Same Old Halloween Costume

The next stage was announced by the self-appointed MC of this impromptu slave matchup (Brian told me later that he was the managing partner of his firm, and that my slave performance had notably raised his credit with his boss—fair enough, I guess, since he saved me from becoming a slave for real.) Anyway, the big boss wanted the three winners to "face off" in an oral sex contest, but to be fair to all cummers, we couldn't service our OWN partners, but had to bring off a volunteer from the audience. Two unidentified women and an unknown guy—probably Chinese volunteers from the staff—were the lucky recipients of oral services from us "slaves." I was relieved for "Rich's" sake that he didn't have to suck cock, but disappointed that I didn't get the chance to lick dick (one of my all-time favorite activities, in case you hadn't guessed), either. Nikki, the lucky little slut, got to deep-throat the guy, and with her experience she won easily. Which meant that "Rich" and I ended up with our heads underneath the skirts of two complete strangers, frantically tonguing their labia and clits. Rich must have had tremendous experience at that, since even through the skirt I heard "his" "mistress" climax only a few seconds after Nikki's victim—I mean, "Master." OK, I had experimented with lesbian sex a few times in college, but I'm no expert. I tried to do unto others what I would like done unto me—she tasted good without any repellant odor, but was slow to come to a boil, so I was dead last in the contest.

Nikki had won the contest and received an obscenely-shaped trophy, an actual working vibrator, while as runner-up "Rich" got the privilege of giving "remedial oral training" to the loser—me. I gotta say that, for such a seemingly-effeminate guy, Rich turned out to be a master swordsman. Yes, he was pounding my mouth like a jack-hammer, but he seemed to know what he was doing, slowing down his pumping and mauling my bare tits in a manner that ensured I enjoyed my "remedial training" as much as my "trainer" did. He was somewhat rougher with me than Brian, but when you're submissive SOME degree of being dominated and forced is part of the fun. I also liked swallowing and then licking him clean, but it was a little disappointing to notice, when I slowly removed my lips from his rod, that he'd spent the entire time staring lovingly at the red-haired 30-ish woman who had "enslaved" him. Oh, well, he got to spurt and I got to suck a nice dick, so I can't complain.

Plus, when I was finally returned to the custody of my "Master" Brian, he gave me enough to drink to reduce my remaining inhibitions and worries about being identified. We just went with the flow, with continued fondling of my body and risqué dialog.

*****

OK, I confess—I had two kinds of buzz going on by the time we left the party—a little buzz from alcohol and a HUGE buzz from being everyone's sex slave in public, living out many of my fantasies! I even enjoyed having my hands cuffed behind me while my fiancé/owner led me, slave naked, on a leash (connected to my collar (!) into the cool evening and walked me over to the limousine where Carlos the driver was standing, holding the door open and trying hard not to stare at my bare boobs. The collared bitch inside of me couldn't help imagining what it would be like to have such a virile young guy use me thoroughly, preferably with my owner-for-the-night also taking advantage of my naked defenselessness. That just added to my sexual thrill, but I managed not to throw myself (literally) at the poor guy. I wanted to—three hours of sexual teasing and nary a climax for "Juicy Janice."

Then Master Brian spoke, and I realized that I wasn't the only one who was turned on and half in the bag from drinks. "Carlos! Charlie!" He hailed the young man like a long-lost brother. "You've been very patient with us this evening, and I intend to give you a significant bonus in bucks when we get home. For now, however, I can't help noticing that this slave whore turns you on, right?"

Carlos was visibly embarrassed, not just because he had been checking me out but also because, I'm certain, his employer had threatened him with dire consequences if he had any physical intimacy with the customers. He almost stuttered. "Of-of-course, sir. Your slave is very attractive, supremely sexy, but my company forbids any sexual contact with the customers."

He grinned, almost leered, at the guy while he proceeded to demolish the vain effort to avoid what all three of us hoped would happen! "Well, your attitude is commendable, Carlos, but this bitch isn't a customer, she's my property, right? She has absolutely no say in who fucks her in which hole, does she? So, if I want to lend her to you for a few minutes' use, there's no problem with your company policy. She has no choice in who uses her, but if I DID ask her to service you, what would she say?" He stared hard at me, and I knew my lines.

"Please, Master Carlos, this slave would be honored if you would ram your magnificent cock into any or all of my slutty openings, your choice, please Sir? Horny slaves need to be stretched and shafted as often as possible for their own well-being." I think even Brian, who knew me, was surprised by the way I babbled in my need.

We could both see that the poor young guy had come to the end of his ability to resist temptation. Telling him to follow, my fiancé/pimp led me to the side of the limousine's long engine compartment, then pushed me over so that I was bent at a right angle, hands still cuffed behind my back as I lay face down on the limousine's hood. Three hours ago, the metal had undoubtedly been warmed by the engine, but now it had cooled off so much that my erect nipples felt a shock. I gave a little yip of surprise at that cold, but I was more than willing to give this guy a tip by allowing HIS tip—and I hoped a nice long shaft—inside my warm, well-lubricated body. In preparation for that, I spread my feet apart and pushed out my tush, clearly offering my well-lubricated pussy and well as my ass to all "cummers."

The next three sounds were predictable: the sound of a zipper sliding down, a sharp slap! of flesh on flesh as he drove a very respectable cock into me in only two thrusts, and then my sigh of contentment as a man had finally taken possession of my (pseudo-) slave cunt. That was just the beginning, though—in what seemed like only two minutes, I felt and heard that dick picking up speed and power, ramming into me relentlessly from behind as I squirmed, mewed, and cooed at the sensation of being well and truly pounded, something I had been hoping for all evening. It was embarrassing to be taken by a near-stranger while naked, helpless, and dripping in public, but at least I was finally getting some cock into me! True, I would much rather have had my fiancé do the honors, but slaves, even pretend ones, have to take their pleasure where they can find it. Besides, I was certain that this particular scene would be replayed frequently in both my masturbatory fantasies and our more private role-playing games.

"Oh, please, ram me, Master, fuck me, pound me, Master, please." I was babbling again, happy to finally get some serious use after hours pretending to be a slave while people kept me on the edge of climax. All too soon, I felt a final flurry of frantic fucking as the chauffeur did his damnedest to ensure his sperm got well inside of me. (I had birth control, of course, but still worried about STDs.)

He collapsed on top of me as we both frantically gasped for more oxygen. I became aware that I was surrounded by flashing lights; at first, I thought it was just part of my orgasm, but then, as Master Carlos dismounted, I realized that a police car had pulled up behind the limo. Blessedly, the lights went off but I could still hear an engine running and someone walking towards us. Oh, crap—it wasn't illegal to fuck a slave in public—so long as no minors were present—but I really didn't want to be identified in police records as being involved in this stunt. And then it got worse.

"Evenin', folks—do you mind telling me what's going on here?" Triple crap—of all the law enforcement officers to find me in flagrante delicto, in the very act of being bent over a car along the street and publicly plowed while I was "dressed"—to use the term loosely—as a slave, it had to be Deputy Roberts, the very guy whom I had publicly humiliated about chain of custody two weeks earlier. What goes around, comes around. Karma's a bitch, and apparently she has it in for wannabee slave girls. He continued walking around the car, probably seeing the side of my face as it pressed into the hood.

My beloved fiancé did his best to obfuscate and distract. "Evening to you, Deputy. I just left my company's party; as you can see, I hired a limousine so that I wouldn't run the risk of DWI . . ."

Roberts cut in: "Thank you for that, sir—I appreciate you being so responsible, but what's this slave doing?"

"Oh," Brian replied, as if suddenly realizing there was a third person present. "Well, I brought my slave to the party to entertain people, if you know what I mean. As you can see, I'm keeping her suitably restrained—can't let horny sluts wander around loose. Now that it's time to go home, I offered my driver a little tip, in the form of using this slut before he drove us home. Would you care to sample her yourself, purely for your information?"

"That's right neighborly of you, sir. But I've never been partial to sloppy seconds."

"I can see I needed to be clearer, Deputy—nobody's used her brown starfish this evening, but earlier I had her take an enema and lubricate herself down there." HO-LEE CRAP, to cite my favorite Asiatic philosopher. Literally, crap, as in Roberts was about to enter my exit-only crap hole. My fiancé was offering my worst enemy the chance to cornhole me, and I couldn't protest without getting into a worse situation. (In case you're wondering, the Texas legislature has long since exempted slave sex from any accusation of sodomy or rape, because slaves are by definition not people with rights and they're legally incapable of refusing any form of sex—the good ol' boys down here are free to ream any opening in a slave so long as they don't cause permanent injury. They can be tried for abuse of a public animal or trespassing on the private property of the owner if they penetrate a slave without permission, but those are civil crimes normally punishable by paying restitution to the slave's owner.)

"Well, if you put it that way, how can I refuse such a generous offer?" the deputy replied. Once again, I heard a zipper opening, then felt two beefy hands spreading my lower cheeks apart and a large—VERY large—and warm object pressing against my sphincter. Once he had me positioned properly, I felt him grasp my butt firmly with both hands, running the fingers of the left hand over my Big D brand, and then WHOOSH. It felt like a warm can of coke being thrust harder and harder, deeper and deeper into my colon. I whimpered as my rectum had no choice but to stretch to accommodate this massive invasion. If he hadn't been in law enforcement, this guy should have been charged with carrying a concealed weapon—his dick!

Once Roberts was fully seated inside me, with a belt buckle pressed against the small of my back, I expected him to really go to town, but instead he just SSLLOOOWWLLY pumped that intruder in and out; I actually enjoy the dirty, defenseless feeling I get when a dominant guy takes my rear passage, but the deputy was so BIG that I was thankful for his restraint. After about the tenth cycle of out-and-in, he paused—once again fully sheathed inside my body—and reached forward, turning my slave collar around until he found my fiancé's little joke, which he carefully and slowly read out loud: "199-55-4227, Juicy Janice; if found unattended, please return this slut to Master Brian Holden," followed by Brian's telephone number. Once had finished reading, Deputy Roberts (excuse me, for the moment MASTER Roberts) chuckled a little, then rapidly picked up the pace again, slamming into me in a way that pressed my breasts hard against the car and made the entire car shudder and shake.

It was uncomfortable, humiliating, and thrilling. I did my best to hang on under this tidal wave of intimate invasion, and I must confess that I climaxed twice more in the space of four minutes or less—the second time when I felt him flooding my rectum with his slime!

And then, as if nothing had happened, he dismounted and I heard his zipper and belt being put back in order. "Thank you very much, sir, that was a welcome break. And thank YOU, Juicy Janice, for a helluva ride inside your fine ass; I enjoyed establishing chain of custody over it," he added, slapping his whole hand flat onto my buttock in a way that caused me to "eek" one more time. I managed to mumble, "You're welcome, Master," just as I heard him striding away.

*****

Once we were safely back in the limo and on our way home, Brian, bless his heart, was very kind and contrite about the situation, saying he had never intended things to go that far and could I ever forgive him, yadda, yadda. I assured him that it wasn't his fault, he'd done the best he could to protect my reputation, and that (once I got over my discomfort) I'm sure we'd both look back fondly on this misadventure. I was too stiff to really make love to him for the rest of the weekend, although I gave him a thank-you blow-job for his efforts.

The following week, there were two unforeseen conversations that were in effect fallout from the Halloween Party. First, the experience re-motivated me to start working on the legal niceties of getting a Free In Name Only contract that would give Brian the legal right to expect me to act as his slave in private, on weekends and holidays—a contract that, by the way, would have legalized my public debauching at Halloween. One key ingredient in such a contract was that I had to consult with a licensed slave psychiatrist, which are scarer than hen's teeth in Texas because you have to be an MD, a psychology Ph.D., PLUS a veteran of at least six months as a legal slave. This "slave shrink" had to interview the FINO "slave" before, during, and after the contract period, plus be listed in the National Data Base as the guardian ad litem if the FINO had any medical or psychological issues, a not-uncommon occurrence for such a hybrid, free-but-not-really person. After my experience at the Halloween party, the logical candidate for such a role in my case was Nikki Sheldon. With some trepidation because I knew how insanely busy she must be, I sent an interview request to her through her scheduling service. To my surprise, she replied with an appointment for a tele-medicine, Skype-type consultation the very next evening.

I had no idea why she had given me such priority, but when her smiling face appeared on the computer screen, she instantly remarked "I THOUGHT that was you at the party, Janice—may I call you Janice?" And our discussion was off and running. Since she had witnessed me pretending to be a slave, it felt much easier to confess my personal urges and desires.

Seventy minutes later, when we finished talking, I asked her when I could meet with her again to continue the process.

She grinned again. "Ordinarily, I'd have at least three different one-on-one meetings with a client before agreeing to proceed with a FINO. I don't want to run the risk of psychological damage if someone rushes into this. However, since I observed you in action at that party, I think we can dispense with the rest of that; you're obviously hot for the collar, and your potential owner cares a lot about your well-being." She giggled. "Too bad I can't act like a lawyer and bill you for time at the party, but I was off the clock that night. So, anyway . . ." and we discussed the finalization of the process, including the difficult scheduling task of getting her, Brian, and me together at the same slave market on the same day to initiate the FINO and get it recorded in the data base.

The other conversation I had dreaded, but turned out to be not so bad, at least in the short run. The next time Deputy Roberts was at the courthouse, I tried to look right through him, but I could tell by the smirk on his face that he knew my little secret, so I had to agree when he softly asked me to step aside into one of the attorney conference rooms.

He began very politely, but then it went to hell: "I've been meaning to apologize to you, Mizz Harris; it was unprofessional of me to use the words 'tight-assed bitch' where you might hear me, and especially to say such a thing around the court." I nodded and gave him a small smile, warily accepting his apology.

"But then last Friday night happened and left me confused. On the one hand, 'Juicy Janice' really DID have a tight ass when her husband allowed me to (pardon the expression) make her my bitch, so my original statement was completely accurate and there's no real need to apologize, except for the crudity of my language. On the other hand, though, I imagine that same anal passage got so stretched that it's no longer tight, is it?"

I turned white, seeing the end of my entire career, but he continued: "So, may I suggest that we consider the matter closed? And I apologize again for a statement that was accurate at the time but is no longer. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone else because the incident doesn't reflect well on either of us, but we both know what happened, right? Have a nice day, Councilor," and he left the room. No threats, no (further) insults, but we both knew that that particular law enforcement officer had DEFINITELY established psychological as well as sexual mastery over me. Without saying a word, every time he saw me he would strike terror in me.

So much for Professor Hollister's hypothesis about someone being unrecognized out of context—all Roberts had seen was my ass, the side of my face, and that nametag. Perhaps he had fantasized about using me like that? Now I have to explain to my boss why I can no longer take any cases that involve him!

Postscript: It's two months later, and next month my darling Brian and I are getting married. But, we've been having so much fun re-living the thrill of my public quote enslavement unquote that we decided to first take the next step and finish the formal FINO contract, making me his part-time slave for the next five years (after this, I'm sure he'll insist that the marriage vows include the traditional promise to "obey" him, which will shock some of my feminist colleagues.)

So, I'm wearing my "Halloween Costume" again; half an hour ago, Brian had me collared and cuffed on my knees while he face-fucked me and ended by painting his come all over me. After which, he kindly allowed me to take a quick shower and repair my makeup, then wait for him on my knees again, thighs wide apart and hands behind my neck to pull my breasts upwards.

In the few minutes remaining, I want to tell you how this ends (to paraphrase David Petraeus.) Today, my new master is taking me (bound and nude in his car) to the Longhorn Slave Market to finalize the FINO contract. After he leads me across the parking lot on a leash, I'll have to kneel in the crowded public lobby of the market while Master Brian, Mistress Nikki (as guardian) and a slave wrangler (as notary) complete my contract enslavement. All the while, I'll be surrounded by clothed free people and naked slaves, temporary or permanent. THEN I get processed through the market and have my FINO contract entered into the National Data Base with fully nude photographs to identify me, after which I get the usual grading mill—prancing in a practice round of block moves/slave yoga on a platform, then de-voxed and restrained spread-eagle for all the gawkers to fondle and touch before the real slave merchants come through to grade me. To maximize my aroused subjugation, Master Brian has threatened to let some of my male co-workers (including Deputy Roberts!) know when to come view me. To further increase my excitement, he's told me that if I get a good grade, he's going to have the Longhorn brand fried diagonally into my other ass cheek, with the "C" (choice) or "P" (prime) above the Longhorn's outline skull. That will give me a matched set of brands, so that, as he put it, "when we go to the pool at the club, everyone will know what a fine piece of slave ass I married."