Professors at Southern Methodist University (SMU) were often tasked with serving on special committees on a variety of topics from tenure to compensation, and I had to date managed to avoid one of these bothersome assignments. That changed about a month ago, well before I caught Jim fucking his slave whore in the backyard. Amanda Chamberlin, the College of Letters and Science Dean, asked me to serve on a committee convened to reverse the high enslavement rate of SMU students and employees.
With the most expensive tuition in the state, SMU’s students carried on average the largest debt load, resulting in the highest percentage of students and recent graduates being repossessed for unpaid debt. For obvious reasons the school wanted to reverse this trend. Dean Chamberlin included a briefing packet outlining the problem seeking ways to reduce the school’s enslavement rate and/or if enslavement was inevitable, how to make it a kinder and gentler experience. Like that would ever be possible.
This problem only became a priority for SMU when freshman quarterback sensation Brock Turner was enslaved and purchased by a Texas Christian University (TCU) booster who set him up with a predatory loan. Poor Brock was repossessed and rented to an Out-TV reality show which followed attractive young straight men through their enslavements as gay pleasure sluts to find out if they were gay for the stay or if they would stay gay after manumission. From the first four episodes it looked like young Brock would be staying gay which hurt recruiting, but what made it worse was the longstanding rivalry between SMU and TCU being the impetus for Brock’s enslavement. Now the coach and athletic director were raising a ruckus, pushing the school president to do something now and our committee was his response.
Dean Chamberlin’s information packet described how lenders and slavers used predatory loan practices targeting college students, primarily Prime and Choice female, and male undergraduates for sale as sex slaves. Simply put, there was a large market for college coeds who had a 15-20% higher rate of return at auction with slaves from some big-name schools going for even more. Fresh-faced naïve students of both sexes were at a premium with buyers of both genders lining up to give them an education, just not the one they went to school to get.
Freshman Mandy Burns, a Prime rated USC cheerleader, went for a small fortune at a televised Christmas Coeds block contest hosted by the Union Stock Yards slave market last year. The poor girl didn’t even make it through her first semester of college before being sold off. Most major slave markets like Union Stock Yards, The Old Slave Mart auction houses, and in Texas the Big D and Longhorn, held Christmas Coed auctions in December claiming that nothing looked better under the tree Christmas morning than a naked coed wearing nothing but a red Christmas collar with her school logo hanging from a tag in her ear.
Then there was "Peach Bowl Girl" who was featured on live television with one viewer posting on Tick Tock, “Someone find me this girl from Ohio State… for the love of god.” Well Catherine Gurd got found, collared, and sold for a small fortune. The same fate awaited “The Masters Girl”, a nineteen-year-old Texas Tech cheerleader Aaliyah Kikumoto after a clip of her radiant smile in the crowd at the 16th hole went viral.
I also learned that Collared Coeds Inc. went into business recruiting students for FINO enslavements that allowed them to remain in school as full-time students. Depending on the FINO contract the students would be slaves for evenings, weekends, school breaks, the whole summer and even for gap years with Collared Coeds acting as the middleman selling their services to customers willing to pay more for actual college students willing to wear a collar, hence the name. The company charged premium rates for coeds that were cheerleaders, members of a certain popular sorority, ponygirls, or athletes. Much to my chagrin there was even a high-end market for cute brainy nerdettes for BDSM play. Who knew?
Dean Chamberlin’s team consisted of myself, Dr. Lindsay Williams, Slave Studies, Dr. Merle Adkins, Psychology and Dr. Gloria Morris, Women and Gender Studies. The packet contained a brief bio for each member and for some reason the Dean snuck in my “C” in slave yoga and that I had never been slave graded.
Compared to me, Lindsay was a bona fide expert on legal slavery having voluntarily spent a year as a slave being trained and used in every repugnant way imaginable as a pleasure slut; with the Longhorn and Yo Ho Ho anchor badge burned into her ass. Ouch! She even spent a week on the infamous floating brothel off the shore of New England likely performing every repulsive sexual act imaginable for Northerners during the cruise. Lindsay chronicled her experiences in the New York Times bestseller Slave Slut Like Me with a foreword from the famed slave psychiatrist Dr. Nicola Sheldon.
Then there was Merle who specialized in slave psychology while also acting as a consultant and sometimes smith at the Big D slave market. He was one of the most popular instructors on campus probably due in part to his renowned demonstration brandings of slave girls in his classes. He too was published with his book currently on the New York Times best seller list entitled, The Kiss of the Branding Iron; The Psychological Impact of Branding on a Slave.
The book contained an entertaining foreword written by billionaire hedge fund manager Anne Powers describing her experience secured in branding bench as the “Professor”, aka Merl Adkins, performed a work of art on her ass highlighting in vivid detail her experience humping the branding iron. Ms. Powers described her disappointment and feeling a loss of status when the temporary brand identifying her as a Sandy Foot Girl faded away. She even went back getting the Big D badge permanently burned in place by Merle while also relishing in the opportunity to once again hump the brand a few more times.
I even found myself masturbating while reading Ms. Powers vivid description of humping the branding iron handle and the astounding climaxes she experienced. Even using a trusty dildo as my imaginary branding iron handle, all while wondering if Jim’s slave girl had also humped the brand when getting her Longhorn badge burned into her ass. Right now, I was convinced that Jim’s little slut had probably begged for seconds if not thirds.
Dr. Gloria Morris, Women and Gender Studies, was a strong advocate for women with numerous published articles advocating equality, freedom, choice, and personal responsibility. Last month she published an op-ed in the Wall Street Journal celebrating a woman’s freedom of choice from motherhood to porn, whether or not the sexual choices that women make were politically correct. In the article she strongly advocated for a woman’s right to choose self-enslavement for purely economic reasons citing student FINO contracts with Collared Coeds as one example causing quite a stir on campus. Abolitionists and other women’s groups already had her in their sights after a previous op-ed supporting wives’ use of FINO contracts as a means of enhancing their relationships with their husbands. Little did I know at the time that the controversy surrounding her articles was nothing compared to the stir that I would cause before the year was out.
According to the Dean, I was selected for this project for my problem-solving skills and because I was a woman with no academic or professional ties to the legal slavery business. Yours truly here was also published in numerous professional journals although none of my works were ever a New York Times bestseller. I did however make Time Magazine’s 30 under 30 list a few years back for my breakthrough work in quantum computing which led to my early tenure offer at SMU.
Dean Chamberlin, on top of recommending that I read all my colleagues’ works, provided a reading list covering the topic of legalized slavery. At the top of the list was a book that was required reading in most psychology courses that Dr. Sheldon co-authored with Dr. Harold Walker, Psychological Impact of Slavery which examined psychological disorders such as sudden enslavement syndrome, overactive slave heat, self-enslavement syndrome and slave mind. The list also contained several articles and books written by the famed Professor of Slave Studies at Harvard, Dr. Sarah Hollister, including her seminal work, Profit per Pussy: The Art and Science of Slaving.
The committee’s first meeting took place a few days after I first observed Jim and his plaything going at it. I had caught them a second time last night and once again the little slut appeared to enthusiastically service Jim. This would be my opportunity to ask the experts if slave girls enjoyed the sex since the university couldn’t conceivably take a position that advocated for the enslavement and ensuing sexual abuse of its students. From the make-up of our group, I suspected a recommendation for a university sponsored self-enslavement program was a likely outcome.
Dean Chamberlin started the meeting with a written non-disclosure agreement (NDA) to foster creativity whereby none of our ideas or suggestions would ever leave the room unless adopted by the group. It sounded like a good idea with all the agenda driven interest groups wanting to weigh in. Once everyone had signed the NDAs, she collected them all, putting them in an envelope while she looked around the room at our expectant faces before standing up and writing on the white board in big red letters Reduce Enslavement Rate for SMU Students and Employees.
“This is where I leave and let you develop some solutions. I already have some ideas but want to see what you guys come up with first,” Dean Chamberlin explained as she stood up, and walked out of the room leaving us with no agenda or plan moving forward as the door closed behind her.
After brief introductions we quickly got down to work. Focusing our project on limiting involuntary enslavements, since a student was free to self-enslave if they wanted to. After identifying obvious remedies like outreach programs warning students of the dangers of the predatory loans out there and expanded financial aid we returned to the topic of voluntary indentures.
Gloria was an attractive woman my age with an air or hint of masculinity, or maybe it was something I only imagined knowing she was a lesbian? Her tousled black hair was cut in a stylish short choppy bob, she was tall for a woman with a lithe athletic build and toned arms on display in her sleeveless blouse. She looked at me with her incredible steel blue eyes, with a mischievous twinkle she got the ball rolling with a surprise announcement.
Gloria even blushed a little before saying, “It is not common knowledge, but I funded my undergraduate and graduate studies as a lesbian FINO slave with Collared Coeds and it worked out great for me. I have no regrets with my decision. We should look at a school sponsored FINO program.”
My head exploded with the revelation that my colleague was a former pleasure slut whore, even if only for lesbians, she was still one of THOSE types of slaves that ruined relationships. Unlike Lindsay, whose academic research as a slave that I knew about, Gloria did it purely for monetary gain. I’m sure my righteous indignation showed on my face, even as I tried to control my facial expressions that gave me away.
Lindsay giggled, “Good golly Avvy, don’t look so shocked, there are all sorts of people besides me that you know who have worn a collar. You’d be surprised who has FINOs with their spouses. I’ll have one with my fiancé when we get married later this summer. Merle here bought his wife Betsy over a decade ago and she became his FINO slave the week before they were married. Have you ever seen two people more in love? Truly a Godwink enslavement.”
“What, like a Hallmark Godwink Christmas movie?” I blurted, shocked at the concept of a Godwink enslavement romance, now curious for the story I looked expectantly at Merle.
“That’s exactly what she means,” retorted Gloria. “Who doesn’t love those movies with their happily ever after endings.”
With a kind smile on his face, Merl thoughtfully replied, “My first wife passed away in childbirth leaving me with a four-year-old daughter and newborn son. I had just started teaching at SMU while raising two small children working extra shifts at the Big D to pay for a nanny all while praying for a solution. One day old Hattie, a female slave wrangler there pulled me out of the smithy to look at this one slave she had out on display. A pediatric nurse that had a daughter the same age as mine with a dirtbag ex who left her holding the bag and a seven-year debt enslavement and her daughter was headed for a foster home with no family to take her in. Hattie told me Texas had a new program where owners would be paid to foster their slave’s children that would make her affordable and that Jake had agreed to front me the credit I needed. She led me right up to Betsy and told me to interview her.”
“How’d that go? Wasn’t she devoxed?” I snickered, sounding a tad sarcastic envisioning poor Betsy restrained naked like a piece of meat as Merle inquired about her parenting skills.
Merle chuckled, “It was rather one-sided; probably the only time I ever got the first and last word in, in a conversation with my Betsy. I told her my story, laid down my expectations and made the offer to take in her daughter as part of the deal. We had an instant connection, I mean, two people, both in a shitty situation and it worked like a miracle. Our daughters hit it off and are still best friends to this day. Over time we fell in love, getting married towards the end of her term when I got her pregnant. Betsy has worn my collar, either as a slave or FINO slave, since the day I first bought her.”
“I’ve met Betsy. Why would she agree to be your FINO slave?” I challenged, having heard about married couples with FINO contracts but never met anyone with one. At least not that I knew of.
Waggling her eyebrows Lindsay giggled naughtily, “Because silly, it makes certain things legal out in public. That’s one reason I’m getting one when I get married this summer.”
“It’s illegal for a free person to impersonate a slave in public. Anyone convicted spends at least six months wearing a collar, longer if performing a sex act when caught. There were too many people role playing slaves in public for the sexual thrills acting like it was a game; and not paying the FINO fees. The last thing you want to have happen these days is being arrested for impersonating a slave in public while having sex. You’d have to be extremely stupid to take that risk,” explained Gloria, silencing the room with a warning that any rational person should heed.
So, both Betsy and Lindsay enjoyed public submissive sex with their men. Now that was a revelation. While on the topic of slavery and sex I now had the opportunity to ask the one burning question that I really needed answered. I’d read Lindsay’s and Sarah Hollister’s books but still found it hard to believe that any sane woman would enjoy the sex while a slave. In any other context it would be rape.
Blushing, I inquired, “So, do pleasure sluts enjoy the sex? I have a hard time believing a woman could like being forced to have sex with complete strangers. My neighbor recently purchased a pleasure slut and from what I can tell the girl really enjoyed the sex with him which, to be honest, surprised me.”
“So, you’ve been spying on your neighbor having sex with his slave girl?” snickered Gloria.
Blushing furiously at being caught; I mean, how the hell did she know, I stammered, “I happened to be outside at night when I heard them in the backyard going at it. I was curious and looked over the fence and watched. I’ve never seen a man having sex with a slave girl before and that whore looked like she was having the time of her life contrary to my expectations. I need to know now if we are even going to consider an SMU FINO program.”
“Are you sure it’s not his wife with a FINO contract?” inquired Lindsay, hinting with her knowing smirk that this was the obvious answer.
I quickly snapped, “Oh hell no! There’s no way Katja would ever be a slave.” Confident in my answer I continued, “She’s a successful corporate lawyer. She’s not wearing Jim’s collar.”
Grinning knowingly, Lindsay explained, “Avvy, you need to understand that when you are stripped naked and collared at the slave market the idea of becoming an eager, obedient sex object becomes normal and even exciting. After only a few hours at the Longhorn I was happily sucking a wrangler's cock, finding myself enjoying it, even swallowing his cum, and then hoping for another. Something I had never enjoyed as a free woman. Then I had the most incredible climax while being sold on the auction block."
Lindsay's face was becoming flushed, and the large nipples on her ample bosom were now visibly erect poking through her shirt as she recounted her experience. "I found that having strong, powerful men bidding to use me sexually any way they wanted was terribly arousing. I mean my orgasm was so powerful that I squirted on the auction block in front of all those people and then climaxed again while humping the branding iron.” With a faraway look in her eyes she sighed, “Now that was a memorable one.”
“It was no different for me as a lesbian being processed at the Longhorn where due to the no sausage clause in my FINO contract I only worked with female wranglers. There were three black sisters, all big strong female slave wranglers there that skillfully processed me through the slave market. And I mean big, hell, I’m 5’ 10” and they could rest their chins on the top of my head. They manipulated me, transitioning me from an independent minded student into an eager slut looking for her next pussy to service as I received a crash course on muff diving. Flo even donned a vibrating strap-on and fucked me to a wonderous climax right out in front of all the other slaves practicing their slave yoga.”
Interrupting her I asked, “Why’d they do that to you?”
Lindsay chuckled waggling her eyebrows, “Really, most lesbians use strap-ons on slave girls. Trust me, I would know.”
Blushing a little, Gloria snickered, “It turns out they needed to test my responsiveness to penetration, and boy was I ever responsive when Flo manhandled me with her vibrating wonder wand as she called it,” using air quotes on responsive.
“Tell her how you ended up at the Longhorn,” intoned Lindsay, like she already knew the answer.
“Ok, in short coming out of high school I was a good student with several partial volleyball scholarships. My parents disowned me when I came out as a lesbian when I turned eighteen, even throwing me out of the house with two months left in high school,” sighed Gloria.
Sympathetically I commiserated, “That’s tough,” knowing this was the fate of so many young people who came out to unsupportive families.
“It worked out. I moved in with my Aunt Vanessa and graduated. She came up with the hairbrained idea of paying for school as a lesbian FINO slave. I had no real sexual experience with women, and she thought it could be a learning experience. So that’s how I ended up at the Longhorn being processed for my FINO and getting slave graded two weeks after graduating high school.
“There was even a female smith who had me humping the branding iron after I happily slave tipped her of course. By the time we were done, and Flo turned me over to the Collared Coed rep I was so horny I desperately needed a mistress for the night. Sure enough, they had my first out-call scheduled for that evening. The rep just handed my leash over to Mistress Hannah, my first client, who took this eager naive slut home for the night, and she ended up keeping me on as her FINO for two years while I attended Rice. In all honesty I was extremely apprehensive when I arrived at the Longhorn, but it all worked out well for me. I was one of the lucky ones,” Gloria concluded in a somber tone.
Instead of sympathizing with Gloria’s story all I could think about was her slave grade. Was I that shallow because I had never been graded myself. I wanted to be Prime but with my smallish boobies I could see myself only being Choice. I mean, if I was Prime Chris wouldn’t need to use his pleasure sluts, would he? Truth be told I was envious of these beautiful women. I bet Gloria was graded Prime just like Lindsay. The whole world knew with the picture in her book of her ass with the “P” brand on her left buttock right above the Longhorn logo. Many of my girlfriends and sorority sisters boasted about their Prime grades, often getting the permanent brands burned into their tushies for bragging rights. Curious about Gloria I wanted to ask, but that just wasn’t done in polite society as I began to feel like the ugly duckling in the room.
Merle interjected, “The slave markets like the Big D and Longhorn as I am sure you have read are designed to transform free women into perpetually horny slave girls willing to, no needing to perform sex acts they never would have considered before. By the time they are branded and placed in shipping cages the aroused slave has a monumental desire to please and sexually service their new owner, whether it be a man or a woman.”
Lindsey asserted, “As a professor of Slave Studies I had worked around slaves for years and I of all people came down with sudden enslavement syndrome of all things. I knew what was happening to me every step of the way as my subconscious responded to the sudden transition from a strong free woman to a slave, but I was helpless to prevent it. By the time I arrived at Pearson’s I had been transformed into a cock-obsessed bimbo rubbing myself against the wrangler there like a bitch in heat trying to get laid and he patted me on the head like a dog and turned me down.”
Giggling, she sighed, “I had NEVER been turned down before in my life. It was humiliating and terribly arousing. All this was before my first Horny Juice shot the next day and a month of training at Pearson’s Pussy Ranch. By the time my collar came off I was addicted to submissive sex longing to find a strong man to claim me. I even met my husband on a blind date at a friend’s BDSM club.”
Interrupting her I squealed, “Wait! You met him on a blind date at a BDSM club?”
Lindsay exuded an air of raw sex reminding me of a real-life Jessica Rabbit even with her voluptuous body concealed under her conservative outfit. The woman just seemed to ooze an aura of sexuality without trying, making me jealous of her but she was so nice and genuine I wanted to become her friend even though I was acting judgmental.
Waggling her eyebrows with a who me look on her face Lindsay continued, “Hey, the truth is I got cold feet and stood him up for the blind date. Nikki, who set up the blind date made sure we met at her husband’s BDSM club the next night and it was love at first sight. We had an instant connection and if you want the whole story, you’re buying drinks some evening. And no, I’m not that kind of girl who regularly hops into a play dungeon on the first date. A girl’s gotta have standards after all.”
Shocked, my imagination ran wild in a naughty way thinking about all the possibilities. And I was becoming aroused at the thought of a date night in a play dungeon with Chris. Speechless at the thought of being bound naked in a bondage chamber with my husband in charge I blushed, all I could think to say was, “Wow.”
Lindsay smiled knowingly at me and added, “Remember, I am addicted to submissive sex. I want to feel this all again which is why I’m signing a FINO as a wedding present to my husband.
A laughing Gloria interjected, “Don’t you mean a wedding present to yourself?”
A flush faced Lindsay giggled with a winning smile, “Right you are, but that’s not what I’m telling him. For the record I am sticking to my story that it is my gift to him.” Turning serious Lindsay asked, “Avvy, your friend could feel the same way. Is her husband a real hunk?”
I felt my nipples hardening and a sudden longing in my loins that I shouldn’t have just from listening to them. Although Jim would qualify as a hunk, I for some reason became defensive, doubling down. I retorted, “There’s no way she’s a FINO slave. It’s more likely that he would be her slave. She’s one intimidating woman who’d never wear a collar.”
“Are you sure? According to a recent Walker and Sheldon study of married, college educated, professional women like the two of you, over three quarters reported fantasies involving enslavement and becoming a pleasure slut. Specifically, more than two thirds imagined themselves being forced to have sex with their owner, often their husband. Half of them said the thought of being sold at auction revved their engines if you know what I mean and just under half longed for a spanking, flogging, or some other form of slave discipline. Basically, after a busy, often frantic day at the office having to make important decision after decision, these women were attracted to the tranquility of submission as a slave at home and the simplicity of focusing on meeting the needs of their husbands,” lectured Gloria until she saw the flustered look on my face.
Pausing, like she had a sudden revelation, Gloria narrowed her eyes zeroing in on me with a sly grin. “So, the odds are that since spying on your neighbor you’ve fantasized at least once about being a pleasure slut, probably reenacting what you saw, but as your husband’s slave instead,” surmised Gloria, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Every day, morning, noon, and night was more like it. I’m sure my face was beet red as the truth sunk in. I was so busted, and then it got worse if you could believe that, even before I could even formulate a credible denial.
Lindsay looked at me knowingly, tittering, “You’ve been masturbating while watching your neighbor fuck his slave girl, pretending it’s you on the other end of your husband’s cock as his pleasure slut. Haven’t you! I can see it in your eyes! Did you climax when she did?”
Merle, sensing my discomfort saved the day by interjecting, “Avvy, the answer to your question is yes, well trained pleasure sluts relish the sex most of the time. It’s the one thing they get to enjoy while being a slave. Gloria and Lindsay, if you disagree with that statement speak up now, so we can proceed. Let’s get back on track here. Otherwise, I will have to describe why such a high percentage of the women in that survey wanted to try humping a branding iron, but I’ll save that one for another day so we can get something accomplished today.”
God, if he only knew about my substitute branding iron hidden under my bed. Now I don’t feel that bad anymore. Getting back on topic both women agreed that while most well-trained pleasure sluts enjoyed the sex that was not as common for slaves untrained in the sexual arts. The more training, especially if Horny Juice was used, the more likely the slave was to climax. In some ways Horny Juice was a true wonder drug while the concept of overcoming a woman’s free will by turning her into a hyper aroused sex slave terrified me. It shouldn’t have, I mean I was never getting one of those shots.
We ended up deciding to explore a policy of preemptive self-enslavements that maximized the return for the student that allowed them to continue their education while graduating with as little debt as possible. They also decided that I needed a crash course in real hands-on slavery including a tour of the Big D and HCI slave markets in Dallas, along with the Parker Center, the Cougar Club, and other slavery-oriented businesses to develop a better understanding of what a slave goes through. We concluded the meeting with a list of tasks and objectives that we would work through this summer. As we walked out Lindsay grabbed me, pulling me aside and suggested we get lunch together sometime soon as we had lots to talk about. Boy was she right.
*****
With my vivid imagination on overdrive, I found myself becoming engrossed in my fantasies of becoming a sexy pleasure slut for my man. I even gave myself Horny Juice injections in my dreams. Like that would ever happen. Anyway, I became fixated with catching Jim and his whore at it again to the point where I started staking out their backyard at night after putting the kids to bed under the guise of enjoying the beautiful evenings with a nice glass of wine. I mean, Chris didn’t miss me with the Dallas Mavericks making a deep run in the playoffs this year.
Jim developed a pattern of bringing his slave girl outside after dark, usually around 8:30 to 9:00 p.m. most nights. I had set up a sturdy step stool against the fence to prevent another fall. At first, I stopped wearing underwear and the following week I stripped nude for these escapades. No need getting my clothes all sweaty and being naked added to my sense of vulnerability which in turn spurred my arousal. Once I just lay on the grass listening to them, imagining I was that slave girl getting fucked by her master. I had become obsessed with watching and listening to them go at it, looking forward to it every day and crestfallen on those nights when they did not come outside to play.
After the second week, I was convinced that the slave girl, even if Jim had her on horny juice, truly enjoyed her sex as a slave with him. I mean, a girl can tell when another girl is faking it, we just know. Before I knew it, I found myself living vicariously through my neighbor’s slave whenever I watched them. Over time I had developed a weird symbiotic connection joining the slave girl in her climaxes when Jim ordered, “Cum for me”. I could tell by the pitch of her moans and breathing when her orgasm was approaching. There was no attraction to Jim on my part, it was just me being that slave girl in my mind, feeling what she was feeling in the moment and of course, climaxing with my new partner in crime. Then there were the climaxes, they were glorious in their intensity, much more powerful than I remember having with Chris back when things were better.
So here I am standing by my trusty stool, naked, nonchalantly diddling myself wearing my running shoes with an outfit handy waiting for them. Two nights ago, Jim caught me by surprise when he took the slave for a walk. After getting dressed, I finally found them sitting on a bench in Turtle Creek Park looking out over Exall Lake. Maybe I should clarify, Jim had a nice view while the slave girl was on her knees with her head bobbing up and down in his lap under his kilt giving him a blow job. I arrived just in time to observe from a distance Jim giving the slave girl a late-night snack erupting in her mouth. Distraught at having missed the show I ran home hopping into the shower and visualizing myself with my head under Chris’s kilt kneeling naked in the park giving him a blowjob, masturbating to a mind shattering eruption in the process.
It turns out that with the weather warming up these evening jaunts were more of a regular thing than I was aware of. While gossiping with some of the wives I learned that Jim and the other men in the neighborhood would show off their wares on these outings, often meeting in the parks for extracurricular activities with their sluts. One of my friends was furious that she couldn’t enjoy the formerly peaceful parks at night while walking her dog without seeing or hearing the men using their tramps.
Tonight, I was prepared if they went for a walk, intending to watch the entire show already in my running shoes and ready to dash out the door on a moment’s notice. My only dilemma was whether I had the courage to jog by Jim as the slave girl serviced him. It just seemed so nasty, something a good girl like me wouldn’t ever consider doing. My passion becomes inflamed just thinking about it.
Upon hearing Jim and his tramp over the fence I silently climbed onto my stool peering into the yard just in time to see Jim leading his little slut on a leash out of the back gate holding a riding crop in his other hand.
“It’s a lovely night for a walk in the park,” I hear Jim say as they disappear into the night.
Quickly donning my running gear, I told Chris I was going for a jog and to look after the kids in case they woke up. He was watching the game wearing his silly Mavericks jersey for his new hero Luka Doncic. I wondered if he really heard me as I ran out the door lost in the throes of my voyeuristic fantasy.
Running around the block, I came up behind them as they moved in the direction of the park. They were walking on the sidewalk, with Jim nonchalantly leading the slave girl like he was walking a dog.
Coming abreast of them I called out, “Hi Jim.”
“Hi Avvy, nice night for a run,” he replied.
“Sure is,” I responded, stifling a giggle.
Jogging at a nice pace I turned left on Lakeside Dr. planning on turning around and running on the sidewalk along Tuttle Creek catching Jim and his slave girl in a compromising position. Along the way, I observed two men sitting on a bench in the park with their slut’s heads bobbing under their kilts while watching a third aggressively fucking his poor slave girl bent over another nearby bench. I wouldn’t have noticed them but for the loud gagging sounds, the “slap”, “slap”, “slap” of the man pummeling his slut, and the happy moans of the slave girl getting shafted. It sounded like that damn tramp was fully enjoying herself.
Then I passed Abner Kravitz, my neighbor from down the street, walking his German Shepard Max, a retired slave hound that had an annoying habit of always trying to stick his nose in some poor woman’s crotch. Suddenly Max lunged at me as I went around him catching me by surprise. He had never done that with me before. Thank God Abner had him on a leash; that dog made me nervous. Gladys Kravitz, the nosiest neighbor on the street, was always commenting on how Max knew slave pussy when he smelled it every time that mutt stuck his snout in some poor woman’s crotch. I always wondered how one of these slave dogs caught slave girls, what was it about them? How does a slave girl smell different?
While running, I contemplated that and the other mysteries of the universe. I had a funny feeling that I was missing something; like why I had never seen Katja and the slave girl together? Did Katja have a slave of her own to meet her needs? She was a successful corporate lawyer, why wouldn’t she? That would explain it. No! She wouldn’t, she’s not a slut like that.
Then I saw Jim in the distance, sitting on the same bench with his slave girl bobbing her head in his lap. My plan had worked like a charm. I slowed slightly as I drew near them as my nipples hardened and my pussy throbbed at what I was about to do. My god, I was really worked up right now.
When I was closer Jim looked up grinning, “Hi, Avvy.”
Trying to keep a straight face, I replied, “Hi Jim, nice night for a blowjob.”
His slave girl made a choking sound as he groaned, “Sure is.”
Then his face got a faraway look on it as he leaned his head back groaning, “Oh, yes, that’s a good slut.”
The pleasure slut’s legs were spread and her back arched making her lady bits visible coated with her dew, glistening with slave heat in the moonlight. There were two fingertips poking out between her legs massaging her pussy. I noticed the brand burned into her buttock was the head of a Longhorn, the mascot of my alma mater, the University of Texas.
“Hook em horns,” I giggled loudly as I passed the couple. Jim’s hips started doing a happy dance, jutting up, driving his cock into his slut’s mouth as he filled it with his semen as she joined him in her own frenzy. Oh shit, I was just feet away from them when they climaxed together. I kept looking back, almost running off the path a few times, overcome with my own arousal. I too needed relief but was unable to take care of myself out in the open like I was.
I spied a good hiding place behind a tree and some bushes next to the road but kept running for another mile before circling back. By the time I sneaked into my hiding place Jim had that slut bent over on the bench; he was giving it to her good as Abner and Max approached them. This was going to be good, that dog was going a little crazy, but Abner had a firm grip on the leash.
“Good evening, Jim,” drawled Abner, a knowing grin on his face.
“Evening Abner,” replied Jim, not faltering at all as he drilled his moaning slut.
I couldn’t believe it. These two men greeted each other like nothing untoward was happening while Jim brazenly fucked his slave girl in public. Abner kept walking and eventually Max lost interest, stopping to sniff a tree and then pee on it.
So, there I was hiding behind the tree, hornier than all git out throwing caution to the wind with my right hand down my shorts with drenched fingers circling my engorged clitoris getting closer to my first orgasm of the night. From experience, I could tell when that slut was going to cum and she was close as I became her in my mind. Imagining what that slave felt at that moment bent over the bench being pounded from behind as some guy walking his dog ambled by. Oh God, that was so hot! And then she came, her orgasm pushing me towards my own frenzy until I was rudely interrupted, illuminated in light as I yanked my hand out of my panties. A car had come down the street from behind me, catching me in its headlights. I heard the car brake, coming to a sudden stop. Oh damn, I’ve been caught with my hand in the proverbial nookie jar.
A worried woman’s voice called out, “Excuse me miss, miss, are you ok?”
I turned around, sounding a little out of breath, I replied, “I’m fine. Out for a run and just have a little cramp that I need to stretch out.”
“Honey, are you sure, do you need a ride?” she asked.
Stretching out my calf, I waved her off, “No, no, I’m ok.”
“Ok honey, have a nice night,” she seemed to snicker as she drove off.
Oh damn, did she see my fingers glistening with my fluids when I waved at her. Was that why she laughed? No, she couldn’t have at that distance. Was I imagining things in my own paranoia?
I took a moment to gather myself when I heard slurping sounds coming from the bench. Being a glutton for punishment I returned to my hiding spot once again with my hand down my shorts, hunched over with my legs spread, fingers pushed deep inside massaging my G-spot while simultaneously massaging my nubbin. My pussy was on fire! My last orgasm had been cut short before it really started and in my current state, I badly needed a truly fulfilling one this time around.
From my hiding place, I observed Jim standing by the bench. The slut was on her knees gently sucking on his cock, probably cleaning him off when Abner sporting a tent in his kilt and Max walked up. Abner stopped saying hello again, letting the dog sniff and lick the slave’s butt causing the slave to squeal.
“Damn Abner, that hound sure has a thing for dirty slave snatch,” laughed Jim.
“Yeah, he sure does. Do you mind if I borrow your slut for a few minutes, something’s come up that I need her to attend too,” grinned Abner, sounding like a neighbor asking to borrow a tool.
“No problem, let me take Max for you,” replied Jim, as the men exchanged leashes, and that slut quickly slipped her head under Abner’s kilt.
Abner didn’t waste any time getting down to business. Holding that pleasure slut’s head in both hands he vigorously face-fucked that slave girl with one goal in mind. I could hear her gagging on his cock. I imagined myself as that slave girl, casually handed off for use, my head held in Abner’s vice like grip as his hard throbbing cock thrusts in and out of my mouth knowing that at any moment, he would flood my mouth with his semen. Oh my God, this was hot. My body was on fire!
I could see the little slut pleasuring herself. Her fingers were a blur and so were mine as I mimicked her technique as a guttural moan escaped my lips. Damn, those guys were nonchalantly holding a conversation just like they were waiting for their turn to tee off on the golf course.
Grunting Abner asked, “Jim, I have a few extra tickets to the charity auction at the Star. They’re selling off twenty Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders for two weeks. Should be fun.”
“Are you bringing your pleasure slut with you?” asked Jim, clearly interested in attending.
“Hell yeah, there’s nothing like nutting in your slave’s mouth when the gavel comes down on a high-quality piece of wet pussy being sold on the auction block,” groaned Abner, clearly enjoying the slut’s mouth.
“Sounds like a good time,” chuckled Jim, as Abner’s body tensed up.
“Swallow it all down slut,” rumbled Abner, while holding the slaves head in place, his hips thrusting forward emptying his balls in that slave’s mouth. “I don’t need to see my baby batter on your tongue.”
That slave girl’s body tensed, and she climaxed, her figure shuddering in her own frenzy all while her head was pinned in Abner’s groin as he unloaded down her throat. I joined her, exploding into my own orgasm, moaning, caught in the throes of my eruption as my vision blurred from the intensity. The thrill from spying on Jim and his slut culminated, magnifying the sensations rippling through my body. Somehow, I stayed on my feet as my frenzy subsided and my sight cleared.
Looking up with a sudden sense of dread I saw Max sniffing the air, something had caught his interest, not realizing that that something was me. Unaware of my own peril I moaned a long sigh of relief that was louder than intended. The moment the moan escaped my lips Max turned his head looking right at me. I swear, that damned dog saw into my soul suddenly lunging towards me pulling out of Abner’s grasp. Like a bullet shot out of a gun Max raced towards me barking all the way.
Pulling my hand out of my shorts I ran away squealing for help. The next thing I know Max knocked me onto the grass driving his nose into my crotch sniffing at my pussy like crazy. Oh my God, I felt his tongue on my inner thighs. When I tried to push him away, a menacing growl scared me into submission. So, I just lay there on my back, legs clamped shut, with that damn dog’s snout buried in my private parts sniffing away with its tail wagging like crazy until I was rescued by Abner and Jim.
While Abner held Max at bay, Jim helped me to my feet and dusted me off. These two chivalrous gentlemen insisted upon walking me home after my ordeal. It was the neighborly thing to do after all. With what just happened, I had no choice but to accept their kind offer. So, there we were walking down the street debating the wisdom of the Amari Cooper trade. Hey, I’m from Texas where football is religion, I know my football and getting rid of Cooper was a good move. So, the debate continued, eventually moving on to the chances of the Boys getting Shawn Payton as their coach.
Jim at one point asked if I was ready for the Ladies Two-Ball golf tournament at the club in a few days. Katja was my partner for the team competition and now I was really looking forward to spending the day with her. So many questions, would I have the courage to ask them? I hope Katja would talk with me and give me some answers as I thought about the slave girl walking behind me.
Abner and Jim were leading their animals on their leashes, Abner his dog and Jim his naked human livestock. The whole time the slave girl was walking behind him meekly looking down with her hair hiding her face. That damn dog kept sticking its snout into the poor slave’s ass or crotch sniffing her much to the amusement of the men. That unfortunate slave girl had it worse than that damn dog. I mean the dog didn’t have to blow Abner after all like the slave girl on the leash did to Jim.
When we arrived at Abner’s house, he turned to me with an inquisitive expression. Sounding a little worried he asked, “Has something changed? Max has never hit on you like this before.”
Blushing, I replied, “I know, I wonder what got into him,” while trying to pet Max when he once again lunged for my lady bits causing me to squeal in surprise.
Abner pulled Max back saying, “Gladys thinks this dog has a sixth sense. Always hitting on slave pussy and free women that will soon be wearing a collar. Max was always hitting on our babysitter Mary Ellen until one day she was no longer available. Turns out the family business folded, and the poor girl ended up on the auction block.
“She was a year ahead of Ashely. They were friends,” said Jim.
“I hear she fetched a good price at auction,” grinned Abner, while leering at me like he was undressing me with his eyes appraising my value as if I was on the block naked wearing a collar. Truth be told, it was a little eerie being appraised like a piece of slave pussy. Why was my body tingling in response?
“She was such a nice girl and great babysitter,” I added, trying to change the subject all while envisioning that cute teenager with the large breasts being taken for a “walk” at night by one of these men. Abner was beginning to creep me out a little with the way he was looking at me. At the same time, I was conflicted, my loins throbbing as I imagined being taken for a “walk” down to the park as my husband’s slave girl.
After saying goodnight to Abner at his house, Jim and I moved down the street towards our homes. I wanted to talk to his slave girl; get answers to some of my questions. Primarily did she really enjoy the sex? I was becoming more aroused just thinking about it. As we approached his house, I finally found the courage to ask.
Trying to sound nonchalant I inquired, “Hey Jim, can I chat with your slave girl sometime? I have a couple of questions for her.”
Changing the topic, he chuckled, “Do you know how slave hounds detect slave girls?”
I paused; I’d always wondered what the secret was. Deep down I knew I should stick to my plan, but the mystery was too alluring. Now I had to know.
Feeling suddenly uncomfortable I giggled, “No.”
“There is a distinctive fragrance linked to slave heat that most women give off when they become a slave; for many it starts the moment they are stripped stark-naked and collared. Some free women with a calling for the collar also emit it. Technically speaking, slave girls release certain female pheromones with the most potent aromas coming from natural pleasure sluts since it is tied to sexual arousal. It’s called slave scent. Dogs can easily be trained to detect it.”
“Oh, then why did Max hit on me? I’m not a slave.” I innocently asked, eliciting knowing snickers from the slave girl on the other end of Jim’s leash.
Realization dawned as the slave’s girlish giggles continued as we walked. Jim didn’t answer, instead letting the truth sink in. That damn dog smelled my arousal as I masturbated behind the tree while spying on them. Jim and his slut knew the truth, further igniting my already overheated pussy. My panties were soaked through and possibly leaking into my shorts. My best defense was to deny, deflect, and act indignant which had worked well for me in awkward situations like this in the past.
Sounding outraged, I responded as we stopped in front of Jim’s house, “I do NOT have slave scent!”
The slave girl giggled at my obvious discomfort. Jim joined her, chuckling, “Max is a well-trained slave hound after all.”
Tartly I replied, “Retired due to old age clearly after having lost his sense of smell.”
“A rooster one day and a feather duster the next as a judge I know is fond of saying,” replied Jim, grinning with a knowing look as his slut’s giggles became more pronounced.
Aloofly I replied, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just saying a free woman shouldn’t crow loudly like a rooster about her place in society because it can all disappear in an instant when the collar locks around her neck,” answered Jim, sounding suddenly serious. “Some women have a calling for the collar and just don’t know it, … yet.”
Doubling down, I hissed, “I will have you know that running is invigorating exercise, not sexually arousing. I find your implication highly inappropriate.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” grinned Jim, giving his slave girl giggling fits that only acted to fuel my anger.
By now I had my hands on my hips as I indignantly replied, “I am a lady, a happily married mother, not some lowly pleasure slut with a drippy slave cunt lost in her slave heat.”
Ignoring my tirade Jim calmly turned to his slave girl, “Get inside and get cleaned up. I don’t want you dripping on the floor again, slut.”
“Yes master,” the tramp tittered, turning towards the house but not moving fast enough to satisfy her master.
Thwack!”
Jim spanked the slave girl hard on the ass propelling her on her way, girlish laughter filled the yard as she scurried in her cute little, short steps.
The little slut’s giggles reminded me that she was the one that got her brains fucked out while I was relegated to hiding behind a tree pleasuring myself, leaving me longing for what she had. I couldn’t believe I was jealous of a lowly slave girl. My envy had me literally stewing in my own juices so to speak.
Turning to me Jim openly examined my body as I stood there, hands on my hips in my indignant pose realizing that my body had betrayed me. I was flushed with arousal, my rather erect nipples were prominently on display poking through my thin top, and I could feel a small trickle of pussy juice leaking out of my panties on my inner right thigh.
Grinning, Jim chuckled, before confidently responding, “Don’t let your pride blind you to the truth that your soul has a calling for the collar. Your face is flushed, your nipples are sticking through your top and I bet your pussy is wet, really wet. I think the term you used was drippy.”
I couldn’t believe he was talking to me like this. Where was Katja when I needed her? He had me dead to rights but there was no way I was going to admit it. What I should have done was turn around and walk away but for some strange reason, I couldn’t. My pride wouldn’t let me, so I doubled down.
Using my best Texas twang with my arms now crossed over my breasts, strategically concealing my nipples, I sweetly replied, “Mama always said horses sweat, men perspire, and women mist, and I am, ah …. misting.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
I glared at him. How dare he think he can check my pussy like one would check the oil in a car? Was it his arrogance or confidence that so frustrated me? I gave him a disdainful look that said you are not sticking your fingers in my panties as this whole situation only added fuel to the fire burning between my legs. I couldn’t believe I was standing in his driveway having this conversation.
“We’ll go to your house and explain our disagreement to Chris and have him do a dip test to see if that’s “mist” soaking your panties,” he replied with a sly grin on his face, making air quotes as he sarcastically emphasized mist.
“Fine! I’ll do it,” I proclaimed, stomping my foot in frustration like a little girl. There was no way I was bringing my husband into this! With butterflies in my stomach, I stuck my hand down under my panties until I had two fingers in the swamp that was my pussy. Man, I was drenched. Somehow, I suppressed a moan while coating my fingers in my fluids before pulling them out triumphantly.
Holding up my hand, index and middle fingers sticking out covered in pussy juice I snickered, “See mist.” Daring him to contradict me.
Staring me in the eyes while grabbing my hand he pulled my fingers towards him. Without breaking eye contact he took my fingers into his mouth and sucked my “mist” off them. I was beginning to feel some sympathy for that damn rooster. I moaned out loud at the sensation, my knees momentarily buckling before I caught myself as his warm wet tongue captured every drop of my essence. I am sure he sensed my urgent need for relief. Finally, he pulled my fingers from his mouth.
Calmly he said, “I win.”
My mind was screaming, “run, get out of here” but my feet were rooted to the ground as he released my hand. This discussion with Jim had become an extension of my voyeur game of watching him and his slut have sex that I was so addicted to; I just had to see where this went.
“You need to be punished for lying to me,” added Jim, giving me a hard look.
Tartly I replied, “You’re not spanking me. You wouldn’t dare.”
Where did that come from? Why had I even thought of that? My pussy throbbed as I realized for the first time in my life, I wanted a strong man to bend me over his knee, bare my ass and give me the painful bare fanny spanking I so deserved, no craved.
Then give me your panties,” Jim demanded. “Otherwise, I need to talk to Chris about this.”
He had me now, I thought. I was flushed, breathing hard in my flight, fight, or freeze state now, not wanting to lose face while also not willing to strip on his driveway although deep down part of me wanted to for the shock value. What would he do? What did I want him to do?
I huffed, “I’m not taking them off in your driveway.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to invite a lady into my home for the sole purpose of removing her soiled undergarments. You can go behind the trash cans along the side of the house, I’ll keep watch,” he smugly ordered.
I stood there for a moment, trying to comprehend his suggestion. I am sure I looked like a fish as my mouth opened and closed a few times until I acted. I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me. There was also something in Jim’s voice that compelled me to obey. Marching over to the side of his house I hid in the darkness behind the garbage cans as I looked around. This spot was as good as any, concealing me in the shadows I thought as I yanked my shorts down to my knees.
The sudden rush of cool air on my wet pussy overwhelmed my senses. Overcome with lust, unable to control myself anymore, I furiously polished my pearl immediately launching myself into a violent orgasm, somehow holding myself upright with my left hand on the side of Jim’s house. I’m sure he heard me. Finally, my frenzy subsided as I caught my breath not believing that I had just masturbated hiding behind the trash cans of my neighbor’s house while he stood watch. What had gotten into me to act this way? It was so unladylike, AND so nasty and fun.
“Everything OK back there?” called out Jim.
“I’m fine, just got them caught on my ankle,” I lied.
Suddenly I heard a dog howling, coming from the direction of the Kravitz home. How did Max know? That damn dog’s forlorn howl spurred me to action, quickly pulling my shorts and panties off, wiping myself down with my panties before pulling my shorts back into place sans underwear. Dangling my sopping wet panties from my fingers I stomped over to Jim, dropping them into his outstretched hand.
“Goodnight Jim, it’s been a real pleasure,” I sarcastically announced, refusing to even look the man in the eye.
I abruptly turned to leave when he responded, “Avvy, I don’t want to hear from Chris about you dripping on the floor.”
“Whack!”
“Eek!”
I yelped when I felt the sting from his hand striking me on my butt. It was like a jolt of electric pleasure surged from my ass to my pussy zapping my nipples along the way, like I wasn’t already aroused enough. I just stood there in shock with my mouth hanging open, not believing he had spanked me, … and I liked it.
Then he did it again saying, “Git.”
“Whack!”
“Aigh!”
I squealed again, this time his blow spurred me to move as I ran home giggling, sounding ominously a lot like his slutty slave girl had just minutes before.
When I ran inside, I heard Chris howling in anger as Stephen Curry sank another three-point basket dooming his Mavericks. With him unable to help me I ran upstairs, quickly stripping before hopping into the shower where I started masturbating like a possessed woman once again becoming that slave girl in my mind, coming again and again and again. Every time I thought about the experience, my pussy quivered and creamed until I rubbed my clitty to another orgasm for relief until I found myself sitting in the shower sobbing in frustration as the warm water cascaded down upon me. I felt lost; my entire perfect little world was turned inside out and upside down. There was a void in my life that I couldn’t fill.
(To be continued.)
The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 2.
The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 2.
- These users thanked the author Mr. Smith for the post (total 17):
- Freight_Train • Carl Bradford • TheL • Citizen1069 • underdog_13 • Jim927 • jean.amelot • timerider • Scman493 • TauriRed and 7 more users
Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 2.
I need to thank Carl Bradford for allowing me to use the Lindsay Williams character from his story Sabbatical in Slavery. She is one of my all-time favorite characters and I am privileged to have her as a re-occurring character in this story.
- These users thanked the author Mr. Smith for the post (total 3):
- TheL • Carl Bradford • jeepster
Re: The Slave Girl Next Door Ch 2.
Very good story. I was a little confused with where you were going in the first chapters, but the story line is coming together nicely. I can't wait for the next chapter.
