Slave Yoga Ch 04 Slave Shaming

After class I scrubbed my shamefully wet and gamey pussy in the showers. I was mortified at the way I had displayed myself and repeatedly orgasmed in front of my former students but there was no denying how exciting it was for me. I desperately needed some time alone to think but surrounded by dozens of other naked slave girls it was not to be.

"Did you enjoy playing slave girl, Mistress Tracy? Did you like coming on your hand with all your students watching, like a hot slut in heat?"

"They were all creaming their pants. They all wanted you, teacher."

"Slave Tracy would teach them on her knees, ha-ha!

"Tracy is slave hot! She'll be in a collar soon enough."

"Yes, a hot slave slut in search of a master. The collar calls to her."

"Slave Tracy! Slave Tracy!" one girl called out in a sing-song style, laughing. Two or three other girls quickly joined in.

I blushed and looked away but my nipples were rock hard. For some reason their taunts excited me even more. Even as I pretended to ignore them I squeezed my thighs together, luxuriating in the water running over my slave naked body.

"Don't try to act all high and mighty here, Slave Tracy. You're naked in the slave showers with the master's watching you. You're no better than the rest of us."

I felt the blood rush to my face as I became acutely aware of the men standing about 20 feet away. The men were watching us but they maintained their professional distance. I knew they were simply keeping an eye on us but in my heightened state of arousal it felt like they were all watching me.

"You're their favorite!" one of the slave girls said, confirming my worst fears. "They see you are slave hot!"

"Yes, turn and show them your ass!"

I'm not sure why I did it, as I was pretending to ignore them, but I turned and showed the master's my naked bottom. The other slave girls laughed.

"See? Slave Tracy acts like slave meat because she has a crush on Master John!" another slave teased. "She wants to be his pleasure slut!"

I gasped as I felt a hand reach between my legs from behind. I tried to push away, but two of the other slave girls grabbed my hands and held me in place. As the hand slid over my snatch I heard Sunfire's voice over my shoulder.

"Slave Tracy is all warm and gooey, dreaming of Master John!"

I gasped as Sunfire's fingers slipped inside my wet snatch and her thumb found my clitoris. I am not into girls, of course, but Sunfire was skillful, and in my aroused state I quickly found myself gasping for pleasure.

"You're slave hot, Tracy," Sunfire said, whispering in my ear. "But there is more to being a slave girl than rubbing your hot pussy all day. If I were training you'd learn the true meaning of your collar, under the crack of my whip."

"Slave slut," Sunfire said, slapping me on the ass as she pushed me out of the showers. You're not worth soiling my fingers on."

At the gate I was surprised when the guard gave me my clothes. "Your friend Suzie left these for you," the guard explained. She said she didn't have time to wait for a pleasure slut to dress."

"I'm not a pleasure slut," I protested, taking the clothes. The guard said nothing, but smiled as he watched me dress.

Suzie had left my purse and all my clothes except my bra and panties. Suzie had decided to amuse herself by making me go through my school day with my breasts bouncing freely under my T-shirt and no panties under my short skirt.

I wasn't happy. It was risky leaving my clothes without waiting for me. What if there had been a shift change, or the guard simply decided not to give me my clothes for some reason? I'd be left naked in a slave holding pen with no identification and no one to vouch for me, at the mercy of whoever decided to claim me. With no family I'd be easy-pickings for a slave house that decided to train and sell me. Even assuming the good intentions of every male who looked at my naked body it would be as logical for them to put a collar on me as it would be to find me clothes. Indeed, it would be far easier. I could easily be shipped to Roman House or Slavemart or Slaveco or one of the other large slave houses. Perhaps it would be sorted out later. Perhaps not...

What troubled me more than my vulnerability was the way that it excited me. The more I imagined myself at Slavemart and the masters ignoring my protests as I was led to the auction block the wetter I became.

I had always classified myself as a "stimulus augmenter" -- that is, I feel emotions acutely and I prefer lazy vacations on the beach. "Stimulus Reducers" are the opposite, and prefer mountain climbing and roller coasters. If I was risk adverse, why was my pussy juicing at the thought of being ordered to spread my legs on the auction block?

Fearing another slavegasm I struggled to focus. I strongly suspected that it was Suzie who set me up with Principal Bolton and wondered if a discrete phone call to Suzie's law firm might not be such a bad idea. If I revealed how slave hot Suzie was I'm sure there would be a number of junior partners who would be happy to introduce their boss to the collar. It would be an unthinkable betrayal but it was a delightful thought.

At my next meeting with my Academic Advisor Professor Crush was all smiles.

"Did you really wink your anus?" she said, chuckling. "Like this?"

Thinking it was hilarious my laughing Professor held her finger up, closing and opening it to simulate my shame.

I could feel my face turned dark red. "It wasn't funny!" I protested. "My students JOKED about me 'winking', which made it even worse. It was awful! It was the most shameful thing ever!"

"Oh come now, Tracy," Professor Crush said, still clearly amused. "It couldn't have been THAT bad. Your orgamsed like...what was it again, four times? With all of your students watching?"

Professor Crush laughed as I squirmed in shame. "What I want to know is how did Principal Bolton find out? I know it was Suzie! I swear I'll make her pay for this."

"Don't be angry with your friend, dear. I'm the one who called Bolton and fronted the money for your classes field trip."

"YOU?" I said, shocked. "But why? Why would you humiliate me that way?"

"Really, Tracy, you're never going to get your PhD if you don't do the reading. It's called flooding. You help a patient respond to a phobia by making them face their worst fear. I knew you were reluctant to be naked because you were afraid someone you knew might see you. The easiest way to overcome that fear was to make you as naked as possible and put you in the most humiliating situation I could devise."

"Yes, but..."

Professor Crush talked over me. "Tell me: after masturbating to orgasm in front of all your students does a slave grading or a slave auction -- even a slave auction in front of people who know you - seem that bad?"

"No, I suppose not," I admitted. I held my tongue; I was infuriated at Professor Crush for humiliating me that way, but there was something about the Professor's playful tone that defused the situation and made her bizarre logic make sense.

"Tell me, Tracy: have you read my research on 'Slave Shaming?'

Indeed I had. Professor Crush had done pioneering work identifying "Slave Shaming" as a crucial element of the enslavement process. It wasn't enough to strip a girl of her clothes. A proud intelligence free woman had to be stripped of her pride, her sense of self, and her dignity. She had to reduced to a mouth eager to suck and a pussy eager to please.

"Yes, I'm familiar with "Slave Shaming" but I don't see how that had anything to do with my Yoga class. I'm researching a behavioral conditioning technique, whereas "Slave Shaming" involves completely destroying the girl's old identity to transform her into the perfect pleasure slut."

"Close, but it isn't destroying the old identity, it's enhancing it," Professor Crush said pedantically. "Collaring the girl to release the slave within and to create an inner transformation. Surely you, if anyone, should understand what I mean."

I blushed as she smiled at me in that knowing way of hers. My experience in front of my students HAD been transformative, and even though I was embarrassed at the term "slave shaming" I felt a peculiar sense of pride in crossing yet another threshold.

Professor Crush continued. "Your experience in front of your class was an important step in your conditioning. However I do apologize if Sunfire got a bit too aggressive in the shower. Sunfire trains my pleasure sluts and she is quite free with the whip when she is training new girls to pleasure me. But Sunfire had no right to touch you while you're still a free woman. She's already been punished severely for that, I assure you."

"Punished?" I said, piecing things together for the first time. "You mean... you own Sunfire?"

"Of course. She's my pleasure wench. I thought you knew. Didn't you notice my insignia on her hide? As one of my finest slaves she has the honor of wearing my mark."

Professor Crush tapped the stylish AC monogram on her satchel. It was truly eureka moment for me as the scales fell from my eyes.

Of course! The letters and style of the brand on Sunfire's butt cheek that I had admired perfectly matched my Professor's monogram!

"I'm sorry Tracy, I thought you knew," the Professor said. "I can't believe you didn't notice. I mean, it's a large brand and it's right on her naked ass."

"I saw it... and I saw your monogram," I said, amazed at my own foolishness, "but I never put the pieces together."

Professor Crush tapped her monogrammed pen thoughtfully in her palm. "Interesting. Perhaps you repressed the connection in some way."

"Why would I do that?" Tracy said.

"That's the question, isn't it? Are your familiar with the term, 'slave stupid?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, tensing, "but I'm not stupid."

"That's not what 'slave stupid' means, silly. The conventional wisdom is that slave girls are naturally dimwitted, even doltish. However my theory is slave stupid is a form of denial, where an otherwise intelligent young woman becomes a brainless bimbo to make it easier for her to live the life of slave."

"I'm not a brainless bimbo!" I said, in a voice louder than I intended.

Professor Crush leaned forward and took my hand, stroking it soothingly. "Of course not, sweetie. Don't be angry. Part of slave stupid involves the girl regressing to an almost child like state, where she is fully dependent on pleasing her master... or her mistress."

As she said the word "Mistress" her grip on my hand tightened ever so slightly and she switched to gently stroking my hand with one finger.

"Her Mistress becomes 'Mommy', Agatha said. "And when Tracy throws a temper tantrum, Mommy spanks!"

I felt myself blush as Professor Crush rapidly 'spanked' my hand with her index finger. Professor Crush laughed out loud as I nervously pulled my hand away.

"I'm not a naughty child, and I'm not stupid" I said insistently. "I was concentrating on my Slave Yoga and I simply didn't notice the monograms matching, that's all."

Professor Crush thoughtfully raised her monogrammed pen to her cheek. "Fascinating. I monogram everything in my office, and my monogram is on the website you log into, and on all my e-mails. Observant as you are you never noticed it. You've been complaining about Sunfire nonstop, and telling me how glad you were that she was branded, but you never noticed the inch high brand on her ass."

Embarrassed and uncertain, I said nothing.

Professor Crush considered the matter for a moment, watching closely as I squirmed in my chair. "Tell me, Tracy: does the thought of being branded frighten you?"

The temperature in the room dropped as I felt a cold chill run down my spine. "Yes... well, no... I mean uh..., why would it scare me? It's not like anyone would ever... right? I mean... I mean I imagine it would hurt a lot, right?"

Professor Crush's question had thrown me and I despised myself for blithering like an idiot. Slave stupid, indeed!

"It would hurt for a moment, I suppose," Professor Crush said dismissively, "although I doubt as a slave you'd feel it the way a normal person would. However Sunfire's brand is exquisite, is it not?"

"I suppose," I said tentatively, unsure of what she was asking.

"You suppose? You told me it was beautiful."

"Yes, it's beautiful," I allowed. Where was she going with this cross-examination?

"I'm glad to hear you say that. You made excellent progress at your Slave Yoga class and opened yourself up fully to the experience. I know it must have been quite humiliating to masturbate in front of all those teenage boys and girls, especially knowing how they had all once respected you and looked up to you. I wanted to give you a very special gifts as a reward for all your hard work."

I watched expectantly as Professor Crush opened a drawer and pulled out an elegant black box. It looked like a jewelry box, but it was too large for a ring or even a necklace. Feeling like a kid at Christmas I leaned forward as I watched Professor Crush slowly unwrap the cellophane around the box.

"The first gift is the cellophane. It has my monogram inscribed on it. It's an inch high, the exact height of Sunfire's brand."

Professor Crush held up the clear plastic wrap in front of my face. The clear cellophane sheet had her logo on it, but it was odd: a bit jagged on the edges, it looked like it had almost been burned on.

I stared at it, mesmerized by it's beauty, as Professor Crush explained.

"I use this on my slave girls, to see what the brand looks like before it is applied. After all, after a girl's branded, there's no going back, is there?" she chuckled.

Professor Crush laughter made me feel queasy. "I thought you might want to try it out, to see what a brand might look like on your luminous alabaster skin."

The cellophane mark frightened and disgusted me, but it was also strangely fascinating. I reached for it, and stopped.

Professor Crush laughed as I pulled my hand back. "Classic approach / avoidance conflict. It's not a snake, Tracy. It won't bite."

She was right. It was just a piece of cellophane, no different really then the cellophane I wrapped my sandwich in.

I picked it up and pushed it against my arm, smoothing it gently.

I felt an indescribable wave of excitement wash over me. My "brand" looked amazing!

My extremely vain Professor put a make up mirror on her desk, which she immediately switched to magnifying mode so I could see "the brand" on my arm in detail.

Professor Crush shared my enthusiastic opinion. "Oh, it's GORGEOUS," she gushed. "Absolutely exquisite! It simply glows against your skin."

"Do you really think so?" I said, basking in one of my Professor's hard earned compliments as I turned my arm to see the brand in the light. No longer frightened, I found myself concentrating on the brand's beauty: the squiggly curve of the A and the C, the balance of the two letters, the perfect match to Professor Crush's exquisite penmanship. It was almost like she had written on my arm.

"It is gorgeous," I admitted.

"It's more than gorgeous, Tracy," Professor Crush said. "It's superb. Ravishing."

I smiled as I admired the mark on my arm, entranced by the beauty of my skin.

"Of course, it curves a bit more around your arm than it really could in real life, because of it's size," she said, frowning a bit. "It's not really designed for your arm."

"I think it looks wonderful," I said, admiring it.

"No, it's not right," Professor Crush said. "It's needs to be on a larger surface. Drop your pants."

"Excuse me?" I said, unsure of whether I had heard her correctly.

"Drop your pants. I want to see what it looks like on your bottom."

Not liking where this is going I tried to regain control. "I think it looks good against my arm. A number of the girls in my Slave Yoga Class have arm brands, or brands on their hands, or thighs."

"No, arm brands and thigh brands are smaller. This was designed to be a butt brand. All of Agatha Crush's slave girls are butt branded," she said, strangely referring to herself in the third person.

Her voice was firm and insistent and she looked me straight in the eye. "This isn't a discussion. You are my student and I am your teacher. Take your pants down, Tracy. Now."

I felt dizzy as I slowly rose out of my chair, standing before her with my hands at my side.

"Good girl," she said, talking to me as if I were a reluctant child she was undressing for bed. "Now drop your drawers."

My heart beating like a trip hammer I fumbled with my belt buckle. I was used to be naked, but this was different. I was not in class, and I did not have Master John or the other slave girls to protect me. Alone in my advisor's office, it was simply Agatha Crush and me.

"For goodness sakes, Tracy, you are taking slave stupid to a whole new level!" she scolded, pulling me closer even as she roughly brushed my fumbling fingers out of the way. "Imagine needing my help to take down your own pants!"

My mind swirled: was this really happening? Was my Professor really taking down my pants? She was. I stood helplessly, my hands dangling uselessly by my sides like a rag doll. Briskly and efficiently, Professor Crush unbuckled my belt and unceremoniously skinned my pants down to my knees.

She paused, smiling as she took a moment to admire my underpants. My panties were white with a pink stripe, and a lacy pink trim punctuated by two little white bows on the top front corners.

"Oh, my, those are simply ADORABLE," she said, giggling as she ran her finger across the lacy pink ridge on the top of my panties. "So soft and girly, just like I like then. Professor Crush's finger stopped in the center and ran down the front, poking me in the dead center of my mound. "But cute as they are, they have to come down, don't they?" she teased.

Knowing what was coming and desperate to preserve what little dignity I had left I turned my back to her. I hooked my panties by the sides with my thumbs, but Professor Crush couldn't wait, and grabbed my panties from behind, poking her finger down between my cheeks and into my butt crack as she "helped" me ease my panties down.

"That's a good girl!" she cooed, talking to me as if I were a child as together we skinned my panties down to my knees. I pulled them down far but there was a method to my madness: the gusset of my panties were wet from my excitement, and I wanted to shield the garment from Professor Crush's close inspection.

I tensed as Professor Crush cupped my right bottom cheek in her hand, fondling and squeezing it as if she had every right to do so. "You have a very nice bottom, Tracy. Firm, but feminine. A pleasure to look at, a pleasure to hold, and a pleasure to discipline. Your ass would bring a fine price on the auction block, my little slave girl."

"I'm not a slave girl and my ass is not for sale," I replied sharply.

Professor Crus seemed undeterred. "When you have as much money as I do, my dear, you come to realize that everything is for sale. Now let's see about your brand. Bend over, please, so I can apply it properly."

I wasn't sure why I had to bend over, although I supposed that in many cases girls who were branded were bent over. However I didn't dispute the direction, for although Professor Crush said "please" it was clear from the firmness of her tone that she was in charge.

"Bend a bit farther, please," she said, making her intent clear by pushing down on the small of my back with the hand that was not squeezing my ass. "Let's get the target nice and high."

I had never thought of my bottom as a "target" but I had to admit that as we were discussing a slave branding it was not an inaccurate word. Nonetheless I felt a small chill, for I had heard the master's refer to slave girl's bottoms as "targets" usually when they had a whip in their hand.