Repaying My College Loans Pt. 08

(This story is set in the legalized enslavement world of Joe_Doe_Stories, by permission of that author.)

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By now, my story of how I became a legal slave-whore to work off my college debts must seem like nonstop submission, humiliation, and intercourse. And it was for the first few months, when I was put through the mill of enslavement, shipment, processing, auctioning, and training as a pleasure slut. Even after I returned to Fort Worth, my Mistress and former boss, Pamela Williams, pimped me out to anyone who had enough influence to be a VIP for the XYZ Bank, of which she was the division vice president. As I've said before, I put the "tail" in retail.

Things were calmer in her home, which she shared with me and with Lily Russell, her executive assistant and my predecessor as an indentured slut at the bank. So long as I was obedient, we were like three women—or perhaps two women and a smart service dog—sharing the house. They would politely ask me to do chores, cook, or serve them and I was overjoyed to please them. Several times each week, one of them tied me onto a treadmill for half an hour, then drilled me on slave positions to ensure stamina and instant obedience. They made few sexual demands on me; sometimes on off weekends my submissive horniness got so high that I had to beg the privilege of entertaining them with my tongue, kneeling between their legs while they gently stroked my hair.

On even more unusual occasions, the charged sexual atmosphere in which we worked made them as horny as me. (It must be frustrating to see your collared bimbo getting so much sex in the office.) One of the ladies—usually Lily but sometimes my Mistress—would abruptly order me into her bedroom for a session of domination. What's the point of owning an over-sexed pleasure slut if you never use her? On my knees, I reverently helped a goddess insert the back end of a double dildo with harness inside her. Then she would fill my smiling mouth with the lifelike shaft. I used my teeth to grip it lightly, so that I could move the entire thing in a way that rubbed the back end inside the dominant woman's vagina. Eventually, I would end up bent over the bed or strapped into kneeling stocks while she pumped my other openings enthusiastically (they were always much gentler and more considerate than guys about sodomizing me.) As a submissive girl trained to nearly-constant arousal, I was often thrilled when an alpha male dominated me. But giving intimate pleasure to the two people who controlled and cared for me was marvellous, much more about making love than having sex.

On rare occasions, Ms. Griffin held formal parties, and then Clarice, my sister in bondage, and I were called upon to serve food, drink, and sexual favors. For really important visitors, like board members of the bank, Lily would join us, dressed in a green version of the classic naughty French maid costume. When that happened, she was usually in the greatest demand; as Lily explained to us afterwards, precisely because slave pussy was so plentiful, hyper-competitive guys who thought with their dicks found it even more satisfying to dominate free women. That combination of prick and ego was the easiest way for a smart woman to control a man.

My assigned sleeping place was a large, padded cage inside the closet of a spare bedroom, ready to perform as the en suite sex slave for a rare overnight visitor. Many nights, however, I slept elsewhere. The most common location was under a blanket, curled in a large pet bed beside my Mistress' bed where she could talk with me (if sleep eluded her) or send me on errands. When Ms. Williams was out of town, I got to sleep—and I do mean sleep, not make love—with Lilly. On rare occasions when I was cold or sick, Lilly would even spoon with me in her bed, an experience I treasured.

There was one exception, and that was when Ms. Williams' long-time boyfriend, Master Jack, came to visit and spend the night. I would serve dinner to them and perhaps even "fluff" him, slowly tonguing his cock under the table while they talked, ignoring me. After that, however, I would be banished to my cage and treated with almost the full rigor of a slave in transit, blindfolded, gagged, and bound. The only concession was that my wrists were bound in front of me to be more comfortable, and when Mistress did this she warned me to go to sleep immediately and not remove the gag or blindfold without permission.

She didn't want me to know what they did in bed. At first, this didn't make sense to me, since the two lovers had shared me when they attended an open house at the Pearson Ranch. But, I knew what she wanted, so I dutifully tried to go to sleep and pretended to still be asleep when "awoken" the next morning. When quizzed, I always said that I had been so tired that I fell asleep very quickly. In fact, however, I discovered that Ms. Williams had made a rare oversight. The air-conditioning duct next to my closet must have led directly to my Mistress' bedroom, and I heard every sound that happened when Master Jack and Mistress Pamela made love. I tried to ignore it, because I knew she would have been mortified, but some nights I think my body, already habituated to frequent sex, was as excited as theirs. That body became my alibi, covering the fact that my cage sometimes smelled like a brothel after I evesdropped. I pretended (it wasn't much of a lie) that I was so horny that I had occasional wet dreams. After that, I was careful to jill off a few times when I slept in either of my ladies' bed chambers. Unauthorized masturbation like that earned me a few spankings, but I was willing to pay that price to avoid embarrassing my Mistress. It became a running joke in which they would mock me, accusing me (quite accurately) of being a natural-born slut bimbo who was too horny to think straight.

Then came Mistress' birthday. I had baked her a cake, and Master Jack and Mistress Lily gave her presents. Yet, Jack seemed oddly subdued, with none of his usual boisterousness or demeaning comments about my sexual service. When I crouched down to assume my usual position under the table, Mistress halted me, saying that on her birthday Jack didn't deserve any extra pleasure. Then, Lily announced that she had to visit a sick friend and would not return before morning—she put me in my cage as usual, again demanded that I go to sleep, and left. I heard a car start up outside.

That's when the noises through the air vent got truly weird. At first, I couldn't understand what was happening, but I quickly realized that Mistress was role-playing as Jack's owner. Previously, they had sounded like equals in the bedroom, although sometimes Mistress was slightly submissive when she asked him to do specific things to her. This time, however, their conversation was largely one-sided, and reminded me of the day Mistress had taken me to the Texas Department of Agriculture for enslavement:

"Strip." She began in the commanding voice she reserved for lowly sluts like me.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, hesitantly.

Whap! The sound of something striking flesh. "That's Mistress to you, bitch—Hurry up."

"On your knees, slave . . .Collar!" (a pause.) Then, she started spitting out the slave commands that she had used to display me to Judge Bean on my day of enslavement:

"Present" (I imagined Jack standing, legs slightly apart, fingers interlocked behind his neck)

"About Face . . . Display" (This required to him turn around and bend over, displaying his butt and balls to her). Perhaps his cock would be too erect to be visible from the rear; my imagination could only go so far.

"Prone . . . Slave Fours." (The images in my mind became pornographic. In reality, since to my knowledge Jack had never practiced slave postures, he would probably have appeared clumsy and embarrassed as he tried to satisfy her. The sound of various spanking blows and a few yelps confirmed this.)

Eventually, she ordered him back into the kneeling position and to Stay! I heard a door close—presumably his Mistress for the night had gone into the bathroom. Everything was quiet for a few minutes, then the door re-opened and I heard his involuntary exclamation at sight of her:

"You look gorgeous." Then, realizing he was out of his role, he belatedly added "Mistress."

"No talking! I have another use for that mouth, worm—open wide!" There followed the sound of him gagging and occasionally coughing. She must be probing his mouth with a strap-on! "You need to practice this, so you're better at cock-sucking when I loan you out to the bank's business associates." She remarked, smugly, for all the world as if she were talking to one of her slaves.

I wasn't able to understand everything that happened that night, but it did not surprise me when, at one point, he almost screamed and then, a few minutes later, she prompted him to beg her to ram his ass. The sounds of mutual panting, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin, and her climax let me know that she had obliged him. After several minutes of panting, during which time her dildo was apparently still inside him, she inquired,

"Whose ass is this, bitch-boy?"

His reply was full of love as well as pleasure: "It's your ass, Mistress."

"Damn straight, and don't forget it!" followed by the sound of her hand slapping, probably on his butt. A groan a moment later suggested that she had finally pulled out.

Afterwards, she was very loving to him, praising his performance and apparently wiping up the mess on him and the bed. The last comment I heard was to the effect that she liked him as a slave; she'd untie him in the morning . . . maybe. He mumbled a reply, something about "just wait until next month."

At the time, about ten months into my indenture and slut training, I was still thoroughly imprinted in submission to all free people, but more commonly to males. Still, although I was usually glad to suck off a guy on command, I got a secret thrill from the idea of this role reversal, with a naked alpha male on his knees while a woman used a strap-on to fuck his face and then his butt. I'm sure there were strong women who treated male slaves that way, but the idea of a free man voluntarily accepting such treatment was a revelation. I couldn't imagine myself doing that, but the whole encounter seemed perfectly believable for an assertive woman like Ms. Griffin. She was really lucky to have such a cooperative boyfriend.

Blindfolded, I have no idea how long I waited for release from my cage the next morning. At one point, I heard kisses and murmurs coming through the air duct followed by heavy footfalls, presumably Master Jack leaving the next morning. When Lily finally released me, I was (as usual) desperate to relieve myself. She was so apologetic about making me suffer that she made no comment about any lingering smell of my arousal from the previous night. She did ask me about the previous evening, and I pretended that I had been so tired and so bored in my sightless bondage that I fell asleep promptly.

The next act of this little mystery happened six weeks later, on Master Jack's birthday. Already suspicious, I observed that the two lovers had reversed behaviors. Jack was boisterous and assertive, while Mistress was subdued. Once again, Lily put me to bed early in my cage before leaving (ostensibly) for a hot date. You guessed it—the air conditioning duct brought me a different drama, as if I were listening to pornographic radio (What would the title be? "As the queen bitch sucks?"). Master Jack ordered Ms. Williams around, calling her all the demeaning names he usually reserved for slaves like me, and audibly spanking and teasing her. Having seen her go through slave yoga positions while wearing a skimpy leotard, it was easy to imagine her tight body responding smoothly and sensually to his commands. She seemed to really enjoy the role, begging with true passion that her "Master" "fuck your slut in any hole you choose." It sounded like he chose "all of the above" and gave his "slut" multiple orgasms before flooding her back passage (his description was much more graphic, repeatedly asking "whose ass is this?" and how she liked being "fucked up that slave ass.") She was either a very good actress or she enjoyed even that; they both made a lot of noise .

The next morning, Lily freed me but didn't buy my act of innocence. She finally got me to admit what I had heard but she insisted I promise not to tell a soul and especially not the boss, who would be mortified. She also told me that, the first several times Mistress Pamela had played slave, Lily spent the night parked outside the house, ready to intervene with a taser if Jack tried to drag our mistress off into real servitude. Although I was somewhat disturbed at the image of my domineering Mistress submitting to another person, it also told me that successful free women could sometimes be submissive in the bedroom. I began to dream of achieving the same deal. Some day my indenture would be paid off. By that time, however, I would be so indoctrinated to sexual subordination that I would have to find a lover who would both respect me in public and dominate me in private. With no dating experience or skills, how would I do that? A fast-talking guy might well trick me back into slavery, or at least a one-sided, abusive relationship.

Fast forward in time. I was approaching the end of my third year as an indentured sex slave entertaining the VIP customers and business associates of XYZ Bank in Fort Worth. Although my life was sometimes painful or disgusting, frequently enjoyable, and usually humiliating, I had adjusted to my strange existence. As the interest continued to accumulate, I still owed my owner, bank vice president Pamela Wright, about $16,000 in sexual service. But everything changed one Monday when Ms. Williams returned from a meeting of the board of directors with a broad smile on her face. She called me and her executive assistant (and former indentured slut) Lily Russell into her office and told Lily to close the door. Lily sat on a chair while I, as usual, knelt in the corner, thighs apart and hands behind my neck.

"No sense dragging this out; I've got great news—the board of directors just named me as CEO of the bank, effective next Monday." We both hastened to offer our congratulations, but after a moment wondered what would become of us.

"Lily," she continued, "I need you to stay right here for the next month or so to provide continuity in this division. I haven't decided about selling my house in Fort Worth, so you can continue to live there for now. I'll probably promote Jim Walker [the manager of the second-largest branch in town] to fill in here. Once he gets his feet on the ground, I'll bring you over to Dallas—I have a special job, a promotion, for you."

She saw my troubled expression. "Don't worry, Beth, I'll take care of you." My subservient role discouraged me from asking for clarification, but I worried.

"There's a lot we need to do this week." My Mistress continued. "I used the car phone to telephone Ms. Campbell, the judge's admin assistant, and made an appointment for 3 p.m. today. Take that paperwork we discussed yesterday; once the judge approves it, you'll have to register it with the Department of Agriculture." I knew what that meant—little sub slave Beth was going to get a workout from the over-endowed and obnoxious judge, and probably have to swallow Mr. Shively at the Ag Department, to gain their approval of whatever this was. At least Shively was a gentle man who pulled the blinds on his glass-walled office before he used me. While thinking about all that, I thought I saw my Mistress put her finger to her lips, as if telling Lily not to say anything.

That afternoon was as trying as ever—the judge got a 3-way, having me bring him to full erection before he spread me across his desk, face down. As usual, he rammed his oversized prick into my cunt hard and fast, then shifted to an invasion of my anus. Even though I had stretched and lubricated that opening, it was excruciating for the first several minutes. When he finally slammed into my butt and held himself there to climax, I parroted, as I knew he expected, "Thank you for reaming my ass with your magnificent cock, Master."

I hoped he would withdraw, but instead he remained fully sheathed in my intestines, called Lily in from the outer office, and signed whatever paper she had brought. As he handed the file to her and finally pulled out of my rectum, I thought I saw my name, "Sullivan, E. R." on the file folder. Oh, Lord, was my Mistress going to sell me or transfer my ownership to her successor, Mr. Walker? The thought of that was so disturbing that I stumbled through the rest of the afternoon in a daze, following Lily on my leash to the Agriculture Department, sucking Shively off, and ambling back to the car. When Lily stopped as a WalMart on the way home, she apparently wanted to prevent me from looking in her briefcase. Ordinarily, she trusted me and only used the leash and cuffs in public, when custom dictated it. This time, however, she hogtied me on the floor of the back seat, where I spent an uncomfortable 20 minutes.

Two hours later, as I served dinner to the two women, Mistress noticed that I was limping, and asked if I was all right.

"The judge really shafted her today, Ma'am," murmured Lily.

"You poor dear. Come kneel next to me and relax," Ms. Williams responded. Since she was being so nice, I finally got up my nerve to ask her the question that was troubling me.

"Mistress—may I ask a question?" Without waiting for permission, I hurried onwards. "Who will be my new owner?"

She set down her fork and looked at me. "What are you talking about, slave? What new owner?"

I knew that I had breached discipline, so had little left to use. "Isn't that what Lily was doing this afternoon—transferring my ownership?"

She tried to look fierce, but her eyes were dancing. "Lily, will you get that file—and also the bag you picked up at WalMart?" After a pause for the items in question, she continued.

"You're smarter than that, slut. I told you that Lily will no longer be available to be my assistant—that means that, as CEO, I need a new one who knows my system, has my trust, and will do anything to keep important people happy. There's only one person that fits that description, the same person who just got her butt reamed to get the judge to approve this." She opened a file folder and showed me Manumission Papers for Sullivan, Elizabeth R., civil indentured slave, with today's date. While I stared at this in disbelief, she used the electronic key on her bracelet to unlock and remove my collar. "In other words, your new owner is you."

I thanked her profusely, of course, but still couldn't absorb what had happened. My (former!) mistress finally stopped my babbling. "OK, just as with Lily, on occasion I will still need you to service people for me, so don't forget your exercises and daily douching. However, we will have to be more discrete around the corporate headquarters. You will inevitably encounter a few people who recognize you, but we need to limit that as much as possible. The first step is to ensure that nobody in the Dallas headquarters knows your previous status and performance. Lily?"

The redhead grinned. "This bag isn't much, just a few bras, panties, a pair of tennis shoes, and a stretchy set of sweats, because I don't know your exact sizes. Tomorrow, you and I are going to go buy you a new wardrobe, followed by a 4 p.m. appointment to cut and style your hair. We need to turn Slut 8276 into a new and improved Elizabeth Sullivan, computer and admin whiz. Thursday morning at 9 you need to be in the corporate headquarters in Dallas, for in-processing as the CEO's executive assistant."

"Meanwhile," Ms. Williams continued, "young ladies don't go around without clothes, so get dressed. Any time I find you naked on your knees, I'll treat you like the slave you used to be, complete with cuffs, stocks, strap-on, and cage. Got it?" A giggle from all of us—I imagined future games in her service.