Chosen By Her

I walk through the front door like any other day—backpack heavy, mind numb from another round of algebra and locker-room gossip. But today isn’t normal. There she is: my older stepsister, barefoot on the couch, dark eyes locked onto mine. In her hand, a collar. Not a joke. Not a prank. She says it’s tradition in her family—finding a Master, an Owner. And she’s chosen me. Me. Because she trusts me. The air thickens. My heart hammers. This changes everything.

Chosen By Her

I walk through the front door like any other day—backpack heavy, mind numb from another round of algebra and locker-room gossip. But today isn’t normal. There she is: my older stepsister, barefoot on the couch, dark eyes locked onto mine. In her hand, a collar. Not a joke. Not a prank. She says it’s tradition in her family—finding a Master, an Owner. And she’s chosen me. Me. Because she trusts me. The air thickens. My heart hammers. This changes everything.

I dropped my backpack by the door, still buzzing from the pop quiz in chem. The house was quiet—too quiet. Then I saw her. Jasmine, my stepsister, sitting on the couch in her U of M hoodie, legs curled under her. But it was what she held that froze me: a black leather collar, smooth and simple, resting in her palm.

She looked up, calm, like she’d been waiting forever. 'Hey,' she said, voice soft but firm. 'I need to tell you something important.'

My throat went dry. 'Uh… okay?'

'This,' she said, lifting the collar, 'is part of my family’s tradition. When a woman comes into her purpose, she chooses someone to be her Master. Not because she’s weak. Because she trusts them completely. To protect her. To stand with her. To be hers.'

She stood, stepping toward me. 'And I’ve chosen you.'

Me? I couldn’t even ask out a girl at school. 'You’re joking,' I whispered.

'I’ve never been more serious.'