(
WARNING! This story is a FANTASY; in real life, human beings are not property and informed consent is always MANDATORY. This story is set in the legalized enslavement world of Joe_Doe_Stories, by permission of that author, whom I again wish to thank.)
(Dan Martinson's Story, continued)
If you've read the first part of this strange tale (and I urge you to do so, or nothing that follows will make much sense), you may well have concluded that I was either phenomenally stupid or secretly submissive, just looking for an excuse to abase myself to my brilliant and gorgeous girlfriend, Laura Simmons. I don't think I had any predisposition to being submissive, although I knew intellectually that I would be obligated to act that way once I became her slave. I will readily admit that, over the next year, I thought hundreds of times that I was the stupidest guy on the planet who deserved all the painful and demeaning things that happened to him. If you're wondering about my motivation, I can only say that up until then, persistence had always brought me success. Part of my attitude was based on my training in the Army, where soldiers regularly encountered and overcame challenges that they had never imagined they would face. That works fine until you come to the challenge that you
can't
overcome, and then it's too late. Think of it as a restatement of the Peter Principle, that people in any bureaucracy tend to continue to rise in that bureaucracy until they reach their personal level of incompetence. I was about to reach mine.
OK: What am I talking about here? At the age of 36, I had a phenomenally successful life, based in part on educational and financial advantages my parents gave me. This had given me a sense of entitlement, a subconscious belief that everyone existed to help me rather than vice versa. I mean, most people are ego-centric, but I was off the charts. This bothered Laura in part because without any of my advantages she had worked her way through college and law school and achieved great success. She and I were otherwise compatible, both sexually and otherwise, but she just couldn't face 50 or more years dealing with that attitude. The sad thing was, I knew she was right.
A drunken conversation with my best friend, Jim Mayhew, gave me a bizarre solution to this impasse: I would put all my assets into a blind trust and ensure my employees were well paid but forbidden to help me. After that, I would voluntarily indenture myself for one year: in effect, make myself a legal slave to Laura, so that she could use me in any way she wished, including lending or renting me out or even selling me. By stripping away all my advantages, I would be forced to re-learn life from the point of view of the most powerless person in society, the one role that involved service to others without any advantage to oneself, a slave. And, in the new world of legalized slavery in the U.S., that meant that I would be collared, naked, restrained, and punished in any way my new owner chose. I THOUGHT I knew how bad that could be. Still, I figured that, as a minimum, I would spend time with her and perhaps make her happier, even if I didn't ultimately convince her to marry me.
Laura had repeatedly warned me of the negative consequences of doing this, including the fact that free citizens, regardless of gender, might force themselves upon me sexually. (Legally, this was not considered rape because the slave had no rights, but it would certainly
feel
like that to the helpless slave, in this case me.) Having put herself through law school as a dominatrix, she also hinted at some of the techniques she could use to force me to obey her, pushing me out of my comfort zone by exposing me to other people and experiences. This experience might ruin our relationship even if I "learned my lesson." Because she was an ethical attorney (there are a few such), Laura insisted that all my legal preparations be made through another lawyer, completely unrelated to her firm, so that there was no conflict of interest. She also wanted my assets so tied up that she would only receive enough funds to secure me in her home and then to feed me for a year.
Despite all these warnings, I persisted (fools rush in?), and Laura finally agreed. I wanted to believe that she cared enough about me to try to make my idea work, but she also frankly said she intended to use me, at least initially, as a servant who would relieve her of the household chores so she could focus on her legal work.
My new lawyer submitted my petition for self-indenture with an agreed-upon date. On that date (a Monday) I would first sign the various legal agreements with my attorney and then accompany Laura to the local office of the Texas Department of Agriculture's Livestock and Slave Division, where I had to surrender myself formally and begin the demeaning process of enslavement.
Preparing for that date felt somewhat like preparing for deployment to a combat zone. I ensured my immunizations, physical exam, and dental care were up to date. I did not get a haircut during the weeks leading up to the date, as Laura had told me she wanted my hair to grow longer (I had always kept my hair short since I entered ROTC in college, so even after six weeks uncut it was still only a few inches long). I did have the new lawyer prepare another Will that, unbeknownst to her, left everything to Laura. I informed a very few friends, including Jim and his wife Terri, what I was doing, and warned them that Laura was sure to humiliate and coerce me by bringing me to their home as a slave and even loaning me out to them. I asked them to cooperate with Laura if she did this, to treat me however she wished, and not blame her because it was my idea to place myself in her power. Being good friends, they understood how much I wanted to please her, and promised not to think less of me when they encountered me as a slave. We both knew that promise was easier said than done.
One unusual preparation I took, on the advice of various people including Terri, was to attend a co-ed slave yoga class taught by a veteran slave handler. This had three purposes: it was good exercise, it conditioned me to instant obedience to orders from slave handlers, and it let me practice the various slave postures that I would have to perform as part of my processing and slave grading. (Laura had insisted, understandably, that I go through the entire gauntlet of this experience. In order to qualify for college or home loans, Laura and many other people who lacked my family's money had to submit themselves for grading, naked and bound, at a local slave market after they reached age 18.) For the last class before my surrender date, I arranged with the handler-instructor to let me go through the entire class naked, as a very brief taste of what was to come. As I expected, the female members of the class clearly enjoyed my nudity, and two of them patted me on the butt as they passed at the end of class. I realized that this was not a true experience because someone was holding my clothes, but it was a start.
At Laura's behest, on the Friday before my self-indenture we went out on a date. After a nice meal, she invited me back to her home, which I did not expect. She said she wanted a memory of how we had been before, a memory that both of us could carry for the next year. We spent hours of intimacy, each of us working to ensure the other's pleasure. Around 2 a.m., I woke up and went to the bathroom. When I finished there, still half asleep, I took a wrong turn and walked into a spare bedroom rather than the room where we had made love. What I found by accident didn't really surprise me, because Laura was nothing if not thorough: reinforced doors, bars on the windows, wrist and ankle cuffs already installed at the corners of a bed, and unobtrusive closed-circuit cameras. The room also contained a sort of vaulting horse with more cuffs, obviously intended to hold me bent over with my butt in the air, and well as another padded frame that seemed intended to hold a person in a kneeling position with both head and butt exposed. The open door to the closet showed women's clothing on hangers: three very frilly and flowery aprons plus various maid dresses and a few blouses, skirts, and dresses, all of them too large to fit Laura. As I backed out of that bedroom, I noticed that there were other closed-circuit cameras in the hallway and everywhere else I looked.
I wasn't angry or alarmed, but I decided this discovery was a signal for me to leave. I quietly got dressed, then left a note thanking her for a great evening, pledging my love, and promising to meet her at my lawyer's office at 9 a.m. on Monday. I went home, where sleep eluded me.
Saturday afternoon, I made another preparation that was unknown to Laura. By appointment, I had a thorough waxing and shave to remove all my body hair below the eyebrows, including around my cock and balls. I fully expected that Laura would have this done to me, since she had threatened to feminize me as her slave maid, and the closet full of dresses confirmed her intention. I decided to be waxed in a comfortable setting and (I hoped) gain brownie points with my new owner. "Comfortable" is a relative term, of course—I don't know anyone who enjoys a waxing, but at least it was done before I had to face the far greater trauma of being a slave. After I finished the waxing and shave, I looked like a very large, young boy with a middle-aged face. The beautician, who probably thought I was TV or TS, remarked that my legs looked fabulous. I had to admit that she was right—once you covered my genitals, my smooth-skinned legs did look like those of a somewhat muscular woman.
If your mind is like mine, you're probably wondering, so I'll satisfy your curiosity. Yes, I jerked off repeatedly that weekend, knowing I probably wouldn't be permitted to do so for some time. Laura had urged me to read a lot of FemDom fiction, and chastity cages/denial of orgasm was a frequently-cited technique. I couldn't avoid the disquieting thought of Laura dominating me, but in my masturbatory day-dreams we were making love as equals and even going on our honeymoon after my year of servitude. It seemed like I was drawing to an inside straight after betting everything.
Monday came very quickly. I re-shaved in the shower and then had my driver drop me off at my attorney's office before the driver and most of my staff began extended vacations, taking turns so that someone was available to care for my home and cars. In case of emergency, they all had the phone numbers for Laura and for my new attorney. By now I was having serious doubts about the whole idea, but it was too late to back out. I repeated my mantra that at least I'd be spending time with her.
The sight of that beautiful woman, who met me at the office door, restored some of my courage. She was neither gloating nor criticizing and seemed more worried about my morale than anything else. We went over all the documents again, with Laura very concerned that I did not inadvertently give her some of my property or wealth. As we descended in the elevator after the appointment, she turned to me and smiled gently:
"Dan, I care about you, and this is going to be very tough for you. I'm not sure whether you're an incredible romantic or a damned fool."
"Right now, I'd vote for fool."
Her look of concern deepened. "Do you want to back out? We can still go upstairs and tear up those documents. I said before, I won't think less of you if you stop."
