Slave Yoga Ch. 01

Tracy bit her lip nervously. "Not as strict as you were with the slave girls," she joked.

"I did not whip them hard. The marks on their lazy rumps will fade in a day or two. The lesson will last much longer, and they will be the better for it."

Tracy stood staring at him, mouth agape, watching as her handsome former student turned and walked away without bothering to say goodbye.

For the life of her Tracy did not remember John; she had so many students over the years. However as soon as she could get to her computer she looked up John's picture to discover what he had looked like when he'd been in her class. It was hard to believe that that pimply faced geek in the picture was now the handsome, ribbed hunk with a perfect six-pack cracking his whip as he put Tracy through her paces.

That night Tracy struggled to record her feelings in her journal. She was surprised to find out she had known John, then embarrassed. There was something humiliating about having a geeky, shy teenager who had once had to ask your permission to use the bathroom standing over you with a whip. However it was also oddly exciting.

Submitting to someone who I once regarded as a social inferior has somehow made my submission deeper, richer, and more fulfilling. There is a wicked deliciousness to the power reversal and thinking about how I used to order him about in class makes his command over me all the more exciting. After all, what can be lower than the slave-of-a-slave, or in this case, the slave of the geeky little High School student who once had a crush on me?

Since all pleasure sluts are adult women it always bothered me that they were referred to as "slave girls." Referring to women as "girls" is classically sexist reductivism. However my submission to my former student has given me a deeper understanding of the term. I am Master John's student, but all slave girls are, in a sense, their Master's students, struggling to learn how to please. I am seeing now how a properly trained pleasure slut can lose her adult identity as she adopts the guise of a student, ever eager to learn, ever desperate to please.

Frightening as these feelings of powerlessness are I know they must be fully explored. If humiliation is a cheap wine, I must drink it to the dregs.

Tracy and other free women were never whipped or even touched, of course. The slave girls they exercised with were not so lucky, and Tracy noticed that John was much freer with the whip in the next session, although sometimes he would just slap a misbehaving slave hard across her naked bottom.

Tracy knew that touching a naked slave girl — "handling" as it was called - was all part of their training, another technique designed to make them feel like merchandise. Having their slave trainer spank them or cop a quick feel prepared the slave girls for the indignities of the slave market and the ultimate humiliation of the auction block.

Tracy would watch John as he disciplined or fondled a girl, picturing him in the back row of class in his nerd glasses writing furiously as he struggled to keep up with Tracy's lecture. It always made her smile but when John caught her looking at him his voice strict.

"Eyes front," he would say sternly. "Curiosity is not becoming in a slave girl."

Tracy was shocked the first time Master John offered her a treat. Tracy stared as he twirled the thin string of black licorice in front of her face. He dangled it the way one might dangle a worm in front of a fish, and it wasn't until she saw the sly smile on his face that she realized what it was, and that he was in fact giving her the highest praise possible.

Only the best slave girls got slave candy.

Although she had never tasted it Tracy knew slave candy was cheap, foul rubbish. It was sold in bulk and no Master would waste good money giving a slave girl good candy. Tracy knew that the stringy looking black rope in front of her face was probably some factory reject, or was once regular candy that had had spent far too long on the shelf and was now considered unfit for human consumption.

Tracy looked around. Her free friends were surprised, as John rarely gave treats to the slaves and never to one of the free women. Tracy was delighted that the naked slave girls surrounding her looked green with envy.

Since Tracy knew the candy itself would be quite awful, she considered simply smiling in acknowledgement, or perhaps taking the candy out of John's hands and keeping it as a trophy or a souvenir.

In truth Tracy was completely unsure of how to handle the treat that John was hypnotically swinging in front of her. She followed it with her eyes, mesmerized, mouth agape, as it dangled in front of her face. John playfully swung it towards Tracy, hitting her in the nose with it and awaking her from her daze.

Tracy reached up for the treat with her mouth wide open, in the manner of a slave girl. Enjoying the game John raised the candy higher, forcing Tracy to rise to his hand. Tracy strained to reach the treat, using only her mouth, as he playfully dangled it just out of reach.

It was a strangely sensual moment as for the first time Tracy felt the excitement of a slave girl being hand-fed by her master. When John was satisfied that the kneeling Tracy had arched herself fully, with her head back and her breasts raised high, he lowered the treat enough for her to be able to bite off a chunk of the chewy string.

The "candy" was not sweet, and its taste and texture reminded Tracy of black tar or a piece of rubber. The consistency was like a shoelace, and she couldn't chew through it, hard as she tried.

Nonetheless Tracy chewed on, smiling with pleasure even as she spread the horrible taste in her mouth. The putrid treat tasted awful but it was a symbol of her excellence, and showed everyone her trainer was pleased with her. Tracy was delighted to see all of the other slave girls were now eyeing her with unbridled envy.

Later in the locker room Tracy was ribbed mercilessly by the other free women.

"Did you enjoy your candy, slave girl?"

"Did you see her beg for it?"

"Yeah, she looked like my Labrador."

"Maybe next time he'll let you swallow his spunk."

Tracy ignored their laughter and teasing for she knew they were jealous.