Story summary: You know what it feels like to be so totally owned by someone that you can't even think, you can't even breathe, when they're near you? You know what it feels like to know that you chose this? I do. I'm Bella Swan, and Rosalie Hale owns me. Body and soul.


"Hey, Bella, you want a ride home?"

Rosalie looked at me with her hungry eyes, and my knees went weak. Of course I wanted a ride home. Of course she knew I needed a ride, having brought me to school this morning, and every morning for ...

God, has it almost been a month?

It's been almost a month that I've been Rosalie Hale's ...

Yes. The Rosalie Hale. The captain of the cheerleading squad. The most popular senior at Tolland High School, the richest girl in town, Ha! 'In town'? More like the county! And probably in the whole State ... well, in the Northern part of the State, ... Strafford did have all those rich kids of stock brokers.

But still.

"I ..." I said, then seeing her glare, turning my insides into weak, quivering jelly, I added quickly, "Yes." I said. "Yes, Rosalie, I want a ride."

Rosalie smiled, pleased with herself, pleased my utter and complete submission to her every whim, pleased with her total control over me.

Because it's been almost a month I've been Rosalie Hale's slave.

I opened the passenger door of her Ford Explorer and started to get in quickly.

Rosalie's hand stayed me, freezing me in place, half-in, half-out of her monster car that you could still smell the 'new' in it.

"Are you properly prepared for a ride with me?" she asked archly, and she glared at me, her face neutral, as if she were asking about the weather, but her eyes sharp and calculating, missing nothing.

I blushed and looked away. I couldn't look at her, examining me like that. It was is she were looking into my soul, seeing everything, judging me harshly.

"Yes," I whispered, looking away. "Yes, I ..."

"Speak up, Bella!" she cut in. "I can't hear you!"

"I..." I tried much more loudly ... for me

But Rosalie interrupted me again. "Look at me when you're addressing me!"

Did you hear that? She said 'addressing' her. Like she was too good for saying 'talking to me' like everybody else did. No. She was Rosalie Hale, and if you thought she was like anybody else, well you thought wrong.

Dead wrong.

I dragged my eyes to meet her cold, critical ones. "Yes, Rosalie," I said meekly. "I... I... prepared for the ride. I ..."

I bit my lip.

"Say it!" she hissed.

"I took off my panties, Rosalie, just like you told me to!" I blurted out as quickly as I could.

Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! What if somebody heard me? I looked around quickly, but the school parking lot was deserted. Just me and Rosalie: a perfect tableau.

I was embarrassed and ashamed, stammering out what I just said.

But Rosalie?

Her harsh and demanding features instantly mellowed. "Great!" she said cheerfully. "Hop in!"

And that's when I realized I had the choice. I could call it all off, shout, "No! Not any more! We're done!" slam the door in her shocked face and walk home.

It was only, what? Two? Three? Four? ... Five or, ... even six miles from school. I could do that. It would take hours, every day, in the morning and in the evening ...

... ooh, Winter. What about Winter? Walking to school in the pitch black pre-dawn in Winter in Connecticut? That would be hard. But not as hard as walking home when they let out school early because of an on-coming snowstorm that would swallow me whole as I was walking home.

And I didn't have a coat. I had a denim jacket. Thread-bare. With patches. That would keep the freezing cold out, wouldn't it? For more than two seconds? But what about my holey sneakers?

But how much was my pride and freedom worth? Was it worth five miles each way to school?

Because no one else would touch me now, no one else would dare offer me a ride, seeing I was Rosalie's.

Nobody crossed Rosalie Hale.

So I would have to walk for the rest of my life. Seriously.

I was poor. My family was dirt poor. 'My family.' My mom and me. And her occasional, random boyfriend. If we were lucky, he wouldn't hit her, ... or me. She cut hair so we could eat. Sometimes. And so she could drink. We didn't have a car. We barely had an address in the trailer park.

But I could do that. Other people did. Live off food stamps and the dole and walk or ride a bike everywhere when they had work to buy one.

I could.

I swear I could. I could wipe the smug expression off Rosalie Hale's face and walk away, head held high and make her come begging to me to give me a ride home. Or make her go find another new 'best friend' to pick on but realize I was the one she couldn't bend and break to her will.

I could do that. I could be that little irritating piece of grit in her eye that she casually and carelessly wiped away, leaving me in the dust, as it was she who walked away unscathed and found her next toy to play with, and to break, and to make feel like she was the luckiest girl in the world when she rode up to her and asked if she wanted a ride home, because ...

Because that's what stuck-up, super-popular, 'most-likely-to-succeed,' number one girl in the school, fuck, in the whole fucking world, was doing for me.

I got into the car, no ... SUV, buckled up (safety was important to Rosalie), and hung my head in shame.

I was ashamed of myself how easily cowed I was by her, by my situation in life, by everything. I was ashamed how low I had sunk, and ashamed I saw that, and just accepted it, playing right into Rosalie's hands.

Just like always.

Rosalie shifted into drive, and we sped off. The pure power of the vehicle pushing me back into my seat.

It was nothing to the pure power Rosalie Hale had over me.

I wanted to cry. I couldn't. I could only look at her, causal, arms relaxed on the steering wheel, but in complete, utter control of her car and everything around her.

She was Rosalie Hale. And she owned me. Body and soul.


A/N: Hi, my lovelies. It's been a while. I read the story "Ridden" by Couture on literotica-dot-com, and then I couldn't not write this. I asked Couture if I could continue her story, but I never got an answer, so I made this a little BellaRose fic. Trying something new. Rosalie's human! Eeek! God, I want her to own me! I didn't write that! ... um, what's behind you?

Bye, my lovelies!

Update (yeah, 'update soon,' yeah, I got it): Couture wrote back! Here's what she wrote:

"Sure, just please post a link to my story and name.

Cheers!

Couture

www-dot-asstr-dot-org-slash-~Couture

www-dot-literotica-dot-com-slash-stories-slash-mem berpage-dot-php?uid=46698

"

So, there you go! YAY!