The days passed and despite my best efforts the sexual drought with Chris resumed with no signs of precipitation on the horizon. I couldn’t get that slave girl out of my head. It looked like she enjoyed sexually serving my neighbor Jim. Was that even possible? In my dreams and during my quality time alone with my vibrator, I found myself climaxing to the fantasy of being Chris’s pleasure slut suffering through all that great sex. I often wondered when my fantasies would return to normal but in my soul, I doubted they ever would. What had gotten into me? Deep down, I knew something had changed.
I grew up in Highland Park and Chris in neighboring University Park. During my formative years I spent much of my time at the Dallas Country Club learning to play tennis, golf and participating on the summer swim team. In high school I was a cheerleader in the Fall while also making the varsity golf and track teams. Academically, I was accelerated a year in elementary school, but my mother put her foot down when the school suggested skipping another academic year instead forcing me to “experience” school with my age group peers.
Once in high school I was allowed to enroll in some classes at nearby Southern Methodist University (SMU) for intellectual stimulation where I received straight A’s. My senior year I was on the homecoming court and salutatorian at my graduation. My “C” in slave yoga being the difference maker between me and Abby Parker, much to my chagrin since my mother forbade that I practice something I would NEVER need to use later in life.
I knew I was striking with dirty blond hair, green eyes, and a sparkling smile on my lithe 5’6” athletic body. At the time I was more interested in quantum physics than boys, so my world did not revolve around dating like most of my friends. In short, I was attractive, smart, and popular in high school, and that carried over into college with me joining the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority as a legacy and playing on the Longhorn varsity golf team all four years.
An article I wrote my junior year on the exploitation of quantum effects on computing was published in the Journal of Undergraduate Reports in Physics catching the eye of Stanford Professor Patrick Hayden, an expert in the field. We began an email correspondence exchanging ideas, it felt more like an expert in the field quizzing a student at times. In the fall of my senior year Professor Hayden strongly encouraged me to apply to Stanford’s doctoral program, writing a strong letter of recommendation for my application.
In college, my mother’s goal was for me to graduate with a “MRS”. I exceeded her wildest dreams while also managing to graduate summa cum laude with a double major in physics and computational engineering. Chris Walker and I started dating while students at the University of Texas in Austin. He was cute, charming, and witty too and we quickly fell in love, becoming engaged our junior year and married the summer following graduation. We were young and full of vigor, finding excuses to get naked and make wondrous love with each other as our honeymoon sex seemed to last forever.
Chris and I moved to Palo Alto California where he enrolled in the Stanford Business School for his MBA while I started work on my doctorate in physics at the same institution. I was the happy little homemaker taking care of my love in and out of the bedroom while also maintaining my studies where I excelled. I even had a part time job as a TA, adding to our income not that we were struggling with support from both our families.
The first week there we met another newlywed couple, Camellia, and Tom Henderson, at a business school mixer. He was a Fort Worth native also pursuing his MBA. The former Camellia Huertas, a native Californian from nearby Atherton, had just started working at a prestigious architecture firm with plans of obtaining her masters after acquiring some practical experience in the field.
Camellia and I developed a strong friendship, finding that we had so much in common from yoga to golf, even becoming workout buddies. The two of us became inseparable, even becoming pregnant at the same time, giving birth to a pair of boys, Colten Walker, and Garret Henderson, only weeks apart right before our men graduated with their MBAs.
Chris found a good job in finance in San Francisco while Tom joined a startup in Silicon Valley that Camellia’s father helped finance. Camellia enrolled in the Architectural Design master’s program while I continued my studies. We decided to rent a nice sized home together, finding that with our busy lives teaming up to raise two infants while students was much more efficient. The two of us became pregnant again, it was like our biological clocks were in sync, giving birth to a pair of girls, Virginia (Ginny) and Isabella right before we concluded our studies. Both of us were relieved that we wouldn’t be waddling across the stage to receive diplomas while visibly pregnant.
After my graduation Chris and I returned to Dallas where both of our families lived. Chris joined his father’s venture capital firm, and I quickly became a tenured member of the faculty at nearby SMU. We thrived, purchasing a beautiful home in Highland Park near my parents soon joining the Dallas Country Club, where both our parents were still members.
Camellia and Tom remained in the bay area until Tom’s startup was bought out a few years later making him a nice profit. After the sale they moved to Dallas, purchasing a house two blocks from ours, soon after they joined the club where Tom’s grandparents were also members. In no time at all our families became inseparable and Camellia and I, still in sync, each gave birth to our third child.
With the four of us being fanatic golfers, we spent much of our time at the club playing golf when we weren’t participating in our children’s many activities. Much of our social life revolved around the club. When Colten and Garrett started with Little League, Chris and Tom were coaches, always making time for the children’s activities. Unfortunately, they made more time for the children, work, golf and with the slave girls at the 19th hole than for Camellia and me.
The 19th hole was the nickname for the men’s grill and associated playrooms where the club maintained a bevy of attractive pleasure sluts available seven days a week year-round for “member services”, if you know what I mean. Members such as my father with their own pleasure sluts at home enjoyed the variety while men such as my husband and Tom seemed to use them at every opportunity. These nasty tramps were trained to perform all sorts of unnatural sordid sex acts that respectable women such as myself and Camellia would never ever consider.
In Texas, it was an accepted practice for businessmen to partake in the delights of these disgusting slave whores when making deals, and we wives were expected to just accept it. My mother and mother-in-law had, and I was supposed to follow their good example. Mine was not an uncommon fate for the wives of powerful and wealthy men in Dallas society.
As my mother-in-law rationalized it, “These pleasure sluts relieved free women like us from having to do repulsive things with our husbands like anal sex or heaven forbid, swallowing his semen. These tramps were destined to be whores, if it weren’t for slavery, they would be walking the streets displaying their wares and happily offering $20 blow jobs.”
Dear old mom agreed, “Pleasure sluts are just wired differently from most women. They show their true colors when you strip the tramps down and put a collar on them. They have no personal dreams or goals in their empty heads, instead happily existing to serve their betters by performing every sordid sex act under the sun that a respectable woman like us would never ever consider.”
When I was home from college, I once caught my mother giving Wanda, a nineteen-year-old beauty and my father’s pleasure slut at the time, an injection that mom claimed contained vitamins. I would later learn that it was something called Horny Juice that kept the poor girl in a constant state of sexual arousal. Mom had even experimented on Amber, one of daddy’s earlier pleasure sluts, with extra shots of Horny Juice that in hindsight explained some of her problematic behaviors. I often wondered what kind of sick person designed a product that was only used to demean women and how my parents could ever use it.
Growing up I had always looked at slaves as unfortunates living a miserable existence and still felt that way now while compartmentalizing those evil pleasure sluts in their unique whore category. Most of my friend’s parents owned female house slaves as servants. Many were young and fit, and I learned growing up that they were regularly subjected to unwilling sexual abuse. Most affluent families had home slave kennels and playrooms in their basements and ours was no different. In my parent’s household we always had two female house slaves and my father had at least one pleasure slut in our “kennel”.
Intellectually I could not believe these women could ever enjoy the sex, oftentimes caught up in my idealistic fervor equating it with rape to my mother over the dinner table. My older sister Lorelei, or Lori as we often called her, would egg me on just to see mother’s reaction while my older brother and father wisely stayed out of our heated discussions.
Mom was incorrigible, “Remember that slut Amber we had for a couple of years when you were in junior high school? She was always so excited when your father came home from work. That slut was just like Angus, our black lab, running up to him the minute he came in the door. When she started humping his leg, I had to get rid of her and sold her to that high end brothel in New York city where she fit right in happy as a clam.”
Of course, my mother, ever the drama queen, was overexaggerating poor Amber’s behavior while seemingly forgetting those extra Horny Juice shots that may have explained some of the slut’s conduct. But I had to confess, the proof was in the pudding as she used to say. Those sluts did really seem to enjoy themselves the way they eagerly fawned over Daddy and my older brother after he turned 18. It was nauseating to witness this pathetic behavior day after day and the house slaves weren’t much better.
Even though I had my doubts, intellectually I always believed the pleasure slut’s sexual arousal was an act they put on to avoid punishment. To this day I struggle with the belief that mother might be right that these sluts were just wired differently; I mean, you couldn’t train them to act this way, or could you? I didn’t think so.
All our house slaves completed basic obedience training right after purchase. Daddy always did get the best of everything. With his pleasure sluts it was usually a well-trained Sandy Foot Girl with the prestigious Big D logo burned into her left buttock identifying her Prime status with either the Pearson’s Pussy Ranch or the Venus Academy logo prominently displayed on the other cheek.
My main problem was that since returning to Texas a deep seeded loathing festered within me for these women that seemed to enjoy so blissfully the damage that they were doing to my marriage. My hatred for these happy homewreckers conflicted with my intellectual side that felt pity for these slave girls that were forced to perform all those disgusting sex acts against their will. The old saying that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned fit me to a T with regards to my view of these evil creatures. I mean, the problem couldn’t be with me after all, could it?
Decades ago, after slavery became legal, wearing kilts sans underwear became fashionable as a matter of convenience, even in a masculine testosterone driven place like Texas. All a man had to do was flip up his kilt when using one of those filthy pleasure slut whores whether it was bent over in the boardroom, a bar, at a ball game, or even before starting the back nine on a golf course. It was considered good manners to conceal the bobbing head of the slave giving head under a kilt instead of unzipping out in the open.
The first Christmas we were home from Stanford my mother gave Chris a set of kilts, one for business meetings and the other for the golf course along with a big welcome back to Texas hug. It was her tacit approval for something that until then had not been an issue in my marriage. I was so angry with her that I was fit to be tied.
It wasn’t just the men that owned slaves. Some of the women reciprocated by purchasing male slaves to sate their own needs while their spouses were busy enjoying their pleasure sluts and looked the other way.
There was a significant clique of women at the club that had a second home at the Parker Center, a high-end equine facility devoted to pony-play with a stable full of well-endowed stallions, or membership in the Cougar Club, a women’s social club with a large kennel of well-trained male slaves if you know what I mean. There were a variety of similar establishments that catered to free women with needs in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Many of these businesses ran popular obedience schools that also promised to improve the male slave’s “performance” in a variety of areas. Most people didn’t try too hard to hide it, so everyone knew who was partaking in slave side action and who wasn’t much to my embarrassment over my husband’s proclivities.
Camellia and I refused to partake even after trying unsuccessfully to rehabilitate our men. Instead, we commiserated, comparing the performance of a variety of vibrators and dildos that we regularly used on ourselves to meet our own often neglected needs. We had many discussions about how much we despised these evil pleasure sluts who had stolen our husband’s affections from us. I often felt like a failure, one of those women unable to keep their husbands sexually satisfied, but a respectable lady must draw a hard line concerning what she is willing to do in the bedroom.
What was I supposed to do? Demean myself regularly swallowing my husband’s semen or take it in the ass every date night. Ouch! That had to hurt. On the other hand, it was a matter of pride; refusing to be one of THOSE women that bought slave cock to replace their neglectful husbands. I mean, what kind of marriage was that?
When I graduated from college, my mother admitted to really enjoying taking it out on each of my father’s many pleasure sluts in their basement playroom with large strap-ons and a variety of straps, paddles, whips, and nipple clamps. Even confessing that she used our house slaves sexually more than Dad did, especially for oral relief claiming, “That was why the good Lord gave the sluts tongues”.
In her best Texas twang good old mom butchered Jerry Hall’s famous quote with her own revision, “My mother said it was simple to keep a man: You had to be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. I just purchased slaves for all three and kept that damned pleasure slut on a short leash.”
Much to my mother’s chagrin I refused to follow in her footsteps by purchasing house slaves for help. Hell would freeze over before I brought a pleasure slut into my home. Instead, I hired free citizens for house cleaning, gardening, pool service and as nannies. Now my older sister Lorelei made mother look tame by comparison with her own extensive home kennel of female and male slaves. It turns out my sister had quite the sexual appetite coupled with the means to afford it.
The rest of the chapter is below.
The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
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Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
Early on Lorelei corrupted my thinking regarding pleasure sluts one summer morning shortly after I turned eighteen. I had just finished my freshman year at Texas. Lorelei demonstrated how these contemptible pleasure sluts were simply put, lust driven creatures solely motivated by their own sexual relief. What I observed convinced me that these horrible creatures were somehow different from our regular house slaves.
Lorelei was just home fresh from getting her Harvard MBA when she took me down into the basement playroom with Daddy’s newly purchased pleasure slut for what turned into an eye-opening experience for me. Only adults were allowed down there when I was growing up, so this was my first-time witnessing a slave being disciplined in our basement. It was full of restraints, whips, canes, paddles, strap-on dildos, and many ominous appearing things that I didn’t recognize. How was I supposed to know what a nipple clamp looked like, let alone the weights that hung from them?
Lorelei had the unfortunate slave girl waiting for us naked in the present position wearing leather ankle and wrist cuffs; the poor girl was quivering on the verge of tears. She had a petite, curvy body with a flat stomach and a firm round behind. Compared to the rest of her petite body, her breasts looked huge! I was instantly jealous of that slut because my B cups looked like mosquito bites in comparison.
With a malicious look on her face Lorelei coldly explained, “Avvy, fear motivates these pathetic creatures. To maximize performance, they need to be shown who’s in charge on a regular basis until compliance is second nature for them. This recent acquisition hesitated this morning at one of my requests so I’m going to introduce myself to her. Look, I’m a dominant bisexual; hell, truth be told, I get off on this shit. I’m going to spend a couple of hours getting to know this slave in ways she never ever imagined possible.”
It was as if a window into my sister’s soul had opened for the first time, and I didn’t like what I saw. In fact, she scared me a little bit.
Walking around the trembling slave, Lorelei inspected the poor girl, running her hands over the slave’s stomach and upper thighs, groping her firm buttocks, and kneading her breasts like they were dough. The slave’s face became flushed, and her big nipples erect from the attention as her breathing became more pronounced. Lorelei even rolled the poor girl’s thick nipples between her fingers eliciting a low moan. Shit, the slut was becoming aroused even though she must know she will soon be on the receiving end of an excruciatingly painful whipping. How was that possible? Mother was right; pleasure sluts were just wired differently from normal women.
“This slave has surprisingly firm breasts considering they are D cups. Her nipples are quite responsive,” mocked Lorelei as her fingers roughly squished that slut’s nipples eliciting a loud yelp in response.
I just stood there silently rooted in place watching my sister abuse this woman. Tiring of the girl’s nipples Lorelei released them and gave the slave a hard slap on her ass propelling her towards the punishment bench.
With a hungry look in her eyes Lorelei ominously sneered, “Who knows, this slut might find she enjoys some of what I have planned for her.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I thought to myself as my sister quickly secured the troubled slave girl over a cushioned black leather bench that resembled a pommel horse. The girl’s ankles were attached to cables that pulled her legs far apart, and her wrists were attached to another cable that pulled her forward. Lorelei used a controller that adjusted the height of the bench and the cables maneuvering the girl across the bench and up onto her tiptoes with her head slightly below her waist while leaving her impressive breasts hanging down below. The final touch was a thick leather strap over the lower back that held her in place making the curve of her magnificent hind quarters an inviting target.
Walking behind the slave I noticed she was restrained in such a manner as to put her privates on lewd display. I was surprised to see that the pleasure slut’s vagina was glistening with moisture. My initial thought was that the poor slave girl must have peed herself. Some of our slaves came from challenging backgrounds. Then much to my surprise the taint of her sexual arousal assaulted my nostrils. Upon further examination I realized that the disgusting creature really had become sexually aroused while restrained over the punishment bench. Something was clearly off with this slave girl.
Lorelei grabbed a multi tail flogger of soft leather and snapped it in the air a couple of times right behind the flinching slave girl’s head and nodded to herself. I watched with rapt attention as Lorelei walked around the restrained slave casually striking her on the back, thighs, and buttocks from time to time taking the opportunity to massage her beautiful derriere before moving on. The lashes did not appear to be all that powerful.
Lorelei methodically upped the intensity striking the slut’s inner thighs and pendulous breasts adding a pinkish hue to the color of the panting slave’s skin where the blows landed. The slut’s face had become flushed from the exertion, or was it arousal?
While kneading one of the tramp’s breasts and toying with her nipples Lorelei explained, “This is a warmup, it draws the blood to the surface, and starts to get the blood moving making the skin more sensitive to stimuli. I’ll increase the intensity over time and then mix it up with a cane, riding crop or strap as they deliver a more focused sting. Look at how her body is reacting; you can watch as this pathetic pleasure slut is drawn towards a sexual frenzy. She cannot help herself, soon she will be begging for relief. That’s when I strike with the pain. I’ll keep her off balance until she can’t take it anymore.”
“Please Mistress, not the cane,” whined the slave suddenly squirming in her bonds trying to get free.
Gleefully Lorelei quipped, “The cane it is then.” Turning to me she snickered, “I always strive to give them what they truly desire,” and then she merrily resumed flogging the bound slave.
The slave girl started babbling in perfect slave speak, “Please Mistress, not the cane. This slave will be good Mistress. Please let this pleasure slut serve you with this slave’s tongue then you can fuck this slave’s holes with your monster strap-on. This slut lives to serve her Mistress.”
“Silly slave, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Oh, and I will have fun with your slave holes whenever I wish,” teased Lorelei, striking a blow right between the vulnerable slave girl’s spread legs.
The slave squealed when the stroke to her vagina landed with something like a splat. I expected a cry of pain, but the slut’s squeal sounded more like an odd mixture of pleasure and pain, almost like her subconscious couldn’t decide which it was.
Shocked by the slut’s behavior I watched as my sister mixed things up using the flogger handle to slowly fuck the slave’s drippy vagina. The braided leather handle was soon soaked with evidence of the pathetic slut’s arousal. The now happily mewling tramp struggled without success to push back into her Mistress’s strokes.
Taking the slut to the cusp of a climax my grinning sister simply stopped and pulled the handle out with a loud slurp. The thrilled look on the pleasure slut’s face of the quickly approaching orgasm was dashed, turning into an expression of agony in the blink of an eye by my cruel sister. Instead of climaxing the surprised slave received four rather vicious blows to her buttocks followed by four more to each of her hanging udders leaving a collection of little reddish stripes behind.
“Aei, please Mistress,” cried the anguished slave now babbling incoherently.
“Stop your blubbering you pathetic slut,” commanded a frowning Lorelei, moving the handle in front of the sobbing girl’s face and forcing it into her mouth. “Clean your slave slime off the handle. That will shut you up.”
With that Lorelei started slowly face-fucking her with the handle just like she had the slave’s pussy until Lorelei tired of this game. She left four inches of the handle lodged in the tramp’s mouth. Tears of pain and frustration ran down the unfortunate slave’s cheeks. She just looked pathetic holding the handle in her mouth with the leather strands hanging down between her arms while my sister examined her handiwork taking the time to touch and rub the girl’s buttocks and breasts.
“Would you like to help?” encouraged Lorelei, clearly trying to get me involved.
Caught by surprise I just stuttered, “No,” content to just watch when what I really wanted to do was leave. This was a human being; a real flesh and blood person Lorelei was tormenting. On the other hand, I sensed a subtle out of the ordinary under current, a connection of sorts between Lorelei and this slave girl. I was drawn to follow it to its logical conclusion, otherwise I would have run out of here long ago.
It appears Lorelei was rubbing away the pain, whatever she was doing must have felt good to the slave by the way that wretched slut started squirming and moaning around the handle clenched between her teeth. I walked behind the slave and stared at her vagina in surprise while Lorelei continued massaging the slave all over her body with her hands paying extra attention to the slut’s pendulous breasts.
I could see into the girl’s promised land as we called it in Texas. The tramp’s sopping wet pussy lips were spread open revealing her moist pink hole and I swear I saw a drop escape and trickle down her thigh. The little tramp was aroused! I do not know how long I gawked at that disgusting slut’s vagina, fascinated as the drop was soon followed by another.
I was startled by the whooshing sound of Lorelei waving a cane through the air. The slave’s body tensed up at the horrid sound and a muffled eek escaped her mouth.
Lorelei held the three-foot-long cane out to me. I took it in my hands examining this instrument of pain while my sister described it.
“The thickness of the rattan varies from a quarter of an inch to half an inch, and its length from a foot and a half to three feet. Deceivingly, thinner canes like this one tend to cause more pain than the thicker ones, since they concentrate the energy of the blow on a smaller surface of skin while also causing less damage.”
“This is much lighter than I expected,” I replied, before handing it back to her.
“The flexibility of the rattan can be tested by swaying the cane in the air until you hear it buzz,” advised Lorelei, doing so over the unfortunate slave’s head.
The horrid sound provoked an expression of pure terror on the face of the restrained pleasure slut. At least she had the common sense not to let the whip drop from her mouth as she tried to talk around it. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, although there was a sense of urgency in the bizarre gibberish that escaped her lips.
Suddenly Lorelei struck, viciously welting the unfortunate slave’s ass with the cane. In no time at all the sobbing girl had two perfectly spaced horizontal red lines running across her buttocks. My sister took her time examining the stripes with a critical eye, appraising her handy work by running her fingers over the sniveling slave’s trembling rump while I looked on.
With a hard look Lorelei explained, “You want to lay a base pattern like this anytime you discipline a slave using a cane before crisscrossing the pattern which is much more painful,” as she lightly ran her fingertips along the parallel lines of growing welts on the shuddering slave girl’s posterior.
I just nodded, rooted in place. It was weird, the gentle massaging of the stripes on the slave’s exquisite derriere had a calming effect on her. In no time she was moaning in an almost hypnotic state.
I just stood there rooted in place watching the spectacle play out before my eyes. Lorelei ran her other hand between the unlucky slave’s firm thighs taking her time to gently explore the unfortunate slave’s privates. The poor slave girl wriggled under my sister’s ministrations until a low throaty moan escaped the girl’s lips as she blushed in embarrassment.
Triumphantly Lorelei pulled out her fingers glistening with the slave’s arousal, “Deep down this little slut is enjoying this. Intellectually she doesn’t want to, but a true pleasure slut cannot help herself from becoming sexually stimulated.”
My experienced sister continued with her lesson adding two more perfectly placed lines on the slut’s delectable derriere, taking her time to massage the moaning girl’s rump after each blow before encouraging me to take her place.
With trembling hands, I started gently massaging the girl’s buttocks not believing I had agreed to do this. It was a little weird at first touching a woman in this manner. I admit, I felt a sense of superiority. It really was a power trip knowing that as a free woman I could hurt this pathetic creature in a variety of ways if I so chose. I found this unsettling at first and upon seeing her sexual arousal evident in her sopping wet vagina I became revolted stepping away from her. If anything, the tramp was becoming more aroused as the infliction of pain intensified and I wanted no part of this. Yet, I felt compelled to stay.
I had so many conflicting emotions as my sister continued with her lesson. I felt sorry for the pathetic slave as a woman being physically beaten while confused and disgusted by the slut’s sexual arousal. She really was wired differently. I mean, how could any rational woman enjoy being treated in this manner?
“Aside from the traditional, punishment-like canings, this lightweight and flexible rattan can be used in more pleasurable ways. One of my favorite techniques consists of swinging the cane with rapid and continuous oscillations and bringing it in contact with the skin. This way, the strokes are very fast, but superficial and with low energy, so that the skin receives a continuous pleasant soft massage that heats and reddens it. I have induced orgasms in pleasure sluts using this technique and will do so with this one,” confidently asserted Lorelei with an intensity that surprised me as she started working over the slave’s ass with the cane.
“No way. You’re going to make her orgasm with a cane?” I retorted in disbelief.
With an air of self-assurance Lorelei countered, “Of course I am. Just beating her with a paddle, whip or cane like a Neanderthal only demonstrates that I can hurt her. A comprehensive discipline session inflicts pain coupled with humiliation and enlightenment while demonstrating to the slave what I can bestow upon her when she performs well. An effective punishment teaches the slave that she is dependent upon her Mistress in all aspects of her existence. It reinforces the trust that must exist between a well-behaved slave and her Mistress.”
This is getting weird,” I thought to myself. It wasn’t what I expected to see as I continued to observe my sister’s handiwork. The pleasure slut was clearly feverish with desire. I swear, that cane was a blur in Lorelei’s experienced hand as she ran it lightly over the exquisite curve of the pathetic slave’s posterior. In no time at all the squirming pleasure slut was once again desperately squealing around the whip handle in her mouth.
“I think she’s ready,” snickered my sister before ordering, “Cum for me slave.”
And I’ll be damned if that little slut didn’t climax just as my sister predicted. Lorelei pulled the whips twelve-inch hand-woven leather handle from the slave’s mouth and used it to fuck the little tramp’s pussy. It looked like that slut really enjoyed the ridges in the handle. The whore was writhing in her restraints as my sister plowed her womb.
It was surreal listening to the grunts and whimpers transition into high-pitched, inarticulate sounds when Lorelei started rubbing the trembling girl’s clitty. The loud slurping sound of the handle plowing the tramp’s vagina coupled with the noises emanating from this slut’s mouth added to the weird atmosphere of the scene playing out before my eyes. The slut’s leg muscles tightened and then her whole body shuddered causing a ripple effect making her big udders jiggle delightfully. The hussy’s chest continued to rise and fall as she labored for breath riding out her frenzy until it was no more.
The panting slave slumped in her bonds trying to catch her breath, her body quivering from residual tremors after that massive climax. Or was it climaxes? Lorelei squatted down in front of the slut, her face at eye level grabbing the slave’s hair so that the two were facing each other while holding up the whip handle coated with the slut’s girl goo.
I gasped in surprise when Lorelei seductively licked the length of the handle collecting the slut’s pussy juice on her tongue all while staring into the slave’s eyes. My sister licked her lips, clearly savoring the slave’s essence. Enraptured, the slave gazed back when Lorelei suddenly kissed the slave, exploring the slut’s mouth with her tongue like she owned it.
My eyes bulged out in surprise when the slave girl didn’t pull away, instead the tramp kissed back, matching my sister’s passion with her own fervor. It was evident to me that there was some kind of growing connection between these two. I just couldn’t comprehend what yet.
Breaking the kiss my sister stood up still holding the slut’s head up by her hair while moving the handle in front of her crotch holding it like she had a penis or strap-on dildo. Lorelei pushed her impromptu “cock” into the slut’s mouth.
Sneering Lorelei ordered, “Aww, this horny little tramp made a mess on my handle. She needs to clean it off.”
That slave girl eagerly attacked the handle with her mouth visibly savory the taste of her own juices. Keeping hold of the slut’s hair, Lorelei started thrusting her hips forward and back, slowly face-fucking the slave with her “cock”. The flushed faced girl looked up adoringly at Lorelei with her captivating blue eyes as my sister manhandled her.
“Do you know how this Yankee ended up naked wearing a slave collar?” teased Lorelei, while holding the slave by her hair and gagging her on the handle.
“No, do tell,” I replied, my curiosity was piqued while also hoping to change the subject. This whole whipping a slave girl to a climax was weirding me out a lot. Not like Lorelei slowly face-fucking the slave with the whip handle like it was a man’s penis was helping any.
Lorelei patted the slave on the head like one would a dog, “Last December, Rebecca here, and three others of her abolitionist classmates, came to Dallas to stage some protests over slavery at different slave markets in the area. Rumor has it the Big D even offered the four of them free slave gradings.
Surprised at this revelation I quipped, “You’re kidding, right? Only an idiot would protest slavery outside a slave market in Texas.”
“Well, all four were recent graduates from Mount Holyoke College, one of those expensive elite private liberal schools for women in Massachusetts. That school clearly didn’t teach a lick of common sense to their students. Their parents paid good money not knowing the school would turn their daughters into rebellious feminist lesbians who don’t even shave their armpits and legs. Some even refuse to groom their lady bits to protest the patriarchy.”
“Yuck, that’s gross,” I exclaimed.
I mean the mere thought of not shaving my legs and armpits, or grooming my kitty was disgusting. It was simply unladylike in Dallas society.
“Yeah, I know. Anyway, the princess here decided to host her friends using her stepmother’s credit card on a deluxe suite at the Ritz Carlton for a week, ringing up quite a bill. After a hard morning of protesting these Yankees spent their afternoons in the hotel spa, dining in the restaurant, and the evenings partying it up in the hotel bar billing everything to the room. At checkout the credit card was rejected, and the manager gave his Northern guest here the option of going to Debtor Court or calling the police,” explained Lorelei.
“She foolishly chose Debtor Court,” I surmised, there being no criminal brand marring the beauty of her firm buttocks.
“Yep, she didn’t have the good sense God gave an ant. The bill was for well over $30,000 qualifying her for instant enslavement for two years to make good on the debt. The Ritz is quite pricey after all. The judge put a temporary collar on her restricting her to the courthouse and she had until 3:00 pm that day to pay the bill or the body attachment would be enforced. When she couldn’t get her rich daddy on the phone she ran, only getting a few blocks away before she was caught and brought back to court to face the music,” snickered Lorelei.
Shaking my head in disbelief I added, “That was really stupid.”
Lorelei pulled the whip handle from the stupid slut’s mouth, “Why don’t you tell us what happened next.”
Becoming emotional the slave sobbed, “They stripped me naked right there in the courtroom in front of everyone. It was so embarrassing. The judge leered at me like I was a piece of meat, made me turn in a circle and designated me a Yankee pleasure slut and doubled my time for running away, making me a slave for four years. Four whole years!”
“It gets better,” snickered Lorelei. “I had a friend in the courtroom who told me the whole story. What happened next?”
Looking down the slave hoarsely whispered, “My friends did an impromptu anti-slavery protest in the courtroom making the judge even madder. He ordered them all held in contempt of court. Then Jenny kicked the bailiff in his testicles and ran out of the courtroom.”
“She did what?” I cried, not sure if I should laugh or cry at the stupidity of these Northerners.
“Oh yeah, I was told the judge had a dying duck fit with that one. When they brought her back a few minutes later kicking and screaming he held them all in contempt, ordered them stripped right there in the courtroom, collared, and held overnight in the jail. They were sentenced to twenty lashes with a cane to be administered at the punishment site in front of the courthouse in the morning. When he saw all their body hair, he ordered that the Sheriff make these Northern harlots presentable by removing every hair below the neck from their bodies.”
“What, no trial?” I asked, surprised at the speed of the punishment.
“You don’t get a trial in a civil contempt proceeding; the judge just decides the punishment. It made the news and was covered nationally so everyone, and I mean everyone, knew what happened to them,” chortled Lorelei.
Curious, I asked the next logical question, “What happened to Jenny?”
“Well, there isn’t any jury appeal for a Northern abolitionist lesbian protesting legal slavery in Texas, so she ended up taking a four-year diversion plea deal getting a circle star branded right next to her little rosebud. Her rich daddy promised the judge that if he was allowed to purchase her, he would ship her off to the Cotillion to become a consort, you know, one of those slave brides. Jenny’s daddy seemed rather pleased to know she would be spending a year being trained as a consort to deprogram her after four years at that liberal college.”
“Jenny’s lucky her father could save her,” I replied.
Lorelei grabbed the slave Rebecca by the hair, looking her hard in the eyes, “So Rebecca, are you really a lesbian? How about poor Jenny? Or was it all an act to fit in at Mount Holyoke?
With an air of defiance, one doesn’t often find in a slave, Rebecca replied, “I’m a lesbian. That will never change. I find men physically revolting. Jenny’s a sausage slut who prefers men.”
Using a concerned tone, Lorelei looked at me asking, “Avvy, how long does Daddy keep his pleasure sluts?”
Wondering where she was going with this I retorted, “Around a year, and then he replaces them.”
She responded, “Do you know what happens to them?”
Sounding more entitled than I wanted to, and a tad disinterested, I retorted, “No, I assumed he just trades them in every year just like he does when he buys a new car or putter. You know how he always must have new things.”
Lorelei drew a resigned breath, “When Daddy tires of his pleasure sluts he turns them into the company kennel where they are used to service business partners, clients, employees, or just rented out. He even loans a couple to his old fraternity for rush week. Now those sluts are rode hard and put away wet if you know what I mean. Once a month he rents them out to a low-end glory hole establishment where they spend the day sucking disgusting dirty cocks through a hole and swallowing about sixty loads of semen. He does this to remind them that they are disposable to motivate them to maintain a high level of service for his business partners and clients. When these pleasure sluts lose their luster, he has a New York brothel he sells them to where the sluts routinely service twenty men a day.”
The slave girl looked up in alarm, "What, I thought he’d keep me here for the whole term.”
Lorelei gloated, “Oh no. That won’t happen you silly slave girl. Do you know what a no international travel/trade clause is? Because the judge didn’t include one in either Jenny’s or your contract.”
“He could ship me to Greece or Japan to convert my term enslavement into a lifetime term,” she wailed, as realization of her true predicament dawned on the pretty slave’s face.
“Daddy has a lot of partners in Japan that he does business with,” I bluntly added, suddenly feeling sorry for the unfortunate slave as the reality that she may never regain her freedom sunk in.
“There’s Mr. Hamamoto, he’s always looking for a Prime slave he can take home with him whenever comes to Dallas for business,” snickered Lorelei.
Shuddering at the thought of that awful man, “He’s so gross, always fondling the slave’s boobies whenever they walk by, especially the girls with big breasts. It always feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes with that perverted little grin of his. And he’s fat and smells.”
“Daddy has a trip to Japan scheduled for September. I bet he takes you with him Rebecca,” gloated Lorelei, pausing to let it sink in as the slave began to panic.
Lorelei walked over to the wall hanging up the whip and grabbing a wicked looking tawse. The slave whimpered as Lorelei sized up the slave’s delightfully positioned posterior before forcefully delivering several lashes that crisscrossed the fresh welts from the cane.
After each stroke Lorelei took her time rubbing the fresh hot red marks, somehow transforming the pain into pleasure. Once the slut was moaning like a bitch in heat the next blow would rain down eliciting an anguished shriek of pain only to have Lorelei start the process all over. Until once again this helpless slave’s aroused groans gave away her arousal triggering the next blow.
A sheen of perspiration soon covered the slut’s body, her hair was matted on her face, and the room stank of her arousal when Lorelei seemed to tire of this game of cat and mouse. She ran her index finger through the slaves weeping slit. The finger glistened with her fluids until Lorelei plopped it in her mouth savoring it like a fine wine.
“You do taste delicious. Does this horny slut want another orgasm? Would you like your Mistress to make you feel better?” taunted my sister, acting like the answer was preordained, which to this observer it was.
With a look of shame on her face the slut softly whimpered, “Please Mistress.”
Lorelei tormented the slave by rubbing the end of the handle inside her labia right at the entrance to her womb.
“I didn’t hear you clearly.”
The slave turned her flushed face looking back at Lorelei and begged loudly, “Please Mistress. May this slave have another orgasm? Please take pity on this needy pleasure slut.”
“That’s better slut,” grinned Lorelei, slowly pushing the handle into the tramp’s drippy hole.
That handle was also over twelve-inches of hand-braided leather about an inch and a half thick. It was then that I noticed that most of the handles on the whips and paddles were configured this way for easy use as an impromptu dildo. In no time Lorelei was vigorously thrusting into the slut’s vagina leaving her trembling in her bonds and gasping for breath.
In a serious tone Lorelei asked, “Who introduced you to lesbian sex; who was your first? I’m betting it was an older woman, either a teacher or friend of your stepmother.”
The slave whimpered, “It was one of my stepmother’s friends – right after I turned eighteen. She was a partner in a big law firm.”
“It wasn’t so much a seduction, but a submission on your part and you loved it. She controlled you, put you over her knee and spanked you at some point and used a strap-on to sexually dominate you,” bluntly stated Lorelei, with an air of confidence that surprised me.
“How did you know?” cried Rebecca, trying to hold a conversation as my sister pushed her closer to her impending climax.
“Rebecca, you are attracted to dominant women; you want one to take charge of your life. You crave submitting to a strong woman that will take care of you, protect you from yourself and others, one that will discipline you when you need it while also being able to hold you in their arms and comfort you. In college you fantasize about submitting to upperclassmen, athletic girls on the basketball, soccer or volleyball teams, your parent’s lesbian friends, and professors,” explained Lorelei, pulling the handle out of the girl’s vagina as she whined in disappointment.
“Please, don’t stop,” whined Rebecca.
“Right now, I need you to focus on me and the offer I am making you. Daddy promised me a pleasure slut of my own as a graduation present and I’m considering you. As your Mistress I would determine your fate. You would become an extraordinary talent slave as my personal assistant in the office and my personal sex toy at home never becoming a random sex toy for a bunch of men. In exchange you would sign a new seven-year contract with a no international travel/trade clause,” detailed Lorelei, crouching down in front of the bound slave.
Gazing longingly into Lorelei’s eyes Rebecca replied in a serious tone, “That sounds like an offer I can’t turn down.”
Lorelei held the girl's face in her hands while staring into her eyes with an intensity I had never seen before. Her forceful gaze dominated the slave who couldn't look away. I swear, my sister was looking into the depths of the slave's very soul.
“If you were mine, I would protect you, take care of you, discipline you when you needed it and make sure all your needs are met. In return you will devote your entire being to serve me in a manner of my choosing. This is a total commitment on your part; you will need to always place your unflinching trust in me as your Mistress. Is that what you want?” asked Lorelei.
With a grateful smile a visibly relieved Rebecca answered, “Yes Mistress. I am yours.”
Lorelei smiled in response, a big beaming grin covered her face as she stood up, “Now that’s settled we have time to get to know each other better,” and strode over to a cabinet pulling out a big strap-on dildo with vaginal and anal prongs.
“Time for me to leave,” I thought, not wanting to see what my sister was going to do with THAT monstrosity. I ran out of the room never to return. Those two stayed down there for another two hours or so before emerging after doing who knows what. Although Rebecca had some additional welts on her backside, she seemed quite pleased with her new situation.
That night I had my first slavery nightmare dreaming that I was a naked collared slave somehow in a foreign country never to return home. It was Japan! I had no idea how I got there. All I knew was that I was kneeling in a Japanese bath house surrounded by a bunch of older naked ugly men sporting erections! These men were at least twice my age if not older.
I noticed an assortment of big breasted giggling white pleasure sluts happily taking good care of the men if you know what I mean. My vagina throbbed with out-of-control lust as I took in my surroundings realizing I had become a sex slave whose sole purpose was the gratification of these horrid men. I had no idea how I got here, but it all seemed so real.
My boobies felt different, somehow heavier, and more sensitive. I looked down and my breasts had grown, easily doubling if not tripling in size, with big thick nipples erect with arousal. Curious, I fondled my heavy breasts, massaging, no, exploring them for the first time, admiring their heft before rolling my new gumdrop sized nipples between my thumb and forefinger sending jolts of pleasure straight to my throbbing pussy. Damn, my nipples were super sensitive!
I moaned as I started taking turns pinching one nipple and then the other. Then it hit my, I must have been on steady diet of Horny Juice for months causing my breasts to grow. That had to be the reason why my breasts had grown, my nipples were so sensitive and I was so damned fucking horny!
Taking in my surroundings while rolling my nipples between my fingers the other pleasure sluts were all happily engaged in sordid sex acts; from proudly displaying cum on their tongues to sucking on a hard penis while getting fucked in the butt. These tramps were doing anal sex and enjoying it! There was even one girl sandwiched between two men, one fucking her vagina and the other buried into her anus all while a third man gagged her on his cock with his nuts lying on her chin. Somehow, I was jealous of the slut, wanting no, needing to be used like her. Lost in a daze I tried to think and clear my head, but I couldn't shake the need for sexual release.
It felt like a thick fog that I could not pierce. OMG, I couldn't remember Newton's theory of motion or the first three digits for the formula for Pi. All I could think about was how I could get a big hard cock in my pussy for my next orgasm. Oh God, I needed to cum so badly! It was as if my brain had been rewired, leaving me slave stupid only cognizant of my weeping pussy suddenly feeling rivulets dribbling down the insides of my thighs as I pinched down hard on my nipples. I couldn’t stop playing with my breasts, it just felt so freaking good.
There was a well-endowed blonde on her hands and knees to my right getting her ass plowed looking right at me saying something. I could see her lips moving but all I heard was “blah, blah, blah, …” just like the adults in a Peanuts cartoon.
Then I saw that crude pig, Mr. Hamamoto, across the room taking off his kimono putting his pasty skinned overweight body on full display. He ogled all the sluts being used around him while resolutely striding purposefully across the room towards me, his big belly jiggling with each determined step with a surprisingly large erect penis protruding out from underneath his stomach. It was bigger than I ever imagined a penis could be. His long thick cock was uncircumcised with an angry, almost purple mushroom head sticking out leaking a disgusting, almost thick yellowish fluid. I licked my lips longingly, wanting nothing more than to clean off his messy cock with my tongue.
I shook my head again trying to purge my mind of these disgusting urges, but alas I felt a wildfire of libidinous heat engulfing my body as I visualized taking Mr. Hamamoto’ s enormous cock within my mouth. Subconsciously I leaned forward, longingly opening my mouth and sultrily sticking out my tongue making a come-hither motion with it while playing with my nipples putting my magnificent breasts on display. Begging him with my actions to jam his engorged erection down my throat just like a well-trained pleasure slut would.
When Mr. Hamamoto reached me, he grabbed me by the hair, roughly pulling me to my feet. Leering at me he groped my drenched vagina, crudely corkscrewing two chubby fingers into my slick slave cunt while speaking to me. Once again all I heard was, "Blah, blah, blah, ..." no matter how hard I concentrated I still did not understand what was being said around me. I looked up at him uncomprehendingly with a silly grin on my face as his fingers worked their magic plowing my womb while I became lost in a deep slave haze.
OMG, I was still playing with my nipples while hungrily humping his pudgy fingers chasing my ever-elusive climax. For some reason I couldn't stop. Joy of joys, I was almost there. I could feel my orgasm bubbling up towards the surface; it would be any moment now; I could just tell.
Laughing at me he roughly yanked his fingers from my pussy leaving me frantically humping the air moaning in despair as he slapped my hands away from my breasts so he could maul them himself. After roughly massaging my titties like they were dough he focused his attention on my sensitive nipples; savagely pinching and twisting my poor nips causing them to throb out of control. I wanted to slap him but all I could do was moan like a bitch in heat while thrusting breasts into his hands. How had I become such a empty headed sex craved bimbo unable to think beyond her next climax?
When Mr. Hamamoto tired of my breasts, he grabbed me by the hair and led me towards a vacant leather covered bench releasing me upon arrival. He slapped me hard on the ass propelling me towards the bench. Taking the hint, I gracefully draped myself over the leather bench spreading my legs while wiggling my ass enticingly. Roughly he kicked my ankles out spreading my legs even further. I felt my labia peeling open like a flower exposing the molten core of my womb. Once again, my arousal seeped out of my vagina like water from a spring dripping down the inside of my thighs while I waited expectantly for Mr. Hamamoto to spear my slave cunt with his prodigious shaft. Oh, how I wanted him to fuck me senseless and fill my womb with his baby batter.
Mr. Hamamoto took my buttocks in his hands, massaging them until he had his thumbs bracketing my rosebud. Roughly he pulled my cheeks apart, stretching my poor little starfish, making his intentions known. I had never before in my life felt more vulnerable than I did at that very moment and if felt so good, revving my engine even more. I heard him spit and then a warm glob of spittle landed between my cheeks right above my anus dripping down towards my hole. He spit again hitting the bullseye as it landed dead center on my starburst.
A strong hand grasped my hair pulling my head back causing my back to arch jutting out my big firm titties. Mr. Hamamoto held me in place that way as I brought my hands to my breasts once more rolling my nipples between my fingers. I soon felt a warm blunt object spreading his spittle over the entrance to my backdoor as my heart pounded with filthy joy knowing I was his. Oh God this was going to hurt! But in my new altered state lost in a lustful daze I couldn’t wait for him to impale me, driving his ginormous shaft into the depths of my bowels. I felt him press forward with more than a little force piercing my sphincter and I screamed loudly waking myself from my nightmare. It had been so real!
I was back home in my bedroom panting out of breath, disoriented lying in a pool of sweat, my hair matted to my head, pinching my nipple hard with my left hand while strumming my drenched clitoris with the other. I was so aroused I just had to cum. Purging Mr. Hamamoto from my thoughts I dreamed about that handsome boy that I met right before finals.
Chris was a real cutie and with a nice butt. I pictured him making wonderous love to me, pounding me senseless with his big cock until I convulsed into a frenzy while calling out his name. When my orgasm finally subsided I was exhausted, but I forced myself out of bed and changed my sheets and nightgown. After washing my face, I crawled back into bed and dreamed of a future as Mrs. Christopher Walker.
The next day I surreptitiously pulled Lorelei aside and whispered, “Do you really think Daddy would take Rebecca to Japan and convert her to a lifetime slave?”
Lorelei laughed, “What do you think? But we’ll never know because he gave her to me as my graduation present.”
To this day I still believe that but for Lorelei’s intervention Rebecca was destined for a lifetime enslavement likely ending up overseas with Mr. Hamamoto when Daddy tired of her. It was a cruel fate for those poor slaves that found themselves in that predicament.
After seeing Lorelei in action with Rebecca I now understood why the household slaves had always seemed so on edge whenever Lorelei returned home from school for summer break or during the holidays. After my sister’s introduction to slave discipline, I made a conscious effort to always say please and thank you to our slaves trying to always treat them respectfully as human beings much to my mother’s irritation. Only my older brother supported me, likely more for my benefit than the slave girls that I am sure he used. He was a man after all.
Let’s just say I decided then and there that I would never need an in-home slave torture chamber in the basement. When Chris and I purchased our home, I converted our basement into a home gym. This was a perfect fit for a family with young children with the soundproofing and sophisticated ventilation system. There was no way we would ever need it for its intended purpose as there would never be a slave living under my roof. Little did I know that would change one day.
(To be continued.)
Lorelei was just home fresh from getting her Harvard MBA when she took me down into the basement playroom with Daddy’s newly purchased pleasure slut for what turned into an eye-opening experience for me. Only adults were allowed down there when I was growing up, so this was my first-time witnessing a slave being disciplined in our basement. It was full of restraints, whips, canes, paddles, strap-on dildos, and many ominous appearing things that I didn’t recognize. How was I supposed to know what a nipple clamp looked like, let alone the weights that hung from them?
Lorelei had the unfortunate slave girl waiting for us naked in the present position wearing leather ankle and wrist cuffs; the poor girl was quivering on the verge of tears. She had a petite, curvy body with a flat stomach and a firm round behind. Compared to the rest of her petite body, her breasts looked huge! I was instantly jealous of that slut because my B cups looked like mosquito bites in comparison.
With a malicious look on her face Lorelei coldly explained, “Avvy, fear motivates these pathetic creatures. To maximize performance, they need to be shown who’s in charge on a regular basis until compliance is second nature for them. This recent acquisition hesitated this morning at one of my requests so I’m going to introduce myself to her. Look, I’m a dominant bisexual; hell, truth be told, I get off on this shit. I’m going to spend a couple of hours getting to know this slave in ways she never ever imagined possible.”
It was as if a window into my sister’s soul had opened for the first time, and I didn’t like what I saw. In fact, she scared me a little bit.
Walking around the trembling slave, Lorelei inspected the poor girl, running her hands over the slave’s stomach and upper thighs, groping her firm buttocks, and kneading her breasts like they were dough. The slave’s face became flushed, and her big nipples erect from the attention as her breathing became more pronounced. Lorelei even rolled the poor girl’s thick nipples between her fingers eliciting a low moan. Shit, the slut was becoming aroused even though she must know she will soon be on the receiving end of an excruciatingly painful whipping. How was that possible? Mother was right; pleasure sluts were just wired differently from normal women.
“This slave has surprisingly firm breasts considering they are D cups. Her nipples are quite responsive,” mocked Lorelei as her fingers roughly squished that slut’s nipples eliciting a loud yelp in response.
I just stood there silently rooted in place watching my sister abuse this woman. Tiring of the girl’s nipples Lorelei released them and gave the slave a hard slap on her ass propelling her towards the punishment bench.
With a hungry look in her eyes Lorelei ominously sneered, “Who knows, this slut might find she enjoys some of what I have planned for her.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I thought to myself as my sister quickly secured the troubled slave girl over a cushioned black leather bench that resembled a pommel horse. The girl’s ankles were attached to cables that pulled her legs far apart, and her wrists were attached to another cable that pulled her forward. Lorelei used a controller that adjusted the height of the bench and the cables maneuvering the girl across the bench and up onto her tiptoes with her head slightly below her waist while leaving her impressive breasts hanging down below. The final touch was a thick leather strap over the lower back that held her in place making the curve of her magnificent hind quarters an inviting target.
Walking behind the slave I noticed she was restrained in such a manner as to put her privates on lewd display. I was surprised to see that the pleasure slut’s vagina was glistening with moisture. My initial thought was that the poor slave girl must have peed herself. Some of our slaves came from challenging backgrounds. Then much to my surprise the taint of her sexual arousal assaulted my nostrils. Upon further examination I realized that the disgusting creature really had become sexually aroused while restrained over the punishment bench. Something was clearly off with this slave girl.
Lorelei grabbed a multi tail flogger of soft leather and snapped it in the air a couple of times right behind the flinching slave girl’s head and nodded to herself. I watched with rapt attention as Lorelei walked around the restrained slave casually striking her on the back, thighs, and buttocks from time to time taking the opportunity to massage her beautiful derriere before moving on. The lashes did not appear to be all that powerful.
Lorelei methodically upped the intensity striking the slut’s inner thighs and pendulous breasts adding a pinkish hue to the color of the panting slave’s skin where the blows landed. The slut’s face had become flushed from the exertion, or was it arousal?
While kneading one of the tramp’s breasts and toying with her nipples Lorelei explained, “This is a warmup, it draws the blood to the surface, and starts to get the blood moving making the skin more sensitive to stimuli. I’ll increase the intensity over time and then mix it up with a cane, riding crop or strap as they deliver a more focused sting. Look at how her body is reacting; you can watch as this pathetic pleasure slut is drawn towards a sexual frenzy. She cannot help herself, soon she will be begging for relief. That’s when I strike with the pain. I’ll keep her off balance until she can’t take it anymore.”
“Please Mistress, not the cane,” whined the slave suddenly squirming in her bonds trying to get free.
Gleefully Lorelei quipped, “The cane it is then.” Turning to me she snickered, “I always strive to give them what they truly desire,” and then she merrily resumed flogging the bound slave.
The slave girl started babbling in perfect slave speak, “Please Mistress, not the cane. This slave will be good Mistress. Please let this pleasure slut serve you with this slave’s tongue then you can fuck this slave’s holes with your monster strap-on. This slut lives to serve her Mistress.”
“Silly slave, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Oh, and I will have fun with your slave holes whenever I wish,” teased Lorelei, striking a blow right between the vulnerable slave girl’s spread legs.
The slave squealed when the stroke to her vagina landed with something like a splat. I expected a cry of pain, but the slut’s squeal sounded more like an odd mixture of pleasure and pain, almost like her subconscious couldn’t decide which it was.
Shocked by the slut’s behavior I watched as my sister mixed things up using the flogger handle to slowly fuck the slave’s drippy vagina. The braided leather handle was soon soaked with evidence of the pathetic slut’s arousal. The now happily mewling tramp struggled without success to push back into her Mistress’s strokes.
Taking the slut to the cusp of a climax my grinning sister simply stopped and pulled the handle out with a loud slurp. The thrilled look on the pleasure slut’s face of the quickly approaching orgasm was dashed, turning into an expression of agony in the blink of an eye by my cruel sister. Instead of climaxing the surprised slave received four rather vicious blows to her buttocks followed by four more to each of her hanging udders leaving a collection of little reddish stripes behind.
“Aei, please Mistress,” cried the anguished slave now babbling incoherently.
“Stop your blubbering you pathetic slut,” commanded a frowning Lorelei, moving the handle in front of the sobbing girl’s face and forcing it into her mouth. “Clean your slave slime off the handle. That will shut you up.”
With that Lorelei started slowly face-fucking her with the handle just like she had the slave’s pussy until Lorelei tired of this game. She left four inches of the handle lodged in the tramp’s mouth. Tears of pain and frustration ran down the unfortunate slave’s cheeks. She just looked pathetic holding the handle in her mouth with the leather strands hanging down between her arms while my sister examined her handiwork taking the time to touch and rub the girl’s buttocks and breasts.
“Would you like to help?” encouraged Lorelei, clearly trying to get me involved.
Caught by surprise I just stuttered, “No,” content to just watch when what I really wanted to do was leave. This was a human being; a real flesh and blood person Lorelei was tormenting. On the other hand, I sensed a subtle out of the ordinary under current, a connection of sorts between Lorelei and this slave girl. I was drawn to follow it to its logical conclusion, otherwise I would have run out of here long ago.
It appears Lorelei was rubbing away the pain, whatever she was doing must have felt good to the slave by the way that wretched slut started squirming and moaning around the handle clenched between her teeth. I walked behind the slave and stared at her vagina in surprise while Lorelei continued massaging the slave all over her body with her hands paying extra attention to the slut’s pendulous breasts.
I could see into the girl’s promised land as we called it in Texas. The tramp’s sopping wet pussy lips were spread open revealing her moist pink hole and I swear I saw a drop escape and trickle down her thigh. The little tramp was aroused! I do not know how long I gawked at that disgusting slut’s vagina, fascinated as the drop was soon followed by another.
I was startled by the whooshing sound of Lorelei waving a cane through the air. The slave’s body tensed up at the horrid sound and a muffled eek escaped her mouth.
Lorelei held the three-foot-long cane out to me. I took it in my hands examining this instrument of pain while my sister described it.
“The thickness of the rattan varies from a quarter of an inch to half an inch, and its length from a foot and a half to three feet. Deceivingly, thinner canes like this one tend to cause more pain than the thicker ones, since they concentrate the energy of the blow on a smaller surface of skin while also causing less damage.”
“This is much lighter than I expected,” I replied, before handing it back to her.
“The flexibility of the rattan can be tested by swaying the cane in the air until you hear it buzz,” advised Lorelei, doing so over the unfortunate slave’s head.
The horrid sound provoked an expression of pure terror on the face of the restrained pleasure slut. At least she had the common sense not to let the whip drop from her mouth as she tried to talk around it. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, although there was a sense of urgency in the bizarre gibberish that escaped her lips.
Suddenly Lorelei struck, viciously welting the unfortunate slave’s ass with the cane. In no time at all the sobbing girl had two perfectly spaced horizontal red lines running across her buttocks. My sister took her time examining the stripes with a critical eye, appraising her handy work by running her fingers over the sniveling slave’s trembling rump while I looked on.
With a hard look Lorelei explained, “You want to lay a base pattern like this anytime you discipline a slave using a cane before crisscrossing the pattern which is much more painful,” as she lightly ran her fingertips along the parallel lines of growing welts on the shuddering slave girl’s posterior.
I just nodded, rooted in place. It was weird, the gentle massaging of the stripes on the slave’s exquisite derriere had a calming effect on her. In no time she was moaning in an almost hypnotic state.
I just stood there rooted in place watching the spectacle play out before my eyes. Lorelei ran her other hand between the unlucky slave’s firm thighs taking her time to gently explore the unfortunate slave’s privates. The poor slave girl wriggled under my sister’s ministrations until a low throaty moan escaped the girl’s lips as she blushed in embarrassment.
Triumphantly Lorelei pulled out her fingers glistening with the slave’s arousal, “Deep down this little slut is enjoying this. Intellectually she doesn’t want to, but a true pleasure slut cannot help herself from becoming sexually stimulated.”
My experienced sister continued with her lesson adding two more perfectly placed lines on the slut’s delectable derriere, taking her time to massage the moaning girl’s rump after each blow before encouraging me to take her place.
With trembling hands, I started gently massaging the girl’s buttocks not believing I had agreed to do this. It was a little weird at first touching a woman in this manner. I admit, I felt a sense of superiority. It really was a power trip knowing that as a free woman I could hurt this pathetic creature in a variety of ways if I so chose. I found this unsettling at first and upon seeing her sexual arousal evident in her sopping wet vagina I became revolted stepping away from her. If anything, the tramp was becoming more aroused as the infliction of pain intensified and I wanted no part of this. Yet, I felt compelled to stay.
I had so many conflicting emotions as my sister continued with her lesson. I felt sorry for the pathetic slave as a woman being physically beaten while confused and disgusted by the slut’s sexual arousal. She really was wired differently. I mean, how could any rational woman enjoy being treated in this manner?
“Aside from the traditional, punishment-like canings, this lightweight and flexible rattan can be used in more pleasurable ways. One of my favorite techniques consists of swinging the cane with rapid and continuous oscillations and bringing it in contact with the skin. This way, the strokes are very fast, but superficial and with low energy, so that the skin receives a continuous pleasant soft massage that heats and reddens it. I have induced orgasms in pleasure sluts using this technique and will do so with this one,” confidently asserted Lorelei with an intensity that surprised me as she started working over the slave’s ass with the cane.
“No way. You’re going to make her orgasm with a cane?” I retorted in disbelief.
With an air of self-assurance Lorelei countered, “Of course I am. Just beating her with a paddle, whip or cane like a Neanderthal only demonstrates that I can hurt her. A comprehensive discipline session inflicts pain coupled with humiliation and enlightenment while demonstrating to the slave what I can bestow upon her when she performs well. An effective punishment teaches the slave that she is dependent upon her Mistress in all aspects of her existence. It reinforces the trust that must exist between a well-behaved slave and her Mistress.”
This is getting weird,” I thought to myself. It wasn’t what I expected to see as I continued to observe my sister’s handiwork. The pleasure slut was clearly feverish with desire. I swear, that cane was a blur in Lorelei’s experienced hand as she ran it lightly over the exquisite curve of the pathetic slave’s posterior. In no time at all the squirming pleasure slut was once again desperately squealing around the whip handle in her mouth.
“I think she’s ready,” snickered my sister before ordering, “Cum for me slave.”
And I’ll be damned if that little slut didn’t climax just as my sister predicted. Lorelei pulled the whips twelve-inch hand-woven leather handle from the slave’s mouth and used it to fuck the little tramp’s pussy. It looked like that slut really enjoyed the ridges in the handle. The whore was writhing in her restraints as my sister plowed her womb.
It was surreal listening to the grunts and whimpers transition into high-pitched, inarticulate sounds when Lorelei started rubbing the trembling girl’s clitty. The loud slurping sound of the handle plowing the tramp’s vagina coupled with the noises emanating from this slut’s mouth added to the weird atmosphere of the scene playing out before my eyes. The slut’s leg muscles tightened and then her whole body shuddered causing a ripple effect making her big udders jiggle delightfully. The hussy’s chest continued to rise and fall as she labored for breath riding out her frenzy until it was no more.
The panting slave slumped in her bonds trying to catch her breath, her body quivering from residual tremors after that massive climax. Or was it climaxes? Lorelei squatted down in front of the slut, her face at eye level grabbing the slave’s hair so that the two were facing each other while holding up the whip handle coated with the slut’s girl goo.
I gasped in surprise when Lorelei seductively licked the length of the handle collecting the slut’s pussy juice on her tongue all while staring into the slave’s eyes. My sister licked her lips, clearly savoring the slave’s essence. Enraptured, the slave gazed back when Lorelei suddenly kissed the slave, exploring the slut’s mouth with her tongue like she owned it.
My eyes bulged out in surprise when the slave girl didn’t pull away, instead the tramp kissed back, matching my sister’s passion with her own fervor. It was evident to me that there was some kind of growing connection between these two. I just couldn’t comprehend what yet.
Breaking the kiss my sister stood up still holding the slut’s head up by her hair while moving the handle in front of her crotch holding it like she had a penis or strap-on dildo. Lorelei pushed her impromptu “cock” into the slut’s mouth.
Sneering Lorelei ordered, “Aww, this horny little tramp made a mess on my handle. She needs to clean it off.”
That slave girl eagerly attacked the handle with her mouth visibly savory the taste of her own juices. Keeping hold of the slut’s hair, Lorelei started thrusting her hips forward and back, slowly face-fucking the slave with her “cock”. The flushed faced girl looked up adoringly at Lorelei with her captivating blue eyes as my sister manhandled her.
“Do you know how this Yankee ended up naked wearing a slave collar?” teased Lorelei, while holding the slave by her hair and gagging her on the handle.
“No, do tell,” I replied, my curiosity was piqued while also hoping to change the subject. This whole whipping a slave girl to a climax was weirding me out a lot. Not like Lorelei slowly face-fucking the slave with the whip handle like it was a man’s penis was helping any.
Lorelei patted the slave on the head like one would a dog, “Last December, Rebecca here, and three others of her abolitionist classmates, came to Dallas to stage some protests over slavery at different slave markets in the area. Rumor has it the Big D even offered the four of them free slave gradings.
Surprised at this revelation I quipped, “You’re kidding, right? Only an idiot would protest slavery outside a slave market in Texas.”
“Well, all four were recent graduates from Mount Holyoke College, one of those expensive elite private liberal schools for women in Massachusetts. That school clearly didn’t teach a lick of common sense to their students. Their parents paid good money not knowing the school would turn their daughters into rebellious feminist lesbians who don’t even shave their armpits and legs. Some even refuse to groom their lady bits to protest the patriarchy.”
“Yuck, that’s gross,” I exclaimed.
I mean the mere thought of not shaving my legs and armpits, or grooming my kitty was disgusting. It was simply unladylike in Dallas society.
“Yeah, I know. Anyway, the princess here decided to host her friends using her stepmother’s credit card on a deluxe suite at the Ritz Carlton for a week, ringing up quite a bill. After a hard morning of protesting these Yankees spent their afternoons in the hotel spa, dining in the restaurant, and the evenings partying it up in the hotel bar billing everything to the room. At checkout the credit card was rejected, and the manager gave his Northern guest here the option of going to Debtor Court or calling the police,” explained Lorelei.
“She foolishly chose Debtor Court,” I surmised, there being no criminal brand marring the beauty of her firm buttocks.
“Yep, she didn’t have the good sense God gave an ant. The bill was for well over $30,000 qualifying her for instant enslavement for two years to make good on the debt. The Ritz is quite pricey after all. The judge put a temporary collar on her restricting her to the courthouse and she had until 3:00 pm that day to pay the bill or the body attachment would be enforced. When she couldn’t get her rich daddy on the phone she ran, only getting a few blocks away before she was caught and brought back to court to face the music,” snickered Lorelei.
Shaking my head in disbelief I added, “That was really stupid.”
Lorelei pulled the whip handle from the stupid slut’s mouth, “Why don’t you tell us what happened next.”
Becoming emotional the slave sobbed, “They stripped me naked right there in the courtroom in front of everyone. It was so embarrassing. The judge leered at me like I was a piece of meat, made me turn in a circle and designated me a Yankee pleasure slut and doubled my time for running away, making me a slave for four years. Four whole years!”
“It gets better,” snickered Lorelei. “I had a friend in the courtroom who told me the whole story. What happened next?”
Looking down the slave hoarsely whispered, “My friends did an impromptu anti-slavery protest in the courtroom making the judge even madder. He ordered them all held in contempt of court. Then Jenny kicked the bailiff in his testicles and ran out of the courtroom.”
“She did what?” I cried, not sure if I should laugh or cry at the stupidity of these Northerners.
“Oh yeah, I was told the judge had a dying duck fit with that one. When they brought her back a few minutes later kicking and screaming he held them all in contempt, ordered them stripped right there in the courtroom, collared, and held overnight in the jail. They were sentenced to twenty lashes with a cane to be administered at the punishment site in front of the courthouse in the morning. When he saw all their body hair, he ordered that the Sheriff make these Northern harlots presentable by removing every hair below the neck from their bodies.”
“What, no trial?” I asked, surprised at the speed of the punishment.
“You don’t get a trial in a civil contempt proceeding; the judge just decides the punishment. It made the news and was covered nationally so everyone, and I mean everyone, knew what happened to them,” chortled Lorelei.
Curious, I asked the next logical question, “What happened to Jenny?”
“Well, there isn’t any jury appeal for a Northern abolitionist lesbian protesting legal slavery in Texas, so she ended up taking a four-year diversion plea deal getting a circle star branded right next to her little rosebud. Her rich daddy promised the judge that if he was allowed to purchase her, he would ship her off to the Cotillion to become a consort, you know, one of those slave brides. Jenny’s daddy seemed rather pleased to know she would be spending a year being trained as a consort to deprogram her after four years at that liberal college.”
“Jenny’s lucky her father could save her,” I replied.
Lorelei grabbed the slave Rebecca by the hair, looking her hard in the eyes, “So Rebecca, are you really a lesbian? How about poor Jenny? Or was it all an act to fit in at Mount Holyoke?
With an air of defiance, one doesn’t often find in a slave, Rebecca replied, “I’m a lesbian. That will never change. I find men physically revolting. Jenny’s a sausage slut who prefers men.”
Using a concerned tone, Lorelei looked at me asking, “Avvy, how long does Daddy keep his pleasure sluts?”
Wondering where she was going with this I retorted, “Around a year, and then he replaces them.”
She responded, “Do you know what happens to them?”
Sounding more entitled than I wanted to, and a tad disinterested, I retorted, “No, I assumed he just trades them in every year just like he does when he buys a new car or putter. You know how he always must have new things.”
Lorelei drew a resigned breath, “When Daddy tires of his pleasure sluts he turns them into the company kennel where they are used to service business partners, clients, employees, or just rented out. He even loans a couple to his old fraternity for rush week. Now those sluts are rode hard and put away wet if you know what I mean. Once a month he rents them out to a low-end glory hole establishment where they spend the day sucking disgusting dirty cocks through a hole and swallowing about sixty loads of semen. He does this to remind them that they are disposable to motivate them to maintain a high level of service for his business partners and clients. When these pleasure sluts lose their luster, he has a New York brothel he sells them to where the sluts routinely service twenty men a day.”
The slave girl looked up in alarm, "What, I thought he’d keep me here for the whole term.”
Lorelei gloated, “Oh no. That won’t happen you silly slave girl. Do you know what a no international travel/trade clause is? Because the judge didn’t include one in either Jenny’s or your contract.”
“He could ship me to Greece or Japan to convert my term enslavement into a lifetime term,” she wailed, as realization of her true predicament dawned on the pretty slave’s face.
“Daddy has a lot of partners in Japan that he does business with,” I bluntly added, suddenly feeling sorry for the unfortunate slave as the reality that she may never regain her freedom sunk in.
“There’s Mr. Hamamoto, he’s always looking for a Prime slave he can take home with him whenever comes to Dallas for business,” snickered Lorelei.
Shuddering at the thought of that awful man, “He’s so gross, always fondling the slave’s boobies whenever they walk by, especially the girls with big breasts. It always feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes with that perverted little grin of his. And he’s fat and smells.”
“Daddy has a trip to Japan scheduled for September. I bet he takes you with him Rebecca,” gloated Lorelei, pausing to let it sink in as the slave began to panic.
Lorelei walked over to the wall hanging up the whip and grabbing a wicked looking tawse. The slave whimpered as Lorelei sized up the slave’s delightfully positioned posterior before forcefully delivering several lashes that crisscrossed the fresh welts from the cane.
After each stroke Lorelei took her time rubbing the fresh hot red marks, somehow transforming the pain into pleasure. Once the slut was moaning like a bitch in heat the next blow would rain down eliciting an anguished shriek of pain only to have Lorelei start the process all over. Until once again this helpless slave’s aroused groans gave away her arousal triggering the next blow.
A sheen of perspiration soon covered the slut’s body, her hair was matted on her face, and the room stank of her arousal when Lorelei seemed to tire of this game of cat and mouse. She ran her index finger through the slaves weeping slit. The finger glistened with her fluids until Lorelei plopped it in her mouth savoring it like a fine wine.
“You do taste delicious. Does this horny slut want another orgasm? Would you like your Mistress to make you feel better?” taunted my sister, acting like the answer was preordained, which to this observer it was.
With a look of shame on her face the slut softly whimpered, “Please Mistress.”
Lorelei tormented the slave by rubbing the end of the handle inside her labia right at the entrance to her womb.
“I didn’t hear you clearly.”
The slave turned her flushed face looking back at Lorelei and begged loudly, “Please Mistress. May this slave have another orgasm? Please take pity on this needy pleasure slut.”
“That’s better slut,” grinned Lorelei, slowly pushing the handle into the tramp’s drippy hole.
That handle was also over twelve-inches of hand-braided leather about an inch and a half thick. It was then that I noticed that most of the handles on the whips and paddles were configured this way for easy use as an impromptu dildo. In no time Lorelei was vigorously thrusting into the slut’s vagina leaving her trembling in her bonds and gasping for breath.
In a serious tone Lorelei asked, “Who introduced you to lesbian sex; who was your first? I’m betting it was an older woman, either a teacher or friend of your stepmother.”
The slave whimpered, “It was one of my stepmother’s friends – right after I turned eighteen. She was a partner in a big law firm.”
“It wasn’t so much a seduction, but a submission on your part and you loved it. She controlled you, put you over her knee and spanked you at some point and used a strap-on to sexually dominate you,” bluntly stated Lorelei, with an air of confidence that surprised me.
“How did you know?” cried Rebecca, trying to hold a conversation as my sister pushed her closer to her impending climax.
“Rebecca, you are attracted to dominant women; you want one to take charge of your life. You crave submitting to a strong woman that will take care of you, protect you from yourself and others, one that will discipline you when you need it while also being able to hold you in their arms and comfort you. In college you fantasize about submitting to upperclassmen, athletic girls on the basketball, soccer or volleyball teams, your parent’s lesbian friends, and professors,” explained Lorelei, pulling the handle out of the girl’s vagina as she whined in disappointment.
“Please, don’t stop,” whined Rebecca.
“Right now, I need you to focus on me and the offer I am making you. Daddy promised me a pleasure slut of my own as a graduation present and I’m considering you. As your Mistress I would determine your fate. You would become an extraordinary talent slave as my personal assistant in the office and my personal sex toy at home never becoming a random sex toy for a bunch of men. In exchange you would sign a new seven-year contract with a no international travel/trade clause,” detailed Lorelei, crouching down in front of the bound slave.
Gazing longingly into Lorelei’s eyes Rebecca replied in a serious tone, “That sounds like an offer I can’t turn down.”
Lorelei held the girl's face in her hands while staring into her eyes with an intensity I had never seen before. Her forceful gaze dominated the slave who couldn't look away. I swear, my sister was looking into the depths of the slave's very soul.
“If you were mine, I would protect you, take care of you, discipline you when you needed it and make sure all your needs are met. In return you will devote your entire being to serve me in a manner of my choosing. This is a total commitment on your part; you will need to always place your unflinching trust in me as your Mistress. Is that what you want?” asked Lorelei.
With a grateful smile a visibly relieved Rebecca answered, “Yes Mistress. I am yours.”
Lorelei smiled in response, a big beaming grin covered her face as she stood up, “Now that’s settled we have time to get to know each other better,” and strode over to a cabinet pulling out a big strap-on dildo with vaginal and anal prongs.
“Time for me to leave,” I thought, not wanting to see what my sister was going to do with THAT monstrosity. I ran out of the room never to return. Those two stayed down there for another two hours or so before emerging after doing who knows what. Although Rebecca had some additional welts on her backside, she seemed quite pleased with her new situation.
That night I had my first slavery nightmare dreaming that I was a naked collared slave somehow in a foreign country never to return home. It was Japan! I had no idea how I got there. All I knew was that I was kneeling in a Japanese bath house surrounded by a bunch of older naked ugly men sporting erections! These men were at least twice my age if not older.
I noticed an assortment of big breasted giggling white pleasure sluts happily taking good care of the men if you know what I mean. My vagina throbbed with out-of-control lust as I took in my surroundings realizing I had become a sex slave whose sole purpose was the gratification of these horrid men. I had no idea how I got here, but it all seemed so real.
My boobies felt different, somehow heavier, and more sensitive. I looked down and my breasts had grown, easily doubling if not tripling in size, with big thick nipples erect with arousal. Curious, I fondled my heavy breasts, massaging, no, exploring them for the first time, admiring their heft before rolling my new gumdrop sized nipples between my thumb and forefinger sending jolts of pleasure straight to my throbbing pussy. Damn, my nipples were super sensitive!
I moaned as I started taking turns pinching one nipple and then the other. Then it hit my, I must have been on steady diet of Horny Juice for months causing my breasts to grow. That had to be the reason why my breasts had grown, my nipples were so sensitive and I was so damned fucking horny!
Taking in my surroundings while rolling my nipples between my fingers the other pleasure sluts were all happily engaged in sordid sex acts; from proudly displaying cum on their tongues to sucking on a hard penis while getting fucked in the butt. These tramps were doing anal sex and enjoying it! There was even one girl sandwiched between two men, one fucking her vagina and the other buried into her anus all while a third man gagged her on his cock with his nuts lying on her chin. Somehow, I was jealous of the slut, wanting no, needing to be used like her. Lost in a daze I tried to think and clear my head, but I couldn't shake the need for sexual release.
It felt like a thick fog that I could not pierce. OMG, I couldn't remember Newton's theory of motion or the first three digits for the formula for Pi. All I could think about was how I could get a big hard cock in my pussy for my next orgasm. Oh God, I needed to cum so badly! It was as if my brain had been rewired, leaving me slave stupid only cognizant of my weeping pussy suddenly feeling rivulets dribbling down the insides of my thighs as I pinched down hard on my nipples. I couldn’t stop playing with my breasts, it just felt so freaking good.
There was a well-endowed blonde on her hands and knees to my right getting her ass plowed looking right at me saying something. I could see her lips moving but all I heard was “blah, blah, blah, …” just like the adults in a Peanuts cartoon.
Then I saw that crude pig, Mr. Hamamoto, across the room taking off his kimono putting his pasty skinned overweight body on full display. He ogled all the sluts being used around him while resolutely striding purposefully across the room towards me, his big belly jiggling with each determined step with a surprisingly large erect penis protruding out from underneath his stomach. It was bigger than I ever imagined a penis could be. His long thick cock was uncircumcised with an angry, almost purple mushroom head sticking out leaking a disgusting, almost thick yellowish fluid. I licked my lips longingly, wanting nothing more than to clean off his messy cock with my tongue.
I shook my head again trying to purge my mind of these disgusting urges, but alas I felt a wildfire of libidinous heat engulfing my body as I visualized taking Mr. Hamamoto’ s enormous cock within my mouth. Subconsciously I leaned forward, longingly opening my mouth and sultrily sticking out my tongue making a come-hither motion with it while playing with my nipples putting my magnificent breasts on display. Begging him with my actions to jam his engorged erection down my throat just like a well-trained pleasure slut would.
When Mr. Hamamoto reached me, he grabbed me by the hair, roughly pulling me to my feet. Leering at me he groped my drenched vagina, crudely corkscrewing two chubby fingers into my slick slave cunt while speaking to me. Once again all I heard was, "Blah, blah, blah, ..." no matter how hard I concentrated I still did not understand what was being said around me. I looked up at him uncomprehendingly with a silly grin on my face as his fingers worked their magic plowing my womb while I became lost in a deep slave haze.
OMG, I was still playing with my nipples while hungrily humping his pudgy fingers chasing my ever-elusive climax. For some reason I couldn't stop. Joy of joys, I was almost there. I could feel my orgasm bubbling up towards the surface; it would be any moment now; I could just tell.
Laughing at me he roughly yanked his fingers from my pussy leaving me frantically humping the air moaning in despair as he slapped my hands away from my breasts so he could maul them himself. After roughly massaging my titties like they were dough he focused his attention on my sensitive nipples; savagely pinching and twisting my poor nips causing them to throb out of control. I wanted to slap him but all I could do was moan like a bitch in heat while thrusting breasts into his hands. How had I become such a empty headed sex craved bimbo unable to think beyond her next climax?
When Mr. Hamamoto tired of my breasts, he grabbed me by the hair and led me towards a vacant leather covered bench releasing me upon arrival. He slapped me hard on the ass propelling me towards the bench. Taking the hint, I gracefully draped myself over the leather bench spreading my legs while wiggling my ass enticingly. Roughly he kicked my ankles out spreading my legs even further. I felt my labia peeling open like a flower exposing the molten core of my womb. Once again, my arousal seeped out of my vagina like water from a spring dripping down the inside of my thighs while I waited expectantly for Mr. Hamamoto to spear my slave cunt with his prodigious shaft. Oh, how I wanted him to fuck me senseless and fill my womb with his baby batter.
Mr. Hamamoto took my buttocks in his hands, massaging them until he had his thumbs bracketing my rosebud. Roughly he pulled my cheeks apart, stretching my poor little starfish, making his intentions known. I had never before in my life felt more vulnerable than I did at that very moment and if felt so good, revving my engine even more. I heard him spit and then a warm glob of spittle landed between my cheeks right above my anus dripping down towards my hole. He spit again hitting the bullseye as it landed dead center on my starburst.
A strong hand grasped my hair pulling my head back causing my back to arch jutting out my big firm titties. Mr. Hamamoto held me in place that way as I brought my hands to my breasts once more rolling my nipples between my fingers. I soon felt a warm blunt object spreading his spittle over the entrance to my backdoor as my heart pounded with filthy joy knowing I was his. Oh God this was going to hurt! But in my new altered state lost in a lustful daze I couldn’t wait for him to impale me, driving his ginormous shaft into the depths of my bowels. I felt him press forward with more than a little force piercing my sphincter and I screamed loudly waking myself from my nightmare. It had been so real!
I was back home in my bedroom panting out of breath, disoriented lying in a pool of sweat, my hair matted to my head, pinching my nipple hard with my left hand while strumming my drenched clitoris with the other. I was so aroused I just had to cum. Purging Mr. Hamamoto from my thoughts I dreamed about that handsome boy that I met right before finals.
Chris was a real cutie and with a nice butt. I pictured him making wonderous love to me, pounding me senseless with his big cock until I convulsed into a frenzy while calling out his name. When my orgasm finally subsided I was exhausted, but I forced myself out of bed and changed my sheets and nightgown. After washing my face, I crawled back into bed and dreamed of a future as Mrs. Christopher Walker.
The next day I surreptitiously pulled Lorelei aside and whispered, “Do you really think Daddy would take Rebecca to Japan and convert her to a lifetime slave?”
Lorelei laughed, “What do you think? But we’ll never know because he gave her to me as my graduation present.”
To this day I still believe that but for Lorelei’s intervention Rebecca was destined for a lifetime enslavement likely ending up overseas with Mr. Hamamoto when Daddy tired of her. It was a cruel fate for those poor slaves that found themselves in that predicament.
After seeing Lorelei in action with Rebecca I now understood why the household slaves had always seemed so on edge whenever Lorelei returned home from school for summer break or during the holidays. After my sister’s introduction to slave discipline, I made a conscious effort to always say please and thank you to our slaves trying to always treat them respectfully as human beings much to my mother’s irritation. Only my older brother supported me, likely more for my benefit than the slave girls that I am sure he used. He was a man after all.
Let’s just say I decided then and there that I would never need an in-home slave torture chamber in the basement. When Chris and I purchased our home, I converted our basement into a home gym. This was a perfect fit for a family with young children with the soundproofing and sophisticated ventilation system. There was no way we would ever need it for its intended purpose as there would never be a slave living under my roof. Little did I know that would change one day.
(To be continued.)
Last edited by Mr. Smith on Tue Dec 12, 2023 5:32 am, edited 3 times in total.
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- Carl Bradford • jeepster • underdog_13 • audiq9 • Freight_Train • timerider
Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
My apologies for the "Error" posting. I couldn't figure out how to delete it and am currently waiting for an administrator to do so.
Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
Mr. Smith
Don't apologize for anything this story is just so awesome. I so see myself in her place. Can't wait to see where this goes. Love the reference to horney juice and slave stupid.
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.
Warmest regards,
Belinda
Don't apologize for anything this story is just so awesome. I so see myself in her place. Can't wait to see where this goes. Love the reference to horney juice and slave stupid.
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.
Warmest regards,
Belinda
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eroticstoryspinner
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Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
Well done!
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- Belinda • Mr. Smith
Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
This story is off to a great start. I can’t wait for the next chapter to come out. Thanks so much for writing and sharing.
Jim
Jim
Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
I am really enjoying the time you are taking to set up our girl's internal conflict between what is expected of her, her historical internal sexual limits and her growing (and hopefully overpowering) urges to submit either like a slave slut or as a real slave slut. But who will she be submitting to? I'm hoping for the neighbor. Thank you for setting this story up so nicely.
Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 1 Pt 2 of 2.
@Scman493,
Thanks for the comment. This story is about how Avvy resolves her internal conflict as she explores her sexual identity within the constructs of her marriage. In The Substitute Carl Bradford took a different route in his character's (the wife) journey of self-discovery that all started with her purchasing a pleasure slut for her husband. If you haven't read that story it is located on this site and I strongly recommend taking a look at it. In both stories the wife is sexually neglected by their spouse who is too busy having sex with slave girls to give them what they need. Lets just say Avvy's approach will be different.
There may be a few unexpected twists and turns along the way and I hope you enjoy the ride.
Thanks for the comment. This story is about how Avvy resolves her internal conflict as she explores her sexual identity within the constructs of her marriage. In The Substitute Carl Bradford took a different route in his character's (the wife) journey of self-discovery that all started with her purchasing a pleasure slut for her husband. If you haven't read that story it is located on this site and I strongly recommend taking a look at it. In both stories the wife is sexually neglected by their spouse who is too busy having sex with slave girls to give them what they need. Lets just say Avvy's approach will be different.
There may be a few unexpected twists and turns along the way and I hope you enjoy the ride.