More Than a Number?
I call my Mistress for the first time. Slowly, stumbling over the words, I explain my desires, my needs, and my longings. She listens carefully. Picking up every nuance and clue both spoken and not. Then vigilantly begins Her probing. Little questions, voiced so sweetly, that strip away any pretence of modesty that I my try to maintain. With the skill of a surgeon She deftly reveals what I most want and fear. Then, when I’m most vulnerable She begins the process of asserting Her authority. Patently, yet firmly, She describes the journey I will undertake. I listen with rapt attention. I am excited, apprehensive, and most of all captivated. I cannot deny Her. So with trembling hands following instructions as best I could, I enclose myself in the CB3000 and with a sigh of despair, click the lock shut. My keyholder’s haunting laugh echoes in my ears as the realization sinks in that I am Hers for as long as She commands. Later that day, Mistress Cassandra’s blog publishes my lock number for all the world to see. I now know the true implications of what it means to be a chastity slave. My body and my fate now firmly in the control of Her lovely hands. My task is now simple; wait. Wait for Her to contact me. Wait for Her to inspect me. Wait for Her to command me. Wait for Her to release me. Minutes pass… Hours pass… The physical struggle of being confined combine with the mental struggle of subjugation to form a torturous ecstasy. As the days pass, rebellion gives way to acceptance. I am number #180040.