Unintentional Enslavement (Revised) Part 1

[Fixitman8267]

[Author's Note: This is just a minor change. I added a few pages describing Julia and talking about the new slavery laws and how they came about. Megan grabbed Julia's pussy at the grocery store. I think the biggest change was Julia realizing she was tricked rather than accidentally signing the wrong contract. I also changed it from 3rd person POV to 1st person POV]


My name is Julia Martin. I am 27, 5’ 2”, 110 lbs., with dark brown hair and light brown eyes. My measurements are 32B-22-30. I am a quiet, reserved person. I don’t have a problem talking with people; I just don’t start conversations unless I need to. I believe that I have above-average intelligence, but I don’t consider myself a genius.

I work for a large accounting firm that employs roughly 1500 people including management. Our clients are some of the largest companies in the city. I am just one of many who analyze those large accounts.

I don’t have any friends mostly because I never saw a need for them, and I have trust issues that stem from issues I had in high school.

Ever since I was a small child my mother forced me to attend yoga and Pilates classes. Because of that, I am strong and flexible for a girl my size. As I got older I saw the benefits of the exercises so I continued into adulthood.

When I was in high school congress passed laws that made slavery legal. They knew that even though the 34th Amendment freed the slaves after the Civil War, the slave trade continued; it just went underground. Thinking that they could benefit from taxing the sale of slaves, Congress passed laws requiring all slaves to be registered and taxes paid on the initial sale of new slaves.

In the beginning, only females between the ages of 18 and 30 were allowed to be slaves. After a few years, males were allowed to be made into slaves. It took several years for the laws to balance out to the benefit to both the slave and the slave traders and owners.

Some laws regulate how traders and owners are allowed to treat slaves and some laws protect slaves. Despite the end of ‘involuntary’ slavery, it still exists but remains illegal. Because the penalty for forcing someone into involuntary slavery is to be made a slave and sentenced to a lifetime of hard labor.

It is so much easier to market voluntary slavery as an easy life free from obligations typical of free people except to serve their owner. Because slaves are frequently—but not required—seen naked in public laws concerning indecent exposure were changed to allow nudity as long as lewd and sexual behavior was kept private.

________________________________________
I will continue with the story now that you know about me and the current societal situation. I have been doing yoga and Pilates at home since I was 14. Recently, I came across a channel on Slave TV that showed a live broadcast of yoga. I believe it was called slave yoga. At first, I just sat on the couch and watched it. It didn’t take long to notice they did different poses. On a whim, I decided to follow along with the new poses.

I have never considered myself to be naïve or impulsive even though I have heard it said many times that I am. I usually consider my actions carefully before deciding on a course of action. This time I am not so sure I made the right decision.

Each day at the end of the slave yoga broadcast a short ad is played marketing a ‘starter kit’. This kit comes with a mat, a fake training collar, and cameras that allow the company to monitor the person to ensure they are doing the poses correctly.

One day after work, I went to the website to read up on the kit being offered. There were two choices. The first choice is yoga only. The second choice is full slave training. That one includes the yoga training plus mantras.

In addition to the yoga and mantras, the slave training comes in two phases. The first phase requires nudity but is limited to the home. This allows the SiT to acclimate to being nude. Near the end of phase one, the training is escalated to include outside help.

In phase two, the SiT is required to be nude 24/7. All of their clothes are disposed of and the SiT is required to be nude in public as well as at work. When I read the requirements of the second option I knew that I didn’t want that. I enjoyed the exercise but I was unwilling to give up my freedom to become a slave.

I didn’t mind the idea of having cameras in my living room so I could be corrected while I was learning the poses, but I didn’t like the idea of wearing a collar—even a fake one. After a week of following along with the slave yoga broadcast, I finally decided to select the first option.

I was astonished as I read the details and saw that I had to purchase the cameras and pay a monthly fee for the personalized monitoring. It was so expensive that I could never afford to pay it in full. There were three payment options; 1 year, 2 years, and 4 years. Fortunately, the 4-year plan was affordable. I selected it deciding to sign the contract digitally without reading it. What could it possibly say about practicing yoga and taking direction from whoever is monitoring me?

A week later I received the kit. It contained one mat, one collar that looked like the real ones, and eight 4k UHD cameras. They were tiny with a base that allowed them to be mounted on the wall. Also in the kit was a larger box that said controller on it. It claimed to have a built-in microphone and speakers.

I set the cameras and controller on the coffee table and rolled out the mat. I left the collar on the table with the cameras and switched the TV to the slave TV channel. It was almost time for the yoga broadcast. I changed into my yoga leotard and began my stretches warming up my muscles before the program began. I am pleased that at my age I was still as flexible as I was as a kid.

Finally, the broadcast began. The poses were different than the ones I grew up doing and they seemed so lewd. They seemed focused on exposing my vagina and breasts but in a more submissive manner.

Since I was at home the poses weren’t as embarrassing. I put it out of my mind that soon I would be watched when performing the embarrassing poses.

________________________________________
A couple of days later I was awakened a half hour before my alarm clock went off. I reached over and answered the call. It was a representative from the slave yoga company. I was instructed that the installation team was coming today to install the cameras and controller. I was to place my spare key on top of the door trim.

Against my better judgment, I did as instructed and went to work. Today, I chose to wear a maroon skirt suit with a white blouse and jacket with 4-inch heels. It is typical of what I wear to work, always a conservative business suit.

After a long day at work I returned to me apartment and noticed right off that the cameras were no longer on the table. I looked around the living room and noticed they had been mounted in each wall's center and corner. Eight cameras to see me form the slave poses. The very thought gave me chills and brought a blush to my cheeks.

It was almost time for the yoga broadcast, so I quickly changed into my leotard. As soon as I turned the TV on and set it to the slave TV channel, I heard a voice coming from the new box under my TV.

“Julia Martin, before the class begins, you must wear the training collar.”

“Who’s there?” Julia said a look of shock and apprehension at hearing a new voice coming from nowhere.

“You may call me Master Dominic,” the voice said without much emotion. “As I said you must wear the training collar. According to the contract you signed, you must wear the training collar when participating in the slave yoga class.”

I walked over to the coffee table to retrieve the collar. I held it in my hands feeling the softness of the leather. I slowly wrapped it around my neck and heard the click of the lock. I pulled on the sides trying to pull it open again but it was stuck and would not come off. “Hey, I can’t take it off!” I cried out.

“Don’t concern yourself with that Julia. I will unlock the collar after class,” Master Dominic told her. “Now return to your mat. Class is about to begin.”

I returned to the mat as I was instructed. As I progressed through the class, Master Dominic continued to correct the positioning of my limbs, head, and torso. My first day seemed to be more exhausting than when I was doing them on my own.

________________________________________
“Julia, it has been a week since the cameras were installed, and I began to guide you and correct your poses. While you have made some progress you are still far behind the rest of the class. Besides the usual mistakes, you are struggling with your transitions. No master or mistress would believe that you are a submissive and obedient slave. Even as a free woman, you must act your part to advance in this class.

“Starting today, the shock feature in your collar will be activated since no one is present to use the whip on your nice posterior.”

“Shock feature?” Once again, I tried to remove the collar.

“Yes. The pinch you felt when the collar locked was the insertion of two needles that apply different levels of an electric shock from a mild reminder to unconsciousness. The real slave collar can deliver a shock that can kill,” Master Dominic told me.

Every day after work, I would tune in to the live broadcast of the beginner slave yoga class. After a few weeks, I stopped jumping in surprise each time I was shocked for my mistakes. I had memorized the poses and worked to perfect each pose and transition. I am shy and couldn’t bring myself to be naked even in my own apartment.

Little did I know that these training kits were a gateway to enslavement, so in my ignorance.

Over the next month, Julia’s routine continued, but now it included Master Dominic’s direct feedback through voice and electric shocks. “Straighten your back,” he’d say, or “Hold that position longer.” Each correction sent a jolt through her from the collar; part indignation, part… satisfaction? She told herself it was just because she wanted to improve her yoga skills. She faithfully wore the collar for every session, trusting its automatic release at the end of class.

Then, one evening, Dominic’s voice was softer as I finished a particularly grueling class. “You’ve made excellent progress, Julia. You’re very dedicated. I’m impressed.”

I felt a small thrill at the praise. “Uh, thanks,” I mumbled, unsure how else to respond.

“You’re welcome. But dedication requires commitment. True commitment.”

Julia blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he said cryptically. “Check your email tomorrow.”

________________________________________
True to his word, an email arrived the next morning. It was from the Slave Yoga Network, congratulating her on completing her introductory training and inviting her to “elevate her practice” by upgrading her membership. The email detailed the next steps.

There was a link to schedule a live consultation with Dominic. Against her better judgment, she clicked it. Moments later, his face appeared on her laptop screen, smiling warmly.

“Hello, Julia,” he said. “I’m glad you’re ready to take the next step.”

“I’m not sure I am,” she replied, her voice shaking. “I mean, I didn’t realize this was going to get so… intense.”

“Personal growth is always intense,” he said, his tone soothing yet firm. “But you’ve come this far. Don’t you want to see where this journey leads?”

She hesitated, torn between her apprehension and the inexplicable pull she felt toward him—toward this strange, thrilling world she’d stumbled into. Finally, she nodded.

“Good,” Dominic said, his smile deepening. “Let’s begin.” And with that, Julia’s life began to change in ways she never could have imagined.

From now on the collar will not be released after the yoga class. You will wear it as long as you’re in your apartment.

This is Phase One of your advanced training. If you need to leave your apartment outside work hours, you may request the collar be released. Now, let’s move forward. Remove your leotard.”

My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Slaves perform yoga naked,” Dominic explained. “As part of your advanced training, you will remain naked while in your apartment. It fosters vulnerability and discipline.”

I shook my head vehemently. “I—I can’t do that. I’m not comfortable-”

The collar buzzed faintly before a sharp, electrifying pain shot through my neck. I cried out, collapsing to my knees. “Comfort is irrelevant,” Dominic said firmly. “You will comply.”

Dominic’s voice shifted to a firmer tone. “And from this point forward, you will refer to me as Master Dominic. Anyone who communicates with you through the controller will be addressed as Master or Mistress. Is that clear?”

Julia nodded hesitantly, her pulse pounding. “Y-yes, Master Dominic.”

Tears stung my eyes as I struggled to my feet. Trembling, I reached for the neck of my leotard and began to remove it. I hesitated as I slipped it off my shoulders, but the memory of the pain urged me forward. Finally, I stood naked, my arms instinctively moving to cover myself.

Another more intense shock coursed through my body, and I collapsed again, gasping. “Slaves do not cover themselves,” Dominic said, his voice implacable. “Part of your training is learning to accept this.”

I whimpered but forced myself to stand, letting my arms fall to my sides. My cheeks burned with humiliation as I stood exposed before the cameras and the instructor.

“Good,” Dominic said approvingly. “You’re learning. Additional cameras will be installed throughout your apartment to monitor your adherence to the training protocols. Now, let’s begin today’s session.”

I stood trembling, my skin prickling from the shock as Master Dominic's commanding voice echoed through the speakers. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing as he began issuing instructions for my first naked slave yoga class.

“On your knees, hands clasped behind your back, chest pushed forward. Remember, every pose reflects your submission and dedication.”

As I positioned myself on the mat for my next yoga class, I noticed something different on the screen. Among the other slaves in the live broadcast, one of the figures looked uncannily familiar. Her movements matched the others at first, but the longer I watched, the more convinced I became. That slave looked just like me.

“Master Dominic?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Julia?” His voice came through the speakers, calm but commanding.

“That… that slave in the front row.” I pointed at the screen, my hand trembling. “She looks exactly like me. How is that possible?”

Master Dominic chuckled softly, the sound deep and resonant. “Ah, you’ve noticed. I was wondering how long it would take.”

I frowned, my unease growing. “What do you mean?”

“The classroom isn’t real, Julia,” he explained. “It’s a CGI simulation. Every slave you see on that screen is a free woman, just like you, training in her own space.”

My mind reeled. “But… how?”

“The images are created using the eight cameras installed in your apartment,” he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “The AI analyzes your movements in real time and projects them into the virtual classroom. What you’re seeing is a reflection of your own performance. The same is true for the others. Each woman sees herself as one among the many.”

My heart pounded as I stared at the screen. “So… you’re saying that’s me?”

“Precisely,” Dominic confirmed. “And the AI ensures every detail is accurate, down to your posture and expressions. It’s an advanced system designed to provide an immersive experience. You’re never truly alone in your training.”

I swallowed hard, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Seeing my likeness displayed so openly on the screen, performing the same vulnerable poses I’d been practicing, made my skin prickle with self-consciousness.

“But why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s part of your conditioning,” Dominic replied. “To cultivate the mindset and discipline required for advanced training. Now, Julia, focus.”

I hesitated, still acutely aware of my nudity, and received a shock from my collar. The humiliation of kneeling naked, my body fully exposed to the cameras, made my chest tighten. But the sting of the collar’s shock lingered, a sharp reminder of the consequences of disobedience. Slowly, I lowered myself to my knees and clasped my hands behind my back.

“Arch your back more,” Dominic ordered. “Push your chest forward.”

I complied, my muscles trembling as I forced myself into the posture. My face burned, and I could feel tears threatening to well up, but I refused to let them fall. Master Dominic’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.

“Good. Now hold that position for one minute. Focus on your breathing.”

I closed my eyes to block out the shame and focus on the instructions. The seconds felt like hours, but I remained still, determined not to trigger the collar again.

“Excellent,” Dominic said after what felt like an eternity. “Now transition into the Display pose. I stood, legs spread should-width apart, head held high with my hands on my head finger interlaced. Remember, posture is everything.”

I stood and shifted into the new position, my movements stiff and hesitant. The cameras in front of me made me feel like I was on display in front of a group of people. I bowed my head, my hair falling over my face like a curtain, offering a small sense of privacy.

“Julia,” Dominic’s voice snapped. “Move your hair. Your face must remain visible at all times. From now on you will keep your hair in a ponytail during yoga sessions.”

“Yes, Master.” My stomach sank, but I obeyed, brushing my hair back and twisting it into a messy bun. The vulnerability I felt was overwhelming, but I knew there was no way out. Not now.

As the session continued, each pose seemed designed to strip away more of my resistance. The Submission Stretch required me to lie flat on my stomach with my arms outstretched, my body fully on display. The Offering Pose had me kneel with my hands raised above my head, presenting myself to the cameras.

By the time the session ended, I was physically and emotionally drained. Sweat clung to my skin, and my muscles ached from holding the demanding poses. But the most exhausting part was the constant battle with my own mind—the humiliation, the shame, and the strange, confusing thrill I couldn’t quite suppress.

“Very good, Julia,” Master Dominic said as I knelt in the final position, Present. “You’ve shown promise today. Remember, every moment in your apartment is part of your training. You will remain as you are—naked and obedient—until further notice. Dismissed.”

The speakers went silent, but the red lights on the cameras remained on, a stark reminder that I was never truly alone. I stayed kneeling for a moment longer, my mind racing. I hated the situation I’d found myself in, yet something deep inside me whispered that this was only the beginning.

I rose shakily from the mat, my body trembling as I glanced at the cameras one last time. The tiny red lights glowed steadily, silently reinforcing my lack of privacy. I hesitated momentarily, biting my lip, then turned and headed to the bathroom. My bare feet padded softly against the floor as I tried to shake off the discomfort of being constantly watched.

Standing before the mirror in the bathroom, I caught my reflection. My flushed face, the sheen of sweat glistening on my body—it all made me pause. I raised my arms slightly as if to cover myself but stopped, Master Dominic's voice echoing in her mind.

Slaves do not cover themselves. ‘But I’m not a slave. I’m a free woman, right? I am still free?’ I thought in response.

My arms fell back to my sides. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the shower and turned on the water. The hot spray cascaded over me, soothing my aching muscles and washing away the sweat of the session. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax, the tension melting away as steam filled the small room. My hands moved over my body, scrubbing away the physical reminders of my humiliation, though the mental weight lingered.

After I finished my shower, I stepped out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around myself almost reflexively. I reached for the doorknob but stopped mid-motion, my heart sinking as I remembered the cameras. They can see the door. My fingers trembled as I unwrapped the towel, placing it carefully in the laundry basket. I straightened my back and walked out of the bathroom, my skin prickling with the cool air.

As she entered the living room, a voice came through the speakers. “Julia, you need to eat something.”

I startled slightly, glancing up at the cameras. “Yes, Master Dominic,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

I moved to the kitchen, searching through the fridge and pantry. “Master,” I said hesitantly, “I don’t have much to fix. I need to run to the store. Will you please release the collar?”

Dominic’s voice returned, calm and authoritative. “Yes. Get dressed. No bra or panties. From now on, you must dress and undress in front of the cameras. This won’t be an issue once the additional cameras are installed. When you’re ready to leave, I will unlock the collar. Put it in your purse and take it with you.”

My cheeks burned as I processed his instructions. My stomach tightened at the thought of being monitored even during something as personal as dressing. I walked to my bedroom, glancing at the camera in the corner. The small red light glared at me, unblinking.

My fingers trembled as I opened my dresser, pulling out a loose t-shirt and skirt. I stood before the dresser for a long moment before returning to the living room, my breath quickening. “Just get it over with,” I told herself. Slowly, I began dressing, my movements stiff and awkward as the cameras recorded every moment. I fought the instinct to turn my back to the camera or shield myself, fearing the consequences.

Once dressed, I looked at one of the cameras, “Master, I’m ready to leave.”

“Good,” Dominic said. A faint click came from the collar, and I felt it loosen. I removed it and held it in my hand, staring at the unassuming device that had begun to reshape my life.

“Put it in your purse and go,” Dominic instructed. “Be back within an hour.”

“Yes, Master,” I replied, slipping the collar into my bag. I grabbed my keys and headed out, feeling the cool air on my skin as I stepped outside. For the first time in weeks, I felt a semblance of freedom—but the weight of the collar in my purse reminded me it was only temporary.

I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, my nerves already on edge. I stepped out of the car, the cool breeze brushing against my chest and lifting my skirt in a way that made me hyperaware of the lack of a bra and panties under my clothes. I tugged at the hem, trying to convince myself that no one would notice.

Inside the store, I moved quickly, determined to get what I needed and leave without drawing attention. I turned down the cereal aisle, focused on my task, when a familiar voice stopped her cold.

“Julia? Is that you?”

I froze, my heart pounding, and slowly turned to see Megan, a coworker who always seemed to have an opinion about everyone. Megan’s sharp eyes flicked over me with a curious expression.

“Megan,” I said, trying to sound casual, though my voice wavered. “Hi.”

Megan tilted her head, her smile growing sly. “Wow, Julia. You look... different. Relaxed, I’d say.” Her eyes lingered pointedly on my chest noticing the hard pointy nipples tenting the front of my t-shirt.

My face flushed with heat. “Oh, um, just casual today. You know, running errands.”

“Casual, huh?” Megan stepped closer, her tone teasing. “You’ve always been so modest at work, but today... it’s like a whole new you. Are you not wearing a bra? What about panties?”

Megan stepped closer to me, grabbed both of my breasts, and kneaded them for a moment before letting her hands slide off and pinching the nipples and pulling on them. After releasing my nipples, Megan quickly moved a hand to my pantiless vagina. My eyes widened, and I stepped back, my voice catching in my throat. “Megan!” I finally managed, my tone equal parts shock and indignation.

Megan simply laughed; her expression amused. “Relax, Julia. You should embrace this new side of yourself. It suits you.” With that, she gave me a wink and sauntered away, leaving me frozen in place.

My heart raced as I stood there, stunned by Megan’s brazenness. After releasing my hot, throbbing vagina; proving that I was enjoying this more than I was willing to admit, I quickly grabbed a cereal box and hurried through the rest of my shopping, avoiding everyone I passed. By the time I reached the self-checkout, my hands were trembling as I scanned my items. I could feel my juices running down my legs.

Back in my car, I slumped in the driver’s seat, still reeling from the encounter. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my thoughts racing. Megan’s actions had been shocking, but what unsettled me most was how powerless I had felt in that moment. Shaking my head, I started the car and drove home, desperate for the safety of my apartment.

When I returned home, I dropped my grocery bags onto the counter and let out a shaky breath. My thoughts were still swirling, replaying Megan’s bold actions and the humiliation that followed. I wanted to forget the entire encounter, but the heat rising in my cheeks refused to fade.

“Julia,” Master Dominic’s voice came through the speakers, calm and steady. “You’re late.”

I glanced at the clock. I was still within the one-hour window but had barely made it. “I—sorry, Master,” I stammered. “I got held up.”

“Something’s bothering you,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Tell me what happened.”

My stomach twisted. I didn’t want to relive the moment, let alone explain it to him, but his command left no room for argument. “I ran into a coworker at the store,” I said hesitantly. “She… noticed I wasn’t wearing a bra or panties. She... made some comments, and then—” I paused, my face burning with fresh embarrassment. “She touched me. It was humiliating.”

There was a brief silence before Dominic replied, his voice cool and measured. “I see. You’ll find that reactions like hers are common when others sense your vulnerability. This is part of your training—learning to manage those feelings. But you must remain focused.”

My jaw tightened. “What does that even mean?” I muttered, more to myself than him.
“It means,” Dominic replied sharply, “that you will strip and replace the collar immediately.”

My chest tightened, and I looked toward the nearest camera. “What if I refuse?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Then you would be in breach of contract,” Dominic said matter-of-factly. “And you know the consequences of defaulting.”

My stomach dropped. I didn’t need him to elaborate; the threat of enslavement loomed large in my mind. Reluctantly, I reached into my purse and pulled out the collar. The weight of it in my hands felt heavier than ever.

Taking a deep breath, I placed it around my neck, feeling the familiar click as it locked into place. The needles slid into my skin, and I winced at the faint prick of pain.

“Good,” Dominic said. “Now, strip. From now on you are to strip in the hallway before you enter the apartment without being told.”

“Yes, Master.” I swallowed hard, my fingers trembling as I pulled my t-shirt over my head and kicked off my shoes. I folded the shirt neatly before unbuttoning my jeans and sliding them off, my face burning with shame as I stood naked once more. I clutched my clothes tightly and walked them to my bedroom, feeling the ever-watchful eyes of the cameras on me.

Returning to the kitchen, I began unpacking my groceries, lining them up on the counter. As I worked, I tried to focus on what I needed to prepare for dinner: something simple, something quick. My hands moved almost mechanically as I placed items in their respective spots.

When I finally settled on a meal, the motions of chopping and stirring gave me a brief reprieve from the storm of emotions swirling inside me. But no matter how hard I tried to focus on the task at hand, the weight of the collar and the cameras' unblinking gaze reminded me I was never truly alone.

As I placed the food on the stove to cook, I caught my reflection in the glossy surface of the microwave. My bare body was a stark reminder of how much my life had changed—and how much control I had lost. I sighed, determined not to let my thoughts spiral any further. For now, all could do was obey and endure.

After finishing dinner, I cleaned up the dishes and wiped down the counter, my movements automatic as my mind wandered. The events of the day weighed heavily on me, and I was grateful for the brief respite from mundane chores. But as I turned to leave the kitchen, Master Dominic’s voice echoed through the speakers, halting me in my tracks.

“Julia.”

“Yes, Master Dominic?” I replied, my tone submissive but wary.

“There are new rules regarding your clothing.” I froze, my heart sinking. I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what was coming.

“You are no longer permitted to wear pants or shorts,” Dominic said firmly. “From this point forward, you will only wear skirts or dresses.”

My mouth went dry, and I struggled to find my voice. “But—”

“No objections, Julia,” he interrupted. “This is non-negotiable. Additionally, you are to dispose of all your underwear: bras, panties, camisoles, and any similar items. Toss them in the trash tonight. Your pants and shorts will be bagged for donation.”

My head spun. “All of my underwear?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Dominic confirmed. “You will no longer require them.”

My chest tightened, and I fought back a wave of indignation and embarrassment. It was bad enough to be naked in my own home, but now even the small comfort of proper clothing was being stripped away.

“Do it now,” Dominic ordered. “You may use a trash bag for the underwear and another for the pants and shorts. Place the bags by the door for disposal.”

Reluctantly, I made my way to my bedroom, my stomach churning as I opened my dresser. I stared at the neatly folded bras and panties for a long moment, my mind racing. Each piece felt like a little piece of normalcy—one more thing I was losing to this strange, all-encompassing training.

With trembling hands, I began gathering the items and tossing them into the trash bag as instructed. The action felt surreal, as though I was watching myself from outside my body. Once the dresser drawers were empty, I moved to my closet, pulling out my pants and shorts. I folded them neatly, even as a small voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to stop. Each garment went into a second bag, which I tied shut with a heavy sigh.

I returned to the living room, my steps slow and deliberate, and placed the bags by the door. “It’s done, Master Dominic,” I said softly, my voice tinged with resignation.

“Good,” Dominic replied. “You’re making progress, Julia. Remember, everything you do is part of your training. Now, take some time to reflect on today’s lessons. You may go to bed when you’re ready.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to. As I sat on the edge of my couch, staring at the two bags by the door, a sense of finality settled over me. I felt like I was watching pieces of my old life slip away, one by one, and I didn’t know how much of myself would be left by the end of this journey.

I lay in bed; the sheets cool against my bare skin. The weight of the collar around my neck was a constant reminder of how drastically my life had changed in such a short time.

I sighed, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts were a storm of confusion, frustration, and a flicker of curiosity that I couldn’t shake. What had I really signed up for? Something about the way Master Dominic spoke about the rules being imposed on me, didn’t sit right. This can’t just be about yoga. There has to be more to it.

Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I pulled up the slave yoga website. Logging in, I navigated to the contract section, my pulse quickening as I opened the agreement I had signed. The document loaded slowly, the glowing screen illuminating my furrowed brow as I began to read.

At first, it seemed straightforward. There were clauses about training protocols, payment schedules, and compliance with the company’s guidelines. But as I scrolled further, the language became more alarming. Words like submission, property, and ownership jumped out at me, making my stomach churn.

Then I saw it—a section titled Comprehensive Training and Ownership Preparation. My heart raced as I read the details. The contract wasn’t just about slave yoga. It was about preparing me for actual enslavement.

“Participants in this program consent to comprehensive training for potential future servitude. Upon completing the program, participants who retain their free status will be granted full emancipation from training obligations. Participants who fail to retain a free mind will face two possible outcomes: voluntary request for enslavement or default, triggering immediate collateral enslavement as per the terms of this agreement.”

I sat up, my hands trembling. “Collateral enslavement?” I whispered. I scrolled further, my eyes scanning frantically until I found the explanation.

“As outlined under Clause 18.3, participants agree that failure to fulfill the conditions of the contract or defaulting on payment will result in involuntary servitude. Participants waive their rights under the 34th Amendment by consenting to this clause at the time of signing.”

I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “I signed this?” I murmured, my voice shaking. The enormity of my mistake pressed down on me, but as my panic rose, I noticed another section—Safe Exit Clause.

My eyes darted over the text. “Participants who retain their free mind for the duration of the program will maintain their free status and all rights protected under the 34th Amendment. Training compliance and behavioral conditioning are mandatory, but mental submission is voluntary. Participants who complete the program without relinquishing their autonomy will be granted full emancipation and are entitled to all previously held assets.”

I read the clause twice, my heart pounding. There was a way out. But it would mean enduring four years of this—of the rules, the humiliation, the control. I would have to comply physically while holding onto my sense of self, resisting the mental submission the program was designed to enforce.

My mind raced with questions. Could I do it? Did I even have a choice? If I defaulted, I’d lose everything—my freedom, my life, my identity. But if I stayed strong, I might just make it out of this nightmare intact.

On a whim, I decided to bring up both contracts to compare them. Reading both the yoga and the slave contracts, I realized they were identical. I had been tricked. I will bring this up with Master Dominic in the morning.

I set the phone down, my chest heaving as I stared into the darkness. The collar pressed against my neck like a vice, but I gritted my teeth, determination flickering in the back of my mind. ‘Four years. Just four years. I can do this.’

I lay back down, pulling the blanket over my bare chest. As my mind replayed everything I’d just read, one thought echoed louder than the rest: Don’t lose yourself. Don’t let them win.

[Sissy]

Cool
Any other stories?

[lovethissite]

Loved the revisions. Does the SIT need to be slave naked. No hair below the neck? Great beginning please continue.

[Fixitman8267]

Loved the revisions. Does the SIT need to be slave naked. No hair below the neck? Great beginning please continue.

In my stories, yes. I prefer my slaves to be slave naked. Most of the revisions will be in Parts 2 and 3 after Megan's introduction. She will spend a lot of time naked.