(Click) He rings off before I could say anything else.
Now the floodgates of my tears truly open. My friend holds me and kisses me until I run out of tears. She then takes my head in her hands, looks me in the eye and smiles, ‘Hush, my sweetie… I am sure you did what you had to do. Don’t fight what is stronger than you. Your life will not be easy, but it will be fulfilling. Oh, sweetie…’
We sit together in a tight embrace until the taxi delivers the promised parcel. My friend takes the delivery and brings the parcel to me, which I unceremoniously rip open.
Oh, what wonders!
I find myself a beautiful red dress made of the finest silk, bell skirt, modest cleavage, sleeveless, short and body hugging. A set of almost weightless satin underwear, sheer and delicately embroidered, red again. And, red once more, a set of hold-ups with embroidered tops. Finally, a pair of elegant Italian 4″ heels. I beam at my friend! What a great start of a new life! A bridal outfit.
My friend takes me to bed and caresses me. In time, I start to reciprocate her caresses and we make love, for the first and last time; tender love between one woman and another, before we fall asleep.
————————-
We woke up some 4 hours before I was due. My friend made us breakfast in bed, which we ate sitting naked opposite each other in an atmosphere of great intimacy. She then bathed me from head to toe and washed my hair. She shaved my armpits, my legs and my pubes. My entire body she oiled and she scented my intimate areas and behind my ears. My hair, which was halfway down my back when loose, she braided beautifully in the Scandinavian style. She made up my eyes in delicate tones of blue, the colour of my eyes, and red, that of my dress, and finished off my face by painting my lips bright red. Like so, naked still, she took me to my mirror. We agreed I was a perfect bride, a ripe young woman offering to be picked. Finally, she dressed me in His divine clothes.
His bride… what am I saying! I should not be romantic. Make no mistake: I was to be his slave! His slave, his private property. My will would only exist within the mesh of his.
Outside on the pavement at the open taxi door my friend said goodbye, kissed and hugged me intensely. Looking through the rear window, I see her waving me off on my way towards that fateful solicitor’s office.
———————–
I present myself at reception and say my name. I am made to wait a brief moment, before a woman comes to fetch me. She introduces herself as the legal assistant of (solicitor). I see the receptionist look at us. We form a pair of the greatest contrast: I, the pretty one, vividly dressed all in red with my long hair worn in a pretty braid and she, attractive still, but dressed in a very unbecoming grey business suit, skirt and jacket, with a light blue blouse, and her dirty-blonde hair up in a bun. I, a picture of youth, and she late thirties, I’d think. She asks for my raincoat and I hand it to her.
———————-
Legal assistant
From what my boss has told me we ‘ ll have a novelty to deal with today. Sort of a marriage between a man and woman. But he cautioned – I might be shocked. The woman would more or less sell her soul to the man, who is also a lot older. Why always the woman in the giving, inferior role? He hopes I will Okay. With a playful smile.
‘It is all legal’, he says with a smile.
Now this is her. Her gaze tells me she is not stupid. Naïve, yes. Beautiful. Too beautiful for her own good. Dressed like a doll in a pretty red party dress. She is young for sure, but a fully developed woman and well endowed. She could get any man she cares to have. But she is not the conqueror’s type. Or perhaps it is just the nerves of getting married, if that is the deal, that makes her shy, withdrawn. Although for a moment a spirit awakes and she studies me intensely. I see a flicker of fire. She is not stupid.
We must hurry. The men are waiting.
———————-
She leads me up a grand staircase and down a corridor lined with heavy oak doors to the door at the end. She flashes me a smile, knocks and opens the door. With a welcoming gesture she lets me in, then follows me and closes the door.
Master! A wave of emotion rolls up inside of me. He has been talking to another man, the solicitor, no doubt. Both are dressed in smart blue suits. Together they look at me, courteously, but betraying no emotion. I step towards Master in order to greet him, kiss him, embrace, and throw myself at him… but his gestures stop me in my tracks. The solicitor approaches me to shake my hand and introduce himself with a slight bow and a smile. He then turns to Master and invites him to sit down in an easy chair to the right side of his desk. He moves and gets seated behind his desk. Both look at me. Meanwhile, the legal assistant has sat down behind a desk to the left of his, at right angles and somewhat set back. I am left standing and don’t have the sense to go and occupy any of the vacant chairs.
The solicitor speaks.
‘(My name), you are here to accept and sign a contract of slavery between (Master’s name) and yourself, whom I shall refer to as “Master” when I am addressing you, according to his wishes.
‘I have explained to Master and will now explain to you that this contract will not stand up in court, since slavery is illegal. My legal assistant and I, however, will witness that you will agree to this contract in a sound state of mind and that you have understood all that it contains. This will remove any prospect of claiming damages from Master or seeking to indict him if you would ever change your mind. He, through me, also lets you know that he will disown you if you default on your agreement and signature.
‘Is it clear to you that the purpose of this session is for you both to accept and sign the contract?’
I nod, but he says, ‘You need to speak, (my name), for your answer to be legally acceptable. Are you aware of the purpose?’
‘Yes!’ My voice is loud and shrill.
‘Very well then. You know that the contract essentially removes all rights to self-possession from you and transfers these to Master. This removal is quite absolute and not intended as play. Are you really sure that you want this? Are you freely and in your right mind making this decision, without unlawful pressure of any kind? Please speak.’
‘Yes, I want it…’ I say and softly add, ‘… gladly. I freely make this decision and in my right mind. You may verify this further, if you need to…’
‘That won’t be necessary – we see and hear that you do.’
The solicitor then straightens his back and declares:
‘Then in principle you are now his in the full sense of the word. Before we shall hear you recite the full extent of the contract aloud…’
I break into a cold sweat… I have to read out loud all details of what he will require of me, which no doubt includes sexual services, in the presence of these strangers…? I should have realised… But what could I have done? What can I do now? I am His.
‘… Master has requested he’d address you for the first time in his new and absolute capacity. (Master’s name), go right ahead.’
Master stands up, thanks the solicitor and turns his gaze to me. To me! I feel warm! What will he say to me, in my new capacity…? His first words… Will he express his gratitude to me for giving myself to him so radically? When he speaks, he says in an even, low tone of voice, quenching my burning, romantic heart – heart be gone! Be gone! – :
‘My slut, you are shameless. Show this to our witnesses and myself. Disrobe.’
‘But…,’ I plead with him, struck by this sudden request – no, any request is now an order! – glancing quickly at the solicitor and the legal assistant, at her especially…
He comes up close, but does not touch me. Nor does he shout when he repeats, ‘My slut, disrobe for me and our witnesses!’
I look at him with tears in my eyes. I cannot disobey his very first order, I cannot, but die with embarrassment when I reach to the back of my dress and pull down the zipper. Master has sat down in his chair again and watches me push the dress off my shoulders, the beautiful red dress he gave me upon my surrender, yesterday, and let it fall to the floor. I step out of my shoes and the dress, loosely fold it up and put it and the shoes to the side. I feel very, very cold in my underwear and stockings.
I have been naked amongst my fashion peers before, sure, and with my boyfriends, but always in safe situations – nude beaches, private parties, around pools… Of course, confident about my body, in the early days with Master I knew a little about embarrassment. Master has had me striptease at a Helmut-Newton-like party, a scene with scene people, and I was embarrassed, but at the same time realised and accepted that that was the point. But it was play.
Here, in a business environment it is real and I am confronted with the biggest overbearing shame in my life. Oh, could I vanish into thin air, I would. My face is beet red. It is especially the presence of a fellow woman that embarrasses me -I feel she will despise the fallen me, confirming the inferior positions women still have, letting the side down! Her composure stuns me. I don’t want contempt, but I do need sympathy. Yet a glance at her does not reveal any.
———————-
Legal assistant
I don ‘ t know how to react. Should I laugh or cry? Should I be angry and then at whom? At the ‘Master’, who exploits the hold he has on her, calling her a ‘slut’, the poor wench? At my boss, who must have known what was coming, and facilitated this degradation? He prepared the contract himself without my help. At the girl, who simply does what she is told? It is so embarrassing and not only to her. I am not very hung up about nudity, but I am about exploitation of, indeed, fellow women. And yet she does it ‘ in a sound mind.’ She does not seem drugged. Is it possible that she loves him this much? Is it possible that she loves the exploitation? Masochism exists and has existed before it got in vogue. Even I have been tied up and teased in play, when I was younger.
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