter.

Jackie agreed.  "Piss and poop in the cage, slave," was all she said before turning out the light.  "Goodnight, mom, goodnight slave, I love you."

"I love you too, Princess" said I, her piss-soaked, shit-smeared asslicking boyfriend of three days.  She and her mother had both pissed on me as I lay in a cage.  Great intensity.  I loved it.  I loved the scent of Jackie's mother, her perfume, that I could pick up over the reek of Princess's shit as Gina lay on the couch.

She slept quickly, and I soon followed, curled up inside the soiled, stinking dog cage for the night.