Chapter 23 – A collar from Mrs. Peters
Ruthie struggled with another issue during March. She realized something
she really had not wanted to think about. Increasingly she was attracted
to Jen. Whenever the two women were in the room together it was very
hard for Ruthie to keep her eyes off her roommate.
The two roommates continued their nightly ritual of “unwinding time” at
the window. “Unwinding time” was a chance for Jen to relax and look
across the Pacific Ocean towards her home in New Zealand. For Ruthie
“unwinding time” was something she always looked forward to with
anticipation, but for her there was no relaxing. Her hungry eyes were
always fixated on Jen’s body and her mind was running wild with sexual
Ruthie was keeping a strange secret from Mike, one that she could not
have articulated even to herself. If Jen had shown even a hint of
attraction towards her, Ruthie would have done anything her roommate
wanted. She wanted Jen to hold her in her arms and take charge of her.
She started having submissive fantasies. Seeing her roommate's
attractive body during “unwinding time”, or sitting at her desk, or
lying on her bed, or standing at her wardrobe…aroused feelings that she
had not experienced since she had last seen her ninth-grade teacher Mrs.
Sylvia Peters...and that was nearly four years ago.
The conflict in her mind grew. She deeply cared for Mike, but was not
attracted to him. Her feelings towards Jen were much more sexual, but
she did not like Jen’s standoffish personality. So…she loved one person,
but her sexual fantasies focused on a different person.
By the second week in March, Ruthie’s counselor started to be curious
about the relationship she was having with her new roommate. She noticed
that Ruthie became nervous and blushed whenever she asked about Jen and
how things were going with her. It was not hard to figure out that
Ruthie was attracted to her. Hartman was curious whether there was any
chance Ruthie was going to attempt to express her feelings and, if so,
how Jen would react.
The counselor knew that bringing up the topic of Jen would greatly
complicate her sessions with Ruthie, because she was about to open up
the issue of her client’s sexual orientation. However, that might
explain some of the problems she was having with Mike. She started with
asking Ruthie about her feelings towards her roommate, to which the
student responded that it was nice that Jen was compatible and that it
was nice to be living with someone who was a lot quieter than Shannon
and who respected her. When Hartman got her client to talk about
“unwinding time”, her suspicions about Ruthie’s feelings towards Jen
were confirmed. Finally she got Ruthie to admit that she enjoyed looking
at Jen’s body and was attracted to her.
Hartman asked Ruthie if she had ever expressed her feelings to her
roommate and what she hoped might happen in the future. Ruthie blushed
but shook her head. For once she was realistic about a relationship. She
knew that Jen was going to be leaving in May, that she was desperate to
go back home, that she was not particularly friendly, and anyhow, she
had a boyfriend. Hartman correctly figured that out of courtesy, Jen
indulged Ruthie in conversation and tolerated her, but did not much care
for her. Well, at least someone other than Mike was being courteous to
Ruthie…better than what she had the semester before…
The week before Spring Break started, a couple of Dr. Hartman’s clients
canceled their weekly appointments, leaving her several spare slots in
her schedule. She decided to offer one to Ruthie, with the idea of
spending the extra time getting her client to talk about her life in
high school and her last year in middle school.
The counselor already knew about Ruthie’s move from Lincoln to Salinas
and some of the unpleasant experiences that followed. However, Hartman
wanted to learn more about that time in her life, because she was
convinced her client’s first year in Salinas was crucial to the way she
developed throughout high school. She also was curious about Ruthie’s
romantic interests in middle and high school, because not once had the
student mentioned anything about dating anyone other than Mike.
Hartman started with Ruthie’s last two years in high school, with the
intention of working her way backwards through her client’s life. Before
she met Mike, Ruthie had not gone out with anyone for a year and a half,
not since the Junior Prom. Not one single time did she go out with
anyone during her senior year in high school.
So what happened at the Junior Prom? She rebelled against her mother to
go, sneaking out of the apartment and knowing there would be hell to pay
when she got back. Starting with that ominous beginning the evening got
progressively worse. She wore her best dress, but it was not a prom gown
so she was viciously ridiculed. The guy she went with did not care in
the least about her dress, because what he had in mind was being
rewarded afterwards. He had a bottle of rum and several cans of Coke in
a cooler in the back of his car, with the idea of getting Ruthie
“loosened up” after the dance was over. After the dance they “went for a
drive”. She was totally scared of what was going on, but was just as
afraid of going home, knowing that her infuriated mother was waiting for
Ruthie’s date drove her to one of the hills that overlooked the road
between Salinas and Monterey. At that point she knew that it was too
late to get out of what was about to happen: the choice was either
“doing it the easy way” or “doing it the hard way”. She was terrified,
but also was vaguely curious to see what her mother’s church was so
stressed out about, so she did not put up much resistance. Not only had
she never had sex before; she had never had any alcohol before. Yes, the
booze did indeed loosen her and made her relax. It didn’t take much for
her to get totally drunk.
Her memory of what exactly happened in the back seat of her date’s car
was very convoluted. She was intoxicated, sick, and disoriented. She
remembered that it took him a very long time to work up an erection and
all the while she was getting dizzier and dizzier. He pushed her onto
the seat, pulled off her skirt and panties, and mounted her. He had
trouble getting in. He thrust and grunted. Ruthie felt pain, but nothing
So, that was it? That was what everyone was making such a big deal
about? Then she blacked out.
A few minutes later she was awake, stumbling around, and throwing up on
the gravel road. She did not remember much of the trip back to Salinas.
By the time she returned to her mother’s apartment, Ruthie was sober
enough to dread what awaited her as soon as she went back inside. She
expected her mother to slap her face to pieces, but when she went back
in, Doña Lisette was crying. She didn’t ask for an explanation, because
it was very clear what had happened.
Ruthie’s mother did not speak to her for several weeks afterwards. She
never spoke to Ruthie about what happened that night, because she was
overwhelmed with shame. She never forgave her daughter and from that
point forward always looked at her with bitterness and hurt. Although
they never spoke about Junior Prom night, both women felt the memory of
that squalid incident weighing on them every time they were together.
Hartman tried to figure out if what happened to Ruthie legally
constituted rape. She didn’t resist because she was drunk, and it was
obvious she was drunk because her date had planned ahead to have sex.
The counselor would have considered that rape because of the rum, but
she knew a lot of juries would disagree. Ruthie was aware of what was
likely to happen when she agreed to go with her date in his car
following the dance and, drunk or not, she did not really resist. At
least she did not get pregnant…had that happened then her life really
would have been messed up, because there was not a chance her mother
would have allowed her to have an abortion. As bad as the trip to that
gravel road had been for Ruthie, it could have been a lot worse. Hartman
pointed that out to her client, who responded by listlessly shrugging
Ruthie’s Junior Prom experience, which started out as an attempt to
rebel against her mother and ended so badly a few hours later, proved to
be a traumatic turning point that eliminated any chance she could have
friends or positive experiences during her senior year. Instead she
became more of a recluse, shut up in her room as much as possible during
her final months in high school.
She had another reason to isolate herself during her final year, because
Gerardo already had graduated. For the first three years in school
Ruthie could count on Gerardo’s fist to keep any potential tormentors at
bay, but during her senior year that protection was gone. The only
person with whom she had any interaction in school at all was her cousin
Rosa. Ruthie was aware that her situation put Rosa in a dilemma, because
Rosa wanted to be as nice as possible to her cousin, but she had her own
circle of friends and Ruthie definitely did not fit in. So, Ruthie tried
to impose as little as possible and retreated to her books and her
By the middle of her senior year she became aware that she was the
top-ranking candidate for a university scholarship from her class. That
piece of good news encouraged her to live for the future and write-off
high school altogether. She read, she studied, and she focused on how
much better things were going to be as soon as she could get out of
Dr. Hartman became increasingly interested in her client’s past as she
unraveled the events that had formed her character. So far there were
four that she was aware of: the death of Ruthie’s grandmother, the move
to Salinas, Junior Prom, and most recently, her interactions with Mike
and Shannon. She was aware that there was still a gap in her knowledge
of the girl’s past: what, if anything, happened between the move to
Salinas and Junior Prom. It was very likely the fiasco of Junior Prom
was triggered by something else, because if Ruthie had developed any
self-esteem prior to the end of her junior year, there is no way she
would have allowed her date to take her out of Salinas and get her drunk
so he could have sex with her.
The next event Hartman learned about was the evening after Bible study
Ruthie realized she no longer believed in God. Ruthie was much more
eager to talk about that than she had been to talk about the Junior
Prom. She gave Hartman the same details she gave Mike, going on and on
about why she became so hostile towards the Christian message. OK…so
there’s another question answered, thought Hartman, why Ruthie wasn’t
getting any support (or input, which would be a better way to put it)
from her church at the end of her junior year. Ruthie, in her own mind,
had formally rejected anything her church would have had to say about
her behavior and relationships, which was precisely why she rebelled and
went to the prom against her mother’s wishes.
Hartman invited Ruthie to another extra session, with the hope of
exploring a specific event in her life. The counselor was interested in
her client’s first crush…her first feelings of love for another person.
Ruthie blushed and fidgeted. She talked about her first kiss when she
was 12, which happened just a couple months after she arrived in
Salinas. It was with one of Gerardo’s friends. At the time Ruthie was
hanging out with her cousins, because her mother had not yet been able
to change her work schedule to stand watch over her during the
afternoons. Ruthie spent her time at her cousins’ house and there were
plenty of other friends coming over as well. Ruthie kissed on a dare
from Rosa, with a kid who was definitely interested in her. The kissing
dares went on for a couple of days.
Doña Lisette was horrified when she found out what was going on. She
screamed at Rosa and Gerardo, berated her brother for running “den of
fornication”, and severely punished Ruthie, forcing her to sit at the
dining room table for five entire evenings. Each night Ruthie had to sit
four hours without moving. The first night she badly had to go to the
bathroom after she had been sitting for an hour. Her mother denied her
permission to get up, saying that it was “God’s punishment” for being
such a slut. For three hours Ruthie sat in agony, desperately waiting
for the night’s session at the table to end. Those were three of the
longest hours of her life.
The incident motivated Doña Lisette to push much harder to get her work
schedule changed and get Ruthie away from her “degenerate” cousins.
Three weeks later Ruthie’s mother managed to alter her schedule, and the
girl’s afternoons hanging out with Rosa and Gerardo came to a quick end.
So…Hartman was curious. What happened at school? Was Ruthie interested
in that friend of Gerardo that she kissed? Ruthie blushed and
fidgeted…before finally answering “not really”.
“But there was someone you liked? Someone else, maybe?”
“Maybe…you’d like to talk about him?”
Ruthie blushed more and ran her fingers through her already disheveled
“I…it wasn’t a ‘him’, Dr. Hartman…” Ruthie took a deep breath. “This is
kinda embarrassing…to have to talk about…”
“You don’t have to talk about it, Ruthie. But if you’re here trying to
figure out why your life has gone the way it has, you do have to be
aware of yourself and what things in your past might have affected you.”
Ruthie sat quietly, working up the nerve to share something with Hartman
that she had never spoken about to anyone. She stared at the floor…
“I…you know when I was like…in my freshman year of high school…I had a
thing for my English teacher. I’d have all these fantasies about her.
Her name was Mrs. Peters. I’d guess she must have been about 40 when I
had her class. She was tall and thin, always well dressed, very severe,
and had this big yardstick in her hand when she was teaching. The other
kids hated her, but she had this way in class that no one ever messed
with her. She was the only white teacher in the school the kids took
seriously…’cause she had this way…I don’t know how she did it…but this
way of always being in charge, even around the gang-bangers. She knew
how to make you feel really small…just by looking at you in her special
way…and she had these sarcastic comments…and the kids were afraid of
her…but I really liked her…”
Ruthie paused…trying to think about how she could put her disjointed
memories together to express them coherently.
“She was totally different from any woman I knew. You gotta remember
that I had been going to my mom’s church for a year, and they were
totally into the submissive and serving woman…you know that it was Eve’s
fault that people sin and bullshit like that…so women were ‘sposed to be
on a guilt trip over Eve’s screw-up and always do what guys told
them…and here was Mrs. Peters…she was totally the opposite of what they
were teaching in my church…walking around with her big yardstick and
cutting into anyone who messed with her. She was totally in charge…and
it was the first time since I moved to Salinas that I ever saw someone
like that. I mean…I was just as afraid of her as everyone else…but I
really started liking her.”
“I was having all these fantasies anyway…you know…my thing with running
around the apartment naked…and then I read a story on the Internet in
the library about this middle school principal who got fired because he
was paddling students (all boys, I think) in his office in their
underwear. The whole idea of standing in a vice principal’s office, just
in my underwear…totally fascinated me…and then I started having all
these fantasies about it. I wanted to be a bad girl and go to the
principal’s office and strip down to my underwear and be all scared
while I was waiting to get paddled…and then I saw something else…on the
Internet…It was at the public library…and I was waiting for a
computer…and this guy got off but I guess he must have forgotten to log
off…and there was this website he was looking at…from Europe…and it was
showing these schoolgirls getting punished by teachers…and the girls
were totally naked…and the teachers were hitting them with canes. I
couldn’t believe what I was seeing…and I started going through the
pictures…some of the teachers were guys and some were women…but the
girls were always naked…and I was thinking it’d be really neat to live
wherever they punished girls like that. And here I was…really getting
into the pictures and looking around…and then the guy’s session timed
out and the computer logged him off. I was totally upset about it…’cause
I wasn’t paying attention to the name of the website, or else I would’ve
tried to find it and look around some more…but seeing those girls…all
naked and getting their butts whipped…I can’t tell you what it did to
how I was thinking about things…”
Ruthie fidgeted and started talking faster.
“So the next day I go back to school, and there’s Mrs. Peters, walking
around with her big yardstick and threatening some gang-banger with
detention and being all sarcastic with him and making him look like a
total idiot. And I started thinking about her and her yardstick and that
country where they’d take schoolgirls into the principal’s office and
make ‘em take off all their clothes and beat them in the nude…and then I
was wanting that to be me and Mrs. Peters. I wanted to be in her
detention and I wanted her to punish me. I would have loved to have
stayed after school...and she’d pull up my dress and pull down my
panties...and use the yardstick on my bare butt. Later on I fantasized
about her making me get completely undressed, pulling down the blinds,
and having to do chores around the classroom in the nude before she
spanked me with the yardstick. I’d fantasize about her paddling me
too…like those kids that got that vice principal in trouble…but I’d be
totally naked while she was doing it.”
Hartman reflected about her client’s situation…how something as simple
as reading an article and spending a few minutes looking at a
pornographic website on a library computer that had been left up purely
by coincidence…how that could have had such an effect on her client, her
sexual fantasies, and how her teacher got mixed up in those fantasies.
“I’m going to guess you were a good girl in her class. One of her best
students. Never once got in trouble.”
“She liked me…was a lot friendlier to me than she was to most of her
students…she spent time going over my papers and assignments after
class. She was paying attention to me, but I was really shy…but I always
wanted to be around her…and I’d come into her room and help her clean
up…I think she was wondering why I’d want to spend my free time helping
her in her room, but she let me come in…and then for the second half of
the year she appointed me student aide for the class…I helped her get
field trips organized and stuff like that…and I was doing everything I
could to make her happy…but at the same time I was having all these
fantasies about her punishing me…you know…hitting my butt with her big
yardstick…She’d lay out my assignments on her desk and show me what I
was doing wrong and was telling me that she expected me to do better.
She’d say ‘Ruthie, I know you can do better and it’s what I expect from
you. Please don’t disappoint me with your next paper.’ And I now know
that she was just trying to get me to write well so I could do better in
my other classes…but I really wanted to please her…I mean…I would have
done anything she wanted.”
Hartman wondered about Mrs. Peters…wondering if she really was so
oblivious to what her student was feeling towards her. She doubted that,
because Ruthie was unable to hide what she was feeling at any moment. It
must have been obvious to the teacher that the girl did indeed have a
crush on her. The thought crossed Hartman’s mind that perhaps Mrs.
Peters felt something for Ruthie as well…maybe not love…but perhaps
appreciation that among all those hostile students there was one who
stood out, who really cared for her. Hartman was sure that Mrs. Peters
never took advantage of her student, because if she had, that would have
come out in her client’s narrative. Nevertheless, it was interesting
that Ruthie’s teacher let her come into the classroom after hours and
appointed her the class student aide. She would have liked to talk to
Mrs. Peters to get her perspective on the student, but knew that
overcoming the confidentiality restrictions of the school district would
take up too much of her time. Ruthie was not the counselor’s only
“Let me throw out a thought for you. You wanted Mrs. Peters to love you,
but at the same time you wanted her to punish you. Am I close?”
Ruthie fidgeted and blushed furiously. She nodded.
“I wanted to be hers, Dr. Hartman. I…uh…I don’t know how to say it…but I
actually wanted to belong to her…be like one of those serving girls from
ancient Egypt…you know, the ones who ran around the palaces in the nude
serving their mistresses. That’s what I wanted to do with her. I would
have done anything she wanted…and I wanted her to whip my butt if she
ever got upset with me.”
Ruthie then made a confession that horrified her the moment it came out
of her mouth.
“At night, when my mom had gone to bed…I’d think about Mrs. Peters…I’d
be in my bed…rub myself…you know…my clit…and I’d come…have these really
great orgasms…thinking about her…”
“So, what you really wanted was to have a submissive relationship with
her...for her to be your mistress…or maybe like a slave owner. I think
they use the term ‘pet’ in some B&D circles, if I’m not mistaken.”
Ruthie, still blushing furiously from her confession about masturbating
while thinking about her teacher, nodded. Fascinated with what her
client was telling her, Hartman couldn’t resist asking if Ruthie’s
fantasies included wearing a collar for Mrs. Peters.
“Yes, but that was later on…when I was thinking about a collar. This’ll
sound funny, but my fantasies started with her just punishing me after
class. It was later on that I was thinking about her taking me to her
“…and that would’ve meant leaving your mom’s place, running away, so you
could go live with Mrs. Peters?”
Hartman noticed that time was running out in the appointment. She
silently cursed the unyielding clock, because she was convinced that she
finally had hit on the one event in Ruthie’s life, the enormous
frustration of wanting a totally impossible love; that may have made
overridden everything else that she had to endure in her unhappy
existence. There was no question she would have struggled not only with
frustration, but also with guilt because what she wanted was so much the
opposite of what her church expected of her?
And yet, was what Ruthie wanted really the opposite of her church’s
teachings? Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe what Ruthie was doing was sexualizing
her church’s message. In a way she was rebelling because she wanted to
be dominated by a woman instead of a man, but the lifestyle was not that
different in its entirety, just in the details. Ruthie wanted to
submerge herself, give herself totally, not to Jesus but to Mrs. Peters.
With her very limited time, there was only one way that Dr. Hartman
could get the story of Ruthie’s obsession with Mrs. Peters in the detail
she wanted. She already knew Ruthie wrote much better than she could
speak. Why not ask her to write a story about herself and Mrs. Peters?
That way, instead of having to waste time sitting through her client’s
blushing and fidgeting, Hartman would have the entire story at the
beginning of the next session, and would have the rest of the hour to
assess its importance.
“Ruthie, I am going to give you an assignment for our next time
together. I want you to close your eyes.”
Ruthie closed her eyes and tilted her head back.
“Let’s go back in time and change what happened to you in the ninth
grade. We are living in an alternate world, one in which what you want
is what you get. In that world, you are in Mrs. Peters’ class. You are
looking at her…and you know that whatever you want to happen with her
will happen. Imagine. What I want from you is the story, on paper, of
what’s going to happen in our alternate world. Remember this is your
world, your reality, so anything is possible. That’ll be your
assignment. Are you OK with that?”
“Yes, Dr. Hartman.”
That night Ruthie took her place at her computer in Mike’s room (she
still hadn’t gotten around to moving it) and for a few minutes stared
blankly at the screen, not sure what she should do. Then her counselor’s
words came back to her: “…you are in Mrs. Peters’ class. You are looking
at her…and you know that whatever you want to happen with her will
happen. Imagine.” OK…so that was where her story would begin, sitting in
class. Ruthie started typing:
I sat up front of her class…watching as Mrs. Peters walked around
with her yardstick. She was so much in control…she knew what she was
doing and sure of herself…always.
It didn’t matter to me that she was 40 and the lines already started to
form in her face. To me she was beautiful. I was afraid of her, but that
was the way it had to be. I couldn’t have loved her if I didn’t fear
She noticed me…and she started making me stay after class so she could
go over my papers…she pointed out the smallest mistakes and said:
“I expect better out of you, Ruthie. I expect you never to disappoint
me. Maybe your hoodlum classmates can afford to repeat their mistakes
over and over, but that is something you can’t do. I won’t allow it. And
there will be consequences if you ever disobey me. Do you understand
She held her yardstick and looked at me. I trembled, because I knew that
she’d have to punish me if I ever failed her.
I’m not perfect. I was not able to remember every mistake I made that
she had already corrected. She did remember. The first couple of times
she made me stay after class and clean up. But then her patience started
running out. She told me if I was careless again the consequences would
be more severe. Unfortunately I was just a high school student…and not
as responsible as she wanted. I did let her down again…I did repeat yet
another foolish mistake. She took a deep breath and I cast down my eyes.
“You understand what this means, Ruthie.”
“Yes, Mrs. Peters, I understand.”
“Very well, young lady. Close the blinds and take off your clothes. You
are going to learn never to disappoint me again. You’re too important
for me to simply allow you to fail.”
“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”
So I did what she told me to do. My heart was pounding as I closed the
blinds. I was terrified and embarrassed, because I was actually going to
have to be naked in front of Mrs. Peters. Yes, I was scared, but I was
also excited, because deep down it was what I wanted, and I knew she
wanted it to.
My hands were shaking when I stripped. She watched me as she tapped her
yardstick in her hand. She ordered me to put my clothes in a cabinet and
to hand her the key. She put the key in her purse. I knew that she would
not give me my clothes back until she was pleased with me…and that was
something I’d have to work hard to accomplish.
She came up to me and grabbed my arms. She looked hard into my eyes. I
wanted to cry from the shame of having her angry with me, but with every
bit of my strength, I forced myself to look at her. She squeezed my arms
in a vice-like grip. I knew I’d not be able to escape if I tried.
Already I was hers.
“What am I going to do with you, Ruthie? I gave you a simple request: to
not repeat mistakes on your assignments once I’ve pointed them out to
you. How could you have let me down like that?”
I shook with fear.
“You’re better than the others. Way better. But every day, every minute,
every word you write, you have to prove it. Prove that you are better. I
will not tolerate mediocrity from you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes Mrs. Peters.”
“And so what do you think I ought to do with you, since you refused to
meet my expectations?”
“I ‘spose you ought to punish me, Mrs. Peters.”
“Exactly. I need to punish you. It’s not something I want to do, because
I love you, but I cannot tolerate you being mediocre.”
My heart jumped. For the first time Mrs. Peters said she loved me!
“I want you to think about what is going to happen. The best way to
contemplate what is about to happen is for you to go up to that
chalkboard and write ‘I am a bad girl and I deserve to be punished.’ You
write that over and over, until the board is full. When you are
finished, I will punish you.”
“Yes Mrs. Peters.”
And so I wrote, over and over, “I am a bad girl and I deserve to be
punished.” Mrs. Peters watched me, all the time tapping her hand with
her yardstick. She commented:
“This yardstick is too flimsy for your training. I’ll need to get a
paddle, or maybe a cane.”
I glanced over, terrified but excited. I knew she was looking at me,
admiring me. I wanted her to look at me. I so much hoped that she
thought I was pretty.
When I was finished writing my lines, Mrs. Peters again grabbed my arms.
“I do love you. No matter how much I have to hurt you, I want you to
She led me to the teacher’s desk and made me bend over. She tapped the
insides of my legs with the ruler to make me spread my feet. For a long
time she ran her hand over my bottom, massaging the tender skin and
touching my anus and my vulva. I was so totally scared…but I started
getting wet. Mrs. Peters ran her fingertip along my pussy and touched my
clit. Then she held her wet fingertips in front of my face so I could
“Don’t ever try to keep a secret like this from me again. Do you
“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”
She stood behind me, tapped my vulnerable bottom with that big ruler,
and struck me hard, right across both ass-cheeks. Oh…it hurt so bad…but
I was so happy, the punishment finally had started.
She hit me over and over. It hurt so bad…but I knew it was what I
needed. I was brave; I never once got up or moved my feet. I lay across
the desk the whole time as she hit my poor bottom. Every so often she’d
stop and run her hand over my sore skin, tracing the welts with her
When she finally stopped, she let me stand up. She hugged me as I cried
into her chest. She took my chin with her fingertips and forced me to
look at her.
“You did good for a first time, Ruthie. I’m very proud of you.”
“You’re proud of me, Mrs. Peters?”
“Of course I am. You’re not a diligent girl, but you are brave and
obedient. I wish I had a girl like you.”
We hugged each other for a long time. Finally I asked if she wanted me
to get dressed.
“No love, not yet. I want you to finish cleaning the room, and I’m going
to want a few pictures of you. Then you can get dressed. It’s too bad
about the school dress code, because a girl like you shouldn’t be
“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”
Ruthie ended that section and started a new one.
Throughout the fall semester Mrs. Peters continued pushing me. She
didn’t punish me very often, because I really did try to please her. But
she kept me naked in her classroom every afternoon when classes were
over. I had to clean up the room to her specifications, and she would
not let me get dressed until I was done. There were a few times she’d
grab my arm, lead me down the hallway to the teachers’ lounge, and she’d
make me clean there. I was always naked, of course. I was scared someone
would see me, but I also was scared because whenever she took me into
the hallway I knew I had displeased her and that I needed to be spanked.
She made me practice the class material, made me memorize lots of big
words, and made me read really hard stuff. Often she’d make me bend over
her desk and she’d rub my bottom while she was talking to me. I loved it
when she touched me. I wanted more.
On Christmas Eve I decided to run away from home. I told my mom I
couldn’t stand living with her anymore and that I was gonna go back with
my dad, but that was a lie. I was going to go over to Mrs. Peters’
place. I so much wanted to be with her. I went over with nothing,
because I wasn’t ever going to have my own stuff again. On the way to
her place I stopped at a Fast-Mart and picked up a card. In my very best
handwriting I wrote:
Dear Mrs. Peters:
Because you mean more to me than everything and everyone else in the
world, I am giving myself to you as your Christmas present. I love you,
and I want to spend the rest of my life serving you. My existence has
only one purpose; to submit to your wishes and make you happy. My life,
my soul, and my body no longer belong to me: everything that I am is now
Your loving pet, Ruthie
I also bought a big Christmas bow, the biggest I could find. Then I went
to Mrs. Peters’ house. I took off my clothes on her front porch and
threw them in her trash can. I’d never need them again, because she had
said that a girl like me shouldn’t be wearing clothes. I was shaking
with cold and anticipation while I tied the bow around my neck. Then I
went in. The door was unlocked. I snuck into her living room and got on
my knees next to her Christmas tree. I held the card in my hand and
waited. It was exciting and scary to think that I had just done the very
last thing in my life I’d ever do without being ordered.
I waited on my knees for about 15 minutes. I heard my Mistress get up
and listened to the sounds of her getting dressed. She came into the
living room and was surprised to see me kneeling naked next to her
Christmas tree with a big bow around my neck. Without saying anything, I
held up the card. She took it from me and read it.
“Stand up, Ruthie.”
I stood. She took the bow off my neck. She ran her hands over my body.
She kissed me.
“You do understand that I’ll have to train you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”
“And this is the life that you really want?”
“Yes, Mrs. Peters.”
I blushed. My new Mistress ran her fingers over my vulva and kissed me
“You are the best present I could ever receive, Ruthie. Thank you.”
Ruthie ended the second section and started the third one.
I knew that Mrs. Peters would be very strict with me, that she would
expect me to pay attention to detail and try my best at every task she
gave me. We both knew that, when I gave myself to her, she would demand
that I would understand the full meaning of the commitment that I had
made. My life under her would be one of service, not of relaxation. My
existence would never be easy. She would see to that. If my life was
going to be easy, then there was no point in having her as my Mistress.
We both knew that there would be times she’d have to punish me. That was
what I expected, and what I wanted. She promised me never to punish me
without first making sure I understood why I had to be punished, but she
also made sure that I understood that if she was going to punish me, my
place in life was to accept her discipline. I could expect to feel the
switch, or the belt, or the paddle on my unprotected bottom. She would
punish me out of love…but whenever she’d punish me…she’d have to hurt
me. I understood that. It is the role of a pet to accept discipline and
never question her Mistress.
The days right after Christmas were exciting for me, because that was
the week my Mistress started teaching me how to be a proper pet. I
learned what it was to truly serve my beloved owner. She indulged me
during those first few days…even allowing me to make mistakes. She was
fair to me…letting me know that I was allowed to make any particular
mistake…once. If I made the same mistake again, she would punish me.
“You are just learning…my lovely pet, but you are smart girl and I know
you will make an excellent servant. But you also will know, not to test
my patience. It is up to you to make yourself worthy of serving me.”
One thing that she did that surprised me: she did not collar me right
away. She explained why; that the collar was an honor I had to earn.
She’d collar me, once she knew for sure that I was worthy of having her
as my owner. As she put it:
“The collar is a lifetime commitment, for both of us. You need to really
want it, because once you assume the collar, you will not be taking it
off. Once I give you the collar, I will be committed to properly caring
for you for the rest of my life.”
Ruthie ended the third section of her narrative and started on the
On New Year’s Eve, Mrs. Peters took me out for the first time. She
was going to spend the evening with a small group of her friends, and
wanted me to accompany her to serve her throughout the party. She told
me that, although I had a long way to go, I was well-enough trained that
I knew the basics of service and I should do fine.
I knew that so far I had pleased my Mistress, because otherwise she
would not have felt confident displaying me to her friends. I was naked,
of course. I would always be naked, no matter where I went or whom my
Mistress chose to hang out with. As a pet, I was not permitted to have
any material possessions, and of course that included clothing of any
type. I knew that being denied the privilege of covering myself was
going to be a condition of my commitment to a lifetime of servitude. I
knew that from the very beginning: it was what I wanted and what I
My Mistress expected me to perform well and make her proud of me. It was
the chance for me to put into practice what she had taught me so far. I
was scared, not because I faced an evening being naked in a room full of
strangers, but because I knew that I was facing my first real-life test
as the pet of Mrs. Peters. If I displeased her, I would be punished, or
worse yet, I might even put my collar at risk. I just had to do what I
needed to please my Mistress. I just had to.
I did well that evening. I brought my Mistress wine and food on cue.
When I was not serving, I knelt beside her chair. She gently caressed my
shoulder, and her cue that she needed something was to lift her hand.
She did not have to tell me what she wanted, because I already knew her
well enough to understand her tastes in drinks and food. I knew the
order in which she wanted to be served things, having been given that
instruction over the past week.
When I was kneeling I was quiet, but my Mistress allowed me to look up
at the other guests. I could see they all admired me. My Mistress
received plenty of compliments for having such as pretty pet and one who
was so well trained. She smiled and commented:
“Would you believe that I’ve only had her for a week? Such a lovely
sweet girl, isn’t she? And she’s a smart girl, so easy to train. So far
she’s really worked out.”
I knew that I could not let such compliments go to my head. I still had
a long way to go, before I would finally earn the precious collar that
Mrs. Peters was keeping for me.
Ruthie concluded and wrote her fifth and final entry:
Mrs. Peters trained me for three months. She said I was a smart girl
and easy to train, as far as obeying orders was concerned, but a real
pet must go way beyond simple obedience. To be a true pet, I’d have to
know my Mistress as well as she knows herself, to be able to glance at
her and know immediately what she wanted. A pet no longer has her own
identity. Her Mistress becomes her identity; her Mistress’s wishes are
her wishes; she knows what to do without being told.
She had to punish me several times. Her favorite implement was a leather
switch, but sometimes she liked to use a paddle. I always was
responsible for bringing her the implement with which I was to be
castigated. I knelt and held it out to her. Then she positioned me,
making me place my bottom on prominent display…I was always scared, but
through the pain and tears of my punishments I was always grateful she
was taking the time to properly train me.
On my birthday, my Mistress cuffed my hands behind my back and ordered
me to get into her car. She drove to a very elegant reception hall. An employee
was waiting to let us in through a side door. He looked over my
uncovered body, but my Mistress told him to leave. Her expression scared
him off, clearly saying: “Back off. This girl is mine, and no one
She led me into an elegant room. We stopped in the middle of the room
and I instinctively knelt.
“Today is your birthday, Ruthie. It is a special day, as special for me
as it is for you.”
My Mistress laid a box in front of me and un-cuffed my wrists. With a
simple flicker of her eyes, she ordered me to open it. I obeyed…and oh,
I was so happy! It was a collar! My collar!
The collar was beautiful…its surface covered with fine Chinese ceramic.
It was not a decoration, however. It was very sturdy and made of solid
steel, with a large ring in the front. It had a self-locking latch that
could not be opened once it was shut. It was a permanent collar.
Engraved into the ceramic was the message:
This girl is the property
of Sylvia Peters.
My Mistress caressed my cheek with her fingertips. I kissed her hand.
Oh…I was so excited…I finally was going to be wearing my Mistress’s
collar…and not just any collar, but one that was beautifully decorated
and finely engraved…that showed how much she really thought of me.
I held up the collar…and she took it. She lowered it over my neck. I
felt the cold steel touch my skin. Slowly she closed the collar, and
then I heard a metal click. It was done. I now was collared.
My Mistress motioned that I needed to stand up. She led me to a large
mirror. I looked at myself. I no longer was Ruthie Burns. I now was the
property of Mrs. Peters. Yes, I was hers. She trusted me enough to grant
me the privilege of wearing her collar. For the rest of our lives, I
would serve her and she would take care of me. She kissed me and traced
my breasts with her fingertips.
“Happy birthday, my lovely girl.”
When she finished writing, Ruthie spent the rest of the afternoon
masturbating. Her conversations with Dr. Hartman had brought to the
surface very intense fantasies that she had suppressed for years, but
had never been able to forget.