Slave Yoga Ch. 03: Slave Naked

Did I deserve to be?

4-21

The next class started well with me seamlessly joining the other naked slave girls as they streamed into the gym. Suzie was quite cool to me and didn't even return my hello. I knew she'd get over it. What bothered me more was the other free women had apparently heard about our fight from Suzie and none of them were talking to me either. For a moment I found myself thinking how petty and jealous free women could be of slave girls before catching myself and remembering that I was a free woman myself.

The room felt crowded as there was a small makeshift stage setup in the center of the room, which elevated Master John about three feet above the rest of us. As usual Master John was wearing his slave whip on his belt, but I felt a little chill run through me as I wondered whether Suzie had given him the authorization to whip me. She had told me she'd e-mail it to him so he'd have it right away.

I took my place in the front row and was proud when Master John called me up to stand with him on the elevated stage. I smiled down at my fellow students from my lofty perch as Master John explained.

"We have something special planned for today and since Tracy is the best among you I'm going to have her help me out. We are going to do a practical demonstration of Slave Yoga and how it prepares a pleasure slave for her best possible performance on the auction block."

On hearing this I grinned at Sunfire, relishing my triumph over her. I noticed that she was kneeling, not sitting, probably because she wanted to avoid putting wait on her still tender bottom.

"As you all know, training slaves has an important psychological element to it. In fact, my interest in slave training started many years ago when my High School teacher introduced me to basic psychology and I began to think of how I might employ the techniques she had taught me as a career."

I smiled at the in-joke reference to my history as Master John's High School teacher but my smile vanished as the worst possible thing that could happen, did.

I had assumed the demonstration would be for the class, and of course the creepy men in the window. But suddenly the door in the back of the room opened and to my horror my former High School class began to stream in. Worse, my students were accompanied by the sexist pig who had fired me, Principal Biff Bolton!

I was horrified; stupefied; mortified. I instinctively covered my breasts and crotch with my hands to shield myself. I couldn't let my students see me naked! Sunfire and the other slaves and forewomen seemed surprised at my reaction but my friend Suzie was smiling broadly, and I suddenly wondered if she might have had some hand in arranging this most unwelcome surprise.

John continued. "The school I used to attend is still offering the same Psychology class, and I'm going to show them how I was able to use what I learned in that class to become a slave trainer. Ladies and slave girls, if you'd stand in the back and let the students sit in front, we'll get started."

The naked slaves and free women quickly moved to the back as the 18-year-olds from my High School Psychology class sat down on the mats directly in front of my stage.

Aghast, I scanned their too-familiar faces:

Amanda, whose parents thought she was "too pretty" for college until I had a talk with them and convinced them of the value of first-rate education.

Leo, who thought I didn't know that he was secretly making sketches of me in his class notes.

Yumi, the petite Japanese girl who had confided in me that she was worried that her breasts were too small.

Billy, who had a hopeless crush on me and always stammered in the cutest way when he made an excuse to see me after class.

Cecily, the ace student who had asked me to write her letter of recommendation to Harvard.

Steve, the football jock with a brain. I had made it my special project to convince him that women were more than cheerleaders.

Lastly, my former boss and misogynist in-chief Principal Bolton, who grinned broadly as I stood naked in front of my class with my hands folded across my privates.

"First position, Tracy," John said.

Panicked, I turned to the former student who was now my Master. "John, please. Not in front of..."

John never really got angry but my uncharacteristic challenge to his authority triggered a rapid response. I instinctively jumped as he CRACKED his whip in the air, the whip snapping so close to me that I could feel the wind from it.

At this moment I was grateful that my rigorous training kicked in, as I am quite certain that I would have been whipped if the memory reflexes that had been so thoroughly ingrained into my brain had not kicked in to save me.

I didn't think so much as I simply responded. As if by rote I spread my legs, put my fingers in my hair, and gave my surprised students the biggest, toothiest, and dumbest bimbo "slave smile" I could muster.

Billy and Leo gasped as my breasts and sex came into view, but Principal Bolton wanted more. "Let's see more of her tits," Biff Bolton said, grinning like the cat who had gotten his cream.

"Arch," John said. Again I responded instantly, as a muscle memory, slowly arching my head backward until I was looking up at the ceiling and my breasts were the highest point in my body.

"Shake 'em," Biff said. "I want to see those sweet little hooters bounce."

I felt a fresh flush of humiliation wash over me with the degrading command. How dare he! HOOTERS? Really? I would have him up on sexual harassment for saying such a thing!

Master John's voice snapped me back to my present reality. "First position," he ordered. With a quick but graceful gesture I un-arched myself so once again I was facing Principal Bolton and my students.

"Undulate," John ordered.

I began to dance, not moving my feet as much as my body, coiling and uncoiling myself in a way that did indeed cause my breasts to bounce provocatively. Knowing what Master John wanted I put a bit of extra shimmy into my top half; although it was still a dance, I knew that Master John wanted to see my breasts shake and bounce.

Unfortunately he was not the only one watching. "Look at those udders BOUNCE!" Biff guffawed. "We won't have to stir our buttercream, boys!"

I tried to ignore my piggy bosses lewd comments as I bobbled my breasts for my class, turning in a circle to make sure that everyone surrounding the stage got a perfect view. I found myself focusing on the expression on my student's faces, which were an odd mix of pain, humiliation, sympathy, and lust.

Jimmy didn't have a girlfriend, and he couldn't take his eyes off my bouncing breasts. I wondered if I was the first woman he had ever seen naked.

Stephanie had spoken to me after class that first day. Her boyfriend had told her that her "brains were in her boobs" and she had felt so empowered when I had showed up our sexists Principal. Now she looked equal parts confused, embarrassed, and betrayed.

My class had looked up to me in so many ways. Some had wanted me, some had been afraid of me, and some had wanted to be like me. Now they watched me bounce and shake my breasts for our snorting Principal's entertainment.

"Follow the bouncing ball, boys!" he guffawed. "Let's see her ass."

"You heard the Master", John said. Still undulating, I turned and bounced my asscheeks for Principal Bolton, my "master."

"No, put her on all fours," Bolton said. "Like a dog," he added, putting a big dose of whip cream on top of the sundae of my humiliation.

"Kneel to the whip," Master John ordered. There was no whip in front of me — it was in his hand - but I knew the pose Master John wanted. Dropping to my knees I put my face flat on the floor and spread my legs.

"Now that's one fine piece of slave pussy, gentlemen," Principal Bolton sneered. "Would you like a piece of that, Jeff?" he said.

"I... I... uh... I... Yeah, I... I guess so, Mr. Bolton," Jeff stammered reluctantly. I felt crushed. Jeff had always liked me but that didn't stop him from getting an enormous bulge in his pants when I shook my breasts in his face. Now that I was performing like a slave slut on the block with my naked pussy only a few feet from his face the limits of our friendship were now clear.

I was no longer someone worthy of his respect. I was a smoking hot fuck-toy.

"Turn, so everyone can get a good look," Mr. Bolton ordered.

"Do it," John said.

Keeping my legs spread and my face flat on the stage I pivoted as gracefully as I could, giving the students to my left a full few of my most private secrets.

"What about you, Timmy? Would you fuck that?"

"Shh..Shh..sure, Mr. Bolt-Bolton," he stammered. I felt my eyes begin to water. If Timmy had whipped me it wouldn't have hurt more.

"Keep turning, bitch," Principal Bolton. "Give everybody a nice long look at that hot snatch of yours."

"You shouldn't make her do this," Cecily said.

"Yes," Yumi said. "Leave her alone."

I was so proud of them! They had stood up for me — no, not just for me, but for women in general.

"Maybe you two want to join her?" Principal Bolton said. "You can strip off and Tracy here can teach you a few moves."

At this Cecily and Yumi both fell silent as all the male eyes in the room turn expectantly on them. Satisfied that they had been put in their place Principal Bolton returned his attention to me.

"Geez, that is one tight little butthole she has," he observed, moving in for a closer look. "She was such a little tight ass bitch I bet she didn't get much action back there. Make her spread it a bit more, John. Make the little whore show us what she had for breakfast."

"Spread," John said. I was confused. My knees were already spread to shoulder width, so wide that everyone in the class could see my butthole. How wide was I supposed to spread myself for this pervert's viewing pleasure? John, clearly displeased at my hesitation, let the slave whip brush my naked thigh.

The tears of shame from my eyes formed little puddles on the floor as I spread my knees, farther, farther, as far as I could, then reached back and pulled my cheeks apart, opening my butthole like a flower for Bolton's inspection.

"That's a sight to see, isn't it boys?" Principal Bolton sneered, once again ignoring the girls in the class as if they didn't exist at all. "Little Miss High-and-Mighty herself, begging for you to bang her backdoor. I guess we won't be hearing any feminist lectures from Professor Tracy today, will we? Why don't you go ahead and wink your butthole for us, Tracy, and show us what an obedient little slave slut you are."

I couldn't believe my ears. Raising my head off the floor I turned to confront my tormentor, scanning the room as I searched for assistance.

The students were seated on the mats but behind them Suzie was standing with the other free women. A week ago I had relished the power my nudity had given me but now I envied the free women their leotards.

Suzie and I made eye contact. Arms folded, she smirked at me, raising her eyebrows in a "Well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?" gesture. I deeply regretted threatening her as I knew it had given her the perfect excuse to exercise her dominant, winner-take-all competitiveness.

If the expressions of my fellow free women were amused the expression of the naked slave girls behind them was one of unabashed delight. I had been showing them up for several weeks, reveling in my superiority and my skill at beating them at their own game. Now they were delighted to see a proud free woman receive a harsh, pointed lesson in what it truly meant to be a slave girl.

I was dismayed to see that all the boys watching - even the ones who looked at me with some level of sympathy - had visible erections. Several of them were using various techniques to discretely stroke themselves through their pants.

Although most of the girls had seemed empathetic at first now some of them were observing my ordeal with tight smiles and a mischievous twinkle in their eyes.

I couldn't blame them, really. I had been their symbol, their last defense against the sexism of Principal Bolton and the boys. I had let them down in the worst way imaginable. As a psychologist I knew that joining the power structure — even when it was a power structure arrayed against you - was often the only way victims could get any sense of control at all.

So lost was I at the student's reactions that I had totally forgotten the business at hand. I was soon reminded.

"You heard me," Principal Bolton said. "Wink your butthole, slave girl. That's an order."

I stared up at him, mouth agape. I never heard the crack of the whip, but I certainly felt it, a line of fire that felt like a burning match dragged across my left butt cheek, into my exposed bottom crack and out, then across my right cheek.

I let out a scream, or a yelp, or a wail, or maybe all three at once. I had never felt such pain!

Mr. Bolton laughed, but what hurt me the most was that my students and friends - or were they former students and former friends? - laughed as well.

Principal Bolton was unsympathetic. "Wink it, bitch!"

"Yeah, wink it, bitch" Steve parroted, rediscovering his football machismo.

"Yeah, wink it," James said.

"Better do as he says, Ms. Smith," Yumi said. Stephanie nodded. Were they trying to help?

"Yeah. Wink, wink!" Brittany said, trying to sound helpful even as she clearly sounded delighted.

Seeing the whip in John's hand and realizing no one in the room was going to stand up for me I totally submitted, puckering and unpuckering my bottomhole and turning so everyone could get a good view. The horny boys behind me laughed and applauded, now commenting openly on my shame.

"Geez that looks tight!"

"I wouldn't mind fucking that!"

"You wouldn't mind fucking anything."

"Tight-as-a-tick back there!"

"Hey, I think she's winking just at you, Timmy."

"Yeah, her butthole wants to pucker up and kiss you."

The minute I spent winking and unwinking my butthole felt like an hour and I thought I couldn't feel anymore humiliated.

Then the next command came.

"Is she slave hot?" Principal Bolton asked.

John nodded.

"Make her juice herself then. "Let's watch her get that slave snatch of hers all hot-to-trot, with everyone watching."

"Gyno Spread," John ordered crisply.

Without even thinking I gracefully swung my legs around, doing a twirl as I spun in the degrading position: flat on my back, feet in the air as if they were resting in the stirrups, and legs spread WIDE.

Steve whistled, both at the gracefulness of my move and the new and exciting view of my gaping pussy.

"Slave lather," John ordered. "Quickly."

I looked at John's boots and the leather slave whip dangling down from his hand. My fear overwhelmed my humiliation as I reached between my legs and began to diddle myself.

"Wow, look at her go," Steve said.

"Hot little bitch, isn't she?"

"Maybe she's thinking of you, Steve," James teased.

"Geez, she's wet already."

"What a cute little cream pie."

"Look she's putting a finger inside her."

"Hey, Ms. Smith. Put another stinky finger up there, too."

"Yeah, give your hand a good ride."

"Look, she's going for three fingers!"

"Yee-haw! Ride 'em, cowgirl!"

Brittany was amused, but for the most part the girls frowned as I revealed all the secrets of female self-stimulation to eager male eyes.

Seeing how the boys had reduced me to a hot piece of slave meat the girls distanced themselves. As a psychologist I understood why but it didn't make their disloyalty hurt any less.

"What a slut," Yumi said.

"Juicing herself like a whore, with everyone watching. How can she do that?" Cecily wondered out loud.

"She likes it," Brittany replied.

"Of course she does," Yumi said. "If she didn't want to do it she could have just left when we came in."

Yumi's observation, obvious though it was, threw me. Rubbing myself faster and faster the thoughts raced through my mind. I could have left. No, I should have left. Of course I SHOULD have left. But how could I leave? Master John had commanded me to squat and spread. Slave girls didn't just leave.

Not that I was a slave girl; no, far from it. I was a Ph.D. student authoring an important paper. No, not authoring it, maybe, but contributing in an important way to serious research.

I wasn't a slave. I could stop whenever I wanted to.

"Have her lift her head up," Principal Bolton said. "I want to see the look on her face when she comes."

John gave no order and instead simply walked behind me and put the tip of his work boot against the back of my head, raising my head up so that I could look directly into the faces of my smiling, disgusted, embarrassed, and sexually aroused audience.

Looking at them looking at me my pussy spasmed uncontrollably as I quaked through my first ever body wrenching slavegasm!

"Wow, she is so hot," Steve said. "It's like her pussy is trying to eat her fingers!"

"I wish that snatch was grabbing my dick right now."

"No shit. I bet the little slut could fuck all of us and take some more."

"She could fuck the whole school."

"Maybe we should buy her as our class gift."

I knew they were joking but I shuddered - and felt oddly excited - at their suggestion.

"Do you think she likes girls?" Brittany asked.

"I think she likes bannisters, if you gave her one to ride," Steve joked.

"Yeah, Brittany, she'll do a good job on, too," Steve jeered.

"Look how wet she is!"

"I can smell her from here."

"A delicious piece of slave meat!"

"Disgusting. Juicing herself that way."

Far from stopping me the mixture of lustful stares and humiliating comments about my pulsating pussy only spurred me on. I cried out in pleasure and slave heat as I felt my second slavegasm crash over me.