Chapter 3: Unveiling Realities

As I settled into our new shared room, it felt like a haven amidst the whirlwind of transition. The scent of her familiar shampoo mingled with the comforting warmth of the space, casting a soothing spell over me. Perched on the edge of my bed, she motioned for me to join her after our shared shower, a gesture that spoke volumes of my desire for her to take charge and control dictated by my scholarship of what I have read.

With a gentle sigh, she broached a topic that had been lingering unspoken between us, hanging heavy in the air like an unspoken secret. Amber’s voice was soft yet determined as she posed the question that had been weighing on her mind - To surrender myself completely to her, to trust her with my vulnerabilities and fears. I would be a complete servant to her until the day she embarked on her journey of armed service. At that point, I headed to the bustling campus life under the bound scholarship where I would be assigned a handler in the documents upon arrival.

It was a pivotal moment, the gravity of her words sinking in as I grappled with the enormity of the decision before me. Sitting there, enveloped in the cocoon of her presence, I felt a sense of vulnerability wash over me, mingled with a profound sense of trust in her unwavering support.

Amber then took the initiative to delve into the practicalities of our shared future, pulling out a package of documents for my scholarship that we would need to review and complete together before the weekend drew to a close. As she meticulously outlined the university’s recommendations for my scholarship applicants, her words resonated with a sense of responsibility and commitment, underscoring the importance of designating a handler who would not only serve as a guardian but also as a confidant and source of guidance handler over my affairs.

In that poignant moment, Amber’s significance in my life burgeoned beyond the realm of mere friendship, blossoming into something profoundly intimate. Her offer wasn’t just about assisting; it was a profound gesture of trust and connection, a lifeline thrown amidst the tempest of uncertainty that loomed before me.

As she guided me through the intricacies of the documents and preparations, her unwavering support became a beacon of light, illuminating the path forward with clarity and reassurance. In her presence, I found solace and strength, a sense of belonging amidst the chaos of transition.

And then, with a tender yet resolute voice, she broached the topic that had been lingering unspoken between us, her words carrying the weight of a solemn vow. Amber proposed a radical transformation, a commitment to surrender myself completely to her for a defined period, to relinquish control and embrace the role of her submissive, to be used at her discretion.

In that moment, my heart swelled with a mixture of apprehension and exhilaration, as I made the conscious choice to trust her implicitly, to embrace the vulnerability of surrender in exchange for the profound intimacy it promised. With a fervent affirmation, I uttered a single word that sealed our pact: “Yes.”

As Amber stood over me, her presence commanding yet gentle, she brushed my hair to one side with a tender touch. After ten minutes, I waited for her to return with a collar. Its significance was palpable in the weight of its steps against my skin as she fastened it securely around my neck. With a solemn expression, she informed me of her intentions—to present me to my parents not as a person, but as her “seat doll,” a silent companion devoid of speech.

The gravity of her words settled over me like a heavy shroud, a mixture of apprehension and anticipation coursing through my veins. It was a surreal experience, to relinquish the ability to speak, to surrender control over my voice and autonomy, all at Amber’s behest. Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there was a strange sense of liberation, of being unburdened from the weight of expectation and responsibility.

As she outlined her plan, I felt a surge of gratitude towards her for her foresight and consideration. With my relationship with my parents hanging by a thread, the prospect of this encounter loomed ominously on the horizon. But Amber’s guidance offered a semblance of reassurance, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of familial discord.

As she led me to the awaiting car, the click of the seat belt securing me in place echoed the finality of her control over me. With a last glance at the room we were leaving behind, she deftly slipped my identification card into her purse, a symbolic gesture of ownership and protection.

At that moment, as the car pulled away from the curb, I surrendered myself completely to Amber’s guidance, trusting in her wisdom to navigate the stormy waters ahead. For better or worse, I was bound to her, a living doll in her hands, ready to play whatever role she deemed fit in the unfolding drama of my life.

As the car pulled into the familiar driveway of my childhood home, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, tinged with apprehension at the impending reunion. Amber gracefully stepped out of the car, leaving me seated in the back, a silent observer of the scene unfolding before me.

With each passing moment, the distance between us and the front door seemed to stretch infinitely, the closed barrier symbolizing the divide between past and present, anticipation and resolution. I watched as Amber approached the door with a measured pace, her demeanor a blend of confidence and underlying nerves.

Through the window, I caught glimpses of the interaction unfolding on the other side—a tableau of emotions playing out against the backdrop of the familiar surroundings. Amber’s calm exterior belied the complexity of the situation, while my mother’s demeanor hinted at a mixture of surprise and apprehension.

As I sat in the car, enveloped in a cocoon of silence, the tension in the air was palpable, each passing moment stretching into eternity. With bated breath, I awaited the outcome of this pivotal encounter, unsure of what lay in store for me on the other side of that closed door.

As I stepped onto the front porch beside Amber, the weight of my mother’s words hit me like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from my lungs. To my astonishment, she directed her declaration solely towards Amber, completely bypassing me as if I were invisible.

“We will donate every garment and toss the rest sometime before the weekend is over,” my mother announced with a tone of finality, her words hanging in the air like a heavy shroud, suffocating any semblance of agency I might have had over my belongings. It was a unilateral decision, made without consultation or consideration for my feelings, leaving me with a lingering sense of being sidelined in discussions concerning my own life.

What struck me even more profoundly was my mother’s deliberate avoidance of meeting my gaze, her attention solely fixated on Amber as if I were inconsequential, a mere afterthought in the narrative of my existence.

As we stood there, amidst the familiar surroundings of the front porch I had known since childhood, I couldn’t shake the feeling of displacement, of being a stranger in my own home. It was a stark reminder of how swiftly things had changed, and how rapidly I had transitioned from being an active participant in my own life to a passive observer in decisions that directly impacted me.

Returning to the cozy familiarity of the living room, where countless memories had been woven into the fabric of the space, I felt an unsettling sense of estrangement settle over me. As my mother disappeared into the adjacent kitchen, leaving Amber and me alone, a tense silence enveloped us, punctuated only by the muffled sounds of clinking glasses and distant voices.

In that moment of solitude, Amber leaned in close, her voice a whisper against the backdrop of the empty room, as she divulged the nature of our relationship to my mother. My heart pounded in my chest as I shot her a smiling glance. As my mother returned, bearing two glasses—one of which she handed to Amber—I braced myself for the inevitable confrontation that lay ahead listening to the conversations.

The subsequent events unfolded with a surreal sense of inevitability as if guided by an unseen hand orchestrating each movement with precision. With practiced ease, my mother rearranged the pillows on the sectional, while Amber directed me to recline on my back, positioning me with a calculated efficiency. All the while, they engaged in casual conversation, the topic shifting effortlessly between mundane chatter and deeper musings about Amber’s future in the military and my parents’ plans being empty nesters.

As Amber’s weight pressed against my face, momentarily disrupting my breath, I found myself enveloped in a strange mixture of sensation and detachment. It was as if I were floating on the periphery of my existence, a passive observer in the unfolding drama playing out before me in hers and the parents’ plans with me no longer being their concerns.

Amidst her grinding her body down on my face, Amber skillfully wove tales of her aspirations of traveling and seeing the world. Painting a vivid picture of a future filled with adventure and possibility. As she spoke, I couldn’t help but marvel at her ability to navigate the complexities of our shared reality with such grace and poise once we parted ways in two directions, me being reduced to the world of the pending scholarship.

Meanwhile, the lady I have known as my mother offered insights into the parent’s plans, her words tinged with a sense of excitement and anticipation for the journey that lay ahead in my absence. It was a stark contrast to the solemnity that had pervaded my past interactions with them as their daughter. Now being nothing more than a sit toy to Amber and for all purposes that lady not once exhologied my presence. I got a glimpse into their future that held the promise of newfound freedom without me and after me being a burden to them.