I’m not sure when I first realized I wanted to serve. I know it was before I was eighteen. I did a lot of research about BDSM, and even had a few friends, eighteen before me, who helped me figure out trustworthy and sketchy information. So while I read stories and stuff online, I have never tried it at all until my first scene, when I also met the first person I loved.
# # #
The club was imposing. It was totally legal for me to go there, but still, I felt nervous. The bus was getting close, and I was starting to get cold paws. But I had wanted this for over a year now. . . I had to go in.
I was surprised there wasn’t a bouncer or anything outside. Inside was just a dark hallway, Well, dark colored. The lighting was neutral. Dimmer than outside, but still comfortable. And there was a reception counter, and a security guard, at the end of the hall.
“Good evening,” the receptionist said. “I’m going to need to see your ID.”
That made sense. The law was strict about requiring people in fetish clubs to be 18 or older, and one of my candidate clubs had apparently not been checking IDs properly. I reached into my purse and found my ID card, which I handed to the girl.
“Alright miss Innu. Are you here as just a visitor, or do you have a preferred role?” It was subtle. I still had a choice, a chance to back out.
“Sub,” I said, feeling like my voice was cracking.
The girl got out some collars and picked up a print-out from under her desk. The collars were simple leather, red, brown, and black. The sheet looked like an application. “Please select a color for your collar, and then sign this application, if you’d like a membership.”
“Membership” just meant they would keep some basic records. Some of the bigger clubs had other perks, but Ira had scouted this club for me. She told me the membership details. They would let me use a locker, keep my collar or fetish clothes in it, and keep any waivers I signed on file for three months or six months or something like that. I don’t remember exactly how long.
I signed the sheet after looking it over, and then the girl returned my ID to me. I still had to pick my collar as another girl came in, about the same age as me. “Er, red,” I said, pointing to the collars. I didn’t want to hold her up.
The other girl waited for me as the receptionist peeled a sticker off the application and put it on the tag of a red collar. The tag said “Innu/sub” on it, identifying me and my preferred role. Although the label of sub was mostly a formality.
Behind me was a girl with blonde hair, the kind of reddish blonde that almost looks ginger in dim lights like a club. She was wearing a finer collar made of braided leather, and her tag said “Tasha/dom.”
“How are you this week Greta?”
“I’m well Miss Tasha,” the receptionist said. “Mister Kin is preparing room one for the ropes group, if you’re interested.”
“I was just about to ask,” the girl answered. “New girl, why don’t you come sit with me for a bit?”
So we sat and talked. She had some water, and we just really clicked. Maybe it was just that she was fairly new here as well, or how easily she took to leading the conversation and telling me what to do. Maybe it was her blonde hair and deep eyes. I still can’t say what it was, but that night I feel like I was in a fairy tale, and Tasha Yar was my princess.
She took me into the ropes group, where we met a guy called Kin. He asked Tasha to help him demonstrate some of the patterns, but she said she’d rather make sure I had a good partner for my first time. I sat on the floor at her side until the hands-on part of the night, when Tasha started to demonstrate her developing skills on me. Kin was pretty happy with her progress. I was just all. . . squirmy, on the inside.
After the two hours they had planned, a few people stayed for more practice and experience with Kin staying to help supervise. He helped Tasha tie me up in a rope harness that kind of made my breasts stick out, and teased my pussy lips every time my squirminess made it outside, or I moved. In the end, Kin said I could keep the rope if Tasha wanted me to keep wearing the harness, and Tasha invited me to meet her the next day.
# # #
The next day was long. Tasha had ordered me to wear the harness all day, and the way it teased me was almost unbearable. A few people even noticed that I looked uncomfortable or nervous. Nobody actually noticed the harness, though.
When I reached the cafe she had invited me to, I was surprised to find that it was a totally normal cafe. Tasha was there before me, and came up to bring me to her table. We talked. I wanted to be a pet, and despite having been a “catch and release” Domme before last night, Tasha was fond enough of me that she wanted to guide me in being a good pet.
She even got me an interview at the cafe. Apparently a friend of her father was the owner, and he gave me a morning interview for the next day. Since I was finished with school, that was good for me, since I wanted spending money for the summer. Plus, Tasha was offering to buy me stuff and I didn’t want to impose on her by making her buy me too much.
After we finished our drinks, Tasha took me shopping. I still remember how nervous I was when we walked into the pet store. The harness was getting particularly unbearable as I followed Tasha around, and when we entered a normal pet store, I wanted to be anywhere else. Tasha acted like it was no big deal, though, as we headed to the area with dog collars. She found a few nice very visible ones, and we settled on something in red, with simple circular tags on it. Tasha also picked out a few leashes.
The cashier didn’t seem to think anything was strange about the purchase, so maybe it was all in my mind. Once we were out of the store, though, Tasha took me to a boutique to try on clothes — and to get me to put my collar and tags on while I changed. She actually leaned on the changing room door and wouldn’t let me out until I had put the collar on. I was glad, at the time, to be furry and to have dark brown fur, because if people could see my blushing, and not just my posture, they’d have known I was completely embarrassed by the collar and tags. I was glad she didn’t use one of the leashes though. I got two new outfits there, and then we went to a sex store.
In the sex store, Tasha helped me pick out a few toys I could use to train myself for sex (all fairly tame and small), and bought a few gags and muzzles to use on me. “There we go,” she said. “All that’s left is shoes!”
Tasha had a huge shoe and boot fetish, and maybe she instilled a bit of a love for sexy footwear into me. Everything she wore was carefully selected. Short heels, high heels, boots. . . I’m sorry, I lost myself for a moment. I’d like feet even if I never met her, but footwear I think is thanks to Tasha. She got me a nice pair of short heeled shoes, said she was going to train me to wear high heels over time.
And then she took me home. Her house was a nice place, and empty when we got there. She was an only child, or so it seemed from the picture on the walls, and her parents both worked a lot. She took me to her room and made me dress up in a bubblegum pink tee-shirt and mini-skirt outfit, wearing my new heels, and then she made me lick her out. It was weird, the first time, but I enjoyed it so much.
Tasha was my first Mistress, and I loved her and what she did with me. She was a big part of making me the obedient bitch I am today.