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Learning to Slave Wrangle Pt. 01

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Carl Bradford
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Learning to Slave Wrangle Pt. 01

Post by Carl Bradford »

(This is a fantasy occurring in an alternative world where legalized slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debts, or voluntary self-indenture. Although there is considerable sex, the focus is on how people interact with each other within the constraints of this slavery—the essence of non-consent/reluctance, because the main characters volunteered for the collar and must now live with the consequences. Note also that terms such as “cunt,” “slut,” “asshole,” and “sissy” are in common usage around slaves; such terms help to remind slaves that they are inferior but are not intended to be individually (or by gender) insulting. All characters in this story are age 18 or older. In the real world, slavery, objectification, and forcible sex acts are NEVER acceptable.)

(Frank Smith’s perspective)

It was the fourth and most difficult week of Slave Science 101, an introductory course sponsored by the University of Texas but including many young people who, like me, were from Northern schools and just wanted to pick up a few summer credits that would satisfy their own college’s multicultural or inclusiveness distribution requirements. OK, lots of college-age adults were fascinated by the concept of legal slavery, so SS 101 seemed far more intriguing than, say, “The Asian Diaspora.” Besides, successful completion of this course would give me not only three transfer semester hours for school but also a slave handler’s (aka slave wrangler’s) license that was almost a guarantee of interesting summer employment for the next few years. The 21st Century equivalent of being a Water Safety Instructor.

At the start of the course the professor, a good-looking, self-confident blonde who normally taught slave business (aka Human Resource Utilization) at Harvard, explained the legal implications of the 35th Amendment and how the re-introduction of slavery into the U.S. had resolved the issue of consumer indebtedness, because to get a loan most people now had to be slave graded and then sign away their rights over their own bodies if they defaulted. Although actual slaves were a rarity in much of the north, almost every state had been forced to recognize federal statutes such as the Revised Fugitive Slave Act that required all interstate transportation facilities and law enforcement to assist in tracking and if necessary returning slaves to their owners.

The same professor tried to explain mental conditions such as the total passivity and eagerness to serve/please known as “slave mind,” a product of losing all control over what happened to you—and incidentally having to serve any free adult, regardless of gender or unattractiveness, as a cooperative sex toy.

After an initial week of such classes, we had been divided into small groups for the remainder of the course. My group consisted of five guys (including me) and as many gals, guided and mentored by two slave wranglers. On most days, our guide was a large but attractive African-American woman named Florence, occasionally joined by a muscular Latino whose nametag said “Francisco” but identified himself as “Frank,” which caused a little confusion with my name but we sorted it out. He just smiled and referred to me as “Gringo,” a horrible stereotype that the rest of the students soon adopted in referring to me. Oh, well, he was the one who came up with that label and I lived with it—no sense arguing.

During the second and third weeks, we spent most of our time touring various slavery businesses, including several major slave markets (Florence clearly worked at the Longhorn, where she was greeted boisterously by her co-workers as she confidently guided us through the place.) We also visited county jails, human pony ranches, assembly lines staffed by slaves, and even sex shops such as the back side (in more ways than one) of a glory hole and a whorehouse—too bad there were no samples given out! At first, all but two of the students avoided any contact with the slaves—with the exception of Susan and Ralph, who grew up on different pony ranches, we had no experience with actual slaves and didn’t want to offend either owners or our fellow-students. Florence and Francisco kept pushing us to take a more “hands on” approach. Eventually we were cuffing and collaring slaves when necessary and guiding them from one location to another with one hand cupping a buttock, fingers goosing the defenseless butt cracks of these unfortunate people (or, at least temporarily, UN-people because they lacked any rights). The first few times, I half expected the slaves, especially the females, to protest such blatant fondling, but with a few exceptions they were so familiar with the whole situation that they did nothing except, very occasionally, mutter “Sorry, Master” if they were slow to react to me.

At the end of the third week, we had all passed the written exam on slave law and procedures for handling and securing slaves, but we still needed our host, the Longhorn Slave Market, to certify us on the practical aspects of slave wrangling.

*****
Which brings me to this week, the last and by far the most challenging part of SS 101. Last Friday, we had drawn random numbers to divide us into two groups—beginning today, Monday, the first group would sign Free In Name Only (FINO) contracts, promising to behave for 30 hours as if they were actual slaves, while the other group would process and train them. On Wednesday, the roles would be reversed, with the former “wranglers” becoming FINO slaves themselves. To make the contracts legal, that same Friday we each spent five minutes talking to this GORGEOUS slave psychiatrist so that she could sign off as our “guardian” when we surrendered our rights. With my (poor) luck, I ended up in the first group, which meant that this morning, after signing a contract, I had to strip slave naked and surrender myself to the ministrations of my fellow students, who would be expected to collar, restrain, handle, and even sexually use me and the other Group 1 “slaves” before we were freed late the next day.

The female course director from Harvard had explained why we were doing this, but it didn’t make me feel any better:

“The purpose of the FINO exercise is to give you actual, hands-on [she smirked] experience as both a slave and a wrangler. Despite the short time period involved in the FINO contract, the contract is legally valid in Texas. The Longhorn Slave Market is generously providing us with the use of its facilities, and indeed Longhorn employees will be involved in your experience. That means that temporary student ‘slaves’ [she hooked her fingers to indicate quotation marks] will be intermixed with long-term slaves being sold and possibly with other free people who have temporarily surrendered their freedom in order to be slave-graded. Those students playing the role of slaves will wear the purple-banded shock collars normally worn by those being graded, but for the duration of your FINO, each of you is expected to perform exactly as a slave would. That includes being controlled, handled, belittled, disciplined, and probably used sexually exactly as if you were a slave, so be prepared for it both mentally and in terms of birth control!”

“Each group will remain under slave discipline overnight. The students acting as slave wranglers have a choice—kennel their slave at the Longhorn overnight or take the temporary slave, suitably restrained, to their homes. Again, no permanent injury or gang-bangs are permitted off site, but of course the temporary wranglers may use their slaves as they would any other collared property in their control. We also want each slave to experience the uncertainty of being shipped somewhere and not knowing where he or she is going, so all slaves will be blindfolded during transit. The wrangler can drive the individual around for a while and then return him or her to spend the night in a slave pen at the Longhorn OR take the temporary FINO slave home for the night. If you’re going to transport a fellow student in your personal car, I suggest you clean out the trunk over the weekend. There are also a limited number of Longhorn pickup trucks, complete with poodle cages, available, but you need to sign up now to borrow such a truck overnight, and you’ll have to show your license and insurance before getting the keys.”

“No one is allowed to permanently injure you while you’re acting as a FINO slave—unless you sign the additional waiver indicating that you want to be branded—but short of injury, the students playing the part of slave handlers or wranglers are free to do whatever they wish to the student temporary slaves. That means controlling and belittling the temporary FINO slaves, seeking to impose slave mind on those students. This may seem extreme, but it’s been my observation that you can’t really understand slave psychology unless you have personally experienced the naked vulnerability and objectification of being enslaved. The only people who will be excused from these requirements are those who can demonstrate, by comparing their Slave Identification Number to the National Slave Registry, that they have already spent at least one month as slaves; FINO’s don’t count. Those of you who can prove previous experience as slaves will act as handlers or wranglers throughout the four days. And of course, everybody gets tested for STDs both before and after this exercise.”

*****
Anyone facing a time period, even just the 30 hours of our contracts, during which he/she surrendered rights and body to other near strangers can understand my sense of apprehension. In addition, though, I was particularly dismayed by the prospect of playing slave in front of Jean Scorer, another 19-year-old college student in my group. Jean had never worn revealing clothing, but even under bulky sweaters, sweatshirts, and loose jeans her body appeared to be voluptuous, and she had a cute face with honey blonde hair. At the start of the course, Jean had been very quiet and introverted, but over time she became comfortable with me, displaying a beautiful smile and a wicked sense of humor. OK, I’d developed sort of a crush on her; suffice it to say that being slave naked and under her control would feel far more humiliating than the same experience with a stranger, or so I believed at the time.

So, I gave myself an enema this morning; I’d been taught how to do this to slaves but it felt really weird to do it to myself. I then put on clothing that I wouldn’t miss, wore slip-on shoes with no socks, and headed to the Longhorn before I made myself sick with apprehension. Florence (excuse me, MISTRESS Florence) had arranged an efficient process where a group of Long Horn slave wranglers who were also notary publics walked the Group 1 victims through the process of reading and initially each page of the FINO contract, then the wranglers witnessed and notarized our signatures. When I finished, the guy just told me, deadpan, “Go through that door, slave.”

Someone had done some careful planning, because when I walked through that door, Jean was waiting for me, wearing a wrangler’s weapons belt that made her suddenly appear menacing to me. She led me over to one of the open-mesh fenced enclosures, normally used to lock slaves up for the night. Today, however, there was another pair of students with one of them—a female—stripping quickly while turning red (I could certainly empathize). There was also a table laden with shock collars, cuffs, and other “implements of destruction.” As soon as she came to a halt and faced me, Jean (obviously nervous and hesitant) simply indicated a metal locker similar to those used to store luggage in terminals, and told me, “Strip, slave, and put all your clothes in that locker.”

Deep breath and get on with it. I shucked off my clothes as quickly as possible, stuffing them into the locker, and then stood at present—legs shoulder width apart, fingers interlaced behind my neck, staring at the floor a few feet in front of me while blushing furiously. I had expected to be embarrassed but hadn’t realized how defenseless I would feel; I had no reason to expect violence, but with my legs spread like that, I was vulnerable to Jean or anyone else kicking my genitals or hitting me anywhere else on my body. Guys know that, at a very early age, you learn to protect your groin from any impact, even accidental; to be required to stand in such a vulnerable stance in front of a clothed, armed woman was not just humiliating but nerve-wracking, almost terrifying. The professor was correct—only experiencing the helplessness of a slave allowed me to understand the vulnerability. Watching Jean close and padlock the locker containing my clothes only reinforced that feeling. I know the word “literally” gets overworked, but she literally held the key to my freedom.

To add to my discomfort, I had a full blown boner—only nobody was going to blow it for me. I think it was part of my parasympathetic system alerting because of fear, but anyone observing me would conclude that I actually ENJOYED being a naked sex toy for this woman. (To be fair, if I HAD to be a slave, I’d much rather serve Jean than other, more intimidating figures such as the course professor.)

Fortunately, Jean seemed to be as uneasy as I about the situation, moving carefully when dealing with me. But she knew she was expected to establish psychological dominance over me. So, she walked slowly around me, her hands running gently over my exposed butt, thighs, and genitals, before commenting “Great Bod, slave! Collar.”

That last command was a relief, releasing me from the Present position so that I could kneel down, one hand on my hip and the other beside my head to hold my (non-existent) long hair away from the neck. At least that allowed me to hunch over, even if kneeling in front of another student was very submissive and embarrassing. That didn’t last long, of course—after putting a heavy shock collar on me, Jean ordered me “Stand, back hands,” which left me with my hands cuffed behind my back, even less able to protect myself than before. Next, she gently but firmly cupped my right buttock with her fingers well up my butt crack and walked me over to one of the raised wooden platforms used to practice block moves (sometimes known as slave yoga). There, she released my wrists temporarily to join a mixed group—students like me, free people being graded, and genuine slaves; I was relieved to see that several other collared males were also sporting wood, making me slightly less embarrassed by my erection. We were under the direction of what looked like a midget wrangler—a short woman with a cute face and protruding boobs, dressed in the jeans, logoed shirt, weapons belt, and boots of a slave wrangler. Her name tag read “Shirley,” but as far as I was concerned she was a Mistress.

*****
Over the next half hour, Mistress Shirley rapped out a series of commands, demanding that we follow instructions correctly and, while we’re at it, shouted an appropriate slave mantra. In retrospect, she wasn’t cruel but didn’t hesitate to publicly shame us for any mistakes. Earlier in the course, we’d all practiced these moves several times wearing gym clothes, but now being collared and slave naked while contorting before an audience of our fellow students and temporary wranglers was simultaneously arousing and humiliating. Do I need to tell you that my dick was swinging around wildly? Well, I guess that was preferable to having it shrivel up and make me look under-endowed. After a while, the other temporary slaves and I just focused on instant obedience to Shirley’s orders.

"DISPLAY!" (legs to shoulder width, head down between my legs. I bent as far forward as I could, waving my butt as if I were begging to be shafted back there.) The accompanying slave mantra was "All my holes belong to you."

"SLAVE FOURS!" (drop forward onto all fours, face down, knees, hands, and feet on the floor, then drop again from hands to elbows so that my head and shoulders were lower than my behind.) "I'm your bitch, Master—please fuck me doggie-style!"

"FLIP OVER!" (push up on one side so that the body twisted around, catching myself so that both hands and both feet were on the floor beneath me, back arched, thighs wide apart, showing everything.) "Please buy me and use me, Mistress!"
"PRESENT!" (Scramble to my feet, hands interlocked behind my neck, legs slightly more than shoulder-width apart.) "I live to serve you, Master."

"TWERK!" (thrusting my hips forward and back, three times.) "Use my body, Mistress."

"COLLAR!" (as already described, drop to both knees, one hand on hip and the other holding the hair—if any—away from the neck for a collar or leash.) "Please make me your collared slut, Master."

"PRONE!" (facing away, nose to the platform boards, hands by the sides, legs about 18 inches apart.) "I’m at your feet, Master."

"SPREAD YOUR CHEEKS!" (Reach back with both hands to pull my buttocks up and out displaying my balls and sphincter.) "I beg you to ream my ass, Master." (Something I dreaded but thought might happen later today.)

We ended the session kneeling with our thighs wide apart, hands behind our necks, staring submissively at the floor between us and our respective wranglers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jean struggling not to smirk at the sight of a naked guy (me) visibly submitting to her after publicly contorting while begging to be used sexually.

She quickly cuffed my hands again, then led me by my rigid dick to a large wire cage that already contained several pairs of student slaves and wranglers, visibly overseen by “Frank,” the Latino professional slave wrangler who had been our group’s assistant instructor. He as well as all the other clothed people inside the cage were grinning. I had anticipated what was about to happen, but the sight of four metallic slave benches confirmed my worst fears.

“Slave Fours,” said all the student wranglers, including Jean, almost simultaneously. Inwardly quailing, I knelt and leaned forward on the slave bench, which provided a thin raised framework for my chest with lower, wider rails to support my knees and elbows. My sense of exposure ramped up rapidly as Jean Velcro-ed my extremities to those rails and clicked on the magnetic device that held my collar (and therefore my head) motionless. I ended up on all fours like a dog, head low, butt high, and thighs widespread about three feet above the floor. In this position, my mouth, anus, and (embarrassingly-erect) dick were all exposed to whatever the clothed people chose to do to me; in particular, my upthrust butt seeming to invite flagellation or penetration. To complete my defenselessness, Jean quietly ordered me to open my mouth, after which she installed a ridged ring gag, sheathing my teeth with a strap running around the back of my skull that held my mouth open in a perfect circle. NOW I understood, viscerally, what our course professor had meant by “the naked vulnerability and objectification” of enslavement. I don’t mind admitting I was quietly shaking.

For a minute or two we all knelt, completely helpless, while ominous leather creaking noises came from behind us. Then Jean confirmed my nervous speculation by appearing in front of me wearing a strap-on harness over her jeans. Attached to that harness was a large, anatomically-correct dildo. I say large—when I examined a similar object two days later, it seemed no more than seven inches long and one and a half in circumference, but when Jean pointed that thing at me it looked like a cock suitable for Godzilla was about to enter my mouth and/or asshole. I sensed the latter orifice tighten automatically in response to the implied threat; at that moment my brown button felt water-tight down there, so I had to consciously tell it to relax to avoid possible injury.

My mouth was already propped open by the ring-gag, but Jean ordered “mouth,” which meant among other things that I was required to tongue and swallow the invader as if it were an actual dick. Fortunately for my comfort, Jean was a kind, unassertive person who had to psych herself to dominate me probably more than I had to remind myself to submit to her. After several minutes of gently pumping back and forth, she reminded me to lift my head and straighten my neck, which allowed the head of her plastic protrusion to slip down a few inches inside my esophagus. It felt very strange there, but I soon adjusted to breathing around it as she paused, then began pushing and pulling very gently, all the while fulfilling her role of dominating her temporary slave: “Good Boy,” she cooed, as if she were praising her dog (which, considering I was in the doggy position, was appropriate.) “That’s it, slut,” she continued, talking to me very gently, “use your tongue. Suck my dick.” She giggled. “Things I never thought I would ever say. Come on, slave, lick my cock—get it lubricated to go in your rear end.”

I made a note to be VERY gentle with Jean when our roles were reversed. She had certainly assumed the dominant role in our sex play but was doing so in such a friendly manner that she made this experience far more bearable. A few moments later, however, an authoritative, slightly-Hispanic voice disrupted our gentle interaction.

*****
“OK, Mizz Scorer,” said Francisco. “That’s a good start on this asshole. Let me take over for a few minutes, while you go help Geni double-team Hal—over there.” Her plastic probe withdrew from my mouth and I sensed her moving away, but instead I was suddenly confronted by a very hard, very masculine, genuine cock in my face!

“Mouth, Gringo,” he commanded. “We need to give you the REAL slave experience,” he half-explained as his dick slipped into my ring gag. I wanted to puke but struggled to both breathe and use my tongue on the very real penis that was occupying my mouth and throat! At least it seemed clean, although his pubic hair tickled my nose.

In case you’re unaware, one of the most demeaning aspects of slavery is that the slave’s sexual preferences, including heterosexuality and even opposition to adultery and incest, are irrelevant. A slave is a piece of meat, a collection of moist holes and soft skin that is expected to give sexual entertainment to any free adult, regardless of sex or personal preference. During the period of slavery, even marriages are considered suspended, so that a married woman must enthusiastically satisfy all “cumers.” I had a similar problem—despite all the societal upbringing against homosexuality, because I was a temporary slave I had to willingly couple with free males in the manner and orifice that those males preferred. Part of my mind realized that Francisco was probably as heterosexual as I, but as an assistant instructor he was trying to push all my buttons and show me just how subservient I had to be.

So I resigned myself to giving him a blow job while trying to gaze upward at his face to convey the idea that I was thrilling and honored to have his dick in my mouth—not only was this gaze the expected behavior for slaves, but I hoped to get him off as quickly as possible by catering to his enjoyment of dominating a slave’s moist mouth. His face did not suggest that he WANTED to commit oral sodomy, so the best thing I could do to speed things up was try to increase his sense of sexual power—I had learned that this sense of sexual dominance, at least in males, was often very arousing.

Just when I had forced my mind to accept the role of eager dick-licker, though, I felt two firm hands spreading my buttocks, followed by a syringe of lubricant of some type inundating my colon. I couldn’t turn around and look, of course, but it was obvious I was about to get my other hole filled. Just then, I felt the pressure of an apparently latex-covered object against my sphincter. It felt really big, but then ANYTHING pressing into your ass feels huge!

Then I heard, coming from that direction, the irritating voice of Ralph, the one male student in my group who had previous experience because (according to him, anyway), his family owned a pony ranch. Imagine the voice (without the speech impediment) of Barry Kripke on The Big Bang Theory—obnoxious, always trying to make points because he seems unsure of himself. “Just what I wanted, a nice piece of virgin boi-pussy. Are you ready to get your ass fucked, Frank?”
Let me be clear—the only thing I wanted LESS than having to suck a man’s dick was to do that while another man butt-fucked me. In addition to all the taboos against homosexuality, I was understandably worried about the pain and possible injury of being shafted like that. If that wasn’t bad enough, Francisco made it even worse—he suddenly pulled his dick out of my mouth, unstrapped the ring-gag, and repeated the question.

“What about that, Asshole, do you want Master Ralph to ream you?”

[If you’re wondering, Francisco wasn’t really insulting me; “Asshole” was slang for any male slave, precisely because he could expect to be used like this. This was all part of trying to induce obedience in slaves.] Did I want him to ream me? The real answer, of course, was HELL, NO, but as a temporary slave I was expected to service and please any free person. So now, not only did I face sodomy but I was expected to BEG for it from the most obnoxious fellow-student in my group, for Chrissake. This had been my worst fear when we started this exercise, but because I had contemplated this happening, I had decided in advance that the only possible response was to stay in character and try to get it over with.

“Yes, Master,” I said, with a complete sense of helplessness. All I could do was tell my large colon to defecate, which (we had learned) would relax the sphincter and make entry as easy as possible. I added the standard slave mantra: “I beg you to ram your huge cock up my asshole.”

A split second later, I felt someone, presumably Ralph, pressing that condom-wrapped, warm, real live cock into my butt. At least he went slowly, pausing every inch or so to allow me to adjust. After a full minute of this slow, relatively-gentle invasion, I felt his cold belt buckle against my stressed rear end—he was literally balls deep in my ass! He paused again, then began slowly pumping in and out. I couldn’t really tell how far into me he was, but I did sense a drop in pressure as he pulled back and then renewed intrusion as he pressed forward again. Crap. Literally crap. (OK, because I had a lot of nerve endings down there, there was some pleasure involved, but I was both disgusted and frightened by the action.)

All this time I had been looking straight down the barrel, so to speak, of Francisco’s equipment. Now that I had somehow accommodated the asshole invading MY asshole, he reminded me to wrap my lips around my teeth, after which warning he again thrust into me.

The two guys probably only spit-roasted me for a few minutes, but it felt like hours as I struggled to breathe, all while blushing furiously and feeling more defenseless and violated than I could ever imagine. Eventually, though, Francisco called a temporary halt; both cocks stayed inside of me but were motionless for a moment while I heard the instructor talking to another person.

“Mizz Scorer, could I ask you a large favor? Gringo here has been a very obedient slave, but I don’t think he’s enjoying his spit-roasting very much. Could I ask you to use your hands and perhaps your mouth on his genitals?”

Jean went way up in my estimation when she readily agreed, and I could hear the sympathy and compassion in her voice. A moment later, I felt warm breath on my cock and balls, after which she gently fondled the latter and—wonder of wonders—wrapped warm lips around my dick! (In case you’re wondering, I had started to lose my erection under the humiliating invasion of two males, but this brought me back up to full salute.) The two guys resumed their violation of me, with Ralph making crass comments about what a fantastic ass-fuck I was, as tight as the finest piece of pony tail he’d ever screwed, but I almost tuned out their voices and even their intrusions. (Only later did it occur to me that the average pony’s butt must be stretched out from regularly wearing a tail plug there.) I know it doesn’t make any sense, but somehow I connected the sensations on my own penis with the invasions of my mouth and butt by other penises, almost as if I were somehow giving sexual satisfaction to myself. Bless that woman; she made a humiliating and uncomfortable experience actually pleasurable. A few minutes later, Ralph loudly announced that he was coming and I began to moan, which Jean correctly interpreted as meaning I was about to shoot off (it’s difficult to speak when’s you’re getting the famous Johnson & Johnson injections). The soft lips withdrew just before I unloaded a huge load of jism, all while her soft hand continued to manipulate my scrotum! It’s embarrassing to admit, but one of the greatest orgasms of my life came while I was being double-teamed with two strange pricks inside me.

At that moment, I thought to myself that I had experienced several of the offensive clichés that guys commonly threw around—I was actually sucking dick while getting the shit fucked out of me, all while blowing my load after a fantastic sucking.

Just at that moment, after Ralph and Jean had both withdrawn from me, Francisco shot off into my mouth while reminding me that I had to hold at least part of his load on my tongue. Like a dutiful slave, I stuck out my tongue to display the disgusting slime he had just given me. After a pause, I heard him say, “OK, Gringo, you can swallow it. Congratulations, you’re now officially a cock-sucker! Don’t forget to thank Mizz Scorer for her generosity towards you.”

“Thank you, Mistress; Thank you, Masters, for fucking this worthless slave.” I dutifully said, still tasting the horrible goo I had just swallowed. At least I was sincere in PART of my gratitude—she had made the worst experience of my entire life almost enjoyable!

*****
A minute later, after the two guys had departed, I became aware of Jean releasing me from the frame, all the while talking to me quietly as if I were an obedient pet who had pleased her—standard procedure for slave handlers, but it was still comforting to hear a woman praising me. Once I was freed, she helped me stand (I was dizzy after my prolonged bondage), cuffed my wrists again, and walked me over to the nearest pee grate. Once again, that marvelous hand took firm control of my dick to direct my urine spray. After my bladder was empty, she wordlessly held a sample bottle of mouthwash to my lips, allowing me to get rid of most of that horrible taste. Only after that did she walk me over to the “slut wash,” the combination showers and animal wash that the Longhorn operated to reduce the stickiness of its inventory.

There were already four naked slaves, all female, with their ankles tied wide apart and their hands, cuffed behind their backs, pulled upward by a ceiling rope that forced them to bend over, torsos parallel to the ground, to avoid dislocating their shoulders. Three wore the purple band of slave grading for otherwise free people and one the red band of a genuine pleasure slave, poor woman. Although I was deep into slave mind after being spit roasted, I couldn’t help noticing that those eight breasts, dangling below their restrained bodies, were both large and well-formed. My wilted prick immediately began to rise again; I guess my involuntary double-sodomy hadn’t turned me gay!

Just as Jean walked me to the edge of the tiled area, one of the three purple bands was freed and her slave wrangler took charge and marched her away. The two rainsuit-attired attendants who had just finished washing this woman walked over to meet us. Based on the top-heavy bulk of their chests and the ample posteriors in their pants, these two were female, one of whom had a height, face, and body shape that resembled a slightly-younger version of Florence, the oversized but shapely African-American who had assisted in my student orientation.

This smiling Black faced clone of Florence briskly asked Jean, “OK, what are we doing with this slut?”

Jean seemed over-awed by this large, aggressive person, but pulled herself together to say, loudly, “Usual slut wash—he’s just been spit-roasted and needs to be cleaned out.”

The two attendants found that very amusing; by this time my face felt sunburned from the constant blushing and humiliation. I hardly had time to think about it, however, as these women took me by the arms and frog-marched me over to the wash bay that had just been vacated. The Florence-clone, whom the other one addressed as “Mo’,” gently tapped on the inside of my ankles to spread my legs, while the other woman bent down and used Velcro straps to tether my legs in that exposed position. Before I had even registered how vulnerable my balls were now, Mo’ hooked an overhead pulley system somewhere on the cuffs behind my back, quickly lifting me up and forcing me, like the three other victims in the wash, to bend over, upper body parallel to the ground. Talk about exposed—my junk, butthole, and mouth were just as available as they had been on the rack where I was spit-roasted, plus either of these women could easily fondle or attack my cock and balls. It was very uncomfortable, not to mention exposing every part of my damp body to a rubber strap or a taser. I naturally decided that I had to be VERY obedient and respectful!

For the next five minutes, my erection grew larger and harder as the two women washed and fondled me EVERYWHERE, including thumbs inside my mouth and anus. The sensation, being more gentle than my spit-roasting, was enough to give me a rubber fetish. In the process, they repeated what were apparently familiar jokes about how much fun it was to bind and fondle “little white boy slaves.” Once they had my outsides cleaned and my prick and balls completely sensitized, Mo’ gleefully held a large, penis-shaped nozzle in front of my face while she smeared lubricant all over it.

“Guess where this thing is going, slut?” She asked me.

“From the looks of it, Mistress, you intend to shove that up this slave’s ass.” I responded, trying hard not to tremble at the thought.

“You figured that out all by yourself?” She inquired, pretending to be surprised and pleased. “For a guy dumb enough to let himself be collared, there may be hope for you yet! At least this way I don’t have to tell you to ‘bend over’—you already have.” So saying, she disappeared from my contorted view. A moment later I felt her thrust something large, hard, and sticky into my exposed colon, followed soon thereafter by a flood of (thankfully warm) water into my intestines. I began to feel very full and started to cramp a little down there; I couldn’t see her, but it felt as if she had one hand leaning/idly fondling my rear end while the other one held that large intrusion inside me. Having been corn-holed by Ralph only a few minutes earlier, it was almost a relief to be washed out like that. At first, anyway. Then, as I became increasingly full, it became uncomfortable, almost painful.

Mo’s rumbling, slightly amused voice, penetrated my distress. “After all the times that men have tried to fuck ME, there’s nothing I enjoy better than spreading some guy’s legs and shoving something up HIS butt.” It was obviously an oft-repeated line, as the other woman responded only with a polite giggle. Just as I began to feel stuffed like a turkey, she told me, firmly but rather kindly “You hold that water in for three minutes, Asshole; I’ll be very unhappy if you make a mess on my nice, clean floor, got it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I started to reply meekly, only to be surprised as she jerked that nozzle out of me without any warning. My lower hole was both stretched and coated with lubricant, so I had to struggle to hold it closed. I THINK only a few drops of water escaped, but I wasn’t in any position to check. At least Mo’ didn’t punish me.

After an eternity of waiting, with my intestines gurgling painfully, the two washers/torturers slowly, slowly released me from my restraints and helped me over to one of the commodes sitting in full view at the center of the slut wash. The sound of me releasing into the toilet bowl produced a huge echo in the room. And then Mo’ took me back to her bay and repeated the entire process, after which she wiped me clean while talking to me as if I were a baby who hadn’t been potty trained. Only then did Jean take charge of me, leading me by my rigid dick off to an almost empty cage where I and two other male fellow students were each made to kneel in front of two metal dog bowls, one with water and the other with slave kibble. The only way to eat the tasteless stuff was to thrust my face into the bowl, after which (I hoped) the water bowl would wash off any remaining kibble.

*****
By this time I felt as if I had been a slave for an eternity, and in real time the clocks indicated I’d been collared for perhaps six hours. With her hand cupping my buttocks, Jean again walked me over to a door where a vaguely-familiar full-time wrangler waited with a checklist to note that my student handler had taken her temporary slave, “Frankie,” home for the night. She peeled down my lower lip to expose the slave identification number (SIN) I had acquired when slave graded two years earlier. The wrangler used a handheld device to scan it in, reinforcing the message that I was nothing but property, a piece of slave meat. On the other hand, I thought, at least this made a record of my departure in Jean’s custody. Although she had treated me with compassion throughout the day, I had just experienced the ultimate demotion from free human being to slave receptacle for the pricks of free men, so it was reassuring that someone had a record of my departing, completely defenseless, in her control.

Once we stepped outside, I felt the heat of a late summer afternoon in Texas. Jean stopped me, then pulled a sleep mask over my face. Nude, collared, blindfolded, and barefoot, I had no choice but to obey her pushing my ass across the hot parking lot. She moved slowly with frequent pauses and slight changes in direction, which gave me the sense that I could trust her not to deliberately walk me into something. After another eternity she brought me to a halt, and I heard the “clunk” of a car trunk being unlocked. She freed my wrists and ordered me to climb in and lie down, guiding my hands to the edges of the trunk. Doing that blindfolded was difficult, but again Jean’s soft hands intervened to guide me and even to hold my cock so it didn’t bang into anything. Eventually, she had me lying face down in the trunk, completely disoriented, with my bare legs bent upwards at the knees. Then she cuffed my hands behind my back and I felt a heavier set of manacles, which I was sure were prisoner leg restraints—one clamped around my left ankle, then a tug indicating she had threaded the chain around the link between my handcuffs, after which the other manacle cuff clamped onto my right ankle. I was collared, blindfolded, and hog-tied, but apparently my captor wanted to increase my helplessness. She quietly ordered “mouth,” and when I dutifully parted my lips she pulled what felt like a standard canvas gag between my teeth, then tied the ends together behind my head. The professor had instructed student wranglers to transport the temporary slaves “suitably restrained,” and I could hardly fault my “lab partner” for following directions to the letter!

Jean gently stroked my butt while speaking over my prostrate form: “There, all snug as a slave bug in a rug. Don’t go anywhere, slave.” She giggled a little, but unlike the other people who had “handled” me that day, she didn’t seem to be gloating about my helplessness. You might say she was being gentle in anticipation that our roles would be reserved later in the week, but her entire demeanor that day suggested that she was just a nice person—perhaps a trifle TOO nice to be a slave wrangler, even though I benefitted from her kindness.

The car drove for what seemed like an interminable time, and I lost track of how many turns we made. When she halted and opened the trunk, Jeanie released me temporarily from my cuffs and shackles but left the gag and mask on while she helped me climb out. Then she re-cuffed me, grabbed my treacherous cock in her marvelously-soft hand, and led me up what felt like a sidewalk. We audibly passed through a doorway into some building, and I heard a strange female voice asking with some amusement, “Is this your homework for the night?”

I felt Jean tighten her grip on my dock as she replied, with some innuendo in her voice, “Yeah, we each have to house a slave for the night. What a HARD assignment.” And she giggled a little as she squeezed my dick. The unseen woman responded with her own laugh.

Eventually, after going up in an elevator and through various doors, she removed the mask, leaving me blinking at her smiling face. She released my gag and cuffs, then allowed me to wolf down some peanut-butter sandwiches and a glass of water. Once I finished, she inquired whether I needed the toilet. When I shook my head in the negative, she resumed control of my cock, led me over to the space in front of a couch, and ordered me to kneel. I dutifully assumed the usual position, fingers interlocked behind my neck with thighs stretched at a 90-degree angle, even though that left my genitals perilously close to her feet.

And then Jean startled me, saying something about how she would ordinarily blindfold a slave for what came next, but there was no point since I would see her naked two days from now. So saying, she abruptly dropped her jeans and panties, then sat on the couch with her twat directly in front of my kneeling form.

“Bring me, slave,” she said, rather breathlessly, and gently pulled my head into her neatly-trimmed crotch—not that I was resisting at all, just incredulous! Her thighs looked so soft and inviting, and they felt even better when she pressed them against my cheeks while I began avidly licking her clit and labia. Some women, to be frank (that’s my name, after all), are rather pungent down there, but this girl smelled fantastic. Or perhaps slave mind had set in—who knows? Anyway, for the next ten minutes I did my best to arouse her. Judging by the moans and disjointed speech she emitted, I must have done something right: “Oh, yeah. Right there. Don’t stop! Ummm,” and so on. By the time we were done my face was very damp and sticky and she seemed as relaxed as a wet noodle. I don’t know how it was possible, but my prick was even stiffer than it had been when she led me by it into her apartment.

We both caught our breath while she gently wiped my face off with a paper towel she had carried from the kitchenette.
Jean stood up and went into her kitchenette, leaving me kneeling there, helpless and stiff at the same time. She returned with a large cup of water and a straw and insisted that I drink most of it. Then we watched TV for a while, me kneeling beside her and at her insistence (not that I objected!) leaning against her naked leg. It was strange to feel her petting my hair like a dog, but I had adjusted so quickly to my loss of status that I actually enjoyed the situation, feeling safe and comfortable.

You can say I was slipping into slave mind, and you might be right—all I knew was that this was a HELL of a lot better than having Ralph gloat while he shoved his prick up my butt!

*****
Eventually, my captor turned off the TV and announced that it was bedtime. She offered me another drink of water and then used her hand to aim my prick so that my urine spray ended up in the toilet, remarking as she did so that now she knew what a guy had to do to relieve himself. Of course, the sensation of this woman, who had so successfully convinced me that she was a sex goddess, handling my dick made it difficult to piss, but eventually we managed it. Another mouthful of mouthwash and my evening clean-up was finished.

I ended up flat on my back, hands cuffed above my head to the headboard and ankles equally restrained (together) towards the foot of the bed. Then she disappeared into the bathroom, where I heard various sounds of flushing, gargling, and so on until Jeanie re-emerged into her bedroom—wearing a diaphanous short nightgown that revealed her shapely legs and strongly hinted at the pineapple-sized breasts on her chest. My tired cock, which had relaxed slightly after a day of constant titillation, rose again at the sight of those tits.

Jeanie noticed. “Why, thank you for the compliment, young Sir.” After which she turned towards my feet and straddled me, settling that sweet-smelling cunt onto my lips for another ride. As I began licking her eagerly, I felt her equally excited tongue and lips engulfing my shaft again. “I never had the chance to really examine one of these before,” she remarked, smiling when she paused for a breath.

A few minutes later, when we were both VERY excited, she reversed herself on top of me and used both hands to center and sheath my cock inside of her cunt. Damn, that woman felt good!

Jean began a spirited posting, up and down, on my rigid shaft. This motion caused her magnificent boobs to sway rhythmically up and down, barely restrained by that revealing nightgown. My only frustration was that I wished my hands were free so that I could cup and fondle those nosecones—not to mention straddle HER and using her boobs to jerk myself off. Just the thought of that helped me climax inside her, followed (fortunately) a few seconds later by her very audible orgasm, tightening around my cock before she collapsed onto my chest.

A long period of heavy breathing and gentle nuzzling ensued. My captor finally dismounted and released me so that we could take a shower together, with me finally able to fondle her excellent body under the pretext of soaping her up. Amazing how much soap and water, not to mention firm handling, it took to ensure that her breasts and buttocks were clean! Then back to bed, this time with my hands cuffed in front of me so that we could sleep more comfortably while she spooned behind me. Bliss.

After many minutes of comfortable cuddling Jean murmured something into my ear. “Christ, Frankie,” She finally sighed. “I know you’re only signed up for 30 hours of slavery, but if you ever want to be a full time slave or FINO, give me a call, will you? I’d borrow the money from somewhere, because you’re just fantastic at licking AND dicking.” She added, giggling softly, then drifted off to sleep.

I stayed awake for a long time, processing the events of the day and especially her last comment. I began by imagining how nice it would be to be her slave, real or FINO, and earn the kind of rewards she’d given me that evening. Then I realized that, however much fun that would be, the very fact I was considering being a slave was a strong indicator that slave mind had set in. If I wasn’t careful, I would end up as a PERMANENTLY collared slut. And wearing a collar would leave my ass, my mouth, my entire being at the mercy of all the free assholes like Ralph. NOT a good idea, no matter how sweet Jean’s cunt was.

(To be continued)
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Re: Learning to Slave Wrangle Pt. 01

Post by Hooked6 »

What a novel addition to the modern slavery universe. It makes total sense that in this world of commercial enslavement that colleges would offer various courses or degrees in slave management or other practical business issues revolving around these various enterprises, but I haven't seen too many authors venture deeply into this ancillary aspect of the slaving business other than ElJeffe's Southwest Shipping and Joe Doe's Slave Yoga . Others have touched on these ancillary features but only in so far as they are necessary to advance the plot. These authors and now this story from you are fine contributions to the slavery universe. Apologies if I left any other author's out of this list.

Carl, I like how you managed to capture the emotions of the students and instructors from various points of view working them into the story without having to preface a break in the story by over-using titles like "From So and So's perspective." I realize that at times this changing of speaker is necessary and is an effective writing tool, of course, but I loved your approach you used here working in the obvious awkwardness Jean was feeling, or Frank's having to go through the motions for the good of the class and especially the observed emotions from Mizz Scorer all brilliantly written and conveyed from one person's perspective. You did it so very well that I felt the depth you gave these various characters and could easily identify with them even though it was only from Gringo's point of view. Fine writing, that.

I am intrigued by this story and am interested in seeing what happens next.

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