Tracy's Journal

4-3

My study of Slave Yoga is proceeding splendidly. With the incentive of the slave treats and the mock threat of the slave whip constantly cracking over my head my movements in class are now more graceful and fluid than many of the slave girls. I know that my moves are better, even if the slave girls get more attention from the men in the window because they have the TOTALLY UNFAIR advantage of being able to perform the moves naked.

I always feel a surge of pride when Master John or Master Mark use my performance to admonish the other slave girls.

"Come on, you lazy sluts," Master John barks. "Will you let this free woman show you up? Are you not even fit to be slave meat? Watch Mistress Tracy and learn!"

I get more rewards than any of the slave girls. Sometimes Master John or Master Mark will drop the candy on the floor in front of their boots. I'll put my face to the floor and pick up the candy by extending my tongue. It's not an easy trick and it took me hours of practice at home to master this, but I finally got it.

Slave Candies are meant to be bitter and foul as it's felt that sweet candy is too good for a slave slut. However as peculiar as it may seem even the most noxious candy can seem delicious when you have to lick it off the floor with your Master looking down on you like an all powerful god. As an extra flourish I sometimes run my tongue across the tip of my Master's boot, smiling up knowingly as I give his work shoe a playful, sexually-suggestive polish. It's VERY fun, and it always makes my Master smile, which makes me indescribably happy.

4-5

I have perfected my technique and I'm now quite expert at both hand feedings and lifting slave candy off the floor with my tongue. Master John is pleased, and I basque in his slave-praise, but like any great Master he is constantly discovering ingenious ways to challenge me, push my limits, and take my submission to levels I never dreamed possible.

The psychology of our relationship is fascinating. To a casual observer it might seem that he is entirely in charge but in reality the dynamic is much more complex. I know that he doesn't want to yell at me and that he wants me to be the best pretend slave I can be, even though (of course) we both know I am not really a slave at all. My practice and ability to please gives me the power in the situation, even if he is the one with the whip in his hand.

I have come to understand that the moves themselves are only part of the lesson. More important then the physical moves themselves is the state of perfect submission they represent. Movements can be learned, but true submission can never be faked. As a psychology student I have struggled to understand the seemingly contradictory notion that for a slave girl absolute freedom can only be achieved by absolute slavery.

As a special reward for perfecting my "slave spread" position Master John gave me a special treat today, dropping it out of his pocket and letting it roll onto the floor in front of me.

This "slave candy" was a blue three-quarter circle, like a throat lozenge, partially bitten off and oddly shaped. Knowing how Master John loves surprises I'd done an extensive search of slave candies online. Nonetheless this particular bit of slave candy was hard to place, in no small part because it looked like it had been in his pocket for a while and was coated with fuzzy pocket lint.

The bitten off corner was the crucial clue. The candy was so foul that the slave girl who had put it in her mouth had spit it out. How bad did a "treat" have to be that even a slave girl couldn't stomach it?

Fortunately the candy's partial digestion and the sickening off-blue color provided me with the clue I needed. I knew what it was! The psychology of the moment was fascinating: I felt thrilled that I had solved the vexing riddle even as I felt repulsed by the ugly, fuzzy candy lying on the floor in front of me.

The candy before me was a derivative of a candy called "Toxic Slime" which had been an Internet challenge a few years before, with college students posting videos of their grimaces and extreme facial reactions as they attempted to stomach it. "Toxic Slime" was awful, but the sour layer was on top, with the worst of the taste kicking in about 30 seconds after you put it in your mouth. After a minute or so of awfulness, the foulness could be sucked off to reveal the more tolerable candy underneath.

As if Toxic Slime was not bad enough recently the manufacturer had issued a special SLAVE ONLY variation that was sour to the core. The slave version stretched the horror from 30 seconds to 20-30 minutes as the slave was forced to endlessly suck the foulness until it permeated her entire mouth.

"Teach her to use her tongue, not her teeth" the tagline went. Ha-ha, guys.

I gave it a couple of little sniffs, like a dog examining something dropped on the ground. It even SMELLED awful! However from my reading I knew the trick was to suck and NEVER bite, for the foulness was so intense that biting into the candy almost always induced the slave to vomit.

"Now," Master John ordered impatiently.

I felt my heart sink as I realized that Master John had incorrectly interpreted my careful sniffing as avoidance. Was it?

I realized I was experiencing the slave girl version of the classic approach-avoidance conflict. I felt an exciting, tingly fear at the thought of the lozenge in my mouth even as I felt my vagina moisten at the thought of pleasing my Master by learning a new trick. I'm a psychology student and not a slave girl, of course, but the emotions and psychology are not dissimilar and for a moment I felt the adrenaline rush an actual slave girl might feel. It was not an altogether unpleasant sensation.

Knowing the trick I felt confident I could master it. Extending my tongue I smiled up at my grinning Master as I lifted it up and rolled it into my mouth. My smile did not last long as I immediately began to choke and sputter.

The other slave girls and even my free friends began to laugh as I whimpered and moaned in misery.

"Pay attention to Tracy's face today, ladies," Master John said, laughing at my distress. "She is learning the bitter taste of slavery."

"Suck it good, Tracy," my friend Suzie called out. "Sucking things is what slave girls do!"

Everyone laughed as I struggled not to spit it out. I'm quite sure I would have lost it if Master John had not rescued me.

Placing his boot in front of my face, Master John tapped his toe twice. I had made a practice of thanking him for my slave candy by polishing the tip of his boot with my tongue. However today it had rained, and the tip of his tapping right boot was coated with the mud and muck from outside.

I thought it was unusual that only the tip of his right boot was dirty. I looked at his other boot, which was wet but relatively clean. Naturally I extended my tongue toward the cleaner boot.

"No," he said, correcting me. "I scraped the muck off my tire with THIS boot," he explained.

Master John tapped his dirty boot tip on the floor again. "Lick it clean."

The psychology of the moment was powerful. I felt humiliated and embarrassed by the way my friends and even the other slave girls had laughed at my reaction to the slave candy. Now Master John was demanding that I lick the muddy slop off his boot, with everyone watching.

On one level I felt deeply humiliated but on another I longed to obey. I knew that he was pushing me, testing my limits, first with the most noxious candy he could find, then by insisting that I lick his muddy boot in front of everyone. I felt my vagina spasm in pleasure as I imagined him carefully planning my humiliation, selecting the candy, and carefully wiping the muck from his tire onto his boot, knowing I would have to lick it off.

In that moment I had a psychological breakthrough as I realized that the true humiliation was not in the task itself, for that was not chosen by me, but rather in failing to complete the task to my Master's satisfaction. Far from being a defeat, Master John had offered me a chance to show how perfectly I had achieved the mental state of submission few slaves ever achieved. Better yet I would be able to do it with everyone watching!

I pushed the lozenge to the back corner of my mouth. Extending my tongue I removed the wet clumps of dirt and muck from the toe of his boot with my eager tongue.

John had once been my student. As I lovingly lapped the slop into my mouth I pictured him in class, cowed, embarrassed, hoping that his beautiful teacher he had a crush on wouldn't call on him even as he longed for me with his eyes. Poor little Johnny, horny and helpless with his little blue balls.

I had studied power reversal games in my psychology class. In it's most practical form it can be used as a therapy where the dominant party pretends to be weak in order to give the subordinate party the opportunity to feel like they're in charge. Of course what I was doing now was more extreme than a secretary getting to choose where the boss took her to lunch or a parent allowing a child to lead them in a game of follow-the-leader. However the psychological principals in play were much the same. I knew Suzie and the other free women who didn't understand the deeper psychological significance of Master John's test thought I was insane but their opinion didn't matter. This was all a game and I was determined to win.

As unappetizing as it was as soon as I got the filth into my mouth I realized the secret kindness of Master John's gesture. Licking the mud off his boot forced the candy into the rear of my mouth, where it melted more slowly. Furthermore the dirt formed a sort of muddy paste in my mouth. Unappetizing as it was the mud in my mouth coated my tongue sufficiently to keep me from puking.

For the next 40 minutes I was able to perform my slave paces much as before, although I did inspire quite a bit of laughter from my friends on those moments when my faces and whimpering made it clear that I was struggling not to lose my breakfast. By the end of the session the "Toxic Slime" lozenge was gone and I was able to finally swallow the muddy paste.

As we were dismissed from the showers Master John rewarded me with a playful scratch behind my ear! Suzie applauded, and the other free women and then even some of the slave girls joined in, although Sunfire, a pretty blonde slave slut who I am VERY jealous of because all the men stare at her gave me a very sarcastic slow-clap.

It didn't matter; I had beaten them all, even Sunfire! I squeezed my thighs together, relishing the sensation of his hand scratching my ear. My victory was absolute and I've never felt so powerful in my life!

Despite my success - or because of it - I took quite a bit of teasing from my free friends in the showers.

"Nice boot licking today, Tracy. Did the mud taste as good as the slave candy?"

"I think she was amazing. She sucked it all down."

"I don't know how she eats that slave candy shit."

"Shit would taste better. It's foul."

"Did you see her with that boot? She licked it like a lollipop!"

"Slave girls love licking boots, and so does Slave Tracy!"

"Slave Tracy! Slave Tracy!" the girls sing-songed.

"Master John brought the slave candy just for me," I said, laughing at their barbs, "because I'm better then the rest of you. And he wiped his boot for me before class, to leaven the taste."

"You're nuts," Helen said. "He scraped some shit off the tire of that enormous macho monster truck he drives, probably because it was hitting the mud flaps. It wasn't "especially for you". None of us mean anything to him."

"You're wrong," I said, my anger rising. "Master John loves me!"

Everyone began to laugh at me and I realized I had pushed things too far. Of course Master John didn't "love me" in a romantic way, or even in the way a teacher loves their student. I meant a sort of "slave love", like the sort of love one might have for a pet, or a horse or cow or other domestic animal one used on their farm.

Fortunately Suzie broke in. "Leave her alone. You're just jealous because Tracy's so much better at this slave thing then the rest of us. Master John sees it too. We're just playing. Tracy's the real deal. I wish I was half the slave girl she is."

Afterwards Suzie and I talked. "You were really into it today, Tracy, and I admire you for that," Suzie said. "It's always 110% with you. I think it's hot too. On Tuesday I enslaved this little blonde cutie who had gone for a self enslavement after she broke up with her boyfriend."

Suzie smiled evilly. "I invited her ex to her auction and it was so hot. I couldn't stop masturbating thinking about the look on her face when she saw him in the front row bidding on her while she did her slave squats."

I asked if her ex-boyfriend had purchased her. Suzie smiled. "I don't know. Who cares? She's only a slave."

4-7

I had a major problem at school today. Principal Bolton called me into his office and with a couple of other male teachers he accused me of adjusting the male student's grades up.

I admitted that I did "smooth" the grades of Steve and some of the other male students in my class who I felt were bright but didn't necessarily test well.

I have to admit that over the last few weeks I have found the class more difficult to handle and it's been harder in particular to stand up to my male students. How does one say no to, or correct a man, without giving offense?

Principal Bolton hates me so he fired me. As a final parting shot he told me that I shouldn't "worry my pretty little head about it" since "teaching adult males in High School is probably too difficult an assignment for a woman."

4-10

This morning at class Sunfire was quite the little slut and the men couldn't take their eyes off her twat as she spread her legs and pleasured herself for them. I intentionally fell into her and told Master Mark that she had collapsed on top of me while "showing off." Without even bothering to get her side of the story he cracked the whip across her ass, leaving her with a delicious red welt right across her big bottom.

"Now you can show the men the big red stripe on your ass," I whispered as we resumed our moves. Sunfire glared fire at me but was careful not to show me up again.

I met with my advisor Professor Crush later in the day. I was heartbroken to give up teaching my class but Agatha explained that it was only a good thing as it would leave me more time to concentrate on my Slave Yoga research.

"I've been shaping your journal entries, and adding my own psychological explanations for the states and emotions you're experiencing," Agatha explained. "Tell me: do you actually think Master John loves you?"

I chose my words carefully. "Not romantically, but perhaps, in his own way."

"Do you love him?" Agatha asked.

Her question caught me off guard. I had expected her to ask about my silly remark about him loving me, but I hadn't expected her to so completely turn the tables.

My feelings for Master John were dark and intense. I craved his approval. I thought of him when I masturbated and dreamed of him at night. With my deep focus on Slave Yoga in a sense he had become my life. But did I love him?

"Are you familiar with the Stockholm Syndrome, Tracy?" Professor Crush asked.

"Yes, but I don't see how that's relevant," I answered. "That applies to hostages and prisoners. I'm in control here."

"In your journal you wrote that you felt powerful when Master John scratched you behind your ear"

"That's because I won."

"What did you win, exactly?" Professor Crush asked, clearly puzzled.

"I beat all the other girls? Don't you see? I was the best, his favorite!"

Professor Crush smiled indulgently and made a note at my response. It was clear that I had not convinced her.

"You don't understand," I protested. "You weren't there."

"Fascinating. Your experiences perfectly illustrate the major concepts of behavioral psychology in a way that's anything but dry. My publisher is not even talking about it as a textbook, she's talking about it as a New York Times Best Seller. Isn't that wonderful?"

"That's incredible! May I see the manuscript?"

"Not yet, dear," Agatha said. "Being a psychology student you're obviously aware of the contours of what's happening, but it's a mistake to discuss the details of the experiment with the test subject."

I was puzzled. "Test subject? I'm documenting, not participating. You make me sound like a lab rat."

"It's a matter of terms, dear. Call it what you will."

"Terminology is important," I said. "I'm not a test subject. I'm a researcher, right?"

"Of course you are, sweetie. And a wonderful little researcher you are! For example, the work you've done on behavioral conditioning is magnificent."

I felt my mouth begin to water as Agatha Crush reached into her stylishly monogrammed AC leather bag and extracted a small, gritty brown cookie and dangled it in the air.

Without even thinking my training kicked in, and I dropped to my knees in front of her.

Agatha laughed as she played keep-a-way, making me reach for the treat with my gaping open mouth. A part of me hated myself for playing this game and despised her obvious delight in teasing me. I simply wanted to grab the treat from her with my hand, and almost did, but couldn't. I knew it wouldn't be right.

Agatha dropped the treat on the floor, but it took a bad bounce, and rolled under her desk. I tried to crawl under the desk, but I couldn't get past her, so Professor Crush used the toe of her shoe to move my cookie back into position.

I didn't recognized the slave treat in front of me; the cookie was small and brown and was shaped like a tiny bone. Carefully I extended my tongue and lifted the tiny cookie into my mouth. The cookie was gritty and tasteless, but Agatha beamed down at me, clearly pleased at the rapid smoothness of my conditioned response.

I knew the next part of the trick was the boot lick, but I hesitated when I saw Agatha was not wearing shoes, but sandals. Sensing my reluctance Professor Crush's smile faded as she impatiently tapped her toe twice.

My conditioning kicked in again as I sensuously licked Professor Crush's painted toenails before taking her big toe into my mouth for a good suck.

I felt a surge of pleasure rush through me as my smiling Professor's scratched me behind the ear.

"Good girl!" Agatha said. "You're progressing wonderfully. Textbook operant conditioning with a reward based system. I think the next step is to do a bit more work with negative reinforcement. Are you familiar with the basics of aversion therapy?"

Still on my knees, I nodded as I let her toe slip out of my mouth as I attempted to regain my academic gravitas. "You mean, punishment?" I asked.

"Yes, precisely. You're already established a more instinctive response to positive stimuli than many of the slave girls in your class."

"Thank you, Professor," I said, reveling in her praise.

"Don't thank me, Tracy, I'm simply stating a fact. You're better than most but not better then all of them. In your journal you spend a lot of time comparing yourself to the other girls. Have you ever wondered what sort of slave grade you might earn?"

I felt myself flush. I wondered constantly but had been to embarrassed to write about Master Mark's appraisal of me.

"You performed well today, Tracy," he said.

"Only "well," Master?" I replied, nuzzling his hand. "Am I not Prime?"

I flirted with him, batting my eyes and rubbing his leg with my cheek as I knelt before him. Master Mark's cold, clinical response cut me to the bone.

"No, better than choice — Select B-, maybe, although I would have to give you a full slave grading to be sure. You are definitely not Prime, although the potential is there. If I were able to train you properly, naked and under my whip, and teach you the ways of a pleasure slut, who knows? You are obedient, and learn quickly. But right now? You would make a kitchen slave, at best."