Kallie Takes the Lead Pt. 03

I have been in the service of my master for a few short weeks, in this time, I've lost my way, I've lost my old life, I've lost my goddess, and I lost my very soul. What I have seen and learned, under his training and tutelage, has changed the way I see the world forever. I know that magic exists, I've seen proof of the divine and profane, and learned my whole life has been a lie. I've resolved to myself, that I have nothing left to lose.

With my eyes opened, I'm now certain that the difference between the real world and the world of my childhood, is a simple matter of a truth being greater than a fact. What you do, what you've done are provable, tangible things.

Facts, they simply are.

The truth of yourself however, is sometimes simple, almost always un-expressed, and almost always a terrible, powerful thing.

Truth is the next door neighbor to the soul.

If you can find the essential truth of a being, you can access the soul, and seize it.

My master did just that, with a symbol branded into the flesh above my clit and a contract signed in blood, my soul is bound to him. His power resonates within me through the symbol that binds me, my sex sings in his presence, and I can barely think when he touches me. Other than the fact that he owns me, and I will do anything to serve him, I know very little about my master. As near as I can tell, he was born seeing glimpses of the real world, a keyhole into a world he pried open. I had seen the real world only in my deepest binges of LSD, and other things of the like. We dismiss what we see when we're tripping as drug addled hallucination and move on with our lives when the veil drops upon our eyes once more.

I see the real world, with all of it's wonders and terrors. The creatures that go bump in the night stand shoulder to shoulder with us in the market and in the street. They walk their dogs, and the things that kind of resemble dogs, they lay out in the sun getting tan, or whatever you call it when their hide changes color. It's hard to be afraid of a boogie man, once you see him rolling around on the grass being licked across the nose by a Boston terrier, asking 'who's a good boy?'

I know that the world of my childhood is the narrowest slice of reality, especially because I interact marginally with it for pedestrian chores and administrative necessities. The only thing that overlaps between the two worlds is land and the ownership of land. Deals must be made, debts must be paid. Entrusted with these tasks, my master mustn't be bothered with trivialities.

I serve at my master's whim, and that means I follow his rules. Within his house, I'm always to be naked, that's rule number one. I don't know if he made this rule to humble me, or if it is a rule of the House as old as time. Maybe he likes to see my big fat ass bounce down the hall while I'm cleaning, or the jiggle of my curves as he disciplines my flesh. Being naked before my master makes me nervous. I scrunch my toes, and slouch down in his presence. He disciplines me, using the toys in the dungeon or whatever he has at hand to correct my posture, head up, tits out, hands facing down, ass relaxed and ready for use. I try to present my fat ass before him as he desires, and my constant feelings of shame, the burning sensation of my blushing skin are my master's tribute. His first rule, banning my clothes inside, doesn't mean that outside of the house I'm wearing Prada, or high end fashion. The appearance of clothing and the truth of reality, again are two separate things. In public, to the ordinary unenlightened rank and file human, I appear to be wearing clothes that befit my current need.

It's a defense mechanism, to make us blend in, I'm sure. To the unwashed masses grinding out their lives in that thin sad slice of the world that worries about electing presidents and debating the law, the clothes I appear to be wearing look like boring ordinary things. To those of us living in the real world, those who know that there are only people with power and slaves without, I'm running my Master's errands barefoot in bondage, harnessed like a draft animal, naked except for high heels and tattoos, or stuffed to the gills with massive inserted toys as the whim strikes my master.

The truth is the truly powerful do as they wish, when they wish. It wouldn't matter if we were out in public, in a library, or a choir loft of a church, if my master wishes to take his pleasure from my body, he would, and the great unwashed would never notice his massive shaft plunging in and out my nether hole.

Today I am making deliveries and shopping for esoterica.

I have a list of instructions of places to go and things to do. Some of my route is mundane, zoning variances and the like for the sake of propriety with the over government. Standing in cue between stantions has never bothered me. The zombies of the shallow world can't see the real me, and as low as I am, soulless fat girl, slave and whore, my invisibility in the that world is power. I actually enjoyed standing in line in the clothes Master chose for me today.

The dog collar and leash remind me that I'm his bitch, that I'm his whore and I will never be free. He has harnessed the curves of my fat body. He likes the way the straps dig into my flesh and mold my body. My 40 H tits, that would usually be rolling free on my round belly, with my thick nipples half aroused pointing out cross-eyed into space are hoisted up and out. They are tightly bound in leather circles right down to the ravaged nipples, which are screaming erect and forced to maximum hardness, almost an inch and a half long and a puffy one inch thick. The harness runs down my hanging belly to the width of my hips and down my thick thighs and passed the tattoos of my calves. Because of this, my legs clamp down, further trapping the inertia egg toy rapping against my G-spot, I can only take tiny mincing steps in beautiful black patent leather high heels, and must move in thought out controlled ways. The inside of the leather strapped on my fat breasts, cinching my hanging belly, and the straps that run between my legs, are tiny vampire teeth that poke pinch and further arouse me.

With the breeze toying with so much of my exposed but tightly confined body, my nipples would have been hard and aching anyway. The toy inside me passively stimulates me with every step and motion, Daddy wants me to be on the edge of orgasm, turned on, without climaxing.

There are others, a precious few, who can see me. They see me as I am, as master dressed me. They might be insane, accessing reality and fantasy in equal parts. Maybe they see a deeper reality that I will never know. You can try to ignore them just as if you were a part of the shallow world and can't see or hear them. Some of the sleepwalkers of the shallow world express the truth of themselves like I do. Even though they are unaware of reality, through their clothes, I can see the truth of them, their tattooed bodies, piercings, engorged nipples, and throbbing cocks.

We call them potentials.

I'm supposed to catalog them for Daddy when I see them, by gender and body type, by useful skills and inclination towards service. He wants the fat girls, like me, on a list all their own. The toy in my cunt alerts me to the presence of a Special soul by an ever increasing vibration, the shorter the distance between us. Like a bloodhound in heat, it will mercilessly force orgasm after orgasm upon me, I can only stop the sensation by making physical contact with the person, thus insuring that I find them. These special souls go to the top of the list for tracking. They have the potential to be what I am.

The worst part of my route, is when I encounter tradesmen and negotiate my master's business. I am my master's flabby flesh toy, soulless doxy and slave, I am on display for his pleasure. The infinite lechery of the tradesmen fills me with fear. They can smell my constantly wet cunt, they would take my body if they could.

They can see me as I truly am.

They see the truth.

The economy of the real world is confusing. With the powerful taking or making what they want, there is very little in the way of commodity that can be commonly traded. Not everyone wants the same things and the intangible, power, can only be taken, never given.

When Master wants something he cannot create, something proprietary or artistic, it is literally coming out of my ass, as most tradesmen will gladly use the thick curves of my body to feed their fetishes, or sadism. Defiling a body in as many degrading ways as they can conjure, is often considered exchange for goods and services, and certainly a fun way to pass the time. To purchase the dress I'm wearing, I spent a morning tied to a table in the library, the sadist who tailored it to my body, punished the bottom of my feet with a wooden spoon. She was overjoyed, preforming bastinado until I could no longer stand, and sent me crawling back to master on hands and knees, unable to walk properly, with the handle of the spoon clenched in my ass.

My first stop today is with licensing and registration. In the over-government, you take a number in a massive building, cue up, wait your turn, and waste the day. With the government below, with so few of us tuned into reality, it's a miracle if you see another person in line. Really, the only thing in common between the two governments is the rat maze they use to hide the place you need to go. I've been sweating in the subway for an hour, negotiating steam tunnels to find the clerk who will make my license paperwork official. The sheen of sweat on my skin has dampened the leather of my harness dress, as master mused earlier, "to make the fit perfect."

Outside the window in the door of what appears to be a broom closet, stands the security officer who may or may not be my actual father. My asshole clenches as I approach the clerk at the window with my papers to file. The cop sniffs the air in my direction, and smiles like a coyote on the hunt.

"Whatchu got there, Kallie-girl?"

I can smell him at this distance, musky, sweaty, and stale. I didn't want him near me, yet his smell made my cunt involuntarily react. As he reached for the envelope that held my license paperwork, I flinched. I didn't expect to see him ever again, and now that I could, there were things in his face I could see, that echoed my own. This feeling in the core of my body, this need to submit to his use, I couldn't explain no matter how much it disturbed me and turned my stomach.

Master said that this man was my father, but he wasn't my Daddy, Master is. I didn't want to talk to this man. I didn't want to follow through on the instructions Master had given me. His body was thick, like mine, maybe a little broader and taller. The muscles of his forearm were well defined. However thick he was, it wasn't all fat.

"This is my master's business, and none of yours."

"Feisty bitch, and now he's Master, how far your unlicensed ass has come. That's a delightful outfit by the way, it works well to contain your fat ass. You look nothing like your mom."

Looking nothing like my beautiful pixie sisters, his dig at the difference in appearance between my mother and I was well traveled territory growing up. Now I knew who's fault that was. As the last moment, instead of taking the papers, he grabbed my nipple. I gasped as he pulled me by the black leather tit harness into better reach.

"I've just been there, to see your mom, she doesn't even know you're gone."

"That doesn't surprise me."

I slid the envelope onto the window ledge in the door for the registration clerk.

"Still unlicensed, still unregistered, running around like candy in the under offices, I'm going to have to take you in and... "

He fingered his stiffening cock,

"Deal with you."

He was a condition or two from triggering an instruction from my master. I would not disobey him, I don't even know if that is possible.

"Check my license again."

"There's no point, little girl. How about you just kne-"

"Here you go miss, your ownership is verified and logged with the undergovernment, with all your Master's rights and privileges as such. Take your tags home to him, and have a nice day, young lady."

I took the package and tags that the clerk handed back.

"Thank you."

I removed my father's hand from my harnessed tit, hung my new tag from the collar at my throat, and tried to leave without further provoking this man.

"Bitch."

I heard the Crack of his taser-jack flicking open, as he extended it behind me, paralyzing magics danced along its length. Daddy told me not to refuse this man anything, if he asked for it. Obey him if he ordered it. He could not just take what he wanted. This disgusting eyesore of a man, somehow fucked and continued to fuck my mother, a woman who is way out of his class. This man, my father, is a test, a chore, a humiliation set forth by my master, that I would know what it means to obey.

"Kneel for me, you sad, grotesque, fucking twat."

Not turning to face him, I slipped out of the gorgeous shoes Daddy gave me and knelt as carefully as I could in my bondage dress. My beautiful shoes, something that I could never afford and could never have in my previous life were as close as I came to a prized possession now. The clerk, not waiting to be the witness to a crime, I guess, shut his window and pulled the shades. In the back of my mind I wondered where he was going to go in that broom closet.

"Stuck up, stubborn, insignificant whore, I'd ask you who the hell you think you are, except I don't want to hear another fucking sound out of your mouth, except the sounds you make choking on my cock."

I flashed back to the other night, his hands in my hair, when he was just a police officer I was blowing in the park to keep from being thrown in jail. His saliva hitting my face, drooling while he forced the fat knob of his prick down my throat. He was rank, overweight, with foul breath, but was surprisingly, frighteningly, well endowed below the belt. I reacted then as now, with horror and desire at some level to please.

Does big dick and tits run in families? I wish I could ask someone.

"Yes, it does! Uh, sorry Ma'am."

Came the muffled voice of the clerk from behind the door. Eves dropping on thoughts is just rude, but I got my answer. The taser-jack tested the leather straps of my dress, and my flesh went numb under its touch. My tears, ever willing to betray me fell hot from my closed eyes.

"Don't see a way to get it off... "

"That's a Master's Touch original by Promethean designs. It can only be removed voluntarily or with the master's touch... Ummm, sorry sir."

"Who asked you, Felix? Shut your pie hole. Can't get my ol' love rocket into your fun holes with that damned dress in the way, gonna have to make due."

I was relieved until he grabbed me by the hair... and stunned both my feet from the ankle down.

"Suck my cock, you cheap little whore. Suck the seed that made you."

The first time was an accident. I had no clue who he was, and I was just doing what I felt like I needed to do to make my master happy. This time, I know who and what he is. I'm voluntarily crossing a line, my mouth watering, my body craves it. What does the incestuous taboo of blood mean to one without a soul?

Rule number four, Daddy's little whore will fuck and suck who he wants, when he wants.

He pushed his cock in my mouth and I fellated without energy or enthusiasm, just meeting the thrusting hips of the officer. I pressed my lips to his hairy pelvis, my mouth wrapped around his foreskin, while his erection pushed into my throat. I tasted his sweat and stale odor.

My pussy flooded.

"cummon cunt, put your back into it, suck me like you do your new Daddy."

Exactly what I didn't want to hear. The spaces inside, I had made dead to follow Master's instructions started to wake up, and hurt. If a person doesn't have a soul anymore, why does it still hurt?

I mouth fucked him exactly like I would my Daddy, on crippled legs, I worked his hairy balls, I fisted his shaft while he tortured my already tender swollen nipples.

I obeyed. I died a little inside.

"so what do you think of how mommy dearest tastes? That's right, I got wet right before coming here, suck it up, piggy."

I knew as soon as he had passed my lips, he'd been fucking someone. I knew instinctively who he had been fucking, but I did my best to push that down, forget the somehow familiar taste and obey my master.

Obey my master.

He mounted my face, grabbing fistfuls of hair, and ravaged my mouth. He squatted on my face folding me backwards over my crushed calves and deadened feet. He was practically sitting on my harnessed duggs, with his sweaty sack on my chin. The only sounds I could make, were the sounds of choking on his dick as my cheeks screamed signals of pain to my brain like they were tearing on his thickening cock.

"No hands, Slut, just mouth and throat today."

He rapped the Taser-jack against my shoulders deadening my arms from the shoulders down as he raped my mouth.

"Urp, gahh, Gluck, Gluck, awk- uh, uhhuh uhhuh..."

He bottomed out in my face slamming my head repeatedly into the floor, the drool tears and snot rolled down my cheeks, and into my hair.

"Oh gods, you fucking whore, gah! -uhhun. "

The sucking and swallowing was pure reflex. I held him deep in my throat to avoid tasting all the cum his cock was pumping into my belly, as my arms flopped helplessly at my sides. He allowed his cum to dribble on my neck, before wiping his cock on my lips and face before folding his almost flaccid cock in his pants and zipping up.

"Thanks for the face ride, sweetie. I look forward to violating you like I do your mom. I've always love to get in on a mother daughter two'fer."

He was almost out of sight, as I sat partially paralyzed and folded over on my back on the dirty floor which smelled heavily of animal droppings.

"Be seeing you, piglet."

I obeyed my master. I was a good girl. I sucked his cock. I knew who he was. I've tasted my mother.

His spunk and the taste of my mother made me cum. What kind of monster am I?

I cried on the floor of the registration office.

"I have tissue if you need it..."

"No thank you, Felix."

"I would have helped, but your Dad likes to paralyze me from the chest down through the window when he passes through. He thinks it's funny. If I piss him off, he beats me over the head with his stun stick. The things the thinks, I still can't move right now, he's a sadist."

"He's not my Daddy. My new Master is, now and forever. How long does the paralysis last?"

The cold dead flesh of my feet and ankles, arms and hands resisted any attempt at control as I rolled over onto my belly and tits trying to get my feet out from under my ass. I'd probably break myself trying to walk right now, and I couldn't even catch myself if I fell.

"First time about twenty minutes. Repeat offenders longer. I'm stuck here another two hours, myself, likely."

"I'm sorry."

"Today, he mostly ignored me. He's gone the entire day before, stunning me every hour. He made me shit myself. The law says all under-government offices must submit to periodic inspection. It's not even like I can keep the window shut, it's against the flippin law. Nobody cares about civil servants, we might as well be furniture. At least you have a master who might take care of you. I'd bet you if I found another job, he'd still stun me, for the fun of it."

"Felix, how did you get your job, and do you have an owner?"

"I was practically born here. I don't have a soul you see. Never did. Most civil servants don't. I don't have a master, but I need to eat. I found my way down here as a kid, some 237 years ago. With no master, I've got no one to look out for me, no one to stand up for me. "