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Slave Wife

Chapter 4

Slave Wife

Slave Wife

Chapter 4


When I woke up the next morning, I immediately went into the bathroom to both check on my slut and take care of my morning needs, which basically consisted of taking a shit and getting my dick sucked again.  The stench in the bathroom made my stomach turn, so I quickly flushed the toilet and opened the window to let the room air out.  Neither of these actions helped Donna at all; after nearly ten hours of having her face inches from vomit and shit that was fermenting in the toilet, she was oblivious to the smell.  Flushing the toilet caused the contents of the bowl to splash on her face, and opening the window allowed the brisk morning air to make her just that much more uncomfortable.  So sad, too bad, bitch.  She’d soon wish she was just uncomfortable.


I released Donna’s wrists and pushed her back a bit so I could sit down, but left her collar chained to the toilet.  Sitting with my knees spread, I shoved my cock in her mouth and held it there, mashing her face against my groin  while I took my morning dump.  Of course, I also had to deal with my morning piss – or rather, Donna had to – so I just held her in place and pissed down her throat.  She struggled, but after an uncomfortable, sleepless night and very little food over the past two days, there wasn’t much fight left in her.  When I finally released her head, she made sputtering sounds, a mixture of snot and piss dripping out of her nose. 


I thought about having her lick my asshole clean, but decided I’d wait for another time to introduce her to the taste of shit.  Instead, I simply ordered her to latch her lips around my cock while I face-fucked her until I came, pulling out as I did and splorking over her face.


Donna was pretty rank herself, so I let her take a three minute, cold water shower, mostly to rinse the crap off her body than to really get clean.  Even when she was done showering, she still had dried cum on her thighs and face.  She still didn’t smell very good, though, so I grabbed a spritzer of her favorite perfume and liberally doused her body with it.


After that, I decided to let up on her a bit.  It was obvious that her spirit was fairly well broken; not as much as I eventually intended it to be, but enough for now.  Besides, it was breakfast time and she still had the rest of her Big Macs to eat.  However, I was willing to give her an option.


“Would you like the rest of your hamburgers for breakfast, or just one?” I asked sweetly.  She knew by my voice that I had an ulterior motive, but she also knew she’d never be able to eat the remaining 20 Big Macs.


“Just one, please, Master,” she said quietly, barely successful in holding down the bile that was filling her throat now.


She watched in silence as I took one of the neatly-stacked sandwiches from the refrigerator and dropped it – wrapper and all – into the blender.  Then, while she watched with her stomach doing flip-flops, I added a few more ingredients: potato peelings that I’d saved just for her; a soft, nearly rotten carrot; the contents of the living room ashtray; and finally, a long drool of saliva that I let drip slowly into the container.  After thirty seconds at high speed, I poured Donna’s breakfast – now a gelatinous, putrid-looking mush – directly onto the floor.


“Eat up, sweetie pie!” I gaily announced.  “If it’s not all gone in five minutes, you’ll be having the rest of your Big Macs for breakfast – out of the toilet,” I added.


I couldn’t help but burst out laughing as Donna crawled to the mess on the floor and began slowly lapping it up.  The look of distaste on her face was just precious; if she only knew that this would be nothing compared to what was to come.  I even told her that when she slowed down once, that if she thought this was bad, maybe she needed to reconsider wanting to be my slave.  She eventually did finish, though, just barely under the time limit I’d set.  As I said, I was feeling rather kind, so I even let her lap up some water out of her doggie bowl before I presented her with her tasks for the day.  She wouldn’t even need to leave the house, for today she was going to prepare her new living quarters.


As a slave, I explained, she had no right to privacy at all.  Everything she did was subject to inspection and viewing, from taking a shit to sleeping.  Therefore, I told her, her first task would be to remove the doors and window coverings from what had been a tiny, third bedroom and attached bath, and would now be slave quarters.  Since a slave also has no right to comfort, let alone personal property, everything would be removed from the former bedroom:  furniture, lamps, even the carpeting.  If she some day earned it, I explained, I might allow her to have a blanket, a small pile of straw to sleep on, or if she eventually became an extremely obedient slave slut, a thin, second-hand mattress currently stored out in the shed.  Until then, she’d be sleeping on the concrete slab that formed the bottom floor of our – now solely my – home.  That is, unless I decided to leave her chained at the foot of my bed in case I wanted to use her scummy body during the night.


Donna’s personal bathroom would also offer her little in the way of human comfort.  I’d already turned off the hot water, and among Donna’s tasks were the removal of the sink, shower curtain, and toilet.  She had nothing but the open hole in the floor to shit or piss in, and not even that unless she earned it.  Until then, she’d be chained to a heavy bolt in the corner of her room, with a bucket to do her business in.  A steel prison-type mirror was nailed to the wall, and the shower head had been replaced with a length of used, grimy garden hose.  I had other plans to modify Donna’s new home, but those would wait until we returned from the “vacation” I had scheduled to begin at the end of the week. 


Anyway, I gave Donna her instructions for the day and headed out for a very boring, uneventful day at work.  Upon my return home, I slapped her around a bit – just because I could, not because I was angry or anything – and then unceremoniously flipped her over the back of the couch and gave her a quick fuck, leaving her in a heap on the floor, cum dripping out of her hole, while I checked her work.


“Get prettied up, we’re going out.  Don’t bother cleaning that loose hole of yours, because it’s going to see more use tonight.  Just put on some makeup, and make it quick,” I ordered after completing my inspection tour of her newly redecorated hovel.  “Make your face up like a whore.  Bright red lipstick, lots of makeup.  Come upstairs when you’re ready to get dressed,” I commanded before retiring to my recliner to watch the news with a nice glass of Chianti.


Donna didn’t really have much experience with makeup; she often went without, and even when she did wear it, the amount was miniscule.  Those days were over.  I had to send her back twice; once for more eye shadow, and the other time for a brighter, redder lip gloss.  Finally, though, her appearance was almost acceptable.


“Put those on,” I told her, pointing to a tiny black dress, fishnet stockings, and a pair of 6” stiletto shoes.  The dress was so short that it barely covered her ass cheeks, with a v-shaped neckline that plunged nearly to her waist and left most of her breasts – as well as a goodly portion of her belly – exposed to view.  With the heels on, she could barely keep everything covered.


We took the convertible again, this time with me driving.  Our ultimate destination – hers, really, since I wasn’t going in - was a club in an adjacent city, but we had to make one quick stop first.


“See the kid wiping down the tables?” I said, pointing through the McDonald’s window – the same McDonald’s she’d visited naked the night before – at a geeky-looking, pimple-faced, somewhat chubby teenaged boy.  “Go suck him off.  Don’t swallow, either.  I his cum coating your mouth when you return.  Oh, and get his phone number while you’re at it.  I might want to invite him over for a return performance”


This time she didn’t even glare at me, just nodded submissively and carefully stepped out of the car, teetering awkwardly on the unfamiliar heels.  I watched as she walked up to her target and talked to him for a moment.  I could see his eyes light up, then he motioned for her to follow him towards the restrooms.


She was back five minutes later, her hair mussed and lipstick smeared, but otherwise no worse for the wear.  She  had to look around for a minute before finding me; I’d made myself comfortable in a quiet corner booth.  After making her show me the copious amount of cum the boy had deposited in her mouth, I had her hold her head back and gargle a bit before finally allowing her to swallow. 


“Phone number?”  She reached into  the top of one of her stockings and pulled out a soiled scrap of paper.  “Bobby Hendrix, 555-5486,” I said.  “Did Bobby have a nice cock?” I asked.


“Um…I guess so, Sir,” Donna answered.   I glared at her for a minute before she continued.  “Um…I mean, all cocks are nice, Sir.   Bobby’s cock was nice, Sir. “


“How was it nice?” I asked.


“Um, I’m not sure what you mean, Master.  Nice in what way?”


“Exactly.  Describe it and tell me what you liked most about it, you stupid slut!” I spat.


“Um…it was soft, Master.  I mean the skin, because by the time we got into the restroom it was as hard as any cock I’ve seen.  It was kinda long, but skinny, so even though he went into my throat, it wasn’t too uncomfortable for me.  He had big balls, but not a lot of hair.  I think what I liked most about it, Master, was that it was just…well, I know ‘cute’ isn’t a word most men would like to be used when talking about their cocks, but that’s what it was. Cute.”


“I’m glad you liked it, but it really doesn’t matter to me whether you do or not.  You’ll have to call him up for a date later in the week, maybe see if he has eight or ten friends to join in.  Oh, and who gave you permission to use his first name?  He’s ‘Mister Hendrix,’ or ‘Sir’ to you, slut.”


“Yes, Master,” she replied, chastised and resigned to the fact that she’d be fucking not only the pimple-faced kid, but also all of his friends.


As I pulled out of the parking lot, I told her to pull her dress up and finger-fuck herself until I said to stop.  We had a long way to go, I said, and I expected the smell of wet cunt to permeate my car by the time we got there.  However, I warned her, if she came without my permission – and I wasn’t going to give it – I’d leave her on the side of the road naked, with her hands tied behind her back, and let her find her own way home.


It wasn’t a simple task for her, because the drive to our destination was nearly two hours, but I was sure she’d cheated.  Not by cumming without permission, but by pretending to finger herself when she was sure she couldn’t handle it any longer.  It didn’t really matter, though, because my objective was to ensure she smelled of wet, needy cunt.  As we drove, I had her occasionally changed hands, wiping her juices on her face, neck and hair.  Two hours of this and she reeked of sex.


Our destination was a BDSM club I’d discovered from perusing the internet.  I’d never been there before, but thanks to the contact I’d made with the management, was readily accepted along with my slut.  I led her in, leash in my hand.


“Welcome!” the manager warmly greeted me, doing nothing to acknowledge Donna’s presence except giving her a quick look.  “Since you’re here as a guest, the rules for your slave won’t apply tonight.  If, however, you decide to become a member, they will.”


“What rules might that be?” I asked.


“Quite a few, actually,” he responded.  “The most important ones are that slaves are not permitted to speak without permission, is required to remain on its knees except when being used,  and that until you’ve been a member six months, your slave remains naked and is subject to use by any member or guest.”


“I can live with that,” I answered, watching Donna blush as he explained the basics.  “I’m still not sure about membership, though, but could we go ahead and follow those rules anyway?  Just to see how it –“ I motioned to Donna “- responds?”


“Certainly, Sir,” he replied with an exaggerated bow.


“You heard him, whore!” I snapped.  “Get naked, now!”


I’m not sure whether Donna had finally accepted her position, or was just startled and stunned by the evening’s events, but in less than thirty seconds – twenty of which was taken up rolling the stockings down her legs – she knelt on the floor, naked.  The manager – who said his name was Rocco – kicked her knees apart, then reached down and helped himself to a couple of handfuls of tit.


“Big tits, but kinda saggy,” he commented.


“Not big enough, though,” I replied.  “I’m thinking fifty-fours, with enough packing material to make ‘em stick out more, you know?”


“That’d be pretty nice, particularly if you can work some of the fat off her ass and belly.  She’d be walking sex in a corset, with tits that big.  Only problem is you have to be careful with the abuse; no pins in the tits, that sort of thing.”


We continued talking about Donna’s body as though she were nothing but an inanimate object – which, for the moment, she was.  Just a thing, owned property, existing for the sole purpose of serving and amusing others.


It seemed that new slaves were usually assigned to restroom duty, which meant either serving as urinals or kneeling next to the commodes and wiping asses.  Rocco mentioned that there were a few Mistresses here tonight, so I decided to start by having Donna put to work in the ladies’ room.  She crawled reluctantly behind me as Rocco showed us the way through the club, displaying he naked body for everyone to see.  While the restrooms were ostensibly uni-sex, none of the several women acted as though having males walk in on them was unusual; in fact, a naked man knelt next to one of the toilets.  Given the choice of stalls for Donna to service, I elected to put her in the largest, chaining her collar to the base of a toilet and her wrists behind her back.  Each stall had several cameras strategically positioned inside and above it; depending on the desires of the woman using the stall, the cameras could be temporarily shut off.  When unoccupied (except for the slave, of course), the view of each stall was shown on several large-screen televisions on the walls.  There was a smaller monitor on most of the tables, from which any of the camera views could be selected.


As a guest, the other slaves would normally be off-limits to me, but because of my special situation, I was treated as any other slave owner.  I had full rights to any new slave, and could use any other slave with permission from its Master or Mistress. I sat at the bar, sipping a snifter of cognac and smoking a nice cigar while a new slave orally ministered to my cock.   A slave’s status was easily determined; new slaves wore bright red collars and were otherwise naked; slaves of higher status wore different collars and various articles of clothing.


While I sat there relaxing and having my dick sucked, I flipped the small video monitor to a view of Donna’s stall.  She was, at the moment, kneeling with her chin resting on the edge of the seat while a large woman dressed in black leather sat and did her thing.  I wasn’t sure whether she was pissing or shitting, but when she was finished, she used Donna’s tongue as her toilet paper, grabbing my wife by the back of the head and forcing her face deep into her hairy crotch.  I watched as the women reached down and cruelly shoved several fingers up Donna’s cunt, the fact that she was sopping wet made obvious by the sheen as she held them up to the camera.  Lowering her hand to Donna’s face, she grabbed her by the hair and forced her to lick the scum off her fingers.


Over the next hour or so, Donna became a bathroom favorite, receiving more “guests” than even the young male chained in the next stall.  While she cleaned pissy cunts and reamed out dirty assholes, I chatted amicably with a number of other slave owners.  Most were interested in my training methodology, and a couple offered suggestions of their own.   One, who had his own 19-year-old slave at the end of a leash, even offered a one-night swap.  It seemed he was tired of his slave’s complete obedience and devotion, and wanted a session with one not fully trained.  I told him I’d think about it.


After 90 minutes, I had Donna released and cleaned up – there were “house sluts” who took care of chores like this – and brought back into the main room.  Rather than bringing her to me, however, she was taken to a raised, padded platform against one wall, where several other women were bound in a variety of positions.  In Donna’s case, she was positioned on her back with her ankles spread and pulled over her head, so that her knees were above her face, leaving both her cunt and asshole spread and accessible.  Her head hung precariously over the side of the platform.


Over the next few hours, several men took advantage of her invitingly available holes, but – at my request – anyone who fucked any of the other bound women got their wet cocks washed off in Donna’s mouth.  At first she was reluctant and refused to clean a cock that had been up another woman’s ass, but a cock being slammed up her own ass fixed that problem.  Her clenched jaws popped open, and the shit-covered cock slid in quite nicely.  After that, she didn’t struggle at all, and submissively accepted everything placed against her lips.


Even though I’d already cum three times that day, I was ready for another go.  I didn’t feel like fucking Donna, or any of the other bound slaves, though.  The idea of sloppy thirtieths didn’t really appeal to me.  Instead, I asked the Master with the cute teenager if his offer was still open, and in a flash, I was in temporary possession of fresh teenage pussy, while he led my cum-filled, fucked-out wife out to his van.   We exchanged cell phone numbers, as well as driver’s license information, just in case. 


From an assortment of “clothing,” and I use the term very loosely, I selected a pale blue baby doll negligee for my new slave to wear on the trip home.  Her bare ass peeked enticingly from the bottom of the outfit; I’d declined the offer of the ensemble’s panties.


The drive home took quite a bit longer than the drive out; I had to stop three times, once to splay girl – that was the name her Master had given her – over the hood for a quick fuck, and twice more for blow jobs.  When we got home, I was exhausted, and took her straight to bed.  After cumming one more time – this one in her cute, tight ass – I’d had enough for one day.  With her mouth engulfing my now-soft cock – I warned her I expected her to suck me all night long – I went to sleep.  Her Master told me how well-trained she was, so when I awoke in the middle of the night with my bladder bursting, I wasn’t surprised to find her lips still wrapped around my dick.  I nudged her slightly, letting a tiny amount of pee dribble into her mouth so she knew what was coming before I let loose.  Immediately awake, she tightened her lips around me, making a tight seal.  I let loose a long, hard stream of urine, feeling the muscles in her throat flex as she swallowed quickly. When I was done, she gently worked her lips up to the end of my cock, carefully cleaning off the last of the pee.  My dick was sore from the use I’d given it already, so as much as I wanted to get sucked off again, I just patted her on the head and went back to sleep thinking about how convenient having a toilet-trained slave would be.


In the morning, girl gently extricated herself from my cock, crawling out of bed without waking me.  The first think I was aware of was the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee; I looked over the side of the bed to see the naked slave kneeling there, holding a steaming cup.


“Thank you,” I said, taking the cup and sitting upright.


“Sir, if Sir has no need of girl at the moment, may girl please begin girl’s daily chores, Sir?” she asked quietly. 


“Chores?” I asked.  “I didn’t bring you here to do chores, girl.”


“Sir, girl understands girl was brought here because Master has loaned girl to Sir, but girl always does chores in the morning, Sir.  Sir, girl would feel…unfulfilled…if girl did not complete girl’s chores, Sir.”


Damn, I thought, how submissive can you get?


“Okay, I guess.  What chores did you have in mind?”


“Sir, girl’s first chore is to clean the bathroom, Sir, followed by the rest of the house, Sir.  Sir, girl is required to sweep, mop and vacuum the floors, dust, polish the wood furniture, and ensure the windows are spotless, Sir. Sir, after that, girl makes the bed with clean linen, then is required to wash all the clothes, and prepare and serve the meals, and clean the dishes afterwards, Sir.  Sir, girl’s job is to ensure the home in which girl is residing at any moment is immaculately clean, and to make girl’s holes available to anyone who wishes to use them, Sir.”


“Well, in that case, girl, I think you should get to work!” I said, playfully slapping her on the ass as she scrambled on all fours to the bedroom door.


I spent the morning propped up in bed, watching television, calling girl whenever I wanted a fresh cup of coffee or to play with her sexy teenage body.  By the time I finally got up – so that she could strip the sheets and make my bed – it was early afternoon.  I’d not cum since the night before, and watching her naked body scampering around the house was having an effect on me.


Girl was bent over, putting a pot away under the kitchen counter, her legs spread as always (her Master required that she keep her knees at least a foot apart at all times), her hairless, pink cunt peeking out.  Without a word, I just walked up behind her, kicked her feet apart and slipped myself into her warm, wet folds.  She simply maintained her position, bent double, responding to my thrusts by pushing back at me.  She had excellent control of her vaginal muscles, milking my cock and making me cum with a grunt and a final, hard thrust.  Just as quickly, she pulled herself off and squatted in front of me, her tongue catching the long string of cum hanging from the head of my dick.  While she lapped and sucked my cock clean, globs of semen plopped from her gaping cunt onto the floor.  As soon as she was done cleaning me, she lowered her face to the floor and licked them up.  As I watched, I wondered how much training girl’s Owner would be able to give Donna in the short time he had with her.


I had girl prepare lunch for both of us, telling her she could have whatever she liked.  She told me that the only thing she was allowed for lunch was fresh vegetables, but she could prepare whatever I desired.  I told her to surprise me, just help herself to whatever was in the kitchen, as long as she could have it ready in thirty minutes.  She acknowledge the order and scampered – that’s the only way I can describe how she consistently moved – back into the kitchen.  Less than a half hour later, she crawled out to let me know luncheon was served. 


She’d prepared a simple, yet very nice meal of a small salad and Reuben sandwich.  An icy bottle of beer sat next to the plate.


“Master, girl hopes girl has pleased Master, Master.  Master, girl saw the food Master had in his refrigerator and assumed they were foods Master liked, Master.  Master, girl apologizes and begs to be punished if girl assumed wrong, Master,” she said, kneeling with her head on the floor between my feet. 


“You did fine, girl,” I assured her, patting her softly on the head.  “What about your lunch, though?”


“Sir, girl’s lunch is here, Sir,” she answered, pointing to a small saucer on the floor.  On it was a small leaf of lettuce and a single slice of tomato.  “Sir, may girl eat lunch now, Sir?” she asked respectfully.


“Yes, but are you sure it’s enough?  You’ve worked hard today, and with no breakfast.”


“Sir, girl will still be hungry, but girl is just a slave, and a slave’s needs and desires are of no importance, Sir.”


I told girl to go ahead and eat, but felt guilty about the amount of food she’d prepared for me.  I was sure hunger would cause her stomach to rumble and ache, and she was such a good girl.  She was completely submissive and totally obedient.  I knew that her Master had told her to obey me as I were him, and that no matter what I told her to do – even cause harm to herself – she’d do it.  Girl had displayed for me the sort of total obedience that I now knew I wanted from Donna.  I couldn’t let the education she’d given me go unrewarded.


“Girl, does your Master ever feed you from his hand?” I asked.


“Sir,” she replied, “Master does, on occasion, permit girl to eat his leftovers, but only as a reward, Sir.”


“Well, I’m kind of new to this Master thing, girl, and you’ve taught me a lot in the past few hours, so I think that’s deserving of a reward.  Do you like Reubens, girl?  Please answer me truthfully.”  She looked up, confusion apparent on her face.


“Sir…um…what girl likes is of no consequence, Sir.  Sir, girl is but a slave girl, and a slave girl’s desires do not matter, Sir.”


“Maybe not in normal situations, girl, but this isn’t like that.  I want to reward you.  What is your favorite food, girl?”


“Sir, girl’s favorite food is…um…chocolate, Sir?” she admitted, a questioning tone in her voice.


“I don’t think I have any chocolate around the house, so while you were checking out the stores, what did you see that you’d like to eat?”  She looked up at me, tears in her eyes.


“Um…Sir?  May girl please have a taste of peanut butter, Sir?”


“You like peanut butter?  It’s been a while since you’ve had any?”


“Sir, girl loves peanut butter, but it has too many calories for girl, and Master requires that girl not become fat and lazy, Sir.  Sir, girl has not eaten peanut butter in…um…girl believes it has been over two years, Sir.”


“Well, in that case,” I said, getting up and walking over to the cupboard, returning with a large jar of Jif, “enjoy yourself!”  I opened the jar and watched as she tentatively stuck her finger in the goo, popping it into her mouth with a grin.  I watched as she sensually sucked and licked the food off her finger.   That gave me an idea.  I took the jar in my hand and ladled a large spoonful into my mouth.


“Climb up and get your snack,” I mumbled while holding the peanut butter on my tongue, patting my lap.  Girl scrambled onto me, draping her legs over either side of my hips, her lips embracing mine as her tongue fished the food from my mouth.  The feel of her naked body against me, of her tongue worming into my mouth, was indescribable.  I grasped the back of her head and kissed her firmly.


“Sir, may girl try something, Sir?” she gasped.  “Sir, girl thinks Sir will like it, Sir,” she coaxed.


“Okay,” I answered, allowing her to climb down from my lap.


Girl quickly pulled my pants off, her need apparently as strong as my own, stroking my flaccid cock to full hardness.  Giggling, she then took a handful of peanut butter, spread it on my cock and balls, and then began gently licking it off.  My cock twitched each time she lapped at it, and her own need was becoming more and more evident.  Not only was her breathing becoming more ragged, but her nipples were sticking out like gumballs and the scent of her wetness filling the room.  She was right, I was liking it, but her mouth wasn’t what I wanted right now.


“On your back, girl!” I commanded, pushing her head off my cock.  She immediately flopped backwards, assuming a supine position with her legs spread widely.  I grabbed her ankles and pushed them over her head, not unlike the position Donna was bound in.  Unlike my wife, however, the position did not seem to be causing girl any pain.


“Ass or cunt, girl?” I asked, looking deeply into her eyes.


“Sir, please cum in girl’s cunt, Sir!” she begged.  “Sir, please fuck girl hard, Sir!”


Now, how could I turn down an offer like that?  As wet as she was, my rigid tool slid easily into her, while her well-toned cunt muscles tightened down on me so that it was almost like fucking a virgin.  She let out little squeaking noises, like a puppy’s chew-toy, each time I shoved into her, fucking her mercilessly. 


“Sir, may girl cum, Sir?” she screamed after just four or five strokes.


“You can cum as many times as you want!” I answered, increasing both the pace and force of my thrusts. 


“Girl is cumming!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, the first of three times she’d do so before I finally shot my load deep inside her wet, hairless, experienced hole.  When I was finished, we both lay there, panting.


“Sir, thank you, Sir!” she nearly cried.  “Sir, that was wonderful, Sir!”


As soon as I recovered enough to sit up, I pulled my now-shrunken cock out of her.  Under her ass was a large puddle of our accumulated juices.  True to her training, she immediately knelt over the puddle and began using her talented mouth to clean my cock off, then lapped up the mess we’d made on the floor.


“Girl, does your Master permit you to cum often?” I asked, curious about the power he had over this young slave.


“Sir,” she said, raising her head from the floor where she’d been licking up the last of the cum, “Master allows girl to cum only when his hard cock is fucking girl’s ass, Sir.  Sir, girl has not been permitted to cum with a cock in any other hole in…since girl became a slave, however long ago that was, Sir.”


“You don’t know how long you’ve been owned?”


“Sir, girl only knows the last time girl came with a cock in her cunt, girl was still in high school, Sir.  Sir, it was when girl lost her cherry, Sir.”  I pondered that for a moment, thinking of the number of times this sweet slut must have been fucked as a slave, never having been permitted a single orgasm while cock after cock penetrated that wet, warm hole I’d just enjoyed.


I was definitely interested in hearing more about this slave’s background, so I asked her for details.  She was raised in a typically upper-middle class home, and both her parents were professionals with full-time jobs.  There was nothing special about her upbringing; she was the middle child, with two brothers, one two years older and the other two years younger.  She explained that she’d always had submissive feelings, though until her latter high school years, she didn’t understand anything about them.  It was when she was a junior that she stumbled onto a BDSM internet site – one that was geared towards submissives and their feelings, not just prurient porn – which brought her to her first epiphany, that she was truly submissive.


This knowledge brought forth a major change in her outlook on life.  She adjusted her school courses as a result, dropping many of her college preparatory and advanced placement academic classes and replacing them with programs in home economics and physical education.  She felt it was now more important to be able to cook well – a skill neither she nor her mother had – keep her home clean, look attractive and act properly.  She instinctively knew that the more attractive and sensual she could become, the better her prospects of finding a mate, particularly one who understood her needs.  To this end, she enrolled in several dance classes at the local community center, and ultimately, using false identification that reflected her age as 18, obtained employment as an erotic dancer at a men’s club, where she worked on Saturday nights.


Amy – girl’s legal name – quickly became a popular attraction at the establishment, usually attired in a costume consisting of a white, lace-bordered bustier with matching garter belt and stockings.  I could only imagine the picture she must have made, her young, virginal face complimented so well by her wardrobe.  She told me she never stripped, just performed a pole dance, while men ogled and cheered.  After a few months, she began doing lap dances as well, letting men feel her up for a few more dollars.  At times, she could earn as much as $600 a night, most of which – except for that needed for wardrobe and makeup – went into the bank.


It was at the club that she met her current Master.  She’d never seen him before, but noticed him immediately when he sat down at a corner booth, his blue eyes staring intently at her, exuding an aura of self-confidence.  When her routine was over, he beckoned her to his table. 


“You’re not old enough to work here legally, are you?” he said, staring intently into her eyes. 


“No, Sir,” she answered truthfully.  She didn’t understand why, but she couldn’t’ lie.


“Have you ever been fucked?” his next question came out bluntly.  Amy was taken aback, but stammered her answer.


“N-n-no, Sir,” she said.


“Show me,” he commanded.


“Sir?” she asked, confused.


“Spread your legs and stand still so I can check to see if you’re really cherry.”  She didn’t even think about disobeying, wincing painfully as he thrust his thick fingers deeply inside her virginal hole.  She squirmed on his hand, receiving a reproachful look as a result.  She stood still while his fingers worked their way up her tunnel, winching again when he found her hymen.  He pulled his fingers out, holding them up to her face.  Amy knew instinctively that he wanted her to clean her juices from his hand, and immediately sucked his fingers into her mouth, washing them gently with her tongue.


“You have potential,” he commented, “But there’s still a lot of training needed.  I’ll be waiting in my car out front after the club closes.  If you show up, you won’t be a virgin in the morning.”


“I…I’ll be there, Sir,” her voice trembled.


“Good girl,” he answered.  “Now, get back to work.  The more tip money you bring me, the happier you’ll make me.  The happier you make me, the better you’ll be treated.”


She finished her shift that evening, and found the stranger waiting out front just as he’d said.  She got into the car without a word, handing over the roll of fives, tens and twenties that men had stuck in her panties and stocking tops.  He thumbed through it briefly, nodding with satisfaction before shoving it into his coat pocket.


“Get naked,” he commanded, giving Amy her first orders as a slave.  “Toss your things out the window,” he ordered as he sped down the road.  “You won’t be needing them any more.”


In moments, she was sitting naked in the passenger seat of her new Master’s BMW, her knees spread widely as his hand played with her sopping cunt.


He took her to a cheap motel that night, enjoying himself in each of her holes, and making her lick his cock clean after each fuck.  Once he was through, he got on the phone and called a number of his friends; before the night was over, the once-virginal Amy was an experienced whore, having had twenty men sample her wares.  She never went home, dropped out of school, and willingly submitted herself to become the property of her Master, whose name she still didn’t know.  In the ensuing two years, her name had been legally changed to “girl,” her breasts had been augmented with hormone therapy, and she’d been fucked by so many men that she couldn’t remember them all.  Sometimes she was beaten, either for some transgression or for no apparent reason at all.  Her Master regularly loaned or rented her out to others, so the overnight stay with me was nothing unusual for her. 


When she was finished with her story, I asked her if she was happy, whether she wished she’d never gotten involved in this lifestyle.


“Yes, Sir, girl is happy, Sir,” she answered truthfully.  “A slave is what girl was meant to be, Sir.  Girl didn’t understand this for a long time, but girl wouldn’t change anything, Sir…except maybe realizing girl’s true status earlier in girl’s life, Sir.”


“Thank you for telling me your story, girl,” I said, looking at my watch.  “Your Master will be here soon, so we’d better get you cleaned up.”


“Sir, girl is permitted to bathe only outside with a garden hose, or  a sponge bath using the toilet, Sir,” she replied.  I thought about it for a moment before answering.


“Not even a warm shower, as a reward?  I thought you’d like a nice, hot bubble bath.”


“Sir, girl was already given more reward than girl deserved, Sir.  Sir gave girl peanut butter and three fantastic slave cums, Sir,” she replied.  “Girl must either bathe from the toilet, or outside at the faucet, Sir,” she insisted. 


“Well, owing as you did such a good job on the toilet, it’s probably clean enough.  Go ahead,” I said, resigned to the fact.


“Sir, thank you, Sir,” she answered, crawling off to the bathroom.  A few minutes later she called out, asking for permission to use some of Donna’s cosmetics.  I told her it was okay.


When she returned about thirty minutes later, I was surprised at how well she’d cleaned up.  Her body shone a pale pink, as though the skin had been thoroughly scrubbed.  He’d managed to make herself up nicely, too, even with the cheap and minimal cosmetics my wife had.  Wearing the tiny negligee, she looked almost virginal, and cute enough to rape.  Not that she wouldn’t willingly give herself to anyone who wanted to fuck her.


“Girl, you know my wife isn’t as well trained as you, right?”


“Sir yes, Sir,” she answered dutifully.


“Do you think you could take charge of her, become her Mistress for a little while?  You’d still be your Master’s slave, but Donna would be your slave.  I want you to help me train her.  Could you do that?”


“Sir…” she hesitated.  “Sir, girl will try, Sir, if Master permits it,” she finally announced.


“Good girl,” I praised, patting her on the head once again.


Girl and I relaxed for the next hour, just watching television with girl cuddling at my feet.  I asked her to join me on the couch, but she apologized, explaining that the only times she was permitted to so much as touch furniture was while cleaning it or when someone wanted to use her.  I was in no shape to take her up on the offer, so I just relaxed while she nuzzled against my legs and massaged my feet.


Girl’s Master showed up a little while later, his arrival being announced by sound of the garage door opening, followed by a sharp squeal I recognized as Donna’s voice.  I’d asked him to come in through the garage to avoid the neighbors’ prying eyes.


He stepped through the doorway first, followed by Donna, who was limping painfully on all fours as he tugged forcefully on her leash.  Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and her hair was filthy, tangled and matted.   What caught my attention, though, was her mouth; a gleaming steel dental gag had her jaws held wide – more widely than I thought possible – with small alligator clip on the end of her tongue attached to a wire, causing her tongue to hang painfully out of her mouth.  She was wearing a choke collar – the type with blunt steel barbs on the inside – and winced in agony each time the leash was yanked.


“I take it you weren’t pleased with my slave?” I commented, stating the obvious.


“Actually, for being as untrained as you described, I was pleasantly surprised.” 


Shit…if this was what he did when a slave was pleasing, what would he do if one wasn’t, I thought.


“I don’t really get much pleasure in using a novice like this one,” he continued, “But a hole is a hole is a hole, as they say.  So, after a couple of quick fucks, I put it to work. “


“Work?” I asked.


“Well, I have a rather large yard, and a bit of work needed to be done.  For instance, there was a truckload of fresh manure delivered the other day that needed to be moved from the driveway to the compost pile out back, but first, last year’s compost needed to be spread.  The plot for my vegetable garden needed to be tilled, too, and a few other things done.  Washing the cars, for example.  Don’t worry, though.  I didn’t keep the slave outside all the time.  The oven needed cleaning, as did the exhaust vent over the stove.  I’m afraid it didn’t get any sleep, though, nor any food.  It seemed…reluctant…when I offered it my standard slave fare of Purina Pig Chow.”  We both laughed at that one.


“Anyway, thanks for loaning me your slave.  I really hated the thought of putting girl to such work; her skin is so soft and supple,” he said, stroking the kneeling girl’s head,” and I really want to keep it that way.” 


Although I invited him and his slave to stay for a while, he insisted that he had business to attend to, and had to leave.  I was disappointed, but understood.  I had things to take care of, too.


“It sounds like you’re probably hungry, bitch?” I asked.  She responded with a moaning sound, unable to do anything but make nonsensical noises, still gagged with her tongue sticking out.  I led her downstairs to “her” bathroom and showed her the remaining hamburgers, now positioned in a circle on edge of the open pipe where the toilet once stood.  “Eat up!” I gleefully commanded, removing the gag and clip.


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