Popularity Ch. 06

The OPS had a thing called 'Family Weekend.' On Family Weekends the slaves were excused from their official duties for two days if their parents came to visit. The Sacramento office had one Family Weekend each year. I'm not sure if other OPS field offices followed the same tradition, but in any case, I wasn't told about any of this until a couple of days beforehand. No surprise there.

What surprised me was to hear that during Family Weekend, the slaves have permission to engage in sexual activities with the other slaves. At a quick glance, this seems like a very benevolent act, giving the slaves two days off, not just from humiliating and often uncomfortable official duties, but also from the just-shy-of-unbearable sexual frustration.

However, under scrutiny, Family Weekend rapidly begins to look like yet another way to subject the slaves to humiliation and suffering.

Since, there's a twist. On Family Weekend, slaves are permitted to have sex with other slaves only if their parents watch.

OPS slaves are young men and women who have been robbed of their dignity, but they still have enough self-respect that they won't get impaled on someone's cock or have their genitals licked with Mom or Dad watching. So, we're surrounded by some of the most gorgeous men and women on the planet with their naked bodies deliciously on display, knowing full well we have permission to do all sorts of deliciously naughty things with them, but we engage in agonizing self-restraint, because we don't want to see the looks of horror and disapproval on the faces of our mothers and fathers.

Another cruel thing about parent's day is that visiting parents who have a grudge or unresolved issues with their children can request that their son or daughter be whipped or paddled or strapped while they watch. It was rare for a visiting parent to take advantage of this option, but merely knowing that they had the power to do so was a source of potent anxiety for many of the slaves in the building.

On the first day of Family Weekend, I was escorted down a series of corridors and into the multi-purpose room. Other slaves were being made to walk down the same corridors towards the same destination, and I became part of an impressive river of slave's bodies, naked tits and cocks bouncing as we were marched forward.

Within a few minutes all the Sacramento OPS slaves were crowded into the same room. It was unusual for all the slaves to be together in the same place like this, with good reason. It felt like a sexual tinderbox.

All those perfect, naked bodies on display, close enough to touch. My heart hammered in my chest, my head was reeling, and I felt a soft wet pulse in my sex. We'd been given orders not to touch the other slaves, but it was a struggle to obey.

The room thrummed with sexual energy. There were so many beautiful faces, so many kissable mouths, so many delicious curves, so many perfectly shaped buttocks, delicious abs, plump, glistening pubic lips, I just wanted to rub my body up against someone, kiss someone or lay my hands on them.

At least four of the slaves had already been unable to keep their hands to themselves. Their infractions were observed, and they were soundly spanked and then handcuffed to help prevent further violations of the rules.

A female slave named Danni inched closer to me. "My mother will never show up," she commented sadly. "She's in deep denial about me being a slave. She's been telling all her friends that I'm backpacking across Europe."

A brunette slave, Katya or Katerina, or something like that, sidled over. She stood close to Danni and bemoaned that it was emotionally exhausting being judged by 'normal' people who had no idea what it was like to be a naked sex slave in the clutches of the OPS.

"When parents come to visit, it seems like I'm constantly getting looks from people who see me as some sort of shameless slut. I just want to scream at them. It wasn't my choice to be constantly naked and used to sexually gratify other people's desires! I was forced to live my life like this!"

A slave named Lexi stood behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. I trembled at her touch. It wasn't sexual, but we slaves are conditioned to be in a state of constant sexual tension. Her naked body so close to mine triggered my libido like her casual touch was some sort of intimate sex act.

"My mother will definitely be here today," Lexi informed me. "And when she sees the whip marks all over my backside, she's going to freak."

On a typical day, slaves were proud of the welts, handprints and marks left on their buttocks from the paddle and the strap, but Family Weekends were not typical days.

And while the physical contact of Lexi's hands on my body wasn't intended to be sexual it still violated the rules that had been set down for us. Luckily, the security guards overlooked Lexi's indiscretion. I suppose they judged that her hands on my shoulders as she leaned into me wasn't a big enough violation of the rules for them to bother getting involved.

"I hadn't even thought about that," I replied softly. I had whip marks on both my buttocks and my breasts, I reflected. They had faded somewhat but they were still quite visible. And I imagined my mother would make a huge deal out of them if she saw them.

"My mother will be here today too," said Daniel nervously as he joined the conversation. "This will be the first time she's seen me since I became a sex slave. It's going to be awkward."

Daniel trembled as he spoke of his mother seeing him like this, and I sympathized with his situation. In addition to being naked, all of the male slaves were wearing cock and ball harnesses, guaranteeing that their cocks would remain hard and erect. And to add to their humiliation, most of them had anal plugs lodged inside of them, with electric motors that would vibrate at random intervals at random intensities.

So not only would visiting family members see them sporting a continuous erection, but their cocks would twitch and squirm whenever the plugs inside of them stimulated their prostate glands with an ample degree of fierceness.

I agreed with Daniel that it would be awkward for any boy to be seen by his mother while being so sexually objectified.

I stared at Daniel's naked body a little too long. He was lithe and athletic looking, with a boyishly cute face, thick, wavy hair, pouty lips, sculpted abs, a firm toned ass, dancer's legs, and a cock that was long and impressively thick.

Of course, when I turned my gaze away from his tempting, delicious body, it inevitably landed on another naked slave's anatomy, and I began the process of staring fixedly once again.

This time it was a female slave. Her name was Josephine. She was one of the newest arrivals, but she had already garnered a lot of attention. She was about my height, had long, sleek, silky red hair, a cute, girlish face and a body that was athletic, firm and sexy.

She noticed me staring, and she stared right back.

Sometimes I forget how beautiful I am. It wasn't that long ago that I was a flat-chested bespectacled nerd. It was only after I had summoned a Pagan goddess that my looks had changed.

"My mother will be here, I'm sure," Josephine said as her gaze drifted from my face to my naked body and back to my face again. "She thinks that my getting chosen to become a slave is one of the best things that could have happened to me."

"What?"

Several of us asked the exact same question at the exact same time. Daniel added his own personal query at the end and asked Josephine if her mother was crazy.

"She was a slave from 2005 to 2009. She had a trainer who worked her hard, sort of like the physical trainers movie stars use, kept her in great physical condition, almost like an Olympic athlete. I think she developed a crush on her trainer."

"So, she thinks this place is some sort of training center for athletes? Danni asked. "I don't understand."

"I don't understand her position entirely myself," Josephine said. "But she believes in this place. She knows that slaves get punished here, but somehow, she's convinced herself that that's a good thing. Like, young people need a firm hand and guidance so that we don't become spoiled brats."

I rolled my eyes at that. So did some of the other slaves. The more Josephine talked, the more I got the impression that Josephine's mother would have whipped her daughter herself if she thought she could get away with it.

* * *

My mother never showed up. When Josephine's mother arrived, Josephine offered to share her mother with me. I must admit I was intrigued with Mrs. Angel's views on slavery. The fact that she felt it was a positive thing that her daughter was a naked slave, subject to sexual objectification and painful corporal punishment made me think that Josephine's mother (and maybe Josephine herself) had been influenced by Callidus.

It's normal for humans to desire freedom and dignity. The fact that Mrs. Angel looked fondly upon her days as a slave and had no problem with her daughter being whipped and forced to keep her naked body on display seemed abnormal and hinted at the sort of mystical manipulation Callidus had used to change my life.

Mrs. Angel looked elegant and polished in her slingback heels and her royal blue dress shirt. Her classy attire served to remind me I was naked. My nudity and her chic apparel created a stark contrast, and I ended up feeling more naked in her presence than I had felt before.

Being naked isn't too much of an ordeal if everyone around you is naked too. But Josephine's mother created a vivid contrast of which I was painfully aware.

Mrs. Angel took an intent interest in my breasts and buttocks. I had whip marks on my skin, and she insisted that I explain how they got there. She had the typical viewpoint that if a slave bore the marks of the paddle, the strap or the whip on her body, she must have done something to deserve them.

"My daughter has no whip marks," Mrs. Angel declared, and she ordered her daughter to do a slow turn to display her body from every angle to exhibit her virgin skin, evidence that she hadn't been whipped recently.

Josephine had extremely firm, high buttocks. I was momentarily hypnotized by the perfection of her curves and then I attempted to explain why my skin wasn't as smooth and unblemished as Josephine's.

"Two days ago, a congresswoman from Colorado whipped me. She'd never whipped a girl before and she got overly enthusiastic. Initially, she was just going to whip my bottom, but once I was hanging from a trapeze bar, with my feet dangling above the ground, she got overzealous and whipped me all over, from my breasts down to my knees."

Josephine's mother and I were seated at a table in the OPS cafeteria. Josephine brought back a tray of food for all three of us just as I finished giving my answer. She took a bottled water from the tray her daughter had delivered and gave me a doubtful look.

"Still, you must have done something to provoke her," the middle-aged woman insisted. "Some show of insolence or disrespect perhaps? That sort of thing is so common with young people these days."

I glanced over at Josephine, hoping that she would back me up and inform her mother that slaves at the OPS get whipped and spanked and whatnot because the people who come here enjoy inflicting that sort of pain on our young, naked bodies.

Sadly, Josephine was no help. Once again, I had to wonder about a mother who was so comfortable having her daughter stripped naked and locked up in a place like this where she could be sexually used by strangers and whipped for little to no cause.

"Doesn't it bother you, Mrs. Angel, to see Josephine and me as naked slaves, property of the federal government?" I pushed my chair back and stood up, putting the entirety of my naked body on display. "We're sex objects to be ogled and sexually assaulted. I wouldn't want my daughter treated like that."

"Josephine is serving her country," Mrs. Angel insisted. "OPS stands for Office of Patriotic Service. I served when I was younger. Now Josephine is carrying on the tradition. If you loved your country, you'd understand without me having to explain all of this to you."

I rolled my eyes at this. Getting stripped naked, sexually objectified, felt up and spanked for your country?

I felt that Mrs. Angel had some truly bizarre opinions about what constituted patriotism. She felt that I was disrespectful and insolent. She said that if I were her daughter, she would have talked to my handler and demanded that I be whipped for my insolent attitude and my stubborn refusal to see things her way.

When our brunch was over, I said my goodbyes to Josephine and her mother. I saw Lexi out in the hallway with her mother and decided to go over and join up with them. I felt a powerful need to get away from Mrs. Angel's 'forcing teenagers into sexual slavery is patriotism' propaganda and I knew that Lexi and her mother wouldn't be spewing it, so I called out and asked if I could join them.

"Mom, this is Alex," Lexi said, introducing her to my mother. "We're friends, I guess. I mean, our handlers discourage us from socializing with other slaves, but I like her. She and I are on good terms when our handlers and trainers allow us to talk to each other."

Lexi's mother reacted to my whip marks with horror and awkwardness, but I found that preferable to the way Josephine's mother saw my whip marks as evidence that I was a bad girl and somehow deserved to be punished.

Mrs. Boling was motherly and sympathetic, perhaps overly sympathetic, but after Mrs. Angel's negative attitude towards me, I felt that sympathy and mothering was a welcome change. And when Lexi's mother hugged me, it was like getting a hug from my real mom.

* * *

I fell into an easy familiarity with Mrs. Boling and soon it was like we were old friends. I thought I might spend the whole day with Lexi and her mother, but that idea got blown to hell when Joey arrived.

"Alex! Hey! It took a while to find you, but there you are!"

She was Uncle Raymond and Aunt Helen's daughter. She and I were about the same age, and I remember being jealous of her. She used to be so much prettier than me. But now, with Callidus warping reality and making me taller and sexier, I was the more beautiful of the two of us.

My first thought was that this was sort of a victory for me. Then Joey wrapped an arm around me and introduced herself to Lexi and her mother.

I soon learned that when Callidus gave me this new body, she also created an alternate timeline where I spent years flaunting my bigger boobs, my prettier face, and my longer legs, and making Joey feel insecure about her own body.

And now that I was a slave, she intended to make me pay for making her feel insecure and inferior. And since it was family weekend, Joey was free to spend the entire weekend with me and abuse me to her heart's content.

"When I heard about how you were a slave, I thought about coming to Sacramento to see you, but they said slaves aren't allowed to have people drop by for social visits...except on Family Weekend! So, I waited patiently for Family Weekend to roll around, and here I am!"

"Yes, here you are," I replied. "You came from Long Island all the way to Sacramento, just to see me."

"I had to," Joey insisted. "I couldn't let you spend four years in this place without anyone from your family coming to visit!"

My older sister, Haley, had visited several times since I'd become a slave; however, I elected not to tell Joey about those visits. Every time Haley showed up in Sacramento, she and I had sex while prurient spectators watched.

I didn't feel like sharing that information with Joey. I felt it would send the wrong message and encourage my cousin to pursue a wicked lesbian incest theme that made my insides squirm.

Joey made pleasant small talk with Lexi, Lexi's mother and me for a few minutes. But then she requested to speak to me alone out in the hallway. She sounded pleasant when she said it, but I picked up an undertone of menace.

* * *

Joey marched me down the hallway and found a room that no one was using. It looked like a classroom, with a chalkboard, a teacher's desk, and smaller desks for students, but I knew from experience that no classes were taught there. The VIPs used this room to indulge in sexual fetishes where they pretended to be teachers punishing naughty schoolgirls.

Once we were inside, Joey closed the door behind her, locked it and turned to face me. Her cheerful attitude and bright smile disappeared. Suddenly she was all business.

"I talked to some people here, and they tell me you got all upset when they forced you to have sex with girls."

That was something of an exaggeration. It's true that I had tried to talk my way out of having lesbian sex. I had strongly identified as heterosexual when I first arrived in Sacramento, and at first, I had to be forced into lesbian sex, but I had since developed a taste for it. Indeed, by then I had crushes on several of the female slaves, one of the female VIPs, one of the female security guards and a female trainer.

"Yes, I was upset when I was ordered to have sex with other women," I admitted. "What's your point?"

An evil smile spread across my cousin's young face, and she replied, "Now that I know how mortifying it is for you to have sex with other women, I'm going to force myself on you and watch you suffer."

I felt my face heat up and bit my tongue. While I no longer found it traumatizing to have sex with other women, I felt a sort of squirming fear deep inside my guts at the prospect of being raped by my cousin.

Then my cousin wrapped her arms around me. She hugged me close, pressing her clothed body into my naked one. Her hug was nothing like my hug with Lexi's mother.

Mrs. Boling's hug was all about motherly concern and compassion. Joey's hug was all about sex and dominance. I could feel the zipper of her leather jacket against one of my nipples and as she embraced me, I felt one of her hands reach down to grab my ass. She squeezed one of my buttocks and I let out a surprised gasp as she groped me.

"Doesn't it bother you that sex with me would be incest?" I asked as she continued to run her hands up and down my naked flesh, holding me close and feeling me up.

"Does it bother you to have lesbian sex with your sister?" Joey asked. "The more it bothers you, the more I'm going to enjoy it."

My eyebrows went up in confusion. I squirmed slightly in her grip and said, "Sister? I'm not your sister. I'm your cousin."

Suddenly, Joey spun me around and pushed me into a wall. I put my hands in front of me to protect the rest of my body from a violent collision and then Joey smacked me sharply across my bare bottom.

"You are whatever I say you are, slave girl!"

Then she smacked me on the bottom three more times in rapid succession.

"If I say you're my sister, you're not going to disagree with me. For the next two days, you're basically my property and I can punish you for the slightest sign of disrespect or disagreement, so you'd better get used to the idea that I'm in charge. I control the narrative, I control the agenda, I control everything."

Then she took off her belt, and she sliced the thin strip of leather across my ass, hard enough to make it sting.

"Ow! Okay, I'm your sister!"

The leather belt lashed out again, stinging red hot against my naked flesh.

"Ow!"

"And for the next two days, Joey is in control of your life!" Joey barked. "Say it"

"And for the next two days Joey is in control of my life."

Joey got me to say all sorts of things to appease her. If I hesitated or questioned her words, her leather belt would swish through the air and crack across my naked backside once again. I quickly learned to parrot whatever she said, even if it didn't make any sense.