The pleasure that I had felt was so intense. The last couple of weekends had made me face up to, accept being so submissive. It had been so acutely passionate. I had been such a slut. It scared me. I was certain it was wrong to do what I had done, to feel what I did. You must think I was such a whore. You wouldn't want me. How could you? You would want some demure woman who didn't want all the dirty things I wanted and did with you. I was scared of losing you, of you being bored with me. I couldn't talk about it with anyone. I was so scared.

You phoned on Tuesday afternoon. I knew I was sullen and moody. I didn't want to be but I was. You rung off telling me that you'd be in touch again. I went home angry with myself still. I phoned in sick the next day.

I sat and walked and moped around in baggy sweatshirt and long baggy shorts all day. I didn't want to eat, didn't want to do anything. I didn't feel sexy, didn't want to look it. Tears often ran down my cheek. I felt so alone. I felt frightened and uncertain.

The bell rang. I was mystified. I thought it would be someone selling something. I left it. Whoever it was kept ringing determinedly. I was ready to have a row with whoever it was. It was you!

You stood there looking so handsome in your suit and white shirt.

"Stephen! Why are you here? You've never been here before!" It just came out.

"Aren't you going to ask me in?"

I led you into the flat. I was so ashamed of the mess, of how I looked. You sat on the sofa and motioned me to sit next to you.

"Why have you been crying?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do."

I sat looking into space for a long moment then tears began to slide from my eyes and I began to talk.

"What I do seems wrong. I like it but it seems that I shouldn't. I love it as we are but I shouldn't be doing this... It goes against all I've been brought up with... Women's lib fought to take women away from being under the control of men... Everyone knows it's not right to want what I want... I shouldn't give away my freedom... I shouldn't want you to force me to do things... I seem to want sex all the time... It's disgusting... It's wicked... I shouldn't want to be so submissive with you... I'm just a slut..."

It just all spilled out. I went on and on. You sat and watched and listened. I sobbed and shouted and whispered and sobbed. Tears wet my face, my nose ran, you gave me tissues and I carried on and on.

"You should find someone else... There's something wrong with me."

"Why do you say that?" Your voice quiet, measured, controlled.

"Isn't it obvious! Nobody else does what I do! The girls in the office, the people here, living in these flats. They don't do what I do, want what I want!"

"How do you know? Do they know what you do?" Soft and calm.

"No, but you know what I mean."

"No. I think you are wrong. You don't know what they do either. You are presuming you do. As it happens there is another sexual submissive in your office."

"What! Who?" There was a smile hiding behind your eyes.

"We'll discuss who later. In some ways you are right. People don't all do what you do, want what you want, they all have their own personal needs. Yours are just part of a wide cross section, not even the extreme. Being what you call 'normal' doesn't take ordinary mortals and turn them into saints, paragons, wise women or wise men. You know your submissiveness is very erotic, very passionate, very powerful on several levels, and lots of fun. Isn't that enough? Our relationship is first and foremost a relationship. It stands or falls not on your submission or my dominance but on how well we as partners like, love, respect, trust, and support one another."

"Yes." I began to cry again. How were you so calm and logical. Why couldn't I be?

"What was female liberation all about? Was it about simple power for women or was it about the power of choice, choice to do what women wanted without having to listen to society? You can have that power if you want. You can choose to live as a submissive, or not to. You can choose. It doesn't matter what everyone else does. You don't have to be the same."

"No. I suppose not." Snuffling.

"You seem to have a misconception that the act of submission is based on weakness. Being submissive does not mean being a doormat or not having a brain, opinion and sense of humour or insight. I don't want you to change anything about who you are, how you act, what you say and think. To do that means to change what I love about you in the first place."

"Do you love me Stephen?"

"Yes. I love you. We are not discussing that are we?"

"But it matters."

"Of course it does, but this is about your acceptance of yourself."

"But how can I be certain? But how can you want me when I'm like this? How can I be certain you'll never leave me?"

"How can I be certain about you?" That shook me. It hadn't occurred to me before in those terms. I suddenly felt so selfish. I had presumed it was obvious that I could never leave him because I gave my body to him.

You soothed me. I listened to you speaking and you caressed me soothingly. I gradually became less frantic.

"Do you enjoy being submissive, become aroused by being submissive, look forward to the times when you can be?"

"Yes. You know. To all of them. But you can't want me when I want all that, do all that"

"Yes I can. Yes I do." You looked me directly in my eyes.

"Your gift of submission was the one thing that I cherished more than any other. It was a sign of your absolute faith in me. You are not weak, or stupid. You are a strong woman, with firm views and a clear concept of what you want out of your life. You are a submissive woman. You find pleasure, joy, and fulfilment from being submissive. I do not want you to submit to me out of shame or weakness or fear, but out of pride and strength. I wanted to try and guide and protect you. I wanted you to choose to be my submissive."

"I do. Oh I do."

"No. First you need time to really think it through. Time to fully adjust and accept. This had to come. It had to be gone through at some time. I'm just surprised you didn't stop earlier. But you need to realise that being a submissive, being my submissive is going to be challenging and I don't mean simply this decision, always."

"I'm scared Stephen."

"Of course you are. I am. We need to grow together. Some of your likes and dislikes I already know. Some of your limits I know, some I can guess, and others I cant. We'll need to discuss boundaries and rules, and I'll ensure you have clear direction, firm goals, consistent rules and unambiguous orders. You'll need to be honest too. About what you like, what you find arousing and exciting."

I began to lift my sweater over my head but you stopped me. I wanted to offer you my body. You told me that I needed to think hard first. I accepted what you told me. You left and I felt both bereft at your leaving and strong in my growing understanding. I loved you so much for being so patient with me.

Hours later I went into the bathroom and stripped. I looked at myself naked. I looked at myself critically and then thought, my body is yours, and if you say I am beautiful, then I am. No matter what I look like to others or to myself. I thought that I am beautiful in your eyes, and because of that I can hold my head high.

I thought about what I thought of as your lessons. Having me do and enjoy things I had no idea that I would enjoy. From giving myself that first evening, feeling dominated as you possessed me that first time and since, oral sex, being blindfold during sex, having you control and showing my masturbation, displaying my nakedness and availability to you and then to others, then submitting to being spanked and finally offering myself to anyone if you wanted me to. Even if they weren't actually there. They were all things that I would never have considered without you, but they were lessons you had decided I needed, and I had learnt what I really was from them.

I thought it was a good job that you are happy for me to be your possession, your slut, your tramp, because I am. You make me want to be as immodest and shameless as you could want me to be.

I began to realise how much energy and thought you had put into our relationship for my benefit. I began to realise this more and more felt so grateful that you cared enough about me to spend your precious time and energy so freely on me. I began to realise how your part must be much harder than mine. I have the easier job: to feel, to experience, to let myself go and abandon everything to him.

I began to understand that you thought of me as your pleasure and responsibility, and that you took both seriously. I thought about displeasing you, how your displeasure would be a blow to my soul, worse punishment than any smacking could be. "I am a submissive." I said it aloud to my naked reflection. I was proud to call myself that. My submission was a gift that I did not give lightly, and can only be given to one who can appreciate that gift and return it tenfold.

I realised a number of other things and came to accept these too. They were a part of me that I couldn't hide from. Most of all I craved that knowledge of being under your control, your sexual control.

The following days I felt such inner strength, such excitement. I was a bundle of energy. I accepted what I was and what I wanted. I couldn't believe that I still had the chance to achieve it.

You told me that if I wished to accept my submission to you that I should give you a visible sign. I had to come to your office on the Friday with my sex shaved! It had shocked and excited me as only you can.

The next day, blushing, I bought a new razor and shaving foam, thinking the woman in the chemist must realise what I would be doing with them. I bathed for a long time, luxuriating not only in the hot water but also the knowledge of what I was going to do. Stupidly I began without snipping off the majority of the hairs. Of course it clogged up the razor and I had to begin again. Carefully I snipped as much as I could away first and then rubbed the foam on again. Luckily I didn't have much hair there but it took me ages! I eventually did it three times! It was so scary with the razor scraping over my delicate skin so near to my sex, so near to my cunt. I enjoyed thinking of it as my cunt now. The word had such a dirty sluttish sound. Cunt. Soon it was totally bald, totally naked.

I looked at myself in the mirror in the bedroom. It was a shock! I looked like some cross between an innocent and a wanton slut. When I last was hairless there I was young and chaste. Now there with the suggestion of that purity and my cunt lips flaring with the inner lips bulging out obscenely, I looked like some cross between a whore and a Madonna. My mound looked so obvious now without any covering, my slit could not hide. My eyes were constantly drawn to it. There wasn't simply a triangle of hair anymore; there was a cunt, a displayed cunt, my cunt displayed for you. I turned around, looking at myself from the back, looking at my fleshy lips now obvious from behind too. When I would be spanked again you would see me like this.

As I rubbed it with oil I couldn't help myself, I felt so wonderfully sensitive. I fingered myself over my mound and into my slit as I watched. I had a vision of you having to spank me again because of what I was doing. I sank to my knees.

I rocked back so I was sitting on my heels, legs spread wide and filled with anticipation. As I looked in the mirror I ran my oily hands up my legs very gently, imagining the feeling and sight of your hands. I touched my breasts and teased one nipple and then the other. Both hands began kneading my breasts my fingers occasionally squeezing and pulling my nipples. I could see my actions were making me hot between my legs. How swollen my lips had become was now obvious without hair. I thought how being teased and touched by you made me feel. I knew I shouldn't be doing this but I was desperate. I knew that I shouldn't be touching myself now that I knew that I was going to give myself. I tried to restrain herself as much as possible so it didn't seem as bad, but the knowledge that you would spank me for doing this was pushing me further. The thought of having to drape myself humiliatingly over your thighs and present my bottom for smacking, the thought of how I would look to you, how my sex would unfurl, the feel of your hand caressing and then smacking my buttocks over and over was so arousing. I looked at myself as I knelt open, my cunt open, hot, reddened, my breasts covered in a deep sexual blush. I imagined you watching me. I knew you liked watching me, watching my shame, watching my arousal, watching my submission. I was being so naughty. I could almost feel your smacks. I knew of the ball of heat that they would create in me, how I would know my submission. How you'd build my knowledge of what I was. Oh God, my thoughts worked me up so much. I knew that I made you hard. I wanted you to be excited by me. I wanted to please you.

I slid my hands over my mound again, teasing myself by not touching directly, watching. I reached down and flicked at my swollen lips with my fingers, smelling the wet musky scent of my need. I began to realise I was moaning softly and rocking on my heels. I wanted to touch my clit and bring myself off but I continued to tease myself as the pleasure heightened. I found my clit, swollen and hard, and groaned. I began to speak aloud, begging you to let me come, knowing you wouldn't. I teased more, I couldn't stop myself now, as if I ever could. I saw myself begin to moan and squirm with the impending arrival of an orgasm and as usual when this happened I shoved two fingers from one hand deep inside as I continued to touch my clit. I remembered doing this for you. I watched my fingers fascinated as I thrust further inside myself, quicker and faster and harder. The tips of my fingers grazed over my hard sexual bud. I thought of your fingers there, sometimes so soft, sometimes so demanding, I thought of you inside me. I was panting and grunting, trying desperately to hold back the orgasm just a little longer, just a little longer.

Then it took me. It put me on a different plane; it took me near to where you take me. I put my hand in my mouth not to scream and tasted myself on my hand. I fell forward, my hand still parting my cunt as my hips thrust high. I was coming and coming. I lost myself in it.

Gradually I slowed as the pulses diminished. My skin covered in sweat. I lay on the carpet in a foetal position, my hand over my cunt. I knew I would tell you. I knew that you would discipline me. I knew I wanted it.