Allison's Descent into Slavery Part Four Rewrite

[Mr. Smith]

Below is the rewrite to parts of the original story as posted posted here. The rewritten chapters and in some case renumbered chapters were posted on Literotica. Oncce again Carl Bradford kindly edited the story providing feedback. I have some new chapters that I will post on Stripsearch in the near future so this is my attempt to fill the gap. My apologies for not keeping up on this.

A few minutes later Bobby, the slave handler that was in the room with me, and the lawyer opened the holding cell door, called out, “CZ-3927 and CZ-3933.” Lindsey and I stood up and walked towards him. He ordered, “Back hands.” I promptly turned around, placing my hands behind my back where he rapidly handcuffed them. He swiftly compared my cattle tag and my freshly tattooed SIN to his paperwork. He performed the same procedure with Lindsey and then led us to the shipping bay.

En route he pulled us into a break room.

“Kneel sluts. I need to feed you a late lunch,” he commanded as he pulled out his erect five-inch cock.

“This will be my second on-the-job blow job today and I get two cum hungry slave sluts this time sharing my cock,” he bragged to himself as we were not impressed.

Pulling us together with Lindsey on my right he grabbed us by the hair. “Lick my cock,” he commanded as he directed our tongues along his shaft.

Lindsey and I were nose-to-nose moving up and down his thin shaft. Our tongues frequently touched on the underside of his cock as we licked up and down his little rod.

“Both of you lick the head together,” he instructed, and our tongues danced together over his little mushroom head.

“French kiss,” Bobby commanded, as he pushed our mouths together-- I kissed my first girl and I liked it.

Sensing we were enjoying our kiss too much he roughly grabbed my head commanding, “Open wide and gag on it,” as he preceded to face-fuck me.

Calum’s cock was way bigger so I had no problem accommodating his little prick without gagging. After four hard thrusts, he pulled out and aimed at Lindsey.

“Your turn, bitch,” he laughed, as he started face-fucking Lindsey.

I watched her gagging on his cock with spittle dripping off her chin; clearly she did not have my level of experience getting face fucked with a big cock while playing little slave girl with my fiancé. Then it was my turn as he went back and forth between us.

“Hold your mouths open, I am sharing my load with both of you since you both missed lunch,” he laughed.

Pulling his cock out of my mouth he started jacking off. His first squirt went right into my mouth. It was thick and salty.

“Keep your mouth open and do not swallow,” he commanded, as he shot his second blast onto my face, his string of cum running from my forehead down between my eyes onto the right side of my nose down onto my cheek.

“You look good wearing my splooge,” he laughed.

The next shot went on Lindsey’s face, hitting her on the left side of her nose down her cheek dripping off her jaw line. Then he stuck his penis into her mouth.

“Suck the rest of it out of my cock you whore, do not swallow, hold your mouth open and show me the jism like a good little slave when I pull out,” he directed, finishing in her mouth.

When he finally pulled his limp prick out of Lindsey’s mouth we were both on our knees, handcuffed, mouths open showing him the cum on our tongues, adorned with it on our faces.

“Swallow,” he commanded and I happily complied, getting it out of my mouth.

Cindy’s prediction that I would have some baby batter in my tummy before the day was done had come true. I briefly looked around the room looking for anything that resembled a video camera. Just perfect, there was a dome in the ceiling in the corner that looked like it contained a camera recording this for all posterity.

“Lick it all off each other’s faces and hold your mouths open showing it to me, you first,” he directed, while pointing at me.

I leaned into Lindsey sticking my tongue out. Starting on her chin, I worked my way up to the side of her nose and sucked all of the cum along with some particles of sand off her face. Turning my head towards the handler I held my mouth open showing him my prize.

“Your turn, and get it all,” he said pointing at Lindsey.

Lindsey had to work harder since there was more on my face with the string of cum running from my jaw all the way onto my forehead. Her tongue felt nice on my face and she managed to not get any into my eyes for which I was thankful. Finally, she collected all of it and sat back on her heels holding her mouth open.

“Now I want you to French kiss again, sharing my splooge,” he directed.

Once again I was kissing Lindsey trying to enjoy it as we shared his foul tasting cum between the two of us. I was tingling from my nipples to my dripping wet pussy while again thinking what was wrong with me?

“Swallow it now, suck my splooge out of each other’s mouths until it is all gone,” he directed and we complied.

“You are real sluts getting hot tongue-wrestling for my splooge,” he snickered. “Both of you have your high beams on and your cunts are leaking,” he observed as the door to the break room opened and two huge slave wranglers walked in.

Once we had swallowed the cum the kissing became much more pleasant as my pussy tingled with slave heat as our tongues wrestled frantically with each other. If my hands were not handcuffed behind my back I am sure I would have been frantically diddling myself. Or, would I be diddling Lindsey as she diddled me as that thought crossed my mind for the first time.

“Looks like Bobby is sampling the merchandise,” laughed George, a large blonde-haired man with a crew cut and acne scarred face, forty something with a dad body. “And the bitches smell like they are in slave heat,” as he smelled our arousal leaking from our vaginas.

“Let’s show Bobby how it’s done,” responded Fred, a shorter, stocky bald black man in his mid-thirties.

“You see Bobby, the one thing free women rarely accept is taking it in the poop chute. A slave slut just gets to enjoy it when I slam my salami up her winking starburst,” Fred explained as he pulled out his cock.

Fred grabbed me by the hair as I opened my mouth knowing what he expected as he shoved his cock in and I started servicing him, looking him in the eyes longingly like a good pleasure slut. I heard Lindsey gagging as George filled her mouth.

“You need to make sure you do not damage the sold merchandise so you need plenty of lube,” advised George pulling a tube out of his pocket. “I always use a flavored lube like this peppermint one.”

“Throw me that lube,” said Fred as he pulled me to my feet by my hair and bent me over the table, kicking the chair out of the way.

“Start begging me to fuck your dirtbox, you skanky cunt. You have no choice now but to take it in the shitter,” Fred sneered, as he jammed two lubed fingers up my butt and started rotating them, lubing me for his big cock.

Calum had always been gentle when I let him have my ass while I played his little slave girl as part of my Slave Yoga class homework. While eating my pussy he would ease a lubed finger into my ass, followed by a second and then a third until I was on the edge of an orgasm from the stimulation from his tongue and fingers, begging my master to fuck me with his rather large cock. Then he would slowly ease his well lubed cock up my back door starting slowly until he was pounding me hard to multiple anal orgasms. These guys were taking a painfully more direct approach!

“Master, fuck my back door, pound me with your big cock, take my virgin asspussy, train my asscunt to please you master, make me a good slave and fuck me hard,” I begged, feeling the table shudder as Lindsey was slammed right next to me. She looked at me with a terrified look on her tear-stained face.

“Relax your asshole, push out like you are going to the bathroom, it goes better,” I whispered to her, making eye contact while the men bantered.

“Slap,” Fred hit my right butt cheek hard while saying, “Stop your yakking.”

I felt him lining up his cock with my rosebud while taking the two lubed fingers from his right hand, the same ones he had used on my asshole, rubbing them under my nose and then sticking them into my mouth like a fish hook and viciously pulling my head back to the right.

“Hope you enjoy that Dirty Sanchez I gave you to remember me by, when I use the peppermint lube it’s called a Dirty Santa,” laughed Fred. “Your rusty wagon wheel better be ready for my cock.”

“Please master, fuck my hot wet cunt. I’ve never taken a cock in my ass,” begged a panicking Lindsey.

“You stupid slave, only free women can say no. Your body is no longer yours, it is nothing more than a cum receptacle to be used for my pleasure,” responded George. “You are too stupid to be free. Learn to serve your betters, bitch, your back passage is mine.”

Lindsey continued to plead as the massive wrangler wormed two lubed fingers into her tight asshole generating squeals of pain.

“I like to fish hook them good when I drive my cock into their cinnamon ring,” Fred laughed, pulling back again on my right cheek.

Fred drove his cock balls deep into me, it felt like a red-hot poker tunneling in as I squealed in surprise. Lindsey let out a loud shriek into my ear as she lost her anal virginity to George.

“You give her about thirty seconds to get used to your cock and then you start fucking her hard letting her know who is in charge. Remember, your break is only fifteen minutes long so you are fucking to cum fast. Who gives a damn if the cum dump of a slave enjoys it?” explained Fred releasing my mouth and grabbing my hips as he started forcefully pounding my butt.

My asshole had burned in pain as he forced his cock deep in my rectum. When he started pumping his prick, the burning sensation transitioned from pain to a mixture of pain and pleasure and then finally to pure pleasure as my ass relaxed, accommodating his girth. I now actually missed the pain. I need more pain, spank me, spank me; I thought not realizing that my slave heat was taking over.

“Spank me, spank me hard, spank your naughty slave,” I groaned out loud not believing that those words emanated from my mouth as the slave heat engulfed me. For the thousandth time, what is wrong with me?

Damn if it didn’t start feeling really good as my pussy started tingling as I ground my erect nipples on the tabletop pushing back while trying to rub my clit on the edge of the table. What was I doing, trying to cum as this man brutally spanked and sodomized me? Was this the submissive in me breaking free, further fueling my slave heat?

“Switch,” called out Fred as he and George traded places. George wasted no time jamming his cock up my ass as I loudly squealed. His cock was really thick, but not as long as Fred’s. Turning my head to look at Lindsey, I saw that she was sobbing as Fred pulverized her asshole.

“Thwap, Thwap, Thwap,” I heard and felt George picking up where Fred left off, spanking my right ass cheek. I was certain it had turned bright red.

“Kiss me, focus on my lips,” I pleaded.

I leaned in towards Lindsey trying to distract her. She leaned forward and our lips locked as I jammed my tongue into her mouth and she responded in kind. Her kiss sent a shiver down my spine and a tingle to my clit. God, I loved the sensations from kissing her; enjoying the softness of her lips.

“Looks like we have two tramps in slave heat here,” laughed Fred as the tingling in my cunt grew.

My clit finally hit the edge of the table just right as I blasted off over the rainbow with my lips locked to Lindsey’s as my sphincter started choking George’s cock and my cunt dripped onto the table.

“High five dude,” yelled Fred, “You just made her cream with your cock up her puckered browneye while spanking her, what a slut.”

I heard a loud “SLAP” as their hands connected.

My orgasm triggered George as he moaned, “Yes, best leather cheerio I’ve fucked this year,” as I felt him dumping ropes of hot jism deep into my colon. When he stopped unloading in my guts, he pulled out.

“Bobby, this is why we use flavored lube,” George advised, as he grabbed my hair pulling me off the table, breaking my lip lock with Lindsey and pushing me to my knees.

“Clean my cock, slave cunt,” he commanded, as he jammed his slimy cock into my mouth. I choked on the mixed taste of peppermint and ass. Once I was over the shock, I quickly sucked him clean, hoping to get his cock out of my mouth.

“With the flavored lube these sluts clean your cock quicker, remember you only have a fifteen minute break,” advised George, panting trying to catch his breath.

“This Butt Pirate is burying his treasure where the sun doesn’t shine after digging deep into this slut’s dookie hole,” announced Fred.

Fred thrust into the squealing Lindsey and held his cock deep within her bowels, depositing a trove of sperm while I finished cleaning George. Fred roughly pulled Lindsey off the table, throwing her to her knees. She was in uncomprehending shock as Fred lined up his dirty cock with her mouth.

“Master, please let me suck your slimy cock clean,” I begged, crawling over to him pushing Lindsey aside knowing that she was too out of it in no condition to obey.

“Who am I to deny a pleasure slut in slave heat the satisfaction of cleaning my cock,” he proclaimed with a chuckle. “This slave cunt is just a self-cleaning breathing fleshlight.”

Smiling, he shoved his filthy cock into my mouth once again with the mixed flavor sensation of peppermint and ass overwhelming my taste buds as Lindsey looked on in relief. I made quick work cleaning his cock hoping to get it out of my mouth.

“Bobby, you need to do some anal carnage in one of these slave’s puckered starfish,” advised George, noticing that Bobby had another woody sticking out of his pants or should I say sapling as he was no match for these real men.

“You have not lived until you have pulverized a squealing slave’s rusty sheriff’s badge,” laughed Fred.

Pulling my mouth off Fred’s spit-polished cock I pleaded, “Master, fuck this slutty whore to another orgasm,” saving Lindsey again.

I knew that after my ass being stretched by Fred and George I would hardly feel Bobby’s thin baby prick. I rose from my knees and leaned over the table, presenting my winking rosebud. I was looking at Lindsey as she continued to cry quietly with a thankful look on her face while I continued to beseech Bobby to fuck my back alley.

“Bobby, take that one, her slave heat is taking over, that pleasure slut needs your prick nailing her puckered brownstar,” laughed George as he nodded in my direction.

Bobby shoved his cock into my already-lubed rosebud and frantically pumped away.

“Her Texas chili bowl is hotter than a cunt,” exclaimed Bobby in wonder as he lost his anal virginity.

Thrusting his Minuteman missile into my asshole, he lasted fewer than sixty seconds before he dumped a fresh batch of cum into my rectum. Acting as a wanton pleasure slut I almost came again as my slave heat burned out of control. Cindy’s prediction had come true yet again with two deposits of baby batter in my ass.

Was I actually disappointed that it was coming to an end? Had I already transitioned to enjoying the sexual depravity I was experiencing as a slave to the extent that I now longed for more, as predicted by Ms. Arbuckle? There is truly something wrong with me now.

If these men had sexually abused Lindsey and me this way as free women society would condemn them to long prison terms or a life of harsh slavery. Their families and society as a whole would disown them. This same sexual conduct done to us as slaves is now somehow acceptable and even celebrated with high fives.

Allison Stevens the free person and who she used to be no longer mattered to society; I was now a slave with no protections. My shocking change in status had occurred over only a few short hours. It gave me a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach to what we had to look forward to for the next five years yet my pussy continued to tingle with arousal.

“These slaves better not be late for shipping,” laughed Fred, as he and George walked out of the break room.

“Give them some water before gagging them in their crates,” ordered George in a serious tone as the door closed behind them.

Bobby started to panic a little, realizing that his break had taken much too long as he stuffed his little prick back in his pants without getting it cleaned. Thank god for minor miracles.

Grabbing a bottle of water, he opened it and held it to Lindsey’s lips. “Quick, drink some water 3933,” he ordered.

After Lindsey chugged half the bottle he put it to my lips and I quickly finished it washing out some of the bitter peppermint ass taste. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.

“Time to get you into your crates for shipping so you can cool down,” Bobby said.

Quickly he pulled us together, attaching my leash to Lindsey’s collar and leading us out of the break room. On the way to the shipping bay he allowed us to take another pee over another grate in the floor, squatting together with my tits in Lindsey’s back and my head on her shoulder with cum leaking out of my ass. I definitely felt a closeness to Lindsey that I did not fully comprehend as my cunt continued to uncontrollably tingle while my slave heat continued to smolder unrestrained.

We arrived in the shipping bay, which was bustling with activity, full of cages stacked on top of each other occupied by handcuffed and gagged women. Bobby had me kneel in front of a cage and efficiently placed another bite gag in my mouth chuckling, “I saved this one especially for you,” while smiling down at me.

Instantly I recognized the scent and the distinctive taste of Ms. Arbuckle’s pussy and ass. Bobby ordered me to crawl backwards into the cage designed for a medium sized dog and locked me inside. He put Lindsey in the cage next to mine. Then he wheeled us over to an area labeled “Dallas/Fort Worth Transport” and left the two of us side by side. Before leaving he squatted down in front of me.

“I knew the minute you squirted all over that pussy post that you heard the call of the collar and were not walking out of her a free woman. Out there in the free world someone like me would never get a hot piece of pussy pie like you into bed. That’s why I love this job. You have my baby batter swimming in your tummy and ass right now. When I leave today I will walk out of here as a free man wondering what piece of slave pussy I’ll get to sample at work tomorrow. You, on the other hand, will leave here in a few hours as a slave in a cage; branded, collared, cuffed, and a flavored gag in your mouth not knowing what your future holds for you,” taunted Bobby.

“This is a life sentence and you have not figured it out yet. You need to ponder if you can ever be happy being free after your slave heat burns out your free will leaving only your Slave Mind in control after five years as a self-cleaning breathing fleshlight. I have only been working here a few months, but in that time, sluts like you come to the Big D all the time begging to be sold after failing to integrate back into free society. Just last week we had an old, over the hill, all used up, former Prime pleasure slut that was turned away. Security sent her to a glory hole lounge to see if they might give her a new home sucking cock through a hole for food and a place to sleep,” advised a suddenly somber Bobby.

Bobby stood up and walked away whistling proudly to himself leaving me to my thoughts. Here I was, caged, naked, hands secured behind my back, gagged, sand still littering my body and inside my parts, an orange sold cattle tag hanging from my ear, the brand throbbing painfully as cum leaked out of my ass. I still had that lawyer’s taste in my mouth and the smell of peppermint and ass invading my nostrils from the remnants of the “Dirty Santa” smeared under my nose.

Was there any truth to Bobby’s words? My pussy was still wet and tingling. I was both terrified and sexually thrilled beyond belief. What had the Big D Slave Market done to me to bring out my sexual arousal, inflaming my slave heat? My pussy had remained sopping wet since walking through the front door. I was still not sated, mindlessly graving more sex. Yet again, what was wrong with me? How could I enjoy any part of this horror?

This morning I was happy, although very embarrassed, naked with my future mother-in-law helping me take care of my slave grading when my fiancé cancelled at the last minute. We were talking about my coming wedding to Calum, looking at a bright future. Who was Allison Stevens now?

This had felt as if I was in a surreal erotic bad dream, which I would eventually wake up from, right up until the moment I was branded. That attorney and the Big D staff showed me what it was like to be an unthinking pleasure slut. I had been sold, like an object, a car or a horse, on the auction block.

This was real! The branding drove it home; I was just a piece of property being permanently marked, as one would put their initials in a shirt or a pair of shoes. The person that owned me decided to brand me like they would treat a possession or thing, not a person to be cherished. I had no idea who bought me or how they were going to use me as I started silently crying.

I looked over at Lindsey wondering what her story was and if she was having some of the same thoughts as I. She appeared deep in thought, tears running down her cheeks. Sensing me staring at her she turned towards me. I felt fear, confusion and despair emanating from her. As we looked deeply into each other’s eyes I saw understanding, gratitude and camaraderie as I hoped this was not the last time I would see her. We nodded and returned to our own deep thoughts.

Was I becoming a brainless pleasure slut, a slave that lived to please her master, to do all of the things that the master wants that I would never have considered before? In less than a day, my sexuality had transformed from a conservative private free woman to a perpetually horny slave. I was quickly aroused after getting naked when Amelia ran the riding crop over my body describing how hot I was.

It all took off when I squirted on the pussy post with Amelia. I was horny after the attorney used me; I was so aroused on the auction block when I had the most intense climax of my life. The three greatest orgasms of my existence occurred as a slave today and not during the previous three years with Calum. How was this possible? What was wrong with me?

Amelia had looked into my soul and told me I was a submissive, pointing out that my best sex was when I played the little slave girl for Calum. She was right about the sex, but was I really a submissive who needed a master to treat me as the pleasure slut I had become? I must be tired; I had not just perceived myself as becoming a pleasure slut but had instead mentally concluded that I was a pleasure slut. I fell asleep emotionally and physically exhausted, bound on my knees in a cage like an animal pondering that thought.

The jostling of my cage woke me from my slumber and I groggily looked around. Lindsey was gone. A slave handler was loading my cage onto a trolley. He then pulled me to a delivery van and pushed me into the back, which contained three other cages with three other gagged and handcuffed slave girls. It looked like early evening outside when he slammed the van doors closed leaving us in the dark and we were off.

The van made two stops en route to my final destination, each time unloading an occupied cage and then returning the cage without its former occupant. For the entire trip it felt as if I had my face in the ass of the girl in front of me or more precisely, the odors of the girl’s ass to my front. I could smell her arousal knowing that I was not the only one suffering from slave heat.

My thoughts ranged over a number of topics. What had happened to Lindsey? She had been moved while I was sleeping and I wondered if I would ever see her again.

My more immediate concern was what happened to Amelia? My future father-in-law Glen Bedford was the principal owner of Bedford Holdings, the largest real estate developer in the state of Texas. Something was terribly wrong; Amelia obviously did not know I was being sold as she could easily purchase me with a flick of her wrist on her credit card. Had she exited the spa late only to find me sold or something worse, had she been in a car accident and was lying in a hospital? Would Calum ever be able to find me once I was sold? And, why was my cunt all tingly and dripping wet?

Then the van stopped. I could hear a gate opening, the van pulled forward, then backed up, stopped, the doors opened and my cage was slid down a ramp and pulled aside. The other occupied cage was pulled out and positioned next to mine. I turned towards the cage and saw Lindsey looking back at me with a relieved look in her eyes.

I had read about how female slaves revert to a sisterhood of shared experiences commonly referring to each other as “sister”. We looked at each other in surprise and then relief as we both shed tears of happiness and smiles hidden under our slave grins. I now understood what that author had tried to describe.

Lindsey and I had shared winks at the pussy post, a hug, a touch on my thigh, hands holding each other, my few words in the chute, a blow job with Bobby, a kiss while being sodomized side by side bent over a table and I knew deep in my heart that she was my sister, and would be for the rest of my life. Our common experience transitioning from free women to slaves only reinforced that feeling, and now I felt that somehow having her here with me would help both of us make the transition to our new lives as slaves.

Two women appeared: a tall, fit black woman wearing khaki pants, boots, and a burgundy polo shirt with the Broadstone logo and the word “Security” underneath and a nametag identifying her as Lt. Mable Jones, and another large healthy woman similarly dressed. They and the driver loaded our cages onto trolleys, pulled us into a large garage or delivery port, and closed the doors.

“You are at the Broadstone Etiquette Academy in Dallas, Texas. Your new owner enrolled you at Broadstone for training as a Consort Companion. During the time you are here, you will be treated as a slave Consort Companion Trainee. I am required by law to tell you that the slave collar you will be fitted with can deliver a powerful and extremely painful electric shock if you attempt to leave this property without permission. Additionally, all Broadstone employees are authorized to use any means deemed necessary to compel you to comply with all orders given to you, and those means include electrical shock and whipping. If you follow my instructions, you will not be hurt. Do you understand?" announced Lt Jones, to which we both nodded in the affirmative.

Security Officer (SO) Robin Hays opened Lindsey’s cage and directed her to crawl out onto a foam pad located to the front of the cage. Lindsey squirmed out of the cage and crawled forward until she was kneeling on the pad. SO Hays read Lindsey’s SIN out loud while Lt Jones confirmed the number on her iPad and the shipping paperwork. Next, the sold cattle tag was removed and handed to Lt. Jones going with the paperwork. SO Hays then removed the collar Lindsey was wearing upon arrival and replaced it with a light-weight black collar that had the number “28” emblazoned on the front in red. Hays also removed the handcuffs and bit gag, returning all three items to the driver. While Hays worked Lt Jones spoke.

“You in the cage listen up, I do not want to repeat myself. You are each being fitted with a Broadstone slave collar. It has a GPS device in it so that we can track you on and off campus. It can also deliver different levels of electrical shock from low-level pain to rendering you unconscious. The number on your collar identifies you as a Consort Trainee,” said Jones

While Jones spoke Hays had quickly opened my cage, motioned me to the foam pad next to Lindsey, replacing my collar with a Broadstone collar with the number “27” on it, and then removed my cattle tag, gag and handcuffs.

Pointing at Lindsey, Jones directed, “You will be addressed as Consort Trainee Twenty-eight, Trainee Twenty-eight or just Twenty-eight. You will address my security staff by their rank and last name and me as Lieutenant Jones. This is Security Officer Hays. The other free staff will be addressed as Mistress or Master. The Headmistress is Caroline Spalding and you will address her as Headmistress or Headmistress Spalding. Do you understand, Twenty-seven?” Lt. Jones asked, looking at me.

“Yes, Lt. Jones,” I responded.

“And you Twenty-eight?” she directed to Lindsey

“Yes, Lt. Jones,” Lindsey replied.

SO Hays read off my SIN to Lt. Jones and handed the collar, gag and cuffs to the driver who took them and the cages and left.

“If you need to use the facilities go there,” instructed Lt. Jones pointing to a corner in the garage with an open toilet and sink. “You will wipe each other clean and wash each other’s hands together; this is an exercise in teamwork. You have five minutes, move!”

We ran to the toilet with Lindsey going first. As we washed our hands, Lindsey washed off my Dirty Santa, freeing me from the peppermint/ass odor combination that had plagued me since leaving the break room at the Big D. We returned to our mats blushing in embarrassment finding a bottle of water sitting in front of each mat.

Seated in a chair two yards in front of us was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties who was fashionably dressed in three-inch heels, dark grey skirt, white blouse, a pearl necklace and her blonde hair pulled back in a bun.

“I am Assistant Headmistress Deanna Johnson; refer to me as Mistress Johnson. Your owners have sent you to Broadstone to become Consort Companions to a master with the goal of being mates for life. In well over ninety percent of our unions the slave consort marries her master or voluntarily renews her indenture, maintaining some aspect of the master consort dynamic. The vast majority of our couples procreate, raise their children and live happily as a family unit. There are numerous couples that evolve into a more traditional marital relationship as many of our consorts are not submissive. The master-consort relationship that we put you into is significantly different from the typical master-slave dynamic. Our goal is to foster a healthy relationship built on trust, empathy and compassion where the master and consort are in love with each other, often in a dominant/submissive understanding before the end of the indenture. Look at it as an arranged marriage with a slavery component,” she explained.

“You may ask me a few questions when I am done. Our finishing school covers a wide variety of topics including the sexual arts, the art of conversation, how to cook healthy quality meals or gourmet meals, how to use a sand wedge in a bunker, pairing wine with a meal, how to deepthroat a large cock, how to organize a formal cocktail party, exercise and fitness, how to enjoy getting fucked in the ass, training in musical instruments, dungeon play, mindfulness, how to be a Ponygirl and effective discipline,” she continued.

“We expect all of our consorts to complete their college education as our consorts are educated intelligent women. So for you, Twenty-eight, we will work with you to enroll you in some classes while here to keep you moving towards your degree. We train you to pleasure your master in the bedroom and make him proud to have you on his arm at business and social events and to raise his children,” Mistress Johnson enlightened, pausing for emphasis.

“Do either of you know what Slave Mind is?” asked Mistress Johnson.

“Mistress, Slave Mind is a mental state that some slaves achieve where they become inherently obedient and submissive,” answered Lindsey.

“You have part of it Twenty-eight. Prime slaves such as yourselves with a five-year indenture typically attend obedience school for four to eight weeks. These schools use a combination of sexual submission, sexual arousal often referred to as slave heat, along with a pain or pleasure discipline system to burn out your individuality or free self, leaving only your Slave Mind. Obedience and serving their masters becomes second nature for these slaves giving them pleasure. It is much like Stockholm syndrome, but in a slavery context where the slave identifies and attaches, or bonds, positively with the master. But this is only the first step in a pleasure slut’s training. Why is that?” asked Mistress Johnson.

“Mistress, I do not understand, once sexually serving your master becomes a natural reflex you are a trained pleasure slut,” I answered.

“No, being willing to sexually serve does not mean you are any good at it, Mistress” responded Lindsey, leaving me feeling inadequate.

“You are spot on Twenty-eight. Specialization comes next with slaves learning the sexual arts at schools such as the Venus Academy or Pearson Pussy Ranch. Some owners opt for alternatives such as the Lone Oak Equestrian Academy where slaves are trained as Ponygirl pleasure sluts. All of these schools refine their student’s Slave Minds further eliminating any remaining uniqueness. Many graduates of these schools never fully recover their individuality upon manumission, instead …” continued Mistress Johnson, until interrupted by Lindsey.

“Dr. Nicola Sheldon included two chapters on Slave Mind in the book she co-authored, “Psychological Impact of Slavery”. I remember there was one whole chapter devoted to examining courses of treatment for former slaves suffering from Slave Mind,” blurted out a now visibly worried Lindsey.

“Let me be very clear here, you are slaves, you will be obedient and we are training you to submit to your masters as needed. That includes not speaking out of turn or interrupting your betters. Do you understand Twenty-eight?” asked Mistress Johnson, while coldly staring at Lindsey.

“Mistress, please excuse my outburst,” meekly asked Lindsey.

Now I was getting scared, feeling suddenly nauseous. At times at the Big D the sexual exhilaration of that place seemed to overwhelm me, especially when chasing orgasms, I felt like I was being possessed by another person. Was I succumbing to Slave Mind on my very first day of slavery?

“Your apology is accepted. Here at Broadstone we do not use Slave Mind, instead preferring that our slaves retain their individuality, your personal uniqueness that makes each of you who you are. Here we have a slave psychiatrist on retainer along with our resident doctor to assist our students with a healthy transition from free women to slaves. We do teach a set of specialized skills to include the sexual arts that build upon and complement your distinctiveness,” explained Mistress Johnson. “Do you have a comment or question Twenty-eight?”

“Thank god for that, reading about Slave Mind really spooked me in school, Mistress” exclaimed a visibly relieved Lindsey.

“The two of you probably had dreams of your futures. Personal and career goals that you hoped to achieve in your lives. All of those dreams are over now that you are slaves. You have to accept this new reality, adapting by creating new dreams that fit within the construct of our program. If you opt out of our program, you may be able to pick up on your dreams and goals in five years when you are once again free women if you survive your slavery with your faculties intact. Do you understand?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress Johnson,” Lindsey and I responded.

“Mistress, may this lowly slave ask a question?” I asked.

“Here at Broadstone we cherish your unique individuality. We do not use slave speech as it is a tool used to reinforce Slave Mind. Do not use it again, you will be punished if you do. Both of you consider yourselves warned,” responded Mistress Johnson. “What is your question Twenty-seven?”

“This morning while on display I overheard a Broadstone graduate state that this school saved her life making her a stronger, more confident woman. Later she kindly told me that if I had the opportunity to attend this school that I should take it and join an elite sisterhood that took care of its own. I am confused about how a school for slaves makes them stronger and more confident. How do slaves take care of their own?” I asked.

“You received some good advice and those are good questions. Our graduates become the wives of many of the wealthy and elite in society. Many go on to successful professional positions in business, government and academia as well. Broadstone graduates are loyal to each other creating incredible networking opportunities. Remember, Broadstone is an opportunity that you have to embrace due to the permanence of the consort arrangement. You need to make new visions for your future that fit within this construct in order to take advantage of this extraordinary opportunity,” she explained.

“Mistress, your answer implies that we have a choice? How do slaves get to choose their destiny?” asked Lindsey.

“We have had a few slaves that have fought the permanence of the relationship we foster here so now you have to voluntarily agree to participate in this program. You will be disposed of if you do not agree. We either find you a good master or send you back to the Big D for sale. Your owner outbid other individuals today that were going to use you as mindless sex toys or worse. You will be processed and given a one month orientation on our program so that you fully understand what is expected of you as a consort. We believe that although the program sells itself many young women are not a good fit for permanent matching. They often opt out of our program. We want you to make an informed decision as you will likely be expected to extend your period of enslavement for two to three years when you opt into the Broadstone consort program. Do you understand that you will have the choice to stay or leave?” asked Mistress Johnson.

“Yes, Mistress Johnson,” Lindsey and I responded.

“Broadstone regularly turns away young women who come to us who do not meet our standards, knowing their indenture is inevitable, seeking voluntary indenture as a consort. These women beg us to take them into our program because the life of a consort is significantly safer than the uncertainty of the auction block. It is a privilege to be here with the opportunity to join an elite sisterhood,” expounded Mistress Johnson.

Mistress Johnson reminded me of Natasha’s advice that if given the opportunity to become part of an exclusive sisterhood at Broadstone I should do so. More specifically, that the training Natasha received shaped her into a stronger, more confident woman. It dawned upon me what a privilege for slaves in our position it was to be allowed, even encouraged, to retain our individuality, our personal uniqueness that makes each of us who we are. There was also a personal cost as we would be expected to extend our slavery. How would this actually work I wondered?

“The two of you will be paired together for the entire month and likely for the full program. You will sleep together, bathe and groom each other, and even diddle each other when horny for the entire time you are here. You are forbidden to masturbate. For the first week or two you will feed each other, brush each other’s teeth, and wipe each other after going to the bathroom. Do you understand what is required of you?” asked Mistress Johnson.

“Yes, Mistress Johnson,” Lindsey and I both responded.

“While a slave here at Broadstone we own your orgasms and decide when and how many you may have. In fact you are each required to have a minimum of three orgasms before going to sleep each night so you will be forced to intimately take care of each other’s needs. You will be disciplined for any violation. Do you understand my instructions?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress Johnson,” Lindsey and I answered.

“You must be thirsty; there is some water, drink up,” pointing to the water bottles in front of us. What are your questions?”

Lindsey quickly opened the water and took a long drink as I exclaimed, “Lindsey, no!” She looked at me with the bottle on her lips realizing what she had just done. I put my hand over my mouth realizing my error. Lindsey was no longer “Lindsey”, she was now “28” and I called by her given name, not by her consort number as directed. I suspected that this was a planned trap that we were not the first, nor would we be the last, to fall into.

“This will be a lesson for both of you when paired as you are now. When one of you breaks a rule both of you will be punished,” she said as she rose to her feet taking a riding crop from Lt. Jones as she walked behind us.

“Foreheads on the ground, asses up and spread your legs,” she ordered.

She rubbed the riding crop on my still very wet pussy, eliciting a moan and getting the same reaction from Lindsey. My slave heat was still smoldering, keeping my pussy a sopping wet mess for the last twelve hours.

“I am going to give each of you the same five swats with the riding crop for each violation and then you will use both hands and your mouths simultaneously to give each other one orgasm,” she ordered.

While we were in position, I heard her move behind Lindsey followed by ten swats with the last two eliciting high-pitched yelps. Then she was behind me and hit both cheeks hard while avoiding my new brand for the first eight swats followed quickly by two forceful blows, the first right on my sore rosebud and the second on my pussy eliciting two high pitched squeals.

Next thing I knew Lindsey was grabbing me, bringing her soft lips to mine and kissing me, her tongue invading my mouth, holding my head with her left hand as she attacked my wet cunt with her right hand. I quickly mimicked her actions locating a dripping wet pussy and we both exploded onto each other’s fingers, cumming fast and hard.

Our passion surprised me, although in hindsight it shouldn’t have. We picked ourselves up, returned to our mats, caught our breath and gave each other a drink of water.

“Why do you think we have these requirements? What purpose do they serve?” asked Mistress Johnson.

“Mistress, to learn how to serve a future master?” I proposed.

“So we quickly lose a lot of our inhibitions, Mistress,” suggested Lindsey.

“So that the two of us bond together into a partnership or support system for each other, Mistress,” I offered.

“The two of you are on the right track. Think about it over the first week and we can revisit this topic in the future. I look forward to getting to know the two of you much better during your stay with us,” advised Mistress Johnson with a tender smile.

“If you do not have any more questions I will take you to the slave dorms where you will be turned over to the care of your dorm mother, Mistress Kara. In the communal showers there, you will clean each other and then pass inspection. Broadstone grooming standards will be in effect, all hair is removed below the neck. Mistress Kara will inspect you and if you have one speck of sand left in your hair, on your body or a hair where it does not belong you will both be disciplined until you get it right,” she instructed.

“Once the two of you have passed inspection, Mistress Kara will give each of you a small anal plug to put into each other’s asses where they will remain until directed to remove them. Then Mistress Kara will see that you are fed and then to bed after using the facilities. You will share a small futon pad and be chained to the wall using a five-foot chain attached to your collars. Remember, two more orgasms before sleep. Let’s go,” she said standing up and walking towards the door as we rose to follow her.

The sign over the doorway read, “Tears of Anguish and Joy” and in smaller letters right below, “Await You Within”.

“Mistress Johnson that sign over the door I’ve heard that phrase before,” I said.

Then it dawned on me, Amelia had said, “The two of us will shed tears of anguish and joy together between now and your wedding. I want you to know that no matter what struggles you have, and there are always challenges getting through a wedding, I really truly love you.” I had the sudden passing thought; did Amelia have something to do with my enslavement? I quickly set aside that notion, as I was sure she was right now frantically trying to find out what had happened to me.

“’Tears of anguish and joy’ is the school motto. It is what the elite sisterhood you are joining is all about here at the Broadstone. Come, slave Consort Companion trainees, let’s get you cleaned up, fed and settled in,” replied Mistress Johnson with a kind smile, as she stepped through the door leading us forward into our new life.

(To be continued.)