Angela waited on her knees. When she had arrived she gone straight to Mistress's bedroom to prepare herself and, by now, she was more than trained enough to know what that meant. Firstly she had stripped naked, leaving her clothes neatly folded on a chair. Then she had fitted for herself the ankle cuffs with their short connecting chain and the wrist cuffs which, once clipped together, held her arms behind her back. Now she knelt in the proscribed position, facing the door with her knees wide apart and her head held high, waiting for her Mistress.
It was nearly a year since she had first met Mistress, a year of being gently guided, moulded, until it was quite normal for her to be waiting like this. When she had first moved into the neighbourhood, devastated by her divorce and struggling with the emotional fall out of caring for Jackie, her eighteen year old daughter, Mistress, or simply Caroline as she had been know then, had been all kindness, a rock, a real support in a very trying time. More and more she had come to depend on her and, when, during a rather drunken 'I hate men' session, Caroline had given her a cuddle it had turned into something else and months, no years, of suppressed sexual tension had all come out at once.
Although Angela was, at first, rather ashamed of, as she put it, acting like some sort of bitch in heat, Caroline reassured her that it was fine, there was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be scared of and how could something that felt so good be so bad? Reluctantly at first Angela agreed that it had felt good and, far more than the physical pleasure, after having been so lonely, so insecure, so emotionally battered by the divorce and all that surrounded it she was deeply grateful to relax in the security of someone else's arms, to be taken, held, cuddled and cared for and, for the first time in ages, Angela was finding real peace as she lay in Caroline's bed. There she could forget all the cares, all the responsibilities and be a little girl again, safe in her mothers, no, her lovers, arms.
And then, in the passion of a particularly heated session Caroline had held her down and smacked her, not hard, well, not by today's standards, and Angela had been amazed at her own reaction. Caroline had touched a nerve within her, a nerve she didn't know she had and far from flinching from the pain she wanted, no needed more. The little girl inside her was a naughty little girl and needed a mother's chastisement to make everything right. Caroline had suggested that they should try some 'role play games' and, for the very first time, Angela had called her 'Mistress'.
At first there had been little flickers of resistance but Caroline was so gently insistent that spankings soon became a regular part of their sessions together; indeed, more and more they became the entirety of their sessions together. The niggles inside Angela were put aside as, increasingly, she craved the inner peace that came as, shrugging the burdens of life aside, she entered the simple world of servitude where her only task was to obey.
Caroline, or rather Mistress, slowly upped the ante and started insisting that Angela refer to herself as 'slut-slave' and that, as part of their sessions, she had to confess her 'sins', imagined or real, and always in the foulest possible language. Angela was not used to swearing and using the 'c' word was hard for her but, somehow, there was something deeply cathartic about being forced to do this and when 'slut-slave' described her 'juicy aching cunt' she wasn't lying, however much she had to force the words out.
And then, came the day, the day she had first been collared. As ever she had been naked and on her knees when Mistress had fitted round her neck the heavy leather collar and told her that she had graduated, she had made the grade, from then on, she was no longer free, she was Mistress's sole possession, her true slave, her property and that, in future, slut-slave's will would be completely subjugated to her Mistress. They had gone back to Angela's house and Mistress had ransacked Angela's wardrobe removing anything she deemed 'unsuitable'. Angela had watched, horrified, as all her underwear and a good proportion of her clothing was bundled into black bin bags and taken to the local tip. Part of her still wanted to say 'no', to protest but she was scared, scared that should she fail Mistress she would be rejected as unworthy and that she could not bear.
But it wasn't just fear of rejection which kept her coming back for more. There was a part of her, deep, deep inside, which only Mistress seemed to see. As she debased herself, as she grovelled before her Mistress, as the paddle, or the riding crop struck her buttocks or her breasts, through all these things which should have repelled her she couldn't help herself from wanting more. Despite the pain, despite the humiliations, there were buttons inside her that only Mistress knew how to push and, when a session was over, as she took herself home, bruised, battered and exhausted she was also sated in way she'd never known existed.
And now, today, Mistress had sent a text demanding that she be there ready and waiting. She'd let herself in and, as so many times before, prepared herself, readied herself to be used in whatever way Mistress asked. At last the door opened, Mistress approached, the wait was over.
"There you are slut-slave, back for more, I see." Mistress said with a light laugh.
"Of course, Mistress, this slut-slave is yours, this slut-slave lives only to serve you." Angela replied.
"How sweet. Now I have a special treat for you today, but only if you're truly obedient, only if you do exactly what I say. Is that understood?"
"slut-slave understands, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." Angela replied.
"Now let's finish getting you dressed." Mistress went to her bedside table and brought out the collar, returning to stand in front of the kneeling Angela. "What do you say?"
"Please, Mistress, this slut-slave begs to be allowed to wear the collar, this slut-slave begs to be allowed to serve." The need, the longing in Angela's voice wasn't feigned. She didn't know what she would do if Mistress ever said no.
Mistress leant forward and fastened the heavy collar around Angela's neck, fastening the twin padlocks that held it tight. At three inches wide the collar meant that Angela had to hold her head up and it reinforced Mistress's constant demand for a perfect posture.
"Tonight, tonight will be easier if you don't think too much. I'm going to blindfold you and take you to the playroom. If you just do as you're told it will be fine." Mistress went back to her bedside draw and returned with a blindfold and leash. The blindfold was leather with Velcro fastenings and soft padding over the eyes and, once fitted Angela was in complete darkness. Then the leash was attached to the collar and Angela was ordered to stand. With her feet hobbled it was hard keeping up with Mistress as she was led through the house but she had learnt the small precise steps necessary and they were soon at the playroom door.
"Remember, slut-slave, try not to think too much, just do as you're told." Mistress said gently before opening the door and leading her through.
Angela was amazed to hear a muffled gasp. There was someone else in the room, someone who was, by the sounds of things, very upset and wearing a gag.
"I've brought you to meet dirt-bag, one of my other slaves." Mistress said. "What? Did you think you were the only one? Now kneel down."
Angela's head was reeling. She had never for a moment considered the possibility that Mistress might have other slaves. Was she jealous? Of course she was. Mistress's instructions not to think ran through her mind. She had to calm down, she had to show she was worthy, she had to show that she could be a better slave, more obedient, more compliant, more willing than this interloper.
"Now then, slut-slave, why don't you tell dirt-bag just what you are?" Mistress suggested.
"I'm a whore, I'm a slut, I'm a harlot. I am not worthy to lick Mistress's boots" Angela began. This was a litany she knew by heart. "I'm a bitch in heat, driven by my animal need to satisfy my putrid cunt, my filthy lusts, my sick perverted desires. I am forever grateful to Mistress for showing me what I am and I love my Mistress for allowing me to serve her, allowing me within her gracious presence."
"Very good, slut-slave. Do you see, dirt-bag, do you see what a foul degenerate this slut-slave is. She's good for nothing, nothing at all." Mistress said.
"But you're just as bad, aren't you, dirt-bag." Mistress continued. "Your cunt drips with need as well. You're just the same, just as horny. Now, slut-slave," Mistress turned her attention back to Angela. "Why don't you find out just how much dirt-bag's cunt is dripping with her foul juices."
This tirade of invective, this torrent of abuse, worked to fuel the desire between Angela's thighs and, almost in a dream, she shuffled across the floor guided by Mistress until she felt her face bump against dirt-bag's body presumably fastened to the St Andrew's cross that was part of the playroom "furniture". The strong smell of an aroused woman greeted her and, as Mistress pushed her forward, she knew she was settling between widespread thighs and as her lips touched flesh she realised she had ended up with her face directly over dirt-bag's shaven pubic mound. For some reason dirt-bag seemed distressed by this and little mews of frustration escaped the gag as she tried to twist her body away but, as Angela knew only too well, once the straps were fastened there was little room for movement on the cross.
"Go on, slut-slave." Urged Mistress. You know what to do. Let's see just how much dirt-bag likes having her cunt licked out by a degenerate like you."
Angela probed with her tongue and searched out the folds of dirt-bag's sex and, despite the struggling managed to ease them apart. It was quite an effort to stay with dirt-bag as she writhed about but Angela managed and, in the fullness of time, she was rewarded as dirt-bag's body finally responded. Whatever reason dirt-bag might have for her reticence her body was flesh and blood as Angela's busy tongue worked it's magic she could feel dirt-bag's clitoris swelling beneath it. Angela had been well trained by Mistress and it wasn't long before she could sense that dirt-bag, however unwillingly, was reaching her first climax.
"Don't stop, don't stop until I say so." Angela heard Mistress order and, keeping a regular flick, flick, flick Angela worked away as time and time again dirt-bag responded until, with a massive shudder, and a cry which even the best of gags couldn't suppress, dirt-bag came one last time, her body going rigid before collapsing, hanging limply against the bonds that held her.
"There, wasn't that fun." Mistress said gaily as she used the leash to pull Angela back and away from dirt-bag. "Now, let's get this blindfold off you."
Mistress undid the Velcro fastenings and pulled the blindfold away. Angela blinked in the light and, as sight returned she could see the spread eagled body of dirt-bag before her. A sudden sense of dread gripped her and her stomach gave a lurch; surely this could not be, surely Mistress wouldn't...
"Look at the pair of you, my pathetic little slaves, so desperate to please their Mistress, they'll do anything I order, anything at all. Well get used to it." Mistress's voice was suddenly harsh, demanding. "You're mine to do with as I wish, with no limits, no excuses and whether you like it or not is of no consequence whatsoever."
With Mistress's laughter ringing in her ears Angela leant back and looked up, up past the stomach, up past the breasts and up, straight up, up into the distraught and tear stained face of her daughter, Jackie.