I’m writing to you because I thought the story of how I met my husband would interest your readers. I met Warner through the personals, answering an ad he had placed in a sophisticated regional magazine I was subscribing to at the time. It turned out to be the best thing I’ve ever done, but at the time I was as nervous as a kitten in a roomful of Dobermans.

I had never answered a personal ad, and for days I debated the wisdom of answering this one. I kept reminding myself that I was only twenty-eight and considered very pretty, so there was no need to panic. It was possible that, despite my failures up until then, I would eventually find my Mr. Right through conventional channels. One of these days all the pieces would fit and my fantasy lover would become a reality.

And just how smart was it to respond to an ad placed by a total stranger, someone who, for all you knew, could be a wacko? He could turn out to be ugly or boring, or both. The whole thing could prove a monumental waste of time and energy. Seconds after meeting this guy, you’d be looking for a way out.

Again and again I went over all the negatives, the potential for problems I didn’t need, but always I came back to the ad, drawn to it as if by a magnetic force. It was a simple ad really, not that much different from the others. The writer identified himself as a white male, a successful professional in his forties, and then described his pleasures in life, “the theater, thoroughbred racehorses, fine wine, travel,” among others. He was seeking a “lasting relationship” with an attractive woman between twenty-five and forty who was intelligent and who possessed a good sense of humor. Nothing unusual here. The last line of the ad, however, spoke volumes, quickening my pulse and setting my pussy to tingling. It read: “Only women interested in a relationship lasting longer than 9½ weeks need apply.

Clearly he was looking for a submissive female, for it wasn’t by chance that he had chosen 9½ weeks as a time frame. I had read the book, of course, and been one of the first on line when the movie opened, thrilling to the story of a woman who succumbs to the wicked charms of a dominant man. I had tried in vain to find such a man, one capable of bringing my submissiveness to full flower. And now here he was, looking for me. Knowing I’d be kicking myself all over if I didn’t at least meet this man, I answered the ad.

Two weeks later, we were seated at a corner table in a small club not far from where we both lived. Warner proved to be as charming and intelligent in person as he had sounded over the phone, and he was good looking to boot. With his thin, angular face and horn-rimmed glasses, he reminded me of a university professor. The more we talked, the more comfortable I felt with him. But where was the assertiveness, the masterful man of my dreams? I found out soon enough when, out of the blue, Warner ordered me to go to the ladies’ room and take off my panties. I was to return to the table and hand them to him.

Caught by surprise, I hesitated, yet the thought of obeying his outrageous order had my juices seeping into my underpants. I know I was blushing as I slowly got up and started for the ladies’ room. I returned minutes later and gave Warner the damp-at-the-crotch undies. He didn’t smile or say a word as he matter-of-factly stuffed them in his pocket.

Neither of us spoke of dominance/submission as we sipped our drinks and chatted about mutual interests. It wasn’t necessary. We both knew that I had handed him more than my underpants; I had handed him the right to make my darkest desires a reality. And later, back at his neatly furnished apartment, he began to do just that, taking me over his knee and turning my bottom beet-red for hesitating, ever so briefly, when he’d demanded my panties. Then, with my ass on fire and my pussy melting, he fucked me to half a dozen orgasms. I knew then that this mild-mannered, soft-spoken man with the air of a college professor was the super master of my dreams.

Warner began my training slowly, leading me into the world of female submission with baby steps instead of leaps and bounds. At first it was enough that I simply serve him, see to his comfort much in the manner of a good maid. I would arrive at his apartment every Wednesday and Friday night in time to prepare dinner. A pitcher of martinis and a glass would be sitting on a tray next to his favorite chair, awaiting his arrival home.

I would sit at his feet while he stroked my hair and read the newspaper. At some point he would put down the paper and snap his fingers. Seconds later I was on my knees and unzipping his fly. A leisurely blowjob lasting a minimum of fifteen minutes was what he insisted upon, and when he was ready, he would fill my mouth with creamy come — my “special appetizer,” he called it. Then I would be ordered into the kitchen to check on dinner while he took his place at the head of the dining-room table. Later I would draw his bath and then wash him and towel him dry. If he had to pee, I would hold his cock for him.

This ritual went on for several weeks, and I grew increasingly impatient with Warner’s patient handling of me. I wanted him to be more demanding. I wanted him to be less civil and more authoritative. I wanted to be taken to another level of subservience, and the wait was frustrating. I began to wonder if I had read too much into Warner’s ad, if he was in fact capable of being the master I craved. As if reading my mind, Warner began to accelerate the pace of my training.

Now I was to strip naked immediately upon entering his apartment and remain that way until I left in the morning. When, for the first time, I failed to stall his orgasm for the required fifteen minutes while performing fellatio, I was soundly spanked and then made to stand in a corner for thirty minutes to contemplate my misdeed. By the time thirty minutes was up, I was soaking wet and quivering with desire. Instead of taking me to bed and fucking me, Warner had me masturbate standing up in the corner.

One evening Warner produced a paddle, saying that as my spankings were going to be more frequent, he didn’t want to “wear out” his hand. My first taste of that paddle took me to another dimension of pleasure. Bent over the back of Warner’s sofa, I came again and again as he pounded away at my taut behind. By the time he tossed aside the paddle and shoved his raging cock into my pussy from behind, I was sure I couldn’t come any more. Of course, I did, explosively too.

Warner began tying me up during sex, and I reveled in my helplessness. His favorite position for me, as I learned almost immediately, was in a tight servile crouch with my head down, resting on the bed, and my bottom sticking up in the air. Tied like this and with Warner behind me, drilling hard and deep into my soaking pussy, I was in heaven.

For weeks Warner talked about “breaking in” my behind, opening me up back there so that I’d be able to take the largest of cocks with ease, but aside from fingering my anus, he didn’t follow through. Once again, he was allowing me the pleasure of anticipation, knowing that the more I thought about his cock in my ass, the more I’d come to crave it there. Which was the case exactly. The idea of anal sex had always intrigued me, but I’d never had the nerve to ask for it. Actually, I didn’t want to ask for it. I wanted a man to just roll me over on my stomach and do it — and make me like it. Warner, I knew, would do just that — when he was ready.

It got to the point where I was pleading with him to do me back there. To humor me, he produced an anal plug one Friday night and word uselessly slipped it into my bottom. There it remained all weekend, removed only when nature called. The moment I’d been waiting for arrived the night I moved in with Warner. Tied securely in a low crouch and whimpering with need as Warner greased my asshole, I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate my new status as full-time, live-in submissive.

I mewed like a kitten when he placed the head of his engorged cock at my anus, then roared like a lioness as he plunged his full length into my uptilted behind. Never had I felt so mastered, so thoroughly at the mercy of a lover, and as Warner fucked my ass for me, his penetration the first of what I knew would be many designed to “break me in” back there, I rejoiced in the realization that I was truly, truly in love.

A month later, Warner smilingly threatened to cut back on my spankings and anal penetrations unless I married him. I was so happy, I could have cried. Ours was an old-fashioned wedding, with the traditional vows being exchanged. Underneath my pretty gown I was naked, with ben-wa balls in my pussy and a small anal plug in my ass. No one in the church was aware of that, of course, but I do think a few people took notice when, reciting my vows, I placed special emphasis on the word “obey."

Today, one year later, I’m as happy as can be and still thanking my lucky stars that I had the courage to answer Warner’s personal ad. And now, to celebrate our first year together, Warner plans to put another ad in the personals. This one will read something like: “Adventurous couple seek worldly-wise man to pleasure wife while husband watches.” Just thinking about Warner watching while some sexually adept stud gives it to me but good is enough to start me dripping like a faucet.