Recovering Slut Pt. 02

I don't know how or where she recruited these men, but in the year I worked there I saw a steady supply of them kneeling beside me. More than once, I witnessed her ceremonially releasing their dicks at the end of a contract, after which they rushed off, obviously intent on masturbation after weeks or months in chastity. Oddly enough, however, many of them returned a few weeks later and voluntarily signed up for another period of chastity and oral servitude—the ultimate expression of delayed gratification.

As for me, Alice encouraged me both to improve my technique and to take what pleasure I could from such a demeaning act. And, I did learn to enjoy it sometimes. I mean, even though I was naked, collared, and bound on my knees, in some sense I had some control over things because I could determine when and how well the guy In my mouth climaxed.

My new mistress told me that I was the second-best cock-sucker she'd had in a dozen years of operation. When my face betrayed a question, she looked around to ensure that none of the others could hear her, and whispered that the most talented and enthusiastic oral performer she had ever used was a beautiful young blonde with a tight figure, rented out to her several times by one of the slave agencies. Giggling, Alice told me that she had since met that blonde as a free woman. Truth being stranger than fiction, the young woman had gone on to be a slave psychiatrist.

Face-planting moment—now that I think of it, could Alice have been describing Doctor Nikki Sheldon, MY shrink? Nikki did tell me that she had been a slave at one time, and there were only a few such specialists in all of Texas, so it was at least a possibility. I could never dare ask the Doc directly, but perhaps I could work the conversation around to my own experience at the glory hole to see if she picks up on that place. Meanwhile, the memory of being able to make the customers come almost at will helped me get off a few more times in my narrow bed at the Longhorn. It was tempting to wish I again had such a steady diet of cock and cum, so I had to remind myself of all the horrible, negative consequences of enslavement.

* * * * *

I guess all that recollection of sex put me in the mood when, two weeks after our first outing, Lorraine and I went back to the same club. Phil and Bill were both there, looking around eagerly for us. This time I felt more comfortable, and by the end of the evening we were each dancing with our arms around the necks of our perspective beaux. Of course, Lorraine had a lot more body to press against a guy that I did, but his erection told me that Bill was enjoying himself and felt attracted to me. It was a heady thought that plain old Betsy, even wearing clothes and no collar, could get a guy interested. Perhaps it was true that guys were actually stimulated by the prospect of bedding a woman who (in my case, for the first time ever) might say "no." As if!

It was almost inevitable that the four of us ended up at Phil's one-bedroom apartment, which was only three blocks from the club. Lorraine and Phil couldn't keep their hands off each other on the way, and made no bones about retiring immediately into his bedroom. That left Bill and me sitting beside each other on the couch, making out. It was a real treat for me to have a guy actually hesitate to feel me up, although I certainly gave him every opportunity and responded by stroking his bulge. In minutes, I was unzipping him and sliding down onto my knees to face him, both of us half-undressed. He bent over to stroke my nipples as I fondled his balls and planting little licks all over the mushroom head of his good-sized shaft. I quickly built up a supply of saliva on his stiffening rod.

Then I went to work, exercising my one talent, and Bill very nosily lost his mind. Up until then, I felt and acted almost virginal, with no experience at all in the mating rituals of free adults, so he probably didn't expect much from me in terms of sex. But THIS I knew how to do. I brought him immediately to full erection and then proceeded to edge him for about 12 or 15 minutes. The whole time he was squirming, moaning, almost begging me to bring him off, but I wanted to ensure he would really enjoy himself. Finally, I deep throated him, bringing out an orgasm that blasted straight down my esophagus so it left almost no taste in my mouth. I finished by licking and sucking him clean in a slow, gentle manner, grinning up at him as I'd been taught to do in my first slave brothel. I kept at it long enough that his erection began to return—the speed with which he recovered made me feel truly sexy.

When I sat back, Bill was voluble in his compliments, telling me (and he seemed sincere) that I was the "finest cocksucker he had ever met."

And then I spilled the beans. Without thinking, I replied, as I had on those infrequent occasions when I received compliments over the past ten years, "Thank you, Master."

His face shifted into a wide grin. "Master, huh? Do you like playing slave girl, Betsy?"

Before I could think of how to cover up for my mistake, he issued a string of gentle but firm instructions. "OK, slave girl—stand up. Lose the clothes." I scrambled out of my dress and underwear, feeling myself dripping with the familiar thrill of submission. My sense of vulnerability was also familiar, naked in front of a clothed male.

Bill's tie was already loose around his neck, but now he pulled it free, untying the knot. "Turn around, slave girl. Back Hands." I responded automatically, feeling my wrists bound snugly together. Then he stood up, pulled me backwards into his arms, and ran his hands all over my boobs, vulva, and clit. He kissed my neck and praised me, "Good slut. Now—walk around behind the couch."

He followed, standing behind me and gently pushing my legs apart while he again fondled the rest of my body. His touch wasn't painful, but he took possession with much greater assurance than he had displayed when we were necking. As my heart and breathing accelerated, he ordered me to bend over the back of the couch, leaving me naked and spread for his use.

Without being harsh, Bill confidently stretched my thighs apart, then thrust into me, occupying my entire canal in three rapid pushes. I was so wet that all I felt was a pleasing fullness with little or no pain or friction. I moaned in pleasure as he rapidly sped up until he was slamming his hips against my cheeks at a frantic pace, and I was trying to meet every stroke by lurching backwards against him, just as hard.

"You like that, don't you, you little slut?" He panted in my ear. "Tell me what you want, girl."

Ten years of training dictated my answer, even though in this case it was the truth, "Please, fuck me hard—shove that monster cock into me any way that you want, Master. FUUCK ME!"

That standard invitation from a slave might well have gotten me butt fucked, but fortunately Bill was already so excited that he unloaded into my front canal only a few seconds later, then collapsed on top of my naked, bound body. For the next few minutes, both of us struggled to catch our breath. Finally, he dismounted from me, untied my wrists, and stumbled off to the bathroom. A moment later he returned with a warm washcloth that he used to gently wipe off my labia and thighs. Finally, he helped me back up, guided me back around the couch, and collapsed again, this time holding me gently in his lap.

And then I realized what had just happened, and I broke down crying. To his credit, Bill did his best to comfort me, although for a while he didn't understand the problem. I finally confessed that, until recently, I had been a slave—in fact, he was the only man who had ever had sex with me as a free woman, and now I had made a fool of myself. The first time I had sex as a free woman, I had reverted back into a horny slut and begged him to fuck my slave brains out.

It took a long time for me to stop crying, even though he said that we had just been role playing, and that I should never be embarrassed to show my emotions—as long as I enjoyed what we had done, what was the problem? He claimed that he didn't think less of me—in fact, he was REALLY impressed with my performance, and hoped that we could do it again sometime soon.

Finally, we got dressed again. I wanted to flee from the scene of my greatest failure, when I had fulfilled all the stereotypes about ex-slaves being easy, submissive whores, but I couldn't say that clearly to a guy who had after all been rather sweet to me. I had thrown myself at him like a bimbo with no pride, and he had only treated me in the manner I had begged for. I felt worse than a slave, because I had the legal choice but DECIDED to abase myself in front of him. Hell, Bill could have taken me to court and claimed that I had self-identified as a slave, but instead he had been very kind and respectful.

Fortunately, before I became frantic Lorraine emerged from the bedroom with a self-satisfied grin on her face. She could see immediately that I was distraught, so she made up some story about we both had to get some sleep before working in the morning. Bill and Phil respectfully walked us back to her car, and I felt I owed Bill a final kiss and a smile. I told him that he had been great, there was nothing wrong with how he had treated me, but that I was so stressed out that I needed to rethink my situation before I saw him again.

On the drive back to the Longhorn, I confessed to Lorraine how slutty I had been. She also tried to reassure me, reminding me that submissive sex was the only kind I had ever known, so it was natural that I reverted to that when a guy turned me on. She even admitted, with a grin on her face, that she had let Phil pin her down and screw her hard, but I still felt like a social failure, a woman who would never be more than a horny slave at heart.

I felt a little better by the time I had taken a shower and climbed into my lonely, narrow bed, but I could barely sleep as I kept replaying my outrageous conduct in my mind. The next morning, as soon as I got time on a break I found the dayshift manager and begged for an appointment to see Dr. Sheldon, the slave psychiatrist on retainer to the Longhorn. Fortunately for me, she was due to visit only four days after my debacle with Bill. I didn't think that anyone could really solve my problem, but "Dr. Nikki" seemed my best hope.

to be continued