Wanted: Male Slave
20-35, reasonably attractive, reasonably fit, NS/ND. Your attitude will be your most important trait. You will live in, 24/7. Please familiarize yourself with the dictionary definition of "slave." This is not about your fantasy or your pleasure. Serious inquiries only. Attach photograph.
The responses were more than Laurel had anticipated. Many she could weed out from their inappropriate tone, many more from the pictures. To those she wished to see, she sent the briefest of replies: "3391 Palomas Dr. 8 PM." So far there had been six. None had passed her first test. She began to wonder if anyone would be up for her particular challenge.
Gradually, as she'd grown into adulthood, Laurel had come to accept that she was not a loving person, that compassion and caring, at least on the level required by a functional relationship, took more energy than she was willing to put forth. And yet her dark desires had only grown in strength as well, something else she had struggled to come to terms with but by now, at 28, had fully embraced. Few of the men she'd dated had embraced her kinkiness wholeheartedly. Even the so-called "submissives" she'd found on local alt personals were more interested in seeing her in tight leather or rubber, of having their own fantasies fulfilled, than they were in actually serving her. In the last year or so, she'd satisfied herself entirely with vibrators and pornography. Not that either of those were entirely satisfying.
When the doorbell rang precisely at 8, Laurel was pleased. Through the peephole she saw an average-looking man, perhaps a bit taller than most, skinny without being gaunt, medium-length wavy brown hair, and a frightened look in his eyes. Not too frightened, she thought, but just frightened enough. She opened the door.
"Jared, I presume?" The man nodded without speaking. Good again, Laurel thought.
Jared felt his cock begin to swell in his pants at the sight of this woman. Her straight black hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, accentuated the paleness of her face. Her eyes were a very light blue, almost white. She looked more than a little like a vampire, her dark red lipstick accentuating the effect. She was slender but with fairly large breasts and, to his eyes, a perfect curve from her waist to her hips. She stepped aside and ushered him in.
She led him to the living room with a simple, "Follow me" and sat herself on the couch. He remained standing, awkwardly. Good again. And now for the first test.
"Let's see how well you follow directions," she said. She slid a small glass across the coffee table toward Jared. "Masturbate into that." Invariably, the response from previous candidates had been something like, "What? Right here?" In each case, Laurel had terminated the interview then and there. She felt her pulse quicken when Jared, without the slightest hesitation, dropped his pants, picked up the glass, and began to stroke his rapidly-stiffening member. While his behavior pleased her the most, she was also happy at his size. A bit longer than what she'd usually experienced, although the girth seemed about average. Perfectly serviceable, she thought.
Jared's arousal was already at a fever pitch from the situation he found himself in, and Laurel's attentive eyes upon him only pushed him further along. In just under a minute, he was spurting warm semen into the glass.
"Squeeze it all out," Laurel commanded. When the last drop had been wrung from Jared's still-hard phallus, she issued her next test. "Now, pour it into your mouth, but do not swallow until I tell you to." She expected him to balk, at least momentarily, but almost as quickly as she said it, he complied. She rose and approached him. At five-foot-six, she realized, she would not be able to see clearly into his mouth, as he stood a solid six feet in height. "On your knees," she said softly. Again, without a moment's hesitation, he complied. "Show me." He opened his mouth. Laurel felt a warm tingle in her nether parts as she saw the creamy white liquid coating his tongue and teeth. "Very good. Now swallow." Again, his compliance was exemplary. She slapped him hard across the face.
"Thank you," he said quietly. At this she stiffened.
"What?" she asked.
"Thank you." Laurel slapped him again, harder this time.
"Did I ask you to speak?" Jared shook his head. "Then do not do so," she continued. "Now, why do you think I slapped you the first time?"
"I don't know."
"Guess."
"You wished to."
"True. But that is not the only reason. I wanted to illustrate a point. You have, up to this point, apart from your unwanted interjection a moment ago, done exactly as I have asked, without hesitation or question. Your behavior thus far has in fact been magnificent." She paused; Jared said nothing, made no sound, did not even look at her. "I wanted you to be aware that even if that is the case, I will subject you to pain. Granted, this pain will be more severe in intensity and duration when I am displeased. But even when you make me deliriously happy, should you prove capable of doing so, I will hurt you. Your pain is primarily for my pleasure, and only secondarily to teach you proper behavior. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
"Can you cook?"
"Yes."
"Can you iron?"
"Yes."
"Show me." Laurel pointed toward an ironing board in the corner, upon which a rumpled silk blouse sat. She was pleased that he made no effort to pull up his pants, but instead hobbled over to the ironing board with them still around his ankles.
The shirt turned out serviceably, though not perfect. Still, all things considered, she felt like Jared had the makings of a excellent slave.
"Where do you live?" she asked.
"I have a small studio apartment near Koreatown."
"Are you in a relationship?"
"No."
"Have you been in the past?"
"Yes."
"Any D/S relationships?"
"No."
