Author: Martin L. Fletcher
Title: Becky's Enslavement
Summary: A woman's introduction to consensual slavery
Keywords: MF/F, bdsm, cons, inc, oral
ONE
A few days after my Sunday afternoon with MaryAnn, I was in the Sciences Building preparing for a late morning class. As I stood up to begin the lecture, I looked out onto the classroom and saw her sitting in an aisle seat, five rows back from the front of the room.
She was obviously role-playing a diligent student. A notebook was open on the desk in front of her, and she held a pencil poised in her elegant fingers. She was dressed professionally in a fashionable gray jacket over a white blouse buttoned to the neck. Somewhere she had managed to find a pair of red-framed glasses, which she wore perched on the tip of her nose.
She looked up and caught my eye, peeping at me over the rim of her glasses, and gave me a secret smile.
There was no help for it, so I began the lecture. I explained the principles I was going to demonstrate, and wheeled the device I would use onto the podium. I inserted an aluminum soda can, threw the switches that charged the high-voltage capacitors, and, after a dramatic countdown, activated the machine. There was a flash of light, a loud bang, and the can was torn in two, ripped apart by the machine's powerful electromagnetic field.
This demonstration was always a crowd pleaser; even MaryAnn sat open-mouthed, a look of surprise on her face.
TWO
After the lecture I walked back to where MaryAnn was seated and found her engaged in a one-sided conversation with the student next to her. She was leaning toward him, with one hand laid gently on his forearm, speaking to him in low tones.
The student, meanwhile, was staring fixedly in front of him, darting nervous sideways glances at MaryAnn. He looked terrified to move and was blushing furiously, his face covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
When I approached MaryAnn's desk, she turned away from the hapless student and gave me a sunny smile. "Darling!" she cried, loudly enough to be heard in the hallway.
"C'mon, you," I growled.
"Yes, dear," she said contritely, rising from her chair. As she stood I saw that below her conservative jacket and blouse she was wearing a black leather miniskirt, sheer black hose, and red pumps. I sighed inwardly.
As we walked out of the room MaryAnn fell in beside me and slipped her arm through mine. She clung to me tightly as we walked toward the building exit.
"What," I asked in exasperation, "were you doing back there?"
She looked up at me and batted her eyes, the picture of wounded innocence. "What?" she said. "I was just being friendly."
"Uh, huh," I replied. I couldn't help but grin. "For your information, that kid is all of nineteen years old and has probably never even kissed a girl. Another minute of you being 'friendly' and he probably would've had a seizure. I don't mind if you psychologically torture the freshmen, but please don't do it during my class. I don't want to have to call an ambulance in the middle of lecture."
"Party pooper," she said, sticking out her tongue.
"Anyway, I'm glad to see you," I said. She leaned her head against my shoulder and smiled happily. "But don't you see patients today?"
"This afternoon is all staff meetings," she said. "But those are boring, so I'm playing hooky. Besides, I've always wanted to see what it is that you do. I had no idea you had such fun with your weird science."
"And," she added with a grin, "I thought maybe I could get you to buy me lunch."
"Sure," I laughed. "Why not? We can walk downtown to the College Diner. The faculty dining room is closer, but I try to avoid that place. It's like the city Senior Center, only with worse food and not as lively."
THREE
After single-mindedly devouring her enormous lunch, MaryAnn sat primly across from me and sipped her beer with an air of satisfaction. She peered at me over the top of her glasses. "So Miss Priss is back from her conference," she said. "She's been asking about you. I think she wants to know when we're going to...get together...again, but she's too embarrassed to ask you herself."
"I'm a little surprised she still wants more," I replied, "considering what we put her through."
"Are you kidding?" MaryAnn chuckled. "We dynamited the dam she's been building around her real feelings her entire life. Now her darker desires are running wild, and are at war with her innate prudishness. I think I know who's winning."
"If that's true," I said, "I may have an idea about where to go from here."
"Do tell."
"Do you know anything about consensual slavery?" I asked.
"No," MaryAnn giggled. "But I like the sound of it."
"If Becky agrees, she'll become our real life, twenty-four-seven slave. She'll have no rights and no limits. Her body will be ours to use however and whenever we please."
"Really liking it now."
"She'll also be ours to use for domestic service: cooking, cleaning, laundry, and so on."
"Liking it more by the second."
"And, of course, everything that she owns--bank accounts, car, paycheck--will belong to us. We'll pay for her care and feeding, but she won't own property. She'll be property. Our property."
By now MaryAnn was blushing hotly, and she squirmed in her seat, apparently engaged in some sort of inner struggle. "Oh, yes," she said, her voice husky. "We have to do it. We just have to."
"I'll write up a slave contract," I said. "You get the financial paperwork together. I'll come over on Friday evening and we'll put the idea to Becky, and see if she's agreeable."
"In her current state of mind I don't think she'll be able to refuse." MaryAnn smirked. "Besides, I'm pretty good at getting little Miss Priss to do what I want. By Friday she'll be more than ready to go along."
FOUR
It was Friday night at seven when I rang the doorbell on the house MaryAnn and Becky rented together. MaryAnn answered the door. She was barefoot, wearing her faded jeans and a tight white tank top, and apparently no bra--something I suspected was for my benefit. She smiled mischieviously, and as I stepped in she wrapped her slender arms around my neck. Her eyes were shining with excitement, and she leaned in and kissed me ardently. I ran my hands up and down her slender waist, and tweaked one of her nipples through the ribbed fabric of her shirt. She squealed with pleasure and bit me gently on the lower lip, then pulled away a few inches so that I was looking deep into her enormous dark eyes. "C'mon, then, lover," she said in a throaty voice.
She took my hand and led me into the living room. We sat down on the couch, across the coffee table from Becky. I put an arm around MaryAnn's waist.
Becky glanced at me briefly before lowering her eyes nervously.
"I don't know how much MaryAnn has explained to you," I began, "but what we're proposing is a...change in our relationship. One that will affect all three of us."
Becky looked up at me, her blue eyes wide.
"You'll agree to become our slave. Your body will be ours to use as we wish, you'll obey all of our orders, and all of your belongings--as well as your salary--will belong to us. In return we'll provide for your food and upkeep. We'll train you to serve us, and you'll exist purely for our use and pleasure."
"The details are here; read through it so that you understand, and then sign it."
Becky was blushing furiously as I slid the slave contract across the table. She began reading, gasping occasionally as she read the various clauses.
Finally she raised her head and looked at both of us in turn. "Do I really have to sign this?" she asked.
"You don't 'have to' do anything," I said mockingly. "But if you expect to get any attention at all from me in the future, you'll sign it."
MaryAnn leaned over and nuzzled my neck, while looking tauntingly at Becky. She really was good at pushing her sister's buttons.
After a long moment, Becky picked up the pen I had laid on the table and, with a trembling hand, signed her name on the line marked "slave."
I pulled the paper back across the table, and signed my name on the line marked "Master." I then passed the paper to MaryAnn who, with a devilish grin, put her signature on the line labeled "Mistress."
"Good girl," I told Becky. "Now, MaryAnn has just a few more things for you to sign."
MaryAnn passed Becky several documents relating to Becky's accounts and car title. At MaryAnn's instruction, Becky, after hesitating a moment, signed them all.
As MaryAnn gathered up the papers, she squeezed my hand and gave me a sidelong glance, the corners of her mouth quirking into a half-smile.
"Now," I smiled at Becky. "We'll be starting your training in earnest tomorrow morning, but for now let's establish a few ground rules. You can start by standing up and taking your clothes off."
"Now?" Becky squeaked.
"Now. All of your clothes. Off." I grated.
Becky slowly got to her feet and began to strip. She began with her jeans, sliding them over her ass and down to her ankles, where she stepped out of them. She then slowly unbuttoned her shirt and allowed it to fall on the ground. She hesitated for a long moment and looked at me plaintively.
"'All of your clothes,'" I told her, "includes your underwear."
Becky swallowed and slowly undid her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor as her pert breasts sprang free. She then bent down and shakily stepped out of her panties so that she was now completely naked.
"The first rule you're to learn," I told her, "is that while you're in this house, the only item of clothing you're permitted to wear is this."
I took a pair of thong panties from my shoulder bag and tossed them on the floor in front of her. She picked them up and looked at them apprehensively.
"Put them on," I said.
She bent over and slipped them on, squirming as the back of the thong slipped into her ass crack.
"Turn around," I told her.
Becky turned so that she was facing away from us. The lines of the thong accentuated the curves of her naked ass cheeks, and the sight of the narrow strip of fabric pulled tight into her ass crack was deeply erotic.
MaryAnn grinned with satisfaction and leaned over to nuzzle my neck again. I could tell from the heat of her breath that she was already aroused.
I ordered Becky to face us, and then walked over to where she was standing. I held the pink leather slave collar I had purchased for the occasion in front of her face.
"You're to wear this at all times in the house," I told her. "It will help you remember your new status. Read the tag."
I held the collar so that she could read the heart-shaped tag dangling from the front.
"Slave Becky," she read aloud.
"Now the other side."
"Property of," Becky gulped, and read off my and MaryAnn's names.
"Now hold still."
As Becky stood silently, I buckled the collar snugly around her slender neck.
"Now thank me and your Mistress for taking you as our slave."
Becky hesitated, but, blushing, managed to get the words out:
"Thank you, Master, for taking me as your slave."
"Now your sister."
"Thank you, Mistress, for taking me as your slave."
"Good girl," I told her. "We'll start your real training tomorrow."
"At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, bring hot towels to me and your sister in our bedroom, and we'll go from there. Knock before you enter."
Becky stared at me.
"What do you say in response to an order, slave?" I snapped.
