The First Steps in Being an Owned Slut Pt. 01

Then pulling out he left me feeling so empty. His hand grasped my hair and pulled my head up. His cock was at my face. Coated with both of us. It rubbed over my face.

"Open." It what was as expected now, as we both knew. I opened my mouth as the slimy shaft went in. It was good licking and sucking him clean. Shameful and lacking dignity but very arousing. I was learning to be his.

Finally when he was satisfied I was made to stand on shaky legs. Blood pumped loudly in my ears. My body felt hot. Taking my arm he took me to the bedroom, to a full length mirror where I was made to stand facing it, hands on head. He left me there. Told me not to move.

I stared at the image in the mirror. I looked so used. My eye make-up had run, my hair was a mess, dried semen was around my mouth, a red blotchy blush covered my tits and chest and face. There were red marks where the carpet had burned me slightly on one of my collar bones and cheek. My tits still heaved up and down, whitish semen stains were around my mouth. Semen too trickled down my thighs from my bloated lips, and continued to do so. I looked like a slut. I felt like a slut. No, not like, I was a slut. Could see it clearly in that body, in those eyes, in that partially open mouth. I had loved it, every minute of it. This was not been like any other sexual activity I had been in. It was so surprisingly and amazingly good. The only thing that bothered me about it was that I looked so dreadful. I found myself embarrassed because I wanted to look good for him.

I stared at myself in the mirror, more aware of what I needed now to feel sexually satisfied. I was subservient, a pet, a sex toy, an owned slut. It felt good. God it did. It felt embarrassing to want it, to know it felt good, but it did really feel good. My body glowed still. I could give myself again. Thats what it was too, giving myself. I had become aroused again thinking of it all. My nipples stood out like pegs even though the stickiness of the semen still ran down my thighs.

I seemed to have become two different people. It was strange getting used to the new slut that had emerged when I was with Michael. I knew I was a good girl, had been a good girl, but now things seemed different. I was excited beyond belief and yet shamed by my thoughts and actions and desires. I felt so sexually alive and so shamed by what had emerged from within me. I was amazed by how docile, how passive, how submissive I was happy to be with Michael now that he had made me accept this relocation of power.

I had acquiesced to everything. I wasn't normally like this. I made decisions, I enjoyed my freedom, took on responsibility. I knew I had accepted his dominance over me by doing accepting each and every command. I tried to think that he was making me be a slut but it wasn't that simple. I was beginning to realise I was a slut and Michael was simply allowing it to come out.

My body throbbed with excitement even though I had just been allowed to cum earlier. Allowed? I had even accepted his control over that too.

Michael came back at this point. Dressed now again. Stood behind me looking at me. Tell me if this is what you want.

I couldn't look at his eyes in the mirror. I could smell my arousal, my nipples hurt in their hardness and my breasts heaved as I took breath. My mouth was open, my bottom lip trembled. If I accepted it I knew I was fully accepting my submission now. My mouth was dry, my throat hurt. Yes. Its what I want Ill be good obedient. Oh God Michael. Im sorry I am such a mess for you. I am sorry for lying. I wont again.

I was shaking, but he cupped my sex and began fingering me again, my clit and inside too. I couldn't believe how ready I was again. He obviously presumed that he had the right to do this whenever and however he wished. I felt as though he did. I parted my legs more. I was wet and slick still. This presumption of his rights over me made me feel proud that he wanted this.

When I was on the verge of cumming yet again he slowed, keeping me near the peak, not achieving it. My hips were jerking like a slut now. I wanted to be used by him; I wanted to have him bring me off. It was far more dirty and far more exciting than how sex normally was, how it was supposed to be for nice girls. But I wasn't a nice girl now was I? I jerked on his hand. It was removed. The smell of a submissive slut filled the air.

"Please. Please. Let me. Let me cum Michael." God I had just been fucked and spanked and I wanted more!

"Were you allowed to cum earlier?"

"Yes, but please."

"Youre a dirty wanton slut aren't you?"

"Yes. I am a dirty wanton slut, but please."

"No. You need to know that I make the decisions about that. You need to be aware of not getting your way. We'll deal with that tomorrow."

Before I had a chance to contemplate what he meant he put his dirty fingers in my mouth and had me cleanse him which helped stop my pleading. I thought of his cock earlier, still tasted it. My mouth suckled and licked my juices from him, the tang of my slutty juices filling my mouth, the taste of semen too. I wanted to cry I was so horny. Instead I had to stand and accept. My emotions were rising and falling, pulled like a puppet. What was happening to me? Michael had brought something out from the hidden depths of me. I was frightened by it but was also aware that he was controlling it. He wasnt letting it get out of hand even though it consumed my thoughts as I strove to hold onto normality.

He tied my hands together behind me that night in bed. I was aroused and frustrated and he knew it. In the night I was awakened twice by him and found that I was rubbing myself against him. Before I was allowed to sleep, each time I was made to lick him clean off my juices on his skin. I lay awake for ages after each of those times.

Rules and Exhibition

A few weeks later. I stood with my hands on my head trying not to thrust forward to him as he felt my hairless mound. It felt so sensitive without that thin covering of hair. He had instructed me to have my pubic hair waxed a couple of days before. He wanted me naked down there and the first time he wanted me to wax not shave. I remembered the woman giving my mound a crew cut first with a pair of scissors and though I had showered I knew I was lubricating. They had run out of paper knickers and I wasnt sure if she knew or not. She certainly had me move about in uncomfortable and humiliating positions to get it all out. Now I looked and felt like a cross between a child and a tart. When I looked in a mirror I saw my outer lips obscenely bulging, the inner ones peeping through in neat vertical line.

A naked cunt. That was another thing. Normal girls and women, like at work and family, have breasts and a pussy, but I don't anymore. A slut has tits and a cunt. I had to stop even thinking of them as breast and pussy. I have tits and a cunt. I really did not like saying that word. Tits was alright, it wasn't that demeaning, but cunt made me really feel like a whore. But I was a slut. I should know my place. Yes, it was a cunt. A common slutty cunt. And Michael was gently caressing the very smooth folds and mound. He knew he was both shaming me by frustrating me.

I was fascinated by how aroused I got when I was made to feel sexual humiliation, shame, or embarrassment. I found it overwhelming. I felt myself lubricating as I felt his touch and blushed. I felt silly. I felt very much the child, a dirty, naughty child, I knew my place.

I was whimpering. I needed to cum desperately. Michael had stopped me playing with myself unless he had instructed me to or given permission. I had to phone and plead with him if I really became desperate and he didn't always allow me to. Often, before Michael had changed how he treated me, I went for a few weeks not even bothering. Now it was different. I felt such a slut realising for the first time how much I needed the relief. It became ridiculous. I couldn't think straight. My body craved release so much these days.

Sometimes I wondered if I really needed to ask him. It would be the easy option to cheat though. So easy just to do it and pretend. But I didn't. I was good and the humiliation of his control over that part of my life filled me with that humiliation. I was a slut. I needed his control over these things. I wanted it. I knew he was deciding. It was so embarrassing, so humiliating asking him what I wanted. Then, even if I was allowed it was often outside somewhere, somewhere outside my comfort zone. I even had to do it as I had my mobile on so that he could hear.

If he hadn't have taken control of my masturbating though I knew I would spend every waking moment doing. I didn't seem to have any real self- control and this way he was making sure I had it. I needed him to do it.

He had given me rules. There weren't that many and I wanted to please him with my obedience. Most of my friends abhor rules. I don't. I find there is a liberating effect with rules; they define things so one doesn't need to worry about them or have to decide things. They made me realise that he was in charge and not me. That I wanted to give him that control and he was looking after me, like in making sure I didn't spend all my time being a dirty little slut and fingering myself silly.

I wore a collar that he had put around my neck. I could remember standing naked, the taste of him and me still in my mouth, the feelings of orgasm still echoing inside me. He had reached into his pocket and took out something. "I want you to wear this." He had passed over a leather collar, black, about an inch wide with a silver buckle and D ring. Like a dog collar, a bitch collar. I looked up at him uncertainly.

"Its a slave collar. Will you accept and wear my collar? If you wear it there will be no more questions. Just acceptance of my rule." He brushed his lips over mine.

"Yes Sir." I buckled the collar around my throat. It felt warm and big there. I could not forget its presence. "Yes. Thank you." My eyes welled with tears though I managed to keep them from running down my cheeks.

I wore it all the time I was with him at the weekends. I wore it in private at home. It proclaimed that I was his. He had a leash that fitted and led me with sometimes, or just held me still with.

I had to ask for things. I had to ask if I had his permission to go to the toilet for instance. Sometimes I wasn't allowed the toilet actually but had to use the garden which, as well as being cold, was really embarrassing, especially if it was during the day as I was likely to be naked. He would often supervise me and after he had watched I would have to ask him to wipe me. That was so humiliating. He certainly knew how to make me realise how to remind me of his control over me.

Eating too. I was not allowed to feed myself some of the time. He would feed me. Often at these times I had my hands bound anyway but sometimes not. He would fork or spoon mouthfuls into my mouth as if I was a child. Sometimes drops fell from my chin onto my tits. I had to wait passively.

Inside the house he showed me where I should undress, right next to the door, because I was always to be naked or near naked inside. I had to fold my clothes neatly, hang them in a little cupboard that had a little shelf for the rest, including my bag. I felt very naked without the small protection that my hair used to offer. I felt extremely weak and vulnerable and readily accepted any instruction without my clothes.

Last night he had watched me undress, watched me as I exposed my bald cunt. He had kissed me lovingly, his arms around me his moth open, I felt ludicrously grateful. His kisses become more determined and I felt his erection against my body. He pushed me against the wall and as I held onto him he unfastened his trousers and fucked me there and then in the hall. At first he took me against the wall but we fell to the floor and rutted like animals before our lust was quieted and we lay still joined.

As I stood his fingers were driving me crazy. He wiped my juices over my smooth flesh, along my lips, over my mound, up higher between my legs. The feelings of being smooth were something I hadn't realised but it extended my feeling of touch, of his touch. I was grunting and grinding. I couldn't stop myself. But he stopped and watched and listened as I bucked frustrated and moaned for more.

I was allowed to lower my hands from my head and sent into the sitting room. My breasts swung, my hips swung sensually without thought. I was horny. God I was always horny these days. Between my legs I was disgustingly slippery. I wasn't aware of much else but lust. My breathing was heavy. From somewhere he produced what looked like a pink ping pong ball on a leather strap. He took it around my head and fastened it inside my mouth. It was rubber, could taste it and feel its hard give. I realised it was to restrain my mouth, my talking. I looked wildly about me. It felt so strange having my mouth forced open like this.

"On the coffee table." I sat on the edge. Something came over my eyes. It smelt of leather. I was blindfolded. I began to panic and whimper. "Lie down." I did, the cool of the surface against the heat of my back shocking. "Feet up on the edge. Wide apart." Up they came and apart, each side of my buttocks. Oh God they were apart and so was my cunt. I felt him fasten some soft rope that Id not noticed around my ankles to the legs by my head and took my wrists and fastened them to either side, keeping me wide, open, exposed. My ankles were pulled back toward the coffee table legs by my head. My breathing was rasping through my nose. I tried the ropes. I was bound and unable to move. I couldn't speak.

His mouth was near my ear and he softly calmed me, telling me how dirty I looked, how open and slutty I was, how he could fuck me and use me and do whatever he wished because I had given myself to him and that I was defenceless. The horniness returned. My sense of smell and touch was magnified. My feeling of surrender strong.

His fingers squeezed my nipples, rolling them between his thumb and fingers. He lightly slapped them, his fingers entered me, my cunt, and brought me to the edge of orgasm. Saliva dribbled humiliatingly from the corners of my mouth, I shook, I groaned through the gag, I thrust up my hips as much as I could. I lay there with no control over even myself, the feel of my body bound and fully exposed and unaware of anything that may or may not happen to me. And he left me like that. I belonged to him. Gradually I accepted my bonds. Submitted to them, to him.

At times he would return to me, if he had gone away, he might have been there though silent. He would talk to me at times, touch me too. He would arouse me and the speed at which he could make my excitement almost unmanageable left me breathless. He knew it too and his whispers about the depths of my depravity shamed me. I pleaded and screamed into the gag, looking at him beseechingly behind the leather. All to no good. Each time I was left bound and frustrated, knowing my needs were outside my control regardless of my desperation. I belonged to him and I was being made to understand.

Eventually I was released, physically not sexually. I was sweating from my exertions and drooling from the gag. I stunk.

I was ordered to shower, though not use soap, whilst he watched so I had no opportunity to touch myself. From my clothes he gave me a mid thigh denim skirt, a white T shirt top, hold-ups and black medium heels. I was given no underwear; he told me I wasn't allowed any. After, I had to blow dry my hair well and apply my make-up carefully, including my nails. He wouldn't allow any perfume; he told me that the essence of my body was what I was to allow others to smell. I put the collar back on.

After I had dressed carefully so as not to smudge make-up or mess my hair he again insisted I stand before him as though for inspection.

"Spread your legs. Put your hands behind your neck. You must always have your legs parted when you come to me like this, dressed or not. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir." I slid legs apart. Fingers slid together.

"Lift your top."

Moving my hands down again I did, it was beginning to feel normal to have him control if and when my body was covered, how I stood. He played with my nipples. Again my responses were in his hands not mine. I was hot so quickly. Gradually he was squeezing harder and harder until he had me whimpering.

"Now your skirt." I again complied, my tight top remaining above my breasts as I pulled the hem above my pussy. He moved away and lent on the edge of the dressing table, putting out his hand, palm up.

"Jenna, are you my little subby slut?"

"Yes. Yes Sir." Whispered. My nipples ached after their handling, throbbing.

"If you see me with my hand out like this I want to check my little sluts cunt. So you need to come over and place your now naked cunt against my palm so that I may feel you." I looked up shocked. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." He looked at me. Eventually. "Yes I understand I must put my cunt on your hand to be felt, Sir."

"It's not too much? You like me to feel you?"

"Yes Sir. Oh yes." I swallowed.

"Well in that case, wherever we are, if you see my hand like this you have to open your legs and put your naked cunt on it. So come over here and do it my sweet slut."

Keeping my legs apart and my skirt held high without thinking, I waddled over to him and lifted myself up onto the palm of his hand. I didn't know what to do with my hands except keep hold of the skirt. He could feel the lips still swollen, the wetness growing again.

"There, thats not hard is it?"

"No Sir." I panted. His fingers began to slide back and forth along the smooth lips of my pussy, causing me to shudder involuntarily again, and soon my hips were moving involuntary with his motions yet again. Fucking motions. I ached with need. He removed his hand and stood. Very carefully he wiped the juices on his fingers over my top lip and around my nostrils. The smell of my arousal was strong and filled me. He put his fingers back and placed more juices there until he was satisfied. I wanted his fingers back. I smelt dirty, a slut. I didn't know if others could smell me.

He took first one hand and then the other in his, directing it to my pussy, making me rub myself with my fingers so they were sticky and then rub my hands over my wrists. I stunk of sex. Of my bodily secretions. The skirt had dropped and he allowed me to cover my tits. I felt so embarrassed and my nipples and fanny throbbed in frustration.

He turned me around. His arms went around me and he nuzzled my collar, my neck telling me I was a good girl. I was so grateful for his understanding. The skirt wasn't too much of a problem and I liked the silk of the lining rubbing over my mound though without knickers there is no way a woman can feel secure. The possibility of it blowing up was a worry and I was constantly aware of the air moving around my thighs. My top clung to my breasts and made me very aware of them and how they must appear to others.

Being naked for him so much in the house made me so aware of my body. It wasn't as though I could forget when my breasts swung freely or my thighs spread as I was doing even the smallest of tasks. Knowing my nakedness and knowing the reason for it was constant. Now, with clothes covering me, I was again aware of the body underneath and who decided the body was covered or not. We drove silently for a while the smell of me overcoming my thoughts of anything else.

"Why are you so wanton?" He seemed to read my mind.

I didn't answer him immediately. "It's you, Sir. You make me. No, you allow me to be."

"Your past boyfriends, did they know?"

"No. No Sir. No one has made even me aware of what I am before."