Everyone knows that all -- or at least, all I've talked with - women have a rape fantasy. We don't want the fear and violence that goes with actually being raped. We fantasize about being taken by a stranger, our body used by him and being unable to prevent it.
Fewer men know that women also have a slut fantasy. This fantasy, while still somewhat dangerous, usually doesn't involve violence or being forced to do anything. We dream of submitting to several males, having them use us in all sorts of degrading ways. Used in front of an audience, laughed as we moan in delight at the degrading acts we willingly perform.
This is the story of a girl who got the opportunity to act out her slut fantasy.
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"You aren't very comfortable are you?" the girl asked.
I was naked, on the floor. Master Bill had secured me into a spreader, my ankles cuffed to a hard plastic strap four inches wide, a half inch thick, and almost four feet long. My ankles were strapped near the ends, forcing my legs wide apart. My arms were between my legs and also cuffed to the bar, a couple of inches inside my ankles. I was forced to remain on my knees, head on the floor, ass high in the air.
I was somewhat uncomfortable, but Master Bill being the kind owner he is had thoughtfully provided a pillow. I could lay my head on it sideways; at least it wasn't on the carpet.
Spread, open, helpless. No way to prevent use by any male who so desired. In this position I felt humiliated, degraded, objectified. A warm wet hole ready to be used.
"No not particularly," I answered. "It's not painful but as you can see there's not much movement possible." I could raise my head a few inches if I strained.
She sat on the floor in front of me and a bit to the side. She was cute, blonde, blue eyes, nice figure. "You're very beautiful and Bill says you are educated and have money. He said you wanted this. I don't understand why anyone would choose to be treated this way."
I smiled. "I don't really understand it either. It's something I've fantasized about for a long time. It became my obsession. I finally got the chance and took it."
"My name is Alice, but everyone calls me Allie."
"Hello Allie, I'm Staci."
Allie looked at me, then back down to a spot on the floor. She couldn't force her eyes to remain on mine. I knew that feeling too.
"My husband Jack -- he...he wants to fuck you," she stammered.
"What did you tell him?"
"I didn't tell him anything. He keeps asking, wants to know if I'll be pissed."
"Will you?"
Allie looked up quickly. "I don't know...its so damn disgusting really, the way you let Bill do this to you, put you like this, let the other men have you."
"I know," I said. "Disgusting but thrilling too, isn't it? In fact, you'd like to be me right now wouldn't you? Helpless, naked, used by the men?"
Allie blushed bright red, eyes on the floor. "Yes...dammit, I don't understand it but yes I wish it was me!"
"Did you tell Jack?"
"No of course not!"
"You should. In the closet Bill has another spreader. Go tell him that he can have me but only if he'll put you in a spreader beside me and let the other guys fuck you."
"Oh God no! I could never do that!"
"But you want to don't you Allie?"
She looked down again at the floor. Her breath became ragged, little gasps of air. I could see sweat forming on her upper lip. She was silent for a minute. "Yes...yes I wish I was on the floor naked."
We talked for a few minutes. I told her about my time at the Pig Farm, about the training. About all the humiliating things I'd done.
When I'd finished she looked up. "You could have left at any time?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
"I don't know. It wasn't pleasant but it seemed...right, you know? As if my place was serving men, doing whatever they wanted, pleasing them. Being trained to be a slave to a man."
Allie was silent again. A minute, two, three. I could tell she was thinking.
Finally she looked up. I could tell she'd reached a decision. She shook her head, whispered, "No...no" over and over. She stood up and left.
Five minutes passed, ten. I wiggled a bit to relieve some of the strain of remaining in the uncomfortable position.
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I'd been dressed in only a pink baby doll nightie with matching panties when the party began. Master Bill's wide leather collar was secured around my neck. I could see the inscription on it if I looked in the mirror: Property of Bill.
Humiliating. It marked me as chattel, a slave, owned by a man.
Ten couples arrived one by one. They had been prepped by Bill but still I could see the surprise in their eyes as I answered the door dressed in my semi transparent garment and leather collar. The men's eyes roamed over my body. Nice tits, 34c. Small female, barely five feet tall. Thin, a little over one hundred pounds dripping wet.
