Slavery Begins At Home Pt 01

***Author's note: This story contains elements of consensual degradation and humiliation, body modification, intensive sexual servitude and diabolical mind-fuckery. Similar to my other stories, the characters are completely debauched, the sex scenes are gratuitous and the plot is completely unrealistic and over-the-top. Read on at your own peril. I do not allow public comments on my stories, but feel free to send me a note should you care to opine. ***

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The alarm went off promptly at 7:00 a.m.

The male slave immediately sprang out of bed and tip-toed to the bathroom of the guest suite of the large Victorian house. As always, he had slept naked aside from a thick, black leather collar, vented stainless steel anal plug and custom stainless steel chastity cage, which was permanently welded in place.

He turned on the light and regarded himself in the vanity mirror.

The slave was forty-four years old. He stood five feet, eight inches tall and weighed a just one-hundred and thirty pounds. There was not an ounce of fat on him. His owner strictly supervised his diet and exercise regimen. As a result, the slave had lost thirty pounds over the past six months. He was lean and chiseled. His legs were long and shapely, the result of regular Pilates classes and the absurdly high heels he was required to wear while in service to the couple who were still sleeping down the hall.

The couple.

Together, they had transformed his life. Six months ago, the slave had been a straight married suburban dad with a good job and two kids in college. Now he was a full time sex slave to the man and woman who currently slept soundly down the hall.

And he had never been happier.

His eyes drifted down to his pierced nipples. The nipple rings were steel hoops as thick as a pencil. After being stretched daily with custom weights and his special exercises, his nipples now extended almost two inches beyond his chest wall. They gave his torso a decidedly feminine appearance.

Which was exactly the point, of course.

Over the past few months, the slave had been systematically feminized by his owner. In his previous life, he had been considered himself an alpha male, an athletic outdoorsman, equally at home in the boardroom or a camp site. Now, all vestiges of his previous masculinity were being deliberately erased.

He sighed and contemplated the form before him in the mirror.

All hair below the neck had been permanently removed by electrolysis and laser treatments. His waist was steadily narrowing and his hips were starting to flare outward, the result of his radical weight loss, regular corset training, and a daily routine of lunges and leg presses designed to accentuate the contours of his buttocks. He smiled to himself. He really was starting to get that hour glass figure his owner was trying to achieve.

His smile faltered when his gaze fell on to his groin.

His pubic hair was long gone, of course. The delicate, white flesh of his pubis was now marked with an oversized tattoo of thick black letters, along with three intricately crafted figures, drawn in silhouette.

He ran his fingers across the tattoo, the letters spelling out the label that described his role in the unusual household, a term he had not even known existed a year ago.

He shuddered involuntarily, remembering the pain of being inked, along with the humiliation of having to suck off the pudgy hipster tattoo artist in the dingy back room to earn a paltry twenty percent discount.

His owner had giggled the entire time.

He reached behind him and fingered the other tattoo centered above his buttocks. This one had been added just a few weeks ago. The skin was still tender where the large block letters had been etched upon the tender flesh.

Finally, the slave's gaze settled on to the hated chastity device.

He reached down and gently adjusted the tubular steel cage encasing the lifeless nubbin of flesh that had once been his proud penis. A year ago, he had been a vigorous man with a reliably firm erection, full, weighty testicles and a healthy sex drive.

Now he was practically a eunuch.

Since being locked in to permanent chastity by his owner, the slave had not been allowed to have a single erection. The tight-fitting steel enclosure of the chastity cage made any hint of tumescence a physical impossibility. As a result, his cock and balls had begun to atrophy with alarming rapidity. The last time his cage was changed out by the steelsmith, the slave had been mortified to see that his flaccid penis was smaller than his thumb.

"Never seen one get that small," the gruff steelsmith had muttered to himself casually as he welded the new, thimble-sized codpiece to the steel ring encircling the slave's ever-shrinking testicles.

The slave had cried a little that day for his lost manhood, hot tears running down his cheeks as the burly smith fucked his face after the fitting was completed.

His owner had had a good laugh at that, too.

In the morning stillness, the slave tried to remember what it felt like to have an erection, but could not do so. The concept was now so foreign to him. He had not felt even a flicker of turgidity in his loins for over four months. He doubted he could ever get hard again.

The slave was snapped out his reverie by the sound of a loud, snuffling snore coming from down the hall in the master suite.

The man was stirring.

Quickly, almost in a panic now, the slave went to the toilet. He removed his plug, then squatted and relieved himself. He then douched himself repeatedly with the enema bulb until his anus and rectum were clean and fresh. The man did not often use the slave's ass in the morning, but it paid to be prepared.

Next, he washed his hands and brushed his teeth, carefully ensuring that his mouth would also be clean and fresh for the man's cock.

Finally, he removed his collar and stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water full blast. The slave was never allowed the luxury of hot water. As always, he was hastened along by the chill of the icy stream. Within two minutes, the slave was squeaky clean. He stepped out and toweled his hair and body dry.

He stood before the mirror and put back on his collar first, making sure that the plastic tag that displayed his slave-name for all to see was centered on its clasp. He stared for a moment at the two words emblazoned in all capital letters on the overly large red disc, marveling at how accurately his new name defined his daily existence.

He picked up the large steel anal plug, lubing it quickly with his tongue, and re-inserted it into his anus, wincing just a bit as the bulbous head slipped past his well -trained sphincter.

It was time for his final preparations.

He gathered up the lipstick from the counter and applied a liberal layer of candy apple red to his full lips, pursing and smacking them coquettishly at the mirror. He flickered his long, painted nails at his own reflection, as if typing on an invisible key board. The gaudy bright red lacquer matched the color of his lipstick exactly.

He dropped his hands to his sides and stifled a giggle.

"Hello, my pretty," he whispered to the cold morning stillness.

He went to the closet and selected one of the black leather corsets, which he quickly and expertly laced at a slightly higher tension than the previous day. His breath now coming in shallow gasps, he bent down and pulled on his owner's favorite stiletto ankle half-boots. They were black patent leather with six gaudy silver buckles in front and spindly five inch heels.

Wobbling slightly on his heels, the slave picked up the black spandex hood and pulled it over his head. It was a simple hood with two eye holes and an overly large mouth hole. He remembered vividly the first time his owner had made him wear it.

"I've noticed that some of the gentlemen get distracted by your facial expressions, especially when you gag on their cocks," his owner had said, pulling the light-weight hood over his head for the first time.

"The hood will take care of that. Besides, men don't need to see your face when they're using your holes. Facial expressions are redundant on a cum receptacle, don't you think?" his owner had chuckled, patting the slave on the head proprietarily.

That had been several months ago. Now the slave always wore the hood in the presence of his owner. He barely noticed it anymore. Absently, he adjusted the material to center his eyes and mouth in their respective holes and contemplated his appearance in the mirror. For several seconds he stood transfixed, staring at the image before him.

He smiled broadly.

He gazed with deep satisfaction at the strange creature he had become. He was no longer a real man, but not quite a woman. He was something in between, an androgynous service object with no true gender, who existed solely for the sexual pleasure of others.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

The slave took a deep breath, blew himself a kiss in the mirror, then twirled and began to heel-toe it silently down the hall. As he walked, swinging his hips lewdly as he had been trained, he was overcome with gratitude toward his owner for finally bringing true meaning to his life.

Things used to seem so complicated. Not anymore. Now he saw the world with crystalline clarity. He existed for only one purpose: to please the couple down the hall, for as long as they would allow him to serve them.

He paused just outside the door to the master suite, listening to the measured breathing of the people inside. As his hand closed on the cold steel of the doorknob, he savored the moment, feeling the familiar frisson of exhilaration, equal parts anticipation and dread, that always overtook him when it came time to wake the couple.

He turned the knob.

As usual, the room was in semi-darkness with only a few beams of slanted sunlight penetrating the blackout shades. The slave crept quietly up to the foot of the bed.

The man was snoring loudly, laying naked above the sheets, his thick cock, large and menacing even in flaccidity, lolling on his left thigh, like a python sunning itself on a log. His left arm was draped beneath the neck of the lady of the house. She too was nude, laying on her back, her large, firm breasts rising and falling with each breath.

The man was forty-one years old. He was six-feet four inches tall with dark brown, close cropped hair and green eyes. He had rugged features, with a strong jawline and movie star smile. He was well muscled, still built like the defensive end he had been in college. He was a successful entrepreneur who had sold one of his companies the previous year for thirty million dollars.

The lady of the house was also forty-one years old. She had a mane of honey-blond hair, which she usually wore back, but now radiated outward out on her pillow, like a corona framing her beautiful face. She was of combined Asian and Nordic extraction, giving the angular planes of her face a distinctly exotic cast with flawless olive skin and overly large, almond shaped blue eyes.

She was five-feet six inches tall and weighed one hundred and thirty pounds. Her body was spectacular. An avid exerciser, she was also blessed with medium sized natural breasts that had blossomed into super-sized perfection following the birth of her twin children. She had generous hips and a perfectly sculpted ass. Her shapely legs tapered gracefully down to her delicate, well shaped feet, which she secretly considered to be her most attractive feature.

The slave looked over at the clock on the nightstand, then down at the floor beside the woman's side of the bed.

There she was, as usual.

The female slave always slept on the bedroom floor beside the lady of the house, in case her mistress needed her attention during the night. The slave was curled up naked on the hardwood floor, not allowed even a threadbare blanket to ward off the morning chill.

The male slave reached out with his right foot, roughly kicking his female counterpart awake. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, but did not speak.

"It's time," he whispered.

She nodded and rose slowly to her feet, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. As she stood, there was the familiar muted tinkling sound of metal on metal.

Like the male slave, the female wore only her black leather collar and ubiquitous anal plug. Her nipples, also pierced and stretched, extended a full three inches beyond the globes of her modestly sized breasts.

However, instead of steel nipple rings, the slave's nipples were adorned with delicate golden bells that chimed constantly as she moved about the house.

She too had been denuded of hair below the neck. Like the male slave, she also bore the mark of her owner, the large black tattoo on her bare vulva only dimly visible in the slanted morning light. There was a label of another kind stamped on to the small of her back.

The female slave was thirty-eight years old. She was petit, just five feet three inches tall. Her breasts were firm, but small. Her belly was flat and she had the sculpted physique of a dancer, lean and lithe. Her legs were slim, but well-muscled, retaining the graceful definition she had acquired during her four-year stint as a college cheerleader.

She was uncommonly pretty, with high cheek bones and chiseled features surmounted by deep brown eyes. She had full lips and even, white teeth. For most of her life, she had worn her raven hair long, letting it cascade down to the small of her back, but her locks had been shorn down to a crew cut by the lady of the house.

Her mistress had not cut the slave's hair for aesthetic purposes; it was strictly a functional decision. The fact is that having long hair would interfere with the slave's principal function in the household: eating pussy.

Although the female slave had been a confirmed heterosexual prior to assuming her current position, her primary purpose in life now was to serve as the oral slave to the lady of the house. At first, the female slave's tongue had been clumsy and awkward, having had little prior experience with other women, but she had learned quickly under the guidance of the whip.

Indeed, the female slave became so adept at performing her delightful lingual acrobatics between her mistress' thighs that when it came time for the couple to provide her with a permanent slave-name, they had chosen one that reflected both her primary contribution to the household as well as her new purpose in life:

T O N G U E

Like the male slave, Tongue was required to keep the large red plastic tag inscribed with her name on permanent display, attached to her collar. At parties, this made it easy for the guests, both male and female, to identify her and avail themselves of her lingual charms.

Also, like the male slave, Tongue had once been part of conventional marriage. She had considered herself to be a normal, straight suburban wife.

But those days were long gone.

That was perfectly fine with the female slave. In fact, it had been Tongue herself who had set the events in motion that eventually led to her current lowly status in the household. The dynamic she so enjoyed between herself and the couple was simply the logical progression of the lifestyle she had voluntarily embraced years ago, taken to its ultimate extreme.

Not that she missed her old life. Quite the contrary. Tongue relished her new station in the household and had found boundless satisfaction and fulfillment in serving the couple.

But there was pain.

As she shifted on her feet in the pale morning light, there was the clinking sound of more metal on metal, this time coming from below her waist.

The male slave's eyes were drawn unconsciously down to the vertex of her thighs.

"They added two more last night," she whispered forlornly, after noticing the direction of his gaze.

"I know. I heard you screaming," replied the male slave, not unkindly. "How many more do you think they'll do?"

The female shrugged and looked down at the sleeping form of the woman in the bed.

"You'll have to ask her," she croaked in a stage whisper. "She's the one in charge of my...modifications. I think it's revenge for how I used to treat her, you know...before."

She looked away uneasily.

The male slave nodded. He knew exactly how she felt. They both had to wrestle with the demons of the past, to let go of the way things used to be in order to accept and embrace their new lives. At times it was jarring for the slaves to find themselves so completely subservient to two people they had both known previously for years, but under completely different circumstances.

"The past is the past," the male slave said lamely, then looked at the clock. "Come on," he said gently, "let's get started."

Without another word, both slaves climbed nimbly on to the bed and maneuvered themselves beneath the covers. There was a minor flurry of chimes and tinkling metal as the female crawled between the woman's legs, while the male took his usual station between the man's thighs.

Then, simultaneously, as if in response to an unseen and unheard signal, both slaves leaned forward to begin their morning ritual, or what his owner referred to as their "daily matins."

The male slave nuzzled the man's scrotum, then began to gently lap at the man's testicles, never taking them in his mouth, but simply flicking his tongue along the velvety flesh. He tasted the familiar melange of sweat mixed with a hint of semen and the juices of the woman.

Beside him, the slave could hear the female slave's mouth working at the sex of the lady of the house. She was making loud slurping noises as she endeavored to suck out last night's semen from her mistress' well fucked pussy.

The woman stirred.

"Mmmmm, that's it Tongue, get it all," she said sleepily.

The female slave grunted and continued to suck, working the curled tip of her tongue deeper and deeper into her mistress, her jaw muscles bunching with the effort. Her mouth was rapidly filling with last night's leavings.

The male slave felt a pang or jealousy. Usually it was his job to clean out the lady of the house following her coupling with the man, but they had elected to let both slaves rest the previous night, rather than incorporating them into their lovemaking as usual. He was envious that the female slave would have the rare privilege of tasting the man's semen before he had a chance to savor it himself.

Above him, the man shifted and groaned, which was the usual signal for him to proceed.

Emboldened, the slave began to lick his way up the man's scrotum, slathering him with deep, broad strokes of his tongue, then turned his attention to the shaft.

The slave licked up and down the length of the man's stiffening cock, the taste of semen getting a little stronger, the closer he came to the head. Idly, he wondered how many times the man had fucked the woman the previous night, filling her with his abundant seed. Twice? Three times? His mouth began to water at the thought. This morning's bounty would be generous indeed.

When he had licked the shaft thoroughly clean of last night's drippings, the slave paused and contemplated the cock before him.

It was magnificent.

The head was as big as a medium sized apple, with a perfect mushroom shape. It sat proudly atop the thick veiny shaft, which was now growing steadily in length and girth before the slave's eyes. He knew that when fully hard, the man's cock was well over nine inches long and thicker than the slave's wrist.

The slave smiled inwardly, remembering the first time he had been ordered to suck the man's prodigious cock. He had barely been able to get the head in his mouth without gagging.

How times had changed.

The slave took a moment to consciously relax his throat muscles and to pool a bit of extra saliva in his mouth, then engulfed the entire massive cock in one smooth motion, his lips descending downward along the wide shaft until his nose brushed up against the man's pubic hair.