If a slave is totally obedient and will do anything for her master, can he rape her? What if it’s not her master?

I think I may have been raped tonight. But I’m not sure. There is nobody offline that I can talk to about it. My name is ... well, just call me Susan, and I am almost 19 years old. In a lot of ways, I appear to be a normal teenager. I hang with my friends, am learning to drive, and am just starting to worry about college. I guess the only thing that is really different about me is that I have a Master (you can call him) John; and I am his slave, his slut, and his property. God, you have no idea how good it feels to write that. John owns me, I would do anything for him and he knows it, expects it ... demands it. Here is where it gets kinda sticky.

John is 28 years old. Since I am underage and, in fact, living at home, we have to keep things quiet. My master and I get together as often as we can, but the truth is a large part of our relationship is facilitated by technology. Cell Phones, E-mail, Scanners, Beepers—we use them all. Master can track my every movement; he can reach me whenever he wants me. I did not become a slave overnight. I have dated other guys before I met John. I enjoyed flirting with them, teasing just a little. Some guys are so weak. I’d just walk by, wiggle my plump little ass, smile, and they were mine. To be honest, well, they bored me.

John was so different. He was powerful, commanding. I instinctively knew I could not manipulate him. It felt natural, right to obey him. Obedience is the only thing of value I have to give my sweet master.

Usually, I am such a good little Slave. Last week, though, I was not. That’s why I am so confused now. I think that is why I was raped. I got a call from my master at 5 a.m. Monday morning.

“Uh ... hello. Whizit?” I groaned sleepily.

“Pull down your panties, spread your legs, and masturbate for me. Now.”

“Yes, master, right away!” I said as I threw the covers back and took off my master’s oversized nightshirt that I always slept in. Soon I was completely naked. I locked my bedroom door and spread myself on the bed.

“I’m ready, master. I’m so wet for you. I’m thinking of you. I wish you were here. I wish you were touching me. Oh, master, I’m squeezing my tits for you. My little nipples are so hard. Won’t you taste them? Please, master, I need you. I’m rubbing my juices on my nipples. They look so slick and hot now. Master, my cunt is red and raw. My pussy is all itchy and wet. My thighs keep sliding together. Are you hard, master? Should I come to you and suck your dick for you? I can sneak out. Please, master, I could be there in 30 minutes. I need you, master. I don’t want my fingers in my cunt. I want your thick dick in me. Please, master, oh god, oh god, I’m gonna cum!” I wailed.

“No! You do not have my permission to cum. Stop, slave. I want you to be thinking of me all day in school. Reach into your pussy and scoop your juices out. Now rub it into your hair and skin. You are not to shower today. I want anyone who gets close to smell that you are a sweaty little slut in heat. Put on your blue satin shirt, black denim jeans, and leather sandals. No panties, no bra, no socks, no makeup, no shower, no deodorant, no perfume. Do you understand?”

My heart was pounding. Did John know what he was asking? I only owned one pair of black jeans. They were a size and a half too small for me now. It was going to look like they were sprayed on me. Without panties, the stiff material was going to be rubbing against my clit—I’d be in a state of constant arousal all day. The shirt, though ... my god, in the right light, it was almost see-through.

Having that sheer material sliding over my sensitive, apple-sized breasts would be torture. But the worst thing had to be the smell. I reeked of sex, I smelled like a freshly fucked whore. How could John ask me to do this? Then it hit me. He wasn’t ASKING me. He was TELLING me. This was not my boyfriend making a wardrobe request. This was my master giving his slave an order.

“Yes, master, I understand. I’ll be a good slave.”

“When you are dressed, take a few Polaroids and scan them to me. I have to drive upstate today, and I want to see how slutty you look.” John said and then hung up.

I received many strange looks that day. I wore the shirt out to help cover my ass, but it was obvious that the jeans were way too tight. Guys kept pointing at me, and girls were whispering. People were staring at the front of my shirt; it was just opaque enough that they were not sure if I was wearing a bra. I was really flustered by the no-panty thing. I was dripping little streams of cum. I had been to the bathroom twice to clean up. Around 4th period, my cell phone rang.

“Where are you, and did you follow my orders?”

“I’m in the cafeteria. Yes, master, I did everything you told me.” I lied in a calm voice.

Imagine my surprise when I saw my master striding towards me. I was so embarrassed, ashamed. I had worn the outfit my master selected. I had no bra or panties on. But ... I had showered and did have makeup, perfume, and deodorant on.

My master sat down at the table next to me and did not say a word.

“H, Hello master. Um, I thought you were out of town on business today. See, I wore the outfit you asked me to, do you like it? I have not masturbated all day just like you told me to ... Master, I’m so sorry!”

“Slave, I gave you some very simple instructions this morning. You lied to me. Lied. To. Me. I am very disappointed in you. I have no use for a disobedient, lying slut. I think we are done,” John said as he rose to leave.

I was losing my master, the center of my universe. I had lied to him and it was all my fault. Of course, he would catch me. My master knows me so well. He knew this would be hard for me. I could have made him so happy. Imagine if he had found me dressed like a whore and smelling like a slut? If I had surprised him with my obedience? I couldn’t let it end like this. I had to try.

“Please, master, I’ll do anything. Just give me a chance. Punish me! Discipline your slave, but don’t leave me! I love you, sir, please, I love you!”

John stared at me with a cold, stern expression on his face for several seconds.

“OK, I’ll give you a chance to earn the right to be punished. Right now, you mean nothing to me. It is bad enough that you did not do what I told you to do. But you lied to me. Do you think I am a fool. One of the stupid little boys that you used to control? Slut, I am your MASTER! It will not be easy to earn my trust back. Your crime was severe, my punishment will be the worst thing that has ever happened to you. I will show no mercy. But before you will have the opportunity to be punished, you must carry out my original instructions. I want that fucking makeup off of you, and I want your pussy juice rubbed into your hair and face. Right now, you are not my slave. You are just a lying Bitch. The choice is yours.”

Hearing the anger in my loving Master’s voice was almost too much to bear. I had hurt him. I had betrayed my master. He had never called me a bitch before. It had always been Susan, slave, or sexy little-slut. I had to win his love back. I did not deserve it, but I had to try. I was making a choice, no more hiding, no more double life. My master would come first. As far as the punishment ... well, I guess I figured that if I got my master to love me again, if I was a good, submissive, obedient slut-slave, he wouldn’t hurt me too badly.

“Master, I love you, and I deserve any punishment you see fit to give. I will obey, I will submit. I am your property. You have the right to do anything to me. I trust you, sir, please do not leave your little slave. I need my master. I am so sorry, Master. I will do anything,” I said in a quiet, pleading, respectful voice, as tears rolled down my face.

“Alright, little whore bitch, let’s get started. It occurred to me that since I can’t trust you, I don’t know if you are wearing panties or not. I mean, it’s not like I can take your word for it. Show me.”

We were in school. In a crowded cafeteria. We had not been very discreet today. There had been screaming, crying, and I was dressed like a 5-dollar crack whore. My 28-year-old Master was sitting across from me. It felt like everyone was looking. I knew they weren’t, but still...

“Yes, Master, let me show you.”

Slowly, I unzipped my jeans and pulled up my shirt to just over my belly button. I was sitting down, and the table blocked the view of most people. If Master looked quickly, maybe nobody would see.

“Stand up, show me.”

I slowly got up. Master slid his chair back and indicated that I was to stand between his legs. Slowly, I raised my shirt, and the gapped-open jeans revealed the tops of my pubic hair. I felt so exposed standing there. I could not help but blush. Anyone who looked closely could see me. I kept my eyes on my master. How far would he take this? Would he strip me naked in front of everyone? Would he make me fuck him right here? That would teach me a lesson. I felt my cunt begin to drip at the thought. My god, how this man could turn me on, could play with me. As much as a small part of me sometimes rebelled, I knew that when Master pushed me, he expanded my sexual pleasure.

Yes, he was doing it primarily to please himself ... but he also made sure I would enjoy the experience. John was such a good master. But he was still angry with me. “Reach in your pussy and spread your bitch juice on your face.” I started shaking. I could not seem to make myself do what Master had ordered. Someone would see! Oh, if only I had listened to Master. I could have done this in the privacy of my own room. It was my fault for defying him. I tried my best to slide a finger into my pussy as surreptitiously as possible. I rubbed it into my cheek and looked at John. He seemed puzzled.

“Do it again, this time get a lot on your finger and hold it up so I can see.”

I wanted to obey him, but I knew I would fail. My pussy was almost dry. I had cleaned my girl cum out in the bathroom just before Master called. I had to tell him.

“Master ... there is no more. I have been cumming all day and was smelling really bad, so ... I went to the bathroom and cleaned it all out. I am sorry, Master.”

I knew Master was furious, but his face never showed it. He did not like it when a disobedient slave thwarted his plans.

“Do you expect me to BELIEVE you? Should I just TAKE your word for it?

Put my hands in your pussy and I will check for myself.”

It was humiliating. Not so much what Master was telling me to do(although that was bad enough), but why he felt he had to. My master did not trust me. He thought I might look him in the eye, while standing between his legs—and disrespectfully lie to him. I was Jonathan Pressman’s slave! There is dignity in that, honor. I had the love and trust of a kind and powerful man. But I had lost it ... no, I had pissed it away. Every time he questioned my honesty, my loyalty, my obedience—my love— it physically hurt me, because I knew how much it must have hurt him to do so. I would get his trust back. I would earn the right to be his little slut again. I could not wait to prove myself to him.

If he wanted me naked in my high school cafeteria ... oh god, I would do it. I reached out and took my master’s right hand and put it down the front of my jeans. His hand felt so hot as his fingers wriggled about feeling for the entrance to my vagina. Master’s expression was cool and detached. He was not doing this for my pleasure. This was almost a medical exam. He simply wanted to evaluate how juicy I was.

“Follow me, Susan.”

Apparently, I had been upgraded from bitch because I had obeyed him and told the truth. But if the truth be known, in some ways, it was worse. This man is not my boyfriend; we are not equals. Yes, I love him, and I know he is fond of me, but I preferred to acknowledge his dominance over me by calling him master. In public, it was sometimes necessary to use our given names. When he called me Susan, it was usually an attempt to disguise what we really were—a slave and her loving master. I guess having master call me Susan was a little better than Bitch, but it was still a reminder that because of my disobedience, our relationship had changed.

Master led, and I followed.

He took me into the boy’s bathroom. He just walked right in, smiled at the nerd who was washing his hands, and escorted me into the large handicapped stall.

“Get naked now.”

I could not tell if anyone else was outside the stall, but I knew better than to keep master waiting. I pulled my pants down and my shirt off. Master sat down on the toilet and said, “Feed me your breasts.”

I stood close to him and leaned over his face. I held my right tit up to his face and mashed it tight against his mouth. John breathed and sniffed my tit for several seconds before greedily devouring it. He lovingly licked the underside before settling in on my nipples. Master nibbled and sucked me hard. His arms circled my waist, and he hugged me tight. After a while, he started playing with my pussy while sucking my tits. It was too much.

“Master, please, you have to stop, or I will come. Please, master, I am trying to be your good little slave. Master, you are making me feel too good. Oh god, master, stop, or I will cum!” I wailed in desperation. “That’s okay, Susan. You have permission to cum. I want you to catch every drop and rub it in your hair. Cum for me now!”

I did. I had wanted to do this all day. I came all over Master’s hands and cupped my hands underneath his as best I could to catch it. I rubbed my pussy juice all over my hair. When Master pulled out of my cunt, I grabbed his hand and lovingly rubbed it on my face and licked and kissed it clean. Master actually smiled at me.

“Hello slave,” his deep voice rumbled and echoed in the bathroom stall. I started crying when he addressed me by my proper title. I was his slave again!

“Thank you, Master-oh-sweet-Master, your slave loves you!” I babbled as I clutched his arm to me.

He pulled me into his lap and held me for a few minutes. I was naked in the boy’s filthy bathroom, and I was happy and content to be in my Master’s arms.

Master played with my breasts and smelled my hair.

“You smell like a hot little fuck-slut, but ... you don’t smell like MY property yet. Stand up, slave ... good. I am pulling my pants down ... for the next 30 seconds, you may put my dick in any hole on your body. Go!”

I wasted a couple of seconds trying to gently line his dick up to my cunt. It was taking too long. I grabbed Master’s fat cock and stuffed it into my pussy as I straddled his lap. I felt so full as he stretched my slippery cunt. I tingled and itched all over, and only my Master’s hot dick could bring me relief. How long did I have left? I did not know as I slammed myself over and over onto John’s hard beef meat.

“My master, my master, my master; fuck, fuck, fuck me, MASTER, Fuck your SLAVE’S PUSSY RAW!” I screamed as I lost control and ground myself harder and harder on his cock. Master was saying something, but the words did not register as I pounded him into me. Suddenly, he lifted me off of his dick and threw me hard against the bathroom door.

“Damnit Slave, no means no! When I tell you to stop, you STOP! I said you get 30 seconds, and that is what I fucking meant. Now get on your knees and suck my balls. I am going to cum all over your pretty little face. I want my scent on you for the rest of the day. Now suck, Susie-slut, suck.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of 4th period. I could hear boys in the bathroom now using the other stalls and urinal. I started sucking my master’s balls and tried to block everything else out. I wanted to see if I could swallow them. I licked and kissed his sac for about a minute. Master was shivering. I must have really gotten to him, because he usually tried not to show any emotion during sex. It made me feel so good to make my master squirm and writhe under me. I did not even mind having my chin resting on the toilet, or the smell of urine that surrounded me. I sucked and kissed master’s fat cock and heavy balls.

Finally, he grabbed my face and pressed his dick up against my nostrils. Load after salty load went up my nose and dripped down my face. I knelt before him and waited until he finished. The last few shots he pressed against my eyelids. I opened my eyes and could see the world through my master’s cum. When he recovered, he used his dick like a paintbrush and rubbed his cum-cream into my face. I know I looked shiny and sticky now, but soon there would be a layer of cum-crust.

“Now there is my pretty little slave. You have never looked or smelled better. This is how you belong. I am tempted to make you walk down that hallway naked and cum-stained. Do you think you could make it to my car before some horny teenage boy grabbed you and raped you? Maybe a couple of lesbo cheerleaders would see your fat naked ass wagging at them and tackle you, spread you open, and lick that wet pussy of yours. Don’t blame them. You are made to be a rape-slut. Hmm ... it is tempting ... but for now I think I like it that I am the only one who gets to know all of your secrets; the little dimples in your ass. Only your master should know how sloppy your cunt gets. How you whimper and moan and sometimes cry as you cum. You have pleased me, slave. You will be punished for lying to me, but I will keep you.”

“Master ... thank you. I love you so much, but master ... can I ask you a favor? I know I don’t deserve it, but ... Master, you did not cum in my mouth. Anyone who sees me today will know I belong to you. If anyone touches me, they will see how hot and wet I am. If anyone asks me why I look this way, they will hear me say that my master wanted me to. I cannot lie anymore. If anyone smells me, they will know what I am. Master, I want to taste you in my mouth. If I breathe on someone, they should smell your cum. Please, master, will you cum in my mouth?”

“Yes, little one, open your mouth, and I will fuck it for you. But we have to hurry. I have stayed too long.”

Master’s cock was already hard, and he did not take long. His thumb was in my pussy, and his forefinger was up my ass. The whole time, I sucked him. We came together. I did not swallow right away. I swished and gargled his juices in my mouth. Then I blew little sperm bubbles. Finally, I drank his load and was content.

Master and I got dressed. I looked at myself in the mirror and could not help but blush. I looked like a 15-year-old’s wet dream. Everyone would know I had been freshly fucked. I would be the talk of the school. I wondered if they would call my parents. My reputation as a bright, quiet girl was over. Forever. I would not have chosen to come out of the closet like this. But ... that’s the whole point. My master makes these decisions for me. I just had to learn to accept it. As we walked down the hallway, and out to his car, arm in arm, he smiled at me.

“You handle discipline very well slave, I am going to enjoy punishing you. Sometime in the next week, you will be severely punished. Your life may never be the same afterwards. Now, give me a kiss. Don’t play with your pussy until I see you again.”

Master got in his car and drove away. I love my master and would do my best to please him no matter what, but ... I am not masochistic. I do not enjoy pain, so master’s threat made me very uncomfortable. As I walked back inside, I could not help but imagine the terrible, sexual things my master would do to me.

John knows me too well. He knows how to break me if he wants to. I love him so much. Sometimes he can be wonderful, so tender it almost makes me cry. However, there was no denying that my master could also be cold, unrelenting, and well; almost cruel at times. If you flipped his switch, if you set him off, under the right circumstances, my master is dangerous. It was buried most of the time beneath a layer of deep, cool smoothness ... but John could be one mean, nasty mother fucking asshole if you pissed him off. I love my master, but I know him. And I was scared.

I was really scared.

I thought back to the start of our relationship; of some of the mind-bending, limit-shattering fantasy scenarios that he had warned me I would eventually have to endure if I wanted to be his slave. We had been together since I was 18 years old. I was a virgin when we met. Oh, I had flirted with guys; I am a playful cock tease at heart. I’m glad I waited for my master to train me how to have sex. At first, he was a kind and patient master. He was so gentle. He eased me into sex, coaxed me into slavery. For many months, he was my “Man or my Lover” (he never let me call him my boyfriend). Kissing, petting, sucking, oral, and finally vaginal—master taught it all to me. He loved stripping me and just playing with my body for hours, making me cum over and over. He would bring me right to the edge of orgasm and then ask me to do or say something for him before he would give me release.

I was terrified the first time he pulled out a Polaroid camera when I was naked. I had to cum so badly, and he insisted I let him take my picture—so I let him. Over the next 3 weeks, the poses he ordered me into grew more and more explicit; the things he made me do were ... nasty. Soon, we moved from Polaroids to video cameras. One day, he asked me to pretend I was a hot little slave who would do anything to please her master. He taped me for hours. It was like he was taking a piece of my will with every picture, every cassette.

“Susan, spread your legs, wider ... wider, slut. Now look at the camera. Beg me to fuck you, louder, you sweet little kitty cat, mmm, finger yourself ... scream my name, slut. Good, lick your juices off your hand ... very nice little slut, such a good girl. Come sit on my lap, and I’ll fuck that slick little cunt of yours, you earned it. You’ve made me very happy.”

I was 18 years old when I called John “Master” for the first time. Slowly it stopped being a role, it became a way of life. It felt so natural, so obvious that this man was dominant to me. He can make me do things that I would never dream of doing for anything that would never even occur to me. I love surrendering myself to him. His wants, his needs, his slightest whim-it stimulated me sexually to obey him. But it is more than just the sex. As our relationship deepened, he became the only thing that really mattered to me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mom and little sister. I even loved my dad, though he could be a pompous ass sometimes. But nobody compared to how I loved John. It was almost ... religious at times. You know what I mean-Joan of Arc, hang me on a cross, walk across some hot coals-I’d die for him, kind of love.

I think the very real need to keep our relationship secret from everyone made it more exciting. We have to work at it, plan our time together. I almost never get to sleep in his bed, in his arms the way I want. Every moment is stolen, budgeted-precious. I used to have a couple of close friends, but we have drifted. How can I justify spending time with my friends when I could be with my master? Oh, we still hang sometimes, but to be honest, they seemed so fucking silly, nattering on about going to the mall, what boy they had gone to second base with, or how cool the Backstreet Boys are. I am sorry, but I just could not relate.

I found myself spending more and more time when I couldn’t be with John, online in D/s chatrooms, or cruising the erotic story sites. It felt good to talk to people who understood, who got “it.” I talk to this one guy named Jaz a lot. I hope he won’t mind it if I mention his name to all of you. He is deeply weird, but funny too, and it was good to have someone who wouldn’t judge me; shit couldn’t judge me. His life was too fucked up for that. I don’t know anything personal about him, really. What’s his real name? How old is he? What does he do for a living? Is he married? What is his race? What is his religion? What is his cock size? Nothing.

It’s funny how the Internet can make you feel close to someone when deep down you know you shouldn’t. But we are able to talk about things I could never tell my so-called friends or family. Things my master “won’t” talk to me about. Jaz travels a lot, though, and is gone a week or more at a time, so ... that’s why I’m posting this letter. I can’t sit around waiting for Mr. Jaz to cruise back in town. I need help now.