Kiya
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 12
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 12 - Before she died of cancer, Stephanie Barrett did one last thing for her husband Nathan—she found him a slave. She spent her final months training her young cousin Kiya to love him the way she had loved him, completely and without reservation. Kiya spent a year watching Nathan from a distance before walking into his life with a sealed letter and a truth she had been carrying for two years. "I am the slave she made for you”
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Slavery BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Spanking Anal Sex Analingus Exhibitionism First Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Water Sports Big Breasts AI Generated
Wednesday.
Kiya finished her shift at the bookstore at four. She drove home. Her mother was not in the kitchen when she got there—Wednesdays Mara worked the late afternoon at the accountancy firm and did not come home until six. Her father was at his office and would not be home until seven. Kiya had the house to herself for two hours.
She did not start in her room. She started by making herself a sandwich and eating it standing at the counter, because she had not eaten lunch and she had remembered, walking to her car after her shift, that Stephanie had said he will feed you well, he has rules about food and that she was beginning to be the kind of woman who fed herself on purpose. She made the sandwich slowly. She ate it slowly. She drank a glass of water. She washed the plate. Then she went upstairs.
She locked her bedroom door. She turned the desk lamp on rather than the overhead light, because the desk lamp made the room feel smaller and the smaller room felt right. She sat at her desk for the first time in months—she had been doing all her notebook writing on the bed—and she took the black envelope out of the nightstand and she set it on the desk and she opened it.
She took out the instruction sheet first. She had read it twice last night. She read it a third time now, slowly. Then she set it aside.
She took out the pages.
The first item on the first page read:
1. I will, on his instruction, ask permission to speak when in his presence.
Kiya looked at it. Her body had a response before her mind did. Something low in her belly went tight in a way that surprised her—not unfamiliar, she had felt versions of this before in private, but more specific this time, more located. The sentence on the page had put a small weight inside her that her body recognized.
She picked up her pen. She marked yes.
2. I will, on his instruction, ask permission to touch myself in his presence or in private.
Yes.
3. I will, on his instruction, ask permission before achieving orgasm.
She paused. Not because she was unsure of the answer. Because she wanted to think about what she was agreeing to.
He will decide when I cum. He will decide whether I cum. There will be times when he tells me I may not, and I will not. There will be times when he tells me I must, and I will. The asking will be part of every encounter. I will not get to be the one who decides anymore.
Her body went tighter. She put her hand flat on the desk for a moment and felt the wood under her palm. She was not embarrassed by the response. She had been told by Stephanie that the response was information, and she was registering the information. The response was: yes. Her body had been waiting for someone to give her this rule.
She marked yes.
4. I will count aloud when he requires it—strokes, kisses, breaths, seconds.
Yes.
5. I will, when required, describe in my own words what I want before being given it.
Yes.
6. I will, when required, thank him for any pleasure he gives me.
Yes.
7. I will, when required, thank him after correction.
Her pen stopped. She read the item again. She thought about it. The correction language was familiar to her now from the first list. She had agreed to receive it. The thanking after was something different—a small additional protocol on top of the receiving. Thank you, Master, for correcting me. She tried saying it in her head. She felt her face warm.
She marked yes.
8. I will address him as Master or Sir in private, according to his preference at the time.
Yes.
9. I will refer to myself in specific ways when speaking to him—as his slave, as his girl, or in the third person—according to his direction in the moment.
Yes.
10. I will, when required, repeat phrases he gives me until they meet his standard.
She thought about this one. Say it again. Say it the way I want to hear it. Until she got it right. She could imagine the patience and the impatience of it. She could imagine the small humiliation of having to say please, Master, please use me three times before he was satisfied with how she had said it.
The tightness in her belly was still there. She marked yes.
She turned the page.
The header at the bottom of the first page she had just finished read, in Stephanie’s handwriting: Verbal Protocols. Kiya almost laughed. I am drawn to having to ask permission to speak, she thought. I have just confirmed it in writing.
She looked at the first item on the second page.
11. I will accept being called slut by him in private.
Kiya’s body did not have the same response this time. The response was more complicated. She read the item again. She thought about Stephanie reading the first list to her on Thursday—the difference is who I am to him in the moment. If he is using me I want him to be able to call me what I am. She had answered that question already.
She marked yes.
12. I will accept being called whore in private.
Yes.
13. I will accept being called slut or whore in front of others in the lifestyle.
Her pen paused. This was the item from the first list she had marked private only. She had said so. Stephanie had agreed.
She marked no.
14. I will, when required, call myself slut, whore, or similar at his direction.
She had not been asked this before. Saying it about myself. Out loud. Because he told me to. She closed her eyes for a moment.
The body response was real. It was not the same as the body response to the asking-permission items. It was hotter and more confused. She thought, if he told me to say it I would say it, and I would mean it because I would be saying it because he was the one asking, and the meaning would not be about the word, the meaning would be about my obedience to the asking. So I would say it, and I would feel something I do not have a name for, and it would be all right because it would be him asking.
She marked yes.
She added the asterisk.
15. I will be lectured at his feet about my conduct when he deems it appropriate.
She read this twice.
She tried to imagine it. Kneeling at his feet. Looking up at him or looking down at the floor, she did not know which. Him telling her, in detail, what she had done wrong. Not yelling. Not angry. Just speaking. You did this and this is why it was wrong and this is what I expected of you instead. For however long he wanted to speak. She would be expected to listen. She would be expected to absorb. She would not interrupt.
A small piece of her flinched. Not at the kneeling. Not at the lecture. At the being made to listen at length to her own failure. She had always been a person who, when corrected, wanted the correction to be quick and clean. A lecture stretched the failure across time. It made the failure something she had to live inside.
She thought about it. She put the pen down. She got up and walked to the window and looked out at the yard for a minute. She came back.
The flinch was the shame of being asked. Not the shame of wanting. She did not want to be lectured at his feet. She also did not want to refuse it, because she could see that being lectured at his feet was something he might need to do, sometimes, in ways that were less about her than about him—a man who had decided to keep a slave needed places to put his disappointment when she failed, and a lecture was a less violent place than some of the alternatives.
She marked yes.
She drew a small circle next to it.
She kept going.
She worked through the verbal section. She worked through a section called Body Display in which she had to think about being naked in his presence at home (yes), being naked in his presence in front of his close friends in the lifestyle (no), being made to display her body for him on command (yes), being inspected by him before he used her (yes), being inspected by him in front of another dominant who only watched (maybe, asterisk), being inspected and touched by another dominant at his direction (no).
The line she had drawn on the first list—being his, not being available—held on this section. She drew the same shape with smaller items. He could have anyone watch. He could not lend her to anyone’s hands. The line was clear in her body and her pen moved without hesitation on those items.
She worked through a section called Public-Facing. Going without underwear under a short skirt in public (yes). Going without a bra under a thin top in public (yes, asterisk—weather and occasion dependent). Wearing a collar in public, vanilla settings (maybe, asterisk). Wearing a collar in public, lifestyle settings (yes). Being on a leash in lifestyle settings (yes). Being on a leash in vanilla settings (no). Being introduced as his slave in lifestyle settings (yes). Being introduced as his slave in vanilla settings (no).
She thought about the vanilla collar item for a long time. She could imagine wearing something he had given her that was a collar to him and a piece of jewelry to everyone else. A chain or a thin band, something that did not read as a collar to the outside world but was one to the two of them. She would wear that. Eagerly. She also could not imagine wearing an obvious collar to a vanilla restaurant. The space between those two was where the maybe lived. She wrote secret collar yes, obvious collar no in the second column.
She kept going.
She got to a section the heading at the bottom called Service in Front of Others.
Serving him drinks in front of friends who did not know (yes). Serving him drinks in front of friends who did know (yes). Kneeling beside his chair when guests were present, in the lifestyle (yes). Kneeling beside his chair when guests who did not know were present (no). Eating from his hand in front of others (yes). Eating from a bowl on the floor at his feet in front of others (yes, asterisk—lifestyle settings only).
She read that last one and her body went hot in a way that surprised her. She had read about the bowl thing in one of the essays she had found at three in the morning months ago, and she had thought, I do not know if I am that kind of slave. Reading the item on the page now, with the pen in her hand, she found that her body knew the answer her mind had not. The bowl on the floor at his feet, in front of his close friends in the lifestyle, was something she wanted. The wanting was specific. The wanting was about being seen in that posture by people who would understand what it meant. The wanting was about him having her there, kneeling, eating from a bowl, in front of people he had chosen to invite into the room.
She marked yes.
She drew a circle next to it.
She put the pen down. She wiped her eyes, which had filled up without her noticing. She had not cried. She had only watered. She picked up the pen and kept going.
She got to a section that was harder.
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