Allison's Descent into Slavery Part Seven 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.

The lights flashed on, startling me awake to shouts from girls to get up and get moving. I was in my happy place, snuggled close to Lindsey, lying on my right side with my back to her, her arms holding me with her face nuzzling my neck and our legs entangled. The chain attached to my collar released. I rolled over and gave her a quick hug, kissed her on the cheek, whispering, “Together forever,” as we briefly held each other during the lull before the storm.

“Quick, I need to go pee bad,” Lindsey advised urgently, jumping to her feet and pulling me to mine.

We rushed to the bathroom to wait in line for a toilet, quickly peeing and wiping each other, which was both awkward and slowed the process. After washing each other’s hands, we grabbed scrunchies, putting our hair into ponytails as we rushed into the dance studio next door. We located our training bras hanging on the wall and our numbers on the floor.

While donning my bra I saw the girls were in the slave kneel position on their numbers; knees wide apart, back straight pushing out their tits with their hands resting, palms up, on their thighs looking forward. Lindsey and I quickly assumed the correct position.

Mistress Kara was in front of the class again, dressed like a BDSM dominatrix from hell wielding a riding crop. She definitely had her look down. The lights blinked indicating it was 6:10 am. Three girls who were not in position froze.

“You three get up here in front of the class,” as the girls rushed to comply. “Face the class in the Present position,” ordered Mistress Kara. I recognized Twenty-five as one of the late slaves. Once the girls were in position Mistress Kara efficiently administered five welt-making swats to each of their behinds. “You will be here on time every single morning. There is no excuse for being late,” berated Mistress Kara as she administered the lashes.

“Turn around,” she directed. The three slaves turned around facing Mistress Kara displaying their reddened behinds to us. “I do not want to see you late for slave yoga again, am I clear?” demanded Mistress Kara.

“Mistress Kara, thank you for educating us on the error of our ways,” replied the three red faced girls as they stood facing the dominatrix. They hurried to their numbers in the studio, quickly taking the slave kneel position.

Mistress Kara’s morning and afternoon classes were not only exercise, but also made her trainees more graceful, agile, centered, and compliant while igniting their slave heat. Pleasure sluts performing slave yoga are often touching themselves to climax as they practice their moves. She took this practice one-step further, mandating that each of her trainees’ climax at least once and no more than three times during each of her slave yoga sessions. This practice further sexualized the slaves with the goal of keeping them in a constant state of arousal.

“All of you sluts crave orgasms diddling your cunts as you dream of serving a master. You imagine the taste of his cock in your mouth and feel the ridges of his hard prick penetrating your hot cunts as you live your slavery. If I didn’t limit your climaxes some of you would just lie there in a puddle all day, creaming on your fingers as you fantasized fucking a master,” taunted Mistress Kara as she looked me in the eye as I panicked.

Why was she looking at me? Was I that obvious? Listening to Mistress Kara I felt my pussy tingle and nipples harden. I started daydreaming about serving Master Calum as my hand moved to my cunt getting my fingers all wet with my juices. I daydreamed about the smell of his body, the sensation of his lips on my neck, the flavor of his cock in my mouth, being pinned to the ground as he penetrated me, his cock …

“Twenty-seven and Twenty-eight, you are authorized to pleasure yourselves during slave yoga. Failure to meet this standard will result in discipline and possible remedial training,” Mistress Kara announced with a “Thwack,” slapping her hand with the crop and snapping me out of my reverie.

Three had told me that Mistress Kara often took under-sexualized trainees to her quarters at night for “remedial training” with the girls returning the next morning with a smile on their faces, hyper-horny and significantly more motivated. I found myself starting to fantasize about remedial training with Mistress Kara. Although I clearly did not need the training, I wondered if there was a way to get extra credit for spending a night with Mistress Kara. What am I thinking?

“Good morning slaves,” said Mistress Kara.

“Good morning Mistress Kara,” we replied.

“What are you?” Demanded Mistress Kara in a loud voice, sounding like a female drill sergeant.

“I am a slave girl, a consort companion,” we answered back.

“What is a consort good for?” boomed Mistress Kara.

“Her master’s pleasure,” we come back with.

“Why do you wear a collar?” thundered Mistress Kara.

“So everyone may know I am a slave,” we replied.

“What do you want more than anything?” demanded Mistress Kara.

“To please my master,” we chanted.

“Why do you exist?” barked Mistress Kara.

“Slavery is my destiny,” we responded.

“Why will you wear a Broadstone brand?” demanded Mistress Kara.

“To show that I am worthy,” we answered.

“What is your dream,” bellowed Mistress Kara.

“To be a consort serving my master,” we chanted.

“Squat,” roared Mistress Kara.

All of the girls quickly moved into the squat position, rubbing their cunts while chanting,
“My cunt is wet for you, Mistress,” remaining in that position until directed to the next slave yoga position. Mistress Kara moved us repeatedly through various positions. During the exercises, she walked amongst us, making spot corrections with her crop.

Lindsey had two corrections and mine was a swat with the crop on my lower back during slave fours.

“Arch your back more. Stick your ass up higher so I can see more of your wet cunt,” Mistress Kara directed.

Mistress Kara ran the riding crop up my wet pussy lips to my asshole while rubbing my juices into my rosebud triggering a climax. Followed by a playful swat on my right buttock, as she walked down the line chuckling to herself. I am such a horny slut now.

Part way through the session, Mistress Kara inserted some traditional body weight exercises such as burpees, squats, jumping jacks and planks before returning to traditional slave yoga positions. By the time she put us back in the slave kneel position I was sweating, out of breath and had creamed three times. I was on the verge of my fourth eruption, trying hard not to cum again. She ran us through the original mantras once more before dismissing us at 7:00 am sharp.

Turning to Lindsey I begged, “I need to cum again, rub me off now.” I grabbed her hand bringing it towards my dripping cunt as the girls around us giggled and laughed at me.

“Stop right there,” bellowed Mistress Kara striding towards us. “Twenty-eight, do you need to cum really badly right now?” she taunted, mimicking the needy tone in my voice.

“No, Mistress,” answered Lindsey, giggling while looking away from me.

“You are dismissed; go get a bowl of slave chow for each of you. Twenty-seven will be along shortly,” directed Mistress Kara.

As Lindsey and the other girls ran off Mistress Kara grabbed me by my hair pulling me to my feet. “So your greedy slave cunt needs to cum again. Let me help you,” she sneered as she pulled my head back and kissed me, driving her tongue into my mouth, pulling my body into her while she vigorously massaged my clit as the earth began to shake, my body stiffened back arched as I moaned into her mouth in orgasmic bliss.

Pulling her mouth away she whispered in my ear, “You are so slave hot, you are making your mistress so proud of you right now.” Hearing those words while she continued massaging my skittle drove me into another eruption of pleasure as I tasted the rainbow. I wondered what was happening to me that just the thought of making her proud sent me over the edge once again.

She released me, stepped to the side and swatted me hard on my right buttock with her hand saying, “Get moving or you will be late. You do want to keep making me proud,” as she turned, smiling, and walked away licking her fingers.

Blushing deeply, I happily scampered off, elated that I had pleased her.

“Your slave grader was right, you do taste good too,” were the last words I heard her say as I ran out of the room. Has everyone here seen my video?

I rushed into the common room where I found Lindsey with two bowls of slave chow on the ground. Dropping to my knees I dove right in, not wanting to make eye contact with her after my encounter with Mistress Kara. Somehow, the slave chow did not taste as bad this morning, possibly because I had worked up an appetite from slave yoga, or maybe it was the endorphin high from those last two climaxes. After we licked each other clean, we scrubbed our bowls and rushed into the bathroom to get washed up.

I decided that Lindsey needed to catch up with me in the shower. After washing her hair, I got to work on her body making sure her nipples were extra clean, and then I moved to her nether region.

“Lindsey, your nipples are calling for more attention,” I whispered in her ear before moving my mouth down to her left breast where I sucked on her nipple while sticking two fingers into her moist cunt, fucking her from behind with my right hand while massaging her clit with my left.

“What are you doing,” she yelped in surprise. “No, not here, you dirty girl. Oh shit, that feels good, fuck!” as she quickly groaned out a squontch the moment I touched her sensitive clit riding the wave into a second explosion right after the first as I continued to diddle her happy button. I held her in my arms kissing her on the neck as she came down to the sound of giggles and laughter in the background.

“You are still two climaxes behind me I believe. I aim to get you caught up,” I whispered in her ear as I giggled, pulling out a razor to do her legs and pussy.

“If we had more time it would be your turn right now, and I can tell you are ready,” responded Lindsey as she went to work getting me clean as my pussy tingled in disappointment.

With ten minutes to spare, we were ready for inspection. Mistress Kara gave both of us a pass.

“The two of you grab your iPads and water bottles, pack them in your carrying cases and wait for me by my desk,” she directed.

While waiting for Mistress Kara we checked our iPads. We had identical schedules and a message from Dr. Allen with a medical survey that she needed us to fill out. Both of us started answering the medical questionnaire.

“Stand,” directed Mistress Kara. “In this position I expect your hands behind your back with the back of your left hand in the palm of your right, back straight, tits out, head up and your eyes on me,” she advised as we got into the right pose with our carrying cases draped over our shoulders.

“As your Dorm Mother I am responsible for the two of you, ensuring that you arrive at all of your classes on time, prepared to learn each and every day. Each morning I will push you through your slave yoga, and ensure that you are properly groomed and fed. I have high standards for each of you and will hold you accountable when you falter. Do you understand?” asked Mistress Kara.

“Yes, Mistress,” we replied.

“My hope is that each of you strives to make me proud of you each and every day you live in my dorm, each day you are a student at Broadstone, each day when you are a consort for your master, a wife for your husband, and a mother for your children. This school develops women of character, helping you find your inner strength so that you can be successful,” she paused, looking intently at us.

“Yes, Mistress,” we answered.

“Many of the staff here are former slaves and graduates of this very program holding a strong conviction about the importance of it in their lives. Each of you will make lasting friendships with the slaves and staff here at Broadstone. Many of them will share very personal information with you about their lives and experiences. You will treat each of them with respect, do you understand?” she indicated in a serious tone.

“Yes, Mistress,” we responded.

“If either of you has a problem, is confused about something, or just needs someone to talk to, I am here for you. If you are hurt or cannot sleep due to nightmares please come find me, and I will find a way to help you. If you need time to cram for a college test let me know and I will work with you so that you can be successful,” she advised in an uncharacteristically gentle voice as she reached out, cupping our cheeks in her hands.

For some reason I leaned my head into her hand as she gently caressed my face. I felt safe and saw compassion as I looked into her eyes. Becoming emotional, I felt my eyes moistening in happiness as I said, “Thank you, Mistress.” The woman that scared, intimidated and sexually aroused me so much also had a loving and empathetic side, caring deeply about me at the same time.

“Twenty-seven, you are a natural submissive and will never find happiness until you learn to live in harmony with your submissive nature. I also see some submissive tendencies in you Twenty-eight but do not believe that you are a true submissive like Twenty-seven. I sent Dr. Allen a note alerting her so that the two of you can explore this area with her or with the slave psychiatrist on retainer with the school,” she advised with a perceptive smile.

Just yesterday, Amelia had told me, “I see a submissive hidden within you that needs to break free,” as she peered into my soul. I now looked forward to my meeting with Dr. Allen this morning.

“Ok, let’s get the two of you to the Headmistress’s office on time. Follow me,” she said, the gruffness returning to her voice as she transitioned back into the dominatrix dorm mother with which we were familiar.

We followed her to the Headmistress’s office where she knocked on the door.

“Come in,” replied a strong feminine voice.

Mistress Kara opened the door and we followed her inside the office. Headmistress Caroline Spalding, a petite dark-haired woman, sat behind her desk. She stood and walked around to the front of her desk as we entered. She was barefoot, dressed in a long flowing white robe with leather slave cuffs around her wrists and ankles.

“Good morning ladies, I address all our students as ladies as that is what you will become when you graduate. Please go and stand on those two slave mats,” pointing at a space in the sunlight in front of a large window. There were three mats, positioned two side by side facing the third.

“Thank you, Mistress Kara, I would like to meet with these two alone,” advised the Headmistress. She picked up a slave collar from her desk, donning it as Mistress Kara exited and closed the door behind her. She then dropped her robe displaying her body.

Both Lindsey and I gasped. She was naked save for her slave collar and slave cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Her nipples pierced, with gold nipple shields and delicate gold chains, one hanging between her nipples and others connecting each nipple to a belly button hoop. There was a matching gold chain that went down from her belly hoop to a piercing on her right outer labia. Hanging from the outer labia piercing was a gold dangle with writing on it. There was also additional matching gold jewelry in piercings on her clitoral hood.

Headmistress Spalding chuckled at our reaction. “I was decked out like this when I submitted for my graduation branding,” she advised, turning to show us her ass with a brand on each buttock. On the right cheek was a tasteful “B”, another brand that I did not recognize on the left cheek, and what looked like a smaller brand on the inside of her left buttock.

“The Broadstone brand is the “B” on my right cheek and my husband’s family brand is on my left. My future mother-in-law personally burned her family brand into me after I voluntarily lay onto the branding bench,” she indicated, turning back to face us with a kind smile on her face.

“What is the brand on the inside of your left cheek, Headmistress?” asked Lindsey.

“That is the family brand of the woman that sponsored me here at Broadstone,” she answered.

“Please kneel on your mats,” she directed as she gracefully kneeled facing us with her knees lightly touching ours.

“I want to talk to you about Broadstone so you have a better understanding of why you are here,” as she patted us gently on our shoulders.

“The Broadstone Etiquette Academy is tax-exempt as a social welfare organization described in Internal Revenue Code (IRC) section 501(c) (4), as an organization not organized for profit that is operated exclusively to promote social welfare. Women with the purpose of providing consorts for eligible masters run the organization. What are your thoughts about Broadstone now?” she asked.

“When I arrived here yesterday I assumed that Broadstone churned out pleasure sluts just like the Venus or the Pearson Pussy Ranch and others. I expected to be trained as a mindless sex toy for a master to be used however he wants. After listening to Mistress Johnson last night I am not sure what to expect,” answered Lindsey.

“Those schools are anywhere from one to four months long. Expect to be with us for about a year. We turn out complete women as mates for a master and future husband,” she replied with an amused twinkle in her eye.

Turning serious she advised, “Do not be mistaken, you are slaves and we will train you in submission and all of the same sexual arts as the Venus Pleasure Academy, which is the premiere slave sex school in the nation. You will submit to your master, sexually pleasuring him with the knowledge learned here.”

“How can women do this to us, turn us into sex slaves, Headmistress” I whined.

“The fate of the majority of the other slaves sold at your auction on Broadway is just plain horrific compared to being here. Most are trained as courtesans in the sexual arts at places like Pearson and Venus and spend years as sex toy sperm receptacles or worse. Once you lose your beauty and youthfulness to that lifestyle, they sell you to a lower-class brothel that makes money by the number of customers you service each day. What do you think you would be like after five years of that treatment?” she asked.

Tearing up I answered, “I do not know, I cannot imagine that right now.”

Driving home the point Headmistress Spalding pointed out, “The man in the audience with the large hound at your auction uses girls for his ‘Fox Hunts,’ where naked slave girls with foxtails jammed up their asses are set loose on his estate and chased down by men on horseback using hounds. The hounds often get a “bite” when they catch the slave fox. Occasionally, the hounds maul these girls, putting the women in a Vet ER. The girls that survive capture are ravished by the men and then left as bitches for the hounds’ to play with as the men watch in amusement.”

“He was bidding on both of you. Twenty-seven, I believe due to your red hair that resembled a fox and you, Twenty-eight, because as an athlete you could give the hounds a good run for their money,” she advised.

She paused for emphasis as I listened, trembling in fear as a tear escaped my eye. The last twenty-four hours had been an emotional roller coaster with this weird combination of fear and arousal. Imagining running through the woods with a foxtail wedged in my ass with a pack of baying hounds chasing me like an animal was terrifying. Oddly, the idea of being ravished by a group of strong men afterwards was making my pussy tingle. What is wrong with me?

“With that in mind your fate here is much more pleasant,” she said, leaning forward and wiping away my tears. “You are safe from that here. Do you feel better now?” she asked.

“Yes, Headmistress,” I said while nodding my head. Lindsey, who was sitting on my left, took my hand, squeezing it. The warmth of her touch was reassuring. I saw that the Headmistress noticed.

“Margaret Broadstone was the driving force behind the creation of this school. Her only living heir was her grandson and she despised the “gold digging floozies” as she described the women that chased after him. With the advent of slavery, she was convinced that she could buy a quality college-educated young woman and train her as his consort and future wife so that both of them could live fulfilling lives. Margaret and a number of like-minded women seeking mates for their sons banded together and created this school on her estate where it is currently located,” advised Headmistress Spalding.

“The first class had twenty slave girls. Sixteen had been purchased due to delinquent student loans. Ten had recently graduated and the other six had at least two years of college. Three were daughters of the founding women that were wild things getting into trouble in school on the road to enslavement. One actually was tricked into voluntary enslavement and her mother bought her,” she continued.

“The twentieth student was also the youngest girl with no college experience. She had entered into a bad business loan right out of high school and was betrayed by her supposed business partner. She had a ten-year indenture for a small sum that she could not pay. Fearing imminent repossession, she negotiated a deal at the Big D where she graded Prime, was sold at auction for three years, a stay in the US clause, with a reserve price that paid off the loan and left her with $20,000 in the bank. So, three months after she turned eighteen and two months after she graduated from high school, she found herself in the Venus Academy for four months of training as a courtesan,” advised Headmistress Spalding.

“The company that owned her specialized in high priced pleasure sluts. She had a wide variety of sexual experiences. These included bachelor party gangbangs, double penetrations, BDSM with whippings and beatings, airtights, and even rented for three weeks to a sadist. This sadist derived great pleasure training raw young girls into ponygirls and then getting rid of them once broken and tamed. His methods were painfully cruel and sexually demeaning as he derived pleasure from breaking the girls physically and mentally. After seven months of this existence she was rented for a week by some parents as a college graduation gift for their son. This is when things became interesting,” explained Headmistress Spalding.

“Let me guess, he fell in love with her due to her sexual charms and rescued her from her fate,” commented Lindsey with some sarcasm.

“Twenty-eight, when you interrupted me; you did mean to address me by my proper title, did you not?” asked the Headmistress while staring intently at Lindsey.

“My apologies Headmistress Spalding,” responded Lindsey.

“Your apology is accepted. Do not make the same mistake twice. Also, I was not amused by the hint of sarcasm in your question. Would you like to try again with your inquiry?” asked the Headmistress, frowning.

“Yes, Headmistress,” replied the flustered Lindsey.

“Proceed,” directed Headmistress Spalding, staring intently at Lindsey.

“Did he fall in love with her due to her sexual skills and rescue her from her current predicament?” asked Lindsey, using a very respectful tone.

“Not exactly, although he did convince his parents to buy her but it was not for the sex as you would think,” noted Headmistress Spalding with a smile.

“Then what was it, why did he buy her, Headmistress?” I asked, now curious for the answer.

“He was a handsome, personable young man and she fell for him. He was the first master that treated her as a woman, not a sex object. He actually talked to her about his dreams for the future and learned about her hopes: and how she became enslaved. He even took off her collar, dressed her and took her out to restaurants at night as if they were on a date,” she explained.

“On the fourth day, he made some off-hand comment about how lucky she was to be a slave living this great lifestyle that she clearly enjoyed and that hurt her. She ran sobbing into the bedroom and he followed. He held her in his arms as she described in great detail the horrors of her existence and how he was the first person in almost a year to treat her with kindness as a real person and not an object to be possessed and used. His heart broke for her as he held her in his arms and at his request his parents purchased her,” informed the Headmistress.

“His family were wealthy pillars of Dallas society. When his mother heard the request, she was naturally horrified, initially refusing. Eventually she drove down and met with them. The young woman impressed her. The mother made a deal with them: the girl extended her enslavement by three years, she would participate in Margaret Broadstone’s new training program and finally she would attend college and obtain a degree,” she continued.

“Margaret convinced this group of women that poise and good deportment could be cultivated. They developed the curriculum that included everything a Venus graduate would know along with cooking classes, how to dress, walk and talk like a lady. Instruction included how to host a dinner party or cocktail party; raise children along with a number of other interests. Interestingly, golf became a central part of the training as it remains today with Margaret negotiating with the Dallas Country Club the use of the facilities for these girls when the club was closed to members every Monday,” continued Headmistress Spalding. “We even have two par three holes and a putting green on campus now.”

“Most importantly they nurtured these young women to be truly and actually poised, possessing deep within themselves an unshakable sense of certainty and self-confidence,” she advised.

“This young slave became the school’s first number Twenty and went on to graduate from college and eventually obtained an MBA. She married her master and they have four adult children and most importantly are still madly in love with each other,” said Headmistress Spalding with a warm smile.

“She became an ardent supporter of Broadstone after the horrors of her initial slavery often sharing the dreadfulness of that first year. She educated both the women running the school and the other slaves going through the curriculum on how much it changed her life for the better. She has been an active supporter of this program ever since and has regularly stated that all of the women in her family, daughters and daughter-in-laws should go through this school as it builds character,” continued the Headmistress.

“The vast majority of our graduates marry their masters and live very fulfilling lives. I myself was repo’d for outstanding student loans, sold at auction, terrified not knowing what would happen to me, and shipped here bound and gagged in a small cage like you. My master became my husband and we are still married today with three children. Even today as a free woman, I submit to him much as I did as his consort and it works for us. On date nights when the kids are at his parents' house for the night I will sometimes greet him at the door dressed as you see me now. Need I say our sex lives are as active and passionate as when I first submitted to him nineteen years ago?” she sighed with a grin, pausing briefly to allow us to absorb her story.

“So, how do you think the master consort relationship works?” she asked us.

“I imagine that it would work like most any other master slave relationships. The slave mantras we recited this morning indicated that as a slave I exist to serve or pleasure my master.” I responded.

“Simply put, it is a one sided relationship where the slave gives and the master takes. The master wants a blowjob and the slave provides it. The master wants the slave’s asshole and the slave submits for the master’s enjoyment even if it is painful for the slave,” responded Lindsey. “There is no reciprocity in the relationship, Headmistress.”

“Then why do the vast majority of us agree to marry our masters and stay with them when our indentures are up?” she asked with a gentle smile. “To put it more succinctly, why have I stayed with my husband for nineteen years?”

“The masters must have some leverage over you and the other slaves,” I responded.

“Otherwise it does not make sense unless they have brainwashed you or something like that to keep control,” added Lindsey.

“When I say a person is submissive, what is your first reaction?” inquired the Headmistress.

“Weak, inferior, lazy, meek, and unintelligent are terms that come to mind,” replied Lindsey abruptly.

“Those are common misperceptions. Let me ask the two of you some questions and keep track of the answers in your head as I do not want you influencing each other.”

“When given a task by your coach or dance instructor, did you strive hard to accomplish that task?”

“Do you feel a sense of accomplishment when you successfully complete the task making your coach or instructor proud of you?”

“Are you keenly aware of what others need and feel a sense of accomplishment helping them?”

“Do you sometimes feel oddly out of place and ‘different’ from other people as though something might be wrong with you?”

“Do you feel most comfortable when you know your purpose or goal in any area of life?”

“Do you become anxious coping with everyday life on your own?”

“When given a task or job do you actually care about doing it well to please the person who gave you the task?”

“Do you sometimes feel like you are putting on a mask or role as an adult?”

“Do you find it difficult to resist authority?”

“When you are aware of another’s needs do you ask yourself are they worthy of your service?”

“Did either of you answer no to any of my questions?” she asked, looking deep into our eyes with a twinkle in hers.

“All my answers were yes,” I said softly.

“I had a couple of no answers,” advised Lindsey.

“Twenty-seven, that is because you have the submissive personality trait which is a good thing when you identify it and come to an understanding with your submissive needs,” explained Headmistress. Twenty-eight, you have many submissive traits but are not a true submissive.”

“Twenty-eight, was Twenty-seven weak when she pushed you aside in the break room and cleaned the cock of the wrangler that just came in your ass?” asked the Headmistress.

“No, anything but,” answered Lindsey, blushing.

“Do you know why she did it?” inquired Headmistress Spalding.

“No, I thanked her but never asked why,” answered Lindsey, with a confused look on her face.

“I have seen the video with audio of the incident. Twenty-seven acted because she deemed you worthy of her help and acted without thinking of herself. This is the rationale of a true submissive and one of their strengths,” explained the Headmistress.

“Am I meek, lazy and stupid? Are either of you?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” answered Lindsey.

“Then how does this work, Headmistress?” I asked, now very much intrigued.

“I am a submissive and yet contrary to your earlier misperceptions I am an intelligent and successful woman who runs this school because I understand my submissive nature. I am in a healthy relationship with a husband who understands and meets my needs as I strive to meet his,” said the Headmistress.

“The question ‘are you worthy of my service?’ is the key. During my enslavement to my master he proved himself worthy of my devotion and I chose to stay with him for that reason as a free woman,” she explained with a perceptive smile. “Simply put, I fell in love with him.”

“How does a master prove himself worthy of your love, Headmistress?” asked Lindsey.

“A true submissive slave trusts and desires the dominant master to run some aspects of her life and make certain decisions. The good master on the other hand understands the needs of his slave and endeavors to meet these needs to keep the slave happy and fulfilled. In return the slave serves the master always striving to make him proud of her whether it is during sex, how she carries herself in a social situation, her professional life or how she raises his children,” she explained.

“This is something that the masters are taught if they want a lasting relationship with their consorts regardless of whether the consort is a submissive. It is one key to making the consort to marriage process work. A traditional master who just takes from the slave offering nothing in return but abuse will not be successful convincing his consort to marry. We attempt to weed out or educate those individuals in our screening process. At Broadstone we teach this philosophy to our students, especially the naturally submissive with whom this dynamic works best,” she continued.

“Twenty-seven, I believe that you are truly a submissive woman like me who needs a more dominant mate who understands your needs to truly be happy in life. For less submissive women like you Twenty-eight, this dynamic is still at work while they are in their consort role but will evolve over time into a trusting relationship with defined roles or at least that is the expectation,” she explained.

“How did you make this work for you, Headmistress?” I asked.

“To this day I strive to make my husband proud. Not just pleasing his physical needs, because that is the easy part, but also making him proud of me in every aspect of my life. He does the same for me. This allows me to feel sensations of accomplishment, trust and the ultimate bond of love. Sexually he pushes me into my submissive subspace which is a nirvana that I hope each of you will one day experience,” she declared with a glowing smile.

“Are you beginning to understand how this works?” she asked.

“I have never thought of the master-slave relationship in that manner. It sounds logical but it is hard to believe,” stated Lindsey.

I was silent, deep in thought for a moment contemplating a relationship like this with Calum where I was his submissive consort. The more I considered the possibilities the more appealing it became. My pussy was beginning to tingle about the sexual promise as I wondered what this sub-space was.

“I understand the appeal,” I moaned blushing, as I looked the Headmistress in the eye while she looked into my being with a knowing look. I felt like she could read me like an open book.

“Do you really? I am having a hard time with competing thoughts. Part of me is telling me this is too good to be true while another part is crying out yes, I want this. But why would I ever want any part of slavery? I do not want to be a slave to any man or woman. However, I am a slave now,” exclaimed Lindsey, sadly. “I need to work through this some more.”

“When you have a specific person in mind as your master it really looks appealing. I have a man that I can visualize in this role. When I picture myself in this type of relationship with him it feels like a good fit,” I explained.

“You will both have plenty of time to think this through over the next thirty days. There is much to learn and many people here that will help guide you to your decision. What we offer is not for everyone and we do not punish those who reject our offer. I am confident that both of you will find this appealing once you fully understand it,” the headmistress answered.

“Do either of you have a hard time picking an appetizer and entrée when eating out? Myself, I keep reading the menu and cannot decide right up to the time when the waiter asks what I want. Do either of you have that problem?” she asked with an insightful smile.

“I do,” I exclaimed.

“I often have that problem,” Lindsey quickly volunteered.

“I no longer have that problem because my husband always orders for both of us, often with me not even looking at the menu. I trust that he will choose wisely for me and he does and it makes the dining experience much more enjoyable for both of us. There is no pressure on me to make a decision; I can focus my attention on him and I adore him for it. He knows my likes and dislikes and strives to make sure I have an enjoyable meal just as he endeavors to make all aspects of my life pleasurable,” she concluded.

“We have a saying here that you can always tell who the Broadstone graduate is in a restaurant because her husband orders her dinner for her,” she chuckled.

“What is this an example of? Put in a different context?” asked the Headmistress, turning serious.

Seeing us hesitate she continued, “Let’s put this within the framework of sex; since sex is the most deeply personal act a woman can engage in.” She paused while looking at Lindsey, then asked, “Twenty-eight, are you uncomfortable talking about sex?”

“Very uncomfortable,” replied Lindsey, blushing. Taking a big breath, she explained, “I am a scholarship soccer player at UT qualifying as an academic all-American last year. Without the scholarship I could not afford college. My time is spent studying while improving my soccer skill set to keep the scholarship.

“Twenty-eight, you used to be a scholarship soccer player studying at UT, but not anymore. Now you are a slave. You need to accept your new reality. You are a slave at Broadstone and you will be allowed to return to school to attain a degree,” advised the Headmistress, making her point as gently and firmly as she could.

Lindsey slumped, looking down at her knees upon hearing those words which took the wind right out of her sails. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze of support. Headmistress Spalding took Lindsey’s face in her hands, turning her face back up looking at the Headmistress.

“Fix your posture,” directed the Headmistress, and Lindsey complied.

“Your self-perception of who you were as the academic all-American soccer player must change. Now you are Lindsey the slave known as Twenty-eight attending Broadstone to become a consort. You need to see yourself in your new life adjusting your goals and dreams to this new reality. Acceptance of your current situation is the first step. The sooner you acknowledge this the easier your transition will be for you. I know, I went through it when I was suddenly enslaved. Please trust me on this,” advised Headmistress Spalding, in a gentle while forceful manner that emphasized understanding. She had been where we are now, and came out of her enslavement with a positive outcome. You could tell that she truly believed in this program.

“I will, thank you Headmistress,” responded Lindsey, becoming more resolute.

“We were talking about your comfort level discussing sex when I interrupted you. What is the extent of your sex life?” inquired the Headmistress.

“I have very little experience having sex. Yesterday I gave more blowjobs than ever before, swallowed cum and had anal for the first time and hated both. I did enjoy the sex with my fellow slaves yesterday which was weird in itself since I had never even contemplated sex with another woman before. I have never really been that interested in dating, not even in high school and my few sexual experiences with men have been very unfulfilling,” responded Lindsey, blushing.

“Thank you for sharing.” Turning to me with a smile she said, “I suspect you have a different story?”

“I was just like Twenty-eight until I met someone almost three years ago. Sex with him is great. My slave yoga instructor gave me some homework assignments which greatly expanded my horizons shall we say,” I replied, blushing a deeper red than Lindsey.

“We will teach you to enjoy sex here, even anal,” said Headmistress Spalding, turning towards Lindsey. “Both of you have much to learn about your own bodies, how you can derive pleasure from different things and how to give pleasure to your partner. Once you understand who you are and what you enjoy you can focus on your partner. All men love it when a beautiful woman orgasms on their cocks. It strokes their egos. Sexually, I submit to my husband even to this day and I thoroughly enjoy it. My husband understands my carnal needs and strives to meet these needs to keep me sexually happy and fulfilled. Before becoming a consort, the idea of anal sex terrified me because I reasoned it could only be painful. Here I learned to enjoy anal sex and often even now beg my master to spank me and then ream his pleasure slut’s ass until she has a slavegasm. Sometimes we …”

While she was talking I reminisced about the times I played little slave girl for Calum and how he reamed my ass until I too had slavegasms. That was some of the best sex ever. I recalled the last time he was pounding me from behind and then flipped me onto my back. Becoming lost in thought as I remembered Calum hooking my legs over his shoulders, leaning forward kissing me deeply as he pounded my ass culminating with my amazing anal slavegasm while I moaned into his mouth, sucking hungrily on his tongue as he filled me with his seed. The room had become quiet.

The Headmistress was silently staring at me with a bemused look on her face. I was flustered. I had become so aroused daydreaming about anal sex with master Calum I had stopped paying attention to her. My pussy was once again a leaking sieve, I smelled my own arousal and I am sure everyone else could. When I glanced over at Lindsey, she had a worried look on her face. What is wrong with me?

“I’m sorry, Headmistress,” I mumbled, blushing once again, trying to gather my wits.

“I think someone was fantasizing about getting her ass reamed,” chuckled the Headmistress, with a knowing look on her face, causing me to blush even more. She smiled, saying, “I can smell your arousal.”

I was horrified and I am sure my reaction was transparent. Lindsey giggled, and once again squeezed my hand in support. We had been holding hands this whole time.

“Twenty-eight, please check Twenty-seven’s slave heat,” directed the Headmistress, upon seeing a confused look on Lindsey’s face she continued, “Check her vagina for arousal by rubbing your fingers in her pussy testing for moisture and then hold up your hand.”

“Oh no, this is going to be embarrassing,” I thought. Looking between Lindsey and the Headmistress. “I’m wet,” I confessed, speaking softly. Headmistress just nodded towards Lindsey to proceed.

Lindsey ran her fingers from her right hand through my labia finding me dripping wet. When she pulled her fingers out of my pussy and held them up they were glistening with my fluids. Headmistress Spalding took Lindsey’s hand, sucking my nectar off of each of her fingers. Clearly savoring the flavor from the delighted expression on her face and the fervor with which she made sure that she captured every drop.

“Someone does taste good,” she said, while looking me in the eye, as I blushed yet again remembering Mandy’s comment during my slave grading.

“Twenty-seven, please check Twenty-eight’s slave heat,” she ordered, with another knowing smile and a nod of her head.

Surprised by the request, I turned towards Lindsey, reaching my left hand between her legs finding a surprisingly sopping wet pussy. I ran three fingers through her labia collecting plenty of moisture. While pulling my fingers away I accidentally brushed her engorged clitoris pushing her into an unexpected frenzy. I was startled by her eruption since my fingers only grazed her clit. Interestingly, Headmistress Spalding just smiled knowingly, saying nothing, until Lindsey had recovered whereupon she pulled my hand to her mouth cleaning my fingers. The tang of wet pussy now permeated the room.

“You also have a delightful flavor,” she said looking intently at Lindsey, who was still blushing a cute color of red. “You are both aroused now. Take some time to ask yourselves how this is possible?”

“Why do the two of you think you are paired together?” asked Headmistress Spalding, suddenly pivoting to a new subject much to my relief. “How do you feel towards each other now?”

“I have had lots of friends that are women, but never felt close to them. I feel an intimacy with Allison that I cannot explain. We bonded at the Big D when we found out we were going to be sold but it likely started at the Pussy Post when she winked at me,” Lindsey giggled at the thought while squeezing my hand, happy to change the topic.

“I first felt a strong bond when we hugged in the chute waiting to go onto the auction block,” I added.

“We grew closer together, going through that process until I hoped the same person would buy us, keeping us together and I did not know my wish had come true until we arrived at Broadstone,” advised Lindsey.

“I knew I was not alone when I saw her here,” I said. “I felt safe if that makes any sense.”

“I cried tears of happiness when I saw her in the cage next to me and I saw the same tears in her eyes and a smile of hope behind her slave grin. It was an emotional moment for both of us with everything that occurred yesterday,” continued Lindsey.

“I felt the same way and after we arrived we just became closer. I love and trust her more than any other friend I have ever made and we have only known each other for a day. I cannot imagine how I could have gotten through everything that has happened to me since arriving here without her,” I gushed, squeezing her hand.

“Even after some of the weird sexual things we have done with each other I feel the same way,” giggled Lindsey.

“Together is our motto. It was the last thing we said to each other last night before falling asleep in each other's arms, and the first thing I said to her this morning.” I explained.

“How would you feel if we broke the two of you up right now? Pairing you with different slaves?” asked the Headmistress.

“No, please don’t do that,” I begged, becoming concerned as Lindsey squeezed my hand,

“Calm down, we are not breaking you up. Let me explain,” said the Headmistress as she smiled meaningfully at us.

“The women running the original training paired two girls together to a mattress, I believe because they did not have enough mattresses. These pairings were responsible to ensure that their partner met all grooming standards and was never late for class. The women discovered that most girls in these pairings bonded, developing a strong friendship that helped them succeed through the training evolving into extremely close friendships that followed them through life,” she explained.

We had access to the video inside the Big D and noticed the connection the two of you developed yesterday. It made sense to build on that relationship so the two of you will be a “Pairing,” that is the term we use here, for the rest of your stay with us. You will become almost inseparable,” she advised.

“Thank you,” we said in unison, smiling in relief and hugging each other in happiness. The Headmistress put her arms around us, joining in the hug until she pulled back.

“You are welcome sisters,” she whispered before leaning back.

“Slave girls often refer to fellow slave girls as sisters. As a point of proper etiquette, here at Broadstone you may hear graduates of our program refer to each other and you as sisters. It is appropriate for you to refer to Broadstone graduates as sister instead of mistress as this title confers more respect and signifies a common shared bond,” she advised.

“This young woman whose story I told you was paired with Lynne Davidson. These two remain close friends. Lynne will be here with her daughter, Barbara, who is also an alumna, at the Saturday reception. I want the two of you to meet with Lynne and Barbara, and have an honest discussion with them about their experience and what has happened to you. In fact, both of their other daughters will be joining us later this summer,” advised the Headmistress.

“A healthy dose of skepticism is ok. Both of you are smart young women. Learn about our program and all that it has to offer. Then make your decision,” counseled the Headmistress.

“What questions or concerns do you have?” she asked.

“Currently I am registered for the fall semester at the University of Texas, Austin. I also have a few small student loans that I will default on if not enrolled in school that have indenture clauses. I do not want to be repo’d five years from now or expelled from UT. How will this be addressed?” asked a worried Lindsey.

“You are meeting with Sara Morales later this morning; she is your career counselor. She will work with UT on your behalf and will coordinate with your owner to purchase any outstanding student loans or other debts and pay them off. Sara will also work with you to sign you up for college courses to keep you moving towards your degree,” advised the Headmistress.

“I was indentured after my junior year for failing to pay my tuition due to a family tragedy. Broadstone made sure I was enrolled in classes while a student here. My new master required that I complete my education. All of our women will be educated college graduates. Many go on to obtain graduate degrees,” she explained.

“My dream is to be a doctor. I know you told me to accept my new reality, but I do not want to give up this goal,” said Lindsey.

“Sister, you may still be able to keep your dream of becoming a doctor. Always remember that dreams and goals change as we get older and as our circumstances change,” smiled the Headmistress as she leaned forward gently caressing the side of Lindsey’s face.

Turning to me she said, “You have a worried look on your face. What is troubling you, Twenty-seven?” she asked.

“Calum is my fiancé who I love and want to spend the rest of my life with,” I said as I became emotional. “And you are telling me that I will be given to another man who will be my master whom I will be expected to marry and start a family with. How can I even conceive of that when just yesterday morning I was wearing Calum’s engagement ring?” I sobbed.

I looked at the Headmistress with tears streaming down my cheeks as the dam burst. Lindsey leaned over and put her arm around me and I leaned into her resting my head on her shoulder. The Headmistress initially had a surprised look on her face and now appeared deep in thought for what seemed like an eternity.

“I am not aware of a situation like this ever happening before where one of our candidates was engaged to be married and then enrolled here with the expectation that the candidate would break off an engagement,” she responded with a concerned look on her face.

“I am not even sure if he will take me back after seeing the video of what I did in the breakroom. That video makes me look like a total whore,” I whispered, as the tears returned.

The realization of the magnitude of my behavior since Amelia walked me into the Big D pierced my heart as I felt overwhelmed with dread. I had climaxed with the wrangler’s cock in my ass, shoved Lindsey aside cleaning off the other wrangler’s cock with my mouth and begged Bobby to fuck my ass. This was on top of everything else. What had I done?

“If he truly loves you none of that will matter. You were a slave who had no choice. When I watched that video I saw a young woman with the courage to help a sister slave through a very difficult situation. You did everything you could to please those men. At the same time, you gave Twenty-eight advice that resulted in you being spanked and kissed her to help distract her and it worked. You then performed sex acts that she couldn’t. He will see the same thing I saw if he ever sees that tape. If he truly loves you none of this will matter,” advised Headmistress Caroline with an unwavering strength of conviction.

“You really think so?” I asked.

“Trust me on this,” she confidently replied, instantly making me feel better.

There was something about her that just made me believe in her. I started pushing aside any doubts about the strength of Calum’s love for me. I knew he was searching for me even as we spoke. When Calum proposed, he told me that he knew I was the one when he first saw me that day on campus. I instantly felt the same connection when he introduced himself. I was his true love and he was mine. In a moment of weakness, I had doubted our love. It would not happen again.

“Also, I am worried sick about Amelia, my future mother-in-law who had my claim check. Something bad must have happened to her because she was not responding to the Big D’s phone calls. If she received the message, she would have bought me. I need to speak to Calum now to find out about Amelia,” I explained.

“What is Amelia’s full name?” she asked.

“Amelia Bedford,” I answered

“The wife of Glen Bedford, of Bedford Holdings, the real estate developer,” she responded quickly with another troubled look.

“Yes, if something hadn’t happened to her she easily would have bought me. My mother died from complications from an auto accident last fall. Amelia was there for me spending time with my mother in the hospital. Two days before my mother died, she took Amelia’s hand, grabbed mine, put it into Amelia’s hand, and told me that I could trust Amelia as if she was my own mother. When my mother died Amelia was there for me and has been ever since. She became something of a hybrid between a surrogate mother and the older sister I always wanted,” I explained. “Something awful must have happened to Amelia for me to end up here.”

“I will look into this situation,” responded Headmistress Spalding.

“Please let me call Calum and find out what happened to Amelia,” I begged.

“I cannot do that. We have rules here that I must follow and I cannot authorize you to contact anyone outside of Broadstone without your owner’s explicit approval. Your owner has chosen to remain anonymous for the time being so I cannot tell you who she is. What I will do is explore the options but you must stay as a student here. Can you be strong and do that?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You expect Calum and Amelia to rescue you from us when they find you. What happens to Lindsey then?” she inquired.

An awkward silence settled over the room as Lindsey’s hand squeezed mine hard. I looked at her and she had a concerned look on her face. Clearly, I had not thought this through. Right then I made a decision that would likely change my life forever.
Turning to Lindsey I cupped her face in my left hand, “I will never leave you behind. We will leave here together or we will graduate from here together,” I promised.

“Headmistress, I assume that if Amelia rescues me from my current owner that she can continue my enrollment here and I can be trained for Calum as his consort?” I inquired.

“Yes, that can be arranged,” she replied softly.

Lindsey grabbed me in a fierce hug, “I’m sorry, I feel so selfish not wanting to be separated here.”

Hugging her back, “Somehow we will get through this together, I just don’t want another
brand, the first one still hurts,” I said, breaking the tension as we shed a few tears of agony and joy together. The headmistress kindly allowed us a moment to regain our composure before continuing.

“Twenty-seven, this could take weeks or months to resolve so please be patient. Even though I have treated you with kindness and compassion this morning, you are still slaves expected to comply with every directive. You will be punished for disobedience. Some of your training will be hard, painful, degrading, very sexual and humiliating. Everything we do here is for a reason. Both of you will put 110% effort into your training, do you understand?” she said with a hard look on her face as she gracefully rose, beckoning us to stand.

“Yes, Headmistress,” we responded, rising to our feet still holding hands.

“Good, we will meet again when I have figured out your situation. Our time is up,” she said, as she ushered us out of her office.

In the hallway Lindsey queued up her iPad and we followed the instructions to the infirmary, arriving there about five minutes later.

In the waiting area outside of the Headmistresses office we encountered Twenty-five and Twenty-six on their knees, handcuffed, and gagged. Both looking rather unhappy. Mistress Kara, Lt. Jones and another security officer were also there with serious looks on their faces. The next night there was a new Twenty-five and Twenty-six sleeping next to us.

Months later we found out what happened to poor Twenty-six. I did not learn Twenty-five’s fate for over a year until I spied her at a ponygirl dressage show. She had been transformed into a very obedient ponygirl with the Lone Oak badge burned into her right buttock. After the competition she happily ate a cube of sugar out of the palm of my hand while I scratched her behind the ear as she whinnied contently.

(To be continued)

[ElJefe]

It seems obvious that either Twenty-five or Twenty-six is Avery, almost certainly Twenty-six. But who is Twenty-five? Kimi wouldn't have been matched with Avery at that point in the story since she was still free (and much better behaved).

[Mr. Smith]

Avery and Kimi are not 25 and 26. Allison kows Avery through Calum (even if I have not clearly written this into the story) as her fiance's sister. Twenty-six is a perfect example of a young woman who succumbs to slave mind at the Lone Oak Equestrian Academy. She must have a step-mother who does not like her. I describe the training regimen in chapter two of Daphne's story.