No, I didn't "claim" Allison on the spot, much as my dick argued for it. You can imagine that the letter made for interesting dinner conversation, which I will spare you, except the following: "Allison, you're proposing a significant change in our relationship." A nod, and a shrug from her, as if to say, 'well, duh'? "Back to what you know about relationships. Generally, when there's a significant change in a significant relationship, there's a more-or-less public ceremony to mark the fact. Whether you're talking about signing a contract, or formalizing a marriage, there's a ceremony. That means that there are witnesses who can vouch for the fact of the relationship. It makes it harder for either party to back out of the new relationship, or claim that it's something that it isn't. And it makes a kind of punctuation mark in time, making it clear that 'before now' was the old relationship, and 'after now' is something new, with no going back." "Well," she said with light sarcasm, "I'll pop over to the archdiocese and get a copy of their enslavement ceremony." "Look, you write well. Write your own ceremony. I don't doubt that the Internet would yield endless examples with a search for 'enslavement ceremony,' but you can get your inspiration where you like. Couples write their own wedding ceremonies, why not write your own ceremony of claiming?" "I guess I don't have any pressing engagements just now. If I'm going to be a slave girl, I don't need to worry about summer reading lists for either Central High OR Saint Virginia." She didn't need to know that I had plans afoot on the subject of schooling. "Good. A little advice: keep it short. You can take a lot of the text from your love letter. Make it clear what you're doing, why you're doing it, what you expect of the new relationship. You can use a bit of theater: you don't have to tell your audience something if you can make it clear by showing them." She disappeared into her room, and again the wastebasket began to overflow. Yet in a few days, she was satisfied. I was delighted with the result. Invitations went out to a select few of our more open-minded friends, and the remaining preparations were indistinguishable from any small garden wedding. I didn't touch her, not even once. But I did send her to her OB/GYN to get on The Pill. The great day came, and the well-stocked caterer's tent went up in the garden, near what they assumed to be some sort of arbor or trellis. Chairs were set out. The caterer's people were dismissed. I found Allison in her bedroom, looking over the garden, dreamy-eyed. "Are you sure about this, baby?" She came into my arms, urgent, squirming. "God yes. I'm scared as hell. I've got butterflies the size of bombers in my stomach, And I'm running like a faucet 'down there.' I'm glad you made me keep the ceremony short." I laughed, and kissed the top of her forehead. "Enjoy your last hour as a free woman. The guests are starting to arrive." I did the meet-and-greet thing, and Allison came out to circulate with the guests. I was in my suit, and she was wearing a white, lacy, calf-length, loose summer dress that she had had made for the ceremony. Finally we had a quorum, the guests sat on the chairs gathered at one corner of the garden, and Allison and I took our places in front of the small group. She stood at my side, we faced the group, I put my arm around her shoulder, and she put her arms around my waist and snuggled in. Allison had taken my advice, and copied liberally from her love letter, so much of what follows will be familiar language to the reader. I started in, from the script that she had written. "Welcome, friends, to our home and to this ceremony. What you're about to be witnesses to will mark a change in the relationship between Allison and myself. I'm confident in saying that you are unlikely ever to see another ceremony like it. There will be elements of the ceremony that are likely to profoundly disturb some people. Each of you has been invited because of your long friendship with Allison or myself, and because we believe you to be sufficiently open-minded to accept what you're about to see. If you even suspect that we might have been wrong, we suggest that you excuse yourself at this time." I paused. Nobody moved, beyond the odd raised eyebrow. Allison took over. "I wrote this ceremony. Myself. Every word of it. With two exceptions, which Jack will explain when we come to them, I completely scripted each event in the ceremony. Not to put too fine a point on it: if the question occurs to you, I want this to happen the way it is going to happen." Several guests traded glances. I went on. "I'm glad that's out of the way. Let's begin." I disengaged from Allison, and we turned to face each other. The audience was to one side of us, and could see both of our faces in profile. We began the ceremony, looking into each other's eyes. "What is your name?" "Allison Kennedy." "Why are you here?" "To give myself to you, voluntarily, freely, completely, and irrevocably." Not too bad so far, rather vanilla stuff. "What relationship do you seek?" "A relationship where everything is permitted to you. I forbid nothing, I may forbid nothing. I demand nothing, expect nothing. I accept everything in advance, without knowing what you will demand. I want you to take without waiting for me to give." I stole a glance at the audience. The eyebrows were starting to go up again. Back to Allison. "What do you call this relationship?" "Call the relationship what you will: if slavery is dead today, let me use it as a metaphor. All my time, energy, and focus will go to serve your pleasure, my discomfort means nothing. I want to please you, give you pleasure the way you have given me pleasure, give without taking. All day, every day, any way, without limits." "What if you fail to please to your utmost?" "I would beg you to punish me for failing to fulfill my promise to you, and correct me so that I did not fail again." "Why do you want this relationship?" "I will get pleasure from pleasing you, the way the moon gets its light from the sun." "What do you offer?" "Absolute and instant obedience. I won't negotiate, won't consider, won't accept, won't even wait to understand. Just do, instantly, like a reflex." "How will you be called?" "I will have no name, unless you wish to give me one." "How will you be clothed?" "My clothing has been for concealment. How can concealment give you pleasure? I will be clothed as you wish, even if not at all." "How will you be fed?" "By your hand, and by your wishes, even if not at all." "What are your rights? What limits do you place upon the relationship?" "I want no rights, because they imply choice, the option to refuse. I place no limits. How can refusal or limits increase your pleasure?" "Very well." I put my hands on her shoulders. "I accept you." I pushed down gently, and she went to her knees. I thought absently that there would be grass stains on her dress. I twisted her hair into a rope, gripped it in my fist, and faced the audience. I raised my voice, a little, because this was the punctuation mark. "I claim this woman as my property, to do with as I see fit." A murmur through the audience. Rub their faces in it. I turned back to her and looked down. Time to show the "after." Still with my hand gripping her hair: "What are you?" "If it pleases you, sir, let me be your slave." "Why do you exist?" "To give you pleasure." "And if you cease to give pleasure?" "If it pleases you, sir, I would cease to exist." "Do you have the right to say 'no'?" "I'm sorry sir, I don't know that word." "What is your name?" "You have not chosen to give me a name." I turned again to the audience, and dropped my hand from her hair. "This is the first of two moments in the ceremony that Allison did not script. She does not know the name I will choose for her to wear in her new life." I walked around her, pretending to consider. I had a wicked thought. "You certainly are long and slender. Perhaps I will call you 'Sprout.' She looked up at me with the look that said, "That has gone far enough." "Yes, I will call you 'Sprout.'" She looked at me with horror. I could tell that she wanted to shake her head, but caught herself in time. Good girl. "What is your name?" A tear began to run down the side of her nose. "'Sprout,' sir, if it pleases you." "It pleases me. Stand up, Sprout." She stood, still facing me. Her eyes were wide, her head making the tiniest of 'no' motions, not of negation, but of disbelief that I would do this to her. I looked at her. "On the other hand, you're smarter than the average vegetable, a little. Maybe even as smart as the average alley cat." I snapped my fingers. "That's it! I will call you 'Allie.'" She had hated that nickname, never permitted it, corrected everyone who used it. But it was a promotion from 'Sprout.' "Thank you, sir." "What is your name?" "'Allie,' sir, if it pleases you." "It pleases me." A pause. I nodded to her. She wiped the tear from her cheek, and turned to the audience for a moment, and said "We are beginning the last part of the ceremony. I beg you again to remember that the free woman I used to be wrote this as you will see it, and that she wanted this to happen." She turned back to me, and nodded. She knew what was coming. After all, she'd written the script. I said, "Are you a free woman?" "I am a slave." She might have said "no," but her new identity did not permit it. "Is a slave allowed to dress as a free women?" "Only with her owner's permission." "Do you have that permission?" "My owner has not given me that permission." "What is the punishment for a slave who dresses as a free woman without permission?" "Whatever her owner chooses." "Very well. Remove the offending garment." Murmurs from the audience. I thought they were taking this all rather well. She reached to the nape of her neck where there was a single drawstring, tied in a simple bow knot. She tugged on the knot, and a second later she was gloriously, proudly, royally, totally naked. A white Aida. The dress made a white puddle about her feet. "You will be caned for forgetting your place, for attempting to disguise yourself as a free woman, and for concealing the body whose appearance gives me pleasure." I led her to the trellis/arbor construction a couple of steps away. It was built far more solidly than would be needed to hold up a rose bush. Soon her hands were cuffed, separated, and raised above her head. She was facing away from the audience. I faced the guests again. "This element of the ceremony is to accomplish three things. First, to prove to Allie beyond doubt that I will punish her when I wish. Second, for her to prove to me that she will accept such treatment if I choose to deliver it, with or without justification. Third, to prove to you that she voluntarily accepts this behavior as part of our new relationship. Allison scripted this scene, excepting only the number of stripes Allie is to receive. To tell you the truth, I don't know how many it will be, myself." I put in Allie's mouth a folded washcloth, not as a gag, but to protect her teeth and tongue when she bit down from the pain. I picked up a cane that had been hanging on the trellis. Her eyes were closed. I pulled back the cane and struck at her ass, very hard. She stiffened, rose on her toes, and moaned into the washcloth. At the next strike, on the back of her thighs, she raised one leg, as though she were trying to mount a bicycle. I was looking for something, and found it on the fifth strike. The last three had been across her back. She had finally started crying, and her head hung down between her stretched arms. The sound coming through the washcloth was a continuous keening, like very distant singing. I was surprised to find that I was crying, too. I dropped the cane. I whispered in her ear, "That's all, Allie. It's over. You did fine. Rest for a minute and I'll be back." I left her hanging there and went back to the guests, wiping my eyes. "That concludes the ceremony of the claiming of Allie, the woman you knew as Allison Kennedy. I would like to emphasize a few points. First, when Allison became Allie, you heard her give up the right to say 'no', which includes the right to refuse access to her body. However, that right was transferred to her new owner. I will not be pleased if anyone attempts to use my property without my permission. I trust that I make myself clear?" I made eye contact with each guest. There weren't all that many of them. "Second, some day you may meet Allie on the street. It is likely that she will be disguised as a free woman. I would appreciate it if you were discreet. I don't expect Allie's new life to remain fully secret for long, but I expect that you will use judgment in whom you tell, and how, and how you speak to her when you meet. "Finally, you have seen about all of Allie there is to see. But I would be a poor host if I continued to dangle such a morsel naked in front of you, so she will be clothed, after a fashion, during the reception. Refreshments will be available in the tent in twenty minutes or so. Please enjoy the gardens for a few moments and then join us." I bent down to pick up a small piece of white cloth that had been lying on the ground nearby. It was a little stained from lying there, not entirely clean any more. I went back to Allie. I took the washrag from her mouth, gave her a drink of water, kissed away her tears, disconnected her cuffs from the arbor, and we put our arms around each other. "You OK?" I felt her nod her head beneath my chin. "Did it come out the way you wanted?" "Yes. Yes. But oh, GOD, that thing hurts. Please make sure I never deserve the cane?" She shuddered in my arms. It was time for one last bit of establishing the new relationship, at least for the moment. Without speaking, I gave her the cloth I was holding. She swabbed her face and blew her nose on it. She looked around quickly, and wiped the soaked insides of her thighs, too. When she was done, she handed it to me. I shook it out into a little tunic- like dress, handed it back, and told her to put it on and go serve my guests their refreshments. All she could say, with wide eyes and a certain air of wonder, was "Oh, you meanie." After the last guest had gone, I took the cuffs off of Allie's wrists and sent her in to bathe, then called the waiting caterer in through the gate to come get their equipment. When they'd finally gone, I went up to the master bedroom and found Allie kneeling at the side of the bed. The welts were beginning to turn purple. I didn't know how long she'd been waiting. It occurred to me that she had probably spent hours practicing that position, alone in her room. I ignored her while I changed out of my suit into a robe, and splashed my face. Then I came over and sat on the edge of the bed, took her face between my hands, and kissed her. "OK, slave, what's going on in your head? Just let it flow." "I've been kneeling like this forever. My back and ass sting like fury. When you came into the room now I wanted to stand up, throw you on your back on the bed, and rape you. But somewhere deep down where I hadn't realized it before, I knew that 'I want,' is gone, gone, gone. They told me you were crying when you caned me. I'm making a wet spot on your carpet." I smiled into her eyes. "Come to bed, Allie. It's time." I guided her up onto her feet, re-cuffed her hands behind her back, and purely for theatrics, chained her ankle to the bedpost. It's not as though she was wanting to escape. But if she wanted the "slave girl" shtick, who was I to spoil it for her by denying her the trimmings that came with it? I ran her quickly through her repertoire, as best she could with her hands cuffed, skipping the anal. Then I got on my back and had her straddle and mount me. She took two or three shallow strokes up against her maidenhead, set her face, and plunged downward. "Eeeeeeuuugh" was all she could manage through gritted teeth, and she froze in position for a minute or two. I rested my thumb on her clit, and after a while she began a small, experimental movement of her hips. In a moment a tiny smile came to her face, and she began to "grip on the upstroke, loose on the downstroke." It was delightful, and neither one of us could hold out for long. When she came, she convulsed once, twice, and pitched forward in a dead faint. I narrowly avoided getting my nose broken by her descending forehead. Served me right. I disconnected her cuffs, leaving the chain on her ankle. I spread her out on a little mat at the foot of the bed, covered her with a thin blanket, cleaned myself of the fluids of her inaugural fuck, and went to bed.