The Age of Enslavement Pt. 01

Elizabeth had a big decision coming up. The biggest of her life really.

She was sitting naked in Enslavement 101 class. Hundreds of other young adults, all naked, filled the auditorium. The soft sounds of panting, and the occasional moan filled the room. Most of them had vibrators in their asses or on their genitals, but were not allowed to cum. They were all trying to make the same decision.

Their teacher, Professor Dagon was at the podium on stage. She too was naked, her exceptional waxed and toned body on full display for all the students. Yet somehow she had such an air of confidence and authority, it was as if she was the only one in the room still dressed.

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had no vibrator. Instead her chastity belt chafed against her skin. When she first began attending enslavement class, she had been grateful for the belt. It was proof and reassurance that she wasn't yet 19, not quite at the age of enslavement. She wasn't going to enslave herself of course. She had already decided that. But the fact she also couldn't enslave herself, couldn't turn herself forever from a person into property (at least not until her birthday) even if she wanted to, had been comforting. Now she wasn't so sure.

Professor Dagon pointed at one of the students in the fifth row. "Tricia. It's your turn. Please come to the front."

Hundreds of eyes turned to Tricia. Sweat glistened from her soft trembling curvy body. It was obvious she needed to cum, badly. Only a few weeks ago she, like most of them, had been mortified to get naked in front of so many people. Now it was clear she loved the attention, the feeling of being desirable she had never had before. Even so, she cowered under the gaze of the professor. "Please no, Master Dagon," Tricia pleaded, "I don't want to be a slave."

Professor Dagon's eyes, normally icy cold, turned soft for Tricia. "I know. I know just how you feel Tricia," Professor Dagon said kindly. There was real weight behind those words. She did know how it felt. The professor was a free woman, but it was traditional for the teacher of Enslavement 101 to permanently enslave herself halfway through the semester as a good example for the students. Professor Dagon had made it clear she intended to go through with the tradition. She would be chained, collared, branded, possibly devoiced. And then any students who wanted to would be welcomed on stage to fuck her, breed her, beat her, rape away her freedom forever, for as long as it took, until she reached the bliss of being properly slave broken.

The professor walked up the aisle and stood beside Tricia. Some of the students were probably tempted to reach out and touch their professor's naked body, suddenly so close. They dared not. Professor Dagon had many ways to punish students for breaking the rules. The professor's voice was soft but amplified by the microphone. She put her hands on Tricia's shoulders. "We don't want to be slaves."

"But we do need to be," Tricia finished the platitude.

"That's right," the professor said, gently helping Tricia stand, and leading her back towards the stage. Tricia seemed powerless to resist. "And you especially need it, don't you Tricia. You know that now."

Tricia nodded. She had learned it was not wise to lie to the professor, even about thoughts.

"The longer you live as a free woman, the more unhappy you'll be. You don't like making decisions. You never have. You don't like responsibility."

"But I'm not ready. There are so many things I wanted to do. I haven't traveled. I haven't written my book. I've never had a boyfriend. I've never even been kissed. "

"I know," said the professor, helping Tricia onto the breeding bench on the stage, and gently shackling her into place. "But even if you did those things, you wouldn't feel ready. I've done all of those things, and much more, and I feel less ready than ever. And every year that goes by is another wasted; another year I could have been happy. Don't make the same mistake I made. Don't waste your youth."

Tricia gasped, all eyes locked on her, as the professor began massaging her sopping wet cunt. "But I can't," she moaned at the half unwelcome pleasure, "What will my parents think, if I come home enslaved?"

"Why don't we ask them." From stage left, a man and a woman emerged. The man was fully clothed. The woman wore only chains and a collar: the brand above her cunt clearing denoting her status as a sex slave. "Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Mr. Miller and RandyWhore31, Tricia's parents." The auditorium gave polite applause.

"Mom? Daddy?" Tricia strained in her restraint to see them, "What are you doing here?"

"We came to see your enslavement cupcake," her father said, "We love you. We wouldn't miss this for the world."

Tricia's parents joined her, and began helping the professor stimulate her. Her mother gently caressed Tricia's breasts, while her father began teasing her anus.

For a moment Tricia couldn't speak, lost in the pleasure and fear. But then she found her voice again. "I'm so scared Daddy. What if you get tired of me, and sell me? What if my master makes me a urinal slave, or a hucow, or a living doll. I don't want to be branded. I don't want to be devoiced like mom."

"It'll be okay cupcake," her father said, unzipping his fly, "That's the great thing about being slave broken. No matter what happens, you'll love it. I promise. We just have to make sure to break you properly. That's why your mom and I are here. We're going to help you break as quick and easy as we can. All you have to do is submit and let go. Can you do that for me cupcake?" He began stroking his hard cock up and down her vulva, getting it nice and slippery. There was already lubrication to spare.

Tricia had tears in her eyes, but also a look of hunger. "I don't want to, but I trust you Daddy."

"Good girl," he said, and then slowly but firmly sunk his bare hard cock into his virgin daughter's fertile cunt, while all her friends watched.

The assembly erupted into cheers. Elizabeth didn't join in. She couldn't deny it was hot, and the right thing to do. She should be happy for Tricia. But she just wasn't sure.

Tricia blushed at the attention of all her classmate cheering as her father raped her freedom away. "I...I thought it would hurt the first time." she said, "It feels so good."

Professor Dagon was smiling. Watching a new slave discover the joys of slavery was one of her favorite things. "It only hurts if it is done clumsily," she said, "And your father clearly knows what he is doing."

After a moment of letting her get used to it, her father began slowly pumping in and out. Technically he was taking a risk here. A man could get in a lot of legal trouble for fucking his daughter, if she didn't self enslave afterward. But everyone could see this time there was no risk at all.

"Please master, daddy, may I cum," Tricia begged.

The professor answered. "You know the rule. You can as soon as you sign your contract and make your declaration. Here." The professor put the ornate pen in Tricia's hand and held up the clipboard.

Tricia hesitated briefly, but knew there was no going back now. She signed it as best she could while bound. She didn't need to read it now. She had read it dozens of times before. She then recited the last clause aloud, into the microphone from memory. "I, Tricia Sarah Miller, willingly submit myself to permanent slavery, forever. I hereby irrevocably renounce my personhood, and surrender my name, all property, and all rights. I bestow unconditional, transferable ownership of myself and my estate to my new master, my daddy, David Miller."

Hearing his daughter enslave herself to him alone, not even declaring joint ownership with the professor, sent Mr. Miller over the edge. He unloaded his balls directly into his fertile daughter's unprotected womb.

"Good girl. Good girl," he panted, "I'm going to name you Cuntcake22. Good girl Cuntcake".

Her mother silently mouthed the words, "I'm so proud of you."

Moans of pleasure erupted from the stands as a great wave of orgasm washed across the student body as well. For the last few weeks, the professor had made them all spend the last 20 minutes of each class edging. Nobody was allowed to cum until someone volunteered for permanent enslavement. Tricia came the hardest of them all around her father's cock. But even Elizabeth in her vibrator-less chastity belt couldn't help but join them in a small orgasm. She realized too late she had been grinding herself against her belt without meaning to again. It was frightening, but also so hot, watching her classmates enslave themselves one by one, day after day.

These were the moments that made Elizabeth doubt herself. She watched as Tricia, once a close friend who had always said she would never self-enslave, submit to the orgasmic pleasure of her father's breeding, and then beg for more. She looked so happy as her mother lapped her father's fresh cum out of her cunt. She even seemed at peace as they wheeled out the hot branding machine. Some slaves took hours, days, even weeks of raping to break properly, but Tricia had seemingly done it in less than a minute. Tricia screamed and peed all over the stage as her father branded the lowercase 's' above her cunt. Her slavery was now irreversible. But then, that look on her face: such peace, even though the pain. It was the look of a slave who had fought her true nature her whole life, and now knew she never had to fight anymore. Somehow in that moment, even as Tricia was collared and ordered to lick her own branding piss off the stage floor, she looked more free than Elizabeth had ever been. If even Tricia was a natural slave, what chance did Elizabeth have?