We did a lot of mind-numbing gofer work in the offices. After all this time as a slave, getting felt up was no big deal, but of course the dick-heads in suits didn't stop with just touching. This was heaven for overgrown little boys who could finally satisfy all their adolescent desires while actually getting PAID to do so, an incredible opportunity in the era of "Me Too" and wage equality. Almost every time I delivered something to an office or came back after photocopying a document, the douchebag in charge wanted a blow-job if not more. More than one of the free administrative assistants, almost all of whom were good-looking, college-educated women, privately thanked me for keeping their bosses happy, because otherwise the free women would have been harassed, which was not only repulsive but interfered with their actual duties.)
My brother seemed to get the same treatment, and I knew he hated sucking dick whereas I had gotten used to it and could (sometimes) enjoy a mouthful of cock so long as it was clean. Even the taste of cum didn't bother me much after eight plus months in a collar, especially when you work in a place where the bathrooms all have bottles of mouthwash for the sluts. Fortunately for Sean, there were a significant number of females on staff, including at least two who were senior managers (to be honest, some of the male executives enjoyed staring at the bodies even of those women, although the dick-heads never dared proposition them--why risk harassment charges when they had a slave staff to service their over-active pricks?) Not all the free females were young and good looking, of course, but almost all were in far better shape than the average woman who had used my brother at the resort, so I don't imagine it was any major task for him to get it up. In fact, given that we no longer wore chastity belts, I noticed a bulge in his scrubs and his eyes sometimes tracking the better-looking females, slave and free, in the offices of Peterson Enterprises (with the word "Peter" in the firm's title, why was I surprised there were so many stiff peters around? It was as if some of these jerks really were brain-dead, but for some reason rigor mortis has set in on their cocks and their little brains before their joints.)
Anyway, my brother later confessed that he enjoyed fellating and fucking the female staff; he sheepishly acknowledged that while he had no desire to be sodomized, it was still much nicer to have a sweet-smelling woman rub her boobs on his back while pegging him than to have a male butt-fuck him. In other words, we had both gotten over many of our hangups about servicing other people--which still didn't mean that we WANTED to be used casually like that, nor that we had become willingly bi-sexual.
In fact, there were unspoken limits concerning how the free people could use the slaves. Nobody cared how WE felt about being face-fucked, bent over a desk, or sodomized and left unsatisfied, but in my first month I twice heard a supervisor reprimand a junior suit for neglecting his duties while he got his jollies from the collared staff. When that happened, I pretended to be selectively deaf, although it was nice to think that I had indirectly been the instrument for a self-propelled dick-head to be punished for his thoughtless use of my body...
What went on after hours was often far more debasing. Based on seniority, the suits of all genders could reserve the slaves for evening use, with Fridays extending into Saturdays. The only time limitation was that we slaves must be returned to the kennels by 7:30 a.m. on weekdays and by 7 p.m. on Saturdays, giving us time for a shower on a weekday morning and a long rest on Sundays. Every Monday morning, we were all tested for sexually-transmitted diseases, which suggested that the management was well aware that their slave inventory was sometimes used for gang-bangs on Friday nights, and wanted to do contact tracing before we might spread an infection the following week. Lawyers are supposed to be amoral, but if they got VD it might cut into their billable hours (horrors!)
The female executives seemed divided into two groups: some borrowed male slaves like my brother, while others enjoyed dominant lesbian games with the female sluts like me. One such female would book several female slaves and choreograph a lesbian porn scene; after we had rehearsed it she would film us doing lesbian porn for her private enjoyment. At least I HOPED it stayed private and didn't end up on the internet somewhere; another part of me hoped that I got to watch these scenes, as they were wildly erotic and the best lesbian sex I had all year. I still had only limited interest in lesbian sex, although it was nice to be with someone who cared about my pleasure and might even snuggle with me once we were finished.
The male dicks, especially the overgrown adolescents right out of college, tended to cooperate with each other, reserving two or more of the (usually female) slaves so that they could be shared around and double-teamed on evenings or weekends. I must admit that I usually got a thrill out of being filled by two or three dicks at once, and one memorable time I had three cocks inside me and two more than I was somehow expected to entertain with my hands. I sometimes doubted whether there was sufficient room in my bowels for two pricks, even small ones, to fit side-by-side in my soft tissues down there, but after ten-plus months of sexual servitude I couldn't help climaxing at the sensation; my birth canal and colon both compressed so strongly that my own orgasms triggered those of my temporary masters. No sense kidding myself--I had been conditioned to be a cock-hungry slut, whore, or whatever pejorative term you cared to apply to me. I just hoped that I could regain a LITTLE control over my horniness when the collar finally came off in December. Otherwise, I might as well give up on college studies and just major in whoredom, fulfilling all the negative and unfair stereotypes concerning cheerleaders.
For the moment, I attempted to endure the humiliation and take some pleasure and comfort where I could find them. In the process I became a fairly good actress. In the office, I tried to appear blank and emotionless, avoiding any feeling or sign of humiliation that might encourage the dick-heads to target me when they wanted to enjoy subjugating a woman. Once I was singled out for use, I would smile like a mindless bimbo, giggle happily when penetrated, and work hard to bring them off as quickly and painlessly as possible. And I learned how to bring on my own orgasm almost whenever desired, usually by remembering all the happiness I felt when a genuinely-considerate master--Mike Lefkowicz--made love to me. I admit it--I had (and still have) it bad for that guy, who had known me in high school and could have made my life hell at the casino, but instead he treated me as a precious human being while still pounding my brains out to our mutual satisfaction!
Imagine my elation when, one Friday night when three junior executives had checked me and two other girls out for the evening, I arrived at the designated hotel suite to find that Master Mike was part of the party! Acting disinterested went out the window in an instant as my face was split by the widest possible grin--one of the other girls later told me that I suddenly appeared to be as eager to get it on as the clowns who had reserved us for the evening. I had no idea what magic had brought him to that Boston hotel room, but I was overjoyed and incredibly aroused to see him. (My grandfather's executive assistant, Belle Bergen, later told me that Mike had the audacity to make an appointment with grandfather and ask permission to propose to me once my year in a collar was finished. Belle was so impressed that she privately told Mike where to find me, after which he had befriended several of the young morons who worked at Peterson and maneuvered himself into an invitation to a slave bang weekend. But Mike himself never told me or anyone else that he knew me, just winked at me to play along with his game.)
Anyway, there he was, and without bragging he somehow convinced these walking erections that his experience working with slaves at the Casino made him an expert on motivating them. He began with the obvious, but often overlooked, point that treating slaves with even a modicum of consideration would get much more aroused and cooperative slave girls. Of course, he "randomly" chose me as his demonstration subject--or I guess "object" would be more accurate than "subject," considering how little autonomy slaves had. We pretended not to know each other, but he proceeded to enact the perfect conduct for a new slave owner--he asked my name and thereafter used it exclusively, complimenting me on my beauty and praising my obedience and performance. After the fact, the other two girls described his act as a model of how they wish they were treated at all times; they told me that the clowns who had checked me out for the night appeared astonished at how responsive the unusually withdrawn, distracted blonde slave became. He asked about my previous service, pretended surprise that I had worked at the same casino where he was an intern, and thereafter described to his audience how my previous training would make me more responsive--the pony girl who wanted approval, the casino slave who would respond to specific instructions, and so on. He politely ordered me into different poses, then fondled me intimately. At one point, he had me sit on the edge of a table in front of him, then interlock my fingers behind my head and lean back, displaying most of my erogenous zones to his touches (including the touch of his hands massaging my nipples while wrapping my tits around his dick) and compliments. I didn't need any acting skills to be overjoyed and orgasmic when he spent one minute tonguing my labia--which was about 40 seconds more male-on-female cunnilingus than I had received in my previous six weeks of servitude at Peterson's!
By that time, I was so happy to see the love of my life and to be handled by a guy who actually cared that I went off into multiple orgasms, after which I fulfilled my previous promise to Master Mike that I would willingly humiliate myself for him--I began repeating slave mantras, begging him to "Ram your huge cock into any of my openings, Master; use me, make me your property, your slut" etc., etc. He had me turn over so that I was bent over the table, facing away from him, at which point I reached back with both hands to spread my butt cheeks apart and offer him his choice of whatever he wanted from my body--and he didn't hesitate to ream me fore and aft. To this day I still blush when I recall how servile I was that day--which doesn't prevent me from acting the same way any time he wants me!
