Learning to Slave Wrangle

Learning to Slave Wrangle, Pt. 02

(This is a fantasy occurring in an alternative world where legalized slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debts, or voluntary self-indenture. All characters in this story are age 18 or older. In the real world, slavery, objectification, and forcible sex acts are NEVER acceptable.)

(

Frank Smith's perspective

)

Tuesday in the 4th week of Slave Studies 101. The "final exam" of this summer course in Texas was an exercise, during which half the class signed 30-hour Free In Name Only (FINO) contracts to make themselves temporary slaves, condemned to serve as the naked subordinates of the other students, who functioned as slave wranglers or handlers. The idea was for students to understand the psychological challenges of enslavement as well as practicing the day to day procedures necessary to restrain, control, and dominate those slaves. On Wednesday and Thursday, the two groups would reverse roles, but for the moment, I was a slave, collared and cuffed but waking up in the comfortable bed of my well-built classmate and keeper, Jean Scorer. That had been the best part of my FINO experience, as Jean had brought me home yesterday evening where, among other things, she had me lick her to orgasm and then lie, restrained, on her bed while she rode me to a mutual climax.

The rest of my slave experience had been far less pleasant. In addition to the predictable stress of being naked, bound, and demeaned verbally, I had been spit-roasted, sodomized in my mouth by Francisco, one of the full time wranglers at the Long Horn Slave Market, and in the butt by Ralph, a fellow student acting as a wrangler. Ostensibly, all they had done was to show me what it felt like to be a defenseless sex object, but Ralph had enjoyed himself too much, bad-mouthing me throughout the procedure. Only the blowjob I got from Jean at the same time made the experience bearable. In fact, she had taken me to her home for the night, where she fed me (both sandwiches and her pussy), then tied me on my back on her bed and rode me to our mutual satisfaction.

Jean repeated that treat, this time with my hands simply cuffed rather than tied down, when we awoke that Tuesday morning--another stellar coupling, both the sensations and the view of her stacked, smiling body riding me. I had already realized that it would be too easy to develop a submissive attitude after enjoying such a fantastic fuck from a well-endowed young woman whose breasts rose and fell rhythmically as she rode me. In this case, getting used was followed by another shared shower and a civilized breakfast. Of course, by then she was fully clothed while my only covering was the shock collar she had installed yesterday. I was still, after all, technically a slave for another few hours. She cuffed my hands behind my back for the walk to the car, then re-secured them in front of me so that I could sit comfortably, after which she clamped the leg irons onto my ankles--but no repeat of the gag and blindfold. So I got to see where we were going and talk (respectfully) to her as we returned to the Long Horn. Whenever we came to a stoplight, her right hand migrated over to fondle my cock and balls, so that I was once again painfully erect when we reached the slave market.

As we rode, she talked about how impressed she was that I had not panicked or whined about being man- (and woman-) handled and sexually assaulted the previous day. "I'm petrified about me getting the same treatment tomorrow," she added. I tried to assure her that she could survive and that I, for one, bore her no ill will.

Once we got back to the Long Horn, of course, she had to give an appearance of strictness. The leg-irons were slung around her neck, but she re-installed the gag and blindfold to walk me across the parking lot. Only after we were indoors did she remove them, this time to see Mistress Florence, our instructor who was checking student sluts in after their overnight trips. She took one look at my shivering body and tired face and giggled--not in an evil way, just giggled, and remarked to Jean,

"Looks like this one got rode hard and put up wet." Shifting to me, she asked in a rather kindly manner, "Did you get well-used, Asshole?" Just at that moment, the gag came out of my mouth.

"Yes, Mistress," I replied, dutifully. She giggled again, and I don't really blame Jean for joining in.

Other fellow-FINO slaves actually looked worse, and I saw red whip marks on more than one naked butt, so I guess I really lucked out. After the traumatic events of the previous day, though, very little seemed to phase me. Along with my fellow student sluts as well as a scattering of normal people seeking a slave grading, I almost sleep-walked through the morning's minor irritants and humiliations. I have to admit, though, that when I had to repeat the slave mantra begging a master to ram his huge cock up my butt, I had a very real, frightening flashback to what that had felt like the previous afternoon.

Just to ensure we had the complete experience, my fellow slaves and I were all devoxed and tied spread-eagle on the display table for public viewing. The full-time slave merchants only spent a minimum amount of time assessing us (part of the cost of our tuition was a renewed slave grading, and the merchants got perhaps 50 cents to evaluate each of us, but they all knew that the purple-colored collars such as mine were unlikely to end up on the auction block--at least, not that same day.) The gawkers who followed those merchants were far more unpredictable, and once again I worried about some idiot trying to make himself feel big by assaulting my vulnerable crotch. Thank goodness that Jean and our other peers were vigilant, halting anyone who went beyond gentle touches.

After an interminable 45 minutes, student wranglers released student slaves, cuffed us again, and walked us back to a cage where we our throats were sprayed with the antidote to devoxer, then given bottled water to await the verdicts.

Unless you're a body-builder with a dick that could masquerade as a python, male slaves almost never grade out as any form of Prime. Given my average, rather thin appearance, I was surprised and pleased to come out as Choice minus--I have to attribute that high score (five steps below Prime plus, but still more than I deserved) to the fact that my brief FINO contract had given me a real understanding of what being a human slave means. Think of it as method acting--the slave merchants perceived me as a valuable slave because I THOUGHT of myself as a slave and had been used repeatedly as a sex object. Or not--that's the only explanation I could come up with.

After another "delicious" meal of slave kibble, all of us were taken back to our lockers, relieved of collars and cuffs, and permitted to dress again. I thanked Jean sincerely for being a kind mistress, and tried to reassure her that, as far as I was able, she would not suffer much the next day when our roles reversed.

We all had to write a brief essay about our thoughts and conclusions concerning our experiences as sluts or wranglers (is that like Chutes and Ladders, you ask? Yes, but it's the X-rated, 18 years and older version), and then we were released to go home.

Before I left, I tracked down Francisco. He looked a little wary when I approached him, but I assured him that I understood completely why he had face-fucked me and even why he had encouraged Ralph to invade my rear end. I was certainly NOT looking for retribution or to reassert my manhood or any of that--it just didn't apply when one was a slave, however temporarily. That said, I asked him very politely whether he could help me to gain closure in the second part of the exercise. You guessed it, I wanted Ralph to "turn the other cheek(s)" by having me do unto him as he had done unto me. Francisco agreed, but ONLY if I promised him to be especially careful in the process--not only did he not want me to "tear Ralph a new one" down there, but he suspected that Ralph was actually a very insecure, fragile personality. We wanted him to have the same kind of experience as a slave that I had, but not destroy him physically or mentally. I readily agreed, then went home by way of McDonald's. Slave kibble may be nutritious, but my stomach was growling.

Wednesday morning dawned cloudy and dark, and it had rained just enough that the resulting humidity would make summer in Texas even more miserable than usual. Since I was about to become a junior wrangler at the Long Horn, I had to get there early, before the scheduled arrival of the next lucky winners of a Texas FINO contract. Florence briefed us on procedures, then handed us papers listing our assigned slaves for the next two days. There was a twinkle in her eye (well, she always seems happy, but you know what I mean) when she handed me my assignment--Jean. I had to smile back; the woman didn't miss anything, which is why she was such a great slave wrangler. Perhaps she was just keeping me with the same "lab partner," only in this case the "lab" was short for labia.

Jean had been shy when the course began, but that was nothing compared to her blushing, tongue-tied behavior this morning. I picked her up after she had signed her FINO contract, then walked her to the designated cage for her "induction." "Strip, slave."

*****

(

Jean Scorer's perspective

)

Contrary to common male belief, not all women dream of being helpless, naked sex sluts. Not all, but I have to admit that I certainly did! Somewhere in the back of my bookish, introverted mind, which was crowded with insecurities about my body and social skills, I confess to a recurring fantasy of being the beautiful, horny woman wantonly begging some handsome, dominant guy to use my body in any way he wanted. In a perverted way, that made me feel more desirable than I ever had as a free female citizen.

That was fantasy, though. In reality I was equal parts of aroused and terrified by the prospect of playing slave even for 30 hours. When Frank ordered me to strip, I almost froze. It's not just being naked in public; I've always been self-conscious about my body which had an extra 15 or 20 pounds, most of it in my breasts and rear end! Knowing that Frank had survived a similar humiliation--and that I had deliberately exposed myself to him before--I gritted my teeth and got on with it, trying to ignore the other people doing the same thing in our cage. I hastily shucked off my loose jeans, panties, and baggy sweatshirt, then stuffed them and my slip-on shoes into the locker. I was blushing so much that I barely registered when Frank locked my clothes away. By the time he stood back up, I had assumed the Present position, allowing him to see everything my Mom told me to keep hidden. I had always thought that the expression "I could have died of embarrassment" was an exaggeration, but I suddenly felt so dizzy that I might easily have lost consciousness. Yet, my nipples and clit were standing up and almost throbbing while I suddenly felt sticky between my widespread thighs.

Whether out of empathy or lust, Frank took pity on me. He smiled and murmured softly, making meaningless, reassuring sounds as one might for a pet as he walked around me, possessively and firmly running his hands all over me (including those treacherous nipples.) Being naked in front of a guy with whom I had had sex meant that my mind was focused on sex, which I think is why his caress set off the most incredible sensations in my body and mind. I squeaked when his hand slid deeply between my buttocks with fingers goosing me, but I THINK that he did that deliberately to distract me from my acute sense of exposure. At least that got me past my first shock, after which he promptly ordered me to kneel, stand, and back hands. Before I knew it, I was completely helpless as well as slave naked, with his fingers again firmly up my butt crack as he steered me towards the wooden platform used for slave yoga. On several previous evenings, I had practiced block positions alone in front of a full-length mirror, both to perfect my form and to get used to the idea of gyrating naked in public view. Now, that practice helped a little bit in both aspects, but not much. At least I didn't stumble and fall as we danced, twerked, and contorted ourselves in front of a mixed audience--both genders and a combination of real slave wranglers (who were bored and shock-proof) and our fellow students (who were trying hard not to stare and grin.) I tried not to think about the onlookers, instead concentrating on the orders of the same short, cute female wrangler (her nametag read "Shirley") that had directed the other group of students two days earlier. Mistress Shirley definitely knew what she was doing. Not only did she issue a steady stream of commands and corrections, but she did it all while smiling and encouraging us to feel like submissive sluts.

"Work with me." She exhorted the group. "You KNOW you're the sexiest, horniest whore in this group. And a horny whore earns a higher grade and a higher price, which are your ticket to a happier future. Make everyone who sees you want to own and use your fantastic body!" This gave us self-confidence, not to mention (as I had learned in our course) earning top dollar for the owners and slave market if we were auctioned off.

So I told myself I was a prime-rated bitch, even though I felt like an exposed elephant trying to dance. At least, I reflected, there were several cheerleader-types (probably getting slave graded after turning 18) on the platform with me, distracting attention away from my bobbing boobs and butt. I noticed, though, that Frank barely glanced at the other female slaves, watching me constantly. I couldn't help remarking that his penis--which I knew from experience was impressively large--was practically bursting out of his jeans! That thought did more to make me think I was attractive than anything Shirley might say to the group.

I was relieved when we came to the end of that exhibitionist hell, but I knew what was coming next. I was perfectly happy to have Frank fondle me as he cuffed and guided me across the floor, but our destination was another trial I had dreaded--a cage where a line of slave benches waited to immobilize the temporary slaves like me. It could have been worse, I suppose--I'd seen some of my classmates tied over a low railing for use. Before I knew it, I was on my hands and knees, completely restrained with a lubricated plug up my rear end while I stared at Frank's still-bulging jeans. I was looking forward to something I could enjoy--sucking his dick, when I heard our instructor, Francisco, speak to him quietly.

"Gringo--you asked me for a chance to get closure, right? Well, now's the time. Come with me--Miz Shirley will keep your slut entertained while you're gone." And just like that, Frank patted my head, told me "don't go anywhere, slave, until I get back" and left.

If you'd asked me before this course if I would be disappointed by NOT being forced to give a blow-job, I would have laughed scornfully. Now I felt bereft, abandoned, at least until I heard the voice of the diminutive wrangler who had ordered all those block moves a few moments before.

"Hello," she said kindly, as I noticed her out of the corner of my left eye. "You're Jean, right?"

"Yes, Mistress." I replied, still disoriented by the sudden shift in who controlled me.

"Well, how do you like being a FINO so far?" Shirley asked, gently running her hands over me, including my dangling breasts. Over the next several minutes, we had a serious discussion about how thrilling it was to be a helpless slave servicing someone I loved. Somehow she knew that I had a crush--and I hoped a relationship--with my current "owner," Frank. Over the next few minutes, she told me an amazing story in which she had signed a FINO contract with her boyfriend's wealthy family--she ended up getting plowed in all her openings by both family and servants, but she also got to spend some really quality time as her boyfriend's slut. THEN she told me that she married that boyfriend, after which she signed another FINO contract so that he could bind, dominate, and make love to his favorite "bitch" whenever he wanted. I think she was just trying to distract me, and she certainly succeeded in that, but she also gave me some tantalizing ideas.

Mistress Shirley had just told me, with some embarrassment, about how as a FINO slave she had been "given" to her future brother-in-law for full use on his 18th birthday. Then we were interrupted. One of the female student "wranglers" came around and very gently used a strap-on to give me the experience--or at least the oral skills--of deep-throating a master. Shirley kept playing with my body, this time even my clit, which made sucking that artificial cock a LOT more enjoyable; I actually orgasmed in the process, something I had never experienced on the (rare) occasions when I fellated a guy with my clothes on (sometimes as an alternative to taking them off!) The student had me go through the motions of displaying my tongue as if there were jism on it, and then departed. Shirley picked up our conversation about slaving for her brother-in-law as if nothing had happened.

Eventually, Frank returned from wherever he had been and asked Shirley if she would fill my mouth while he took care of "the other end." The thought of being spit-roasted was stressful, but I could swear I heard her murmur to him, "you've got a great girl here." To which he replied, even more softly, "Tell me about it!"

That exchange gave me a warm feeling, and before I knew it there was another plastic rod down my throat and a warm, rubber-wrapped cock in my well-lubricated cunt. At least, I told myself, those intruders were driven by two nice people who had experienced what they were doing to me. Perhaps that's why I found being spit-roasted really enjoyable, especially after Mistress Shirley and Frank figured out a push-pull rhythm to keep me filled at all times! I was humming, moaning, and lubricating constantly, not to mention clamping down firmly on Frank's cock.

Then he paused for a moment, and I felt him extract the plug from my anus and replace it with his own dick! I reflexively tightened up, but he was gentle and slow, leaning over my back to murmur reassurance into my ear while he reached around me to fondle my breasts. All this time, Shirley (bless her heart) withdrew her dildo, and did not continue using my throat until Frank was fully inserted into my rectum and I had resumed wriggling and moaning. I actually had a second orgasm with Frank balls deep in my ass. Take a memo: If you MUST be face- and butt-screwed at the same time, try to find two people to use you who have experienced being on the receiving end of similar treatment!

*****

When I recovered from my second climax, Shirley had disappeared and Frank quickly released me from my bonds, cuffed me again, and walked me over to the "slut wash." Lord knows I needed it--I was sweaty all over and sticky on my inner thighs, but I imagine I had a dumb blonde, vacant grin on my face from what he had just done to me.

As we had been shown on our tours of various slave markets, where possible slaves were washed and fondled by 18- and 19-year olds of the opposite sex. Especially males in their late teens would work for very low wages and "all the pussy they can handle." So I ended up with my ankles spread wide and my rear-cuffed wrists pulled up by a cable, forcing me to bend over with my boobs hanging down. Two very young-looking guys in rubber suits took their time while thoroughly feeling me up and running water up my cunt and butt, all while telling me how much fun it was to play with a sexy woman. They particularly enjoyed toying with my erect nipples and breasts--based on the amount of time, water, and soap they spent on my bosom, it should remain clean for the next three years. All this time Frank stood at the edge of the tiled area, grinning at the spectacle of me being man-handled. I should have been embarrassed or irritated by his presence, but in fact I got a warm feeling, as if he were watching over me to ensure those guys didn't go too far. I guess that's what "Slave Mind" is like.