The Stallion - Workout Part 1

[ZeeChromosome]

Author's notes:
- Thanks for Carl Bradford and Mr. Smith for the edits and ideas. Many of the better ideas below came from them. All the dumb ideas are mine, of course, as are the typos.
- Thanks to Joe for inventing this alternate world sandbox we are playing in.
- Thanks to Mr. Smith for inventing Broadstone Academy and giving me permission to use it in my story.
- Apologies for skipping around in my timeline so much. In my defense, it was shiny. This stand-alone chapter (in two parts) takes place near the beginning of year five of Hank/Hammer's five-year indenture. He is no longer a racing stallion and he needs something to do until the end of his slavery contract. For the rest of the year, he'll be working at Bellefleur Holdings during the week and standing stud at the HH Ranch on the weekends.
- I wanted to explore the social dynamics of a free woman going about in public with a male slave in tow. The pony ranch environment doesn't really allow for that. Next up will be "First Day at the Office". Alternatively, “The Seduction of Tamsin”. Which one should I do next?
- As I am a beginning writer, all comments, complaints and suggestions are more than welcome.

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The Workout
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Gwen pulled up in front of her health club humming to herself. Life was going great for her right now and she was so happy. Today was the first day that she could show off her prize stallion (although technically he was still her sister Harriette's property) at the health club.

Hank sat next to her on the passenger side and she rested her hand lightly on his muscular thigh as she drove. She was very careful not to touch the prominent crotch bulge of his custom-made tights because she didn't want to start anything that they would need to finish. One of the side effects of having a penisillin-enhanced cock is that erections take a very long time to subside and they were due at the office after their workout. She didn't want Hank to have to fit a large uncomfortable hardon into the spiffy new business suit she bought him. She had the pleated slacks tailored to fit him just right and an unrelieved erection would be extremely visible.

But Gwen was a Bellefleur and Bellefleurs planned ahead. So she made sure to prep him for today's workout by relieving him twice this morning before they left. "That should hold him at least until after work," she thought.

The North Dallas Fitness Club catered specifically to the slave-owning elite. Slaves accompanying their owners were commonplace here. It was also considered one of the best places in the Dallas-Fort Worth area to simply drop off one's slave to get exercise if one didn't have time to supervise their workouts during the day. The security was very tight and one could be assured that the slave would be safe, freshly-scrubbed, and ready to be picked up at the scheduled time.

A valet appeared at her window and opened her door. He was a slender youth wearing a collar, athletic singlet, and jogging shoes. A blue plastic tag dangled from the leash-ring of his collar, designating him as a Club employee. The outline of his cock cage was clearly visible through the thin material of his singlet. "At least that's an indignity that Hank doesn't have to deal with," she thought. "Hank's a stallion, and one doesn't cage a stallion unless he has been very, very bad. And Hank has always been a good boy."

She smiled at the thought, she loved him so much. She had seen her sister Harriette, his current owner, threaten him with a cock cage once and he immediately stopped misbehaving. That was one of the things that she loved so much about him, his self-control. Although he was as rough and aggressive as any other stallion at appropriate times, his ability to rein himself in before his owner did it for him really made him stand out from the herd. Gwen considered self-control to be one of the most important and attractive personality traits a man could have. Her father's self-control was legendary in her eyes and Hank was just like him in that regard.

As the valet opened the door, she patted her stallion on the thigh and said, "Wait right here until I come get you honey, just like we practiced." She then picked up her leash - which she had matched to her exercise outfit - and walked around to his side of the car. The valet, who had performed this same maneuver thousands of times, dashed ahead of her to open both doors on the passenger side of the car and stepped back out of her way.

She then leashed Hank and drew him out of the car with an impatient tug. Her Mistress-slave training had emphasized to her that she needed to appear to be in control of her slave at all times. This was a normal part of slave-handling etiquette, but it was especially important when a freewoman was accompanied in public by a physically imposing male slave like Hank. All observers needed to instantly perceive precisely who was in charge. She didn't like humiliating Hank by leading him around on a leash in public, but it was necessary to keep him safe. Appearances needed to be maintained.

As he gathered her bags from the back seat, she turned and looked up at the antebellum façade of the health club. She was so excited that she was finally here with him! Gwen had fantasized about this moment for months now, the day she finally got to show off her handsome stallion. All of her friends and acquaintances in the spin class were going to be so jealous of her. She had had the same morning spin class for a couple of years now and many of the women in it had become fast friends. Others, of course, had become frenemies. She smiled thinking about their reaction when she casually walked in with this amazing hunk of masculinity on her leash.

She was determined that everything about this moment was going to be perfect. As Hank turned and stood with her bags slung over his shoulder, she appraised him with a critical eye. His light brown hair was freshly cut and combed neatly. The long sun-bleached blonde mane of his racing days was long gone. He was wearing a black warmup jacket with red stripes down the sleeve. It fit him perfectly-imperfectly - slightly too snug around his broad shoulders and then slightly too loose around his lean torso, thus emphasizing the fact that it was clothing made to fit ordinary men with ordinary physiques, not men at his level of fitness. He was a national champion athlete, after all. He may have “only” won two of the three legs of the Triple Crown, but he would always be a champion in her eyes. On his legs he wore black and red tights decorated in a swirling pattern that emphasized the sexy curves of his muscular legs and firm glutes. Best of all, the tights were made by a brand that specifically catered to the human pony trade. The front was specially designed to provide racing stallions with comfort and support while performing. The design also emphasized his prominent crotch bulge instead of minimizing it like ordinary tights would. Consequently, Hank's already visually-impressive equipment was clearly on display. Gwen loved everything about it.

Gwen also loved the way it matched her own outfit. Although she had dressed Hank in black and red while she was wearing pink and white, the warmup jackets and tights had the same swirly design. Every woman knows that there are more ways to match outfits than mere color coordination.

The only things she didn't like about his outfit were the orthopedic sandals he was wearing. They were ugly and she hated them, but they were a medical necessity. Which reminded her, "How are your shins?" she asked, frowning.

"They're fine, Mistress, thank you for asking," he replied, conscious of the presence of the valet and the doorman. "I got a good stretch in this morning and was able to massage them a bit in the car on the way over so they wouldn't stiffen up." Human pony racing was a brutal blood sport, especially for stallions, and racing in pony boots often did cumulative damage to the ponies' shins. Hank, then racing under the stallion name Golden Hammer, had crossed the final finish line of his career in fiery agony... but he had crossed it first. He would probably experience pain and stiffness in his lower legs for the rest of his life but he would always be a champion.

"My champion," she thought. She couldn't call him that in public, but she often did so when at home at Bellefleur Manor. Usually in the heat of passion, like last night. And this morning - twice. After their years of involuntary separation, he was finally hers to do with as she pleased. She enjoyed pleasing him very much. In a few short months he would be a free man and they could profess their love in public - once a suitable time had passed after his manumission. But right now, they were Mistress and slave, and would need to appear as such.

“Very well," she said in an artificially-cold tone of voice, "let's get you checked in, I don't want to be late for class.”

He smiled and nodded. "Yes, Mistress."

She turned and triumphantly led him up the stairs into the air-conditioned lobby. They had even practiced that maneuver on the steps of Bellefleur Manor in order to make sure everything went well with a minimum of awkwardness. Practiced movement was a key factor in presenting an appearance of ownership and control because it demonstrates habitual obedience on the part of the slave.

Inside the lobby she led him to the front desk and registered Hank as her accompanying slave. The gym bunny working the front desk was a very pretty freewoman wearing a pair of pink tights and a stomach-baring crop top that was probably useless for providing breast support during vigorous physical activity but which performed admirably in its current task, which was to present viewers with an enticing view of deep cleavage. A name tag perched precariously on the upper swell of her left breast, informing Gwen that her name was “Tamsin.”

Tamsin handed Gwen a white tag to put on Hank's collar and asked hopefully, "Will you be leaving him with us for the day?"

Gwen gave her a polite smile, but behind the mask she was exulting. The poor girl couldn't tear her eyes off of her stallion. And she had offered her a "free use" tag! Gwen promptly handed it back, much to the younger girl's disappointment.

The club offered slave owners three different colors of tags to designate how other patrons (and staff) could interact with their slaves. The white tag was the "free use" tag, meaning that any free person was able to use the slave sexually if they were not actively performing an owner-designated task. The red tag was the "off-limits" tag, and was commonly used by possessive free men for their personal sex toys or slave-consorts. Male jealousy and possessiveness regarding sex slaves was considered perfectly normal. After all, two million years of male primate evolution can't be wrong.

But Gwen's situation was quite different. For women, jealousy implies an emotional relationship. And loving relationships between freewomen and male slaves like the one between Gwen and Hank were socially unacceptable among the slave-owning elite. So she was going to have to tolerate a certain amount of groping. "I'll take a yellow tag, please," she replied without a hint of animosity toward the girl whose lust-filled eyes she secretly wanted to scratch out. "And no, I'll be taking him to work with me. Someone needs to make the coffee. Maybe I'll leave him here some other time."

Tamsin smiled at that last bit, which was Gwen's intent, as she happily jiggled her way around the desk to affix the yellow tag to Hank's collar. Then she gave his prominent bulge a playful squeeze. "Oh my," she said, "this doesn't look real but it is."

Gwen smiled at her with outward genuine pride. Inwardly she was seething at the other girl’s presumption. "Of course, he's a racing stallion. He belongs to my sister. He's medically retired from racing now, so she loaned him to me to keep him busy while he finishes his indenture."

Tamsin gleefully bounced back around to the other side of her workstation and leaned on the desk while she finished registering the newly arrived slaveboy. Gwen noticed that she somehow managed to do it while pressing her elbows together in order to enhance her already-generous cleavage.

Since the reinstitution of modern slavery, the pharmaceuticals industry had taken advantage of the ability to purchase large numbers of cheap research subjects. Legally they were animals - and therefore subject to animal testing rules - but biologically they were still human. This had beneficially accelerated the development of new drugs. One of these new drugs was mammacillin(b), which could be used to permanently and non-surgically enhance a woman's bust. This girl had either won the genetic lottery or she had had herself overly enhanced. Freewomen needed to be able to compete for the sexual attentions of men who were often surrounded by naked slave girls, and they needed to be able to do it while wearing clothing. Gwen herself felt no need to do the same thing, she was quite happy with her perky handfuls. More importantly, so was Hank.

Once she finished entering the information into her screen, Tamsin pointed a device at Hank's collar. It beeped, registering him with the club's RFID tracking system. "There you go," she said cheerfully, "if he tries to run off, the club AI will alert security and we'll catch him for you. Just remember to check him back out before you leave so we don't get a false alert. We had one last week and it caused all kinds of hassle."

"I will, thank you," Gwen replied evenly as she walked away. As though Hank would ever run away from her. It was an insult. What was that girl thinking? Oh well, she didn't know just how madly in love Hank was with her. One day she would, though. Gwen looked forward to that day.

She didn't get far before she was accosted by Amanda Lovett, one of the women in her spin class. Amanda had arrived just after Gwen and had paused to admire the perfectly muscled glutes of the unfamiliar slaveboy. "Oh hi, Gwen," she said finally realizing who was escorting that particularly delectable piece of enslaved ass, "I see you've acquired a new property."

Gwen laughed and smiled back at her. She genuinely liked Amanda. She was an older woman in her late thirties or early forties and they had bonded months ago over pictures and stories of their young children. She was also pleased with the appreciative glances that Amanda was giving Hank.

"Well, 'acquired' is a strong word," she replied. "He actually belongs to my sister Harriette. He used to be one of her racing stallions and since he's done racing now, she loaned him to me to keep him out of trouble while he finishes his indenture." This was her cover story and it was a good one because it was entirely true. Harriette had loaned Hank to Gwen, but it was because the two young people were lovers, not because she needed to "keep him out of trouble."

In a kinder, more just world, Harriette could have simply manumitted him and allowed the young couple to publicly declare their love for one another right away. But it just wasn't possible. There were a number of good reasons for that, and social propriety was only one of them. There were also some substantial legal issues that needed to be resolved. A number of lawsuits had been filed against Harriette and there were several liens against Harriette's remaining property interest in Hank. If she manumitted him now, he could be swept up by slave catchers under the "taken in hand" doctrine, which said that when ownership of a particular slave is in dispute, their legal owner is the person who has taken them in hand and is controlling their physical person. It wasn't a risk that the Bellefleur family was willing to take. If Harriette deliberately freed Hank, a legal argument could be made that the remainder of his indenture could be considered "abandoned property". For his own protection, Hank needed to remain an obvious slave until the end of his indenture, which was about ten months away.

Amanda chuckled with unfeigned mirth. One of the things Gwen loved about Amanda was that she was a good-hearted person who genuinely enjoyed learning other peoples' good fortune. "That's some damn good big sistering," she said, patting Hank's spandex-covered bottom in a friendly manner as the two women walked toward the women's locker room. Although she enjoyed seeing handsome slave boys as much as the next woman, this particular slave couldn't be much older than her eldest child, and the pats had an almost motherly energy to them.

"What are you going to do with him?" she asked.

“Oh, you know, carrying my bags to the gym, making me coffee at the office," Gwen replied in an off-handed manner. "He's a racing stallion and hasn't done anything other than race and fuck since high school. Daddy wants to see if he has more potential in life though, so I've got about ten months to get him up to speed on things before we have to make a decision on what to do with him next.”

Amanda nodded. Ethical slave-owners took their responsibilities for their human chattel seriously and tried to deliver them into appropriate long-term positions after their manumission as a reward for faithful service. It's just how it's done. She happened to know that the doorman that she had passed moments ago was once one of Harriette Valdez's slaves. Amanda wondered if he and the boy on Gwen's leash had recognized one another. "Probably not," she thought, "most slaves barely even notice what day it is."

In fact, he had. The former slave in question, one Raymond Smalls, had once been a pleasure pony known as "Jayko" on the HH Pony Ranch. He knew very well who Hank was. Hank had raced for the HH Ranch under the slave name "Golden Hammer". Although he was never made aware of it, the Ranch's pleasure ponies considered him a huge celebrity. The pleasure pony barracks' rec room had a large TV screen that normally only played the Slavery Channel. But whenever the Ranch's performance ponies were in action, all regularly scheduled programming was shunted aside by Ranch-lexa, the Ranch AI, and the races were one of the pleasure ponies' favorite things to watch. Seeing the Golden Hammer himself arrive at his very own place of work was a huge deal to Raymond, and he really wanted to shake the man's hand. But free men don't walk up to slaves and introduce themselves, nor do they shake their hands. So he had said nothing as he opened the door for Miss Gwen and her slaveboy to pass through.

On his part, Hank had also recognized the doorman, but he did not know his free name. And slaves accompanying their owners do not introduce themselves to anyone. If their owner wants them introduced, then the owner will do so. Otherwise, the slave must remain silent. If they had both been free men, the encounter might have been an occasion for surprised greetings and back-slapping. Instead, the slave and former slave passed one another without acknowledgement, not even a friendly nod. Such is the institution of slavery.

Amanda and Gwen entered the ladies' locker room with Gwen's slaveboy trailing closely behind. He balked at first, seeing the "Women Only" sign, but Gwen gave an irritated tug at his leash and he quickly fell into line behind her. As a slave, he was legally neither male nor female, he was simply a slave. Gwen, having grown up in the legal slavery environment, hadn't given it any thought and hadn't discussed it with him - of course her slaveboy would follow her into the women's locker room. Hank, having little experience with slavery outside of the microcosmic world of the HH Ranch and the race track, had no idea that this was going to happen. His most recent experience with designated male and female spaces was in high school, where a visit to the wrong-gender bath - or locker-room was a guaranteed trip to detention.

But Hank had learned to be adaptable and trust in the power and authority of the free people above him and he quickly fell into line when Mistress Gwen tugged on his leash. It was helpful that he knew she loved him, even though she couldn't publicly show it right now.

Inside the locker room, Gwen quickly secured her bags in her locker and then pulled Hank in the direction of her spin class. Hank was still a bit concerned about being a hulking male presence in the women's locker room, but nobody seemed to pay him any mind. Apparently leashed slaveboys were entirely unremarkable here, even in the women's dressing room.

Hank amiably followed Gwen and Amanda across the weight room floor and up the stairs to the spin class's area. If he had been a free man, he might have dawdled and gone over to check out the weight benches, but he wasn't. Not only did Mistress Gwen have him on a leash, she... had him on a leash. What more did he need to know?

Chuckling to himself, Hank followed the two spandex-clad freewomen up the stairs. At least the view was fun and interesting. "Slavery could be a lot worse," he thought while carefully NOT taking notice of the lustful gazes of the various free women headed in the same general direction, "I could be wearing a pink Easter bunny suit instead." He made a mental note to NOT mention that thought to Gwen. Last year he had attended Christmas dinner at Bellefleur Manor dressed as an elf. An extremely large and muscular elf. But the kids had loved it and that made it all right.

Once inside the spin class studio, Gwen casually tied his leash off to a hook on the wall and walked away. Hank looked at it. It was simply looped in a figure-eight pattern around a couple of hooks. It wasn't even a knot. His hands were free. The leash was literally a few strands of braided leather. He had about 20 different options to simply remove himself from the situation and run away. Heck, he even knew at least three different ways to remove his collar without raising an alarm. He did none of these things. Sometimes slavery is voluntary. Hank had volunteered to be a slave for reasons of his own and he was ready and willing to carry this out to its conclusion.

On the other hand... various women and a few men passed by while entering the room and several of them took the opportunity to fondle the slaveboy as they passed. A free man would of course be incensed by this sort of treatment, but Hank had become inured to it during the past four years. They weren't actively harming him, so why get upset? It's just groping.

Gwen, on her part, tied him off and went to talk to the slave instructor without looking back. She trusted Hank to behave himself and she did not trust herself to observe it. The very idea of some of these bitches - and nice girls who she liked - touching him set her teeth on edge. But she knew that it was going to happen, so she ignored it. She pretended that it didn't matter. She pretended that her beloved Hank was some meaningless sex toy who was no more important to her than a random set of uberly-sexy abs and glutes and cock.

Slave-instructor Caitlyn was an interesting story to Gwen. Gwen worked at her father's firm, Bellefleur Holdings. It was her job to consolidate the debt of desirable individuals (usually female), and then either repossess them, wait until they defaulted, or simply approach them directly with a debt-resolving voluntary indenture. Caitlyn was an extremely desirable young woman. Gwen knew her well. She was fun, chirpy, physically fit, and funny. All desirable qualities in a sex slave. And yet she had slipped through Gwen's fingers while she was herself learning about dominance and submission at Broadstone Consort Academy.

Gwen's own mother, the woman who had given birth to her, had once been a slave. Her father, the most powerful and dominant man in Gwen's universe, had purchased her mother, sent her to Broadstone, and made her his beloved wife and precious treasure. Gwen wanted that. She wanted to have that with Hank. She wanted to be Hank's beloved treasure and she had happily submitted to her parents' plan to send her to Broadstone Academy in order to discover her true nature, her submissive nature, so that she could deliver herself to Him on his wedding night.

So far... so far, that was not to be. Real life had intervened, as it so often does. Hank was NOT manumitted upon completion of his racing career. Instead, she had acquired the responsibility of being his overseer for the next ten months until his originally-scheduled manumission date. There was no way around it for either one of them. There really was no way around it. Hank was a slave and would be a slave for the next ten months. In order to protect Hank, in order to protect her lover, in order to protect the father of her only child, she needed to treat him with indifference in front of everyone in her life who was not family.
But she did not need to treat Caitlyn with disdain or indifference. That was helpful, because she really liked the girl. When she finished assisting the latest overweight housewife to join their ranks, Gwen caught her attention. "Caitlyn, I need your help..." she began.

“Oh my!" the instructor exclaimed with delight. "You brought the Golden Hammer!”

Gwen had known that Caitlyn was a racing fan. They had occasionally chatted about it before the girl's enslavement. Caitlyn had been especially fascinated by the fact that Gwen's sister Harriette was a racing pony owner. So when she saw the tall and powerful former racing stallion tied to the wall of the studio, she recognized him immediately even without his trademark mane of sun-bleached hair. Not everyone would have made the connection. In fact, many of the people in the class turned around and looked at Hank in surprise.

Gwen knew that Hank would be recognized from time to time, but she was unprepared for the extreme anxiety that it caused her. Who knows what people might do in the presence of a celebrity slave? She might need to fend them off, because Hank, in spite of his raw physical power, wouldn't be able to defend himself. So she did what her father would have done in this situation. She took charge.

She pivoted on her heel and walked toward Hank while speaking over her shoulder in an unnecessarily loud voice so that everyone could hear. "Yes, this is my sister's former racing stallion. She has leased him to my father while he finishes his indenture since she has no use for him anymore. He'll be doing odd jobs around the office to keep busy during the day. We still need to keep him in shape, though. He can't run any more so I thought that my spin class would be a perfect fit for him."

Following behind her, Caitlyn nodded. "May I examine his legs, Mistress?" she asked.

“Of course.”

The nude slave instructor knelt at Hank's feet and began running her hands up and down Hank's muscular thighs. Although it was a far more thorough physical touching than the casual gropes of the various free persons who had been feeling him up, Gwen didn't mind at all. This was a physical fitness instructor examining another trainer's work of art. Harriette's professional trainers had spent years building up Hank's strength and endurance and it showed.

Caitlyn murmured in satisfaction, then moved on to Hank's lower legs. She frowned as she started kneading his shin muscles. "Does this hurt?" she asked, looking up.

“A little bit," he replied with a shrug. "It's not bad today.”

The kneeling slave nodded and turned her attention to the freewoman whose slaveboy she was examining. "Did you have a preference for his training session today, Miss?"

Gwen gave her the paper that Harriette's trainer had prepared. The girl looked at it and nodded. "Mistress, would it be all right if we put him in the back row? I'm afraid these settings are a lot higher than anyone else is using and I assume you don't want him to be a distraction."

Gwen frowned. She very much wanted him to be a distraction. Spin class was intensely boring and she had wanted to put Hank right in front of her so she could watch him exercise in those sexy tights that she had purchased for that exact reason. And of course, she wanted all the other women in the class to be distracted too. But the slave was right, he really should be in the rear of the class with the other men. The bikes in the rear were larger and more robust anyway. "All right," she said, unclipping Hank's leash and leaving it to dangle on the wall hooks, "put him where you think is best." She then went and sat in her usual spot next to Amanda without a second glance. It was difficult, but necessary.

While doing so, she noticed that Madeline Baker, one of the more irritating women in the class, had moved from her normal bike on the far side of the room to sit next to her. As Gwen entered her training program into her bike, Madeline leaned over and said with a with a smirk, "Gwennie-poo, I see you have a new toy."

One of Caroline's most annoying habits was belittling people by using the most child-like versions of their names. But two can play that game. "Well, Maddy-poo," Gwen replied without showing her irritation, "he's not actually mine, Daddy leased him from my sister Harriette. I'm just his overseer. He's only here with me because Harriette needs him to maintain his fitness level."

Amanda snorted. She wasn't a woman who suffered fools gladly and she enjoyed a good snippiness fight.

“It's 'Madeline'," Maddy continued in that same supercilious tone, "and I was just wondering if you were planning on sharing him with the rest of us... or did you plan to keep all that juiciness for yourself?”

Gwen did indeed intend to keep all that "juiciness" for herself during the week, but she wasn't able to admit that. That would give the game away. She glanced back over her shoulder at Hank to ensure that he was settling in okay. He had removed his warmup jacket to reveal the sleeveless performance shirt that Gwen had bought for him. The shirt hugged his muscular torso, perfectly displaying his upper body definition. He was leaning forward over the handlebars and pumping his legs slowly. Two women who had been passing by the glass rear wall of the spin studio stopped and enjoyed the sight of his flexing buns. Gwen felt a twinge of jealousy at that. Those buns should be flexing in front of her, not them.

She sighed, "Madeline, if you want some of Hank's juiciness, then you need to speak to his owner. He'll be pulling stud duty at Harriette's ranch on the weekends. He's a little bit pricey due to his champion status, but I've heard he's well worth it." That was another thing that she hated about this situation. In order to avoid accusations that Hank had become unclaimed property, Harriette needed to keep putting him to work. And for a retired racing stallion, that meant stud duty. Gwen hated it but it kept him safe, so she supported it. She couldn't bear the idea of losing him to someone else, especially if that someone else shipped him overseas, never to return. He was her man and she intended to keep him safe at home with her, and under her control, where he belonged.

After spin class was over, the room disintegrated into the usual babble of talk as the class gathered their things and headed out. Hank was still pumping away, although he was now in the cool-down segment of his workout. Gwen and Amanda were watching him finish up as Caitlyn checked his sheet against the stats on the screen. When Gwen first gave her the piece of paper, she had thought that the targets were overly optimistic, but he had hit every one, including the heart rates. She was very impressed. Most of the time, it was her job to coax overweight and sedentary people to try harder. This man just went out and did it. He conquered that stationary bicycle. He enslaved it. He made it his bitch. Caitlyn wanted to be his bitch.

Suddenly she felt a pain in her ear as someone grabbed it and started pulling her in the direction of the door. "C'mon slave girlie," said Madeline, "you don't have another class for 45 minutes and I need some servicing." The Club slaves' blue collar tags offered some protection, but not very much. Unassigned slaves could be commandeered by any Club member who wanted to have oral sex as long as it didn't disrupt their job performance.

Madeline had despised this skinny little slip of a girl since she had first bounced into class with her fake smiles and false peppiness. She was always pretending to be so cheerful and friendly. But Madeline knew better. Girls like that secretly despised big-boned women like her and always had. Ever since her school years, she had known that bony little tramps like Caitlyn were saying things behind her back. So she had been delighted when the stupid slit had been enslaved and repurchased by the Club. It was just so satisfying to force the cunt's snooty little face into her sweaty, untrimmed bush after a workout. Today she had even worn yesterday's panties to class in order to ensure that the little cunt got the full experience that she deserved.
“Excuse me Madeline," said Gwen, moving to cut her off, "I'm still using her.”

"Well excuse me," Madeline hissed angrily, "I'm about to use her for something else."

Amanda stepped up beside Gwen and joined the discussion. "Madeline, the slave is busy. She's busy doing her job. She's wearing a blue tag, let her go."

Madeline scowled at the two women. She despised both of them. Amanda was a happily married mother with five children, two things that had so far eluded Madeline in life through no fault of her own. And Little Gwennie was a rich entitled brat and an unmarried mother. Only her father's money had kept her from becoming a homeless vagrant swept up by the police and sentenced to the slavery that she deserved. But they were right. She couldn't take the skinny little slave tramp and put her tongue to work right now if she was still doing her job. She released the slave's ear, but not without giving it a painful twist and gouging the sensitive skin with her fingernail first. The slut would be here on Wednesday and so would she. She left fuming and thinking that it was too bad that big-titted bimbo at the front desk hadn't been enslaved yet. She looked forward to that.

Caitlyn turned back to what she was doing and pretended to focus on the paper in her hand. It kept her eyes downcast and turned away from the two Mistresses behind her. She didn't want them to see the tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Mistresses," she said in a very small voice. Very few slave owners were willing to stick up for a slave being abused by another member of their socio-economic class. What she didn't know was that the two women standing behind her were both graduates of the Broadstone Consort Academy. They knew how it felt to be a slave without protection.

"You're welcome, sweetie," replied Amanda kindly. She had been quite shocked when this sweet, bubbly girl had come to class on a Monday morning naked and collared. Whatever had taken place over the weekend, there was no turning back the clock. It had been done. Amanda was still working on sorting through the gossip to find out what had happened and also to see if there was some way to help find the girl a better outcome. On the other hand, slave instructor at the Club was certainly not the worst thing that could have befallen her, abusive bitches like Madeline notwithstanding.

Hank's cooldown segment finally came to an end and Gwen saw Caitlyn glance fearfully at the clock on the wall. It was still only a few minutes after class and Madeline probably hadn't left yet. She might not even be in the locker room yet. Knowing her, she was probably downstairs pretending to get a drink of water and waiting for Gwen to walk by with Hank. "Caitlyn," she said, "thank you for helping me monitor Hank's workout. I truly have no idea what I'm doing here. Do you have time to spend about 15 or 20 minutes assisting him in stretching out? There should be a list of stretches he's supposed to perform on the bottom of the sheet. I have to take him to work with me today and it would make a bad impression if he were limping. I don't want anyone thinking that I'm not taking good care of my sister's property."

Hank sat on the cycle as though he were still riding it, breathing the deep, controlled breaths of a resting athlete. The sensors in the handlebars detected his heart rate and he was watching it slow. He had been a professional athlete for four years now and had no need for any assistance from either Gwen or Caitlyn. But Gwen needed to demonstrate to her peers that she was in control and now she was apparently also hiding the slave instructor from a bully. Slaves were irresistible targets for bullies, because they quite literally could not fight back. If they did, then that gave the bully a justification to make things even worse. So Hank did what he always did, he rolled with it.

He looked over at Gwen and Amanda with an amused look on his face. A slave must never criticize a member of the Slaver class in front of one of their peers. Even if he happens to know that they are thinking the same thing, only worse. Then he turned his twinkling green eyes on the slave instructor holding her now-forgotten piece of paper. She was star-struck. Before, she was focused on doing her job. But now that the room was mostly empty and he was focused on her, she could feel his presence and the force of his personality. Unbeknownst to her, this was almost the same thing that Gwen had felt when she first met him. He silently held out his hand and she suddenly remembered what she was supposed to be doing. She handed him the paper and he looked down at it. A droplet of sweat rolled off of his nose and splatted onto the paper. He handed it back to her. It was the same stretching routine he had been doing for years. He needed no supervision to do it. On the other hand, Mistress Gwen was kindly hiding Caitlyn from a bully, further demonstrating the gentle heart that made him love her so much, so he would help.

“This looks good," he said, "I'll definitely need help with this. Also, I might need my shins massaged a little bit, if that's all right with Mistress Gwen.”

He looked over at Gwen, who was chatting with her friend. She waved him off and said, "Do what you have to do, Hank. I don't know what your shins feel like right now, so just tell the girl what you need. Caitlyn, I plan to talk to your overseer. It has occurred to me that I may need this assistance from you after every class. Oh and, Hank, make it look good," Gwen glanced around, "in case she comes back."

The two slaves promptly went over to a nearby mat and started on stretching exercises. Some of them looked quite complicated and definitely needed assistance from a trainer. Gwen was pretty sure they were making things up at this point. A few minutes later, the two women heard an annoyed huff behind them and turned to see that Madeline had indeed returned as predicted. She glared at Gwen accusatorily and told her "You just want her tongue for yourself."

Gwen feigned nonchalant surprise, "Madeline, Hank has a perfectly good tongue, I don't need hers for anything."

Gwen then turned to the stretching slaves and said for Madeline's benefit, "Stupid girl! Don't forget the gastrocnemius stretch!"

The startled slave girl looked up at her, nodded, and went back to work. Madeline huffed again and left.

“Gwen, honey," Amanda murmured, "what's a gastrocno-whatever thingie?”

Gwen smiled at her own joke. "It's a calf muscle, you just lean against the wall."

“Sounds complicated. Glad we have a professional trainer on the job.”

“I know, right?”
-
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End Part One
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[mikey22]

Zee That’s another great story! Very well done.

[jeepster]

Seems like yesterday Hank and his brother walked into this! Interesting start of a story I am ready to read!

[ZeeChromosome]

Thanks, guys!

I'm having fun writing these things. Hopefully at some point, I'll suddenly discover a deep well of self-discipline within me and finish all the segments I've started, then rearrange all the parts into a coherent whole. In the meantime, I'm having fun skipping around and digging in to whatever catches my eye.

I actually sketched out the entire "Seduction of Tamsin" yesterday and may just do that next. She's the busty gym bunny at the front desk.