A Slave's Tale

"Why do you seek humiliation?" Molly asked the naked woman kneeling with knees spread apart in front of her, trying not to stare too hard at her exposed tits or her gloriously red pubic hair.

Z stared back at Molly, a little incredulous. "Why do I seek humiliation, this woman asks me," she thought to herself. She thought that the question was very silly and naive, but her Master had commanded her to remain here and answer this story writer's questions to the best of her ability. She had no idea why he'd ordered it, but a command was a command. But how to answer, so this Molly person might understand.

Bowing her head in deference, Z replied, "I might just as well ask you why you breathe, Miss," she said quietly. She certainly didn't want the writer to take offense, so she continued. "It's a necessity to breathe for our well-being, and for me, being humiliated is also a necessity. I crave it. If I don't get what you might call 'regular doses' of it, I go into a funk. Does that make sense, Miss?"

"I'm trying to wrap my head around the concept, Z," Molly answered. She was silent for a minute, thinking. "Maybe it would help if I heard how you met your Master in the first place."

"Very well, Miss. My name was Agnes, and I was living in NYC. To be brief, I heard about a place called the Hellfire Club. Young and curious, I visited the club, because even then, I had strange cravings for something I couldn't quite define.

"The club was located in the basement of a seedy building and had the feel of a real dungeon. The front room had a bar and all kinds of BDSM furniture. In the back there was a bunch of cubicles that you could use for more private settings. You could expect to walk in and see a naked woman chained to a rack and being whipped by her Master or people engaged in various sex acts right at their table. I was shocked, titillated, and incredibly drawn to that atmosphere."

Molly tried to imagine Agnes, all 5'2" of her, walking into a place like that. She was of medium build, which might not have caught people's attention, but that flaming red hair of hers must surely have drawn some eyes. Maybe at first she looked like a timid ingenue, peering around corners, her radiant green eyes peeking shyly into rooms. Molly wondered how she would have handled herself in a similar situation. As a currently self-proclaimed slave, Z's statements made it sound as if she took to that life style like a duck to water.

"People there told me about another place called the Bizarre Theater, where they had a stage and individuals could put on their own show. They also had BDSM themed rooms in the basement that the Dominants could rent. Well, on an impulse, I volunteered for a show, and was assigned to work with the man who ultimately became my Master. It was as if we were made for each other. He apparently intuited what I needed and craved, and provided it, seemingly effortlessly.

"His piercing blue eyes were almost mesmerizing. After a discussion, where he probed me with questions that ultimately led to a description of my first level of limits, he planned the show. We'd agreed he could call me any names that he wished. He had me wear a simple T-shirt, panties, and a sort of diaphanous skirt. Taking me out onto the stage, he bound my wrists together with a rope from an overhead pulley, then hoisted the rope until I was on tiptoes."

Molly noticed Z's eyes going out of focus as she smiled fondly, mentally revisiting that first scene with her Master.

"Once I was helpless in front of that audience of perhaps twenty strangers, he moved behind me, and with a powerful movement of his hands, tore the T-shirt open, and then into shreds. All those eyes, suddenly staring at my naked breasts!" Z shuddered with delight. "The shock flooded me with embarrassment, and my heart was racing. Somehow, the combination made my pussy start to lubricate. Standing alongside me, he lifted one of my tits, and loudly complained about how inadequate it was. I'm sure my face flushed hot with shame. He grasped my nipples and tugged at them using milking actions, and said something like 'even a sow has milk for her piglets -- these teats are useless' or words to that effect. I closed my eyes, moaning softly from the combination of the sensations his hands were making, blending with my growing humiliation."

Unconsciously, Z moved her hands to her breasts, tugging at them in a similar manner as she continued. "Since my eyes were closed, the surprise of having the skirt torn off my hips was magnified. Now I stood on tiptoe, clad only in those panties. Sweat was trickling down my armpits by this point. I expected that he'd rip the panties off too. But to my surprise, he just yanked them down to my knees -- I could feel them cling there. I looked down past my swollen nipples and flaming red pubic bush to where they were now positioned. Having them just partially removed felt even more naughty and lewd than being completely naked. I knew that all the onlookers were staring at my privates, and I was shivering with arousal at being seen like this.

"He reached down to those panties, saying something like 'this bitch must like being on display, because the crotch of these panties are all wet' as he addressed the audience. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, he pointed at one of the watching females and asked her to join us on the stage. Smirking with amusement, that blonde stranger came onto the stage as the rest of the audience clapped and shouted encouragement."

Z was kneading her tits faster and harder as she recalled that moment. "At his suggestion, the blonde woman knelt with her face only inches from my crotch as she examined the panties, testifying as to their dampness. To my delighted horror, he told the blonde to check my cunt wetness internally. I'd never had a woman touch me there before. And this stranger was going to do it in front of an entire roomful of people!" Z was squirming now, and Molly could smell the tang of the slave's cunt juices, which had formed a small puddle on the floor beneath where she knelt.

"But before the woman touched me, he asked her to hand him my panties. I felt them slide down my calves, and I had to lift one foot, and then the other, to allow their removal. Seconds later, he slipped those soaked panties over my head, placing them so the crotch covered my nose, and I was staring at the onlookers through their leg holes. The eyes of many of them seemed to be bulging, maybe with incredulity. I didn't have time to dwell on that, though, because I felt cool fingers parting my labia, and one or two small fingers slide into my pussy and go into motion. The woman was fingering me! Reflexively, I pushed up off my tiptoes, almost as if trying to escape from her probing. I was torn -- I didn't want this woman feeling me up in front of the crowd... and yet... I did want it."

One of Z's hands now went to her clit, as the other continued playing with her tits. She was obviously lost in the re-telling of this critical moment in her life. Molly herself was squirming on her seat, turned on by the mental image created by the story, enhanced by the actual sight and smell of a now completely aroused Z. "The man who would become my Master merely pulled on the pulley rope, and I was now suspended off the floor, absolutely vulnerable, unable to move away from the woman's probing fingers. In fact, she reached behind me, grabbing my ass to stabilize my hips and fingered me faster, letting her erect thumb mash against my clit." As she spoke, Z was currently mashing her clit, right before Molly's eyes.

"I didn't want to cum with all those people watching. At least that's what my mind said. But my body had other ideas. With every deepening inhalation, I smelled my cunt juices on those panties. The fingers playing with my pussy were insistent. My clit felt like it wanted to explode. Instead, to my abject embarrassment, my cunt exploded -- literally. I sprayed the kneeling blonde with my cum, as I screamed in the strongest climax I'd ever felt! The crowd went wild! My Master whipped off the panties, so everyone could see my facial contortions as I came. The woman kept fingering me and fingering me, and I came and came! My cheeks must've been scarlet." Z went silent, as she began shaking in orgasm, kneeling before Molly.

"Thank you, Miss," Z sighed as she recovered. "Retelling that story was almost as humiliating as living it the first time. You can see the effect that humiliation had on me right now."

Molly grinned down at the red-headed woman. "Yes, I can see and smell the evidence," she said, eyeing the spreading puddle of liquid beneath the self-described 'slave' woman. "So that was your introduction to your Master, and to your body's visceral reaction to being embarrassed?"

"Yes, Miss," Z answered. "And once he and I realized this, the floodgates were opened." She laughed. "Literally." For several years we explored BDSM together, learning to trust and respect one another, until finally I asked to be his slave, willing to obey him in all things. He could do what he wanted with me and I would obey. I knew that he was aware of my limits and wouldn't exceed them. But he gently pushed against some of those limits, and I often reacted positively, and the limit was eliminated. I often found it was more the fear of the unknown that created such perceived limits, and that having a trusted Master helped me overcome those fears. And my cravings were being met more and more as we learned about each other. I no longer wanted to be Agnes, so I begged him to call me Zero -- nothingness -- or Z for short."

"What sort of limits got eliminated in that manner?" Molly asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

Z smiled. "The first time he showed me clothespins and clamps, I was skittish, but willing. So they were sort of a 'soft limit' because I'd never experienced them. Once I'd felt their bite, the resulting numbness, and the rush of fresh pain with their removal, I knew I could not only endure them, but also find them exciting. During subsequent shows, he'd invite some onlooker to apply the clamps, and that added the tinge of embarrassment that I relished."

Flushing an interesting shade of scarlet, Z confided, "You may not know this, Miss, but back in those days women seldom shaved away their pubic hair. About the only ones that did were prostitutes. Master once shaved me, while a group of people, some of whom I knew, watched. That was so intensely humiliating that I couldn't meet anyone's eyes. As he was finishing up, he slipped two fingers inside my cunt, to lift and smooth the tissues for a few final strokes of the razor to clean a difficult spot. But he had to quickly remove the razor, because I started convulsing, cumming on his fingers, since I felt so magnificently, abjectly degraded. I was certain the onlookers felt I'd be a hooker, walking the streets for him."

She actually sighed. "That never happened though." Molly couldn't tell if her sigh'd been one of relief, or regret.

Z considered another example. "I'd seen other submissives and slaves flogged, and I wanted to know what that felt like, so I actually begged him to do that to me. He granted my request, teaching me the different feels of floggers with wide straps, compared to the more stinging narrow ones. That led to my first session of experiencing being whipped. Before that session, he gave me aspirin, and I asked if that was to dull the pain. He smiled and told me that it was to make the whip welts show better. I soon had a red pattern of crisscrossing stripes on my body."

"You didn't mind being treated like that?" Molly questioned, sounding skeptical.

"Let me share two things about that," Z answered. "First of all, yes, there is pain. Don't doubt that. But soon my body feels like I've taken some drug -- like I'm high on something. Second, for me, being flogged or whipped is much more exciting and satisfying if a crowd of strangers is watching, so I also get the feeling of being humiliated. He knows this. I seldom get flogged or whipped unless there's at least a stranger watching."

"Does he call you degrading names?" Molly inquired, finally getting a feel for Z's true needs.

"Oh my, yes!" Z answered, beaming a huge smile. He loves to say things like 'slut', 'whore', 'useless piece of trash', 'cunt', 'cum bucket', 'sow', 'fuck meat'... things like that. Those terms, properly used, are like throwing wood on the bonfire of my arousal. He can almost make me cum, just calling me names, when he makes me crawl behind him through a group of people, with a leash attached to my collar.

"Does he make you cum in other ways?" Molly asked, blushing a delicate pink.

"I've had so many orgasms with him that it's mind-blowing," Z replied, a little starry-eyed. "I found that it really turns me on to be tied up and fucked. Whether I'm tied to a bed, or a bondage cross, or a sawhorse, or over a barrel doesn't matter. What matters is that my Master renders me completely helpless and vulnerable, when I'm being fucked. It intensifies my sensations when I'm on display like that, and also if he invites some stranger to use me."

"Use you... orally? Vaginally?" Molly whispered, licking her lips subconsciously.

"Yes," Z answered, grinning. She then dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. "Also... anally. Being taken anally seems so nasty, so degrading, that it takes very little stimulation to get me off like that. I was wary of such a perverted sex act at first, but my Master introduced me to it very carefully, with patience and a lot of lubrication. At first, it was merely mild pain and discomfort, but I let him do it because he desired it so much, and I wished to please him. But gradually, I learned to relax and embrace what was being done, and let the lewd humiliation of the 'wrong' hole being used transform into pleasure. Mentally, it still feels degrading, especially if some stranger is doing it, and, if done in front of an audience, I often find myself experiencing multiple orgasms! As I'm cumming, my cunt starts gushing, so I know the watchers can see how having my ass fucked turns me on, and that makes the act even more mortifying, and heightens my pleasure even more. It's like some feedback circuit!"

As Z recounts this, Molly could swear she could see the slave's swollen clit dangling forward over her puffy labia, and her entire sexual region was wet, red, and throbbing. The redness almost matched the trimmed red patch of pubic hair that covered her mound. This woman Z was not kidding about how these sorts of things aroused her. Molly herself was sitting in dampness that was soaking her panties, hopefully hidden by her skirt.

Z murmured, "Being lent or auctioned off for finite periods of time is also arousing, Miss."

"Lent? Auctioned off?" Molly echoed, mouth settling into an 'O' shape of astonishment.

"Oh yes. Master auctioned off my slave services for two hours at the Hellfire Club, for instance. He silently watched as I was made to crawl around on a leash, telling each person I met what a filthy, nasty, lowly slut I was. I was spanked, cock slapped, and fingered anally by some of those people. The humiliation was exquisite," Z related, smiling, eyes twinkling. "And he often loaned me to people, both males and females, for their Bizarre Theater shows, or to serve at parties."

"Wow," Molly commented. "Did he leave you alone with these people?"

"Only with people that he knew very well, and trusted implicitly. Otherwise, he'd be watching the Bizarre Theater show as a member of the audience, or be a guest at the party where I was serving. I never have to use my safeword with my Master, but he made certain that when I was loaned out, the recipient knew my limits, and also knew, and would honor, my safeword -- just in case."

Molly was coming to the conclusion, hearing Z's examples, that in her case it was quite probable that the shock of the humiliations probably released a flood of adrenaline. That would account for the elevated heart rate, faster breathing rate, and sweating. And those were also the body's reaction to excitement and arousal. So there might be a clear path between embarrassment, and excitation, at least for some people. Mentally, she considered testing, some time in the future, if that was also true for her body and herself, if she could find the right partner for the experiment.

"Thank you for supplying me with all this information, Z," Molly said. "You've been very helpful, and I believe I'll be able to use these concepts to craft better stories. Before I go, is there anything else you'd like to share?"

Z's eyes seemed to brighten. "If you have the time, Miss, I'd like to tell you what task Master has given me most recently."

Molly settled herself back into the chair seat. "I'm all ears, Z. Fire away."

"Master expressed a desire to have me trained to do better housework as a slave should do it. For this purpose, he engaged the services of a very strict Mistress, whose nickname is The Cleaning Lady. I didn't actually learn that she was called that until the day she arrived.

"On that day, since I was here in this house, I was naked, except for my collar. Master demands that I remain naked, so I am immediately accessible to his whims. Our doorbell rang, and Master was sitting in his chair, reading a book, so I hastened to answer the door. On our doorstep was a tall, very attractive black lady, dressed in a dark leather outfit that fit her like a glove from neck to hips, emphasizing her curvaceous figure. Below that was a short leather skirt, and gleaming black pumps. I knew this was our expected guest, so I humbly gestured for her to enter, stepping aside deferentially.

"She greeted my Master -- it was obvious they were friends. He introduced me, as 'Z' of course, and then he told me that she was 'The Cleaning Lady' -- which caught me off guard, hearing her referred to in that manner. I made the mistake of smiling or smirking. The Mistress's eyes flashed with anger, and she told my Master that before the lesson could start, his 'uppity whore of a slave' would have to be whipped into submission. Amused, my Master agreed, and told her that our basement was at her disposal."

Z paused, looking at Molly. "I should explain, Miss, that our basement had been converted into a quite respectable dungeon, with the implements you might expect. The walls were also thick enough to deaden sounds. I knew I'd made a mistake, showing disrespect to the Mistress, and I knew that a mere apology would fall on deaf ears. Besides, the embarrassment at making such a slip in etiquette was blending with the fear the Mistress was creating by her promise of a whipping, and I was spiraling into arousal. Like an animal, I had to crawl, naked, down the basement steps, with the Mistress striding behind me.

"When we reached the basement floor, the Mistress snatched some leather cuffs off a table, and had me kneel, wrists out and up, so she could strap them onto me. Sitting in a chair, she slipped off her shoes, and told me to crawl to her and worship her feet." Z gave Molly an earnest look. "I did my best to worship them, Miss. I kissed them, and licked them, humbly nuzzled them with my cheeks, and sucked on her toes. To be honest, I don't think I was hoping to mitigate my punishment by doing all this -- I was wallowing in the ripe sensations of degradation.

"Finally, she placed the sole of her foot on my face and shoved me back like a sack of trash. I landed on my ass on the concrete floor, bracing my torso so I didn't fall all the way onto my back. Being told to stand up, I scrambled to my feet, noticing that my drooling cunt had left a 'pussy print' on the cellar floor just in front of where my ass had landed. I was that turned on, by now. I wondered if my Master had told this Mistress how much I enjoyed feeling the kiss of the whip.