Learning to Slave Wrangle Pt. 02

[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. 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)

Tuesday in the 4th week of Slave Studies 101. The “final exam” of this summer course in Texas was an exercise, during which half the class signed 30-hour Free In Name Only (FINO) contracts to make themselves temporary slaves, condemned to serve as the naked subordinates of the other students, who functioned as slave wranglers or handlers. The idea was for students to understand the psychological challenges of enslavement as well as practicing the day to day procedures necessary to restrain, control, and dominate those slaves. On Wednesday and Thursday, the two groups would reverse roles, but for the moment, I was a slave, collared and cuffed but waking up in the comfortable bed of my well-built classmate and keeper, Jean Scorer. That had been the best part of my FINO experience, as Jean had brought me home yesterday evening where, among other things, she had me lick her to orgasm and then lie, restrained, on her bed while she rode me to a mutual climax.

The rest of my slave experience had been far less pleasant. In addition to the predictable stress of being naked, bound, and demeaned verbally, I had been spit-roasted, sodomized in my mouth by Francisco, one of the full time wranglers at the Long Horn Slave Market, and in the butt by Ralph, a fellow student acting as a wrangler. Ostensibly, all they had done was to show me what it felt like to be a defenseless sex object, but Ralph had enjoyed himself too much, bad-mouthing me throughout the procedure. Only the blowjob I got from Jean at the same time made the experience bearable. In fact, she had taken me to her home for the night, where she fed me (both sandwiches and her pussy), then tied me on my back on her bed and rode me to our mutual satisfaction.

Jean repeated that treat, this time with my hands simply cuffed rather than tied down, when we awoke that Tuesday morning—another stellar coupling, both the sensations and the view of her stacked, smiling body riding me. I had already realized that it would be too easy to develop a submissive attitude after enjoying such a fantastic fuck from a well-endowed young woman whose breasts rose and fell rhythmically as she rode me. In this case, getting used was followed by another shared shower and a civilized breakfast. Of course, by then she was fully clothed while my only covering was the shock collar she had installed yesterday. I was still, after all, technically a slave for another few hours. She cuffed my hands behind my back for the walk to the car, then re-secured them in front of me so that I could sit comfortably, after which she clamped the leg irons onto my ankles—but no repeat of the gag and blindfold. So I got to see where we were going and talk (respectfully) to her as we returned to the Long Horn. Whenever we came to a stoplight, her right hand migrated over to fondle my cock and balls, so that I was once again painfully erect when we reached the slave market.

As we rode, she talked about how impressed she was that I had not panicked or whined about being man- (and woman-) handled and sexually assaulted the previous day. “I’m petrified about me getting the same treatment tomorrow,” she added. I tried to assure her that she could survive and that I, for one, bore her no ill will.
Once we got back to the Long Horn, of course, she had to give an appearance of strictness. The leg-irons were slung around her neck, but she re-installed the gag and blindfold to walk me across the parking lot. Only after we were indoors did she remove them, this time to see Mistress Florence, our instructor who was checking student sluts in after their overnight trips. She took one look at my shivering body and tired face and giggled—not in an evil way, just giggled, and remarked to Jean,

“Looks like this one got rode hard and put up wet.” Shifting to me, she asked in a rather kindly manner, “Did you get well-used, Asshole?” Just at that moment, the gag came out of my mouth.

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied, dutifully. She giggled again, and I don’t really blame Jean for joining in.

Other fellow-FINO slaves actually looked worse, and I saw red whip marks on more than one naked butt, so I guess I really lucked out. After the traumatic events of the previous day, though, very little seemed to phase me. Along with my fellow student sluts as well as a scattering of normal people seeking a slave grading, I almost sleep-walked through the morning’s minor irritants and humiliations. I have to admit, though, that when I had to repeat the slave mantra begging a master to ram his huge cock up my butt, I had a very real, frightening flashback to what that had felt like the previous afternoon.

Just to ensure we had the complete experience, my fellow slaves and I were all devoxed and tied spread-eagle on the display table for public viewing. The full-time slave merchants only spent a minimum amount of time assessing us (part of the cost of our tuition was a renewed slave grading, and the merchants got perhaps 50 cents to evaluate each of us, but they all knew that the purple-colored collars such as mine were unlikely to end up on the auction block—at least, not that same day.) The gawkers who followed those merchants were far more unpredictable, and once again I worried about some idiot trying to make himself feel big by assaulting my vulnerable crotch. Thank goodness that Jean and our other peers were vigilant, halting anyone who went beyond gentle touches.

After an interminable 45 minutes, student wranglers released student slaves, cuffed us again, and walked us back to a cage where we our throats were sprayed with the antidote to devoxer, then given bottled water to await the verdicts.

Unless you’re a body-builder with a dick that could masquerade as a python, male slaves almost never grade out as any form of Prime. Given my average, rather thin appearance, I was surprised and pleased to come out as Choice minus—I have to attribute that high score (five steps below Prime plus, but still more than I deserved) to the fact that my brief FINO contract had given me a real understanding of what being a human slave means. Think of it as method acting—the slave merchants perceived me as a valuable slave because I THOUGHT of myself as a slave and had been used repeatedly as a sex object. Or not—that’s the only explanation I could come up with.

After another “delicious” meal of slave kibble, all of us were taken back to our lockers, relieved of collars and cuffs, and permitted to dress again. I thanked Jean sincerely for being a kind mistress, and tried to reassure her that, as far as I was able, she would not suffer much the next day when our roles reversed.

We all had to write a brief essay about our thoughts and conclusions concerning our experiences as sluts or wranglers (is that like Chutes and Ladders, you ask? Yes, but it’s the X-rated, 18 years and older version), and then we were released to go home.

Before I left, I tracked down Francisco. He looked a little wary when I approached him, but I assured him that I understood completely why he had face-fucked me and even why he had encouraged Ralph to invade my rear end. I was certainly NOT looking for retribution or to reassert my manhood or any of that—it just didn’t apply when one was a slave, however temporarily. That said, I asked him very politely whether he could help me to gain closure in the second part of the exercise. You guessed it, I wanted Ralph to “turn the other cheek(s)” by having me do unto him as he had done unto me. Francisco agreed, but ONLY if I promised him to be especially careful in the process—not only did he not want me to “tear Ralph a new one” down there, but he suspected that Ralph was actually a very insecure, fragile personality. We wanted him to have the same kind of experience as a slave that I had, but not destroy him physically or mentally. I readily agreed, then went home by way of McDonald’s. Slave kibble may be nutritious, but my stomach was growling.

Wednesday morning dawned cloudy and dark, and it had rained just enough that the resulting humidity would make summer in Texas even more miserable than usual. Since I was about to become a junior wrangler at the Long Horn, I had to get there early, before the scheduled arrival of the next lucky winners of a Texas FINO contract. Florence briefed us on procedures, then handed us papers listing our assigned slaves for the next two days. There was a twinkle in her eye (well, she always seems happy, but you know what I mean) when she handed me my assignment—Jean. I had to smile back; the woman didn’t miss anything, which is why she was such a great slave wrangler. Perhaps she was just keeping me with the same “lab partner,” only in this case the “lab” was short for "labia."

Jean had been shy when the course began, but that was nothing compared to her blushing, tongue-tied behavior this morning. I picked her up after she had signed her FINO contract, then walked her to the designated cage for her “induction.” “Strip, slave.”

*****
(Jean Scorer’s perspective)

Contrary to common male belief, not all women dream of being helpless, naked sex sluts. Not all, but I have to admit that I certainly did! Somewhere in the back of my bookish, introverted mind, which was crowded with insecurities about my body and social skills, I confess to a recurring fantasy of being the beautiful, horny woman wantonly begging some handsome, dominant guy to use my body in any way he wanted. In a perverted way, that made me feel more desirable than I ever had as a free female citizen.

That was fantasy, though. In reality I was equal parts of aroused and terrified by the prospect of playing slave even for 30 hours. When Frank ordered me to strip, I almost froze. It’s not just being naked in public; I’ve always been self-conscious about my body which had an extra 15 or 20 pounds, most of it in my breasts and rear end! Knowing that Frank had survived a similar humiliation—and that I had deliberately exposed myself to him before—I gritted my teeth and got on with it, trying to ignore the other people doing the same thing in our cage. I hastily shucked off my loose jeans, panties, and baggy sweatshirt, then stuffed them and my slip-on shoes into the locker. I was blushing so much that I barely registered when Frank locked my clothes away. By the time he stood back up, I had assumed the Present position, allowing him to see everything my Mom told me to keep hidden. I had always thought that the expression “I could have died of embarrassment” was an exaggeration, but I suddenly felt so dizzy that I might easily have lost consciousness. Yet, my nipples and clit were standing up and almost throbbing while I suddenly felt sticky between my widespread thighs.

Whether out of empathy or lust, Frank took pity on me. He smiled and murmured softly, making meaningless, reassuring sounds as one might for a pet as he walked around me, possessively and firmly running his hands all over me (including those treacherous nipples.) Being naked in front of a guy with whom I had had sex (and damn good sex, too) meant that my mind was focused on sex, which I think is why his caress set off the most incredible sensations in my body and mind. I squeaked when his hand slid deeply between my buttocks with fingers goosing me, but I THINK that he did that deliberately to distract me from my acute sense of exposure. At least that got me past my first shock, after which he promptly ordered me to kneel, stand, and back hands. Before I knew it, I was completely helpless as well as slave naked, with his fingers again firmly up my butt crack as he steered me towards the wooden platform used for slave yoga. On several previous evenings, I had practiced block positions alone in front of a full-length mirror, both to perfect my form and to get used to the idea of gyrating naked in public view. Now, that practice helped a little bit in both aspects, but not much. At least I didn’t stumble and fall as we danced, twerked, and contorted ourselves in front of a mixed audience—both genders and a combination of real slave wranglers (who were bored and shock-proof) and our fellow students (who were trying hard not to stare and grin.) I tried not to think about the onlookers, instead concentrating on the orders of the same short, cute female wrangler (her nametag read “Shirley”) that had directed the other group of students two days earlier. Mistress Shirley definitely knew what she was doing. Not only did she issue a steady stream of commands and corrections, but she did it all while smiling and encouraging us to feel like submissive sluts.

“Work with me.” She exhorted the group. “You KNOW you’re the sexiest, horniest whore in this group. And a horny whore earns a higher grade and a higher price, which are your ticket to a happier future. Make everyone who sees you want to own and use your fantastic body!” This gave us self-confidence, not to mention (as I had learned in our course) earning top dollar for the owners and slave market if we were auctioned off.

So I told myself I was a prime-rated bitch, even though I felt like an exposed elephant trying to dance. At least, I reflected, there were several cheerleader-types (probably getting slave graded after turning 18) on the platform with me, distracting attention away from my bobbing boobs and butt. I noticed, though, that Frank barely glanced at the other female slaves, watching me constantly. I couldn’t help remarking that his penis—which I knew from experience was impressively large—was practically bursting out of his jeans! That thought did more to make me think I was attractive than anything Shirley might say to the group.

I was relieved when we came to the end of that exhibitionist hell, but I knew what was coming next. I was perfectly happy to have Frank fondle me as he cuffed and guided me across the floor, but our destination was another trial I had dreaded--a cage where a line of slave benches waited to immobilize the temporary slaves like me. It could have been worse, I suppose—I’d seen some of my classmates tied over a low railing for use. Before I knew it, I was on my hands and knees, completely restrained with a lubricated plug up my rear end while I stared at Frank’s still-bulging jeans. I was looking forward to something I could enjoy—sucking his dick, when I heard our instructor, Francisco, speak to him quietly.

“Gringo—you asked me for a chance to get closure, right? Well, now’s the time. Come with me—Miz Shirley will keep your slut entertained while you’re gone.” And just like that, Frank patted my head, told me “don’t go anywhere, slave, until I get back” and left.

If you’d asked me before this course if I would be disappointed by NOT being forced to give a blow-job, I would have laughed scornfully. Now I felt bereft, abandoned, at least until I heard the voice of the diminutive wrangler who had ordered all those block moves a few moments before.

“Hello,” she said kindly, as I noticed her out of the corner of my left eye. “You’re Jean, right?”

“Yes, Mistress.” I replied, still disoriented by the sudden shift in who controlled me.

“Well, how do you like being a FINO so far?” Shirley asked, gently running her hands over me, including my dangling breasts. Over the next several minutes, we had a serious discussion about how thrilling it was to be a helpless slave servicing someone I loved. Somehow she knew that I had a crush—and I hoped a relationship—with my current “owner,” Frank. Over the next few minutes, she told me an amazing story in which she had signed a FINO contract with her boyfriend’s wealthy family—she ended up getting plowed in all her openings by both family and servants, but she also got to spend some really quality time as her boyfriend’s slut. THEN she told me that she married that boyfriend, after which she signed another FINO contract so that he could bind, dominate, and make love to his favorite “bitch” whenever he wanted. I think she was just trying to distract me, and she certainly succeeded in that, but she also gave me some tantalizing ideas.

Mistress Shirley had just told me, with some embarrassment, about how as a FINO slave she had been “given” to her future brother-in-law for full use on his 18th birthday. Then we were interrupted. One of the female student “wranglers” came around and very gently used a strap-on to give me the experience—or at least the oral skills—of deep-throating a master. Shirley kept playing with my body, this time even my clit, which made sucking that artificial cock a LOT more enjoyable; I actually orgasmed in the process, something I had never experienced on the (rare) occasions when I fellated a guy with my clothes on (sometimes as an alternative to taking them off!) The student had me go through the motions of displaying my tongue as if there were jism on it, and then departed. Shirley picked up our conversation about slaving for her brother-in-law as if nothing had happened.

Eventually, Frank returned from wherever he had been and asked Shirley if she would fill my mouth while he took care of “the other end.” The thought of being spit-roasted was stressful, but I could swear I heard her murmur to him, “you’ve got a great girl here.” To which he replied, even more softly, “Tell me about it!”
That exchange gave me a warm feeling, and before I knew it there was another plastic rod down my throat and a warm, rubber-wrapped cock in my well-lubricated cunt. At least, I told myself, those intruders were driven by two nice people who had experienced what they were doing to me. Perhaps that’s why I found being spit-roasted really enjoyable, especially after Mistress Shirley and Frank figured out a push-pull rhythm to keep me filled at all times! I was humming, moaning, and lubricating constantly, not to mention clamping down firmly on Frank’s cock.

Then he paused for a moment, and I felt him extract the plug from my anus and replace it with his own dick! I reflexively tightened up, but he was gentle and slow, leaning over my back to murmur reassurance into my ear while he reached around me to fondle my breasts. All this time, Shirley (bless her heart) withdrew her dildo, and did not continue using my throat until Frank was fully inserted into my rectum and I had resumed wriggling and moaning. I actually had a second orgasm with Frank balls deep in my ass. Take a memo: If you MUST be face- and butt-screwed at the same time, try to find two people to use you who have experienced being on the receiving end of similar treatment!

*****
When I recovered from my second climax, Shirley had disappeared and Frank quickly released me from my bonds, cuffed me again, and walked me over to the “slut wash.” Lord knows I needed it—I was sweaty all over and sticky on my inner thighs, but I imagine I had a dumb blonde, vacant grin on my face from what he had just done to me.

As we had been shown on our tours of various slave markets, where possible slaves were washed and fondled by 18- and 19-year olds of the opposite sex. Especially males in their late teens would work for very low wages and “all the pussy they can handle.” So I ended up with my ankles spread wide and my rear-cuffed wrists pulled up by a cable, forcing me to bend over with my boobs hanging down. Two very young-looking guys in rubber suits took their time while thoroughly feeling me up and running water up my cunt and butt, all while telling me how much fun it was to play with a sexy woman. They particularly enjoyed toying with my erect nipples and breasts—based on the amount of time, water, and soap they spent on my bosom, it should remain clean for the next three years. All this time Frank stood at the edge of the tiled area, grinning at the spectacle of me being man-handled. I should have been embarrassed or irritated by his presence, but in fact I got a warm feeling, as if he were watching over me to ensure those guys didn’t go too far. I guess that’s what “Slave Mind” is like.

After I had been stroked, goosed, douched, and thoroughly fondled, these horny guys TWICE filled my colon with warm water and made me hold it before releasing into a commode. Finally, aroused, humiliated, and cleaned inside and out, I was returned to the custody of my grinning Master, Frank. Of course, it didn’t help that he blatantly groped my rear end and boobs while cuffing me, meanwhile complimenting me on what a “hot, horny slut” I was. (I don’t know about hot, but I definitely was horny after that procedure!)

Then it was time for fine dining slave style—I and three other naked, cuffed women were made to kneel, each of us facing dog bowls full of water and slave kibble, and ordered to eat and drink without, of course, our hands. I had been screwed doggy style, but now I was literally an animal, trying to keep my balance with my butt and cuffed hands raised up high while my face struggled to consume the kibble. When I finished, Master Frank helped me back to a kneeling position, and incidentally (you guessed it) fondled me again! As if I wasn’t horny enough before this. At least he took a moment to re-arrange my damp hair into some kind of order, not blocking my vision.

Then he walked me to the nearest piss grate and encouraged me to relieve myself. Even though I needed to go, it was difficult to just let fly when I wasn’t sitting on a commode but was instead in full view of my male keeper.

I had forgotten the sequence of events, so when I heard him order “mouth,” I was momentarily thrilled, thinking he was going to use my mouth and throat for his pleasure. Again. The sudden insertion of a canvas gag reminded me of the requirement that I be transported while fully restrained. Even that gave me another stab of submissive arousal, which only increased my sexual frustration. The downside of being a pleasure slave is that, even though your designated function is sex object, you don’t get to be used sexually every time you felt the urge!

Master Frank walked me over to one of the side exits, where Master Francisco, our assistant instructor, was waiting to sign the temporary slaves out for the night. He didn’t need to remove the gag in order to peel down my lower lip and scan my slave identification number for the Long Horn’s data base. He made some off-handed comment to my temporary owner about how he (Frank) was having all his wishes come true today; only later did I realize that meant that Francisco (and probably the other full-time wranglers) was well aware of the budding sexual attraction between Frank and me.

Once we were through the door and outside in the hot sun and warm, humid breezes, I felt even more exposed. I had almost adjusted to being a naked slave in front of my fellow students, and I knew intellectually that the Long Horn’s staff of slavers like Francisco and Shirley had seen so much helpless “pussy” (sorry, but that’s how they described us) that they weren’t particularly interested in me. The only possible exception might be when they were actually penetrating me (and even then, oddly enough, sexually dominating human beings who had lost their rights had become just another job for most of the wranglers.) Outside, standing on the warm pavement of the slave market’s parking lot, I was acutely aware of the other free people—customers and miscellaneous vendors or visitors, not to mention a few slave merchants—who were all wearing clothes and displaying at least a mild interest in looking at my exposed, defenseless body. One of them even gave a “thumb’s up” sign after examining my exposed breasts and crotch.

*****

Fortunately or unfortunately, we had only a short walk before stopping near the tailgate of one of the huge, shiny pickup trucks bearing the logo, name, and phone numbers of the Long Horn Slave Market. I suddenly realized that there were worse modes of transportation than being hog-tied in the trunk of a car, which is how I had taken Frank home two days earlier. In the back of this truck I would be not only tightly restrained by also exposed to public view! Frank’s decision to move me like this suggested that he had absorbed some of the lessons we’d received during the course. Specifically, although most people of both genders were embarrassed by public nudity, that was especially true for females, who had been trained from a young age to cover up their “naughty bits,” as Monty Python might say.

Frank dropped the back gate and produced a wooden step for me to climb into the open bed of the pickup. There, I came face to face with two large chain-link cages. As I expected, I was about to experience one of the standard methods for transporting slaves, colloquially called (because of the original purpose of these cages) “poodle transport.” Kneeling on the truck bed, I was still absorbing that thought when Frank almost casually used one hand to spread my lower cheeks while the other hand pressed a well-lubricated plug into my anus. He made some comment about wanting to keep me well-gapped, implying he intended to sodomize me yet again when there was still a dull ache from his first invasion. Just this threat reinforced my sense of being, as I’ve remarked before, not just a slave but a sex toy for free people.

I was still thinking about that as Frank instructed me to crawl backwards onto the hard tray at the bottom of one of the cages. I was already gagged, butt-plugged, and cuffed, but now my temporary owner (and I hoped boyfriend) followed the same instructions I had received, which was to transport the student temporary slaves “suitably restrained.” First, he pulled a dark cloth bag over my head. Not only did this deny me sight, but it also impeded my hearing and started to heat up in the sun. Although sightless, I had gone through the same training and could therefore interpret the various tugs and sensations that followed. First, he used a zip-tie to anchor the chain between my handcuffs to the rear side of the cage. Next, I felt other zip ties connecting my ankles to the lower corners of the cage. I had thought I had put HIM into tight, humiliating confinement when I used cuffs and leg chains to hog-tie him blindfolded in my trunk. Now I was not only immobilized on my knees but acutely aware that my hooded head and large, erect boobs were completely visible above the sides of the truck! Once again, my captor/owner was playing cleverly on my fears and sensations to induce a sense of helpless subservience, “Slave Mind” with capital letters, in me.

For a long time I knelt there, blind—for all I knew, dozens of people looked at me. Then I heard a series of small noises and unintelligible commands and felt some vibrations as if others were on the truck bed, very close to me. Eventually, I deduced that another slave was being incarcerated in the poodle cage next to mine. Whatever that signified, it was apparently the reason why I had not been moved already. Finally, I heard the back gate bang shut, followed a few seconds later by two truck cab doors closing, suggesting that there were at least two free people—one of them (I hoped!) being Frank—in the cab.

I felt the truck moving, stopping, and moving again, picking up speed. I was unsure exactly where we were, but the speed and the flow of humid air over my immobile body suggested that we were somewhere on Interstate 45 running through Houston. Just as I reached that conclusion, I heard a very loud airhorn—obviously some trucker had caught sight of my helpless body and was applauding the view! By this time, I thought I was as embarrassed as I could possibly be about my nakedness, but this sound just reinforced my blushing.

The truck slowed, drove for a few minutes of start and stop, and then came to a halt, apparently parked. The sound of someone clambering into the truck bed led me to believe that I was about to be freed, but instead a series of sounds and commands told me that my unseen companion, presumably another slave, was being uncaged. One voice called that companion a “cunt,” strongly suggesting that the other slave was female. Then the sounds faded away towards the rear of the truck. I heard the tailgate close, and then Frank’s voice saying, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow about 9 a.m. Have fun!” A male laugh replied to him.

This time only one door closed, presumably with Frank driving, and we again picked up speed as if returning to the Interstate. Twenty minutes later, the same sequence of slowing followed by stop and go suggested we were off the highway and nearing our destination, wherever that was. Finally, the truck halted a second time and I heard someone drop the tailgate and climb into the bed. Three sharp snaps told me the zip-ties were cut, and a moment later the locked door of my poodle cage audibly opened. Abruptly, the hood was hauled off my hot head, leaving me blinking in the unexpected light, staring at a smiling Frank as he casually reached in and manipulated my nipples. At his direction, I crawled out of the cage but he had to help me stand, shakily, after my prolonged immobility. Frank untied and removed my cage, then kissed my forehead as I leaned against him. Once I recovered my balance, he guided me, still cuffed, down and out of the truck. Then, with his hand once again goosing me, he guided me up a sidewalk into a small, run-down apartment building. I waddled along, trying not to lose the plug he had pushed into me earlier. I was acutely aware of my appearance as a cuffed, slave naked toy, and was relieved when we reached and entered a small apartment without encountering any other free people.

Once inside, Frank led me to the toilet and released my wrists so I could urinate almost normally—if you call being a naked, collared female with her wrangler just around the corner being normal! He offered me a drink of water, then some sandwiches to make up for the hunger that remained after nothing but slave kibble all day.
Eventually, though, we ended up in his tiny living room, where we re-enacted (with roles reversed) what had happened two nights ago in MY apartment. With my hands re-secured behind my back, I knelt, thighs wide apart, facing a sofa on which (after unzipping his pants) he sat. What he wanted was obvious, but he stopped my leaning forward and prompted me,

“What does a good slave cunt say when she sees her master’s cock?”

I recognized what he wanted—not only was my mouth going to service him, but I had to ASK for the privilege. “May I please suck your monster cock, Master?” came out of my mouth almost unbidden. Again, as I’ve said before—perhaps it was just my temporary enslavement, perhaps it was my horniness, maybe my attraction to him, and perhaps some combination of all three, but I realized with a start that I really DID want to use my mouth to service him.

Whatever the cause, in about ten seconds his pubic hairs were tickling my nose as he held the sides of my head and gently rocked me back and forth as my tongue and mouth eagerly stimulating his long and (thankfully) clean-smelling cock. I had enjoyed blowing him before when HE was the slave, but it felt even better to feel it growing in my mouth as I knelt and submitted to his total control. The speed with which he expanded inside my mouth was in a strange way flattering—I was definitely pleased that I could arouse such a response from him so easily, so I continued to smile and stare longingly into his eyes.

Without stopping the steady pumping, he suddenly remarked, “I’ve been dreaming all week of seeing you like this—the naked cuffed slave girl eagerly swallowing my dick while she smiles as if it’s the greatest treat she’d ever had.” OK, that’s precisely how a slave is supposed to look when she sucks on her master’s prick, but in this case my submissive desire to entertain him made my facial expression genuine.

After a while, he shifted to using only his left hand to guide the movement of my willing head up and down his pole, while his right hand softly stroked my hair and face, telling me in the kindest tones “what a superb cock-sucker you are.” If anything, that sentiment fueled both of us, making the experience less a slave obeying her master and more two lovers (albeit one was clearly dominant) enjoying each other. Almost before I realized it, Frank unloaded into my throat and mouth, and I barely remembered to retain some of his goo on my tongue. As I dutifully stuck that tongue out to display what he had given me, the combination of sex and submission prompted me to have a climax—at least a small one. He hastily nodded permission for me to swallow, then gently held my shoulders so that I didn’t keel over as I shuddered to completion, still grinning like the cock-obsessed bimbo I had become.

Several minutes later, after we had both caught our breath while I gently used my tongue to lick his dick clean, my master/boyfriend helped me to stand and walked me to the bathroom, where he freed my wrists and offered me both mouthwash and toothbrush to scrub my mouth out. After that, he re-connected my wrists in front of me and used them to lead me back to the sofa, where he insisted I kneel on the cushions. He draped a blanket over my body, which was rapidly cooling in his air conditioning, then sat next to me while we watched TV for several hours. Most of the time he had one arm around my shoulders and the other underneath the blanket, teasing me gently as he stroked all my sensitive parts.

After perhaps 90 minutes of this cuddling and fumbling, Frank announced that it was bedtime, and led me by my wrists to his bed, where he instructed me to lie down on my back, hands above my head and legs spread wide. I eagerly obeyed, not just because I was his temporary slave but because the glint in his eye told me he had more sex in mind, and I had been on a slow boil sitting on his couch. You can visualize how I ended up—on my back, cuffed wrists secured loosely above my head and ankles tied to the two lower corners of the bed. I was completely defenseless, wide open for anyone to use me. Mmmm.

He stood back for a minute, then announced that he was just admiring the view. Once again, unbidden, a slave mantra came out of my mouth, “I live to serve you, Master.” That put a huge smile on his face, which matched the one on mine. We continued to grin at each other like fools as he hastily stripped naked (I was pleased to see that his dick had enjoyed the view as much as his eyes.) He set his alarm for an early hour, then casually straddled my body as if I were a filly, dropping his “Monster Prick” (and it really did look monstrous) in my cleavage.

“I’ve been dreaming about this ever since you showed me your pineapple boobs, babe.” After which, he proceeded to pull my breasts together to form a tunnel for his cock, then began happily thrusting in and out while casually thumbing my nipples (which didn’t need any MORE stimulation) and massaging my breasts as if they were bags filled with mashed potatoes. Occasionally, he would reach behind himself with one hand to diddle my little nub. I don’t know which one of us was more excited by this new form of friction; I expected any minute for him to shoot off, painting my face with cum. At the last minute he grimaced and forced himself to dismount, mumbling about not wanting to waste his chance to plow me. He had more will power (or WON’T power) than I. I realized that I had actually opened my mouth in anticipation of his discharge; as the crude saying goes, I was gagging for it!

Instead, he looked away from me and panted for a few minutes, trying to get control over himself. Then he smiled at me and tugged a sheet over both of us as he crawled down between my legs.

OK, I have to admit that Frank did not take as long or do as thorough a job of licking me down there as he had done when our roles were reversed two days earlier. On the other hand, he was the guy in charge so he could do whatever he wanted to me, a thought that brought on another climax! Then he climbed up to face me, his legs still lying between mine and his face still smiling as broadly as I’m sure mine was. He spent a bare two minutes on my boobs, sucking and groping one while his other hand kept my other mound occupied, then reversing the position. By this time I was wriggling against my bonds and begging my “Master” to “pound me, plow me, ram me, fuck me, please!!”

So he did. I realized how lubricated I was down there as his erect and seemingly-massive penis slid into me in one thrust while his body settled on top of mine and kissed me breathless. By the time he finally broke the lip-lock, his hips had worked up to full speed, repeatedly ramming me so hard that my clit, labia, and cervix would probably be bruised the next day—but it would be worth it! I was delirious with the thrill and helplessness of it all, babbling and begging for him to keep pounding me; his comments were fewer because he was breathing so heavily, but he seemed to have lost any coherence. It was as if I was invaded by one of those piston-driven machines, only this one felt warm and kind as he ravaged my widespread body. And somewhere in my sex-addled mind, I registered that I’d never felt so stuffed before in my life, either by one of my few boyfriends or (more frequently) by the large vibrators I had used. I finally realized that it was because I still had a rather large plug up my rear end, so that I could feel both plastic and human flesh down there, separated by only a few thin membranes. DAMN that guy knew how to fuck. I knew that both of my passages would be sore the next day, but it was worth it.

On Monday night, when our roles had been reversed and I was bouncing on top of my restrained slave, he and I had come ALMOST simultaneously, which I knew was actually a rare event. This time we came even closer together in time. I shuddered with the thrilling sensations of being his helpless toy, and that shuddering apparently triggered his own climax, thrusting ever harder into the depths of my body as he collapsed on top of me while French-kissing me passionately.

A long time later, he roused himself enough to crawl off me and release my “three-point suspension”, followed by uncuffing me and extracting that plug. He brought me a large glass of water to make up for my dehydration, and then helped me into his shower. Just as on Monday night, we spent a lot of time playing with soap on each other’s body. This time, however, I couldn’t resist kneeling down on the wet, hard tiles to fellate his equally wet, hard cock. I think both of us were too tired to carry this to another completion, but I’ll always treasure the image of my nude, collared body kneeling in the shower, tonguing his cock while my hands fondled his balls and water poured down over both of us.

After this adventure, like a good slave I pat-dried my owner’s body with a towel, after which he did the same for me—only he ordered me into “Slave 4’s” position and talked to me like a beloved bitch who had gotten all wet outside. Truth was, I was even wetter INSIDE, if you know what I mean.

To firmly establish his control over me, “Master” Frank again secured my wrists together in front of me, then in bed spooned behind me so that his top hand could possessively fondle my breasts. After a few minutes of teasing, he remarked, absently,

“Anyone ever tell you what fantastic tits you have, slave? I mean, your three openings are a dream cum true, but the body that holds those openings together is world class.”

“Thank you, Master,” I dutifully replied, smiling even though he couldn’t see my face.

“Seriously, though,” he began, sounding much calmer. “Quite apart from your FANTASTIC body, you are good looking, smart, funny, and apparently hornier than hell.” He paused as I snuggled back towards him, my butt brushing against his still (!) firm dick. “Jean, I want to ask you something now, but it wouldn’t be fair to expect an answer until your FINO contract is over. What would you think about continuing this relationship after the slave training is over?”

“Meanwhile,” he concluded, I still have the rest of the night to play with my slave, so don’t expect to get too much sleep. Got it, darling slut?” “Yes, Master.”

*****
And we didn’t—sleep much, that is. I don’t know what time it was, but sometime in the dark of night he awakened me by pushing downward on my shoulders, demanding “Another one of your fantastic blow-jobs, slave.” Although only half-awake, I had no objection to that, so I happily suckled on his warm, large prick while he gently held my head. Gently, that is, until I got him excited, at which point his hands clamped down on me and he frantically screwed my face, giving me another thrilling episode of “sex slut Jeanie gets used by her Master.” After he discharged into my mouth, he rolled me over and again spooned behind me, rapidly diddling my nipples and clit while kissing my neck until I arched in my own crisis. After that, he took me to the bathroom to clean out my mouth before we returned for another blissful few hours of spooning and cuddling.

When I awoke it was light out, so I rolled over and began touching his sleeping body with my bound hands, marveling at his ability to grow yet ANOTHER erection. Just when I was wishing he would wake up and fuck me senseless, he did just that, rolling me onto my back, pulling my cuffed hands behind my neck so that he could pin me down, and (to use a crude but accurate description), “fuck my brains out.” I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of that, to be honest—but I needed to insist on equality in our relationship.

We got up early so that he could cook me breakfast—“I’m trying to show you all the advantages of having me as a boyfriend, darling,” he explained. Then he cuffed and gagged me before marching me out to the truck, although this time he didn’t use the bag over my head. I almost wished that he HAD when we encountered several other residents of the apartment house, to each of whom he explained that he was just “training this slut” before returning her to the slave market.

I REALLY wished I was wearing the bag when he again caged and restrained me in the back of the pickup truck, so that I was acutely aware of every driver and pedestrian who noticed my helpless nudity on display. I wasn’t the only one, either. We stopped to pick up his unnamed associate and HIS student slave, who turned out to be Susan, one of the few members of our class with actual experience with slaving. She had once confided to me that her parents owned a pony ranch, so she was taking this course to experience slavery without being humiliated in front of anyone she knew in the extensive human ranching community. Now, however, this blond haired, blue-eyed, beautiful young woman was as helpless and exposed as was I. If possible, she felt it even more than I did, because she had half-consciously acquired her family’s disdain for naked slaves—and now she was one! I couldn’t help noticing that the truck was travelling rather slowly on the highway, ensuring that the maximum number of vehicles passed us and got an eyeful of the caged sluts in the back. There were several double-takes from drivers and at least three 18-wheelers blew their air horns at us; each time Susan turned bright red and closed her eyes as if she were almost fainting.

You all know the process of slave grading, which was the last trial we had to undergo, so I won’t spend too much time talking about it. I almost freaked out when we were tied to tables on display, and Susan hyperventilated when some guy called her by name and thoroughly felt her up—so much for keeping it a secret! I will say that Frank was an alert guard dog, preventing anyone from getting more than a brief goose and tickle of my body. In a way, though, this was another way to fulfil my fantasies, and the number of guys who expressed a desire to use me sexually was kinda flattering, if a little unnerving. We came out of the grading with me Prime minus and Susan Choice plus, which seemed odd because she was a really gorgeous cheerleader type—I can only attribute my higher grade to the way I had internalized being a horny slut!

After restoring our voices and our clothing, the exercise was over except for hastily chronicling our experiences and turning them in to the course director as a final paper. I sincerely thanked Frank for how well he had treated (and used!) me and promised him that we would talk about our continuing relationship the next day.

Our course-ending or graduation exercise was rather brief and low key, except that the course director called a group of people, including me, up to the front of the room just before she handed out our certificates and transcripts. Turns out she wanted to commend those of us who had graded out as Prime. I should have been embarrassed to have been judged, in effect, “born to the collar,” but it was still a little thrill for the bashful, plump girl, and Frank was on his feet leading the applause.
I winked at him, bowed, and the course was over.

*****

Afterward, we walked out to my car together. I told him that I really wanted a relationship, but since we were going to different colleges we would have to strive to keep ourselves going. I used this separation as an excuse to propose something to keep us together: a long-term FINO contract. I told him that, worst came to worst, I would become his FINO slave girl, but what I REALLY wanted, if it were possible, was some type of agreement where we were each obligated to be the other’s part-time FINO. That would not end until after we both graduated two years hence.

Frank was intrigued and told me he had picked up the slave psychiatrist’s business card because he was hoping for some kind of FINO slave relationship, and we legally had to get such a psychiatrist to act as guardian for a FINO contract.

“Meanwhile,” he pursed, after we’d exchanged phone numbers and e-mails. “If we’re going to alternate roles, which one of us gets to play slave next time we’re together?”

“Simple,” I giggled, knowing he’d walked into my trap. “It’s obviously YOUR turn to play the slave and mine to be the wrangler, right?” I asked, playing tough by emphasizing the final word.

“You’re right, of course,” he replied promptly. My heart soared.

“That’s ‘yes Mistress,’ and don’t forget it.” I replied, grinning. “You know where I live now, right? Tomorrow night, 7 p.m., be outside my door. I want you to bring a large bag so that you can strip down in the hallway and put ALL your clothes in the bag. Then ring my doorbell and assume the Present Position. Wait for me until I get around to letting you in. Got it, Asshole?”

He gulped. “Yes, Mistress.”

(The end)

[jeepster]

interesting! Not sure if I want a long story about a guy slave but this could be good!

[Hooked6]

Francisco agreed, but ONLY if I promised him to be especially careful in the process—not only did he not want me to “tear Ralph a new one” down there, but he suspected that Ralph was actually a very insecure, fragile personality.

I found that observation very insightful on Gringo's part. I suspect that is probably true with many outwardly alpha male salve handlers - very similar to the "little man" syndrome usually associated with power hungry cops, athletes or other overly extroverted people, only in this case it was an emotional insecurity that was masked by Master Frank's aggressive behavior.

Most interesting. I am normally not really interested in overtly gay male scenarios or scenes but this story was very well-written and the storyline interesting and the scenes were certainly part of the reality of one being a slave. My congratulations on a fine contribution. It had a little something for everybody.

Hooked6

[Carl Bradford]

With regard to Hooked6's comment:
I think of myself as heterosexual, and cannot imagine being attracted to another male. That said, to surrender one's anus, either to a dick or (far preferably) to a strap-on worn by an attractive woman, is to me the ultimate form of submission, especially for a male forced to accept the female role in a relationship. I have described anal sodomy before, and will probably do so again, NOT because I find it erotic in itself (as I wrote in this story, it's the ultimate horror for most male slaves) but because it is a clear statement of submission, subordination, and humiliation. As Hooked6 suggests, any slave but especially a male slave can (regrettably) expect to be sodomized as an expression of ownership and slavery--even if neither male involved really enjoys homosexual contact--does that make sense?

To be honest, I've been playing around with a long story in which (at one point) a male "switch" deliberately self-indentures as a "sissy-boi" (apologies to true transgenders) because, as I said, he can think of no greater surrender of power and self to a dominant.

[Hooked6]

I believe your point was spot on as it pertains to your story. A heterosexual male submitting to another male because it is demanded of him IS the ultimate act of submission as you pointed out, as I am sure it is for a female slave servicing another female.

I was speaking, however, in more general terms regarding male slaves. I think it is probably most plausible and reasonable to assume that when a male slave is presented for auction on the block that it is quite possible that he may not only be bid on by a female but also by a male purchaser for say manual labor, skilled professional services or pleasure. It defies logic to assume that there are no wealthy homosexual males capable of owning or purchasing a male slave and as such might wish to have them used for pleasure as well as labor. The possibility of the male slave being sodomized is certainly in the cards as the potential new owner is being sorted out as he stands on the block.

I am sure that potential heterosexual male slaves might be at least a bit concerned about the possibility of a homosexual male buying him. Just a thought.

[eroticstoryspinner]

Carl, good story as always. The gay sex was appropriate to the plot You have to be true to the rules of your universe. In the Texas slave world any slave can be used by any free person without consequences or stigma providing the slave isn't physically abused. My penal servitude universe is similar. However, homosexual sex is generally incidental as so far none of my POV characters have been male and I am firmly heterosexual.

When I get caught up, I may take the dare of a gay friend to write essentially a gay penal slavery story set at a prison logging facility. The work requires a lot of upper body strength, so there are far more male slaves than female, so a lot of slave cocks wind up "gay for the stay." A straight man sentenced to such a place would have possibilities. In fact, My biggest concern would be Literotica kicking it back because you can't depict sex acts that are truly non-consensual. At least for women. I am not into gratuitous cruelty or abuse, but a new penal slave cock getting DPed for the first time is not likely to enjoy it.