Full Rigor Pt. 03

Full Rigor, Pt. 03

(This is a fantasy occurring in an alternative world where legalized slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debts, or voluntary self-indenture. Although there is considerable sex, sometimes distasteful and sometimes fun, the focus is on how people interact with each other within the constraints of this slavery--the essence of non-consent/reluctance, because the main characters volunteer for the collar. All characters involved in or witnessing sex acts are over 18. In the real world, slavery, objectification, and forcible sex acts are NEVER acceptable.)

(Michelle Harkins' experience)

I had my first "slavegasm" less than four minutes after being collared. That might be a record. Ever since the 34th Amendment legalized non-hereditary slavery of adults, there had been stories about how aroused new slaves became when stripped, bound, and led on a walk of shame through the government office in which they had surrendered. But I didn't even make it out of the room in which I had self-indentured, let alone to the walk of shame! The combination of nudity before strangers and friends, helplessness, bondage, humiliation, and the sense that I had put myself in this subservient position--all of it gave me the greatest climax up to that point in my 44-year life.

Most people get collared against their will, for serious crimes or failure to pay debts. A few others volunteer (self-indenture) because they view temporary slavery as a distasteful means to an end, such as avoiding a longer involuntary term.

But I had dreamed of this moment for most of my adult life. Even playing a submissive in BDSM games, while fun, didn't satisfy my desire for total surrender of power. The essence of safe, consensual power exchange is that the submissive has a safe word to protect him or her, an idea that I fully endorse. Yet, I was so addicted to LACK of power that I wanted to give up that protection. Thus, once my twin children went off to college, it was natural that I would want the full experience.

The real obstacle to this plan had been my husband, Richard, who worried about my mental and physical well-being under the stress of slavery. He would only agree to become my owner subject to various safeguards, such as my consulting with an attorney and (both before and during the indenture) seeing a slave psychiatrist. He also insisted that I tell all my friends in advance, so they would know I was doing this of my own free will and not because he had forced me. (Even that was a turn-on, outing myself as a total slut in the eyes of people who had known me for years.) Richard probably hoped that having to confess my kink to vanilla friends would deter me--no such luck for him, although I did lose a few acquaintances in the process. And he warned me that slavery would mean abasing myself before those friends, as well as any rivals I might have accumulated. I soon found out what he meant by rivals.

The one good thing about revealing my "deviant desires" to my friends was that one couple--Shirley and George Holmes--decided to join us in the adventure, only with the roles reversed. We had met them at the BDSM club we occasionally visited, where Shirley was always the Uber-domme of any scene while George, like me, enjoyed being bound and used as an object for limited discipline and unlimited sex. George was heterosexual and devoted to his wife/domme, but he was so willing to obey her that, as an expression of his submission, he would allow dominants of any gender to use his body, even his ass and mouth. Also like me, I guess, he decided that BDSM by itself and even a Free In Name Only (FINO) contract to act AS IF a slave weren't deep enough to satisfy his fantasies.

Offered early retirement from his job as a business executive, George consulted the same law firm and slave psychiatrist that I used in preparation for that day in January, when the two couples went to the nearest office of the Livestock and Slave Division for the Texas Department of Agriculture. There, by appointment, I preceded George in swearing, signing, and literally stripping my identity away. Master Richard threw a curveball into the proceedings by telling his new slave (me) to "corner"--that is, stand with fingers behind neck and legs apart facing a corner, my (bare) back to the room. Yet, because the little office in which we stood was a plexiglass enclosure surrounded by government cubicles, in facing the corner I was giving everyone in those cubicles a free show, full frontal nudity.

I had invested much effort in maintaining my body. I know it's immodest to say this, but I thought my long auburn hair, regular facial features, and toned body (34B or C, 25-inch waist, 35-inch hips) looked pretty good for a middle-aged mother of two. Of course, any woman in my situation, completely exposed to a group of (mostly younger) office workers who remained clothed, would feel intimidated and insecure about her appearance and weight. Clothed male, naked female and all that. But the thrill of submission and public humiliation overrode those doubts. Erect nipples capped my slightly-sagging breasts, and I felt a trickle of liquid down my inner thighs.

I should explain that, although I am totally submissive in matters of sex, my husband is a "switch." I had tried to dominate him occasionally, but he knew my heart wasn't in it, especially because what he really dreamed of was a beautiful woman "forcing" him to assume the passive female role, including wearing lingerie and being penetrated with a strap-on or even (but far less desirable to him) a penis. I don't think he met or meets the classic definition of a transgender male-to-female, in the sense that he doesn't believe that his inner core is fundamentally feminine; he just thinks that being feminized and sodomized, preferably by a woman, is the ultimate form of submission for a guy. On that day in the office, however, Rich was obviously enjoying his dominant side, and he knew that my being exposed and called demeaning names (cunt, ass whore, cocksucker, slut, you name it) would thrill me more than any sympathy or terms of endearment from him. Meanwhile, I suspect that his inner submissive enjoyed my humiliation vicariously.

At first, I was overwhelmed with the erotic abasement of exposing myself to an office full of strangers. Anticipating my surrender, my body had been on a low boil all morning and I felt a growing flutter in my loins. After a moment, I became aware that Rich was standing close behind me. His firm hand cupped my right breast and flicked the nipple, then traced languidly down to my waist and around to the back, where it slid deeply between my rear cheeks, stopping only momentarily to goose me. He removed his hand from my butt and stepped so close that I could feel his erection against my ass. At the same time, his hand moved around front and casually fondled my clit. I went off like a rocket and could barely maintain my balance.

"Oh, come now," he said in a tone of mock annoyance. "I know you've only been a pleasure slut for a few minutes, but surely you know you're not allowed to cum without permission. Remind me to punish you for that, little bitch."

I should have remembered how good he was at playing a dominant, perhaps because he understood the submissive impulse. "Yes, Master," I replied, promptly. A second ago, I would have sworn that I was fully excited, but his quiet threat made me shiver with increased fear and pleasure. Then he ordered "back hands" and zip-tied my wrists, preventing any possible cover-up of my breasts or genitals (I had no desire to cover myself, but the sense of forcible exposure only heightened the thrill.) Finally, he thrust a canvas gag into my mouth and tied the ends together behind my head.

Rich--excuse me, Master Richard--then told me to turn around, so I was able to see that the enslavement of my partner-in-bondage, George, was also complete. All George wore now was a gag, a slave collar and a leash that was somehow attached to the base of his prick. The other end of the leash was held by HIS new owner and former wife, Mistress Shirley, who wore the same possessive, predatory smile I had seen her display at the BDSM club. My master grinned back at her, saying,

"It's a great day to take a couple of sluts for a walk, isn't it, Shirley? It may be a little cold outside, but this was their idea, so they get to live with the consequences. Ladies before sluts--how about you go first?" as he gestured for Shirley to lead the way back to the elevator.

In a moment, I realized the reason for his gesture of courtesy. Richard suspected that most bystanders in this office would hesitate to fondle a male slave, so he wanted to give them as much time as possible to recognize me as a female target as I followed him, last in a line of four. The spectators certainly took advantage of the opportunity. Men and women both poured scorn on me, describing me as an "overaged whore" and "fat skank" who was obviously begging to be shafted in all three openings but was suitable only to work in a glory hole or mouth-and-ass shop. I had anticipated such criticism and have to admit that it increased my excitement--the only thing more thrilling than being a helpless naked slave was to have free people belittle me for that loss of status. When Mistress Shirley stopped to press the elevator call button, I was still standing in the hallway. This allowed several of the younger men lurking there to thrust fingers into my cunt and anus while others fondled my boobs and tugged on my hair. For a submissive like me, being publicly mauled like this while my hands were restrained was another peak of excitement--my thighs became even stickier and I think (but I was too excited to be sure) that I had another climax, this time a minor one. I had thought my nipples couldn't get any harder, but I was proven wrong.

I felt a moment's disappointment when the elevator door closed behind us, but then realized that my walk of shame was about to go fully public. Barefoot and slave naked, George and I shuffled down the chilly front steps of the state office building and then followed, willy-nilly, as our owners slowly strolled a block and a half before reaching Rich's pickup truck. During this walk, a few pedestrians took advantage of the opportunity to fondle me and squeeze George's erect shaft, making comments about how much we obviously loved our slavery. They may have intended such comments to be mocking, but they were actually true. The sidewalk felt cold as well as hard, while the wind made me shiver with something besides arousal.

My once-and-future-husband (slavery being considered de facto divorce, since the new slave can no longer refuse to have sex with others) dropped the back gate on his truck and pulled down a wooden box for the two fresh-caught slaves to use as a step. Even with this help, we had difficulty leveraging our way up onto our knees on the hard metal truck bed, our bound wrists and exposed butts projecting rearward. I expected that Shirley and Rich would order us into the cages whose doors hung open, but they had another ceremony in mind first. The two new slaves were required to spread our legs wide and bend forward slightly, which was rather difficult while kneeling on hard, cold metal with hands behind our backs. For a moment, I knelt there, fully exposed on a busy street, while the two owners did something behind George. He emitted a surprised "eep" past his gag and a few seconds later I learned why. I felt slim fingers--presumably Shirley's--forcing my butt cheeks wide apart to display my anus to the cold air, and a second later a rougher hand thrust a well-lubricated plug into it. I heard Mistress Shirley make some passing comment, asking whether the plugs were big enough to "stretch our whores" for what was to come. Pretending to be callous, my husband replied that he didn't want to stretch us too much because he liked to ream really tight assholes. Glancing at George's gagged face, I saw an expression that probably mirrored my own--alarm mixed with anticipation of future use and control.

So there I sat, gagged and bound on my knees inside a cage, displaying my boobs to everyone as the pickup rolled down the street. Kneeling in that position meant that my heels pressed the plug firmly into my rear end. Each of us was facing towards the back of the truck, with a canvas shield on the front side of our cages to break the wind produced by the truck movement. Being a mild January day in Texas, the breeze was chilly, but I knew my nipples were erect for another reason. I glanced at George who again reflected the kind of excitement I was feeling--his face was flushed and, despite the breeze, his shaft remained more than half erect. I'd seen him naked before, but under the circumstances I had to be impressed with his large caliber...

When we arrived in front of Shirley's home, I naturally expected that she would take George away while my new master drove us home. Instead, our owners both climbed into the back of the pickup and reaching into the cages, removed our gags, after which Richard unlocked MY cage!

"Listen up, slaves." He said. "We told you ahead of time that we would be loaning and hiring our slaves out. That starts today. For the next few days, slut Michelle will serve Mistress Shirley in any way the Mistress pleases--and yes, that means sexually as well as any other way. Slaves don't have any choice about what or whom they do, so if she tells you to tongue your best friend Hallie's butt or let Principal Dearing fuck you, that's what you do with a smile on your face, got it?"

I don't know whether he was catering to my fantasies or trying to push my buttons, to make me ask him to limit my slavery. Even though I would be humiliated to service friends like that, just the thought of it made me even more excited. "Yes, Master," I replied, enthusiastically.

Shirley took over, her eyes boring a hole in George. Her tone was an odd mixture of love and firmness. "The same thing applies to you, my little asshole. You once told me that you would happily let a dominant man fuck your holes so long as I ordered you to do so. Guess what, slave? That's exactly what I'm ordering you to do. Maybe Master Richard doesn't want to use your scrawny body, but if he tells you to service someone of any gender, consider it an order from your Mistress. The more embarrassing, the better. And all I want to hear when I see you again is that you give great blowjobs or tight ass or both, OK?"

When George nodded agreement, the two owners stopped for a moment. On cue, my husband's face softened. "Seriously, Babe," Rich said. "If you REALLY don't want to go through with this say so NOW. You'll still be a slave, but I won't force you to fulfil all your raunchy dreams--just some of mine! HOWEVER, if you don't speak up now, your ass and every other part of you will be free game for the next year. I know Mistress Shirley feels the same way about her slut. So, do you want the full rigor?"

Being true gluttons for punishment, George and I eagerly responded, "Yes, Mistress/Master!"

Still, I did feel somewhat abandoned when my new mistress led me into her home as my owner/ex-husband drove away. If they had been trying to knock me off balance, they certainly succeeded--I ALMOST overlooked the thrill of being a naked, cuffed slave on a leash, walking up the front walk while all her neighbors could see me. Almost.

Fortunately, the butt plug was a constant reminder of the sexual object I had become. Like most such toys, the base of the plug had a narrow neck that made it difficult to expel, but I had an irrational fear of disgracing myself by suddenly dropping that plug in public. The lubricant made it feel as if I might expel the thing at any moment. So I squirmed up to the door, taking short steps while holding my thighs and butt cheeks clenched tightly as if I were in a hurry to use the toilet.

Once inside the door, Mistress Shirley led me to the downstairs bathroom and released my wrists, then told me to face the toilet and "Display," the latter an awkward position with my legs apart and my body bent forward, giving her a rear view of both my openings. Since she was a surgeon and I was a nurse, I was unsurprised when I heard the medicine cabinet open, followed by two characteristic "snaps" indicating she had pulled on disposable gloves. She gently removed the offending plug and tossed it into the bathroom sink, then disposed of the gloves in the trash. She told me I had four minutes to relieve myself, wash off and re-insert the plug, and report to her in the living room. "And no playing with yourself, my cute little bitch! I can tell your new collar makes you just as horny as my own slave is, but you've already had one unauthorized climax today, so don't push your luck." At least she said it with a smile, but I dutifully replied "Yes, Mistress." How I was going to avoid cumming again while living out my submissive dreams was an open question.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I found Shirley sitting on her couch. She gestured for me to kneel between her knees, which was the first time I noticed that she was wearing a skirt rather than her usual utilitarian slacks or scrubs. I knelt obediently, my fingers interlocked behind my neck in a way that thrust my breasts forward. My nipples were still mostly erect, as they had been for the past two hours.

Shirley talked in a calm, almost friendly tone. "Michelle, I know that this is a dream come true for you--ever since you stripped in the office building, you've looked as if you were on the verge of orgasm. But, I have to rain on your parade a little bit. You are now legally a slave, so what happens if you try to escape or resist me?"

I knew the answer, "I can be punished with a much longer, harsher sentence, Mistress."

"Absolutely. That also applies to your clothing, or lack thereof. There's an apron in the kitchen--wear it whenever you're cooking, ironing, or moving heavy objects, so that you don't get injured. Otherwise, though, you're on display. Today's Monday. You have today and tomorrow to clean the house thoroughly--there's a list of things to do on the kitchen counter. George usually cleans every weekend, but everything has to be extra-sparkly for a party I'm holding Wednesday evening. Most of the people invited are my friends and co-workers who don't know you, but you should expect a few exceptions. Master Richard has also asked your best friend, Cheryl, to come over an hour before the party to talk to you. He knows that she's concerned about your well-being, and you have our permission to talk to her honestly to reassure her. I'll even let you decide whether she should stay for the party. But, I warn you now that, because you're a nurse, some of my surgical team have known you in the past. I understand that you used to work with Bill Stephenson, for example."

Crap! I thought. Bill could only be described as a frenemy who would love to see my naked body and humble me as a slave. He was a physician's assistant who until recently had worked in the family care clinic where I had been the head nurse. We had really butted heads when he first joined the clinic and didn't want to follow my procedures. Eventually we came to a truce that included a running flirtation-by-insults and suggestive comments. It got so bad that my boss asked if I wanted Bill disciplined, but I declined the offer, because in a weird way I was attracted to him. I had to admit that, in his early 30s, Bill was not only very competent but disgustingly handsome--and he knew it--I suspect that a lot of his arrogance was the habit of getting women to agree to anything he wanted. Short blond hair, blue eyes, wide smile, cut arms, broad shoulders and tight ass--the whole package, which made me daydream about HIS package, preferably as it entered me forcefully. I had a sudden vivid image of myself on my hands and knees, offering him any opening he wanted. I had to shake myself to focus on what Shirley was saying.