(This story is set in the legalized enslavement world of Joe_Doe_Stories, by permission of that author.)
*****
By now, my story of how I became a legal slave-whore to work off my college debts must seem like nonstop submission, humiliation, and intercourse. And it was for the first few months, when I was put through the mill of enslavement, shipment, processing, auctioning, and training as a pleasure slut. Even after I returned to Fort Worth, my Mistress and former boss, Pamela Williams, pimped me out to anyone who had enough influence to be a VIP for the XYZ Bank, of which she was the division vice president. As I've said before, I put the "tail" in retail.
Things were calmer in her home, which she shared with me and with Lily Russell, her executive assistant and my predecessor as an indentured slut at the bank. So long as I was obedient, we were like three women—or perhaps two women and a smart service dog—sharing the house. They would politely ask me to do chores, cook, or serve them and I was overjoyed to please them. Several times each week, one of them tied me onto a treadmill for half an hour, then drilled me on slave positions to ensure stamina and instant obedience. They made few sexual demands on me; sometimes on off weekends my submissive horniness got so high that I had to beg the privilege of entertaining them with my tongue, kneeling between their legs while they gently stroked my hair.
On even more unusual occasions, the charged sexual atmosphere in which we worked made them as horny as me. (It must be frustrating to see your collared bimbo getting so much sex in the office.) One of the ladies—usually Lily but sometimes my Mistress—would abruptly order me into her bedroom for a session of domination. What's the point of owning an over-sexed pleasure slut if you never use her? On my knees, I reverently helped a goddess insert the back end of a double dildo with harness inside her. Then she would fill my smiling mouth with the lifelike shaft. I used my teeth to grip it lightly, so that I could move the entire thing in a way that rubbed the back end inside the dominant woman's vagina. Eventually, I would end up bent over the bed or strapped into kneeling stocks while she pumped my other openings enthusiastically (they were always much gentler and more considerate than guys about sodomizing me.) As a submissive girl trained to nearly-constant arousal, I was often thrilled when an alpha male dominated me. But giving intimate pleasure to the two people who controlled and cared for me was marvellous, much more about making love than having sex.
On rare occasions, Ms. Griffin held formal parties, and then Clarice, my sister in bondage, and I were called upon to serve food, drink, and sexual favors. For really important visitors, like board members of the bank, Lily would join us, dressed in a green version of the classic naughty French maid costume. When that happened, she was usually in the greatest demand; as Lily explained to us afterwards, precisely because slave pussy was so plentiful, hyper-competitive guys who thought with their dicks found it even more satisfying to dominate free women. That combination of prick and ego was the easiest way for a smart woman to control a man.
My assigned sleeping place was a large, padded cage inside the closet of a spare bedroom, ready to perform as the en suite sex slave for a rare overnight visitor. Many nights, however, I slept elsewhere. The most common location was under a blanket, curled in a large pet bed beside my Mistress' bed where she could talk with me (if sleep eluded her) or send me on errands. When Ms. Williams was out of town, I got to sleep—and I do mean sleep, not make love—with Lilly. On rare occasions when I was cold or sick, Lilly would even spoon with me in her bed, an experience I treasured.
There was one exception, and that was when Ms. Williams' long-time boyfriend, Master Jack, came to visit and spend the night. I would serve dinner to them and perhaps even "fluff" him, slowly tonguing his cock under the table while they talked, ignoring me. After that, however, I would be banished to my cage and treated with almost the full rigor of a slave in transit, blindfolded, gagged, and bound. The only concession was that my wrists were bound in front of me to be more comfortable, and when Mistress did this she warned me to go to sleep immediately and not remove the gag or blindfold without permission.
She didn't want me to know what they did in bed. At first, this didn't make sense to me, since the two lovers had shared me when they attended an open house at the Pearson Ranch. But, I knew what she wanted, so I dutifully tried to go to sleep and pretended to still be asleep when "awoken" the next morning. When quizzed, I always said that I had been so tired that I fell asleep very quickly. In fact, however, I discovered that Ms. Williams had made a rare oversight. The air-conditioning duct next to my closet must have led directly to my Mistress' bedroom, and I heard every sound that happened when Master Jack and Mistress Pamela made love. I tried to ignore it, because I knew she would have been mortified, but some nights I think my body, already habituated to frequent sex, was as excited as theirs. That body became my alibi, covering the fact that my cage sometimes smelled like a brothel after I evesdropped. I pretended (it wasn't much of a lie) that I was so horny that I had occasional wet dreams. After that, I was careful to jill off a few times when I slept in either of my ladies' bed chambers. Unauthorized masturbation like that earned me a few spankings, but I was willing to pay that price to avoid embarrassing my Mistress. It became a running joke in which they would mock me, accusing me (quite accurately) of being a natural-born slut bimbo who was too horny to think straight.
Then came Mistress' birthday. I had baked her a cake, and Master Jack and Mistress Lily gave her presents. Yet, Jack seemed oddly subdued, with none of his usual boisterousness or demeaning comments about my sexual service. When I crouched down to assume my usual position under the table, Mistress halted me, saying that on her birthday Jack didn't deserve any extra pleasure. Then, Lily announced that she had to visit a sick friend and would not return before morning—she put me in my cage as usual, again demanded that I go to sleep, and left. I heard a car start up outside.
That's when the noises through the air vent got truly weird. At first, I couldn't understand what was happening, but I quickly realized that Mistress was role-playing as Jack's owner. Previously, they had sounded like equals in the bedroom, although sometimes Mistress was slightly submissive when she asked him to do specific things to her. This time, however, their conversation was largely one-sided, and reminded me of the day Mistress had taken me to the Texas Department of Agriculture for enslavement:
"Strip." She began in the commanding voice she reserved for lowly sluts like me.
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, hesitantly.
Whap! The sound of something striking flesh. "That's Mistress to you, bitch—Hurry up."
"On your knees, slave . . .Collar!" (a pause.) Then, she started spitting out the slave commands that she had used to display me to Judge Bean on my day of enslavement:
"Present" (I imagined Jack standing, legs slightly apart, fingers interlocked behind his neck)
