The Age of Enslavement

Young woman gets her first enslavement tattoo

WhoreMouse felt like her name: a cross between a wanton whore and a scared little mouse. She was just standing there in full public view of strangers and her parents, letting her gross old neighbor Mr. Campbell molest her bare tits with his contagious rashy hands. She hated it, but was also letting it happen. Nobody had even told her she had to do this. He was at least three times her age. She wanted to tell him to stop, but the words just wouldn't come out. She wanted to back away, but it didn't feel right. It felt like it wasn't her place to say 'no'.

Mr. Campbell licked his lips, stuck out his tongue, and pulled her in by her bare tits for a tongue kiss.

Time seemed to slow. WhoreMouse almost gagged at seeing his splotchy bulbous tongue. So gross. Was she really about to let that in her mouth? He was treating her like she was already a slave. But she was only 18, too young to enslave. Was nobody going to say anything about this? She turned her head, trying to buy time. He licked and slobbered all over the side of her head as she glanced around to her family for help.

Brian, her fiancé, looked on with lust in his eyes. Did he like this? Did he think she liked this? Was he right?

Her father looked concerned, like he wanted to do something, except he was too busy reclined in a fucking chair, balls deep the neighbor lady he'd traded his wife for.

WhoreMouse's mother PussyCunt knelt on the ground, broken, her body sticky with a thin coating of lube and Mr. Campbell's cum, still sucking his limp diseased cock.

Everyone WhoreMouse loved and trusted was just letting this happen. Mr. Campbell began sucking on her ear. She shuddered with revulsion as he tried to stick his tongue deep into her ear canal. Why didn't she just back away? Maybe it was for the best. Maybe she was a slave already, and just didn't realize it. With a final shiver of disgust, she opened her mouth and began turning to let his tentacle of a tongue in her mouth and kiss him back.

Damian intervened, grabbing Mr. Campbell roughly by the face. "That's enough. I don't recall saying you could touch her," he said. The cold command of a master was fully back in his voice, "It is customary, is it not Mr. Campbell, to ask before touching another man's things?"

"May I," Mr. Campbell ambiguously asked, though lips pinched in Damian's fingers.

"No. You're done now. Go back to your table."

Mr. Campbell looked WhoreMouse up and down, the girl next door he'd watched for years. Now she was within reach, naked, sweating. He'd dreamt of this. Her tits were so soft. Her cunt was right there, glistening wet. Would he ever get another chance like this? He grabbed her by the pussy, trying to shove his diseased fingers inside.

But then there was no pussy. There was no anything. The world was spinning. He couldn't remember where he was. Oh. He was on the ground. Blood poured from his broken nose, pooling by his face. Everything hurt. Through unfocused eyes he looked up and saw Damian, PussyCunt, and WhoreMouse above him. Right, he was at the Pure Surrender club. How had he gotten on the floor?

Damian cleaned his bloody knuckles with a handkerchief as he talked to club security. They had seen it too, but he confirmed that Mr. Campbell had broken the law and club rules: sexually assaulting a free woman, a vip guest no less, with infected hands and probably without a raping license. They called for law enforcement and escorted/carried Mr. Campbell out of the club. One of them profusely apologized to WhoreMouse on behalf of the club, and offered her a voucher for a free future access to the club and substantial complimentary services.

WhoreMouse could barely pay attention to what they were saying. Her hands trembled as she took the voucher. She had butterflies in her stomach. Damian had just referred to her as his possession, and then punched Mr. Campbell's lights out over it. It was the hottest thing anyone had ever done for her. Her heart was pounding. She'd always thought Damian was pretty, but now she couldn't look away. He was naked. His shoulder muscles were so...shouldery. And the muscles below his belly made that V shape she liked so much. And he'd just broken a man's nose for her!

Minutes ago WhoreMouse had just finished having the greatest cum of her life, over and over again, from the man she loved: the man she was soon to marry. But somehow she was already horny again, as bad as ever, for Damian.

The voucher listed "reforging jewelry" as one of the complimentary services she could access. Dirty thoughts came unbidden to her mind. She thought about her engagement ring, her favorite possession, that beautiful symbol of Brian's love. She imagined having it melted down, mixed with more metal and reforged into a chain engagement collar instead. The key to Brian's cock lock could be melted down and reforged as well, turned into a tiny eternity lock encrusted with the jewel from the ring. She imagined herself kneeling for Damian, while Brian presented the collar and lock with no key on a little silk pillow. Her master would fasten the symbol of her new engagement around her throat. Brian would have the honor of squeezing shut the tiny permanent lock. Oh no. Was she falling in love? With Damian? She couldn't do that.

Damian continued to take charge. He explained that WhoreMouse would need slave rash prevention cream pretty much all over her body now, particularly in her ear, on her breasts, and in her vagina. Damian handed the bottle of cream to Robert, who was still fucking CherryPie. He ordered WhoreMouse to present her body to her father for a thorough creaming.

Robert had a vague thought that perhaps he shouldn't massage cream into his daughter's tits and sopping wet cunt while actively having sex. But then WhoreMouse presented for him without the slightest hesitation. She climbed up on the table, laid back, and spread her legs wide open. It looked just like she was offering him her virginity. At the same moment CherryPie kissed him, trembling in his arms and around his cock with another small orgasm. Did she like the idea? Did she just cum to the suggestion of him paying attention to his daughter instead of her while they fucked? Regardless, he couldn't think a single reason why he shouldn't 'cream' WhoreMouse now.

Damian went to make arrangements with the blacksmith. It was time to brand CherryPie. The big roaring fire was too far away, so the smith started up a portable electric forge.

Robert lotioned up his hand with prevention cream, and began caressing his daughter's soft beautiful breasts. They were already stiff. He bucked his hips a little harder as he squeezed his daughter's tits. He still felt a little bad for CherryPie. She seemed to be having a great time. But something felt so wrong about ignoring the woman he was deep inside. Not only that, but this was perhaps the most important moment of her life. She was giving him everything of herself, surrendering her body and mind to him forever. The least he could do was pay attention.

CherryPie saw the hesitation in her new master. "Go ahead," she whispered, "Damian knows what he is doing. It's better this way. I'll feel more like a slave if you're not even looking, not even caring while I..." Her voice caught a little. While she what? Self-raped her own freedom away? "...While I service you Master."

That was enough for Robert. As best he could while reclined and fucking, he spread the prevention cream across his daughter's body. WhoreMouse repositioned herself so he could get every nook and cranny. She wiggled her toes as he massaged her feet. She licked the cream from his fingers. She opened her pussy wide so he could get it nice and deep inside with his index finger. Oh god he was inside his daughter.

PussyCunt watched her former husband massaging and finger fuck their daughter. An hour ago she'd enslaved herself specifically to prevent this from happening. Yet all she could think about was that Master Damian was away, and she desperately wished for some of that cream. She didn't want to be a trash-vag gutter slave. If she asked her former husband to 'cream' them both, would that be disobeying her Master? Surely Robert would enjoy being inside three women at once: his daughter with his left hand, his enslaved wife with his right, and his replacement for her with his cock.

But no, she knew that would displease her master. Instead she crawled to Robert and began whispering encouragement to them. "Thank you for fucking my friend so good hun. Would you like me to lick your cock clean after you finish? Look how happy our daughter is when you play with her like that. Remember, she needs that cream everywhere. Reach as deep inside as you can. Don't miss a single spot."

CherryPie worked the cock in her with everything she had, slowly building up her own next orgasm. She wanted to cum for her new master again. She was almost there. But honestly she was a bit distracted too. She tried hard not to watch Damian talking to the smith. She tried hard not to watch the two of them coming back, the wheeled forge in tow. She wondered where on her body they would do it. Her wonderful daughter would no doubt be branded above her ass, so the lower case 's' could sit beside the 'lave' tattoos she already had, completing the word. CherryPie had no tattoos though, so they might brand her anywhere. She hoped it wouldn't be her face.

Damian returned. He had CherryPie blindfolded, so she wouldn't see the iron coming and flinch.

CherryPie was in darkness now. She knew she was already a slave. But to her this fuck felt like her last moments of freedom. She was determined to enjoy herself to the end. She was almost ready to cum, but like a good slut she had held her orgasm back until she got Robert going first, so they could cum together.

WhoreMouse moaned at her father's touch, and begged him to massage her clit until she came too. Soon Robert abandoned all pretense of doing anything else. Yes yes! She was about to cum for Daddy!

All three of them were on track to cum together. PussyCunt continued whispering what a good job Robert was doing, fucking her daughter and friend. The blacksmith stood beside them with the hot iron ready, waiting for the right moment.

WhoreMouse came with her father's fingers on her clit. His cock wasn't in her, but they were undeniably having sex. She was having sex with her Daddy. "I love you Daddy," she cried.

Robert came, one hand on his daughter's cunt, the other gripping CherryPie's tit. He sprayed whatever his poor spent balls had left into her pussy. He knew she was about to lose her freedom forever. It felt as if he was fucking her freedom away. "I love you too," he yelled, looking to CherryPie.

Though she couldn't see him, CherryPie sensed his words were for her. Her new master loved her? The orgasm welling inside, the one she'd been holding back hoping to feel like a free woman just another second longer, surged through her.

"Please breed her," PussyCunt begged into her former husband's ear, "Have a baby with her. Please."

All three of them came together. At the very height of their mutual orgasms the blacksmith struck, branding CherryPie's cleavage just below the neck. She screamed. She had intended to hold still through the pain, so the brand wouldn't smear. It wasn't up to her. Every muscle she had seized. She lost control of her bladder. She nearly blacked out. The blacksmith knew his craft, though, and kept the iron firmly in place with the strength of a vice. Robert continued to cum in her as her last hope of freedom sizzled away.

WhoreMouse gripped her father with all her might, squeezing his hand between her thighs. Brian stood by rubbing his fiancée's shoulders as she came for another man. PussyCunt stroked her former husband's hair, tears in her eyes and pain in her heart, thanking him again for replacing her.

Then it was done. The smith pulled away the iron, and began applying ointment to the burn. A little angry lowercase 's' marked CherryPie as an unfreeable slave. The whole club erupted into cheers.

CherryPie was still conscious, barely. It hurt worse than anything. The pain wasn't dying down either. It felt like the red hot iron was inside her chest. Her screams turned into loud ugly crying. She felt nauseous. She tried to break. This was her best chance for it. She was a slave. A permanent slave. Tattoos could be lasered off. Laws could be repealed. But that brand was forever. The pain would feel good if only she could break. Something inside her bent, but it didn't snap. Oh no. Even branding wasn't enough. She was an unbroken slave. Still. She continued to ugly cry.

It took a while before she could speak again. "I'm so sorry Master," she said, shaking, "I think I peed on you a bit there. Or a lot. I'll start licking that up immediately."

She had emptied her entire bladder onto Robert. The smell of sex mingled with burnt flesh and urine. WhoreMouse scooted away from the mess. Robert didn't let CherryPie move though. Instead, dripping with her piss, throbbing cock still inside, he just held her close. She hid her face in his shoulder and continued to cry, more softly now. She wasn't a person anymore, but neither was she broken. Almost though. If Master Robert decided to make her a hucow now, she wouldn't put up a fuss. God, the brand hurt so much.

For a time, they held each other like that, CherryPie quietly sobbing in her new master's embrace.

The somber moment was shattered by CheerBreeder. "Who's ready for dessert? Give me D!" she shouted, striking a cheerleading pose. Everyone was pretty exhausted, but the sight was so ridiculous: a bruised naked cheerleader, with a tray of treats above her head, Robert's cum leaking from her cunt all over her legs, and her mother freshly branded, shouting at the top of her lungs for the whole club to give her a 'D'. It cracked up everyone. Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, CherryPie broke out laughing first. Nearby tables joined in. Once they got going they struggled to stop. It wasn't even that funny, but the laughter was contagious. Even Damian couldn't help but chuckle.

CheerBreeder took care of them all with a smile. She cleaned up all the bodily fluids, slurping and licking her mother's piss from the ground and Robert's body.

The tray contained an impressive array of treats and drinks. Once she finished cleaning, CheerBreeder laid herself on the table and used her bruised body to serve hot and cold desserts alike. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and after a bit of rest, everyone was trying a bit of everything. At Robert's insistence, even CheerBreeder and CherryPie dug in. They were part of the family now, after all.

Soon everyone was laughing and joking, as if they hadn't all just fucked each other. As he promised, Damian called for emancipation papers, and officially freed PussyCunt (now Annabelle again), restoring her name, her rights, and her marriage. As was traditional, he finalized it by ripping her slave contract in half and giving her the pieces. A few people nearby boo'd their disapproval.

Annabelle held the scraps of paper gingerly. She was raped, chipped, humiliated, infected, possibly impregnated, and thoroughly broken. Damian had both the keys and permission to come to her house and do it all again. Her husband had fucked and declared his love to one neighbor, and likely impregnated the other. Maybe he'd bred them both.

And yet somehow, after all that, Annabelle was legally free again. Apparently Damian did keep his promises. It felt wrong to be free. Well, she might not have to deal with that feeling very long.

They couldn't find any of Annabelle's clothes. Even her panties, once high up on the lighting fixtures, were gone. It seemed some of the onlookers had wanted souvenirs. Annabelle realized she'd have to go home naked. She wondered if Mr. Campbell had gathered up any of her clothes.

"Clothes are overrated anyway," said Damian, "CheerBreeder, go fetch us some after dinner cocktails, whatever the bartender recommends. If Annabelle can't get dressed, she can at least get drunk."

CheerBreeder hurried away.

"Do you want to wear the dog collar Mom," WhoreMouse asked, "So you draw less attention, walking around outside as a naked free woman?" Everyone had a chuckle at that.

"Oh that reminds me," said Damian, "WhoreMouse, it's time for you to get your 'e' tattoo."

What? Oh no. WhoreMouse didn't want to do that. Agreeing to the tattoo had just been a ploy to get her parents here. Images flashed in her mind of being naked at school, at home, on public transit, on the street. The walk from the car to the club had been bad enough. She imagined trying to apply for a job, trying to work a job, while bare ass slave naked. She'd gotten what she wanted: her belt was off, the chip was out, and she'd had her orgasms. She really didn't want to be permanently stripped (literally) of her right to wear clothes. Saying 'no' to Master was so difficult, but she had to do something. "I thought we were only doing that if everyone agreed." She turned to her mom.

Annabelle looked at her beloved daughter. Two hours ago she would have stood between WhoreMouse and Damian no matter what. But now, she was a free woman only by technicality. He was her master. She looked down. "It's best to do what Master says honey."

"Daddy?" WhoreMouse turned to Robert, starting to feel a bit of panic.

Robert was a bit confused. He wasn't about to contradict his wife, and they'd all agreed earlier the tattoo would be good for Elizabeth. And didn't Elizabeth...or rather WhoreMouse...didn't she want to get tattooed? She'd been so adamant about it before. "Wasn't that the whole point of coming here Pumpkin?" Robert asked.

WhoreMouse felt so small, like an actual mouse. That was what she'd told everyone, what she'd said, over and over. She'd said she wanted that tattoo, and she was an adult, and it was her decision. Now her mother was slave broken. CherryPie was branded. Brian was cock-locked and permanently chipped. Everyone had sacrificed so much, all for her. How could she go back on it now? How could she ever look them in the eye again if she said, 'oops, just kidding'. She couldn't. But oh god, she didn't want to be slave tattooed. She began to tear up a little. "I...I know it was. But what about the wedding? I'd forgotten. If I get my 'e' tattoo, I won't get to wear my wedding dress. And I'll be naked in front of our family. I'm so sorry Daddy. I didn't think it through. I can't get married naked."

Robert's heart melted. How could he say no to that? He turned to Damian. "We can't ask her to give up her wedding gown can we?"

"Oh that's no problem," said Damian, "She can still wear a wedding gown with the tattoo, just not for modesty. As long as the gown is slutty enough, or she strips it off as part of the ceremony, it's fine. In the meantime we can auction off the rest of her clothes, which will really help her feel like a slave, and maybe even make a little money."

No no! WhoreMouse didn't want to strip at her wedding, in front of all her friends and family! She didn't want to go to school naked either. And auctioning off her clothes? She liked her clothes. She didn't see a way out, though. She couldn't even refuse Mr. Campbell's advances earlier. How was she going to refuse Damian? She looked to her father, pleading with her eyes. "Daddy please. Do I have to?"

Robert's heart ached for his sweet little girl. He had to admit, he was getting more and more comfortable with the idea of having her naked at home. And even his wife had agreed WhoreMouse needed this tattoo. He had to be strong, and do what was best for her in the long run. That meant getting the tattoo. But he couldn't stand to see her upset like this. Maybe there was a compromise that could work.