Diary of a Contracted Slave

Slaveboy and slavegirl 4 came down the stairs to find us all star jumping again, and they joined in so we were six slaves all together, while every part of us that could bounce did so, to our mistresses' great amusement.

The next game they played was to make the slavegirls fuck each other with double-ended dildos while they sat with the legs spread on the hardwood floor. The mistresses made liberal use of their crops and floggers to encourage any slavegirl they thought was flagging, and they made it so each girl came with all of the other slaves at least once, their cries of passion echoing all through the lobby.

The slaveboy and I had been chained to the wall to watch, with our collars set to mute our voices. They unchained us in time to fix lunch for the whole crew -- the household slaves had been sent away for the whole three days, so they didn't see women they'd have to address as 'mistress' playing at being slavegirls. They are playing, really. When I beg my owner for something, really beg, it's because I know she'll be controlling my world for long enough that I need, truly need, to beg. While an end is in sight, it's a lot further off than three days away.

Lunch was followed by more strapon fucking, this time in the luscious sitting room, draped over the furniture and making quite the mess. There was an odd slavegirl out again, so they made the other slaveboy fuck her while I stayed shackled and kneeling, with my hands locked behind my back. It's the feeling, the knowledge, that you can't escape and have completely surrendered that really makes a good slave, and I sat there reflecting on how normal it felt to me to have my whole body inescapably bound.

Next came a round of spankings that left all the slavegirls thanking their mistresses for two-hundred swats each on their lovely red bottoms. I thought slavegirl 4 got into it the best, for she asked her mistress to hit her harder and harder, until you could tell that she really felt every stroke. When, unbidden, she dropped to her knees, spread her legs, and kissed that mistress's feet when the spanking was over, I knew she was real slave material. The rest, not so much.

We went back up to the pleasure room and I passed most of the afternoon bringing mistresses and slavegirls off with my tongue, until our energy was completely gone and we all piled into a big hot-tub in the mansion's largest bathroom, which is done out in old-fashioned black and white tiles that clink and reverberate when anything solid taps against them. The slavegirls worked together to wash down the mistresses, and for the most part, the other slaveboy and I just watched. It wasn't our party.

Night-time swung around, and I was locked into a cage with slavegirl 4 in the room where all the participants slept together. She was the real natural of the group, who nestled in beside me and gratefully accepted the embrace I held her in. She tried to whisper questions to me about my life, but the sensors in her temporary collar picked it up and muted her voice. She trembled when it happened, and I held her tighter until the fear had passed, then I felt her twitch and shuffle as the arousal took her over. Her nimble fingers brought her off while her warm back pressed against me, my caged cock tucked in between her fine buttocks.

Day 155

When I woke, the slavegirls were already awake, and all clearly struggling with the fact their collars had muted their voices. Without unmuting any of us, we were ordered to go downstairs and make breakfast for everyone, then to serve it in the dining room. The slaveboy and I had to take over. It takes a lot of skill to communicate just through gesture and eye contact, especially to coordinate a meal for nine people, and these amateur slavegirls just didn't have it. They did at least get punished for their clumsiness with a quick paddling when one of the mistresses came to check on us.

The orgy continued much like the day before, but this time everyone had relaxed into their roles just a little more, especially slavegirl 4, who wanted everything a little harder or a little more real than the rest, and who started to copy the way I moved, spoke and acted as the day went on. I've never been a role model before, but I was pleased with how my little protégé behaved herself.

With two slavegirls to each slaveboy, it wasn't long until we'd split into threes, and I was chained down to a bed while one rode my face and the other my cock. All the mistresses masturbated while they watched the display, and they only let the slavegirls cum after they had, then they made the slavegirls chain me on all-fours and spitroast me with stim-strapons turned to shock mode.

The slaveboy, slavegirl 4 and I served an evening meal while three slavegirls knelt under the table, bringing off the mistresses to orgasm after orgasm all through the three courses and the final coffee. I showed slavegirl 4 how to serve while exposing herself to maximum effect, and the way the mistresses pinched and fondled her every time she bent down to see to their meal delighted her. After the meal was done, she hugged me in silent thanks, and I kissed her on the lips as my caged cock rubbed against her tight, hairless pussy.

Day 156

The mistresses took great pleasure in fucking their slavegirls in the arse today, which it seemed like the slavegirls really weren't expecting at all, judging from the way they thrashed and squirmed in their bonds. Perhaps the game will teach them something about being a slave after all. For their rude disobedience, the mistresses chained the slavegirls up in the pleasure room for an hour with vicious clamps tightened onto their erect nipples. While the tearful girls watched, the slaveboy and I showed them the right way to take it in the arse from a superior, and we were rewarded with intense, breathtaking orgasms for being good slaves.

It seemed like the mistresses were a little short on ideas after that, but they had the slavegirls lick them to multiple orgasms in all kinds of bondage, and gave them as many spankings as their little bottoms could take, until each of the slavegirls begged for mercy. I was delighted when the spankings continued anyway -- it gave them a real taste of my world.

Day 157

We bade goodbye to the girls -- no longer slaves and now fully clothed, in dresses even smarter and richer than those that had been cut from them just a few days before. There were a few hard feelings about how intense day 3 had got, from everyone except slavegirl 4, but the girls went into a room together and talked it all out, until they left with hugs and kisses and all seemed right again.

Mistress Angelica got me to clean up all the rooms we'd used before the household slaves returned, then she treated us both to an afternoon's rest, which we spent reading in the garden and watching entertainments on the big screen in the sitting room. In the big bed at night, I stroked her smooth flank as she drifted off to sleep, and I kissed the nape of her neck before I drifted off. The sleeping cage stayed empty.

Day 158-175

We did the same things we always did, but every time I earned enough points for an orgasm, Mistress Angelica added five more to the total I needed to get my next one. It was her way of motivating me to perform, and oh, how I've performed for her. I've already passed one of the two months she promised me with her, and I'm happy for her that she gets to move forward with her life soon -- university will be a great adventure for a woman like her. It leaves me wondering what will happen to me, but all I know is that she'll sell me again. Beyond that, who can say?

Day 176

Mistress Angelica's mother returned today. She doesn't have a slave of her own right now, and her daughter was gracious enough to offer her use of me whenever she wants, which her mother accepted with a smile. She wanted to show Mistress Angelica her new dresses, but since they take someone to help her get into, I was tasked with helping her while my mistress waited downstairs. Her mother -- Mistress Leah -- was out of her day clothes almost as soon as I'd shut her bedroom door, and she stripped right down in front of me without a thought.

Our world has no real nudity taboo, but some women still don't strip off readily in front of others. By 'others', I mean of course other free women, not others like me. She stalked around that room naked and confident, not caring at all that a slave should see her like this. We slaves see and hear all sorts of things, but it doesn't matter to anyone who counts, because to them, we don't count. We're part of the furniture. It's not an attitude I like in free-women, but Mistress Leah exudes it with everything she says to me or does in my presence.

She looked incredible in those dresses though -- they were real things of beauty, and she wore them perfectly, moving like a predator with them on. When the fashion show was finished, she borrowed me for a long session of facesitting, and I was amused to find she tasted just like her daughter, who looks so different from the curvy, greying woman who raised her. Mistress Angelica needed to assert ownership afterwards, so she chained me to a fucking bench and had me with her largest strapon until she was sweaty and sated.

Day 177

The household slaves are pleased to have their real mistress back, and they do most of the work keeping her happy, while I tend to the needs and wants of her daughter. We took a trip into the city, for my mistress to shop for her upcoming big move, halfway around the planet, which apparently will require an entirely new wardrobe. I don't think I've ever carried so many clothes or offered so many flattering -- and true -- opinions in my life. She really is beautiful.

Day 178

While Mistress Angelica reads up on her new courses, I work the tension out of her shoulders and help her relax during the many, many study breaks she takes. She has a one-track mind, really, so now I get why she won't be taking a slave with her -- too much of a distraction. Really she should wait a year or two and learn how to focus, but I'm in no position to tell her. If she asks my opinion -- though why would she -- I'll have to lie.

Day 179

One of Mistress Angelica's friends from the slavery escapades has come to stay for a few days. She made a beeline for me. In minutes, she had me on the leash, licking her arse while she stood in the middle of the torture room, this time fully-clothed in a red leather dress that really meant business. When her exquisite arse had had enough attention, she took out the largest strapon that can legally be used on me according to my contract, and she raped me brutally with it. Then she chained me up to the ceiling, pinched weighted clamps onto my nipples, and left me hanging there for hours, with my vocal cords muted so I wouldn't disturb the house. She never said why.

Day 184

She finally left, but I don't want to record any more about what she did with me. Suffice it to say I think she felt she had a score to settle, or a point to make, or she just wanted to make absolutely sure I'll always remember her as a dominant woman and not some naked slavegirl whose mouth I got to fuck. I listened hard and managed to piece together that she already has a slave to take with her when she goes to university. Thank the Goddess it won't be me.

Days 185-199

Mistress Angelica fucked me like her life depended on it, every which way she could, every place she could, for as many hours or days at a stretch as she could. An insatiable brat, a lustful goddess, and actually I think probably just clinging to something she knows before she leaves on the next step of her life. I struggle to empathise, because fears about independence aren't something I know -- I'm happy to be a slave, happy to go with life's flow when I'm out of contract and so not a slave. I didn't like her friends, but she has something in her -- she'll go far. But without me.

Day 200

165 days of my contract to go, and I've been sold again, this time to a private buyer who snapped me up after reading my previous owners' reviews and seeing something she liked. I'm being shipped slave-class, to an archipelago near the equator, where my new owner lives halfway up an extinct volcano.

Slave-class means a courier arrived at the mansion and packed me into a transparent crate, which had a full life-support and waste disposal system. I knelt down into it and the lid closed over me, the final seal on my time with Mistress Angelica. I've been passed along a chain of custody through half a dozen airports, freight terminals, and loading docks, sometimes alongside dozens of other slaves. The last few legs of the journey I took alone, and even in the crate I could feel the air getting warmer and smell the wonderful scent of the ocean.

The courier left me, crated and on display, on a little pier that nestled in the bay of the volcanic island, and I waited there contemplating what my third owner might be like and how I could serve her. It never occurred to me to struggle -- the crate was built to contain even the strongest of enhanced slaves easily, and my body only has normal strength. I just waited, calmly, like a good slave should, until a brunette with fine features on a well-toned frame sauntered into view and unsealed me.

She had me stretch out in front of her, while a few passersby looked on, and she grinned when she noticed my cock trying to get hard. I was surprised when she made my cock cage retract and fall off my body, and even more surprised when she had me fall to my knees right there on the dock, beneath the setting sun, to cum on her sensible suede boots. She accepted my thanks with the same salacious grin, then handed me a pair of shoes and led me on the long walk up to her cabin.

You could call it a cabin, but it bears little resemblance to the glorified shack I used to live in. Two bedrooms, a separate kitchen, generous bathroom and a wide, airy living room are all contained within its wooden walls, which are insulated with some high-tech substance that keeps the whole home at just the right temperature. My brand-new owner sprawled on her sofa, comfortable in her jeans and vest top, and she motioned me to sit in the armchair opposite. I kept my legs apart so she could see what she'd bought.

"Your papers say your name is Fucktoy, slave. Is that right?"

"Yes, mistress. My former owner thought it was appropriate."

"Well I can see where she was coming from, slave, but it's a preposterous name for a human being. What were you called before that?"

"Heath, mistress."

"Better, but not perfect. Before that?"

I told her my birth name and she rejected that too, then she questioned me about who I was, what I liked, how I chose to live, until we were talking about living high up and alone and the night sky grew darker and darker. She asked me what I thought my name should be, but the question floored me and I stammered into silence, so she took over and worked it out for me.

"Kyanite -- that'll be your name. It can be as blue as those pretty eyes of yours. Like it?" she said.

I did.

"Thank me for it, then," she said.

Her clothes came off quickly to my eager fingers, and I thanked her relentlessly until we collapsed in the big bed.

Day 201

I woke to breakfast in bed, which Mistress Kerry and I fed each other from our plates with laughs and kisses, until she was kissing me, then fucking me, my hands shackled to her bedposts and my cock behaving like it wanted nothing more than to be hers, hers, hers. We bathed in the hot spring that bubbles up behind the cabin, and I rubbed her shoulders while my owner told me all about her life, and I told her what little there was to tell about mine. I hope it's the first of many conversations. Even though I usually have little to say, I've missed having someone to really listen to.

She's some kind of writer -- not one I'd ever heard of but apparently pretty successful -- and she likes to live in seclusion where the words will flow more easily. She's been without a slave for a long while, after her last male disappointed her -- he was a woodsman rather than the mountain-boy she really wanted. My history on the mountainside triggered her alert, and she bought me out the moment I was put up for sale. I'm to keep the cabin in good order, to make her meals and stoke her fire, to relax her when the words won't flow and to stay out of the way when they will. It seems she can't abide chastity cages, so I'll usually be wearing stout boots and my collar, which she tells me makes me look like I belong here on the rich, dark skin of the volcano's side with her.

Day 202

I may not be called 'Fucktoy' anymore, but I still am one. Mistress Kerry had me worship her inside the cabin and out, then she took us on a long walk around the whole volcano, and we stopped frequently to make love, play with each other, or just to admire the view. She held my hand as we ambled along our way, and she squeezed it extra tight after every orgasm I gave her. Back at the cabin, I cooked as she wrote, then she watched me exercise in the little yard where she's set up a pull-up bar and some weights. I'm to build my muscles for her the natural way.

I could see her getting friskier and more agitated with every rep I did, and then she had to have me right there, pulling me down off the bar and sitting on my face until she screamed out an orgasm into the warm air and let me up. Then she wanted me inside her, so I took her on all-fours, with my hands clenched tight on her hips, and we fucked like animals until I was spent. Something about it must have inspired her, because while I bathed again, she rushed inside to write, and she was still going strong two hours later when I brought her lunch. She wrote well into the night, ceaseless and unselfconsciously nude, until I lulled her to sleep with my tongue on her arse.

Day 203

We strolled down to the village to buy food, then we ate a lazy lunch in a little cafe on the seafront, while tanned slavegirls waited on us and giggled whenever my mistress reached over to fondle me. It's a small island, and everyone seems to know how long she's been slaveless and horny. I must look a little odd, strolling around in collar and boots, with a free cock that seems to be hard half the time I'm with Mistress Kerry, but I don't mind the giggles. It's not like the city here -- there are no hidden agendas, no games being played, just honest and happy people living their lives.

In the city I got stressed when I could sense hundreds of eyes on me, thousands of thronged bodies all pressed in together. I think there might be a few thousand people all told on this island -- including slaves -- and probably a few tens of thousands through the archipelago. It feels fluid, easy to be a slave here, like I'm part of a well-functioning machine. Mistress Kerry seems to know I have needs, and I feel like she's always working out what they are, which marks her out from all my previous owners. Should I want for her to put my needs ahead of hers, or is that not what a good slave does? Either way, it's her choice.

Day 204

We fucked hard outside the cabin, while warm rain fell in sheets across our bodies and drenched Mistress Kerry's brown hair two shades darker, so that it fell over her breasts and dribbled water down them, which I swallowed up as I sucked her pert nipples. She straddled me and I held her light little body up against the wooden wall, and I made love to her like that, standing up and kissing while she squeezed her thighs tighter and tighter around my waist. After we came together, we held each other's gaze and laughed as the weather washed us clean.

Day 205

I don't know what threw me off more, breaking one of Mistress Kerry's plates on the kitchen tiles in a moment of carelessness, or how she laughed it off and didn't even punish me for the infraction. I shook as I stood there, and she drew me in close to her body and ran her fingers through my hair until I was still, then she hopped up onto the kitchen counter and opened her legs, to give us both something else to think about.