Civil Penalty Pt. 04

Civil Penalty Part 4

Avicia

***

This story is set in the legal slavery universe created by joe_doe_stories and Carl_Bradford. If you are offended by legal slavery stories, or if you have strong feelings that slavery stories should conform to the way you think slavery should be portrayed, please do not read this story and keep looking for something you will enjoy.

If you are unfamiliar with how legal slavery stories work, please consider reading my short story, The 34 ^th Amendment, for an explanation and background.

Professor Lindsay Williams appears courtesy of Carl_Bradford's story Sabbatical in Slavery.

Parts of this story are non-consensual/reluctant. Everyone engaged in sexual activity is over 18.

Thank you to the usual suspects for their discussions and editorial help. You know who you are.

Note: I use UK English spelling and vocabulary.

***

I am a Fucktoy. I may have been a person at one point, but no longer. I am just a Fucktoy.

That message had been rammed home repeatedly by the camp's relentless Fucking Machines. Whoever invented them made the Marquis de Sade look like a boy scout. They had two carousels of dildos of assorted girths and lengths. One lined up with your asshole and one with your cunt. When I arrived here five days ago, I was a woman with a vagina. No more. The infernal machines had fucked that illusion right out of me. I am a Fucktoy, a slave cunt with three holes for men to use.

The machines could drive a dildo into just your ass or just your slave cunt, or both simultaneously. Using both holes, it could synchronise, alternate, or randomise the thrusts according to some geek programmer's sick and twisted mind. What made them evil were the collars linked to the machines sensing when you were close to an orgasm. Were we rewarded for being compliant fucktoys? Hell, no. The machines edged us repeatedly by stopping the dildo thrusts or by withdrawing the dildo, pausing, and selecting a different one when the collar indicated we were no longer on the edge of cumming.

On the first day, we endured the machine for an hour before we were allowed our release, and by then, we were desperate. It caught all the new girls off-guard when vibrators started up in both dildos, and this time, positive feedback from the collar taught the machine what would give us the most mind-blowing orgasm we could experience. Each day, the time on the machine increased before being permitted to orgasm. The only relief came from the machine regularly squirting more lube on each dildo. The message driven home was that we existed to be fucked without consideration of pleasure but that pleasure could be granted at the end for performing well only after our master's or mistress's needs had been satiated.

The release at the end was humiliating but craved. It taught us that a pleasurable existence was at the mercy of those whom we served. I knew the camp exercises were conditioning my mind, but I was powerless to stop it because the shot of Horny Juice I got daily was driving my sex hormone levels higher and higher and reducing my inhibitions, making me crave sexual release with unbearable intensity. I knew I would never be the same person again, that Beth Cartwright was forever gone. In her place, a horny slut who craved orgasms had emerged like a slutty butterfly from a chaste chrysalis. I knew the only way to get an orgasm was to perform submissively for as long as was needed.

I tried to remember my life as Ms Cartwright, CTO of Absconditus, Inc. and part-time Professor at Georgetown. I couldn't. That old existence felt like a lifetime ago as my new reality pounded into me for six straight days. On top of the accursed machine, we had two intense one-hour sessions of slave yoga every day and time in Oral Lab, licking and sucking animatronic genitalia. Oral Lab was more fun in that they used a vibrator inserted inside us to reward us for achieving the skills we needed with our mouths or our slave cunts.

We were told what the goal of the class was and that we had to make the animatronic genitals feel it; as we began to use the technique we learned that the vibrator would start out slow. As we got closer to doing the skill correctly, the vibrator stepped up - they were linked to our collars, so they automatically calibrated themselves to how much vibration each slut needed to keep her plateaued on the road to orgasm.

Only when we hit the target for that lesson did we get a shuddering orgasm, and then the next class would start with a lesson on the video screen above the genitalia. The process would then begin all over again. By working hard at the skills, I was towards the top of my class with 2.9 orgasms per hour (OPH) indicated electronically on the wall, with the sluts ranked by their score; the lowest girl at the end of each day got her butt whipped while the rest of the class watched sympathetically.

The skills were not easy - coming into camp, I had no idea that Kegels were more than simple contractions to strengthen one muscle. Using an enhanced animatronic Sybian with pressure sensors over the surface of the dildo, we were taught a range of internal contractions in our cunts to milk the dildo thrusting into us. The Sybian was programmed to give us an orgasm each time we achieved the current target; I knew these skills would be vital for keeping employees happy during my six months of service and hopefully earning more orgasms from my clients.

I squelched the traitorous thought that part of me was looking forward to sex six nights a week for months and wouldn't want to return to being their frigid, sexually frustrated CTO. One night I fantasised about my employer/owner re-enslaving me to become the full-time pleasure slut based in the company gym and frigged myself to sleep thinking about a lifetime of daily Horny Juice injections and multiple orgasms per day.

After the first two days of training, at dinnertime, we were given a choice to go to our dorm for lukewarm slave chow or line up in the staff dining room for them to check our progress with real cocks and pussies. When a staff member picked us, we would kneel in front of them while they ate and practice our oral skills while they coached us. After proving ourselves, our chosen wrangler would hand feed us or put some food on a side plate and pass it under the table. We were whores, trading sex for scraps of food. I hated slave chow and volunteered for staff dining every night.

A black lesbian wrangler with a military-style 'high and tight' hairdo monopolised several of my evenings, having me lick her during dinner and then taking me back to her room for an hour, riding my face to repeated orgasms before getting out a scary jet-black strap-on. She said it was only 8" by 2.5"; she laughingly called it 'Mr T' after the iconic actor--she had also trimmed her pubic hair into a narrow strip in imitation of T's Mohawk.

Most of the cocks and dildos I'd fucked had a 2" girth. That thing stretched me as nothing had ever done before; it hurt a little at first but then felt so damn good when worn on the hips of a skilled domme. She must have fucked my slave cunt with Mr T in every position in the Kama Sutra and a few more that weren't.

She got her rocks off from dominating me. She'd read my folder and googled my name; she knew I was a powerful, educated, wealthy woman before being enslaved, and the thought of such a woman between her thighs or submitting completely to her Cyberskin cock brought a cheese-eating grin to her face. She'd use details from Google to tease me about what I would have been doing if I were free, reminding me of all I'd lost and reinforcing my submissiveness. But the good side was that she understood a happy slut serves her mistress better and used her strap-on to drive me, again and again, to mind-shattering heights.

I was often orgasmed out when I crawled back to my dorm and asleep seconds after lying on my mat.

***

Tonight, however, would be the first of two graduation tests: we would be bussed to the neighbouring ski resort and spend the evening as their clients après ski. We were warned that our performance would be graded by observers if we were in public or by the client if they took us someplace private. I pleaded with fate to protect my anonymity as a short-term slave. I should have known from my enslavement that fate was not my friend.

After lunch, we lined up outside the vet's office, and instead of the daily shot of Horny Juice, we each got a shot of the extended-release version that would keep our sex drive high for the next month. Oh great, I thought, the employees will all see me come back from camp as an insatiable slut.

My breasts were already tender from the Horny Juice, causing them to grow and firm up, but after a month of Horny Juice, those changes to my breasts would be permanent, and I would be at least one bra size bigger and need a whole new set of bras when I returned but would have no way to go shopping.

I'd be embarrassed, but I'd have to ask a female colleague to go bra shopping for me and let me pay them back after manumission. On second thoughts, the deputy head of HR, Gianna Rossi, was supposed to be in charge of my time as a slave. I should ask her how to get new bras because I couldn't work in the office braless, or could I? My inner slut giggled at the thought of showing my larger, perkier breasts.

At 2 pm, we were all taken to have an enema. It took an hour to get every slut through the asswash; still, I was grateful. It was better to be clean back there than risk a filthy ass-to-mouth.

At 3 pm, we were called to a room we hadn't seen before called 'Costuming'. Inside were racks of various provocative outfits, such as French Maids and red crotchless leotards from Baywatch. When I heard my number, I walked forward; they already had my dress and shoe sizes, and I was given a provocative version of a traditional Swiss chalet girl with a see-thru mini-skirt, no panties, and no bra. The blouse was open to below my nipples and had a built-in shelf to lift and push my boobs out. I looked slutty and ridiculous. "Hallo, mein name ist Heidi," I vocalised in my head in my best theatrical Süddeutscher accent (which I'd picked up during business trips to Munich).

As we got our clothes, we were ushered to the changing room, where a matronly wrangler checked us out and adjusted the outfits to be more revealing. The next stop was makeup, where we were shown photos of the look they were going for. The makeup was unexpectedly not garish; the products supplied were better quality than I feared. It looked like they had been purchased from Sephora.

Before we boarded the bus, we were given a pep talk.

"Sluts, tonight accounts for 35% of the grade you need to graduate. Every client you meet needs to feel that you saw him or her as special and were grateful for being allowed to serve them. We will observe what you do, your facial expressions, the rapt attention you give them, and your ability to ignore distractions as you focus on your client, and finally, we will ask your clients to answer a detailed questionnaire on our iPads. Be aware that you are only available to season-pass holders and must ask to see their season pass before serving them. If they give you a hard time, the staff will intervene."

"We have this arrangement with Bryce every week, and their provision of free pleasure sluts on Fridays is well known among their season pass holders, many of whom make an effort to be there to enjoy the fresh slave meat. Sluts, do well tonight, and you'll have a great start going into your final graduation test tomorrow and the chance to return to your owners and avoid remedial training on the fucking machines." We all grinned at that.

***

The bus disgorged us at 4 pm, the traditional start of après ski. A crowd was already gathered at the forecourt to pounce on the new slaves while slave waiters served cocktails and hot chocolate with crème de menthe, peppermint schnapps, or cognac.

I hung back, suddenly overcome by fear. Everything I'd done since signing the civil settlement had been in tightly controlled circumstances where I was relatively safe and, other than grading, anonymous. Suddenly I was a slave in public at the mercy of whichever free person wanted me, and they could take me to a private room and do literally anything to me short of causing permanent damage. I felt tears sting my eyes and warmth flood my loins. Most of the sluts had been grabbed, and the crowd was thinning when the thing I dreaded most happened.

"Professor Cartwright! Professor Cartwright, is that you? We were told you were taking a six-month leave of absence from Georgetown, but no one knew why. Wow! You're a collared pleasure slut available for use. Just wait till we tell the students back at the campus that they missed the opportunity to fuck one of the hottest professors in the faculty. If we don't take videos, they won't even believe us. Grab her, guys; we're taking her back to our room."

One of the wranglers asked to see their season passes and room numbers before handing one of the girls a leash to lead me submissively. I was glad someone knew with whom I'd gone as I was hustled along the hotel corridors by two eager lads and their girlfriends. I didn't think the girls had been my students, but I had taught both boys; sadly, I couldn't remember their names.

"Masters, Mistresses, this slut's name is 9608. A wrangler will check afterwards that that is what you were calling me, and I don't want to get into trouble."

"Sure, Professor Cartwright, whatever you say, but we don't want to fuck pleasure slut 9608; we want to fuck our Professor. But we will protect you from getting your butt blistered afterwards and tell your wrangler whatever you want us to say."

I felt mollified but still worried about the video. The four students hustled me into the room; every one of them gave me a salacious look.

"Strip slut!" one said, then turned to her friends, "Hot damn, I always wanted to say that to one of my teachers."

The boys watched me like hawks as I began to disrobe as provocatively as I knew how, but I hadn't ever done a striptease; that would be one of tomorrow morning's lessons at camp. The four of them got out their cell phones and started videoing me.

"Wait," one of the girls interjected, leaving me frozen in place, topless, and with a see-thru skirt that hid nothing of my 'little girl' shaved pubes.

"Professor, will you be returning to Georgetown after your leave of absence?"

"Mistress, that depends. I still have my teaching contract, but I will be forced to quit if you burn my reputation by distributing those videos. My other concern is that the college is trying to pressure my owner to make me available for the job fair in the evening, where I will have to be naked after 7 pm. If they do that, I obviously will never set foot on the campus again."

"Guys, guys, if she's coming back and you need good grades from her classes before you graduate, you need to be careful tonight and not push her too far, and that means no ass-to-mouth, Zach! Allison and I will control the videos so only a few people we trust will ever see them. OK?"

The boys looked mutinous.

"I said, OK? And delete the video you've already taken," she glared at the boys, and they backed down.

"OK, Allison," one of the boys responded, "we'll do it your way, but Professor, remember we were nice to you when you grade our papers. We'll even keep you to the end of the evening, so you're not at risk of being used by anyone else."

Allison looked triumphant and smirked at the boys' submissiveness.

"OK, you boys order pizza for five people from room service, charge it to my room, and order drinks. I want a bottle of red wine. What would you like, Professor? And I'm ordering you as your temporary mistress to drink as much alcohol as we do."

We hadn't been told we couldn't drink, and I thought the chocolate in the forecourt had smelt good, "Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps, please."

"Let me introduce you to everyone; I'm Allison, that's Sophia, and the boys are Zach and Lucas. Now, Professor, finish stripping."

This time only Allison and Sophia were videoing me. I hoped they would keep their word about limiting who saw them as they would devastate my career.

I stood there stark naked in the Present position with my hands behind my neck, chest out, and legs shoulder width apart. The four of them got up with lascivious looks and started exploring my body with their hands: caressing and squeezing my already-tender boobs, tweaking and rubbing my nipples until they were rock hard and very sensitive; I felt hands caressing my butt and pulling my butt cheeks apart.

One fingertip found my crinkled ring and probed it, wiggling back and forth until that, too, fed my arousal. Another hand found my labia and slid a finger between my slick folds, gently rubbing up and down. Those fingers formed a 'V' and rubbed each side of my clit deliciously. I knew I was getting as wet as a good slut should be.

The hand that had been probing my asshole slipped between my legs, and two fingers drove into my cunt before twisting and fingering every surface inside me, exploring me fully. I was getting wickedly turned on and was on the edge of asking permission to cum when there was a knock on the door. One of the boys answered, and a slave waiter came in carrying two pizzas, followed by another slave waiter with two bottles of red wine and a six-pack of beer. I moaned in frustration, and the two girls giggled.

"Now, now, Slutty Professor, be patient. All good things cum to those who wait. But first, you have to satisfy our needs."

Predictably, as students, they had ordered the house Pinot Noir and the house Malbec. I finished my hot chocolate and then had a glass of wine with my pizza. After we had eaten and the students had heard the entire story about how I ended up as a six-month "voluntary" slave (they all thought the punishment was inappropriately harsh but were glad I was here now), Allison took charge.

"OK, guys, we're going to do this as couples. Sophia, you get on the bed with your legs apart. Professor, you get on all fours and eat her out. Zach, you can fuck either or both her lower holes, but use a condom for the first round so Lucas doesn't get sloppy seconds. After Lucas and I are done, you should be ready for a second round, and you don't have to use a condom for that. OK? Professor, you should feel honoured to go down on us; we are both graded Prime Minus and on the college dance squad."

I looked at the girls more closely; they were both 5'7" to 5'8", raven coloured hair, dark brown eyes and slim athletic figures. Their boobs can't have been any bigger than my modest B-cups. The boys were both a good 6' and looked like jocks who were probably on sports scholarships and took can't-fail courses for easy credits.

Zach didn't look happy with wearing a condom but agreed. It struck me that Allison was the kind of girl to whom it was hard to say "No". Sophia stripped below the waist without any shame or hesitation at having friends in the room. She lay on the bed with her legs apart and her knees up. Sophia had shaved her pubic hair into a neat arrow pointing at her clit with 'Lick Here' tattooed above it. I hid my snicker and wondered if she'd regret that tat later in life.

I lay between her legs, and after kissing and licking the shaved outside of her vulva and outer labia, I diverted my attention to her inner labia, which were already fully engorged in anticipation. Her inner labia stuck out a half inch and were shaped like triangles; they protruded more than any woman I had ever seen in an aroused state. It didn't take much to get her going, and she moaned appreciatively as I kissed and sucked her labia and played with them in my mouth using the tip of my tongue. Her appreciative moans got louder as she reached under her shirt to play with her nipples.