Some of you reading this are undoubtedly accusing Rich of being a fag or (more charitably) wondering if he's transgender, but that's not really the case. Our basic sexual kinks are very similar--we both want to experience the image of the overpowered feminine figure being ruthlessly dominated and ravaged until (s)he climaxes. I have the boobs, butt, and pussy to portray that figure easily, while he feels a need to dress up in fragile, "feminine" clothing for the role. Twice, I had indulged his dream by "ordering" him to dress up and then gently pegging his shaved and feminized body, but he knew that my heart wasn't really into it. Rich was too considerate to insist on sex-play that thrilled him but did nothing for me. So, on those rare occasions when we could play without risk of interruption by the kids, he happily played the dominant who restrained, humiliated, lightly spanked, and then shafted his auburn-haired love slave in every opening.
Like many other submissives, my preference in the bedroom did not carry over into the rest of my life. Immediately after earning my B.S.N., I had become a trauma nurse in a major city emergency room, thriving on the pressure of making rapid decisions. Part of my desire to surrender control of my body may be a reaction to the demands of being responsible and in charge, but I know that my submissiveness goes far beyond that--it's what gives me a sexual thrill.
A major career opportunity for Rich, a lawyer, caused us to relocate to the Houston area at the same time that pregnancy temporarily took me out of my ER job. Within a year after giving birth, I returned to nursing on a part-time basis, and for most of the next decade I was a school nurse where my children attended school. This plus being a scout leader and soccer coach meant that I knew most of the children who were contemporaries of Penny and Len throughout their childhood. While they were in high school, I had become the head nurse of a large primary care facility, but the 60-ish physician who owned that facility chose to sell out his practice about the time my kids turned 18 during their senior year. I stayed on long enough to permit the new owners to transition, then resigned on good terms because I knew they wanted to choose their own lead nurse. This, plus the fact that Penny and Len both got athletic scholarships at the same university, meant that I had no job nor any major reason to work when they went off to school. When Rich asked me what I planned to do with myself, you can guess my reply, but let me give you a further background.
As long as I can remember, I have been fascinated with the idea of being a slave. As a high school senior, I had taken the special evening course, limited to students aged 18 and over, to study legalized slavery. One of the social studies teachers, Mr. Debonis, had been a handler or wrangler in a large slave market, so for extra pay he taught the course at night, when there were no under-aged students around. Dressed in our gym clothes, the other seniors and I practiced the various lewd poses (aka Slave Yoga) required of slaves on the auction block. Gyrating on the floor and exposing ourselves in response to orders, all while students of the opposite sex gawked at us, was titillating (really titillating, in the sense that my breasts tingled). The course also included academic studies, such as the evolution of slave law and slave sociology since the 34th Amendment had re-legalized slavery. The new laws meant that no one under the age of 18 could ever work with slaves or wear a slave collar, even temporarily (more about that "temporarily" in a moment.) Slavery was not hereditary and could only happen in one of three ways: forfeiture of rights by conviction after committing a serious crime, forfeiture of rights by failing to pay a debt for which you had pledged your body as collateral, and voluntary self-indenture. This last category included not only genuine volunteers but also those who got a judge to approve a plea bargain in which the person signed up for a period of servitude that would be less than what the crime or debt would otherwise have demanded. Whether enslaved or indentured, however, the collared person had no rights, and his/her new owner could use the slave personally or pimp him/her out for any form of sex.
By unspoken consent, society did not insist that slaves were bound even by expectations of monogamy in marriage. If one partner became enslaved, the net effect was like a divorce for the duration of indenture or enslavement--since the slave was now available for anyone to use sexually, his/her partner was also freed to look (and fuck) elsewhere. (If, for example, a man owned his former wife, he could "have his cunt and eat it too.") Because the slave had no rights, prostituting a slave was perfectly legal and sexual invasion of a slave was considered, at most, to be abusing livestock and stealing the slave's services from its owner by violating private property--as in the slave's privates. Which was kind of ironic, because the slave was almost the ONLY person who could not use his/her "privates" sexually without instructions from the owner.
In order to establish the value of an individual who pledged his or her body to borrow money, many banks required that, once past the 18th birthday, a college or home loan applicant must undergo slave grading at an official market. This meant that, for up to 24 hours, the individual experienced all the restrictions of being a slave--he or she had to report to the market already naked and restrained while a relative or friend acted as the temporary "owner" who held the claim check issued by the market. The temporary slave--for that is what the person was--became part of the market's inventory, having to obey all instructions while naked, restrained, and (for much of the period) devoxed, that is, chemically deprived of his or her voice. Any failure to follow instructions led to electric shocks, slaps, or other corporal punishment, while any free person was at liberty to fondle the "slave meat." Slave handlers at the market put the temporary slave through various exercises, including slave block poses, designed to excite the individual sexually and make him/her feel and act like a pleasure slave. This subjugation was supposedly justified because the individual had to be photographed kneeling in full frontal and rear nudity (images that were up-loaded into the National Slave Registry for identification) and then bound and exposed so that any visitor, whether slave merchant or gawker, could intimately examine and fondle to slave. After a group of slaves were exposed to casual fondling and view in this manner for several hours, the slave merchants awarded the same categorizations used for USDA beef (Prime, Choice, etc) describing how attractive the individual appeared to be. The more aroused or "slave hot" the individual appeared, the higher the grade she/he received.
More and more young people chose to undergo this demeaning process to qualify for college or home loans. In addition to borrowing, some young women sought to get themselves classified as high-grade pleasure sluts because they wanted to brag about their desirability. Some even paid extra for the dubious distinction of having their butts branded--indicating their high slave grade--during the process. Urban legends arose to the effect that slave markets permitted these temporary slaves, especially pretty young women, to be sexually assaulted or even illegally sold as slaves. Whether real or imaginary, the threat of such treatment added an extra factor of fear and arousal to the process of being slave graded. Slave merchants privately argued that this fear of exploitation was necessary to excite the temporary slave sufficiently to determine her or his potential for slave heat and lascivious service.
Of course, I was eager to be slave graded as soon as I turned 18. My mother knew me well enough that she didn't try to forbid this, which would only have made me rebel and do it on my own. Instead, she suggested that I wait until after high school graduation. "The college loan folks don't require a grading until the first semester in which the loan starts once you are of age. Besides, you know that some of your 18-year-old classmates--of both sexes--have started to visit the slave market on weekends just to tease the inventory being graded. Imagine that Victoria [a bitch who had stolen my boyfriend] or Luke [a lout who kept trying to grope me and look up my skirt] got to tease and fondle you while you're devoxed and chained naked and spread-eagled. If that happened next Saturday, you'd be too embarrassed to go back to school for weeks, right?" I hated it when Mom was right, which was most of the time. God rest her soul.
So, I waited until two weeks AFTER graduation, and found that slave grading was fully as embarrassing and thrilling as I had anticipated. The terror of being naked and under the total control of strangers got me so excited that I was practically dripping for my official photos. Even the humiliation of being seen and fondled by my contemporaries, contemporaries that DID include Victoria and Luke, was a turn-on. The slave merchants noticed my arousal, awarding me a grade of Choice. At the end, I practically begged my slave handler to fuck me, but he was too much of a gentleman, damn It. He did remark that I had a "calling for the collar." (Well, Duh!!) For weeks thereafter, the memory of a male high school classmate finger-fucking my helpless form while Victoria loudly condemned me as a slutty skank, worthy only to be a naked farm worker or glory hole cocksucker, was a sure winner in my masturbatory fantasies.
