When Gretchen and I got back to the United States, Gretchen went back to work at her public relations firm and I went back to my job at the bank. Of course I eagerly took advantage of my regained freedom and did all of the things that I wasn’t able to do as a slave.
I ate whenever I felt like it. I slept whenever I felt like it. I showered whenever I felt like it. I wore clothing. I called up friends on the phone and talked for hours. I went shopping to buy more clothes. I went driving just to prove I had the freedom to go anywhere I wanted whenever I wanted. I fingered myself to orgasm whenever I felt like it (which was often) and had sex with Gretchen every night.
However, no matter how much I appreciated my newfound freedoms, every night I would dream of being a slave.
In many of those dreams I’m naked and running through the woods. Apparently I’m an escaped slave and women in uniforms are searching for me. The women all have handcuffs strapped to their belts and some of them are carrying riding crops. I know that if I’m captured I’ll be punished.
What makes the dream even stranger is that I want these women to catch me. Even though I hide behind trees and run as fast as my bare feet can run, I still want them to catch me and punish me.
There’s another dream where I’m at the airport in Sessia and I’m ordered to strip by one of the airport personnel. The thought of being nude in public and humiliated is arousing, but I refuse anyway. After I refuse to take off my clothes security guards emerge from the crowd and grab me. They roughly hold my arms behind my back and rip off my t-shirt with their bare hands and unsnap and unzip my tight blue jeans while I struggle and try to get free. My jeans are pulled down my legs and past my feet, but my panties are grabbed and ripped off my body. Once I’m totally naked, I’m bent over a table and told to spread my legs so they can do a body cavity search.
In another dream I’m in my mother’s house and naked, with my hands bound behind my back. My mother and sister are there and apparently I’m waiting for employees of the Office of Slave Identification (OSI) to come and take me away. I’m actually very excited and filled with anticipation of an erotic sort, however I don’t tell my sister or mother about this and instead act nervous and bemoan the fate that awaits me. My sister gives me a sympathetic hug and at the end of the dream there’s a loud knock at the door.
And every single time I had one of these dreams, I’d wake up feeling feverish and aroused and desperate for orgasmic release. I never talked to Gretchen about these dreams, but she’s often seen me sitting up in bed, breathing heavy and quite often covered in sweat. Also several times she saw my hands shaking and saw my hand-eye coordination falter when performing simple tasks like getting dressed, so she knew something was up even if I didn’t tell her what it was.
I suppose she just knew me well enough to know that I would tell her when I was ready. And one day in September, shortly after getting home from work, I found her in the kitchen sorting the junk mail from the good mail and I very simply broached her with the words, “We have to talk.”
The words came out slowly and awkwardly at first, but the longer I talked the easier it became. Eventually the words just poured out of me, and when I was finished I felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Finally, when Gretchen had a chance to respond, she replied, “It sounds to me as if you’re having a difficult time adjusting to freedom.”
“It’s not exactly freedom that’s the problem, “I began, “it’s more like…well, I don’t know exactly. It’s almost like post traumatic stress disorder. When I was in Sessia, there was so much excitement. I was humiliated and exposed totally naked in front of strangers and sexually abused. I mean, it was scary, but it was also the most exciting time of my entire life. The life I’m living right now is so *boring* by comparison!”
“Hmmmm” responded Gretchen, “would you like for me to find a way to make your life more exciting?”
“How do you mean?” I retorted. “It’s not like slavery is legal in the United States. And it’s not like we can just go back to Sessia whenever we feel like it. Traveling to Europe is expensive. And immigrating to Sessia and getting jobs that pay a living wage wouldn’t be easy.”
Gretchen didn’t answer at first. She was always the logical, calculating one of our household. I could practically hear the gears turning as she thought it over and considered her options and formulated her plans. Somehow she was better at deductive reasoning and problem solving than I was. She always saw possibilities and solutions that eluded me.
“It’s not necessary that you become my legal slave,” Gretchen explained. “All we need to do is add an extra thrill to your life. And if we put some thought into it, I’m sure we can add that thrill to your life while still staying right here in the United States of America.”
“How,” I asked, almost breathless with anticipation.
“Be patient,” replied Gretchen. “I’m still working out a plan. But before I make major changes in your life I’d like to have as much information as possible about what you need.”
She then proceeded to pick up a pen and a legal pad. Then she sat down, and said, “for starters why don’t you tell me about these erotic dreams you’ve been having. And I’d like as much detail as possible. Tell me everything you can about each dream and what it was that excited you the most about each one.”
So, we sat there in the kitchen for almost two hours while I related these dreams of nudity and humiliation and helplessness and sexual slavery and why I found them to be so erotic and compelling and intoxicating. Occasionally Gretchen would ask a question, but mostly she just took down page after page after page of notes.
When we were finished Gretchen had thirty pages of notes and I was feeling hot and feverish from sexual arousal. I suggested that we have sex right then and there, but Gretchen had different ideas.
Looking at me over the top of her legal pad, she replied, “From now on we’re going to have some rules around here. First of all, you don’t get to decide when you have sex anymore; I do. So, from now on you take all of your queues from me.”
I honestly didn’t understand, but Gretchen was always the dominant one in our relationship. Even when I didn’t understand what her motives were I usually agreed with her.
“Okay,” I said.
“Secondly, I think that you should be always be nude around the house. Take all your clothes off right now.”
This was more exciting. It wasn’t sex, but being naked and exposed and available was still exciting. I rapidly began to unbutton the front of my blouse.
“Of course when you say *always* nude around the house, you mean only when it’s just the two of us, right? I still get to wear clothes when we have company over, right?”
Gretchen arched an eyebrow and gently tapped her legal pad with her pen. “I really don’t think so,” she said coldly. “If we’re going to make your life more exciting, I think you’re going to have to expose your naked body to everybody who comes in this house.”
I had shed my blouse and skirt and at this point was standing there in nothing but my bra, panties and some stockings. My hands froze as I reached for my bra and my mouth dropped open.
“Everyone?” I asked. The idea was extremely exciting; however it was also extremely scary. “What if my mother comes over? What if *your* mother comes over? What if I have to sign for a package? What if one of the neighbors drops by and wants to chat?”
Gretchen seemed to think about this for a few minutes and finally came up with a reply. “I’ll come up with a list of carefully chosen people,” she said. “Only those people will be allowed in the house. And I’ll have a talk with our regular postal carrier and the local UPS deliver person. Both of them are female and I’m pretty sure they won’t have a problem with a naked girl signing for a package.”
I was shocked at the idea of exposing my naked body every time I had to sign for a package from UPS, but I was also extremely excited. This was exactly the sort of humiliating yet arousing thing I needed to recapture the feelings that I had when I was a slave in Sessia!
“Um, okay,” I finally said with a voice that was very weak and almost inaudible.
“And you’re still not naked,” Gretchen commented. “I told you to take off all of your clothes. Is there a reason you’re still wearing your bra and panties?”
My hands flew to remove the last tiny pieces of clothing from my body, and I couldn’t help but notice that I had left a stain on my panties in the center of the crotch area. I’m sure Gretchen noticed as well. We both knew I was getting turned on by this.
“Now, make us something to eat,” Gretchen ordered. “While we were busy planning it’s gotten late, and I’m hungry.”
I went to the refrigerator totally naked and began pulling out vegetables and other assorted ingredients that could be used to make a tasty meal. The cold air from the refrigerator smashed into my bare skin and I immediately felt more naked than naked. My nipples felt especially sensitive being exposed to the cold air and they fast became hard and erect. And standing at the cutting board totally naked, cutting up onions and bell peppers I felt extremely vulnerable and exposed, almost like a slave again.
“I’m still devising the rules,” Gretchen said as she watched me from a distance, “but I think you’ll need to be punished for your slowness in getting out of your clothes.”
“I agree,” I said eagerly. “If you’re not strict with me, it won’t seem nearly as real. It’ll seem fake if you let me get away with too much.”
“And another thing,” she said, “You should start calling me ‘Mistress’ when we’re here at home.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I replied with a smile creeping into my face.
“The standard punishment for little infractions of the rules will be an over the knee spanking. I’ll give you one as soon as dinner is ready.”
My head was swimming at this point. I hadn’t been spanked since we had returned to America. I was looking forward to my first spanking with both anticipation and dread. My heart beat faster as I remembered how painful it could be to have a strong woman’s hand come down on my naked buttocks again and again and again. It was very intimate and erotic, but no matter how arousing it might be, it still frightened me.
Dinner took longer than I thought it would, but once I had it on the table Gretchen looked pleased. I’ve always been a better cook than her and she always enjoyed my cooking, but now in addition to a delicious meal, she was also going to get to cook my buttocks.
All the chairs at the dinner table had armrests and thus were impractical for an over the knee spanking, so Gretchen had me go and fetch a footstool from the next room. When I set it down on the floor, she got out of her chair and for a few brief seconds she was standing directly in front of me.
The reality of how much power I was giving her struck me like a powerful blow to my solar plexus. Her I was standing totally naked and exposed, while she was fully clothed and respectable looking. She had all the authority, while I looked like a naked, vulnerable victim just waiting to be sacrificed or sexually abused.
And I had agreed that this was how it was going to be every day.
Then suddenly she grabbed my wrist and sat down. I very quickly ended up over her lap as Gretchen pulled me down and shoved my ass across her lap and my upper body down towards the floor.
“A standard spanking will be swats equal to the number of birthdays you’ve had. As a result the older you get the longer your spankings will get.”
I moaned at this. My mother had used the exact same system on my sister and me. However she had never planned on me being spanked in my adult years.
“Now, how old are you, Diane?” Gretchen asked in a teasing tone of voice.
“Nineteen, Mistress,” I responded. She already knew the answer, but seemed to be taking some enjoyment out of prolonging my time over her lap.
“But, you’ll be turning twenty later this month, won’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I responded. She also already knew the answer to that question. We had already begun making preparations for my birthday party.
“Well, for now I guess I can only give you nineteen swats, but you get to look forward to a longer spanking on your birthday. And yes, I’m giving you a spanking of twenty swats on your birthday whether you break the rules or not.”
I moaned again and pleaded, “You’re going to spank me even if I’m good? That’s not fair!”
Gretchen’s fingers slid between my thighs and found my pubic lips, which at this point were swollen and puffy and slick with my juices. At her touch a sexual tingle went through my entire body and my right leg twitched. “You’re enjoying this immensely,” opined Gretchen. “I think you’re protesting just to add to the drama. Yes, I’ll spank you on your birthday, no matter what.”
Then suddenly her hand came down hard on my left buttock. There was a loud, sharp smacking sound as her naked hand slammed into my naked flesh. Her first blow hurt and there were eighteen more to go.
Pride kept me from screaming. It’s just the way I am. I try not to scream when I’m punished. It doesn’t make the punishment sting any less, but it somehow makes me feel proud of myself if I can keep from screaming.
By the tenth swat both of my buttocks were stinging and my hips were jerking wildly on Gretchen’s lap. I couldn’t help myself and started letting out yelps of pain as Gretchen’s merciless hand rained down more and more pain on my defenseless and exposed, naked flesh.
“Is your cute little bottom sore now?” Gretchen asked in mock sympathy.
“Yes! Yes, it hurts a lot!” I replied.
“Want me to stop?”
I wasn’t certain how to respond. Honestly my bottom was plenty sore. It was probably red at this point. However I wanted to play the role of a slave girl, and slave girls didn’t get to dictate when their punishments were over. They just suffered and endured whatever punishment their mistress felt like dealing out to them.
“Please give me nine more swats, Mistress,” I replied. “If you’re not strict with me I’ll never learn to be a proper slave girl.”
“Excellent answer,” Gretchen replied. I couldn’t see her face from the position I was in, but I could tell from the sound of her voice that she was smiling.
Then my already sore buttocks received nine more stinging swats from her hand, and then Gretchen said, “You can get up now, Darling.”
Then I sat down to dinner.
We ate the same food, but Gretchen sat there fully clothed and looking dignified, while I sat there naked and squirming, uncomfortable on account of my sore bottom and unable to find a way to sit on it that didn’t make it feel as if I were sitting on a hot stove.
“It will take a while for me to write up an entire list of rules for you,” said Gretchen as she ate, “however for now we’ll leave it at this; first of all you’re to be naked at all times when you’re in my house. When you get home from work, you’re to strip naked immediately.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I replied, trying to sound obedient.
“There may be exceptions to this rule, like if the wrong people come over to visit. But I’m the one who’ll decide when those exceptions occur, not you. If I catch you wearing so much as a pair of panties in this house without my express permission it’s over my lap you go, understand?”
“The next thing is, starting today; you’re not allowed to masturbate. I’m in charge of your orgasms from now on. And if I don’t want you to have one, you won’t have one. Is that understood?”
This rule sounded tougher. With my increased libido I was going to want to have more and more orgasms. However I also wanted to be dominated and controlled. How much more control could I possibly give up than to give her control over all of my orgasms? It would be tough, but it would help to make me feel totally owned.
“Understood, Mistress,” I replied.
“I’ll want you home as much as possible, so I’ll be taking over your schedule. You’re to come straight home right after work. And I want you to cancel your health club membership. You can work out here at home.”
There was a slight pause after she said this, and then she added, “Actually, I have enough money now; I should be able to hire a personal trainer to come to the house and supervise your workouts.”
It took me a few seconds for the significance of this to hit me.
“Here?” I asked. “Doesn’t that mean I’ll have to be naked in front of the personal trainer?”
“Exactly,” she said.
“Won’t that be a problem?” I asked. “Won’t the personal trainer think that it’s awfully odd that the person she’s training is totally naked?”
“You leave that to me, slave girl,” she said as she continued to eat. “In my job I’ve met a lot of people who are very eccentric and open-minded. I think I could find you a personal trainer who would have no problem with training a naked twenty-year old.”
I was trying to imagine where she could possibly find somebody that wouldn’t freak at the idea of me being naked while she ordered me to do leg lifts and crunches and whatnot, and while I was pondering that, Gretchen laid down a few more rules.
“Of course you’ll have to be completely shaved at all times. I’ll examine you every day to make sure you’re properly groomed. I’ll check your legs, your underarms and especially your pubic area. If I find you’ve let any body hair grow back, I’ll have to punish you.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I replied.
I was getting hotter and wetter as this conversation went on. Gretchen was treating me very close to the way I was treated in Sessia. This was about as close as U.S. law would allow. I was feeling more and more like a sex slave every minute.
After dinner I cleared away the dirty dishes and I stood there stark naked at the kitchen sink and cleaned the dishes off and then dried them. Gretchen came in every five minutes or so to check on my progress. Once she caught me rubbing my thighs together and she smacked my on the ass and ordered me to stop.
“A good slave always keeps her thighs from touching,” she berated me. “If I see your legs together like that again, I’ll have to punish you.”
After the dishes were clean I was then ordered to pick up my discarded clothes from the floor and take them down to the laundry room. I found out later that all of the household laundry and cooking and cleaning would now be done by me. As the new household slave it was considered only natural that I would now do all of the manual labor and menial tasks.
After I was done with the laundry, Gretchen found me and without warning kissed me firmly on the lips. I moaned into her mouth and started to wrap my arms around her, but then Gretchen admonished me and said, “Slaves don’t touch their mistress unless they have permission first. Put your hands behind your back.”
It was weird, but I intended to be a good girl and follow orders. I placed my hands behind my back and allowed Gretchen to kiss me passionately. I moaned deeply into her mouth as her tongue explored the inside of my mouth and caressed my own tongue with hers.
The fabric of her wool/polyester jacket felt rough against my bare breasts and sensitive nipples as she pressed her torso in close against mine. She was driving me crazy with lust, and then when I was just about to scream, Gretchen ordered me to get down on my knees.
Of course I had to kneel with my knees far apart. And I was told if I had to be constantly reminded about keeping my knees apart, I’d be punished.
Apparently Gretchen’s levels of lust had progressed pretty far as well, as she ordered me to remove her shoes, her pants and her panties. I undressed her quickly and heard Gretchen moan as I pulled her panties away from her hips and down her thighs. Her panties also had a wet spot and I could smell Gretchen’s secretions as her arousal had made her pussy wet, but I didn’t dare say anything. Slaves keep such comments to themselves.