Shannon and Sean Pt. 04

My performance was the appetizer for a full-on orgy that night, to the point where I lost track of which dick(s) used me in which openings. Although I focused on Mike, I still tried to support his claim to be a sort of "slave whisperer," pretending to be eager for any sexual use. At least, after giving my love a very sloppy blow-job in the shower, I got to spend the night in his arms, where he whispered praises to be as if I were a pet who had performed her tricks well--which is a more polite way of saying that I was his prize bitch! At least I left him with no doubt about the "depth" of my willingness to serve him any time and in any orifice...

The junior suits spread the word about how I had performed that night, which had mixed results. On the one hand, every free male at Peterson's suddenly began to treat the collared help with much greater consideration and a modicum of respect--we were still free targets for sexual use both inside and out of office hours, but overall slave treatment improved notably. Nobody really cared about us, but they suddenly recalled the old adage about getting more flies with honey than vinegar. On the other hand, however, I became known as a volcano of submissive sex, booked out for every weekend and most evenings where, to conceal my love for Mike, I had to re-enact my slutty surrender several times a week. I learned to simply pretend that whichever micro-dick was using me was actually Mike, or at least that Mike had ordered me to entertain him. I have no doubt that the count of how many times a prick went into my body during that year grew to more than 300, perhaps 500.

*****

Finally, the anniversary of our self-indenture approached. After a final flurry of fervent fellatio and frantic fucking (with us being the suckers and fuckees) Sean and I were once again reduced to naked, gagged, and bound pieces of slut meat, kneeling uncomfortably in poodle cages on a cargo plane bound for Texas. Although our servitude was virtually over, two wranglers maintained total control over our nude bodies as they fondled and frog-marched us into an office of the Texas Agriculture Department, where our grandfather awaited us. It was already creepy to have to appear nude and bound in front of my grandfather, but then this whole thing was his pervert idea. To my disgust, though, he was accompanied by his executive assistant, Belle Bergen--you might think it was fitting for the year to end with the same witness who had checked us into the slave market, but my brother and I really didn't need for her to witness our naked humiliation yet again, especially because both of us felt beaten down and passive after a year of complete subservience. [She later told us that both of them were shocked in the change in our demeanor.] At least she had brought along clothing for us. Besides, I suspect that without the presence of such well-dressed and influential witnesses, the Ag. Dept. flunky would probably have demanded--at my expense--the blow-job commonly given by each female at the start and end of her servitude to the official who certified the beginning and end of enslavements. Once again, slavery had taught us to be thankful for small favors.

I quickly had reason to be grateful for Belle's presence, too. Grandfather, who was in a mellow mood (and just possibly chagrined, although he would never admit it!) because of how we had surrendered to his demands, told us to ask Belle for "anything within reason" for Christmas. I think both of the older folk were surprised by the altruistic nature of our requests, both of which reflected what we had learned in the past year. Sean asked for a 6-figure donation to Texas Freedom Foundation, the organization that helped former slaves to re-integrate into society as free people; he even volunteered some of his time over the Christmas holidays to work there. I had a much narrower request: I wanted a kind-hearted Puerto Rican slave named Angel (I had memorized her identification number) to be located, purchased, freed, and helped out after she had actually bet (and lost) her ass, covering for me and being beaten at the Casino hotel in Virginia when I had been so deeply in love with Mike that I neglected my own duties as a slave maid cleaning rooms.

Belle promised to get right on it (and five days later delivered a freed and clothed Angel to me, where I found her a job and tried to befriend her. When she dropped us off back at our family home, however, Belle stared hard at me and remarked,

"You really surprised me, girl. I thought for sure that you would ask me for this," as she handed me a file card with Mike's phone number, address, and e-mail. Then she drove away, leaving my brother and me to try to establish a new, more humane relationship with our house slaves. They had all heard that we had experienced life in a collar, but of course they had to pretend to know nothing.

I needed time before I tried to reconnect with Mike, of course. Like a prisoner suddenly released into society, I had to regain my own sense of initiative, to learn again how to make simple decisions such as what to wear, what and when to eat, where to drive my car, and so on. My brother sheepishly admitted that he was experiencing some of the same passivity. I had to force myself to schedule a beauty salon appointment and then to make trivial decisions such as what clothes to wear to it and what color I wanted my nails to be painted. In addition, there were details to arrange such as scheduling classes and paying tuition for the spring semester that would begin in mid-January.

Gradually, mundane activities like this began to restore my independence, and just before Christmas I nerved myself to call "Master" Mike and get him to agree to meet for coffee.

The sight of him smiling at me was a huge thrill, and gradually we began to have an almost-normal if superficial conversation. I was nerving myself--once the cheerleader queen and now a diffident, bashful wreck, to ask him whether we could go out together sometime. Before I could get to the sticking point, however, an equally-nervous Mike suddenly began apologizing for taking advantage of me so shamelessly while I was a slave. When I burst out laughing, he appeared devastated and ready to bolt out of the coffee shop.

"No, No, Mas--I mean, Mike." I sputtered, grabbing his arm. "I found it funny that you were apologizing for using me when dozens, hell hundreds of guys did the same thing. When I self-indentured, I knew I had to endure such treatment. But you made it so much better--you were both kind and a fantastic lover who made me dream of submitting to you again. For the past five months, all I've dreamed about is regaining my freedom so that I could find you and surrender myself to you. Don't get me wrong--I NEVER want to be enslaved EVER again, but the one big exception is that I want to be YOUR slut any way and any time you will have me."

I didn't know whether I wanted to strip and kneel before him or just fall into his arms--we compromised on the latter, necking shamelessly in the middle of that shop. With almost no coherent discussion, we abandoned our coffees and rushed out of the shop, checking into a (fortunately nearby) motel. Once alone together in a room, he paused to pin me against the door for a long, long kiss, after which we frantically disrobed and ended up in the bed, clinched tightly together.

And there it all came to a halt! I had subconsciously assumed that, just as in our previous copulations, he would tell me what to do and how he wanted me to serve for him. Now, I realized that, despite my declaration of subservience to him, Mike was too polite, too real (and just maybe too much in love?) to treat the free woman and former schoolmate Shannon the way he had casually, if considerately, used the collared slut I had been when last we fucked.

Frustrated and fearful that I might lose the love of my life, I gritted my teeth and "topped from below." I slid out of his arms, reached into my purse, and brought out the training collar and handcuffs that I had carried with me in the ill-considered hope that he might dominate me thoroughly. I had never imagined wanting to collar myself of my own free will, but now I buckled the hateful thing on, placed the cuffs conveniently next to him, and knelt down in full slave spread. Without any conscious thought, I offered myself to him in a manner that, in slave Texas, might be used as evidence to enslave me for life:

"Please, Master, ram your huge cock into me in any way that will give you pleasure."

He lay in bed, obviously startled, but then the old gleam of dominance appeared in his eyes. He grabbed the cuffs, swung up to a sitting position that put his rampant shaft a few inches from my nose, and calmly commanded, "wrists."

Like the well-trained slut I had become, I automatically presented my wrists, side by side in front of me. He promptly cuffed them and told me to park my now-helpless wrists behind my neck, which of course caused my already-aroused breasts to rise up, nipples fully erect.

"Nice tits, babe," Mike remarked in a friendly tone as he hefted and squeezed them, thumbing my nipples for a moment before he let me go again. Then he resumed the commanding tone that had so aroused me when he first used me at the casino: "suck dick, slut." I was happy to oblige, pausing only briefly to lick the head before lunging forward, knees still apart and hands cuffed, swallowing as much of his tasty penis as I could.

For the next five minutes, I eagerly impaled my mouth and throat on that warm, solid shaft. I knew I was no longer a slave, but this position felt so right, so much fun that I would willingly have abandoned my treasured freedom to continue it indefinitely. For his part, Mike murmured little endearments and encouragements as he first stroked my head and eventually held it still as he slowly, powerfully guided me up and down his aroused member. This intimacy was what I had been missing since our last tryst in Boston. Bliss.

Having given Mike control, I shouldn't have been surprised when, rather than unloading down my throat, he abruptly pulled out, removed the cuffs, and demanded that I assume the "slave 4's" position on his bed. Missing no chance to dominate me, he required that, just as I had while enslaved, I press my face into the bedspread (how appropriate a term, since I was definitely "spreading" everything I had) and then reach back with my hands to pull open my cheeks and offer both openings for him. I was already so wet that I felt no discomfort, only a thrill, when he rammed himself between my labia, going "balls deep" in only two rapid thrusts. "Master" Mike didn't stop there, however; after no more than ten fantastic in-and-out occupations of my birth canal, he pulled out and I heard him opening a condom wrapper. The next sensation I felt was the intrusion of a well-lubricated, rubber-wrapped prick through my anus. After a year of slave buggery, I was well prepared to accommodate his large intruder, so I quickly urged him on until he was fully-seated inside my butt. In my first coupling since regaining my freedom, I had now permitted or rather begged my lover to give me a three-way in under six minutes!

Once he was convinced that I could handle it, Mike began reaming my back passage, harder and harder, faster and faster, deeper and deeper until his pelvis felt as if it were hammering into my butt. At the same time, he bent over my back so that his fingers could firmly diddle my nipples and clit. I remember thinking, once again, about what a fantastic lover he was. I think we came very close to the holy grail of fornication, with both of us climaxing within a few seconds of each other. And then we collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily, his hands still stroking my "naughty bits" while my thrilled rectum remained fully impaled on an intruder that felt as if it were two feet long and six inches in circumference. I was definitely going to waddle and move very gingerly for the next several days.

And then I felt Mike gently kissing my neck. "Well, after that I can see only one resolution, darling. I know you're headed back to college, as am I, but sometime in the future, when we can synchronize our lives, will you marry me?"

That question was a dream come true, but I had to think for a moment. "I'd love to marry you, but on one condition--will you agree to a FINO contract so that, at least in private, you will continue to be my master?"

He withdrew from me, sliding to one side and embracing me so that we could kiss properly. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Babe; I've become addicted to controlling that cute slut, Shannon and using all her openings."

Ordinarily, that would be the final word of a love story, but a sudden thought made me laugh so hard that it broke up our kiss. Mike was puzzled and slightly offended, asking why I was laughing.

"I was just imagining what would happen if we had kids, and one day they asked me--as children often do--to tell them how you had proposed." Barely able to speak through my laughter, I continued, "imagine telling them that you met me as a slave and then proposed to me while I was wearing a collar and your dick was stuffed up my ass!"

He joined me in the laugh. "But," he protested, "I had to marry you because I always admired that ass!"

*****

(Epilogue, six months later)

Once again, I was slave naked, wrists zip-tied behind me as I was led on a collar and leash into the Longhorn slave market. If you had asked me any time last year, I would have told you this would NEVER happen again. This time, though, the free person controlling me was my fiancé, and I could tell by the bulge in his jeans that he was as aroused as was I. Marriage was still three years in the future, but we couldn't wait. We had just inked a 5-year Free In Name Only contract that obligated me, in return for a monthly fee of $1.00, to act as his slave except when school or other specified obligations took precedence. As his first act as my FINO master, Mike insisted that I go through the slave market process again, including putting me on display for slave grading. (I had been graded Choice when I self-indentured myself, but I suspected that, after my year's service as a sex slave as well as the incredible arousal I felt whenever I served my fiancé/master, I might well grade out as Prime minus.)

"By the way, slut," he said with a grin just before we entered the market lobby, "If you grade out as Choice or higher this time, I'm going to exercise my prerogative as your master by having the Longhorn brand burned into your cute ass to make sure that everyone on the cheerleading squad knows that I own your cute butt!"

I don't know which will be worse, the pain of the branding or the crap I'll get from my brother about self-enslaving again. Oh, well, I'll just retaliate by teasing him that all the co-eds I know are raving about his incredible skills at cunnilingus, and where exactly did he learn them?

The thing I do to keep my Lord and Master happy... On the other hand, that Longhorn brand will look good when I'm cheerleading next fall.

(The end)