Roman World, Part Two, by Joe Doe

[imreadonly2]

Thoughts of escape soon gave way to baser problems, as she stuck her snout into the animal trough and began to suck up the dank, murky water. The smell of it made her want to gag, or perhaps it was the smell of the donkey next to her, whose muzzle nuzzled her cheek as she drank.

After a quick drink, Rachel found herself squatting over a trough that served as a crude outdoor latrine. She had thought she wouldn’t be able to pee under such circumstances, particularly with Gal and Bimba and the guest, Emma, watching. But when Brutus cracked the whip close enough to her ass for her to feel the wind from it, the pee burst out of her like a fountain, forming a large, curving arc as it splashed the back of the girl in front of her.

“Filthy little piggy,” Bimba sniggered. “Peeing on the other slave girl!”

“Yes, she deserves the whip for that,” Gal agreed.

The three talked excitedly about how the peeing slave slut needed to have her bottom “skinned, for behaving so” but Brutus ignored her. Rachel knew it had little to do with mercy, for that was a trait which flesh peddlers did not possess, and everything to do with greed. There would be more money to be had if the buyers got a chance to see the look of shock on her aristocratic face the first time her bottom felt the whip. Rachel had always enjoyed seeing Venus introduced to the whip at the start of each enslavement story cycle, and she found herself wondering if her expression would be more shocked than the bot that had, after all, been whipped “for the first time” countless times.

“Quite the geyser, my lady!” a male voice said. Rachel glanced to her left and saw that she was peeing in front of one of her own (former) slaves, Timon, a Greek slave with boyish good looks. 18, with curly, light colored hair and olive skin, Timon served as a serving slave at mealtimes. Sometimes one of her guest “fathers” had this way with him, much to the lad’s distress, although Venus always pretended not to notice, save for giving him a little embarrassed smile or a wink when he walked with great tenderness after being penetrated.

Venus sometimes used Timon as a bath slave, which usually ended in the poor boy getting his bottom whipped because, inevitably, the poor lad got a noticeable erection at the sight of his untouchable Mistress’ naked beauty. Untouchable no more, Timon laughed as his former Mistress shot her golden stream into the air.

“Good to see you make your water when your Master tells you, just like a good little slave girl,” he said. “Obedience is the hallmark of a slave girl, and will make it easier when I order you to take my cock in your mouth,” he said, lifting his short tunic to show her his turgid maleness. “Governor Corpulent has promised all your slaves that we’ll get the chance to fuck you, after he's had his fun with you. I’ll enjoy giving it to you up the ass, like your bastard of a father did to me.”

Timon’s large cock had always been something she and her friend would giggle at, particularly when he was tied down, and they took turns lashing the poor lad’s perfect, bare bottom. However now the battering ram between his legs didn’t look nearly so amusing, when she realized where it would be going, and how it might feel when she was on the receiving end.

“Yes, give her a good buggering, Timon!” Bimba said. “Show her what it means to be a slave girl.”

“Yes, pack her fudge in tightly, so she can’t shit for a week,” Gal added, laughing at her own vulgarity.

“Give her a good ride,” Emma, the new guest said, joining in on the fun. “That will make her pee, ha-ha!”

Rachel felt a wave of helplessness, and its accompanying wave of excitement, with this newest degradation. As part of her story arc, Rachel would be the slave not only of the other guests, or the other bots, but of the slaves her character had once lorded it over. No doubt her former handmaidens would enjoy making her kiss their dirty feet and lick their pussies, just as she had demanded of them. Oh, they would have great fun cheering on the rough, barbaric male slaves who worked in her father’s fields as they had their way with her. Rachel would be the servant of the creatures she had created, the slave of the slaves.

It was surreal. As the Creative Director, every single person in her world was, in a very real way, beneath her. She had the authority to expel any guest, fire any employee, or decommission any bot. She had the final say on all the story arcs, for guests and bots alike, and, through her control of their careers, her employees as well. Could it really be that every single one of them was now above her? They were. She had fantasized about humiliation and subservience, but this was taking the story arcs to a ridiculous extreme.

In the gleam of her golden stream, Rachel saw something on the roof glisten ever so slightly as it moved. She knew at once it was a camera, zooming in on her to get a better look at her debasement as she shot her water in the air.

Rachel knew that Venus was in HER office, wearing HER clothes, watching Rachel’s debasement. She could easily imagine her, standing in front of the huge row of monitors, arms folded, watching with a smug, satisfied smile as her doppelganger debased herself, suffering the same way that Rachel had so often tormented her. Perhaps the rogue bot was masturbating herself as she watched.

Do clothes, or lack of clothes, make the woman? It certainly appeared to be so, more so then Rachel had ever imagined. Dressed like her, Venus WAS her, right down to the all-powerful access ID badge that gave her unlimited dominion over the entire resort, including Rachel. She imagined she looked quite smart in her elegant black clothes, smirking as she watched Rachel make her water.

The contrast could not have been more complete. Rachel had foolishly stripped herself to the skin, and was naked save for her humiliating slave collar. If she was ever given anything to wear again, it might be, at best, a dirty, torn rag to tie around her waist, so revealing as to emphasize her nudity even more. But she doubted that she’d get even that. No, Rachel needed to be taught her place, and what better way to do that then to make the little slave girl run around naked?

She knew precisely what her replacement looked like in her smart black suit, smiling as she scanned the various angles of Rachel whizzing in the air, because she had stood in the position every day herself. Indeed, she would be standing there now, laughing at Venus’s debasement, if the roles had been reversed, and Venus was wearing the collar.

She wondered if any of her staff were also enjoying the feed. Possibly. Having a sex slave bot that looked like her, the boss of all bosses, opened up all sorts of interesting possibilities. Rachel kept a close eye on her subordinates, and she knew that a lot of the men, and some of the women, got off on Rachel’s adventures. Not only was she beautiful, but most of her subordinates had good reason to enjoy watching a bot who looked like their feared boss be humiliated and subjected. As long as they jerked off discretely, on their breaks, and didn’t let it interfere with their work, she didn’t mind begrudge them their pathetic little pleasures. The thought of them stroking off only added to her vicarious experience of submission. What did she care if Venus got fucked when she was sent in for repairs, so long as the techs still kissed Rachel’s perfect ass and jumped 10 feet high whenever she called their name?

Rachel had known that her employees would be able to watch her be put through her slave paces, but had told herself that it wouldn’t be so bad, as they wouldn’t know it was her. She would distance herself from the entire process, she reasoned, as everyone would believe that it was the look-alike bot Venus, not her. It wasn’t like they’d be watching her shoot her pee into the air, with everyone laughing at her, like she was some sort of rude, barnyard joke.

But alas, it wasn’t someone else, it was Rachel. Stripped of her fancy power suit and credentials, she was just another naked slave girl. There were guests who actually signed up to play slaves, with some taking it so far as to be whipped and branded. She wondered if Venus had programmed her to be a “guest slave”, to prevent fatal harm from coming to her? Or did she the new Director even care?

Rachel thought of all bots she had ordered about, all the guests she had created arcs for, and all her employees, all laughing at her, or pulling their cocks out or lifting their skirts to demand service. It was beyond humiliating, which was why her pussy buzzed at the thought. When her golden gusher, at long last, ended, she reached between her legs, ostensibly to wipe herself, but really to give her pulsing clit, a little tweak. If she could have, she would have pleasured herself with everyone watching, right there on the grass, but there was no time. She was due in the slave market, where the buyers would be doing the stroking of her shamefully wet sex.

Brutus cracked the whip, and Rachel, still utterly slave naked, found herself trotting down the road and under yet another arch marking the entrance to the busiest part of The Forum. The inscription on the arch contained a glorious, triumphal quotation about Caesar Augustus, a quotation which she had carefully chosen, but which no longer mattered to her. After all, she was only a slave girl.

Brutus quickened the pace, partially to make up for lost time, partially to increase the show value of the goods he was parading through the streets of Rome. The faster they moved, the better the show, as slave breasts and bottoms bounced along.

“Are you taking them to the Coliseum?” a male voice cried out. “I’d like to see the naked sluts fight each other.”

“Yes, or let the wild dogs have their fun with them!” another voice called out. “They look tasty enough.”

Rachel struggled to concentrate on her running, focused on the bouncing bottom of the girl in front of her, while being acutely aware of how her own boobs and butt undulated. The Colosseum, horrible as it was, was always an option on the menu, and she had enjoyed many a pleasurable afternoon watching poor Venus meet a highly perverted end in front of the cheering mob.

They kept to the side, running a bit on the grass and in the mud to keep up the pace. People mostly gave way for them, although she did have to suffer the indignity of the occasional ass grope or titty grab.

“Nice milk jugs. A perfect handful!”

“Not to worry, sweetness. I’ll come by the market for a proper feel later.”

“Look, Lucio! You made another handprint on her ass.”

After her spanking from Brutus, Venus knew her ass was red, a curiosity that drew as much unwanted attention as her shoulder length blonde hair.

“I’d fuck that,” a guest standing on the Temple of Romulus said.

“Which one? So much slave pussy, so little time?” his fat friend replied.

“Goldilocks, with the red ass.”

“Well, they are going to market, my friend. Let’s follow them and make a bid.”

“Yes, or at least get a good feel. I bet she’s tight and snappy.”

“A real dick milker.”

A sudden jerk of her chain brought her musings to an end as she found her coffle again marching down the road. For this final leg of the journey, Brutus had gotten on his beaten-up old horse, hooking the chain to the pommel, forcing the girls into slow trot.

Rachel was a runner, and the pace was only slightly faster than her typical morning jog. However, it was quite different to run on the treadmill in her office in her running attire, then use her private shower, than to run naked down a stone covered street. She was careful to watch her step, as the momentum of coffle meant that a misstep could lead to a fall, which could snap her chained neck like a twig. Effectively, she was jumping up and down on the trap door of her gallows.

As the girls were all bouncing tits and bottoms, the crowd enjoyed the view.

“Do you need a master?”

“Nice tits!”

“It reminds me I need to pick up the melons at the market.”

“Be careful, Brutus. You don’t want to wear them out before I get a chance to fuck them all.”

“Look, she’s panting for you. She wants to suck your cock!”

“Did you want to suck my cock, slave girl?”

Rachel’s ankle twisted slightly on an uneven stone as the man exposed his rigid cock to her, causing her neck to jerk forward, hard. Disaster was averted, narrowly.

“Don’t fall down, you clumsy whore!”

“Yes, you don’t want to lose your master’s good coin!”

The rapid trot continued as the smiling Brutus made his way to market. In reality, Brutus had nothing to lose in snapping her neck, because, Ironically, the life of a slave girl in her world was even cheaper than it was in Rome. If one of the other “girls” snapped their necks, they would be repaired. Rachel would not be so lucky.

Rachel was losing wind, but didn’t dare lose focus, even among the fierce cat calling.

“Follow the bouncing boobies!”

“Reminds me I need to buy melons.”

“Their asses aren’t branded. Looks like fresh meat.”

“Probably captures. Too much training time.”

“I love breaking them in.”

“I hear prices are quite reasonable.”

“Don’t get greedy, Domino. You only have one prick.”

“Is that the Senator’s daughter?” one woman asked.

“She was,” her friend replied. “Now she’s just slave pussy, on the hoof and ready for the block.”

“Look at the ass on her.”

“Yes, just aching for my cock, and my whip.”

A Senate colleague of her father’s called out to her from the steps of the Temple of Antonio and Faustina. She knew he was a guest, and frequent visitor, and she may have actually met him once, at a special reception held for “Golden Guests,” who had spent over a million dollars at the resort, or “frequent fuckers”, as the staff called them.

“Give our little Venus a good run, Brutus?” the disgusting fat man with the orange-blonde comb over shouted. “I want her hot and sweaty, when I pop her cherry.”

In the story line, Venus was a virgin. Rachel was not, although she doubted that minor deviation in the expected plot would slow down the endless deviations the loudmouth on the steps, or the parade of perverted guests who would want to fuck her.

Rachel sweating, naked, breasts and ass bouncing, ran naked past the Basilica of Emilia, where the law was administered. Appropriately enough she encountered Marcus, a close family friend and her Senator-father’s lawyer.

Tears ran down her cheeks as her longtime friend heckled her. “I’m going to fuck you today, Venus,” he called out happily. “It’s part of my fee, for selling off your father’s estate. Don’t get too sloppy before I have my way with you, ha-ha!”

Rachel’s feelings confused and overwhelmed her. Intellectually she knew that Marcus was a bot, and that they had no “long time” relationship, other than the several years his character and Venus has been interacting through the various guest storylines. But the collar gave her the real emotions of Venus, and thus the sense of humiliation, hurt, and betrayal she felt were painfully real. The wicked cruelty of her design struck home. In the world she had created, Venus would experience the betrayal of all her friends, and the shameful fall from grace that she was now experiencing, over-and-over again. And each time she lost status and freedom would be as terrible as the one before, because her memory was wiped, and refreshed, with an artificial sense of pride and privilege.

As they drew closer to the Central Piazza, the main part of the market where her body would be sold to the highest bidder, they encountered more merchants. The shops sold food, spices, clothing, horses, jewelry, and any items the guests might need during their stay. Not all of the items were in period - first aid kits and various sundry medicines were available, albeit with "Roman" markings. And most of the signs were in English as well as Latin.

Nearly all of the peddlers were bots, as few guests wanted the worries of running a business on vacation. They were known to Rachel on two levels, both for their model numbers, and for their relationships to Venus, friendships which were now transferred from the insidious collar into her mind. Trotting slave naked through the busy market, she now faced the further indignity of being heckled by the lowly shopkeepers who had waited on her so unctuously when all of Rome was at her feet.

Rachel blushed as she ran past Model RW-257X, holding up some cheap beads. She recognized him as Cyrus, the jeweler, who sold her all of the expensive baubles she had decorated herself with when she was a Senator's daughter, and which had been so cruelly taken away.

"I like your new collar, Venus," he laughed. "Would you like some slave beads to go with them? Or some rings for your nipples?"

They ran past Model RW-373Q, Dominic, the green grocer. "Nice apples, Venus. I'll be by later for a squeeze, to see if you’re ripe, ha-ha!"

They ran past Model RW-288N, Darius, who had sold her all of her beautiful tunics. "Looks like my lady forgot her clothes. Never mind, I like your new outfit better, ha-ha!"

Rachel, sweating like a hog and gasping for air, was relieved to arrive at the Central Piazza, although when she saw the huge, marble rostrum off of which she would soon be sold, she realized she was exchanging one gallows for another.

Rachel was detached from the coffle, and given a welcome drink of water by Brutus, who seeing their condition decided to grudgingly water his stock again. She was taken into a back room, where the master of her misery, Governor Corpulent, was waiting for her. He was not a bot, but old, and fat, and bald, with a bit of white hair around his ears. With a hand gesture, he dismissed Brutus, and turned his attention to the naked slave girl before him.

"I like your muddy boots," he said, noticing her filthy feet. "Appropriate for a slave girl."

Rachel started to talk, but he picked up a group of loosely bound birch rods. They were the Fasces, symbol of the power of Rome, arranged in such a way that they would be perfect for beating a slave girl's bottom.

"On your knees, my little slave girl. Time to learn the power of Rome," he said, using the rod to press down on her shoulder and direct her to her knees.

"You're making a mistake. I'm not who you think--"

It was too late. His, old withered, disgusting cock was on her lips, and he was pulling her hair. Knowing the price of disobedience - or perhaps it was the collar doing its job? - Rachel opened up and took his dirty prick into her warm, wet mouth.

"You may well be wondering why I didn't just take you as my slave, and fuck you until I tired of you," the fat man said. "I will fuck you, now, and have you branded as a slave, so all will see how I vanquished you, and your silly father, who made the fatal mistake of trusting me. Now his estate, and his slave girls, and you, are mine to enjoy. No one gives power to you, you have to take it, and plunder seized is always sweeter than plunder given."

As she looked up at the disgusting creature, Rachel struggled to place him. Governor Corpulent was Stanley Drumper, a frequent fucker who had made a fortune as a corporate raider plundering actual companies. Not satisfied with destroying the lives of countless innocent people in the real world, he used his fortune to enjoy the absolute power of life-and-death that Roman World legally provided him.

"I could have you crucified, or sent to the games. You'd make a splendid pony girl for chariot races. But I believe in free markets. I'm going to let all of Rome bid on your sweet, Senatorial pussy, and leave your fate to the Gods."

The fat man's eyes gleamed as he looked down on the helpless girl he had so cruelly betrayed and enslaved. "Vengeance is sweet. Enslaving you DOES make my dick hard! Stuck up little bitch. Think you're too good for me, do you? Well, all of Rome will get to use you now."

Rachel reached between her legs, and rubbed her throbbing clit as she pleasured the disgusting toad, a living man who held absolute power over her. Was it the collar, or the perversity of the situation, that was driving her to orgasm? She hated to admit it, but experiencing this living creation of her fantasies was far more arousing than imagining or watching it.

"That's it, slave girl. Give it a good suck. Roll that tongue. You're better than I remember you. Fewer tears, more technique."

Rachel realized that he had played out this scenario countless times before, which gave her an advantage. Thinking quickly, she began to chomp on his prick - not hard, but definitely using her teeth. Chomp, chomp, chomp, down the shaft, like a breadstick.

Alarmed, Stanley pulled his dick out of her mouth. "What are you doing? You can't do that. That hurt."

"Yes, but it felt good, didn't it?" she teased. "I can hurt you, because I'm not a bot. I know who you are, Stanley."

"How do you know my name, bitch?" Stanley said raising his fasces in the air. "I could have you whipped for your insolence."

"Later," Rachel said, laying herself down on the table. "Fuck me, Governor Stanley, and I'll tell you the entire story."

Rachel spread her legs, and groaned with pleasure as Stanley entered her with a single brutal thrust. At least his dick was of imperial caliber. "Oh, yes, fuck me good. Fuck me, and I can make you Emperor of Roman World, for free. Do I have a story to tell you.”

Being fat and old, it took Stanley a while to finish fucking her, which was good, as it gave Rachel time to explain all the twists and turns of her story. Yes, the slave bot who had taken her place was probably watching her, but she knew from her morning tech report that the parabolic mic in the ceiling of this room was on the fritz. Hence it was important for Stanley to fuck her senseless, even as they talked freely. How convenient when necessity enforced pleasure.

"You make a fine slave bitch," he observed. "Wiggle that big ass of yours while I give you your poke. You'll need to give it up nice and sweet, if you want me to help you."

Rachel gave it up, all of it, nice and sweet, like the disgusting old lecher wanted. Governor Corpulent had his fill of her, so much so that for a moment Rachel feared the fat old goon might have a heart attack pounding her. But it wasn't a problem, as despite her degradation, or perhaps because of it, Rachel had a truly shattering orgasm as well.

"Free lifetime admission?" he said, wiping the sweat off himself with a towel after he finished with her. "Do you have the authority to promise that?"

"My contract gives me full creative control. It might be interesting to have a semi-permanent guest. It opens up all sorts of interesting possibilities." Rachel hoped that one of the possibilities was his dick falling off from over-use, although she did not voice that thought.

"I remember you from that VIP Golden Guest party," Stanley said. "You were quite the Queen Bee, lording it over everyone. One of the reasons I always enjoyed whipping Venus was that I imagined I was whipping you."

"Well, today you got to fuck the real thing – and get blown by the real thing," she said, kneeling down to lick his cock and balls again.

Stanley / Governor Corpulent stroked her cheek as she licked his still wet pecker. "I'll need to do this delicately. Your out-of-control bot is still in charge of this place. I'm sure she wouldn't hesitate to do me in, if it came down to it. How do you suggest I get help, without running into a bot under her control?"

Rachel had not fully considered that, but quickly devised an answer. "Feign a medical emergency. They'll get you offstage, with real paramedics. Then ask for Wally, my assistant. He's dickless, but good at his job, and he'll know how to shut down our little renegade."

"And what will you do, while Lassie is running for help?"

"I'll need to play slave girl. Be quick about it. I'm supposed to be on display all day, and after my little jog through the market, every pervert in Rome wants to stick their fingers in me."

"Every pervert, or everyone?" he said.

"Same difference," she said. "You're all disgusting."

"And what about you, you little slut? Cumming on command. Sucking my dick like you were born to it. You are a natural slave slut, fit for the collar."

Rachel wanted to bite him again, but instead, just glared at him, and licked his large, hairy balls.

"That's a good little slave girl!" he teased. "Now tell me, what sort of medical emergency do I need to fake?" he asked. "Do I need to cut myself?"

"No, nothing dramatic. Say you have a pain in your arm, and your chest. They'll help you quick enough."

"A pain in my arm," he said thoughtfully. "That IS a good idea!"

"Brutus, come here!" he said, calling out loudly, and in character.

Brutus immediately rushed in, looking concerned.

"This little bitch bit me! Put her on the exam table, on all fours, with her ass in the air. I'm going to give her a taste of Roman justice."

Rachel, once again in the role of Venus, winced as Governor Corpulent swished the birch rod in the air. When this was over, she vowed to put some limits on what happened to the Senator’s daughter.

Grabbing her by the back of the collar, it was easy enough for the powerful Brutus to push the naked slave girl out of the privacy of the back room and into the bustling marketplace.

“We moved the examination table to the front of the shop, little one,” Brutus explained, “so everyone can see your nice round ass and Senatorial gash. You’re going to fetch me good coin today, you stuck up little bitch, but first we’re going to give all of Rome a nice long look!”

Rachel didn’t resist as she was placed up on the table, on all fours, legs spread to shoulder length. The table was solid marble, with a large, ornately carved pedestal base, and had once been used in her office to display a statue of a Roman slave girl for sale, awards, her doctorate from MIT, and various “trophy pictures” of Rachel with the numerous celebrities who had visited Roman World.

Rachel had moved her table to the slave market, as it amused her to watch the naked and humiliated slave girls get examined on an object d’art that had one graced her office. The marble table was now used to display the squirming, blushing, naked bodies of slave girls actually for sale, mostly bots, but with the occasional guest who had a slave girl auction fantasy thrown in for good measure.

The table had been turned so her ass was facing the crowd, and as a grubby male hand began to rub her hot, wet pussy, Rachel found herself lost in the metaphor of a table that had been used to display an artistic rendering of a naked slave girl and various symbols of her power in her office being used to display her, a real live slave slut.

The table had literally been turned. Behind her, she heard the cold, cruel voice of Governor Corpulent, taunting her as he stroked her pussy. “Hot and wet, I see, just like a good little slave girl should be. Brutus is right: you’re a stuck-up little bitch, and we’re going to bring you down a notch or two today.”

Governor Corpulent didn’t remove his teasing hand as he raised the fasces high, and brought the thin, bundled rods down onto Rachel’s naked bottom. The first hint she had that something had gone wrong was the playful, almost melodic whistling sound the thin rods made as they cut through the air.

“You have a luscious ass my dear,” Corpulent said, stroking her defenseless birch. “I can hardly wait to see it dance, as I set it ablaze.”

WHOOSH!

Rachel’s eyes went wide as saucers as the birch rods found their mark, cutting into her tender bottom. She cried out, and the force of the blow would have pushed her forward, if the Senator’s fingers weren’t holding her by her hot, wet pussy.

“Ha, ha! She felt that one. Give her a taste of Roman justice. She’s had this coming for a long time, and this sentence is long overdue.”

Rachel-as-Venus recognized the voice of Marcus, her father’s attorney. The words stung her as much as the lashing itself, on more levels than her dazed mind could process: She was being taunted by a bot she had created, and betrayed by a family friend. This was, truth be told, Roman justice. How many times had she masturbated as she watched poor, innocent, sexy Venus getting her ass whipped for no reason at all? Was it not just that Rachel should reap what she had sewn, and should now be masturbated and whipped, for one and all to see, on the table from her office that had literally been turned? The spectators certainly seemed to think so, and there were cheers and laughter as she pushed her pussy onto his hand as the next stroke landed.

“Stuck up little bitch. Thinking you're better than everyone. Looking down your nose at all of us. You don’t look so haughty now, with your ass wiggling under the birch!”

Rachel knew that the rebuke was as much from Stanley as it was from Governor Corpulent, and that it was directed at Rachel, Creative Director of Roman World, as much as it was at Venus. Knowing that she was being punished for HER crimes, perhaps justly so, made the sting all the worse.

The growing crowd erupted in cheers and laughter as she howled in pain. Corpulent reached between her legs, and she pushed back her pussy onto his hand, groaning in pleasure.

“Ha, ha, that’s it! Whip her ass while she jerks on your hand!” Bimba’s voice said.

“Yes, make the little bitch pay for her pleasure. Diddling herself in the slave market, for all of Rome to see! Shameless!” Gal agreed.

“I can’t believe how wet her pussy is,” Emma said. “It’s like, totally not realistic,” she added, under her breath.

As Creative Director, Rachel had heard the complaint before. The girls were too hot, too wet, too ready to be realistic, even though their reactions were based on the biometrics collected from guests and staff members. She reached a new level of humiliation as she realized that the chubby guest had pegged her as too much of a bimbo bot to possibly be human.

“One more, Governor, and then let the crowd get a good feel. I don’t want to be selling minced meat,” Brutus said.

Rachel blushed as she heard the voice of Timon, the curly headed Greek slave youth who had often pleasured her with his talented tongue under the desk of her office, during lengthy ‘repair’ sessions. “Yes, but make it a good one. Make the little bitch curl her toes—she so loves being a slave slut,” Timon shouted, laughing.

Although he was a Governor, and Timon a slave, Corpulent happily obeyed. Rachel’s toes did curl, and she let out a banshee like shriek, as the rod whistled through the air and found its mark.

[dtrelsky]

I'm glad to see Rachel is going to have some means of recovering. I was worried when the collar seemed to be overwriting her personality and preventing her from taking action of her own volition. Now it looks more like she won't simply be controled by the collar to perform her slave duties, but rather she'll be doing them through a combination of fulfilling her fantasies and playing her role while also taking actions to eventually bring down her usurper.
Stanley is an interesting character to have to rely on in her perilous situation. He is clearly not painted as a good person but when the opportunity to personally benefit is presented he should be at least partially reliable— though I expect him to negotiate having Rachel discretely assuming the role of Venus more in the future as part of his benefits as a semi-permanent guest.
It's great to see more in this setting that takes things to another level with bots and dopplegangers complicating things on top of the more usual risk of slavery.
I admit I didn't watch Westworld Season 2 or 3, but from what I recall of the first season I felt like the bots were essentially artificial biological robots that were kinda 3D printed. One of my favorite thoughts on that were that it should be the case that the medical technology of the worlds setting is such that either the same sort of exterior repairs that are performed on bots should be possible on humans as well either using the same devices or similar ones meant for human use. In this way it would be possible to brand and whip guests during their stay and still go the beach with their family, confident that the secret of what they got up to on their girls trip or "business" trip wouldn't come to light. Advanced technology just presents so many interesting options for stories that would be impossible otherwise!
Looking forward to part three!

[Citizen1069]

I have been watching Westworld and I think that if any of the upper management found about this, they would do whatever it takes to make sure there would be NO scandal by any means necessary. Even a hint of a Host acting on its own would do a lot of damage to their bottom line, if the Host can do as good a job as her, they just might keep things the way they are. They may even see this as an opportunity to sideline someone who gets in the way. They were working on a way to make someone live forever by downloading a copy of them into a Host body, but they never got it to work. How will they react to the knowledge that the collar will work on a Guest, will they sell it as a way to immerse yourself deeper into the narrative, or just another way to control a Guest and get some good blackmail on them (inside or outside of the park).

[surferchick]

For sure the real Venus already forseen things and knows how her substitue will act....

[surferchick]

Really hope Jon you consider writing a third part

[imreadonly2]

There's actually another part written, I just have to finish editing it so i can post it. Stay tuned!

[Diver]

How is part three coming along? Really looking forward to it

[surferchick]

So waiting for part three

[surferchick]

Did I missed the third part? Or was it never published?

[Carl Bradford]

Did I missed the third part? Or was it never published?

I'm sure it would have been posted here if Joe had completed it. This site is a lot more accommodating than Literotica. When Joe writes the sequel, he can easily post it here.

He is a talented author and I am glad that he has graced this fledgling site with his presence. It was the "Joe Doe" stories that first got me engaged with the SS genre over 20 years ago on the SS Yahoo group. Joe is truly a legend of the genre - an author who has written many great stories, and in doing so, inspired others.

I raise my hat to Joe, and encourage others to follow in his footsteps. As Servalan once said: "Imagination will be our only limit!"


And if you can get that reference without a Google search, you're probably older than I am - which is becoming increasingly difficult these days.

[Tanuki]

Did I missed the third part? Or was it never published?

I'm sure it would have been posted here if Joe had completed it. This site is a lot more accommodating than Literotica. When Joe writes the sequel, he can easily post it here.

He is a talented author and I am glad that he has graced this fledgling site with his presence. It was the "Joe Doe" stories that first got me engaged with the SS genre over 20 years ago on the SS Yahoo group. Joe is truly a legend of the genre - an author who has written many great stories, and in doing so, inspired others.

I raise my hat to Joe, and encourage others to follow in his footsteps. As Servalan once said: "Imagination will be our only limit!"


And if you can get that reference without a Google search, you're probably older than I am - which is becoming increasingly difficult these days.

Joe inspired me to write a legalized slavery story too (currently 4 chapters and ongoing).

https://literotica.com/s/reina-in-a-strange-land

He actually helped me with the idea in fact. There are other great writers in the genre but Joe Doe was the first I read and most influential.

I think he's working on other stories so I'd guess the Roman one is on hiatus.

[Carl Bradford]

Joe inspired me to write a legalized slavery story too (currently 4 chapters and ongoing).

https://literotica.com/s/reina-in-a-strange-land

He actually helped me with the idea in fact. There are other great writers in the genre but Joe Doe was the first I read and most influential.

I think he's working on other stories so I'd guess the Roman one is on hiatus.

If you're an author, feel free to post here - as long as your story fits within the rules of course. The more content we have, the more traffic we get. But for now, we're still small enough to respond to individual requests - unlike Literotica, which from what I hear is inconsistent and hard to deal with.

[surferchick]

Just read it over and over. Still hopeing and dreaming thst this story get another great chapter. Sure here will be lots of twists possible. So many choices. But we need a guided path. Please continue…