These events occur in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is common-place for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. Eighteen years of age is the minimum for anyone in this world to be enslaved or be involved in slave business operations.
As always, this is strictly a FANTASY—in reality, informed consent is ALWAYS mandatory and no one should ever be deprived of her or his free will. For this episode, MrSmith27 provided me with a definition of Slave Mind which he found in Walker and Sheldon's textbook,
Psychological Impact of Slavery.
Dr. Nicola Sheldon reads the definition out loud in this story, but is too modest to say that she wrote it.
Betsy Boyce, an average-looking young woman with self-esteem issues, has recently completed ten years as a slave in Texas. Once freed, Betsy was fortunate enough to end up in the Longhorn Slave Market's Trusty program for the newly-freed, working in the cafeteria and sleeping on the premises for three meals a day and $18 per hour while she sorted out her life. Over the ensuing two months, she began to re-establish herself with a driver's license, a bank account, and a few friends. On her second date with a guy named Bill, she had not only displayed the cock-sucking skills she had learned as a slave but also, unthinkingly, called him "master." Like any other young man, Bill had taken that as an invitation to role-play master and slave, with Betsy ending up naked and bent over a couch with her wrists tied while she begged him to screw her brains out. Afterwards, Bill had tried to reassure her that there was nothing wrong with a little role-playing, but Betsy was mortified that, at her first opportunity to have sex as a free woman, she had instead reverted to the learned behavior of a submissive slut. As soon as she got back to the Longhorn, she made an appointment to see the slave psychiatrist Nicola Sheldon, who periodically visited to counsel former and future slaves.
I didn't get much rest on the four nights before "Doctor Nikki" was scheduled to visit the slave market. On the fourth night, I fell into an exhausted sleep. Fortunately, I dreamed not about how I had humiliated myself with Bill but rather about my adventuresome life as a slave.
My long downward slide had begun in the slave brothel where I lost my virginity at age 18 and mastered the arts of fellatio, fluffing the customers for the prettier girls. Because I was so plain looking, that brothel eventually sold me to a BDSM palace, but even there I was a failure if only because my skin took too long to heal after being bruised. So the dungeon master sold my butt to work in a glory hole. Here, at last, I could put my oral skills to work where no customer could see me to be disappointed about my appearance.
I may have told you this before, but my dreams repeated themselves. For some reason, the operator of this establishment, Mistress Alice, took a liking to me so that my next two years passed in peace, or at least as much peace as one can get while sucking off thirty or forty unidentified and often unwashed dicks every evening. Many of the other "cock-suckers," as we frankly described ourselves, were free but submissive men (not women) who actually got a sexual thrill when Alice "forced" them to fellate others while they knelt alongside me until they reached a quota of so many thousand mouthfuls of sperm. Once they fulfilled their quotas and got their own pricks released, they rushed home to jerk off for days on end, only (in many cases) to return a few weeks later for another contract as a belted human sex object.
Perhaps once a week, when business slowed down, Alice or one of her (all female) assistant managers would take me off the line and into a separate room. There, I was unbound and allowed to use my tongue and fingers to please the free woman in front of me. She would pet and praise me while I was bringing her off, giving me a much better experience than I got kneeling in front of a hole.
As a reward for good behavior, Alice would also occasionally permit her "employees," at least those who were legally enslaved, to jerk/jill off or—in even more rare circumstances—to perform 69 with each other. Because my owner disapproved in principle of women being exploited, It took her a long time to believe me when I actually volunteered to reward one of these well-behaved male slaves by having him fuck me in the "normal" way. At the time, I didn't consider myself any sluttier than any other slave, but I'd become so used to being screwed regularly, even as a helpless slave, that I longed for it once in a while. (Having been a virgin when I was sold, I had no experience of "free" sex to compare things to.) Alice insisted that, in each case, I agree to have sex with a particular guy on a particular day so she knew I was willing. Needless to say, volunteering like this made me very popular among the male slaves—I became the slave equivalent of queen of the nerds in high school. For a while I felt truly desirable, even though I knew it was an artificial demand from a desperate group.
If you begin with the attitude that slavery sucks—in this case literally sucks—then I was reasonably satisfied with an existence that, viewed from a position of freedom, would seem revolting. After two years working at the Glory Hole, I suddenly had a change of assignment. Mistress Alice, bless her feminist heart, decided to end my downward spiral as a pleasure slave. I'd gone from slave brothel to BDSM brothel to glory hole; about the only form of sexual service that would have been even lower would be serving in an ass and mouth establishment. As the name implies, the slaves in such a place were chained on hands and knees, open to sodomy at both ends and sometimes getting spit roasted by two anonymous customers or having the same guy use both openings. This was not only disgusting but carried with it a much higher risk of disease (ass to mouth) than did other slave sex outlets (or I guess that should be sex inlets. At least all the other places I served required condoms and frequent blood tests.)
Instead, Alice diverted me away from the sex industry by renting me (and eventually selling me, once she checked back and ensured that I was well treated) to TempSlave, the chain agency that, as its name indicates, offers general forced labor on short assignments. Given my nondescript face and body, I had never really belonged in the sex industry to begin with, so being hired out for other tasks came as a welcome relief, as least at first. Naturally, even general labor slaves, or at least the female ones, are still subject to ravishment if the customer or supervisor feels the urge, but both the renters and the TempSlave slave wranglers recognized that time is money, so boinking a labor slave too often or too long would be inefficient, bad for the financial bottom line [not to mention, in some cases, the slave's bottom].
For the next 18 months, I performed every menial job imaginable, from assembling electronic components to mopping floors & scrubbing toilets in public buildings to working in institutional laundries. Occasionally, one of the TempSlave wranglers would bend me over the nearest machine or piece of furniture and fuck my slave brains out, but I was grateful for the attention—by now I was so habituated to being a passive cunt that I became horny if I didn't get six inches inside me at least once a week and preferably more often. Being ass-fucked was much more uncomfortable, but I'd adjusted to that lowly role while working in the first brothel, and at least a guy was giving me some attention while breaking up the monotony. The TempSlave company considered some sexual service to be an ordinary perk of its underpaid wranglers, so long as they always used condoms on my lower holes and didn't affect my productivity as a laborer.
Once, while working a midnight shift, I made the mistake of displaying my oral expertise to a supervisor named Bart. After that, he fell into the habit of using my mouth on his midnight meal break; sometimes he got so preoccupied with having me edge him that he did it for more than an hour, leaving me no time to eat the meager sandwich authorized for each slave—thus giving a different meaning to the phrase "drinking my lunch." Fortunately for me, I guess, the productivity of Master Bart's slave laundry crew fell so low that the customer reviewed surveillance tapes and noticed what was happening. Then the TempSlave manager held a surprise inspection at 1 a.m. and found us, as usual, with Bart's pants around his ankles and my mouth full of his cock. He got fired and I got a rest from providing oral sex, at least for a while. I tried to remember NOT to be too good with my mouth when used on future occasions, but to be honest I kinda missed the human contact and intimacy.
Lost in dream land, that night I somehow remembered one occasion when, while working as a maid in a motel, two young men came back to their room early and found me, slave naked, freshening up the room. They tossed me onto the bed I had just made and used me vigorously and repeatedly. Damn, that felt good, even if I did have to re-make the bed afterwards!
The memory of that unexpected use was so intense that I awoke suddenly in my Longhorn bunk, still shuddering from an orgasm. God, was I really ENJOYING the thought of being double-teamed like that?
