Grace Chamberlain was the perfect daughter. She was beautiful, intelligent, ambitious, everything a wealthy family would want in a daughter. She'd been accepted into a prestigious college, after years of impeccable grades and countless hours of volunteer work. She was devout, attending her church services every single Sunday without fail. She'd even been on a few mission trips, helping to build schools in less fortunate areas of the world. She helped her father impress his business associates with the same skills she brought to the kitchen baking pies with her mother. Yes, she was the perfect daughter, save for one flaw.

Grace still regretted that night. She hated herself for it. It was the worst mistake she'd ever made in her nearly flawless life. She still remembered it, so vividly. She relived it nightly in her nightmares. The look of rage on her father's face, the way he'd punched a hole in the wall. The look of disgust on her mother's face, the shattered glass and red wine staining the floor. The arrogant bemusement on her brother's face. Yes, Grace was perfect, except for one small fact. She was gay.

She thought her family would be able to overlook it. She'd carried the burden of that secret for *so* long. It had eaten away at her for years, she just knew, *knew* that the truth would be better, it had to be. It wasn't. No, if she'd known then what she knew now, she would have buried herself as deep in the closet as she could, and sealed the door shut behind her. But Grace was proud. Stubborn. She wouldn't take it back. Couldn't. Not after the conversion camps. Not after the hours of her father screaming in her face. Or the way her mother would no longer touch her. Or the things she said and did to herself in private. Oh, she hated herself. So much. Why couldn't she just be normal? Why couldn't she be the good daughter she was meant to be?

That had been a few years ago. She was 19 now. She did everything right. She did everything her parents wanted. But it wasn't enough. Not time, nor distance, changed anything. Her father refused to speak to her now. The screaming hadn't changed anything, so he'd given up on her. Her mother was polite, but cold. They'd once been so close, but now, at best Grace had been kept at arm's length. Her brother, Logan, well, he couldn't go five minutes without reminding her how he was the favored son now. Leaving home was supposed to have been a good thing for her, an opportunity to be her own woman. A new start. But nothing changed, not really. She wasn't out to anyone but her family, but it still felt, odd, or perhaps just wrong, hanging out with the “right” crowd. Judging people for their “lifestyle choices”, she knew it was wrong, she hated herself for it, but better them than her, right? And the more liberal minded peers, well they couldn't stand her, being so outspoken about her beliefs. Being so cold in class discussions, and so vicious in lunchroom debates, they hated her. Not that she could really blame them. She'd never admit it, but deep down, she hated herself too. She hated who she was, and she hated who she tried to be. She wasn't sure which one of herselves she hated more.

It had been a fluke, that night. She'd been alone, like most nights, a few glasses of wine deep, like most nights, shamefully browsing the places on the Internet she'd never admit she knew about. The ad sounded *so* good. A local dominatrix, affordable and discreet. She would be treated like she deserved. Punished, for being a bad girl. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the desire to hurt herself more. Maybe it was the need to be touched by another woman, in any context, but she booked the appointment. She spent the rest of the week nervously counting down the hours. Finally, it was time. She wasn't sure how to dress for something like this. She decided simplicity was the best option. She slowly dressed herself in a simple bra and matching pair of panties, light blue in color, modest, but enough to display her body well. She kept in good shape, running and visiting the gym regularly. Her body was lovely, with long toned legs leading up to a firm ass, a flat belly with just a hint of abs, sitting below a pair of perky breasts, a handful each, capped with tiny pink nipples. Her skin was fairly pale, with just the slightest kiss from the sun. Her face was proud, and gorgeous, if a little sad. She had ice blue eyes, and plump lips, and despite her usual resting bitch face, she got plenty of attention from interested parties, though usually from people who didn't know about her and her preferences. Her platinum blonde hair was long and straight, just touching the top of her ass, with sharp bangs in the front. One of the few imperfections were the scars on her inner light thigh. Long, straight, orderly, and obviously self-inflicted. Nobody ever saw those though. Next, she put on a simple white dress next, not quite realizing how much her current look made her lean into her reputation of being an ice queen. She debated on if she needed anything else, but decided against it. She grabbed the small envelope, holding the promised three hundred dollars, her car keys, and nothing else.

Grace was nervous on the drive over. Scared even. There wasn't much excitement in her. She didn't know why she'd agreed to this. She didn't know what to expect. But she did know wild horses couldn't drag her away from the door, as she walked up, and lightly knocked. The wave of dread she felt when she saw who answered was enough to destroy a city. One of the loudest ones in class, always the first to argue against, well just about Grace had to say. Was this a prank? Was she about to be ambushed with cameras in her face, and the laughter of her classmates? She flinched, tensing, waiting for her world to come crumbling down on her head. Her parents would well and truly disown her. She'd lose her apartment. Her tuition. Her reputation. Her friends. Everything swept away after one bad decision. But no. The other shoe didn't drop. The fact that they knew each other wasn't acknowledged. Grace was invited inside. Offered a glass of water. Which she readily accepted. Her mouth hadn't been so dry since the night she came out…

No. No, she wasn't going to think about that. Not tonight. Tonight, she was giving herself over to someone else. Come whatever may, Grace was letting go of the reins tonight.

“Um… hello. Mistress? Is that right? I… I don't really know, um, I'm not sure what I'm doing. How… how do we start?”

(So, the above was a response to someone else's post, but sadly things didn't work out with that person. However, I was really excited about this idea and I absolutely fell in love with Grace, so I'm hoping to find someone else to write this with. The basic premise is that my character Grace, is not a very nice person. She's very outspoken about being right wing, religious, and anti LGBT , despite herself being mostly in the closet, and hating herself for the way she treats people. So, she hires a dominatrix, who she doesn't know is a classmate (your character!) who she regularly clashes with. For whatever reason, YC takes Grace on as a client. Maybe with less than noble intentions at first, maybe not. Either way, Grace will break down during the session, and it becomes clear this is not the fun kind of punishment, but the self destructive kind. From there, we can kind of figure out what happens next, but I'm really hoping for a deeply emotional, and hopefully romantic story, of Grace meeting someone who can kind of guide her into the light and teach her to love and accept herself. I think this has the potential to be a really good and sweet story, and I really don't want to let it go. So! If this sounds interesting to you, please reach out to me! Feel free to jump right in if you think you have a good idea for where to go with the first scene, or if need be, I'm happy to discuss things and figure more out about the story. Chats will be ignored)