Chapter 1

“Hi, this is awkward. I hate meeting like this for the first time. Are you um, Kim?” he asked as he knocked on my door. Randy was a moderately handsome white guy with squinty eyes and a constant expression on his face. I had sent him my photos on my personal ad. They were recent. He had to know I was the woman in the ad.

“Yes, I am Kim, don’t I look like my profile picture?” I half-smiled at him. I hated meeting men this way. Randy was to be my seventh Master in almost as many months. I hated small talk and the awkwardness of getting to know a new Master. I just had the same conversation with a different potential Master a few weeks earlier.

“Well, let’s see, blonde, tall, nice knockers,” Randy had a fun sense of humor. “I’d still have to see you naked to be sure. Most of the photos I saw were you naked.”

Some of my past Masters used humor as a defense mechanism during awkward situations. As an example, tie me up to a shower curtain rod and then say something corny in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, “Hang Around.” I was always on the look out when I meet a potential new Master for signs he wasn’t going to work out for me. The jury was still out on Randy. I invited him inside my home and promised I would let him inspect me after we talk a few minutes.

He told me he wasn’t seriously expecting me to get naked at the front door. I knew he was joking but it wouldn’t have been the first time I answered the door in the nude. I’ve been on quite a journey the past seven months.

I live in a four-bedroom house in a lovely little suburb. It wouldn’t be the first time my neighbors saw me strutting around naked in the backyard.

I introduced him to my kids in the living room. They knew I was expecting a visitor today, and they were expected to behave themselves. They would have to meet him eventually.

My two daughters were on their phones checking TikTok or something. “This is Myra, she is my eldest,” I said. My eldest is still in high school, but due to her big boobs, she looks quite a bit more mature. She has braces just like her younger sister Athena and when she smiles most men realize she is still just a girl.

“This is Athena,” I introduced my middle child. She is tall, lanky, and hasn’t quite developed yet like her sister. Big boobs run in the family though, and I expected her to hit a growth spurt soon. She scrunched her little upturned nose and ignored Randy.

“And this is Freddy,” I introduced my youngest. My baby boy Freddy was playing video games like he often does. He is a sweetheart but a little shy, and I didn’t expect him to say much to Randy. Freddy was nice enough to offer Randy a drink. He is naturally helpful and polite just like his father. Randy declined the offer and seemed a little put-off by my kids being home.

“I mentioned I had kids in my profile,” I told him bluntly. I am very thorough in my communication with a potential Master. I always read their messages and ask them specific questions that tell me that they read my profile thoroughly as well. I would be disappointed if Randy had an issue with my having children, but he wouldn’t be the first one. I’d rather know that up front. I had several other potential Masters I could be interviewing today. Randy was simply the most qualified of all of them.

He claimed to have had several years in D/s relationships with pictures to prove it. He was well spoken in emails. He seemed to appreciate my unique situations and wanted to accommodate my needs for discipline and structure.

“No, no problem. I just didn’t think they would be here when we started,” Randy looked awkward.

“They live here. We are talking about you moving in permanently. They are going to be home when you are here. Will this be a problem?” I was straight to the point and all business. My mother had raised me to be that way. I suppose that was part of why I needed structure and discipline now, but I’ll get into that later.

“Not a problem,” Randy clearly didn’t want to discuss the arrangement in front of my kids. I could respect that. I invited him into my bedroom where he would have a little more privacy. My kids “ooohed” and “awwwed” as I led him into the bedroom. I didn’t blush or show any signs that their little joke bothered me. I’ve been through this process with new Masters several times and it is always an adjustment.

My bedroom was immaculate. The bed was made, and it smelled of strawberry and potpourri. A cage dominated the center of the bedroom. It was designed for a large dog. Inside was a stainless steel dog bowl and two of my freshly used dildos. “This is obviously my cage. I sleep here some times when I am feeling the need,” I explained that sometimes even when I do not have a Master I enforce rules on myself.

“Why do you even need a Master if you can do that?” Randy asked a fair question as he sat on the bed next to me. I could tell he was thinking about putting his hands on me to massage me. I hoped he wouldn’t – not yet anyway. I wanted to talk right now. We’d have plenty of time to fuck later.

“I can’t – not really. I was pretty clear in my profile when I sent you my history. I used to be the primary authority figure in the house. I made sure everything ran smoothly. I didn’t care about justice with my kids – just order. I think everything started to change for me a year ago. It’s kind of a long story. Do you really want me to explain it all?”

“I remember,” Randy said. He quickly summarized how about a year ago things changed between me and my husband. We had always had a vanilla relationship, even though I had experience in BDSM in past relationships. I cheated on my husband at a hotel while he was staying at my mother’s house one weekend. That was the catalyst to a sexual awakening and odyssey that I hadn’t quite fully understood.

“I just wanted cock – ALL the time. In my face, down my throat, in my cunt, in my ass. I couldn’t help myself. I was sneaking out of the house to go fuck strangers I met online. I was basically addicted to sex – but not just any sex. I wanted wild, untamed, rough sex with whoever or whatever could fit in my dripping wet holes,” I got excited just talking about those heady early days of my sexual discovery.

“What did your husband think about that?” he asked.

I smirked. He clearly must have skimmed my profile. I had a very extensive profile, and a follow up email with my personal history going back to when I was a teenager growing up under my mother’s strict rules. “My husband forgave me and accepted what I was doing. He acknowledged it was growing into a problem because I was missing work and I stopped trying to be the sole authority figure in the house.”

“Oh, that is right,” Randy snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering. “Your husband was your first Master but he wasn’t cut out to enforce strict discipline, right?”

“I am glad you did your homework,” I smiled at him. I couldn’t be angry that Randy hadn’t memorized the 77-page history I sent him about my life. I had to be honest about where I’ve been for someone to determine where I should be going. Writing that history had been cathartic – like a confession. I was able to see how I have always been naturally dominant. My mother had reinforced ideas about women being in charge when I was growing up. That is why it was strange to me that I came to the realization that I needed to try submission.

It may not cure everything - but I have been pushy and strong-willed all of my life. Giving up control and accepting domestic discipline would keep me in check.

“Jasper is just TOO nice and polite to be of any use as a disciplinarian. I came to the determination that I could not continue to live as I was living. I was not paying attention to my responsibilities, and I was hyper-focused on satisfying my needs. I would eventually give in to temptation when I tried to maintain the rules myself. Once I fell “off the wagon” I would end up going buck-wild. I told him about the time I woke up in Las Vegas working at a brothel with a fresh new “BBC” tattoo on my ass.

Randy smiled with understanding. I had also told him I had tried several other Masters before him. Some lasted a weekend, and some lasted almost a month. I suppose I was like Goldilocks – looking for someone not TOO hard and not TOO soft. I stood up and walked to the dresser. I had a feeling he was going to try to fuck me. I would have had sex with him – I was horny right now. I knew that if I did, though, we would never get to the part where we agree to the terms and conditions of a Master/Slave relationship. I wanted to fuck so badly.

I handed him a copy of the three-ring binder of rules that I had compiled. He said he had read it, and I asked him if he had any stipulations or changes he wanted to make to it before we finalized our agreement.

“You are ready to agree to be my slave, just like that?”

“No, not JUST like that,” I offered him a wintry smile. “I am ready to commit to a weekend trial period. A weekend is long enough to know if you and I can stand each other. If at the end of the weekend you and I are a match then I will commit to a thirty day trial period with you living here as my Master.”

“Oh yeah, I understand the phased approach,” Randy nodded. I had stipulated that if I want to quit for ANY reason during that time other than he was violating the agreement that I would put $10,000 in escrow, and it would be his free and clear as fair compensation for his time. It was a lot of money, but I pulled it out of Jasper’s 401K, and I’ve never had to pay any of my potential Masters. I’ve found reasons to quit before things went permanent obviously – it’s just no master ever expected me to actually pay them out.

I didn’t expect him to pay me if he quit. In fact, I was hoping a master walked out before the trial periods ended. I didn’t want to waste my time only to find out a year later he had a change of heart. I put the money in escrow to prove that I was genuinely seeking a master to keep me in line.

He also understood why he had to move in here and not the other way around. I wasn’t going to move my kids into a stranger’s house for thirty days every time I tried a new Master. I almost did that once, and it was a huge disruption to their lives.

“Then after thirty days if we both agree to continue, I’ll accept a permanent collar. You can have access to our bank account, both cars, and make all the critical household decisions,” I said enthusiastically. If I was going to trust him around my kids, then I would trust him with my money. I was actually looking forward to no longer having to make financial decisions.

I used to be conservative with money, but since I started having these sexual cravings, I was becoming more and more extravagant paying for trips and hotels, sex toys, and generally frivolous expenses we didn’t need. I would have frequent cycles of guilt about what I was doing and buy a bunch of gifts for everyone and then go through a period of regret I wasted so much money and then relapse into gang bangs.

“So just like that, I get the house, the cars, the savings, and you sign over your freedom to me?” his question was rhetorical.

“Money isn’t important to me. I didn’t reach this decision lightly. I’ve made some terrible decisions in the past. If I am going to surrender myself and submit then it is body, soul and with everything I have. I am not asking for bedroom only submission. You will be the head of the household. The head honcho and I will be trusting you with not only decisions over my ass – but my husband, my kids, and yes our finances. If you are irresponsible with the money then you will be irresponsible with us.”

He nodded and said that was true. “I just wanted to make sure you understand that what you are asking for is a total power exchange – I make the rules, I make the decisions. It’s the only way I would consider moving in with you.”

“It is hard for a person who is used to having control to give it up. Submission is not supposed to be easy though. I have to be able to trust you with the finances. They become your responsibility. I never liked paying bills anyway. As long as they get paid, I don’t care how it gets done.”

He asked me a very important question. Master Randy asked if I was happy.

I thought about it and I told him that I wasn’t – hadn’t been for a long time. You will see why as my story unfolds. Happiness is a state of mind and what I craved was dick – that made me happy. It also made me feel guilty. I told him I was a pissy little whore and that I often wallowed in my misery.

Randy chuckled. He told me he liked that I was honest.

“If you lie to the doctor about your condition, you won’t get the right medicine,” I said. It was a good metaphor. Randy would be my Master, and I needed to lay all my cards on the table, or this wasn’t going to work. All my baggage, all my fears, all my vices – everything.

“Let’s hope we can cure you,” he smiled with confidence.

I wish he hadn’t said that. I didn’t think I could be “cured”. The best I could hope for was to be kept tamed, under control and supervision. That is what I wanted from Randy – not a promise of a cure. I’d still have these tendencies to be a slut and I’d probably still be a smart-ass. I would just be a very controlled and re-focused one.

I freely admitted I had a lot of shortcomings and not just a big ass and a love of cock. I was inherently selfish, lazy, vain and controlling. I was what some Master’s label a smart-assed masochist or a brat. I was hoping he could prevent me from running amok – not change everything about me and turn me into a sex-robot.

I used to think that I could cure myself of my addictions. I am a strong person. I could simply decide I was going to be a good wife, and I could tell my husband that we were going back to “normal” – after the last seven months watching my marriage transform and my lusts intensify – I could not go back to being the old Kim. I was no longer that woman I was a year ago with a stable job, two-car garage and three kids. I was a mouthy slut with a stable job, two-car garage and three kids, lol!

A part of me had been punishing myself through rough sex, and a part of me was seeking discipline as a bitter pill that I needed to swallow to curb my addictions.

Jasper would probably have spoiled the girls and me if he handled the money by spending it on us.

If Randy was the authority figure I needed, he would be a good steward with the household money and pay the bills. If he wasn’t then that would be revealed sooner than later when he didn’t, and I would find a new Master. We could rack up a lot of missed house payments before we’d lose the house and we owned our own cars. It was a calculated risk – but so was surrendering my body to a new Master.