Nikki sighed, "I hear the North is a different place, but down here in slave country that are so many influential women who once wore a collar that you'd better NOT try to embarrass them--no telling but what the person you're talking to was herself a slave, either outright enslaved for crime or debt or went through Broadstone or one of the other schools that train consorts."
I didn't like where this was going, but I might as well get it out in the open. "What I hear you saying, Nikki, is that the best way for me to understand slavery is to become a slave myself."
Nikki came back, very gently. "Afraid so, girlfriend. The minimum time for enslavement in Texas is 180 days, because the slave merchants have convinced the legislature that they can't make a profit in any shorter period. Even then, most owners won't spend the money to train a new slave properly unless they're going to wear a collar for more like a year instead of six months."
She had to have heard my sharp intake of breath. I blurted out, "I'm signed up for a sabbatical that runs for 14 months, from June this year through August of next, so I can find the time, but it still seems terrifying not to mention demeaning."
Nikki: "I'm not going to lie to you. This is really scary stuff and living through enslavement may have a traumatic effect. Still, just the POSSIBILITY of being a slave has already shown you some of the stress involved, so imagine how much you'd learn if you actually indentured yourself for a year."
*****
We agreed to discuss it again in a few days, after I'd had a chance to think about her suggestion. Truth be told, I had a hard time thinking about anything ELSE. I had always regarded slaves as commodities, or at most misguided bimbos who deserved both my contempt and my pity. The thought of ME stripping slave naked and surrendering my body to be used by some uncouth slob with more money than sense was terrifying and disgusting.
I found myself re-reading both Nikki's books and Sarah's writings and realized that my favorite slave shrink was right--at some point Sarah MUST have been a slave to have learned so much about how slaves thought and acted. Well, if that arrogant bleached-blond slut could handle being a slave, so could I! In a rush, before I could lose my nerve, I called Nikki back and asked her to arrange things, to draw up a one-year indenture agreement designating me as her property. That also involved her making an appointment for me, two days after the end of the spring term, to surrender myself at an office of the Texas Agriculture Department, followed by my auction at a slave market. I would send her a check to cover her expenses in doing this, and she would hold my sale price until I regained my freedom (gulp.) I tried to suggest that she keep the money in return for her trouble, but she said that would be unethical. (I don't know how that girl ever made any money--oh, wait, she MARRIED money. Sorry; I get snippy too easily.)
She promised to keep things as close hold as possible, but reminded me that, once I did this, my name and photographs would be in the National Slave Registry. She asked my permission to tell only one person--her husband, who could help because he had contacts in the business. Realizing I needed to trust her, I agreed without asking why. Instead, she told me to get into physical shape for the experience--ramp up my exercises, take frequent slave yoga practice under a genuine former slave wrangler, and (just before I flew down) get my hair done and my entire body (especially my pubes) waxed so I would get the best possible slave grade and sale price. Things I never expected to be worrying about, but Nikki was right--the higher the grade and price, the better my slave life would be.
I stayed in a hotel room for my last night of freedom; I hate to admit it, but the prospect of being a naked slave led me to masturbate until I fell asleep. Then Nikki picked me up early the next morning. I signed a power of attorney giving her control over me, but I was secretly shaking at my vulnerability. Then it was off to the Agriculture Department office. Even though she had made an appointment for my indenture, we had to wait--Nikki had warned me that this was SOP, designed to begin the process of reducing me to sub-human level. I noticed that the secretary pointedly ignored me and talked only to Nikki while we were waiting. The whole time we waited I was terrified, wondering whether I could really commit myself to being the kind of mindless sex object I had always despised.
Finally, we got to see the appropriate official, a Mr. Shively, a middle-aged pot-bellied bureaucrat with a goatee and thinning hair. Nikki presented him with both her power of attorney and a one-year contract for slave indenture. At least, thank heavens, both documents specified no foreign travel or sale--once in, say, a Persian Gulf country, that one year limitation could be converted to a lifetime in a collar. Shively looked it over, then stared at me coldly and asked,
"You were a college professor?" (I had foolishly listed my real occupation on the application.) "Well, la-di-dah. You understand that, for the next 365 days and nights, you will be required to act as a slave under the laws of Texas?"
"Yes, Sir," I said, struggling not to hyperventilate. After a few similar questions, he had both Nikki and me sign the indenture contract. As soon as he finished, Nikki looked significantly at me, and I knew what I had to do.
I hastily stripped naked in front of this complete stranger, passing my clothing piece by piece to Nikki, who had just become my owner. Mr. Shively leaned forward in his chair, watching closely, with a smug, satisfied grin on his face. He'd doubtlessly stripped a lot of new slave girls in his office, but I got a feeling that he was the sort of man for whom this never got old.
Mistress Nikki stuffed each lost piece of my modesty into a large canvas bag. Blushing deeply, completely naked, and (surprising myself) feeling very horny and sticky down below, I knew enough to assume the position called "Present"--legs slightly apart so that everyone could see and smell my arousal with hands behind my neck, which in turn caused my breasts to jut forward. I was again surprised to notice that my nipples were rock hard, sticking out from my bosom like the fuses on the tips of bombs. And I felt like the bomb about to go off!
Nikki had warned me what to expect next; she ordered "collar" and "back hands" as she installed first a heavy leather collar and then a pair of cuffs behind my back, which again pushed my chest forward. At her instruction, I shuffled on my knees around to the other side of the desk, where Mr. Shively had already released a respectable-sized dick. My first sex act as a slave--undoubtedly the first of many, I thought. Determined to get it over with, I used my tongue to lever his prick into my open mouth, then began doing everything I could think of to complete his arousal.
It must have worked, because in about two minutes he mumbled "GOOOD slut" and grabbed the back of my head, forcing yet more of his rod into my mouth. I almost gagged when it hit the back of my throat, but fortunately I had aroused him so much that he blasted several squirts into me in what seemed like seconds. Remembering my instructions from Nikki, I managed to retain at least part of his jism on my tongue; when he released my head I sat back and stuck my tongue out to display the loathsome load. Fortunately, he didn't hesitate more than a second before nodding permission, which Nikki reinforced with a command to "swallow it, bitch." It was as salty as I had expected, but at least, I thought, the first of many demeaning experiences in a collar was behind me. My first taste of slavery.
I felt Nikki--excuse me, Mistress Nicola, now--fastening a leash to my collar, then ordering me to stand and heel. What followed was the legendary walk of shame for new slaves--being led through a cluster of office cubicles while state employees jeered at and toyed with my naked, helpless body. It was terrifying, and I was incredibly thankful that my new owner set a brisk pace, almost dragging me through the maze to reach the elevator. Once the door (finally) closed to hide me from all those sneering free people, Nikki gave me a tight hug, saying she thought I needed it. Boy, was she right! I was humiliated, horrified, helpless--and absurdly aroused.
The elevator door opened at the main floor, where Nikki towed me into the ladies' room, freed my wrists, and produced a bottle of mouthwash to cleanse the taste and smell of cum from my breath. Then she told me to use the toilet and wash my hands, after which she handed me a precious chocolate bar as a final snack. Next, she resumed her "tough guy" act, cuffing and leading me butt naked out of the restroom, down the front steps, and around the corner to her parked car--all in broad daylight in a crowded city with what seemed like hundreds of people gawking. Once at her car, she moved my cuffed hands from back to front, had me sit in her car, then draped a blanket and clipped my shoulder belt over me. The woolen blanket was scratchy but was a blessed respite from my nude vulnerability.
*****
