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By the time that a booted kick to my bare ass jolted
me from my numbness, I had been locked in the cold of my dark prison for
at least an hour. My unforgiving training during recent months, more than
my keeper's sharp-toed boot as she drilled it into my ass, quickly
awakened me from my brief and uncomfortable slumber. Now more
instinctively than thoughtfully, I immediately prepared to render the
service of a mere slave, which had slowly replaced the man of my former
life.
As such, I groveled blindly to kneel at the girl's feet, simultaneously
spreading my legs spread wide as trained to expose my privates to her
inspection or whimsical abuse. After several months under my Mistress's
unforgiving whip, my reduced station in this new life had been
sufficiently beaten into me; consequently, I was careful to keep my head
lowered at all times in supplication and humility before the unseen
superior towering above me.
Despite being hooded, I quickly bowed fully to the cold floor, struggling
in my blindness to find the cruel boots that had roughly called me to
service. I dumbly groped in the darkness for several seconds -- a pathetic
process that surely amused the girl staring down at me -- before
mercifully finding the girl's feet. Thankful finally to end my humiliating
search, I servilely kissed the toe and rise of her boot several times
through my hood before turning to pay equal homage to the other. As
trained, I then slowly removed my lips from my keeper's worshiped feet to
simply kneel -- bowed, humble and exposed -- before the girl who, for all
purposes, owned me. Her dutiful slave, I then silently awaited instruction
or punishment as my superior saw fit.
My holding cell, composed of a concrete floor and unadorned plaster walls,
felt as frigid as any meat locker. In fact, the barren and darkened
confines were so bitterly cold that my near nakedness -- my enslaved body
fully exposed to the frozen air save the black hood chained tightly around
my neck and the short shackles binding my wrists behind me -- was now
almost irrelevant; even if clothed and at liberty to move, I would be
balled into a shivering and miserable mass. Confined as I was, I huddled
meekly in a corner that I had groped for in darkness, my hands helplessly
chained behind my back and my naked ass and balls painfully but
necessarily fixed to a floor that felt like both ice and fire next to my
bare and shaved skin.
My silent confinement had given me ample opportunity to reflect on the
events -- some recent and others shrouded in time -- that brought me here
tonight. Only an hour before, the nondescript metal door leading to my
distant cage was the last image I saw before my keeper for the evening
enclosed my head in the dark hood, immediately blackening the world around
me. To secure its presence, the girl, a confident auburn-haired and
slender stranger in her early twenties, had simply but effectively
threaded my hood with what appeared to be a common steel chain that locked
it tightly in place over my head. Taking her place behind me, my captor
then summarily padlocked the chain at the back of my bare neck, jointly
rendering the hood secure and me her blind and now collared slave. The
young mistress -- who looked more like a college co-ed than a sadist --
completed my captivity as she bound my hands tightly behind my back in
heavy locked steel that prevented any meaningful movement. The girl, far
smaller and weaker than I, thus had me completely at her mercy and under
her absolute control.
Once convinced that I was secure, I heard the muffled but distinctive high
clicks of the girl's boots on the concrete floor of the long and vacant
hallway. I heard her slowly circled me once before stopping in front of
me. In my shackles, I was completely powerless to conceal my naked and
vulnerable body -- shaved daily and variously pierced as demanded by my
Mistress -- from the cold inspection commenced by the girl. In short, she
objectively examined me like a piece of meat displayed for sale at the
butcher's counter. The girl first brazenly ran her hands up and down my
bare chest, stopping only to circle my nipples or fondle the metal rings
that had been driven into my chest and stomach months earlier. Slowly
working her hands down my body, she then grazed the top of my rapidly
growing and denied organ before cupping my naked balls in her soft and
feminine grip. Intermittently, she squeezed, pressed and prodded various
parts of my exposed and offered flesh, punctuating the examination of her
human chattle with occasional utterances that signaled neither approval
nor distain. She then circled behind me and matter-of-factly positioned
each of her hands on my exposed ass, marking the beginning of the more
"interactive" stage of my inspection.
Addressing me with the confidence and marginal distain reserved by all
beautiful girls for the solicitous and eager males they possess, she
whispered into my hooded ear, "Boy, can you hear me?"
Well-trained in the slave's art of responding simply to the question posed
and no more, I instinctively bowed a little lower and meekly answered,
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Then let's get started. Do as you're told and you may be okay.
"Squeeze your ass cheeks together for me. Harder, boy. Tighter -- really
squeeze them in, slave. I want to see you work it; don't make me pull out
the whip.
As I strained to obey her humiliating commands, the girl continued to
instruct me. "Now release them. Good. Now flex them again. Good. Keep that
up until I order you to stop. That's it, boy, good. Trust me, you want to
keep feeling my hands and not my whip on your ass."
Ever the obedient slave, I struggled blindly to make my bare ass dance for
my inspector as she fondled me from behind, presumably testing the
strength and firmness of my ass muscles. After several minutes of this
humiliation, the girl abruptly stopped and roughly grabbed the back of my
head, forcefully shoving it to the floor. She then jointly forced my upper
body down and forward while also kicking my legs open to shoulder width,
wholly exposing my naked ass to any assaults or violations she thought to
impose. Without warning, my tormentor then gripped each side of my ass and
pulled my cheeks wide open, exposing me like never before.
Bent over and with my legs spread wide, I then felt the girl press and
prod a hard unknown object against my open ass as she inspected what
seemed the very core of my being. Finally, she removed the violator from
my tender hole and firmly slapped me once on the ass as she stepped away
from me for further inspection. For my part, I remained where she left me,
my head pressed against the floor and my savaged ass high in the air.
"You have a nice, strong ass and legs, slave. Very athletic -- I like
that. If Brianna is willing to loan you out for a weekend, I may have to
take you to a friend's farm in the country and make you my pony slave for
a few days. Would you like to have a bit in your mouth and be harnessed up
like my draft horse to pull me and a friend or two around the countryside
in a buggy?
"I can just picture us now. I'm really into realism, so I'd have your arms
chained helplessly to the buggy rails beside you as your sweating muscles
strained under my whip -- just like a real horse! Of course, you'd wear
little more than fitting dressage of bridle and bit, reins, blinders, a
tight body harness befitting a little work horse, and probably a nice
tight horsey plug and tail up your ass to 'keep your mind right.' I'd
dressed for for the part, too, of course -- decked out in my shiny riding
boots and pants, sexy little blouse, and a riding crop that would reach
perfectly to my pony's harnessed little ass as it danced and strained in
front of me. Don't worry, slave, I wouldn't whip you too hard -- provided
that you pulled hard enough to please me -- and I'd take your bit out
every once in a while, at least to drink! I might even put a harness over
your horsey cock and balls so they didn't bounce too much when you run for
me, but we'll have to see."
While I pondered the very real possibility that the nameless girl would,
in fact, soon transform me into her laboring and abused farm animal, she
returned to stand in front of me. Once there, she abruptly ordered me to
"standing present" position -- a command that, for the first time,
permitted me to stand before the girl. As ordered, I immediately rose to
my feet -- with some difficulty in my bonds -- and spread my legs to
shoulder width on the cold floor. I then bowed my head to the ground and
arched my back as trained by my Mistress.
Once in place, the girl again gently cupped my balls in one of her soft
and delicate hands. After almost massaging them for a long and pleasurable
moment, the girl abruptly squeezed my sac in a vice grip and yanked my
exposed balls toward the ground. Gasping for air into my hood, I
immediately sank to my knees before her as she forced me to the floor in
speechless agony. After several long seconds of groveling in misery at her
feet, the girl finally released my balls from her iron grip with a parting
squeeze that almost brought me to tears.
Roughly prodding my flaccid cock with the pointed toe of her boot, the
girl immediately continued my torment -- a mere slave casually toyed with
and enjoyed by his superior. "On your feet, boy, that's enough fun for
now. We need to get moving." I painfully but instantly rose to my feet,
racked with pain but fearful of even perceived disobedience or idleness.
The girl was indeed correct -- we had places to go. Taking hold of one end
of the short chains extending down my back, she curtly and simply ordered
me, "Heel, slave." Hardly positioned to disobey, I submissively responded,
"Yes, Ma'am," into my hood before dutifully following at her feet,
oblivious to our destination or my fate.
With a harsh jerk of her wrist that radiated down the length of my leash
to the tight collar encircling my neck, the girl then began leading me
like a dog down the long corridor. I had, by now, become painfully
accustomed to the humiliation of being collared and tethered at the end of
a leash like an owned animal or slave transported to auction; after two
years, I sometimes felt almost naked without them. Oddly, however, I also
felt a free end of my collar extend about a foot down my naked back as the
other urged me forward in darkness, no more than a dog on the cruel and
nameless girl's leash.
My blind passage was thus jointly marked by the now familiar rattles of my
heavy chains and, contrasting starkly, the distinctive clicks of the
girl's stiletto boots on the concrete floor as she confidently led me,
blind and shackled, in her all-powerful wake. Although unknown to me at
the time, the utility of my duel leash -- then merely ending in the
well-manicured hand of the attractive girl bringing me to heel -- was soon
revealed in full.
Before being enclosed in my hood, I could not help but notice the
restrained beauty of the pretty girl who so casually held my fate in her
hands. Properly dressed for our cold setting -- in opposition, of course,
to my servile nakedness -- she was comfortably and alluringly attired in a
tight red sweater dress that clung gracefully to every inch of her narrow
and feminine frame. The girl had left the top few buttons of the simple
dress undone, resulting in the tasteful exposure of modest cleavage
adorned by several gold chains hanging from her slender neck. She had
pulled her long hair back in a high utilitarian pony-tail, causing it to
occasionally graze her tanned neck as it bounced with each stride of her
long legs.
The short and provocative dress ended just above her delicate knees,
yielding to black tights and laced knee-high boots that teetered
gracefully on pointed and platformed five-inch heels. In any other
setting, the sophisticated-looking beauty -- standing close to six feet
tall in the shiny patent leather boots that I had become so acquainted
with -- might have been on her way to a blind date or a few after-work
cocktails with girlfriends. This night, however, she tugged forcefully and
skillfully on the business-end of her tethered slave's leash. Naked and
chained, that slave was hers to lead, command and use in whatever way she,
as the all-powerful slave-driver, saw fit.
The girl mercifully had released me from my chastity cage when she
collected me from my Mistress's apartment earlier that evening. Hours
before, she had found me locked in Mistress's bedroom closet, collared as
always and chained to an eye-bolt that secured me firmly to the floor at
the end of my short chain. Before departing for the evening, Ms. Brianna
-- my Mistress of two years and employee of three -- had consigned me to
the small room, telling me simply that she was going out for the night
with friends and wanted to "know where I was."
How Did I Get Here?
My life, like many, has been marked by many unexpected surprises and turns
of events. However, of the many ironies life has held for me, the most
pronounced may be that I, a wealthy and successful corporate lawyer to the
outside world, am now the eager and obsequious slave boy to Brianna Stone,
my young and beautiful office assistant. As my employee since she
graduated from college, Brianna's daily obligations, of course, had been
to serve at my beck and call as demanded. Being a typical male, I often
took advantage of my superior status over the beautiful girl, commonly
forcing Brianna -- who desperately needed the job -- to perform my
personal errands and allowing my hands to occasionally "stray" for an
inappropriate touch of her nubile and delicate form. For years now, that
and other boorish conduct on my part (derisively calling her "my girl" to
colleagues, repeatedly staring down her blouses, demanding that she "dress
to impress" when important clients called, and so forth) has been
revisited on me in spades.
Brianna is, in a word, stunning. Twenty-five years old, I had hired the
girl fresh out of an east coast liberal arts college a couple of years
before, desperate for a paycheck after unsuccessfully pounding the
pavement in search of income to support her obvious habit for expensive
clothes and designer shoes. Brianna had been foolish enough to major in
Art History, which she soon found made her almost unemployable in the real
world -- except by a man such as myself who was intrigued by the more
"non-academic" assets the recent co-ed possessed.
I was captivated by those assets from the moment she strode into my
office, nearly begging (the irony is not now lost on me) for the chance to
serve as my office assistant. Brianna stood about five-and-a-half feet
tall, although her medium height was concealed by the four and five-inch
stiletto heels that consistently adorned her petite feet. A former college
cheerleader, the girl religiously maintained the sensual, yet femininely
muscular, body of an aerobics instructor or top-flight exotic dancer. She
was possessed of long and graceful legs, a Barbie Doll-like waist,
beautiful and firm breasts, and an ass more lovely and tight than any I
had ever seen strutting the main stage of the many high-dollar strip clubs
I so commonly patronized before my enslavement. Her lustrous black hair,
straight and just below shoulder length, framed her beautiful and innocent
face in an almost timeless way. Her eyes were dark as night.
Knowing the rare beauty that she was, Brianna was one of those women who
somehow managed always to dress very provocatively -- to the great
distraction of all men around her and the thinly veiled disdain of lesser
women -- yet never to come across as a slut or cheap. Her skirts were
always short and tight, but never too much so; her tops were commonly skin
tight and mildly low cut, yet always tasteful; her expensive shoes and
boots were always cat-walk high to display her toned legs, but never in a
way that suggested anything other than burning sex appeal with class. She
was perhaps the most feminine and beautiful girl I had ever seen. As such,
I relished having her submissively serve at my beck and call for all the
world to see.
Since circumstances -- and my own greed -- have reduced me to a mere slave
at the feet of my "assistant," I'm confident that, on balance, I've
received the far shorter end of the stick. In short, while Brianna clearly
relishes the irony of continuing to warm her "bosses" coffee by day, I
commonly kneel, naked and collared, at her feet at night to lick offered
shoes and boots to a polished shine. While she copies my files, I am
mercilessly whipped for small perceived failings or simply because
Mistress had a less-than-stellar date. While she mails my letters, I am
often chained through the night to the foot of her bed in case my fawning
services are needed. While she takes my calls, I scurry on all fours to
clean her floors, slavishly draw her bathe, minister to her beautiful
body, and perform the other menial duties of a domestic servant. While she
keeps my calendar, I serve lavish meals and entertain Mistress and her
abusive and amused dinner guests. While she escorts my clients to business
meetings, I am rented out as a maid, butler, or sex toy as required. In
short, while she remains my paid employee, I am Brianna's indentured
slave.
I began my sentence just over two years ago. As a corporate lawyer, I had
learned important inside information from a client about a pending merger
with another company. Eager to make a quick profit, I had emailed by
broker and told him to execute several trades based on the inside
information, earning an easy $250,000 profit. As my assistant, I foolishly
had Brianna keep all of my trading records.
The broker, after trying to reach me for several days, had emailed Brianna
and asked her to let me know the great news about my huge profit on our
client's stock. No fool, she quickly put two and two together, compared
the emails with the trading records and inside information to confirm her
suspicions, and assembled a file that detailed my crime. She then walked
into my office, whispered into my ear that she had written proof that I
had illegally traded in our client's stock, and told me to wait for her in
my office at the end of the next day, at which time we would "talk through
things."
As promised, Brianna confidently strode into my office at 5:30 sharp.
Without asking permission or even waiting for an invitation, my
"assistant" made herself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of my
desk, crossing her long and graceful legs and smiling silently at me for
what felt like an eternity. In short, she acted like she owned the place
and everything in it. Such liberties by a mere member of my office staff,
of course, would have been unthinkable only two days ago. Instead, she
would have stood in the doorway and meekly sought my permission before
entering. But, no matter what events followed, we had entered a brave new
world and she knew it.
Although my present circumstances were enough to focus my mind in full,
Brianna had been sure to use the occasion to dress in a way that utterly
commanded my undivided attention. As she later told me, she wanted to
"assist" me in making the painful and humiliating decision she would soon
put me to. In doing so, she took full advantage of the secret intelligence
her time serving me had given her regarding my weaknesses for certain
"qualities" of the weaker sex. In short, the girl I previously looked upon
as my overpaid (to ensure that she tolerated by boorishness) and stupid
office servant and eye-candy was apparently a very precocious student of
me -- knowledge that she now used to her full advantage.
So armed with the inner workings of my simple male mind, Brianna clad
herself in a low-cut ivory sweater that, far tighter than usual, clung
jealously to every inch of her nubile and amazingly fit body. Her perfect
and large breasts, which convinced me to hire the girl in the first place,
appeared to be draped in no more than a second skin that did almost
nothing to conceal the secrets within. The sweater and bra beneath it were
thin enough to reveal hints of her delicate and erect nipples, made even
firmer tonight than usual by her excitement over the proposition she would
soon lay at my feet.
As she purposefully stirred in her chair before me, the front of Brianna's
sweater was cropped just short enough to offer provocative hints of her
tanned and tight waist and a previously hidden three-diamond navel ring
that dangled tantalizingly from her taut and cut torso. Taken as a whole,
her top barely concealed the charms of large but firm breasts that were
grazed by her raven hair, the narrowest of waists, and a stomach
ritualistically toned through a strict regimen of Pilates, yoga, and
running.
Brianna's leopard-print mini-skirt was equally enthralling. Thin and
tightly cut, it contoured closely to her skin to highlight a firm and
small ass that would have been the envy of any exotic dancer and
sufficient to drive the strongest man to his knees. When she silently rose
and turned to close my office door, the skirt's unusual sheerness revealed
that my tormentor's incredible ass, swaying melodiously as she strutted
across the distance like a lioness, was visibly framed by the smallest of
thongs. As she no doubt recalled in making her careful choice of
undergarments, many times I had ordered Brianna to purchase similar
g-strings and other whispers of panties for the countless girls I had met,
used, and discarded like the mere spent sex objects that they were.
Brianna's skirt ended well above her knees, and with her legs crossed as
they were, highlighted the amazingly trim and tanned runner's legs so
evocatively stretched out before me.
Her calculated vision was completed by pointed five-and-a-half inch
platform stiletto shoes that, when worn by a temptress such as Brianna,
were the very embodiment of sex appeal. The open-toed black patent leather
shoes, which elevated the girl to a towering height of almost six feet,
were fastened tightly around her slender ankles by a delicate and thin
ankle strap -- giving her the allure of both a million-dollar stripper and
a sex goddess from hell. Little did I then know that soon I, as her
wardrobe slave, would routinely kneel at my "assistant's" feet in silent
frustration, my clumsy hands fumbling to buckle the delicate clasps of
these and similar shoes around her narrow ankles before bowing to press my
lips once to each of her feet, signaling completion of my assigned task
and my total submission. For now, as she methodically swayed her beautiful
crossed legs in front of me and taunted me with her other "charms," I
could scarcely focus on anything other than throwing her to the floor on
the spot and taking her from behind to finally make the little slut my
own.
After visibly reveling in the magic and irony of the moment, Brianna
abruptly returned me to reality and my less-than-happy circumstances. She
began in the matter-of-fact tone of a college lecture, speaking to me
without wavering her eyes or even the hint of pity or concern for my fate.
"Well, we both know why I'm here, so I won't waste anyone's time. As you
know, you're in quite a crack based on the insider trading that you've
done, and I now have everything that I need to prove it. My first thought
when I put it all together was simply to turn you in to the police,
sacrificing a well-paying job for the satisfaction of knowing that I'd be
screwing you're life up thoroughly.
"However, I've given your situation a lot more 'deeper' thought since
then, and here's what I've decided to do. Even though fate kindly dropped
all of the cards into my hands and left you with nothing, I've decided
that I will actually give you a choice in the matter. It may be the last
one you make for some time, so use it wisely. You'll have exactly twenty
four hours to inform me of your decision, and then live with the final
consequences, whatever they may be.
"Last night, I did some research into securities fraud. To my delight, I'm
quite certain that you've committed this crime and, with the emails your
friend was kind enough to send me and the trading records I keep for you,
I can easily prove it. I'll be happy to show you the evidence that I've
compiled against you -- copies, of course -- but I expect that will not be
necessary, as you're no fool and know what you're guilty of. You look a
little shocked. I'm not the stupid little girl you thought I was, am I?
"Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised to find that if you are convicted, the
penalty for your crime could be as much as five years in federal prison.
There, I expect that a fit and arrogant stud like you would rapidly become
some-body's, what's the term, 'prison bitch.' You've heard about the
prison sluts that convicted pretty boys like you become. They're basically
turned into the unwilling sex slaves of the hardened cons who run the
place -- they end up begging to take it up the ass, suck lots of cock,
clean their prison master's cells, get sold or loaned out for cigarettes,
things of that nature. Not much of a life, I expect, but considering the
domineering ass that you've been to me, one that makes me smile! Of
course, if you survived those years, you'd be a completely unemployable
and penniless convicted felon once you were released from prison. In a
word, your life -- at least as you now know it -- would be over.
"But I assume you don't want that, and frankly, neither do I. It just
doesn't do a girl like me any good, other than knowing that my former pig
of a boss is suffering in the same way that he's made me suffer!
"So what I'd prefer – and the choice I'm now giving you – is instead for
you to serve as my personal and total slave for the next five years. Like
most girls, I've never had a real-life slave boy at my beck and call,
jumping when I say jump, living to satisfy my every whim and desire with a
quick 'Right away, Ma'am,' and imagine that it just might be fun!
"Sure, I tied up a boy or two in college for a couple of hours of
kinkiness, but I expect that you realize that this would be something
quite different. In a word, this would not be some kinky and fun part-time
thing for either of us, and certainly not for you. Instead, what I'm
offering -- as your only alternative to prison, mind you -- is that for
five years, I'll basically be 'Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile' and you'll be
my loyal and devoted slave. As my slave boy, I would, quite literally, own
you as a piece of property. You, in turn, would serve me hand and foot --
in whatever way I commanded -- just like we turned the clock back a few
centuries to the days of queens and their obedient and groveling little
devotees.
"Isn't it just deliciously ironic that you, who once referred to me as
your 'beck and call girl' -- remember that? -- now have to make this
wonderful, terrible choice? You either get to be my 'beck and call boy'
for the next five years, with all the ramifications of being the owned
property of a girl you once treated like dirt, or take your chances in
federal prison and with the new 'friends' you'd make there. I can still
scarcely believe it!
"Honestly, Carl -- you don't mind if I call you Carl, do you? -- it makes
me positively wet just thinking about it. I can either send you to the
prison you deserve, where you'd be more of a violated and humiliated sex
toy than any of countless girls you've used and abused over the years, or
I can put you at the end of my own leash to be trained and serve as my
little domestic slave boy for a few good years.
"I can almost see it now, can't you? Just picture your bare and arrogant
ass up in the air, dutifully scrubbing my floors on your hands and knees
while I'm off for a run, a few casual drinks with friends, or maybe just
towering over you with a whip at the ready if you make a mistake or simply
aren't working fast enough for my taste. Or maybe I'd chain my subservient
little slave to the coffee table to paint my toenails, massage my feet, or
rub lotion into my tired legs after a hard workout, leaving me -- as your
queen and slave driver, Carl! -- to recline on the couch with a couple
glasses of wine and take in reruns of 'Sex and the City,' or simply to
look down on my dutiful servant as he obediently ministers to me hand and
foot. I could save so much money on pedicures and maid service!
"Or maybe I'd just relax in a long bubble bath that I make you to draw for
me -- after my slave undressed me, of course -- to catch up on the latest
Chick Lit. book or just take a quiet nap. You could then gently shave me,
wash my hair and body, keep the water temperature just right, dance for my
entertainment in the corner like a little male stripper, or just scurry
about cleaning up the many messes that mere slaves exist to deal with!
What an image! What a life!
"It simply blows my mind to think that I am so close to not lifting a
finger to do ANYTHING, Carl, for the next five years -- because I can have
you, my loyal little slave, literally waiting on me hand and foot! I could
walk through the door and just throw my coat and shoes to the floor --
because you'd crawl behind me to pick them up! I wouldn't have to worry
about scuffing up my shoes or boots anymore -- because I could have you
polish them to a shine every night! Breakfast and dinner could soon just
start taking care of themselves -- my kitchen slave would be cooking and
serving me whatever my little heart desires, then cleaning up the messes
while I stretch out in front of the TV! I'm simply on the verge of a dream
come true! |
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