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"I have a pretty good idea on what you can be," you tell Jennifer, "but I need you to confirm a few things before I can say for sure."

She looks a little confused at how obtuse you answered her question, but nevertheless nods her head to show she's listening. Good, you have a few niggling doubts about her situation that you want to clear up before you continue with your idea. With that said, however, you look at her hands wrapped around your wrist, and sigh loudly.

"Jennifer," you say patiently, "I still need to finish my breakfast."

"I'm sorry, sir!" She hurriedly apologizes as she lets go.

"Again," you comfort her, "it's fine. I want you to feel good."

You turn away from her to continue eating your food, but you don't hear her renew her efforts to touch herself. In fact, she's deathly still. You look back at her with some concern and say, "is there something wrong?"

"I want you to feel good, too." She says. She looks down at your crotch and the visible outline of your cock pressing against your sweat pants.

You don't say anything, chewing your food carefully. You let her words hang in the air for a good amount of time as you finish eating and place your eating utensils down. Finally you swivel on your stool to face her, and she straightens her back as if on attention.

"It makes me happy to hear you say that," you tell her, "it means we can start talking about what comes next."

She gives you a decisive look, one that you haven't seen on her face before.

"I'm ready." She states.

"Alright," you respond with an equal amount of gravity, "I would like to start by simply asking with: Do you know who I am?"

"No?" She cocks her head, before realizing that she hasn't even learned your name yet and her eyes widen in embarrassed shock, "I should have asked!"

"You should have, yeah," you chuckle, and ruffle her hair while smiling to show you don't take offense by it, "but you not knowing who I am at all actually makes me feel a little more comfortable. Do you know the name Huntley?"

"Oh, it's the name of the mountain, right?" She answers, "I think I saw it on a sign on the way up."

"Well, yes," you say, "but it's also my family name. The Huntleys have owned this mountain since time immemorial. With that said, what's your family name?"

"I've always been just Jennifer." She says simply.

Okay, that wasn't something you hear every day. Quickly you rummage through all the religions and all the cultures you're familiar with and try to remember if one had a practice of not having a surname, but you come up empty. You think that this is just one more piece of neglect that led her to run away, so you just tuck that piece of conversation away in your mind.

"In that case, my name is Jason."

"Jason." She repeats, then smiles at you, "I like your name, Jason."

"Thanks," you grin, "you have a beautiful name too Jennifer."

A comforting silence envelops the two of you, though if you must admit the solemnity is ruined by the fact that she remains naked in front of you. You find yourself leaning your elbow on the counter, propping your head up with your hand. Lazily gazing at her everything.

"You said something about what I can be earlier," she breaks the silence with a question, "I want to know what you mean."

"And I did say I wanted to clear up a few more things," you answer, "my next question would be: where are you running to?"

"Running... to?"

"I'm not going to ask where you're from," you assure her, "I'm not going to return you if that's not what you want, but what I want to know is if you have a plan when you leave my house."

"Oh," she ponders the question for a while, her eyes start showing dejection, "nothing, really. Mother just told me to get out and never return. I ended up celebrating my birthday on the streets."

"In that case," you interrupt her from her thoughts, "we'll have to celebrate your birthday properly, now that you're here. Of course, that's only if you decide to stay here."

She looks at you in bewilderment.

"What are you saying...?" She asks, not quite believing it.

"Right now," you tell her, "you are my guest. As a host, I'm obliged to take care of your needs. So if you decide to leave, I'll help you out as best I can."

You stand and place your hands on your shoulders as she looks up at you.

"And I mean that," you say confidently, "you ending up here with me must be the work of Fate, and I don't spit on her face. If nothing else, I'll help you be prepared to live independently and out of the streets."

"What if," she says in a soft whisper, "I don't want that?"

"If you don't want to be free," you hold her shoulders more firmly, "then you can choose to be mine."

She looks up at you as if in a trance. She moves off the stool, slides it back with her foot, and with the space in front of you proceeds to kneel with spread legs on the cold kitchen floor. This surprises you, as you didn't think she would be this proactive.

"You already are mine, aren't you?" You ask her, "You're mine and you don't even know what that means."

"I do know what it means," she counters, "it means I will serve you with everything I have."

"Not just that," you reply, crouching down next to her, "it means you will be trained according to my whims."

With that, you reach for her breast and give it a squeeze. She pushes her chest out to give you a better view.

"I will give you pleasure," you start, giving her nipple a quick lick then pinching it, making her wince, "or I will give you pain. And you will learn to accept both."

"I will," she manages to say while still smarting from your pinch, " and I still want to be yours."

Standing up in front of her, you lower your pants to reveal your cock once again. You note with some amusement that she licked her lips as soon as she caught sight of your flaccid cock. You step closer, making the head touch the tip of her nose. She breathes the scent in, then tentatively sticks out her tongue to give it a careful lick. She leans forward to lick along your shaft, and you start admiring how she's a natural.

"You're pleasing me now, when we're together," you tell her, "but will you still be able to lick my cock when I give it to you to clean with your tongue after I've had sex with another woman?"

She looks up at you in surprise, and you look down at her with a stern look, pushing your hardening cock back to her lips. She obediently goes back to licking it, this time focusing on the underside so she could still look at your face while you talk.

"If you become my servant, we will not be equal. I will have other partners, and I might want you to either participate, observe, or clean up afterward. But you will be mine and mine alone, do you understand what that means?"

"I do," she replies as she pauses from licking your fully hardened cock, and to your delight she looks back at you without any uncertainty, "and I will be loyal."

"Then you are mine." You tell her one final time.

"I am yours." She agrees.