Shannon and Sean Pt. 03

Having been a slave for months, I was barely conscious of the humiliation involved in kowtow-ing to a former equal in school; instead, my mind was consumed with two things—positively, the chance to satisfy some of my raging horniness, and negatively, the fear that he might report me as sub-standard resulting in physical discipline. I knelt down in sort of a "slave spread" position, thighs wide apart and hands interlocked behind my head with my lips already parted in anticipation of the next step.

Master Michael had clearly been trained in how to deal with slaves, as he displayed no hesitation or doubt. Nor did he try to emphasize my subservience, instead acting as if this were the most natural situation in the world—which it was for a slave serving a free man, except that we had known each other as equals, or rather, where the social dynamic had placed me in charge. That night, he casually whipped his rather substantial "wedding tackle" out and calmly told me to use my mouth and hands to please him.

By this time, I had sucked so much cock that I didn't hesitate to kiss the tip and take a good six inches into my mouth, nodding my head forward and back to swallow and lick as my hands gently toyed with his scrotum and testicles. He smelled and tasted a lot better than some of the sweaty wranglers I had been forced to fellate, and he continued talking to me calmly, gently praising my performance as if I were his generous girlfriend rather than a helpless slave girl. It was such a pleasant experience that—in retrospect I'm ashamed to admit—I really enjoyed the process of worshipping him, my mouth smiling around his tool as my eyes stared lovingly at him. (Yes, I'd been trained to act that way, but this time was so pleasant that I wasn't acting!) His hands guided my head back and forth without clamping down painfully, occasionally stoking my blonde hair.

He seemed to be in no hurry, but my well-trained performance caused him to blast his first load down my throat in what felt like less than five minutes. I barely caught enough to display on my tongue, as expected at the end of any slave suck-off. And he thanked me in about the same tone of voice he might have used had I helped him solve a difficult math problem—friendly and sincere without belittling me.

My once-and-future equal called me "Shannon" and went out of his way to act as if I were a free woman, to the point of ensuring that I got as much pleasure as he did. After giving me some mouthwash to cleanse my mouth—something that had almost never happened to me as a slave—he politely asked me to step behind the sofa, spread my legs wide, and bend over. This put me in a very revealing position, butt high and everything (including my damp labia) on display, especially after he casually removed my loin cloth. But instead of immediately invading my slave cunt, he spent the next minutes gently fondling and playing with my entire body, murmuring praises and encouragement. He even knelt down and tongued my thrilled opening until I climaxed. That made me fear that I would be punished for cumming without permission, but instead he told me I deserved that after the way I had "entertained" him. After five months of people not caring whether I enjoyed sex—not to mention deliberately edging me to prevent cumming—this guy treated me as a real woman who DESERVED to enjoy sex! I almost cried at the consideration he had shown!

Throughout the night, we kept waking up and going at it again. Every time, he was kind, considerate, and respectful of me as if I were a free person, a lover who had come to bed with him voluntarily rather than a rightless slut required to please. Eventually, he got me to explain the strange tale of how my own grandfather had insisted that I become a piece of slave tail—he didn't think the worse of me for it, either. In turn, I was so thrilled by his friendship that I wanted desperately to maximize his pleasure out of sheer gratitude for his respect and consideration.

That night felt more enjoyable than any of my hook-ups while free, more enjoyable than ALL of my frantic fucking over the past months as a collared sex object. When I woke up at 5 a.m., I determined to make this as memorable for him as it had been for me. I slipped out of bed to pee, lube my tushie, and wash my mouth out, then climbed back into bed and did two things I had never before done voluntarily: First, I woke him up with a sloppy blow job, even though his cock seemed almost too large for my mouth, and then, when he finally awakened, I BEGGED him to butt-fuck me. My experience as a sex object had taught me that every man I met would welcome a blow-job and a fuck, almost demanding them as his due from a slave, but he wouldn't feel completely satisfied and in charge until he had the chance to violate my warmest, tightest opening.

At first Master Mike tried to refuse out of consideration for me, but eventually I convinced him that I really wanted to do it—or more correctly, to have him do ME. "Please, Master Mike, I need you to ram my ass HARD so that you're sure that I would do anything to please you!"

Like a true gentleman, he didn't leave his lady waiting. Once I was on hands and knees, he draped himself over my back while grabbing my breasts, briefly lubricated his cock by thrusting into my slave cunt, and then pressed it slowly and firmly past my anus. It was uncomfortable to have such a large object up my rear, but at the same time I was thrilled to be under the control of such a magnificent man! It got even better when he reached around to diddle my clit, in addition to periodically thumbing my pierced nipples. I lost count of how many times I came with his dick stuffed up my thrilled colon. Until that night, I had regarded anal sodomy as the most uncomfortable and demeaning act that was imposed on me, justified only because I sometimes got off on the submission, reducing my horniness. But offering my ass to such a kind yet dominant guy made it feel completely different! I think I passed out from the thrill of the most intense orgasms I had ever experienced. God, what a lover.

He "borrowed" the use of my body several times over the next few weeks. Each time he did, I fell more in love with him. I tried to tell him how much he mattered to me, swearing that I would always put his pleasure first, that I would willingly abase myself and offer him any opening, any time he wanted if he would only look after me. Being a nice guy, he repeatedly told me that I didn't have to act like that, but his erection gave him away—he couldn't help getting aroused by the idea that a good-looking young woman would do anything to serve him.

The resort had strict rules about staff monopolizing the sluts, but for the next three weeks, until his internship was complete, he borrowed my body as often as was permitted, usually in the middle of the week when there were fewer guests to clean up after or service. Of course, he pretended he was just having fun, and even confided in Master Bill, my boss, that he enjoyed "fucking the Queen Bitch from my high school"—I blushed in humiliation, but Master Mike apologized to me privately, saying he didn't want anyone to suspect that he actually cared for me. Bill actually enjoyed turning me over to a master whom I supposedly loathed for a bout of subjugation. Every time Mike got hold of me, he literally fucked me bow-legged, leaving me hobbling along with stressed groin muscles and a sore butt the following day when I returned to housekeeping duties. I didn't mind because I was so happy. I knew that no slave should fall in love with a free person, so there was no future for "us," but after five-plus months of sex, sweat, and submission, I just enjoyed being with someone who was both fun and considerate. I went about my demeaning duties with a smile on my face and a little tune I was humming almost constantly.

In fact, Angel, a kind-hearted Puerto Rican girl who cleaned rooms with me, was afraid that slave mind had set in because I was so happy in my misery. When she failed to snap me out of it, she told my brother what she suspected. I'm sorry, but I almost laughed in his face when he expressed the same concern. I had to confess my foolish feelings for a guy we had once known in high school, which was embarrassing, but I finally convinced Sean that I knew it couldn't last, so I was just enjoying a brief respite from my misery. In fact, when Master Mike left at the end of his internship, I cried for 24 hours and then got on with my miserable existence, promising myself that, when I regained my freedom, I would track him down to see if we had any future together.

The next day, however, I was horrified to find Master Bill, the supervisor for all the slave help on housekeeping, viciously whipping Angel as she was bent over and stretched helpless on a discipline rack. Fortunately, he stopped after a dozen hard strokes on her once-pink buttocks, telling her that she was lucky he didn't want to damage her enough that she would get time off from work. Then he said something to the effect of "since she's been covering for you, bitch, you can take her to the stables and ask the vet if he'll patch her ass back together."

Of course, I helped my weeping friend over to see the slave veterinarian, and on the way I learned that, during all those weeks while I had been daydreaming in love of Mike, that dear, sweet girl Angel had been doing extra work and changing the housekeeping records to take up the slack for my sleep-walking routine on the job! I was horrified to think that she had labored for weeks and then taken the rap (rap on her butt, to be honest) for my failure. What had I ever done to deserve such loyalty and love?

I've never been so ashamed in my life, not even when I had first stripped down and gone through the Longhorn. I apologized over and over to Angel as she hobbled to sleep (on her stomach) and recover for another hard day of manual labor and sexual exploitation. I vowed to myself that, the day I regained my freedom, I would begin working to buy and free her regardless of the cost. That simple act of gratitude would have to take precedence over even my desire to re-unite with Mike.

I was still stewing about Angel's self-sacrifice and injury the next day, when I suddenly realized that I was no longer horny! I had been a slave for more than five months, and for the first four I had been constantly bombarded by horny juice, sexual edging, and simple sexual use at every turn. Then I had fallen in love—or at least serious lust—with Master Mike, which only made me respond even more strongly to the highly-sexualized life of a slut working in the resort. Now reality had suddenly returned. I mean, I still had strong feelings for Mike, and by now acting like a slut slave had become almost second nature, but my mind was suddenly clear, leaving me in control. I couldn't even recall when I had received my last shot of "HJ". Why wasn't I having withdrawal (or, given that we were in the South, "With-drawl") symptoms?

The next time I met my brother as we both went about cleaning, I asked, and he confirmed that no one had given him any shots since about a week before we had transitioned from ponies to housekeepers. "I don't think anyone FORGOT anything, Shannon, although for God's sake don't remind them!" he whispered quickly. "It's more likely that we're considered to be fully trained, docile slaves who will follow orders perfectly, so why waste time and hormones on us? Meanwhile, wouldn't you rather have control over your mind and emotions?"

"I'd rather have control over my BODY, but I'll take what I can get. I hope Grandfather is happy about the way he made us miserable!" I growled back, and we went on our appointed rounds. I was overdue to be grabbed and debauched by a guest, and as bad luck would have it, not 20 minutes later some overweight slob decided that I was just the pick-me-up he needed. I pretended to be my usual slutty self, but in the midst of that act I made sure to bring him to a rapid climax. I had to swallow his goo, per usual, but smirked to myself when he realized that he couldn't get it up again even though I pretended to be swooning about his masculine prowess. Five minutes of sucking, six minutes of remaking his bed, and I was on my way. I couldn't resist swaying my hips as I pushed the room cleaning cart down the corridor—I had finally regained some semblance of control over myself, even if it was only internal control while every free person I met continued to make me her or his bitch. Life was looking up!

Neither of us saw Grandfather hanging around, but I had to assume that he was getting reports about us. Because we had nothing more to "learn" at the Qualla Boundary resort, I was completely unsurprised when, three weeks after my talk with my brother, we were both back in poodle cages, naked except for vibrating butt plugs and our well-worn collars. Plus, if you want to consider them clothes, we were once again zip-tied at wrists and ankles with canvas gags in our mouths, kneeling uncomfortably. At least this time we weren't given a drip of hormones in our mouths, nor did anyone tie our nipple rings to the cage door. A slave must be thankful for small favors, I told myself as I fell asleep to the drone of aircraft engines taking us who knows where?

(To be continued sometime)