Several times I made it partway through the digits before hanging up. When I finally had the courage to press the last button, I found myself praying for her answering machine. After five rings, I began to relax. Then her voice answered the phone. "Hello?"
"Uh, hi, Cristina, this is Jennifer."
"Who?"
"You know, Jennifer."
"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry. What do you want?"
"Well, about going to that club tonight, ..."
"What club?"
"You know, the one with that event tonight." Silence. "The Bondage Ball."
"Oh, yeah. What about it?"
"Well, yesterday, you said that maybe we would go. And ... well, I think I would be interested in seeing what it's like."
Silence. "You want to go as my slave?"
Now it was my turn to be silent. "Yes," I whispered. Although I was only agreeing to accompany her in the role of a submissive to a club, I knew that inside I was admitting something much deeper and more significant.
"You'll be my slave tonight?"
"Yes." Silence. "I'll be your slave." There. I had said it. It was out in the world, and someone had heard it. I was not what people thought me to be - a smart, well-educated, independent, free woman. Instead, I was something else - a naked slave girl asking for the collar of a master. I felt the now-familiar surge of arousal as I contemplated the idea. There was silence on the other end. Perhaps Cristina was wondering if I would make an acceptable slave - wondering how I would look chained nude at her feet, or how skillful I could be with my mouth and hands, or what my resale value could be, appropriately displayed to assembled masters.
"Well, OK," she said. "Come over to my apartment around nine tonight."
"Thank you," I said, before realizing it was completely inappropriate.
Or maybe it was appropriate that a slave should thank her mistress. "What should I wear?" I had visions of bikinis, miniskirts, sheath dresses, ...
"Oh, don't worry about that," Cristina answered. "I'll find you something appropriate."
"OK. Well, see you tonight."
"See you," she said. "Get plenty of rest." And then she hung up.
I resisted the urge to tear off my clothes and submit myself once again to the use of my imaginary masters, this time resolving to deny myself until tonight. A slave's body, after all, is not her own; it is up to the masters when, or even if at all, she may enjoy its use. Or at least that's how I imagined it must be.
I spent the day wandering around Schoneberg, looking into bookstores and sneaking glances at the "art" photography books showing pictures of bound, naked women. I wondered which of the models I would most resemble tonight when I was myself exhibited to an audience of people I had never met. I returned to my apartment, stripped myself naked, buckled a belt around my neck to take the place of a collar, and posed before my full-length mirror, wondering what that audience would see in me. Would they see just an American college girl playing a role, soon to return to college and law school and a future in mergers and acquisitions? Or would they see something else - a true slave girl, desperate to please, seeking a master to put her in her place, to take away her freedom and impose his will on her, to claim her naked beauty for his own ruthless use? I regarded my body in the mirror. Perhaps men would find me of interest, even if I was not tall, thin, and blonde; I knelt before the mirror, knees spread widely, shoulder pulled back to project my breasts forward, lips half open in anticipation ... Yes, I thought a man could find that wanton slut of interest - perhaps the firmness of her full breasts, or the warmth of her mouth, or the curves of her hips and thighs, or the softness of her belly. Or a woman might find her of interest, might find her worthy of a collar and a chain and long nights rendering intimate service with her lips and tongue. I had never been particularly attracted to women, but I knew that it was a master I sought, and whether that master were a man or woman was less important than that he or she would use me as what I was, a plaything to be used and abused, to be enjoyed and cast aside and forgotten. I was almost unbearably aroused looking at myself in the mirror and imagining the indignities and humiliations I might be suffering in only a few hours.
I wondered what Cristina would make me wear tonight - perhaps a latex bondage suit, perhaps a simple string bikini, perhaps nothing but a collar and chains. I hoped she would let me wear something - I had never been naked in public and, despite my attraction to it, was simultaneously terrified at the thought. I wondered if I should dress up somehow to go to her apartment. Did she expect a brazen, begging slut, or a shy, vulnerable slave girl? Or just an ordinary American college student, whom she would transform to suit her tastes?
I decided that, since she had not asked me to dress the part of a slave, to do so would only draw attention to my inner yearnings that I was still not prepared to admit to anyone. So as the dusk began to fall, I pulled on my customary uniform - jeans, sandals, and a snug but generally modest halter top. It was too warm for a sweater or jacket.
My heart pounding in my chest, I took a taxi to Cristina's apartment, wondering if the driver could sense my unease, could strip me naked with his eyes and see me for the slave I would soon be. I was so distracted I almost forgot to collect my change until he shouted after me as I was walking away. I opened the outer door of Cristina's building, tried to take a deep breath, failed, and pushed the button for her apartment. The door buzzed, I pushed it, and I was inside.
Cristina opened the door and gave me a searching once-over from head to toe. I was desperately afraid to catch a glint of disappointment in her eye. Should I have worn something more revealing, more feminine? "I figured you would dress me the way you wanted ..." I stammered.
"Of course, my dear," Cristina said. "But first, we have to make sure you want to go through with this."
"Yes, I do."
"For this evening, you agree to be my willing, obedient slave, to obey me unquestioningly in all things, to serve me and anyone I designate in any way I choose at an instant's command?"
I swallowed. I thought for an instant about what might be commanded of me. I was no virgin, but at the same time I was hardly experienced, and could only imagine what a ruthless master might demand of my body. I saw myself being taken simultaneously by two or even three men ... "Yes. I agree," I whispered.
Cristina smiled. "Of course, if at any time you wish to back out of this agreement, you may. I will simply pack you into a taxi and send you back home. But otherwise, you are mine."
"I'm yours." I tried to smile to show bravery, but only managed to blush and lower my eyes.
"All right, let's get started. First, you will only speak when spoken to. You will address any person you see, including me, as master or mistress - even other slaves. Is that clear?"
"Yes ... yes, mistress," I said.
"Good." She reached behind her, picked up a scrap of cloth, and threw it at me. "Now take off all your clothes and put that on." I paused. "You can use the bathroom to change."
Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I took the garment into the bathroom and closed the door. What was I getting myself into? I looked at the clothing she had given me. It was a simple, white negligee, slightly translucent, hardly there at all. In it I would be next to naked before hundreds of strangers. Well, there was no turning back now. I took off all my clothes, pulled it over my head, and looked in the mirror. It hung from two thin straps on my shoulders, covered only the bottom half of my breasts, and came only a fraction of the way down my thighs. The tips of my breasts pressed against and showed clearly through the thin white fabric. A deep cut exposed my back all the way to my waist. If I bent over, my most intimate regions would come clearly into view of anyone standing behind me. Nothing I had imagined - not even complete nudity - could be as humiliating as this scanty garment. It was simply begging to be torn away, inviting men to strip me naked and have me as the slave I was. I thought momentarily of backing out of the bargain. But I was too close to realizing a fantasy that was too dear to me to turn aside now. Besides, a real slave would have no such choice. She would simply have to wear whatever her masters deigned to throw her or, failing that, nothing.