Readers of this review will notice that Carrie’s Story is ranked number two on our list of top twelve BDSM books.  It absolutely deserves the honor. This is a wonderfully written book about a female slave and her journey from college student to becoming a slave to eventually being sold at a slave auction to the highest bidder. This modern day story is written with humor and honestly and although it’s written by a female author – Molly Weatherfield,  it’s a book that can be enjoyed by both sexes. So many times, people who are not into BDSM at all, wonder how all of us can be so dedicated to it. I think this book gives some insight into how a slave feels and why she would let herself, or himself as the case may be, become a slave. And although some would simply refer to her as a sex slave, she makes it clear that it’s not about sex but about being trained to be everything you can be in life. To learn humility and how to please another. There is one passage when she talks about learning how to sexually please her master. She makes the point, how fortunate she is that her master has trained her in detail how to please him sexually, because most people really don’t have good enough communication to know how to totally please their partner. Speaking from experience, I can also tell you that the advantage to a slave is that we’re not dealing with ego driven personality. I could write a book about what women do wrong in relationships and someday I might, but in the meantime, buy this book because it's a treasure in any library.

I had been Jonathan's slave for about a year when he told me he wanted to sell me at an auction. I wasn't in any condition to respond when he told me this - I was very carefully licking his balls, concentrating on doing it the way he liked, wondering when it would be time to snake my tongue into his asshole, waiting for the little tug on the chain clipped to my nipples, which would be the signal. I got it right, I think - or at least close enough. His cock got very big, and he rammed it deep into my throat, coming hugely, while he continued to tug on the chain. I swallowed hard, letting myself sign and shudder. He held my head down tightly with one of his hands, only very slowly releasing it, allowing me to relax between his thighs.

It was only later, after I had brought in some tea and buttered toast and knelt silently at his feet while he read through the book review sections - New York Times and San Francisco Chronicle both - occasionally stroking my head and feeding me bits of toast with his fingers, that he decided to tell me what he had meant. 

"Did you hear me before, Carrie"" he asked.

"Yes, Jonathan," I said, following the rules we maintained. I always had to address him by name and deferentially. I also had to look him straight in the eye, which I was doing as well. "But, I didn't understand what you meant," I added. (end of page one)

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