I called her before I left the office on Friday afternoon.

"Hello," she answered.

"Hello, slut."

"Oh, Master, I'm so glad you called. How are you? When do you think

you'll get here?"

"I'm fine. I'll be leaving in just a few minutes. Two hours . . .

that'll make it about seven fifteen. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Master, I can't wait."

"Good. What are you wearing?"

"Nothing, Master, as you directed."

"Nothing?"

"Just the collar, Master."

"Fix some sandwiches and a salad for dinner, then put on your uniform'

and wait for me in the living room."

"Yes, master."

"Bye now. See you in a couple hours."

"Bye, Master. I love you."

"I love you too, slut." Click.

We were living apart that summer. She was finishing her degree at the

University, and I had gotten a job in another city, about a hundred

miles away. We decided that she was to be my slave for the summer. That

sounds a little strange, since I was going to be in another town most of

the time, but it allowed us to keep up the scene for an extended period

without the pressure of maintaining our Master and slave roles full time.

The ground rules were pretty straightforward: she could go about her

daily business as usual. Her classes, her workouts at the athletic

center, getting together with friends, were not to be affected by her

slavery. When she got home, though, and full time on weekends, she was

under my orders.

She was to always address me as "Master." She was to recognize that she

was a nameless slave, and I'd call her whatever I pleased, but never her

name. In our apartment, she was to always wear her collar, a 1 inch wide

black leather dog collar that I had gotten her the previous Christmas,

and nothing else. She was so comfortable with nudity, though, that

simply having her stay naked didn't seem like a sufficient reminder to

her of her slavery. She had always slept nude, and preferred nude

beaches and an all-over tan.

We decided that she would also keep her pubic hair shaved. The morning

after I had shaved her the first time, she stood drying her hands after

washing dishes. She wore only the collar. I asked how it made her feel.

"Naked," she said with a chuckle and tossed her head, her straight black

hair swinging around her shoulders. "And proud. I may be a slave and a

slut, but I'm your slut."

The whiteness of the newly shaved triangle was such a contrast to the

deep tan elsewhere that her cunt almost seemed to glow. Her private

parts were now a much more prominent part of her anatomy, just the

effect I had intended.

On the way into town, I stopped at my favorite adult shop to get a

surprise for her. They had the new issue of "Naked Bondage" on display

so I picked that up, then went back to the toy corner.

They were hanging between the ball gags and a display of vibrators: Two

alligator clips connected by about 8 inches of fine chrome-plated chain.

The teeth were covered with plastic, and each clip had a screw to adjust

the opening and pressure. We already had one pair of similar clamps, but

these were slightly smaller. Exactly what I was looking for.