Hi! I’m Julia Evans ... No! I’m Julia Stevenson – How could I forget? Of course, it’s only a few hours since we took our vows. Someone asked me to tell my story as I saw it. Of course David ... my Master ... my husband has told the story, but he doesn’t know all the details. I never expected a ring on my finger – just a collar on my neck...

I was very lucky with my mum and dad. Seriously. I never, ever, doubted their love for me and I grew up secure and happy. Dad held the belief – and Mum agreed – that bad behaviour should be punished, and a smack – or several smacks, as appropriate – on the bottom was much better than some non-physical punishment like no pudding at dinner time. It was always proportional, and he always cuddled me afterwards. I don’t know, and I don’t believe anyone can say that that’s why I grew up the way I did. Don’t get me wrong – I never got a bare-bottom spanking from either parent and I never saw it as in any way sexual.

I got my first period quite early, before I was twelve. Some time – perhaps six months – after that, I started getting wet between the legs when Dad spanked me and I started thinking about sex. I mean, I knew the basics, and had explored that special spot. It felt good, but it was after a spanking I had my first orgasm from masturbation. In fact, I really only had an orgasm worthy of the name after a spanking. Anyway.

I suppose Dad noticed something. He probably smelt my arousal. “Sweetie, your Mum and I have been talking. You’re a young woman now, and we’ve taught you how to live, how to behave. There will be no more spankings.”

“Dad...”

“No, darling. You’re old enough to discipline yourself.”

I sighed sadly. “Okay, Dad.”

We had a counsellor at school – it was a progressive school, I suppose. But she was good. A friend of mine – you know how it is? We were talking. “You should talk to Missus Shaw,” my friend told me. “Remember when I was having that bust-up with Chip? She was really supportive. Told me some stuff...”

Well, I did. And she was – supportive, that is. I had to work hard to convince her Dad never abused me. “No, Ma’am,” I told her. “Never laid a wrong hand on me. I never had a moment’s worry about Dad, or Mum, for that matter. I know people frown on spanking kids these days, but he never did that without good reason, and I always understood, and I always felt loved. You know, how parents ought to make their kids feel.”

After a few weeks of an hour a week with her, she told me, “Julia, I think you’re submissive, with mild masochistic tendencies. I’ll lend you some books about it, if you like. But please, be very careful if you think of getting seriously into a sub/dom relationship. Don’t even think about it before you’re eighteen. Please.”

So I read about it. And for nearly six years, rarely managed an orgasm. Okay, I dated from time to time, but I was very careful. I mean, I took Missus Shaw’s warnings seriously. It wasn’t ‘me’ to say no to my date, but I did, and none of them got inside my clothing. I just didn’t trust myself, let alone them.

When I reached eighteen, I talked to Mum and Dad. You can imagine, they were worried about me, and made me promise to wait on exploring my sexual leanings until I finished University. I took that promise seriously, and only got involved in ‘safe’ extra-mural activities and dates. Fair enough, I graduated with a two-one degree in history, which wasn’t bad, really. The school asked me to stay on for a Master’s, and careers advice suggested a PGCE, but I’d waited long enough. Mum and Dad were upset, but ... I had a friend, well, sort of friend, who was into all sorts of weird stuff even before leaving school. She introduced me to someone who introduced me to my first Master.

Master George was okay. I mean, entering a Master/slave relationship is going to be a culture shock, but we met and he laid out what was expected – on both sides. Told me to take a week to think about it. I did. The hardest part was cutting off my parents, but I’d been working towards that for years. As I say, Master George was okay. There was no punishment for the sake of punishment. I was spanked or paddled or caned, I was teased and denied, tied or handcuffed, all those things, but always for a reason and always proportional to the fault, error or disobedience. Even before we got to that, though, I remember his shock on finding out I was a virgin ... in all three holes.

I arrived at his house and stripped on entry as instructed. In his lounge – blinds drawn, of course – he began instructing me in posture, during the course of which he caressed, stroked or squeezed me, as I expected, commenting on the tone (or lack of it) in various bits of me. In due course, he was exploring my pussy and I winced; he was about to reprimand me when he saw the blood on his finger.

“You’re a virgin?”

I nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“What experience have you got?”

I shrugged and he slapped my backside sharply. “Sorry, sir. I have no experience, other than masturbation, and getting wet when I was spanked when I was younger, sir.”

“And you want to proceed with this? I will release you now, if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No – I’ve been waiting for this for over four years.”

“Well, your first times should be in a bed, I think. And I thank you for the privilege. Let’s go upstairs, Slave.”

I could not have had a better first time. I should say, first times, as he led me through losing my vaginal virginity, then oral, and some hours later, he gently introduced me to anal. I had several orgasms – epic ones – after an initial spanking, cunnilingus, and my first vaginal penetration. Sucking him off didn’t do much for me, but I didn’t mind doing it at all. Later, after eating a meal which I prepared under his supervision, I actually experienced a climax as he came in my bowels.

I was with him six months. In that time I learned how to properly present myself, how to pleasure him, how to continue with household duties while being fondled and, often, penetrated. I usually slept on a thin mattress at the foot of his bed and I only wore clothes when I had to go out.

One day, though, he brought another young woman home. I watched as she stripped for him, knelt and fellated him.

For a week, my main duties involved the new slave, then I was called into the lounge to face a new Master.

“Slave, this is Master Sam. He is interested in buying you. You will let him examine you.”

You might imagine – perhaps you can’t – my consternation. Master George was my first everything and, if I didn’t love him, I certainly was very attached to him. But my training held. I was silent as I stood, legs spread, arms folded behind me, and Master Sam fondled, caressed and groped me, finally sticking long, fat fingers into my pussy, arse and mouth.

“Seems satisfactory,” he grunted. “You’re asking ten K? I’ll offer five.”

“Ridiculous,” Master George retorted. “I’d rather keep her until I find a more discerning purchaser.”

They did, eventually, settle on a price of eight thousand. I can’t say I felt great about it, but when ordered, I dressed and followed my new Master out to his car, where he made me curl up in the boot. I’m not particularly claustrophobic, but it was cramped and, of course there was no way I could get out. At his house he actually clipped a lead to my collar and led me inside to a bare little room, having only a thin pad as a bed, a bowl of water, and a clean bowl. I was to find that the clean bowl was for my food, which I had to eat, without using my hands or utensils, like a dog.

It was very different from my experience with Master George. Master Sam exhibited no trace of affection; I was merely ‘three holes and two tits’ as the saying goes. I routinely sucked him off as he ate breakfast, and at other irregular times he would bend me over and empty his balls into my bowels – I soon learned to make sure I lubed up there every morning and topped it up during the day. He made no effort to please me, and usually I only got an orgasm when I’d disappointed him in some way so he’d cane or whip my backside. At least he never refused to let me cum – he just never facilitated it.

Very soon I found that I was expected to satisfy not only him, but his visiting friends, particularly as the ‘prize’ in games of chance. They got a kick out of a naked woman kneeling there as they played, drank and talked. That was the first time I had more than one man at a time. In fact I often ended up penetrated in all three holes at the same time, and had to curl up on my ‘bed’ with cum all over and trickling out of me. Unless one or more of the men decided that they’d enjoy washing me, which they did rather as one would wash a dog – a broom, and the shower head, with cold water.

Anyway, Master Sam got tired of me after about eight months, I think, and sold me on to Master Kei. I...

At this point Julia became quite distressed and left the room to compose her self. When she returned, she continued...

Master Kei was into Shibari and Kinbaku. I could cope with that. For some reason, though, he liked to use a cattle-prod on me once I was thoroughly tied. Once he got excited enough, he would use whichever hole was accessible, and, often, would piss on me once he’d finished. As an alternative, he also enjoyed bukkake and would bring a group of friends in to decorate me. I amused him, I suppose, for a few months before passing me on to Master Lionel.

Master Lionel...

Julia broke down again at this point. It was some time before she could continue.

Master Lionel was hardly into sex at all – he just enjoyed inflicting pain. At first it was restraint and non-marking things; electric shock, extended teasing and denial, suspension by my ankles. Gradually, he became more and more into marking me until the last week I was whipped and beaten while hanging, either by wrists or ankles. Only my face was unmarked. I don’t know what would have happened if Master Bruce hadn’t brought Master Dave to buy me.

Mind you, at the time, I thought Master Dave was another like Master Lionel, and my torture and shame would be ended along with my life, but it turned out that he was playing a part. At the time, though? I was almost looking forward to being released from my life. And seventy-five quid? Was I really worth that little? My life?

He took me – Master Bruce was driving – to a big house and into the garage, where he ordered me to dress. As usual, I just pulled on a dress without bra or panties, and got back in the car as ordered. I was surprised to be taken away from the big house to an apartment block, a very ordinary, modern development, and inside he led me to a very ordinary two-bedroom flat and showed me to a bedroom. It had an actual bed, a single, a chest-of-drawers, and a small wardrobe. I dumped my small bag on the floor, and wondered where I’d sleep as I stripped the dress over my head.

I heard him gasp, then say, “This room will be yours. Come with me and I’ll show you where I keep the sheets and a duvet. Then come to the lounge.”

Well, I’d learned how to obey, so I took sheets, a pillow and a duvet to ... my? ... room, then found him sitting in the lounge. He had a glass with some liquid – I thought Scotch – and was sipping it. I knelt in front of him, head down.

“What is your name?”

“Whatever you want to call me, Master.”

“What is the name your parents gave you?”

“Julia, Master.”

“Julia what?”

“Julia Evans, Master.”

“Look at me, Julia.”

He had a strange expression. Of course, I wasn’t used to compassion. There was disgust there, too, and other things I didn’t understand and couldn’t interpret.

“Julia, I understand that a contract is appropriate.”

“As you wish, Master.”

He released a long breath, as if he was frustrated, and I was afraid.

“Julia,” he spoke gently, “I do not wish to hurt you. I want to know what you need.”

Really? For the first time I began to hope, just a little. “Master, I need to be ordered. To serve. Sometimes I need to be spanked.”

“Very well. Here is an order. Look at me. Call me David. Look in my eyes, and tell me what you don’t like.”

“M ... David, I don’t like being whipped. I don’t like being pissed on, or used as a toilet. I don’t mind being tied up and fucked, but I don’t like being hurt with needles and cattle prods while I’m tied.”

“Very well. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“Yes, Master.”

“David.”

“David, it is hard for me to use your name. I will try.”

“Can you cook? Clean? Do laundry?”

“Yes ... David.”

“It’s getting late. I’m going to shower and go to bed. I want you to make a sandwich or something, drink as much as you want. You do not need permission to go to the toilet, we’ll discuss that sort of thing another time. You need to have a bath. There is tea-tree oil in the bathroom, and arnica gel. Use them.”

He went off and I went to the kitchen, where I made a sandwich and got a glass; I hesitated, but poured orange juice, rather than get water. It tasted wonderful, though it wasn’t fancy, expensive stuff. I had to cut the crusts of the bread because my mouth was sore. I finished the juice, but just refilled the glass with water. Even that tasted great.

He came back before I finished eating. “Will you need help with anything, Julia?”

“My arms ... my shoulders ... hurt. It’s hard to wash my hair.”

“Then I will help you with that. But have a soak in a warm bath, okay?”

I finished the sandwich and the glass of water and went to the bathroom. Hot water, ‘Simple’ bath gel. Luxury. I added tea-tree essential oil and lay there, carefully washing myself until the water was grey and he came into the room.

“Julia, that water looks disgusting. I think we’d better wash your hair in the shower.” he helped me stand. I was beginning to relax and hope I had a future. I held his hand as I stepped out onto the bath mat, where I knelt.

“M ... David, please let me call you Master, or sir.”

He sighed – I’d disappointed him again. “Very well, Julia.” He turned away and ran the shower, adjusting the temperature, then shed his robe and led me into the cubicle. His touch ... was gentle. Careful. Impersonal? Maybe. We were under the shower for an age as he shampooed my hair and tried to tease the tangles out.

He dried my back and wrapped – clumsily – my hair in a towel, then left me to finish drying off before leading me to... my... room, where he sat me down and proceeded to brush and dry my hair with a small hand dryer. He took such care. Of course it pulled sometimes, but I could tell he was trying hard to not hurt me. My hair, when he finished, was down to my shoulder-blades, dark red, wavy and glossy, as I hadn’t seen it since leaving home.

“You have beautiful hair,” he told me. I couldn’t help it, my eyes filled and I had to sniff. He mopped at my eyes with a tissue and handed me fresh one. “Have you eaten enough? Had enough to drink? Help yourself to anything in the kitchen and I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Julia.”

I sat for quite a while, wondering. I heard noises in the bathroom, the toilet flushed, doors opened and shut, then quiet music – classical – from his room. I went to the bathroom and nervously used the toilet, hoping that was allowed, There was a new toothbrush by the wash-basin and I used his toothpaste. I stood, shaking my head. Then went to my room. My room? I laid on the bed and covered myself with the duvet. I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually I gave up trying to sleep and got up, carrying the duvet, and went to his room. I could hear his breathing, slow, regular, and knew he was asleep. It was tempting, to my surprise, to slip into bed with him, but I curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, wrapped up in the duvet and was asleep almost instantly.

I woke with a jerk, bright sun shining outside lit the room even through the curtains. He was gone! I forced my panic down. He’d shown only care the previous night, so I actually went to the toilet and cleaned my teeth again – in the mirror I saw my hair back to its original auburn, but mussed – before going to find him in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, coffee in a mug by him, a half-eaten slice of toast on a plate in front of him, and knelt by his chair. “Master, you didn’t wake me. I would have made your breakfast.” He didn’t say anything and I laid my head on his thigh. His cock stirred and began to rise. “Master, please, push your chair back a little.”

He did so, which gave me enough room to take him in my mouth. I was quite experienced at orally pleasuring a man by then. After all, I’d had plenty of practice; so I used everything I knew.

In the – was it really only just over two years? – I’d been a slave I’d taken all sorts of cum in my mouth, some of it, shall I say, not very pleasant. Dave’s cum, though, was actually sweet, almost fruity. I opened my mouth to show him, and swallowed it.

But he cringed. I couldn’t help it, I sagged in disappointment. “Julia,” he gently stroked my head, “That was wonderful. Unreal. But ... I... hate what has been done to you. When I see your body all marked up, I want to scream. I want to kill someone, whoever did that to you. But I had to be polite...”

“It was my choice, Master. I put myself in that position.”

“But...” he sighed again, “Julia, I want you to go to the GU clinic. I must go to work today, but I will be home about six o’clock. I will give you a key.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You said you can cook. I will give you money to buy food for this evening.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“What about birth control?”

“I have a quarterly depo injection.”

“Good. Good.” He looked at his watch. “I need to be going. Eat breakfast. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Master.”

I had my orders. The GU clinic was an indignity, of course, but I was used to indignities. Back at the flat bearing fresh vegetables, I stripped off as soon as I entered and looked in the pantry and fridge, then the freezer, thinking about what I could cook for my Master when he arrived home. I decided there was everything I needed to make coq au vin and got a pack of chicken thighs out of the freezer to thaw while I vacuumed the flat, washed my clothes together with the contents of his dirty linen basket, cleaned the scummy bath, then cleaned the windows as the machine was running.

I was almost ready when I heard the front door open and went to meet him. On my knees, head down, I said, “Welcome home, Master. Supper will be ready shortly. You have time for a shower, if you wish.”

“I wish.”

I started rice cooking, then went to join him in the shower. I took the gel from him. Something my first Master taught me was to use all of my body as I washed him, and I found myself enjoying the contact and lubricating. But we didn’t have much time before the rice was ready, so I had to get out, dry him as he dried me.

I’d set one place at the table; he frowned as he looked at me, but sat, and I served up a generous portion – enough, I hoped, for both of us. I knelt next to his chair.

“Master, if you wish I will eat mine out of a bowl on the floor.”

“I had rather you sat at the table with me.”

“This is my place, sir.”

I held my breath as he took a mouthful and loaded his fork again. Then – oh, joy! He held out the fork to me. I opened my mouth, and he fed me. I wanted to leap up and shout but with hard-earned discipline remained kneeling as he ate a mouthful and offered me another. He was using his own fork, not the second one I’d put out for him!

“Julia, that was delicious! I have marking to do...”

“Yes, Master. Of course. I will clear up and come to you shortly.”

When I’d finished and the kitchen was clean and tidy again, I went and knelt by him as he worked. That might not have been the best thing I could do – for him, anyway. He kept glancing down at me. I can’t say I’d ever really felt beautiful, or even pretty, but somehow in his glances I could tell he was appreciating me. The worst of the marks were fading, though the bruises would be there for a while.

“Julia...” He was sitting back and regarding me intently.

“Master?”

“Education?”

“BA History – a 2-1*. My father made me promise before I began to explore ... my feelings.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“How’s your maths?”

“‘A’ level. Grade C.”

“I see. Tonight, are you going to sleep at the foot of my bed again?”

“It is my place, Master. Unless you order me. But I beg you not to.”

At the weekend, he made me dress and we walked out together. He insisted I buy – or let him buy for me – several pairs of trousers and warm, high-necked tops and sweaters.