Please print this as a tribute to my best friend, my lover, my mistress and, I hope, someday, my wife.

After Stacy and I had been going together a few months, she brought up the subject of fantasies. Well, I finally got up enough nerve to tell her the one I’ve had for most of my forty years: to be a sex slave to a pretty lady.

The idea interested her, and she said she would like to take a weekend trip and have me as her slave the whole time. So we rented a mountain cabin, and when we got there, the fun began. We parked the truck, and Stacy stood outside and watched me follow her order to strip. I had to leave my clothes in the truck. In broad day-light, I sprinted naked to the cabin. I unlocked the door and dashed in, only to be called back outside to hold the door open so that she could enter first.

After we got settled in, Stacy took me outside, still nude, and tied my hands above my head to a tree in front of the cabin. As I was almost directly below the deck of the cabin, Stacy could walk back and forth above me like a prison guard. At one point she asked me if I wanted a drink, and I said yes. With that she told me to look up and open my mouth. I knew better than to disobey. She poured the drink in my direction, and it went all over me. Boy — was it cold!

Then, tired of my fidgeting around, she came down and gave me twenty licks with a crop — I had to count them and thank her for each one. Then she made me hold the crop in my mouth while she went back up on the deck. I was ordered to stand perfectly still.

At one point a truck came rumbling by on the dirt road, and I turned my head to look, only to hear Stacy say, “Not smart! Eyes straight ahead.”

During those two days at the cabin, I was made to wear a slave collar, walk around in Stacy’s panties, stand in front of a window in the nude with clothespins on my nipples, stand with my hands tied to an overhead beam while she whipped me and sit in a straight chair in front of her and masturbate. I also had to do all the cooking.

When Stacy sent me into town for supplies, she let me wear all my clothes, but she insisted that I keep the collar around my neck. Well, I took the collar off as soon as I was out of her sight and put it back on before I got back. She was waiting when I arrived and asked me if I had worn the collar all the time I was gone. I said yes, and she told me to swear to it. I just couldn’t swear to a lie, so I confessed, thinking that I had probably ruined the weekend.

I tried to get Stacy to understand that it was an unreasonable order. She didn’t hear a word. She just started toward the whip and without even looking back said, “Drop your britches.” I stopped talking real fast.

My heart was racing as I dropped my pants and started to ask if she wanted the underwear down, too. But I decided that that might aggravate her more, so I dropped them as well. With my pants and briefs down around my ankles, she made me bend over a chair and take twenty good ones. Then she ordered me to finish stripping and fix supper.

It was a weekend I won’t soon forget — and one I hope Stacy will insist upon re-creating in the very near future. I’m sure she will.