“Raindrops on roses,
And whiskers on kittens,
Bright copper kettles, and warm woolen mittens.
Brown paper packages, wrapped up with string.
These are a few of my favorite things.”

-A few of my favorite things (Rodgers and Hammerstein)

Julie Andrews was so cute as Maria, but if I sang the song, I would sing some very different lyrics. Leather, soft supple polished leather, would be prominently featured. Made into cuffs, blindfolds and pumps ... And I need something much stronger than string to bind be as I am toyed with and fucked. Needles, nice sharp ones, they are fun too, and they have so many uses.

I am Four, it is my legal first name now. It’s on my Missouri Commercial Drivers Licence along with a last name that I use only for the requirements of my job. In conversation with those who know me I am simply “Four,” in our frequent playtime I am “Slave Four,” or more formally “Slave Girl Four - Property of Master Joe.”

In my mind, in both of my hearts, the muscle in my chest and the heart of indelible ink in my dermis atop that muscle, I am truly the owned property of Master Joe. There are other names and symbols, those of my family, inked in my pale Celtic dermis as well.

Five is my best friend and fellow slave girl, her number is one of those engraved forever in my dermis. So are the numbers of Two, Three, Six and Seven. Of One and Eight ... Master Dan owns Two and Three, Master Ben owns Five and Seven. Five and I recruited Six for my master, Joe. One and Eight belong to our boss Master Jake. These dozen people are my whole world.

In high school Mr. Humprey taught that a story has a beginning and a middle and an end. I will start near the beginning, when I came to live here as Master Joe’s first slave girl. It is a beautiful place; four acres on a dead end street backing to a wildlife preserve in a valley south of the community college. We have four large bedrooms, a nice communal room with a big kitchen on the main floor, and a well equipped dungeon downstairs.

We have mature trees that shield our home from neighbors, high privacy fences, and a nice big outdoor swimming pool that’s normally usable five months a year here in Kirkwood, a western suburb of Saint Louis. We also have several large wooden posts sunk into the ground around that pool and its deck, and lots of tiki torches to keep the mosquitoes from distracting the helpless slave girls who are often bound to those posts.

We have a large detached garage and a gravel parking area for the big over the road trucks, called tractors, that we operate. It’s 31 hours to ‘Frisco or Seattle, 27 to El-Lay from here. We run three teams of three, a master and two slave girls out west each week. Saturday and Sunday everyone is here in Saint Louis. Wednesday nine of us are on the coast and then we come back. It’s actually a fun way to live.

When I came to live here at ‘home,’ I already belonged to Joe in my heart. Five, she had a different name back then, was my best friend at Horton Watkins High School where we majored in Vodka and minored in Bourbon. We had fun, rarely studied and were always ‘socially promoted,’ it was easier for them than talking to our affluent parents. We found Merrimac Community College to be a just a tad difficult, likely because we had stopped paying attention to our teachers in eighth grade or thereabouts.

We met brothers Joe and Ben at the college. Ben took a liking to Five and made her his. She and I had been ‘gay together’ in high school so it was so cool finding two confident put-together dudes who were brothers and were into intense sex games, even if they did make us stop drinking. We were taking business classes, at Merrimac, we would certainly not make it as doctors. But my dad made a ton of money doing something called Commercial Paper for a bank or an investment company or someplace. He is totally clueless, so how hard could business be.

Joe and Ben’s older brother Dan had already graduated and was working for Jake, their dad. They were owner-operators who ran two trucks to Texas and the Great Lakes with five drivers. With four trucks and nine drivers they could bid on and win longer, more profitable runs. We got ourselves CDLs and joined them. Now we run three trucks to the west coast each week.

One has been Jake’s slave girl for thirty years. Dan, Joe and Ben are her sons, and she has been like a second mother to me. Well actually more like a nice mother who doesn’t constantly ask me a lot of pseudo-questions which are all just thinly veiled insults. My real mom’s claim to fame was marrying well and “talking” occasional cops out of giving her DUIs. A little Gin and Tonic gargle afterward, and she was just as good as new.

One has taught me and my sister slave girls how to be good sexual servants to her sons. Our relationship, Joe’s and mine, is a “forever-till-death-do-you-part” deal. I have placed my life and my soul in Joe’s good keeping. In return he takes good care of me. He made me quit drinking, get some exercise and sleep and eat right, but I love him in spite of all that. He makes certain that I am healthy and always sexually satisfied. I obey him without question in return. He makes certain that my bloodstream is constantly awash in endorphins and endocannabinoids.

When Joe asked me to be his slave girl, to wear his ring, I wanted to just say “yes” immediately. But Joe said that I had to understand exactly what his offer meant. It would not be a ring around my finger; it would be a ring through my flesh. Through the bottom of my clitoral hood just under the shaft. A small ring or barbell that would restrict her expansion decreasing her stimulation, alternating with a big one would allow full erection and add pleasurable sensation as she grew.

So Joe took me to meet his parents, Jake and One. They had just purchased the house I now call ‘home’ and were not even unpacked yet. Joe parked in front of the garage and Jake met us at the front screened porch. He looked so poised and polished. Confident, he had a very attractive demeanor. He was wearing a luxurious white terrycloth robe.

We went inside and Joe introduced me to One, his mother. She was physically perfect with a platinum blonde pageboy hairdo, and she was also wearing a decadent robe like Jake. Joe had told me that his mother was sexually submissive to his father, and that was what he wanted in a relationship. I understood, it excited me, but hearing it and seeing it were two completely different things.

The first thing One told me after the perfunctory niceties and small talk, was that she accepted all of the terms of her ‘enslavement to Jake’ willingly and without reservation. She had been a free woman. Free to choose, but that having made her choice ... Her commitment to Jake ‘for life,’ she was not at liberty to change it, nor was he. It worked both ways, and benefitted them both.

Jake had promised to love her, treasure her, support her financially and emotionally and to make certain that she was healthy and sexually fulfilled, forever. She had in turn promised to obey him without question, forever. She handed each of us matching terry cloth robes as Jake began to speak. He said that he would answer any questions I had; if I would prefer to speak with One, she had his permission to answer any questions as well tonight.

That if I accepted Joe’s offer to be his slave ... We, Joe and I, would be bound together forever, that he and One would also look after me, but that none of the terms were negotiable. I could ask Joe for exceptions or accommodations, and that Joe was mostly free to do as he saw fit in that regard. Then they pointed at the hall bath and said we should change into the robes.

I took hold of Joe’s hand, silently asking him to accompany me. He did and as he closed the door behind us I gave him a big hug. A hug that evolved into him sensually tracing his hands along my back. Then lovingly fondling my buttocks before reaching the hem of my dress.

Then he reached down a little more, bunching the hem of my dress and pulling it slowly and smoothly over my head. At his request I had quit wearing panties long ago. He reached down to sample my abundant wetness, bringing his fingers up to taste me. Offering me a taste, before carefully removing my bra. He put the soft robe on my tingling body.

Then I unbuttoned his shirt. He did not have to ask me to undress him. I was an intoxicated and disinterested student, not a dumb one. I knew how to serve my master, at least a little, and I could learn more. I carefully removed Joe’s shirt and kissed his chest hairs and his nipples. Then I knelt before him, and unzipped his slacks. I released his beautiful penis from his BVDs, and I started to lovingly suckle it. Playing with the sensitive shaft of his male organ in my hand, and in my mouth.