The day I met my future husband was the day he took my virginity and made me his slave.
I can still remember even the tiniest details about that day, even though it was over 30 years ago. I was early spring, just before what was then known as "Easter Vacation." I could describe the weather, the exact hue of blue in the sky, the sounds, even the smells in the air. But you wouldn't be interested in that.
I was a sophomore in high school, not a particularly outstanding student, nor a popular one At 4'8"" tall and just 90 pounds, I had scrawny, thin arms and legs. My hair was either a dark blonde or light brunette, depending on the lighting, and was always cut shoulder length and straight. My parents dictated my appearance, just like they did my clothing Always "sensible" shoes (some would just call them clunky), a shirt, blouse, and knee socks. In warmer weather, the skirt would be replaced with a jumper, but always the same shoes, knee socks and blouse. My bra and panties? Nothing but plain white cotton; even something as innocent as undies with the days of the week embroidered on them were considered too risqué'.
My parents wouldn't allow me to wear makeup of any kind, saying I was still too young. It didn't matter that the few friends I had wore it, or that every girl in school did ... even those several years younger. They'd just look at me and give the old, "If your friends jumped off a cliff" speech.
A "good girl." That's what I was, though you'd never know it now. I always did exactly as my parents asked. I did my chores, kept my room tidy, helped Mom with the housework, and paid studious attention in class. I don't think I even missed turning in a homework assignment, though I admit I wasn't really very good, at least in academics. My forte was in Home Economics classes ... cooking, sewing, and the like. In retrospect, I can see that my upbringing and educational interests were merely preparation for what my life would eventually become.
Puberty arrived over summer vacation. Although I'd been menstruating since the seventh grade, nothing else really changed until the end of my freshman year of high school. On the last day of school, I was still wearing a training bra. By the time school started again in September, I was wearing a D cup. This lead to a lot of rumor — the hateful, spiteful kind — about whether I stuffed my bra, had implants, or was taking some sort of hormones. If only those were true. My new breasts bothered me immensely, getting in the way all the time and causing my back to ache from the extra weight. I also noticed that my hips were getting wider, and my ass larger. I didn't like what was happening to my body, but the worst was the hair that began to sprout everywhere. I hated it, and it grew so fast that I had to shave my legs and pits just about every day to avoid that itchy, uncomfortable feeling. There was a forest between my legs, but I never even thought about doing anything with it. Like I said, I was a "good girl," never even touching myself except accidentally.
In short, I was the stereotypical Plain Jane, the only attributes immediately noticeable were mammaries overly large for my age. They were extremely sensitive, too, but I knew that giving myself pleasure like that was something no "good girl" would ever do. Just like that patch of hair between my legs; I knew things were changing "down there," but except for the washing necessary in the tub, I never even considered touching myself. I was so virginal that I'd never even had an orgasm.
I guess that's why I was so surprised — shocked would probably be a better description — when HE noticed me. HE was Robert Tanner, student body president, four sport jock, and although I didn't know it yet, my future Master. I was standing next to my open locker when he walked up behind me. I didn't even realize he'd approached until he grabbed my hair and spun me around, his hand forcing my head back so my eyes were fixed on his.
"This afternoon, behind the locker room. If I'm not there by five, wait for me."
Those were the first words he spoke to me, and I realized later, the first command to his slave. He released my hair, and my head automatically fell forward, my eyes looking down at the ground in front of me. He didn't even wait for a response, and I didn't think about disobeying. Even if I'd had other plans, HE had just given me an order and knew I would obey it.
School got out at 3:30, and even though I knew I'd have at least a 90 minute wait, I didn't want to be late. I took my books with me and sat down against the cinderblock wall of the gym, using the time productively by working on my homework. My only worry was that my parents expected me home immediately, but the choice I made wasn't much of dilemma. I'd just tell them I stayed at school to work on my homework and meet with a friend. It wouldn't really be a lie, would it?
Robert — Master — was on the track team. He played football, basketball and tennis, too, but track was the seasonal sport at the moment. He competed in several events, but the pentathlon was his specialty. The team usually practiced until six or seven, but because the state tournament was in three days, they were taking it somewhat easy and concentrating on form. That's why he told me to be waiting for him at five.
It turned out he was late, but I didn't mind. I saw the team depart the field, and was standing there waiting for him when he walked out of the locker room door, dressed in his practice uniform. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him, but when he pulled his jersey off and tossed it at my face, my body went limp as the scent of the damp, sweaty shirt filled my nostrils. His torso was sculpted like an Adonis; he was the stuff of the romance novels I secretly read in my darkened bedroom, hiding them under my mattress so my parents wouldn't find them. I started to stand as he approached, but he put his hands on my shoulders and forced me back to the ground.
"You look good on your knees. Stay there until I tell you otherwise."
I just looked up at him, all doe-eyed.
"Someone said you stuff your bra, but I told him you were too much of a prude. I think if those tits weren't real, you'd be trying to show them off rather than hide them, so I bet him ten bucks he was wrong. So, are those your real tits or what?" The way he looked at me, I knew I had to answer truthfully. He'd know if I lied, and besides, I was a good girl and good girls didn't stuff their bras.
"Ye, Sir," I mumbled. I could see the satisfied grin on his face as I felt blood rush to my face.
"Prove it," he commanded.
""Huh?" I replied, startled and not believing what I just heard.
"I said prove it, slut. Show me your tits."
My hands trembled as they worked at the buttons of my blouse, my entire body flushed with ... well, I'm not sure what. Fear? Anticipation? I'm just not sure what it was. Eventually, though, my top was completely unbuttoned, and I opened the front of the blouse to expose my bra-covered breasts. I looked up at him expectantly.
"I said show me your tits, dipshit, not your fucking bra. Take all that crap off," he said. I hesitated only a moment, taking a deep breath and gathering my composure first, before quickly shedding the blouse and then unclipping the bra straps, letting them fall down my arms, exposing my chest to a boy — a man — for the first time ever.
"Not bad. Looks like I win ten bucks," he chuckled. "Should have brought my camera, but I guess if he doesn't believe me, you'll just have to show him. You'll do that, right?" he half asked, half commanded.
"Yes, Sir," I replied, mortified that I was probably going to have to display myself just like this for someone else. Well, at least there weren't any photos ... yet.
"So let's see the rest of it," he ordered.
"Sir?" I asked, not wanting to believe he was asking what I thought he was.
"Get the rest of the crap off, bitch. It's time I decide whether or not you're worth my time, and before I do that, I want you naked."
I nearly peed my panties right there. From the expression on his face, I knew it was either take off my remaining clothes or have them forcibly removed. At least if I took them off myself, they'd probably still be in condition to be worn home.
"I knew you were a hot little bitch," he said laughingly when he saw the damp spot on my panties. I was mortified when he took them from my hand and held them to his face, inhaling the scent. How gross! Of course, I had no idea how many formerly gross things I'd be doing in the next few days. I could only watch as he took the rest of my clothes and tossed them into the dirt several feet away.
"Hands and knees," was his next command. "Legs spread and ass in the air. A slut's first time should be like a bitch."
Oh, God, I thought ... he's really going to fuck me! Again, though, my body obeyed almost without thought as I turned away from him, spreading my legs and raising my ass for him. I'd read all the romance novels and had dreams of a husband gently taking my virginity on our wedding bed, me dressed in white lace, but at that moment, I knew the fallacy of this fairy tale. Instead, I was on my hands and knees in the dirt behind a high school gym, about to be raped like the bitch I really was. I could feel the wetness dripping from my cunt, the swollen lips feeling like they were flapping in the wind. Even Robert noticed, commenting that he'd never seen a bitch so ready to lose her cherry.
.... There is more of this story ...