The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Callie was a slave. Almost no one knew that about her. Her neighbors never suspected. The girls in her exercise classes had no idea. Her friends were oblivious, and her classmates were clueless. But nevertheless, Callie was a slave.

You could hardly blame those who knew her. Callie didn’t act like a slave, after all. She made good grades, laughed easily, and studied hard. She cooked with the laid-back ease of a Cajun chef, dance unselfconsciously at clubs, and was engaging at parties. She was a good girl, never flirting, but never insulting those who made a pass at her. She dressed well, often casual, but with impeccable style, and if her tastes ran to the slightly revealing, no one had ever complained. She was trim, fit, and well-proportioned, but her elfin face conspired with an infectious grin to render the usual assessment as cute, rather than gorgeous.

Callie sat in class, intently taking notes as the professor droned on. Macroeconomics was seldom an engrossing subject, but she listened as if it were the most important thing in the world, which, for her, wasn’t far from the truth. As the instructor paused to write something on the board, Callie waited patiently, the nub of her eraser rubbing against her lips out of nervous habit.

Something like a collective sigh went up around her, as a small crowd of observers followed the lucky pencil’s movements. Several boys (and two girls) had spent most of the term fantasizing about her, surreptitiously watching the dark-haired beauty whenever possible. Some thought Callie was a tease, but a harmless and frustratingly desirable one. Some thought she might be gay, but at least one woman now watching her knew better from a cautiously-phrased offer earlier in the term. Had she been told about the lustful thoughts she habitually incited, or that her continued presence in the classroom had been the overriding reason for some of her fellow students to keep coming, she would have laughed shyly before changing the subject. When the professor resumed his lecture, most of her audience returned to taking notes with sub-audible mutterings of disappointment.

Callie shifted in her chair, her mind drifting as the professor reviewed the upcoming chapter. She’d already read it, had finished the book two weeks into the class, including study notes and flash cards. No one knows. The secret of her condition sometimes percolated in quiet moments, never failing to send a secret thrill through her body. It was like traveling in disguise, a state of incognito only two people were privy to. What would they do, if they knew?, she wondered idly.

It wasn’t exactly something you just brought up in conversation, and Callie hadn’t ever been tempted to tell anyone. But she knew, with unfair knowledge, that there were hints here and there. There was the intensity with which she threw herself into everything she did, from school to dancing to conversation. For all of her unprepossessing attitude and bearing, her appearance was always impeccable: freshly-bathed, nails neatly trimmed, makeup immaculate. Some times, over drinks with friends, she blushed a little more than anyone else when something risqué came up. Her close friends had kidded her about her fidelity to her boyfriend, telling her she acted like there was no other man on earth but him. Callie always replied that it was only fair, since he treated her like she was the only woman on earth. And one or two people at the gym had to have noticed that she always wore lingerie, or nothing at all, under her street clothes.

Not that I get why that’s weird. It’s so comfortable… Underneath a loose white cotton blouse and a close-fitting pair of faded blue jeans, Callie had on a demi-cup leather bustier with matching panties. Leather made her sweat, sometimes, but the warmth was welcome in the fall months. She had a lot of lingerie, and finding colors to match her outfits was seldom a problem. No one would know what she wore underneath if she didn’t want them to, unless they spied on her changing before or after a workout. The big giveaway, the one Callie took pains to hide, was the shiny metal nametag she always wore, the word “SLAVE” engraved into the surface.

It wasn’t big. She usually wore it around her neck, attached to a necklace or dangling from a chain, dog-tag style. On the days she wore pants, like today, she sometimes wore it as an anklet, where the boot-cut flare allowed it to rest unseen. Occasionally, she wore it mounted on a belly chain, when she went out clubbing and the low-cut necklines she favored would have shown it. And at home, it was nearly always dangling from a choker, so her Master could see it every time he looked at her. But she always wore it, had always worn it; Callie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been without it for more than a few seconds.

The bell rang abruptly, and Callie filed out with the rest of the students milling to destinations unknown, heading for the school gym. Robert had told her he’d be home early today, taking time off of work for a ‘special surprise’. As excited as she was, Callie had a good number of things she wanted to get done before his arrival, and not a lot of time to do it.

Robert. Just thinking of his name made her heart get all melty inside. Robert. My sweet, noble, loving, sexy Master. Callie loved the simple pleasure of being owned, of belonging to one person so totally, so utterly, that you didn’t have any room to worry or doubt yourself. She was his, as thoroughly and as completely as he wanted. His acceptance of her submission, simple and total, made her feel cherished, sublime, complete.

She located her locker and stripped down, alone in the changing room. She was early for aerobics, but it would give her time to get in a some time on a stationary bike beforehand. Still daydreaming, she changed into a eye-catching leotard, pink and black. The spandex felt comforting, tight like a lover’s hug over her whole body. No plans, tonight. It’s just Master, slave, and a special surprise.

Callie mounted the bike and started it up, gradually increasing the resistance to get a good warm-up; she only had ten minutes or so, so she had to make it count. I wonder what the surprise is? Not another slave, surely. Robert didn’t have any other slaves, just her. She’d asked him about it once, reasoning that two slaves would be twice as good as one. He’d given her a funny look, then told her she was enough of a handful for him. Silly Master! The way he handles me is just divine! Let’s see…

The last surprise had been about a month ago. Callie had come home to find her Master waiting for her. Following his instructions, she’d masturbated twice in the shower before drying off and opening the oversized box he’d given her, a white ribbon tied around it. Inside was a marvelous costume, tailor-made black latex sliding liquidly across her skin and itself. Her Master had her measurements to the millimeter, Callie knew, but she was aghast at how much he must have paid for it. She struggled into it with a little lube and a lot of patience, determined that he would get his money’s worth. The delight on his face when Callie had crawled into the study on all fours told her he would.

For the next three hours, Callie was a shiny black sex-kitten in heat, slick and graceful and oh-so much in need of her Master’s cock. He steadied himself on the little ears projecting from her hooded facemask when she licked him, used her tail and collar like a reins when he took her from behind (kitty-style, not doggy-style Cassie thought, giggling), howled when her sharp claws left passionate furrows in his back.

And a good time was had by all, she sighed, deliberately pushing it from her mind. Class was about to begin, and it never would have done to miss it just because she’d been fantasizing about being a cat-girl in rut, meowing and clawing and howling and coming and…

Enough of that! She climbed from the bike and hurried to join the girls now arriving, joking with them as they took their places. An hour later, she hit the pool to do some laps, trying to keep the intruding fantasies at bay, with moderate success. Being a slut was hard work, sometimes.

Callie slalomed into a parking space, almost grinding against another car in her rush. She’d taken way too long at the gym, and was running behind now. She’d almost cancelled this side shopping trip, as it was the least important task she had today, but Vicky’s had been advertising some really cute thongs, and she was running low on stockings, so…

“Hey, Callie!” Callie waved back as she entered the lingerie boutique, smiling as the girl tried rush over without looking over-eager. Given as much money as she’d dropped here over the years, it wasn’t surprising that the commissioned salespeople knew her on sight.

“Hi, Anita. Just a quickie today. Got any of those side-ties you’ve been flogging on TV?”

“Sure do!” The girl nodded happily. “I knew you’d be in for some, so I set a whole box aside for you.”

Callie cooed as she began to sort through the panties, individually wrapped according to style and color. Anita had put some matching bras in, too; some weren’t quite right, but a few looked like keepers… “Did my corset come in?” she asked, beginning to create ‘yes’ and ‘no’ piles on the counter.

Anita looked crestfallen. “They said it’d be at least another week. They’re having some trouble with the rings, or something. Does that mean anything to you?”

It did. Robert had asked her to get an old-fashioned corset; her collection, while substantial, consisted largely of leather or PVC. Callie had put in the order, with a twist: little half-inch rings set about it, providing points of restraint should someone be of a mind to chain her to something while wearing it. They had to be unobtrusive, but strong; Callie had designed it herself and sent it off as a special order. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, I sort of suspected they would. I’ll show you when it gets here. Oh, and I’ll need some new stockings, too.”

“Stay-up or garter-held?”

“Mmm… two of each, in my usual colors. And a few pairs of stockings, too; it’s getting cold out.”

Anita returned with the stockings in short order, and the girls chatted amiably while Callie finished her purchases. She felt a twinge of guilt as the girl rang up the total – it was always something of a shock to see just how much these tasty little dainties cost.

“Can you stick around for coffee?”

Callie smiled sadly. “Not today, girlfriend. My baby promised me something special tonight, and I don’t want to keep him waiting!”

“Wow… Robert’s such a great guy. I wish Larry was that thoughtful.” Anita sounded wistful.

“Larry’s a nice guy, in his own way,” Callie told her kindly. “He takes good care of you, and he’s sincere. You traded up from Julian.”

“Julian who?” Anita said, feigning forgetfulness. “Don’t remember any two-timing bastard by that name.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “And… Callie? Employee discount on these. Don’t tell, ‘kay?”

Callie was too touched to refuse. “You’re sweet, Anita,” she told the girl. “Thanks.”

“Hey, no prob, not for our best customer!” Anita smiled, collecting the bags for Callie. “Old-friends discount, right?”

Callie smiled uneasily for a moment, a little puzzled. Sometimes someone mentioning something a ways back brought on this weird, stomach-fluttering sensation. Her Master had assured her it was all right, just her subconscious remembering the Bad Old Days, but it was always unsettling. “Right,” she managed. “See you later!”

She checked the clock in her car, nodded to herself. Got some time yet. Nice to be ahead of schedule again! She’d put off shopping for makeup, this time; Callie was very particular about the shades of lipstick she wore, and she had more than enough for now. I can cut study time a little short, and still be good for time. Oh, definitely; I’ll need a shower before Master arrives. She sped up just a little, unwilling to waste a single minute.

A snarling buzz sounded on Callie’s unicorn-themed alarm clock, and she turned it off quickly. She’d actually finished her studying early, but she liked to keep to a schedule for the important things. Part of her wondered why her education was so imperative to her Master, but he’d made his desire known. Truth be told, Callie liked business, much to her surprise, and the discovery merely highlighted her Master’s ability to understand her better than she did herself.

Just one of life’s little mysteries, I guess, she thought, putting away her books. Get home, check the mail, follow up on the stocks, then homework. Callie would have been content to be a mere sex-toy, an instrument of his pleasure, but Master wanted her to have more than just a nasty mind in a hot body. It’s one thing to fuck a hot slut, he’d once told her as they basked in peaceful post-coital lassitude. It’s entirely another to fuck a smart one. And that was that, as far as both of them were concerned; if Master wanted a slave with a diploma, she was more than willing to earn as many as he wanted her to.

There wasn’t much house cleaning to be done; a little straightening in the Playroom, a bit of dusting in the living room, and she was done. Callie was under orders to wear one of her French maid’s outfits any time she did housework, but that only applied if Master was home. He enjoyed seeing her do domestic work while provocatively dressed, and Callie thought it was the perfect way to give a tedious task a little zest. Granted, some would probably find a coed cleaning her boyfriend’s house in nothing but a bustier and leather panties ‘provocative’, not to mention odd, but her under-ensemble was comfortable, so Callie hadn’t changed out of them yet.

Callie wondered what a ‘normal’ couple would think of their life. Robert worked, took care of the cars and the lawn, guy stuff. Callie went to school, kept up the house, and cooked. Aside from the Master-slave thing and all the fantastic sex, there really wasn’t a lot that set them apart from the next-door neighbors.

And you’d think, Callie mused as she stripped down and entered the shower, given all the hot kinky D&S stuff we do, that we’d be just as hedonistic everywhere else. But it wasn’t so. Apart from an impressively-sized and –comprised wardrobe of… well, specialty clothes, Callie’s vices were limited to window-shopping, the occasional girl’s night out, and a few glasses of wine a month. Robert was practically ascetic; he didn’t like shopping or clubs (although he usually let Callie go, and sometimes accompanied her), and seldom drank.

Callie dried off quickly, noting the time with a small frown of concern. Almost four-thirty! I’ve got to get dinner going! She made her way to the kitchen with deliberate haste, already planning the menu for tonight’s as-yet-unknown special occasion.

After all, it was what her Master wanted.

Robert drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his car, sitting in the driveway. A largish box sat on the passenger seat, silently oppressing him. A smaller box, sister to the beribboned one beside him, lay bulky and seething in his pocket. He glanced at the clock, which hadn’t changed the last three times he’d looked at it.

The pace of his drumming sped up, as Robert looked sightlessly at the garage door. Abruptly he broke it off, taking the box with a heavy sigh. It’ll be ok. You can do this. The words sounded unconvincing, even to him, but he listened anyway, wanting every extra erg of confidence he could muster. This time…

…this time, it’ll be different.

Callie was just putting the finishing touches on dinner when Robert walked through the door, the appetizing aroma of seafood pasta and corn drawing him in. Callie hadn’t heard him come in, and his face gladdened at the sight of her assembling the remainder of the evening’s repast. His smile came easily. He never tired of seeing Callie in her ‘cook’ uniform: her usual slave collar, a functional white apron, and a white pair of heels (a modest inch and a half, not high enough to be troublesome)… and nothing else. She had a body that always put him in mind of a well-bred mare, strong and freshly-scrubbed. Her delightful ass twitched as she turned with the potatoes and spotted him.

“Master! You’re home!” she enthused. She carefully placed the pot on the table before assuming the parade-rest of Position Two, her nipples jutting beneath the cotton apron.

“Evening, Callie. How are things?”

Sometimes her Master was formal, sometimes informal. Callie’s eyes flicked to the box he was setting gingerly on the table, but it wasn’t her place to mention it. “School went well. Callie worked hard in aerobics, and did some laps as well. She picked up some routine supplies on the way home. Housework and homework are complete, and dinner is ready.”

Callie almost seemed to quiver in place, no doubt curious about the box, and why he was home early… but Robert would let her wait a bit more. “And your stocks?”

“Mostly good. Your slave thinks we ought to sell off some of the gold, but the portfolio looks healthy,” she told him with a twinge of pride. Robert had given Callie a thousand to invest in the stock market some time back, as a gift, and she’d managed the money well.

“Very good.” He sat in his chair, not looking at the package. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, stalling.

“Pasta, potatoes, bread and corn, and some wine,” Callie said, a small smile forming. She took a step towards him and knelt in one fluid motion, her practiced fingers unzipping his fly. “And perhaps a fructose shake for your little slave-girl…”

Robert moaned as the girl’s mouth found his glans, wrapped around it with devoted expertise. She had read the tension on his face and responded. Not so much the action of a slave, but a lover. I can’t put this off. Nevertheless, she had gotten him fully erect before he found the will to gently push her head away. She looked up at him, some confusion on her features.

“Not… just now. There are… some other things I need to do, first,” he told her, keeping the regret from his voice.

Callie nodded, sat back on her heels. “The surprise?” she guessed.

Robert nodded gravely. “More or less.” He sighed and rubbed his face, already missing her mouth. “Go upstairs and change. Casual, no lingerie. As plain as you can. Then join me down here, eyes closed.”

Callie didn’t understand, but she didn’t need to. Her Master’s command was all she needed. “Yes, sir,” she said, and rose swiftly to comply. Robert watched her go, his expression inscrutable. His hand found the smaller box in his pocket, caressed it. So much time. I hope she’s ready, now.

Finding casual clothes wasn’t a problem; some loose jeans and a sweatshirt would probably work, she surmised. At least four sizes too large, but it’s not Robert’s… I don’t even remember owning these! Must be a ‘fat day’ outfit I’ve forgotten. But the underwear, now, that was another thing altogether.

Everything she owned was sexy; telling her to wear underwear that wasn’t lingerie was like asking Matisse to draw a cartoon. Do these count as lingerie or not? They’ve got little kitties on ’em…well, that’s more for the ‘little-girl’ look than ‘nice-girl’. Ok, is a plunge bra ‘casual’? She threw them both down, frustrated. How do you not dress sexy? Master hadn’t meant her to try to look innocent, or the faux-plain, like when she played at being a secretary or a schoolgirl. And not wearing underwear was probably out too, or he would have said to go without.

She finally settled on an old triangle bra and a high-waisted bikini bottom that had seen better days, the best she could find. Wish I knew what he had in mind, she fretted as she made her way back downstairs. Not like him to ask for role-playing without briefing me first.

Shrugging mentally, she tugged at her collar, centering the tag out of habit. Head abuzz with speculation, she rejoined her Master, eyes closing as she entered the kitchen.

“Your slave has returned, Master,” Callie announced, taking up Position Two again. She smelled something, something… burning?

“Open your eyes, Callie, and sit down.”

A birthday cake sat on the table beside the box he’d brought it in, twenty-three candles lit. Callie sat clumsily, holding the chair for support. “M-master? What…”

“It’s for you, Callie. Happy birthday.”

But… slaves don’t have birthdays, do they? She finally tore her stare away from the cake, puzzlement dominating her face. “My… birthday?” Her master nodded silently. “What should I do, Master?” she asked in a small voice.

“Blow out the candles, of course.” His smile told her it was all right, but Callie felt untethered somehow, off-balance. What he said next only made it worse. “But give me your tag, first.”

Callie’s hand went to her collar instinctively. “My tag? Yes, Master!” she corrected herself. Her slowness to obey was indicative of her confusion.

Robert took the collar, holding it loosely. The word “SLAVE” glinted back at her as he examined it, partly illuminated by the candles. For a long moment, nothing was said. Then he met her eyes, holding up the tag. “Read it to me, Callie.”

“‘Slave’,” Callie said. Is this a test? What’s going on?

“No. Not the front side. The back.”

She’d said what she knew was on the tag; now corrected, Callie looked closer. The back was facing her, the blank side. Only it wasn’t blank any more. “Wha…”

“Read it.” Her Master’s voice, cool and firm.

“C…C-Calliope,” she whispered. What does it mean? Why…

“Calliope… blow out the candles.”

And the darkness took her away.

Callie was drifting, a cloud of white fog. No, not fog; diffuse, but densely packed, ambulatory. The blackness was all that was not Callie, surrounding her, but not holding her. She was free…

How can I be contained? What is not me?

As if in answer, a dark cloud, larger than she, drifted into (viewsenseclosenotIbutsimilarnotdarkwhatis…)

Callie felt scared. She knew the sphere, dark against the black, knew it from dreams and castoff memories. It was of her, or hers, familiar and alien. This is not I but I will know it, she resolved, and touched its surface, joining…

…rejoining. Life struck her like a ton of bricks, bricks she’d molded and pressed and baked of her own deeds and thoughts and it was her life and it was hard and stupid and so wrong…

Calliope saw herself hitch-hiking, running away from home, doing whatever it took to get away from that place…

…choking down revulsion as she took the trucker’s cock into her mouth, gagged from the unwashed opportunist smell of him, down-payment for transport to California …

…remembered her Daddy coming into her room one night, hugging her far too long, kissing her head and pulling the covers back, holding her legs down with his own and pushing and it hurt and it hurt and it hurt and she was sick and crying and Daddy cried but he came back and came back and kept coming back…

…saw her Mother’s face when she finally told her, over a year later, her look when she slapped her baby girl and told her not to ever say that again and her Mother knew, had always known…

…then she was waiting tables, fired for fucking her coworkers, flipping burgers, fired for drugs, bagging groceries, fired for not showing up at all, getting fat on a diet of greasy food and beer, going to a community college, going to parties, sleeping with god knows how many people night after night (needed the attention needed the love even just an ounce at a time), quitting classes because she couldn’t afford them anymore and who needed a degree anyway and she knew she wasn’t worth it would never be worth it she wasn’t loved couldn’t be loved meaningless worthless fat uppity skank…

…had taken all the pills and smoked all the crack she could stomach and couldn’t face fucking another scabby pimp/dealer because they knew what she was and made her remember and she only wanted the drugs to escape and this time she would…

Callie/Calliope opened her eyes, wiped them. Tears came away, and she realized the sobbing in the room was her own. Robert let her, holding her to him, his own tears streaking his cheeks unashamedly, until finally she pulled away, arms hugging herself.

“You tried to commit suicide. Overtly, instead of in dribs and drabs.” He handed Calliope a tissue, which hung in her limp hand, unused. “We… were friends, in college. Were close. We didn’t date, at first. You said you’d never respect anyone who would sleep with you.”

Calliope remembered. “But I liked you. From the first time I met you. I was scared of you, too.” Her voice was hoarse, raspy.

“And I liked you. You were smart, funny... but you had this coldness, this storm of self-loathing neither of us could penetrate. You thought if you loved me, you’d hate me. Because you weren’t someone who could be loved.”

“I fucked a lot of people, back then. For drugs, for money, just because. But the only…” She faltered.

Robert went on, his voice flat. “The only time you could enjoy sex – or any intimacy, for that matter – was when you were dominated. Submissive, you knew the other person had to like you. The Slave is ever serviced by the Master; the attentions of the dominant constantly assure the submissive that they are loved. In theory, anyway. But it never worked for you.”

“No. They thought… they didn’t understand. Like you did.” The answers were occurring to her as fast as she asked the questions, but she put a voice to some anyway, speeding the process. “And you found me, after…”

“After you tried to kill yourself. You were sick for days. We talked, and you told me the whole story. Your dad, and your mom. I’d never understood before. Why the weight gain, the drugs, the prostitution. Why the self-destructive streak, why you pushed me away every time we got close.”

“And I had a plan.”

“A plan. A stupid, dangerous, fool plan. I knew something about hypnosis, and you wanted me to put you under.”

“And I convinced you to,” Calliope continued, her arms loosening around her waist. The memory was shameful, the worst thing she’d ever done to him. “I didn’t want to be me anymore, just for a while.”

“So I did. You were a slave for a day. I felt like a monster the whole time. And when I brought you back, you cried for hours.”

“Because it was so nice,” Calliope whispered. “No pain. We made love, for the first time. I let myself be in love. I could feel loved and protected and not hate either of us for it. It was…”

“…The first time you’d let yourself feel love since before you left home.” Robert patted her hand softly, sighing with relief inwardly when she didn’t flinch away.

“So we did it again. A week, then another. Then a month.”

“When you were Calliope, we built Callie, decided together what she would know, what she would be like. You wanted a way to see what it was like to be you, without the all the crippling trauma of your past.”

“Robert…” Calliope was crying again, but smiling through damp eyes. “She’s beautiful. Callie’s beautiful. She’s smart, and popular, and kind, and she doesn’t hurt all the time!”

Robert smiled unhappily. “Yes… and no. She’s a part of you, Calliope. What you can be, when you’re ready.”

“I can’t.” Calliope shook her head vigorously in denial. “I’m so fucking messed up, and I can’t–”

“Calliope!” He used his Master voice, snapping the girl’s attention away from her pain, her self-pity and loathing. “What do you remember about Callie? What’s so great about her?”

“Sh… she cooks. She studies hard. She… she loves you.”

“You cook. And very well, too. You learned how. As Callie, yes, but she’s just a facet of you. You get straight As, been on the Dean’s List for two terms. You lost fifty pounds. Quit drugs cold-turkey; you don’t even smoke any more. And you’ve turned a thousand dollars into two and a half in six months, playing the market.”

“Yes…” Calliope shook her head, trying to focus this time. “I did,” she admitted. She looked at Robert again, flashing a wry smile. “We fuck a lot, don’t we?”

Robert laugh, the easiest laugh he’d had in a long time. “Yeah,” he acknowledged, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. “We do. I certainly don’t mind, and Callie… well, I think she’s got a touch of the nymph in her. Randy little minx, that one…”

“Oh!” Calliope swatted him playfully on the arm. “I am not. Just very much in love. And lust,” she added, eyes twinkling a little. “Yeah, so she’s horny. We designed her that way. I don’t remember you complaining. Hmph. ‘Don’t mind’, indeed!”

“Well, ok, I like it a lot. Who hasn’t wanted a completely obedient hot chick at his beck and call?”

Calliope laughed with him this time. “And god, what a wardrobe I have now! It’d make the Marquis de Sade’s mistresses die green with envy! Do you have any idea how much I spent on makeup this month?”

“A pretty good idea. I paid for it, after all. You can pay me back when your accounting firm makes its first million.”

Sitting back, Calliope looked at the cake, candles burnt halfway down. “I really did all of that, didn’t I? I’ve got friends, and I cook, and do well in school.” She looked down, tugged at the slack waistband. “I wondered why these jeans were so loose. These must be my old ones; I’m swimming in them.”

“You should see the ones you wore when I first met you. Looked like someone had made a carnival tent out of denim.” His smile grew serious. “But your weight was just like the drugs, the promiscuity, the nasty attitude. You wanted everyone at arm’s length.”

“But Callie… Callie doesn’t need those crutches.” She was staring at the candles now, the last vestiges of memory returning. “Robert… how long has it been, this time?”

“Six months.” She looked up in surprise. “We decided it would be safe, give you more time to heal. I figured your birthday would be appropriate.”

“To… decide. Whether to go back to being Callie a while longer, or stay as Calliope.”

“More or less. I’d put it, whether to get off the crutches yet, or stay on them.”

“Oh.” They were holding hands, had been holding hands for some time. Calliope hadn’t noticed, but the trust it represented was evident.

“I miss you, Calliope. I love you, and I want you back.”

Calliope bit her lip. It was hard to think of this, painful and sharp in her breast. Love… “You get to fuck Callie all the time.”

“And she, me. It takes away some of the frustration. But not the loneliness. I see you every day, but I don’t get to be with you. It’s not the same, Calliope. I want the whole woman. I want you.”

She didn’t know what to say. Robert took the box out of his pocket, handed it to her shyly. “Let me sweeten the pot.”

It was a ring. An engagement ring.

“Robert… I… I don’t know what to say!” She was crying again.

“Say ‘yes’. Or,” he allowed, reluctantly, “‘Not yet’. Just not ‘no’.”

She let go of his hand, mesmerized now by the ring. “I… I need to think. Let me, for a minute?”

“Take all the time you need, love. I’ll wait.”

And he would, she realized. He had been, for months now, waiting for her to heal. To be ready to face the world as herself

Look at what I’ve accomplished, she told herself, comparing the Calliope of a year ago with the woman she was now. Like Robert said. Kicked drugs – cold turkey, yet! – and lost weight, on-track to a career beyond the service industry. I make friends easily and well, and the sex… Robert was a little off, on that note. Climax hadn’t been rare before Callie, it had been damn near mythological, as far as she’d been concerned. She’d gotten close a few times, after a lot of S&M-style foreplay, but it was so hard to find someone who’d be willing to do it for her without wanting a lot in return. Then she’d given up on it, traded attainable quantity for unattainable quality, and it got worse and worse… but as Callie, she fucked the man she loved, shamelessly and wonderfully.

But for Robert, and Callie. They saved me, and I’m healing. I thought I was broken beyond repair, but they’re fixing me. Callie to hold my place, stand in for me, and Robert… Robert to love me, to protect me, to make me whole.

Calliope sighed. She knew what she had to do. “I love you, Robert. And I’ll marry you. BUT…” she held up a tired hand, cutting off his premature jubilation. “Just not yet. You’re right; it’s working. I’m healing, but I’m not ready yet. Callie is a crutch, but I’m still limping. I need her still. I’m sorry.”

Robert’s head hung down, despondent. Calliope’s heart was breaking, but she didn’t have a choice. Not yet. “Give me a year, Robert. Let me finish what I’ve started, and I will marry you, I promise. I…” She bit her lip, trying not to cry again until she got this out. “I want to be with you, forever. It hurts to say ‘not now’, but if I don’t, I won’t be ready. And I want to deserve you.”

“It’s not fair.” Robert’s voice was thick, heavy.

“It’s not. I know it’s not. You’ve done everything for me.” She lifted his head, cupping his chin tenderly in her hand. “I don’t have the right to ask, even. But please.”

“A year. It’s forever, Calliope. I… I don’t know if I can.”

Calliope took the ring and slid it onto her finger, hands trembling. “I love you, Robert. But I need to be Callie, for a little while longer. Callie… has no wants but to please her Master, no desire but to please her Master. Her life is as simple as mine is complex. She frees me to be me. Through her eyes and her life, I’m finding myself. Finding you.” She bit off a laugh, fearing it would turn hysterical. “It’s crazy, insane… but it’s working. You’re teaching me what that means. My noble hero, the reluctant Master. I love you.”

Robert looked at the ring, shining preternaturally on her finger, then into her eyes, reflecting the wet brightness of his own. “All right. I love you, Calliope.”

They kissed, passionately, for a long time, knowing it had to last. When they parted reluctantly, the candles were nearly burnt out. “I’ll miss you,” Robert told her, holding her shoulders tightly. “The whole time.”

Calliope took the collar back, fastening it around her neck. “I’ll be nearby. And when I come back… I’ll know.” She smiled, bittersweet. “I’ll miss you, too.” She didn’t want to go, not so soon. “Can… can Callie wear the ring? Will that hurt too much?”

Robert returned the smile. “Sure. It’ll remind me of you, give me strength.” He straightened, trying to compose himself. “Before you go… anything I should be doing different? It’s hard to tell if I’m doing a good job; slaves give lousy feedback.”

Calliope chuckled despite herself. “You’re doing just fine.” She tilted her head in thought, decided to answer more completely. “I don’t like fish, though. I used to, but now…” She shrugged, then another thought occurred to her. “Oh, one other thing. We – Callie and I – we think you’re going easy on us in bed.” She patted his hand, getting him to release her belatedly. “You’re engaged to me, so you’re not cheating on me by sleeping with her. She’s your only outlet, you know?” My poor brave Master. I love you. “Fuck her blue, Robert. Don’t hold back. Use her. Come in her mouth, on her tits. Spank her, pound her in her ass. Fuck her hard, as often as you need to, or want to. Dress her up, whip her, make her beg for mercy – or for more. She wants you to. And I want you to.” Calliope smiled, feeling herself growing damp as she spoke. Calliope, not Callie, was responding.

“Unlimited license for kinky, wicked sex. Well, all right, you talked me into it.”

Calliope felt relieved. She knew it wasn’t enough, but it was something. If he couldn’t have her mind, he could at least have her body until he could. They kissed one last time, whispering their goodbyes. Calliope turned to face the cake. “I love you, always.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready now. Trigger me.”

“Okay. Look at the front of the tag, Calliope. Read it to me.”

“Slave…” Her eyes were already turning glassy.

“I love you.” Robert took a deep breath. “Blow out the candles, Callie.”

Callie blinked, looking startled. Her eyes were wet and the cake – it was almost ruined, she’d waited so long! She blew out the candles hastily, before any more wax would mar the surface of the beautiful cake.

“Oh! I forgot to make a wish!” she exclaimed.

“Slaves don’t get wishes. I made a wish, for you.” Master’s face was strange, kind of sad and tense.

“Oh. Thank you, Master!” It was so nice, being a slave. You never had to worry about stuff like that.

“So, for my presents…” he began.

Of course! On a slave’s birthday, she does something special for her Master! As Callie went to stand, she noticed an unfamiliar weight on her hand. “Oh! Oh…” The ring was beautiful.

“It’s to keep those horn-dog frat boys from getting too close,” her Master told her. “Anytime someone asks, you’re engaged to me.”

“OH! Thank you, Master!” He really didn’t have to; she’d gotten good at turning down propositions at school, nearly one a week. Callie didn’t deserve such a thing, even for pretend. But if he wanted her to, she would be convincing. “It’s so pretty, sir. Thank you!”

Her brain was already working overtime, feverishly thinking of what to do for her beloved Owner. Nympho Cowgirl? Cyber-Callie? Her attention kept coming back to the ring, and it gave her an idea.

“How about I go upstairs, change out of these rags, and become the ‘Blushing Bride’?” she asked slyly. Callie played at being the randy virgin, shy but submissive, while her Master gradually instructed his timorous mistress in the carnal arts. Perfect!

The all-white wedding costume was a work of art, designed to look real, but with easy access to all the right spots. The veil was perhaps the only conventional piece. A white garter belt held up decadent silk stockings, and four-inch high heels limited her mobility to teetering steps. The layers of silk and lace below the belt detached as a unit, like a frilly skirt that could be torn away on a moment’s notice. Delicate-looking embroidered gloves matched the dress, the lacy wristlets concealing strong steel rings that could be used to effectively handcuff her to nearly anything. Similar hidden rings were stitched into the bodice, allowing her to be completely restrained in moments. And finally, the ruffled panties: a skimpy, gathered bikini, the gossamer folds cleverly concealing gaps that allowed for easy access, front or back. With a few tugs, her Master could change Callie from ready to walk down the aisle to boudoir bunny. It had been expensive, custom-made and –fitted by the same company Callie had special-ordered her corset from, but they’d already gotten their money’s worth in the last month.

To her surprise, he shook his head, that strange expression deepening, if anything. “Not tonight, Callie. Not for a while, I think.” Callie covered up her disappointment, and was about to suggest another when he spoke again. “Tonight… let’s do ‘Captive Lady’.”

Callie practically clapped her hands in delight, and scurried off with her Master’s permission, completely forgetting about the food in her eagerness. The Captive Lady was one of Callie’s personal favorites. She opened the dark oak wardrobe, the one that held her ‘classier’ outfits, and began choosing the right clothing for the job even as she stripped out of the unfamiliar dowdy garb. Black lace bustier, white shift, high black boots, white leggings, flimsy lace boy shorts, and a simple but elegant blue gown. Taking a tube from the dresser, she carefully lubed up her rectum, knowing the more the Captive Lady struggled, the more she tried to resist, the more ‘punishment’ her captor would inflict. And for a birthday present, she would hold out as long as she could, make her Master use her savagely before she broke, sobbing and coming her conquered brains out.

She dressed as she walked to the Playroom, mentally selecting some toys to leave out for her Master’s convenience. Riding crop, ball gag – no, make that a ring gag. Leather quirt, that new flogger, a nice fresh switch… you know, if a single stitch of this outfit isn’t torn by the time the night is over, I won’t have done my job. Laying the items out on a nearby tray, she lowered the manacles from their hiding place in the ceiling, locking a heavy pair of padded leg restraints to the floor rings and around her ankles before shackling herself in the middle of the room. The game would commence as soon as her Master entered; only then would her vain protests and impotent demands begin. The Captive Lady was proud, haughty, conceited, begging to be broken and tamed by her very arrogance. And her Master was just the man to turn her from a high-born hellion into a shuddering harlot.

Callie was shivering, and not from the cold. The last time they’d played Captive Lady – six months now, wasn’t it? – Master had kept her tied up one way or another for four hours, ravishing her with the vigor of ten men. It had been exhausting, exhilarating, fantastic. It also marked the first time she’d been multi-orgasmic, a nice addition to an already-memorable evening.

Her hands twined into the chains overhead, gripping them for support as she dangled, awaiting her Master. I love my Master… It’s so good to be my Master’s whore. The diamond on her finger glinted, winking at her slave tag in the light.

Robert looked at the untouched meal, the uneaten cake. A year. I can do one more year. He stood, brushing imaginary lint from his clothing, and made his way towards the stairs leading up, to the Playroom, and Callie.

He paused at the door, gathering his thoughts before pushing it open. She was beautiful, suspended like an angel held captive in bondage.

“You! Yes, you, varlet!” she demanded, her tone condescending and self-important. “I demand you remove these chains at once! Some miscreant has bound me thus, and I’ll see him whipped once I’m free!”

“I think not, my lady.” Robert began unbuttoning his shirt, seemingly unperturbed. “Your bondage is no accident at all, and I’ll not set you free until I’m satisfied all is as it should be.” Callie whimpered, biting her lip at the look he gave her. “And I suspect it will be a long time before that happens.”

I love you, Calliope. He shut the door behind him.