Presentation

Thomas Dean: Presentation

Staring up at the dazzling spires of Mugglin Manor's great house, strangely I felt assured that I was home. Returned here naked, one among a dozen naked females, heads shorn, hands secured behind their backs, shipped from the Institute to labor in the fields of the Manor. I'd say I was nothing special, just another slave with the right to obey. Except, unlike the others with stubble topped scalps, I managed to keep collar length hair. I smirked, "everything's for sale at the right price."

On arrival at Mugglin Manor, Charlie the Estate agent swiped the bar code on my right butt cheek just under the hip. "Freida," he announced, "age 34."

I deliberately interrupted the agent, "Been gone three months and you've already forgotten me?"

"Freida, if you didn't have special cargo aboard, I'd order a paddling," Charlie mocked me when he requested my permission to continue reading my bar code, "beginning a renegotiated 3rd indenture, selected for special cargo, special conditions permission to live off manor in off season, allowed to sleep off manor during the growing season. Recorded special conditions..."

Upon my return to Mugglin Manor, standing bare foot and naked on the Manor's drive, I didn't feel especially special as I had on departure.

Taking off from my farmhouse for the Institute three months earlier when snow was on the ground, I paused to glance toward spires of the Manor in the distance. Estate Agent Charlie, appropriately in costume as my chauffer, replete with the dark suit and tie which contrasted nicely with his faded blond hair, questioned solicitously, "Is your husband OK with this?"

Looking toward the spires in the distance, I smiled. I couldn't help feeling special. If I succeeded, I might own that Manor, where 14 years ago, I arrived a naked slave.

Charlie commented on my tan preserved through the harsh winter months. "Nice contrast with your new white collared blouse and black suit jacket, still with store creases. A chemical spray?" Charlie suggested.

"A farmgirl," I took a deep breath, "doesn't spend money on an artificial tan when a tan can be had outdoors for free," I forced a pained smile as I pointed to the sun.

"In the altogether in the cold and the snow?" Suspicion entered Charlie's voice.

"Makes the lovin' afterwards inside, much wilder," came my repartee.

Opening the door of the Master's waiting limousine, Charlie complimented my appearance. "My instructions were to dress my best. Did you expect a farmgirl's ensemble: Clean dungarees and a new sweatshirt with fresh underwear on underneath or the Manor slaves' attire blessed with nothing more than the black boots you issue onboarding naked slaves at the beginning of the season?"

"I might prefer that," Charlie, removed his cap to climb into the driver's seat, "I admire your bare butt and boobs bouncing through the gardens."

During the trip to the Institute, the ride in the limousine was so smooth that I barely felt the chug holes that pitted the country road. Charlie, my Estate Agent, attempted some small talk -- about my hair. "How did you get exempted from the Estate's rule that indentured slaves scalps were reduced to stubble?"

"And you?" I questioned, "You keep a nice shock of faded blond hair a top?"

"Professional caste!" came Charlie's firm reply.

"Life from today for many is regulated by the Indenture. It's an agreement which binds you to a Master," I smiled, "My indenture allows me to keep neat, short, collar length hair."

"Working the fields naked -- no shirt, no collar; how do you know if your hair is too long?" Charlie chided me.

"If our Master commands," I laughed, "but he's too busy watching my bouncy boobs or focusing on the V shaped landing strip, pointed at my love port," With a smirk, I added, "He's the Master but he's only a Man."

I was tempted to tease Charlie on that point. Many lords of the manor preferred geldings to avoid unplanned impregnations of female slaves. There was no reason to give insult.

On arrival at the back side, servant's entrance to the Institute's glass and steel tower, Charlie escorted me through lines of wild haired, ungroomed naked slaves with blank stares. "Still in shock. The victims of the free labor market!" Charlie exclaimed. "Yet, they clung to their rights. Where did that lead? The price of freedom is forced repossession for failure to pay debts secured by their persons," thundered the comment as he brought me to the entrance.

"Most unfortunate," was my prosaic remark.

"How many indentures in your current berth at Mugglin Manor," Charlie quizzed me, "have passed since you were taken, stripped bare, secured with cable ties around your wrists and crammed in transit with other captives?"

"Scrubbed, scented, and shipped for cash sale to auction," I quipped, "Everything is for sale if the price is right."

My illusion of being someone special did not survive my arrival at the Institute for very long. Led by Charlie to the dispensary, I was turned over to a grey bloused security officer. The rigid scowl on her pasty white face was complimented by the freshly starched brouse and sharply creased black trousers. Grabbing me by my arm and placing me in a cell, the officer, name tagged Chloe, properly shined short blond ponytail wagging, barked the command, "Strip, slave."

At that command Charlie, brave Estate Agent he was, ducked out of the room.

"Hey Charlie," I called after him, "where you going? I thought you were mesmerized by the enchantment of my bouncing boobs. A wiggle of my butt should send you into ecstasy."

"Never mind him," yelled Chloe, "Everything off your shiny bronzed skin. You're here to assessed for suitability to upload special cargo. That's why you get examined here instead of being hosed down for examination on the loading dock."

As I handed my new skirt, blouse and heels through the bars for inspection by security, I warned the security officer to be careful. "Chloe darling," I dared address her by name, "Those clothes set me back quite a bit."

"File a claim," growled the officer as she dismissed my complaint. The officer, adding "I need the stockings and underwear too," ordered me to go through an inspection, "face right, arms in the air, face left, face me, lift your boobs, squat and cough, turn around, bend over." When I presented my bare butt, guard Chloe gasped, "My God even your butt is bronzed."

"We work the fields all summer in the natural state," I replied, "the only protection from the sun we have is the natural one. Join me sometime. There's a certain liberation in shedding that uniform like it was a second skin -- suddenly, Chloe, the burden of being in charge evaporates and you're like everybody else -- and there's an excitement in the chill when the breeze blows through your docking port and the gusts billow up your -- crack."

"Never mind, spread your cheeks. Good!" Chloe though stunned for a second admiring my full body tan was more interested in appraising her booty, the clothing I had shed. "Nice find with my leave coming up, next week," she declared.

"You could use some time out of uniform," I quipped.

Too busy admiring my confiscated clothing, Chloe ignored my jives.

A dazzling sparkle appeared in her eyes as she held the clothes in front of her.

"Strip down with me, Chloe. Let's enjoy a restful sunbath together," I suggested, "Then you can try the outfit on. I think you'll look cute wearing it especially with skin freshly burnt."

A look of fear spread across her face. Scurrying off with my suit, Chloe rationalized her action, "If selected for special cargo, that tobasco - tongued bitch of a field slave won't need these clothes."

I chuckled. Was the guard more covetous of my ensemble or afraid of being caught out of uniform and reduced to my level? So much for the pursuit of equality through Social nudity at the Institute.

Breezing in some hours later, Dr Amy, with her belly bulged so much she couldn't button her lab coat, apologized, "I had to confer with Dr Crenshaw in his pool complex. To enter his gym and be received by him on an equal plane, on the level, there's a certain rigmarole," she giggled, "a ritual of sorts. Sometimes if you get the right guard, you get tickled. Sorry about the delay. I was caught in a pickle."

"Where would I be going dressed like this?" I chided Dr Amy.

"That's the spirit," Dr Amy declared cheerfully, "I'm to usher you into the secret precincts of the Institute's pool complex, but first your physical.

I hid a chuckle behind a smile when Dr Amy's swollen belly presented difficulties stretching to lay hands on my body strapped to the examining table. As she administered an examination, she read her chart aloud, "Indentured at age 18, permission to marry granted," Dr Amy's eyes widened, "six months into first indenture, reproductive rights assigned to your husband. Five live births over 14 years, all born free of your indenture."

"My old man and I timed it well," I smirked. "all deliveries occurred in the off season."

"Now age 34, two years into your third indenture," Dr Amy continued, "proposed as a candidate to carry a child for Dr Crenshaw who seeks to combine brawn and brains. Lives off the Manor in off season." Clearing her throat, Dr Amy asked, "The big question is not how does your husband feel about this project, but how did you ever get permission to use your husband's last name?"

"Off season and away from the Manor," I interjected.

"Even I," the doctor, stressing the primacy of her first - person singular, insisted, "am not permitted the dignity of my last name as a professional courtesy."

"Business considerations," I declared, "dictates what terms go into an indenture."

"And your husband is OK with you submitting to a hot infusion," Amy taunted me

"Everything's for sale at the right price," I reminded Amy.

I mused, my husband and I needed more land and money for improved equipment. We had plans. I had gone from a naked slave to a farmer. I intended to become the lady of my own Manor.

The exam was routine. Dr Amy's gloved nimble fingers, penetrating my home port, played with my clit. I tried to repress my reaction, but as soon as I was about to let go, her finger -- fucking abruptly ceased.

Escorted naked by Dr Amy to the pool complex, I stood by as Dr Amy was required to undress and submit to a search, while I had only to squat over a silver panel in the floor. To her protest about nimble fingers crawling inside her when she had just left the spa clean, guards claimed, 'Now, Doc, you know we can't use electronic probes on a pregnant woman."

Once the guards shed their latex gloves, Dr Amy righted herself. Her bare bulbous belly bounced as she led me to the electric eye doors that opened onto the pool complex.

Doors swept open. Admitted to the sacred precincts, I was struck by the eerie glow of the pure white light bouncing off the tiles. Misty steam rising from the hot tub refracting the light gave the complex a sanctified atmosphere. Dr Amy scrambled to take her place on stage on the edge of the hot tub while I walked toward the entrance to the hot tub to present myself and my proposed amendments to my indenture.

"I guess I'm what's for sale at the right price, " was my daring introduction as I chuckled at my choice of words.

Presenting a summary of my proposed amendments, Angie, Dr Crenshaw's tall, stately Lawyer, noted the only changes are a financial settlement to the indenturee, cession of some manor property to her farm, preference in selection for property supervisor on the manor. "Indenturee retains her rights to possess money and property, to live off manor," Lawyer Angie quoted from the indenture, "Outside the growing season and during the growing season to return to her farmhouse at the end of her daily duties."

"Shows you what street smarts are capable of," was the comment of tall and lean Institute Director, Dr Philip Crenshaw on my skill in negotiation.

In his private pool complex at the Institute, Dr Philip Crenshaw, skin moist, bare body glistening with speckled with water droplets, ascended the white marble steps from his hot tub with the mist rising from the tub at his back. His dangling ball sac bounced as he climbed onto the blue and white tiled deck of the pool complex.

Caught in the middle of this pageant, I, a humble field hand at Mugglin Manor, was unsure whether in this magnificent center of power I should laugh or cry. To keep from showing the wrong emotion, I quoted a trite adage, "Much life today is regulated by Indentures, a formal agreement which bind one person by an obligation to another."

On either side of Dr Crenshaw, stood his personal security detail, two burly naked geldings arms crossed over muscular chests. Smoothed, swarthy, waxed bodies of the strapping guards contrasted with Crenshaw's bare light skin, bushy pubic hair partially concealing his dangling ball sac.

"What was once a chaotic system of rights," Dr Crenshaw observed, "perpetually in conflict is now an ordered system of obligations."

Positioned behind Dr Crenshaw, seated on the edge of the hot tub, bare bellies bulging, dangling their toes in the tub were his sister, dead center, roly -- poly Dr Amy on Dr Crenshaw's right, his tall dour, flat chested lawyer so restrained her belly only hinted at a baby bulge to Dr Crenshaw's left.

"The indenturee cedes freedom for the security, food, shelter, and clothing," I replied, "which the master must provide -- except at Mugglin Manor, the master graces each Indenturee with a pair of black working boots."

When everyone present laughed, I was quick to add, "It pleases the master that the summer sun is warm enough for the indenturees to work the fields naked."

"Is that not an element of pure capriciousness, the exercise of -- not to mix metaphors -- naked power for its own sake?" Dr Crenshaw acknowledged.

Interesting comment, I pondered, from a man who ran the inner sanctum of the Institute like a seraglio. Natural seed bearing males' access to this private reserve was severely restricted. I simply smiled.

"Freida," Dr Crenshaw, casting a penetrative glance at my bare bouncing breasts, spoke "We return to a critical point: All the important discussions at the Institute particularly involving an indenturee are conducted in the natural state and witnessed to promote transparency, honesty, and equality and not to intimidate the servant but to foster an open, uninhibited, candid interchange. Dr Amy?"

"I've explained the hot infusion procedure. Freida will bring herself to orgasm by cunnilingual contact with another female lying supine with legs spread. Freida will assume a prone position, on her knees, butt in the air. Approaching from behind, Dr Crenshaw will deliver the hot infusion of male gametes."

"You describe a moment of intimacy and passion like it's a schematic to place materials needed to build a barn or -- outhouse," I chuckled.

"Like with royalty of ages past, copulation shall be witnessed and verified," Dr Amy continued to explain the procedure, "You can select the other female, to be ritually stripped, prepared, presented and received on the five points of Sisterhood: mouth to mouth, lips to tits, to belly button, and to clit according to our customs."

"I ask that the other woman selected be Chloe," I declared, "from internal security that she be ritually presented to me stripped naked and received."

Who else could I have named? I wondered. It might have been pompous to ask for Dr Amy or Dr Crenshaw's sister. Dour Anglie, the doctor's lawyer looked too forbidding. Besides Chloe needed time out of uniform to become a woman.

"Received on the five coital points?" Dr Amy prompted me.

When Dr Amy presented Chloe, naked and uneasy, arms folded over her small breasts, looking around suspiciously in the solarium. Sunlight streaming in through an exposed glass panel gave her skin a certain glow.

From our vista overlooking the rear of the Institute, We could see, below us, naked slaves properly lined up waiting shipment. "What arrived here scrawny, wild, unkempt and disorderly is now shorn, scrubbed and scented peacefully lined up at the Transfer Point to be shipped to auction, work assignments or private exhibition and sales."

We watched indenturees, wrists cable tied behind their backs assisted on board white windowless van. "Meat wagons," commented Chloe.

"How long ago," my tone was pleasant as departing servants were whisked away, "were you one of many on the dock below?"

"I volunteered for security. I came in through the front door. The reduction process is -- if more private and less brutal -- it is essentially the same. Once I passed my course, I was allowed to grow my hair and assigned to internal security..."

I took her hands away from her chest and smiled as I admired my prize. "But I -- I -- I've never been with another woman," Chloe stumbled over her words.

At a nod from Dr Amy, I kissed Chloe on the lips. "The fivefold kiss links you too to each other, the Sisterhood, and the Institute. Mouth -- to -- mouth you promise to preserve the traditions of the ritual." A long soulful kiss followed.

"Lips to tits," Dr Amy shot me an evil smile as I suckled on Chloe's nipples, "sucking her nip, reassuring, endearing, naturing."

"Mouth to umbilicus," Dr Amy continued her incantation as my tongue cut a path through her cleavage to her navel, "the link in nature between past, present and future."

"From umbilicus to clitoris." Dr Amy intoned, "crossing the landing strip the lingua prepares the connection for the emission propelled by the throbbing phallus."

As Chloe and I tumbled to the tiled floor, I sensed three pairs of eyes watching hoovering over our junction: Meg, Dr Crenshaw's sister, standing over Chloe's head, Angie and Dr Amy, standing across from each of Chloe's hips. My union with Chloe had just gone seismic when strong hands gripped my legs above the knees and forced them further apart than I thought possible. Fingers guided a fully erect penis inside me. Thrust inside me, the throbbing projectile did not take long to hyper - extend and deliver its emissions. Our audience executed one loud clap that echoed off the blue and white tiles.

When Dr Crenshaw and I crashed to the floor, my body glowed, my breasts felt heavy, my tits hurt, my abdominal muscles relaxed. I knew I was pregnant. "Of course, Freida," Dr Amy laughed when I told her the job was done. "But actual impregnation, if it happens, might not occur for a week."

While Dr Amy made me comfortable reclining on my back with feet elevated on a pillow, Dr Crenchaw turned his attention to Chloe. Bent at the waist feet apart, Chloe was taken from the rear. "Dr Crenshaw figures taking a woman doggy style," Dr Amy choreographed the scene, "creates a male child."

So, the treatment continued for more than a month before tests confirmed what I knew. In the interim, my days were spent working out in Dr Crenshaw's gym, sunbathing, and frolicking in the Olympic sized pool with Chloe giving each other massages according to techniques taught by Dr Amy. I admit I was falling in love with Chloe, imparting the secrets of pregnancy upon her. Speaking of the subtle stirrings of life within us, I offered the hypothesis, "If a woman fucked by two men could give birth to fraternal twins what do two women fucked by the same man at he same time give birth to?" With a laugh, I added, "semi-identical twins."

After three months, Chloe and I were separated for examination by Dr Amy in her dispensary. My pregnancy confirmed, lack of access to seed - bearing men assured, I was placed in the cage awaiting transport back to Mugglin Manor. "Can't I wish Chloe a fond farewell?"

"Chloe's scheduled for transfer for training as a physical trainer in the Security Department. Her ability with you in the gym and on the massage table inspired confidence in her abilities in the health sciences. Chloe might have preferred to remain in internal security, but this opportunity provides much chance for advancement..."