Emmys Adventures Pt 03

The Association was the shorthand for a group with a very long name. It had been founded in the years before the Civil War as a source for White sex-slaves. With the 13th Amendment the Association removed the "White" qualification and became a fully inclusive sex slave regulator. It existed hidden, with many powerful people secretly members and owners. It thrived in the wide open days of the late 19th century, but had to maintain a low profile as they were threatened with exposure in the 1920s. One of the reforms that came in the 1920s was the requirement that all new slaves must be enslaved voluntarily and sign official papers saying so. "Voluntarily" was never clearly defined, only that the signatures were really hers was important.

Thursday, May 25, 1978

1-Waking Up and Signing Papers

Emmy stirred. She looked out the window and saw rain. No reason to go out. An ache in her pussy reminded her of last night. She had had sex and she had lost her virginity to the man of her childhood dreams. She ached all over, really. Every muscle had been tensed last night; every bit of her body had felt the pleasure.

But, Chester Bradley wasn't here. He hadn't gotten sick of her already, had he? Run off to some work meeting, or whatever excuse she saw men use in the movies. No, he was cooking. She could smell bacon, her stomach rumbled. A few other bodily functions required attention, too, and the beautiful young woman hurried to the bathroom. The closest one was right off the bedroom and featured a full makeup table. But, she had more immediate needs. Emmy was not too surprised to see that he had a padded toilet seat. She enjoyed the novelty of sinking down as she sat down. He certainly enjoyed the little pleasures in life.

As she used the toilet, there was a gentle knock on the door.

"Go ahead and shower," he told her. "Take your time, dear."

"Yes, Sir," she answered, thrilled at the sound of his voice.

Emmy was pleased to find that this bathroom was well stocked with feminine bathroom supplies. There was cold cream, which she used to remove the rest of her makeup from last night, and all sorts of moisturizers and soaps. She had not seen many of these and played around with various combinations as she enjoyed a long, hot shower. He had much better water pressure than she had at home. and she enjoyed how it worked on her tired muscles.

When the curvy blonde finished with the shower, she rubbed moisturizer all over her young flesh. She wanted to be desirable for Sir, for everything to be perfect. She added a light layer of makeup, highlighting her green eyes. She decided to wear her hair down.

Since there were no clothes, all she had was the dress from last night and was not sure where that was, she came out of the bathroom naked. Besides, it was not like she had any secrets from this man. Emmy put her hair in front, covering her breasts. She looked at herself in the mirror like, then with her hair in the back and boobs out. She decided to go with boobs out, offering herself to him again whenever he wanted her. Hopefully. after bacon.

Chester Bradley was in the kitchen, facing the stove and putting the finishing touches on whatever he was doing. He was fully dressed in jeans and a tight t-shirt. Emmy took a moment to look him up and down, she figured she had earned the right. And he filled out those jeans great.

"Good morning, Sir," Emmy said perkily.

"Afternoon," Chester Bradley corrected. "It's already 3pm." He looked over at her and smiled. "You are as beautiful as last night."

"Thank you, Sir," she beamed at the compliment.

"Have a seat," he motioned to the table. "It will be finished momentarily."

"Sir?" she said.

"Yes, Dear?"

"Thank you for, for last night. It was all I could have wanted for my birthday."

"It was, and I mean this truly and honestly, my pleasure," he brought two plates to the table. The tall man sat one in front of her and the other in front of himself. Emmy was once again struck by how handsome he was, that broad chest, those chiseled features...

"Sorry for being naked at the table," Emmy apologized. Her mother would not approve. "But I don't have anything else here."

"I like you better this way," he said. "Eat up, we still have nine more hours of your life transforming eighteenth birthday."

Chester Bradley had cooked up a delicious looking omelet with a side of bacon and toast. There was a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee beside it. It smelled great, too, and with a nod of approval from her host, she dug in. She did need to add a bunch of cream and sugar to her coffee, she was not ready to take it black, yet.

Once they finished the omelets, the older man cleared the dishes and brought out a cupcake with a single candle on it. Pulling out a Zippo, he quickly lit the candle.

What happened next helped to restore some of Emmy's faith in the balance of the universe. Up until now, Chester Bradley had been perfect. The flawless man: considerate, strong, well hung, great in bed, rich and so on. While he might be a man of many talents, singing was not one of them. Emmy had heard "Happy Birthday" sung many times, but she had never heard it sung like this. It was like Chester Bradley only knew how to sing one note and he sang that one badly.

As bad as it sounded, it was still a wonderful gesture and meant the world to Emmy.

"Make a wish!" he said.

Emmy wished to be enslaved by Chester Bradley, then blew out the candle.

Emmy tried to be dainty when she ate the cupcake, but with the icing piled as high as it was, some inevitably got on her nose. Chester Bradley gave her a napkin to clean up with then brought a stack of papers to the table.

Emmy was not sure where this was going. She was about to graduate and done with all her classwork, so should not have any homework.

Chester Bradley brought down a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured two glasses, neat. The only other alcohol, aside from sips of wine at the holidays, she had ever tasted was the glass of champagne and wine the night before. But, when he raised his glass to toast, she followed along. When he drank his all in one gulp, she did the same. When he calmly set his glass down, Emmy collapsed into a fit of coughing. That was horrible tasting! It hit the omelet and cupcake in her stomach, and it took all of Emmy's willpower to keep everything down, but she managed.

Once her coughing fit had subsided, she looked up at the patient eyes of her lover.

"Now," he said in a businesslike tone, "let's talk about your future and your college plans."

Emmy realized that she had never planned for college. Her parents had been completely unworried about, too, for some strange reason. It was not that she intended to skip college, the part of her brain that should have been worried about and working on that, just did not activate. When her brother went off to the Air Force Academy, there had been years of applications, interviews, and campus visits. For her, none of that.

"I haven't made any," she said. This part began to feel like a combination of bad dreams: she was being quizzed about her life while naked.

"I know," he said. "I arranged it that way."

He poured another drink into their glasses.

"Sir?" she asked, too many things stopped making sense. "What's going on?"

"Emmy," he took her hand. "I am going to make you a slave."

So many things hit Emmy all at once. Her desires, the pack of erotica, the show, they were all leading up to this. She wanted to be a slave, she felt it deep within her, she just did not think it could be real. She knew she was blushing, that her naked body was an open book to be read.

"Don't say anything until I'm finished," he ordered. The questions that had been boiling up inside her, suddenly vanished. She would listen.

"You," he pointed at her, "are what is known as a Submissive. You are hardwired to be sexually submissive and need to be dominated. Kinsey ran the numbers for his third report and came up with a rough figure of one percent of women are truly submissive. This means you get off on being fucked, hurt, and controlled. This also means you will be fundamentally unhappy if these needs are not met.

"I am what we have started calling Readers of Personalities, or Ropers for short, and I can sense submissives. It is like being able to see an aura of the person, a color that most cannot see, People like me go out into the world, find submissive women, enslave them and either keep them for ourselves, or sell them. I have made decent money before doing that.

"Sometimes, if the female is deeply submissive, like you, some Ropers, like me, have the ability to program them. Usually, you must have sex first, but if the subject is submissive enough and you get them before they have a chance to develop defenses, it can be done with the barest of physical contact the first time. Like I did with you.

"I did not change anything about your personality. Those rape fantasies are all yours, the desire to be owned and used are from within you. I cannot make those changes. What I have been doing is making you more valuable as a slave. That is why you had no interest in dating or friends. That is why you did not make college plans; I already made them for you.

"There is a group called, for short, the Association. It is a governing body for slave ownership. There are papers filed for each enslavement, every slave is tracked. The owners must adhere to basic standards for humane slave treatment. Once you are a slave and enter the system, you can be sold or traded to anyone else who is a member and know you will be safe. They also make sure you hold up your end of the agreements and will track you down if you try to run away.

"Your parents know. Your father is a member of the Association and your mother, well, she left you a letter you can read later with her story.

"You will be going to Warm Springs Canyon College. It is a fully accredited, four-year program. All the students are slaves. You will be educated properly and returned to me when you are done. You will leave on Sunday and be driven there.

"Now, you need to sign these enslavement papers first, then we can finish the enrollment forms for WSCC. You may speak now."

"Sir? What if I don't want to be a slave? Do I have to sign?"

"I can make you sign and think it was your own idea," her lover explained, "but I would rather you did it on your own and the Association would prefer it that way, too. You know this is what you want. All that time reading the Story of O, the Gor books; you know what slaves are and you know you were born to be one."

Emmy stared at him; they had been preparing her for this for her whole life. She had been sent off to be enslaved and deflowered by this man as soon as she was old enough to do so. But, he was right. She always imagined herself as the one enslaved. She pictured herself in Roissy, or being thrown to a Gorean warrior's henchmen and gangraped. She wanted this and he just gave her the course of her life.

The young woman took the second glass of whiskey and drained it in one gulp again. This time, shock and existential crisis overcame her inexperience with alcohol, and she barely batted an eye. So much made sense now, about her and about the world.

"You'll be my owner? I'll be your slave?" she asked for clarification.

He nodded.

Emmy was overwhelmed by the thought of Chester Bradley fucking her over and over. She never wanted anything more than that. Would it be like that if she didn't sign? Then what? Would he still want her? Would she have to figure out what to do with her life? If she signed those papers, she could be a slave. Chester Bradley would fuck her all he wanted, and she would not have to get a career and navigate her own way in a fucked up world. If she signed herself away, she would be well taken care of.

"Where do I sign?" Emmy asked. She really hoped this was truly her and not him controlling her.

The enslavement papers were tedious. She half expected there to be fireworks, or have to sign in blood. Instead, Chester Bradley handed her a nice fountain pen (filled with blue ink, not blood), and she began to initial and sign. And she initialed and signed, and initialed and signed some more. In the end, she signed or initialed more than two dozen times and her thumb and forefinger were blue from the pen's ink.

"We have been trying to shorten the form. Parts of it are a tad obsolete. One of the things you signed is an agreement not to enter the Austro-Hungarian Empire without notifying the equivalent of the Association in Budapest," her now owner said and poured another round of drinks.

"Master?" She tried out the new form of address and found a new thrill as she said it.

"Yes, I that is what I am now," he said. "I now have complete ownership over you and can do whatever I like to that perfect body of yours.

"Master? Are you going to brand me?" she nervously inquired.

"Yes, I am, dear," he stacked the enslavement papers neatly and placed them in a thick, pre-stamped Manilla envelope. As time slowed and Emmy noticed every detail, she saw the envelope was addressed to a place in Indiana. "We need to finish the enrollment papers. Then, I am still trying to decide if I should fuck you in the ass first or brand you first.

"Now," he said cheerily, "let's get you enrolled in WSCC!"

It turned out that she was already accepted. The main qualification seemed to be merely being a slave. This plan had been in motion long before she got in the Lincoln to go to Manhattan. Emmy looked over the copy of her enrollment forms, and saw they were filled out in her Mother's handwriting. Emmy saw her high school transcripts and there was no mention of that detention her freshman year that they swore would go on her permanent record. All that was left for her to do was fill out her date of enslavement and sign twice. It was over before she even got her hand warmed back up.

Her owner placed these papers in another pre-addressed and stamped envelope. He grabbed his keys and stood up.

"I need to get these out and in the mail. It is a holiday weekend, so I would like to make sure they get there before you arrive in the Sierras," he walked to the door. "I will be back in a couple of minutes. Then, in some order or another: branding, collaring, and buttfucking."

2-Collaring

Her now owner was out the door, and Emmy was alone. She poured herself another drink, the other ones were treating her nicely. With a warm glow and any inhibitions shot, Emmy reflected on how much her life had changed in the past twenty-four hours. She had seen her first sex, had her first drink, had oral sex for the first time, signed papers to enslave herself and enrolled in college. She was certainly not wasting her first official day of adulthood.

Emmy drank a sip of her drink and felt her stomach rumble a bit. Maybe she should hold off until the rest of the alcohol in her system caught up. She decided to pace a bit, the naked blonde stepped across the large living room to look out the window.

The new slave looked down at Central Park. If TV coverage was to be believed, that place was a crime infested war zone. Should she step foot there alone after dark she was sure to be raped/robbed/murdered. It could have been the addition of the rain, but New York City just seemed bleak and depressing. She hoped she would not have to live here all the time. Chester Bradley always seemed to be travelling off on one business venture or another, she assumed he would take her with him. Being rich in New York was like being rich anywhere, though: better and easier. Her owner had his own security, his own safe refuge looking down on the rest of the city, his own means to navigate around the city and never come in contact with the subway or grimy parts.

The idea that she was a sex slave was too big to comprehend now, so she decided to focus instead on going to college. Whatever haze that her owner had placed her under was lifted a little, at least on this subject. She had never heard of Warm Springs Canyon College, and knew absolutely nothing about it. He said that all the students were slaves, how would that work? Did they still have sororities? How about sports teams? It was in the Sierras, wasn't that in California or Nevada? She had never been west of Chicago, what did big mountains look like in person?

Yesterday, her life had been different. It was all too big to take in at once. She would have to just go with the flow and see where she wound up. She was a slave now, but she was Chester Bradley's slave, and she could not wait for him to take full use of her. He would take her in the ass. He was going to brand and collar her.

Emmy took a deep breath. She was a little drunk, maybe. The young blonde never been drunk before, so she wasn't sure. But the tip of her nose felt funny, and her lips were a little numb. She was giddy. Happy that her life did have direction, that she would be having so SO much sex.

There was a week before graduation ceremony, was she going to be there for that? Did she want to be? She already finished all her classes, and the rest of the year would be fluff and bullshit. Would anybody miss her when she disappeared to WSCC and parts unknown after that? It was her Master's decision if she went or not. That made her feel better, he would decide for her.

She was musing about showing up to graduation wearing nothing but a collar when her owner came home. Emmy knew she should do something to greet him, kneel? But by the time she realized she should be doing something he was already well in.

"Welcome back, Master," she managed to say.

"Thank you, Slave," Chester Bradley answered. "We will work on your duties, but since you have been a slave for less than 30 minutes, I will forgive any transgressions." He hung up his keys on a hook by the door. "I have decided on an order. First the collar, then the sodomy, then the branding. That way I do not have to worry about messing up the brand when I am pounding your ass. I want you marked and branded before I send you off the school."

"Yes, Sir," she said, then, quickly corrected, "I mean, 'Yes, Master'."

"I will get you trained right," he said with a smile. "Come here and kneel in front of me."

"Yes, Master," she said.

The young beauty quickly hurried to her owner and knelt.

"Knees farther apart," he corrected her. "Back straight. Eyes down unless your Master asks you to look at him." The rugged man circled her. "Hands on your knees, palm open and up." He gave her head a pat. "Very nice, slave. This is your default position. When I come home, be in this position. When I want you to wait, this is it."

"Yes, Master."

Chester Bradley left her kneeling and went into the bedroom. He had not told her to follow, so she stayed right where she was. The young slave waited until he came back a minute later.

"Rise," he told her.

"Yes, Master," and the young slave did as she was told. The thrill of being commanded was almost too much. She wanted to beg him to take her right there and consummate her enslavement, but he had other plans.

"Lift your hair," he commanded.

Again, she eagerly obeyed.

He held a leather collar, slightly less than an inch across with a lock and loops on it. There was a silk lining, which felt exquisitely sexy on her neck. Chester Bradley's strong hands placed the collar around her slender neck and locked it closed.

With the click of the lock and the feel of the collar around her neck symbolizing her new status, Emmy felt her pussy grow hot and needy. She was Chester Bradley's sex slave!

"Hands together, front!" he suddenly barked.

Without thinking, Emmy held her hands down in front of her and crossed her wrists. Had he programmed her for that or was that natural to her?

Her master reached down and tied her wrists together with a length of soft rope. She looked down at her bound wrists, then up with adoration in her green eyes to her Master. What was he going to do now?