The Rivalry Pt. 01

The situation got even better; as the owner, I wanted to establish bragging rights by having the Longhorn brand her slave grade into her—the outline of a Longhorn skull, complete with antlers, seared diagonally onto her tight little slave butt, with the letter "P" superimposed above the head to denote Prime. And I got to go along, rubbing the handle of a branding iron against her clamped-down pussy, being careful to jiggle the dildo in and out of her wazoo at the same time, until she gushed a gallon of juice, after which the brand was applied while she was still climaxing like the whore she was about to become. Damn, she howled like a banshee despite the stick gag tied into her mouth!

Don the wrangler and my Daddy explained that it was better to leave a newly-branded slave in the market for several days of healing, instead of taking her home with us that day. The plus side to that delay was that, when finally delivered to my home three days later, Leslie the slut was on full display in a large dog shipping cage. In addition to being cuffed and still plugged, she arrived wearing a gag, her eyes wild like the trapped female dog she was. THIS was the way I had always dreamed of looking at her—not just a slave but one who was silenced, immobilized, and on her knees to me.

*****

(Leslie Scott's perspective)

I had been conscious of Janey's antagonism towards me, but I never realized just how angry she was. It was bad enough to suddenly descend from high school senior to naked sex slave, but to be in the power of someone who seemed unhinged with anger against me was truly terrifying. She spent the first few minutes lording it over me, demanding that I kiss her shoes, bow down to the floor, and (once the gag was removed) repeat various declarations to the general effect that I was a worthless whore who begged my mistress to provide me with an ample supply of dick in all of my openings. At one point, she clipped a dog leash to my collar, dragged me into her bedroom, and demanded that I kneel beside her bed while I licked her to several orgasms. All the while she continued to berate me, jerking on my leash and my hair. I was even more miserable because my brand still throbbed as the pain reliever (given at the slave market) wore off.

After 20 minutes that wore out my tongue, I heard her father knock on her bedroom door and demand that she come out and speak to her parents in the living room. In her haste to rearrange her clothing, my owner rushed out of the room, leaving me on my knees and (because the door stayed open) able to hear most of their conversation.

The conversation was a good news, bad news situation for me. On the one hand, her parents told my captor that I was an expensive possession that could not be mistreated; if I became seriously ill or injured, her parents would sell me off (which implied another humiliation on the auction block). But the things they discussed—things that Janey had apparently bragged that she intended to do to me—were horrifying. Her mother actually felt it necessary to tell her own daughter that (1) while I could be naked in the home and again when Janey went to college next fall, she could not parade me around town in daylight where little children could see me, and (2) just because the family dog was constantly humping the legs of family members did NOT mean that Janey should allow that dog to mount me! The bad news for me was that, with her intentions so clear, I had reason to fear that "Mistress Janey" would try these or similar obscene treatments to exact her revenge more fully from me. I realized that I had better pretend to have heard nothing, so I schooled my face into what she seemed to want—an obsequious, mindless, horny toy. Pretend to be like Ren and Stimpy—Happy, happy, joy, joy. I should get an academy award for this acting. . .

The next few days were more of the same—when I wasn't kept in a cage, she was treating me like another pet (keeping the dog away from me, thank heavens). She insisted that I relieve myself like a female dog while she walked me around her back yard on a leash; several times I heard her lament that her Mom wouldn't allow her to take me for a naked slave walk in public in daylight (which didn't stop her from walking me in the evenings!)

In the same spirit of reducing me to an animal, Janey insisted that I wear a hairband with perked up fake ears, sort of like those on a boxer. That was OK, I guess, but what went with the ears was much more uncomfortable—she installed a large butt plug to anchor a short tail between my rear cheeks. She loudly and repeatedly said that she would have preferred to give me a long, silky blonde tail, but that "a dumb bitch like you would probably get it dirty when she went potty, so we have to make do with a short one." Even so, my owner didn't hesitate to jerk the plug out when she wanted me to defecate, then ram it back into my colon afterwards. Ouch.

I soon realized that Mistress Janey was the typical spoiled brat who became bored even when doing her best to inflict her bizarre revenge on me. I was forbidden to use the ordinary toilet, but Janey was too lazy to get out of bed and "walk" me in the morning—I think she enjoyed the image of me whining on my knees at the door, so frantic to be let out that I lost control of my bladder. But, of course, the princess couldn't be expected to clean up after her "bitch puppy," so caring for the new pet soon fell on the shoulders of the family maid.

Rosa was a diminutive Latina of indeterminant age, although her body suggested that she had been ripely beautiful when younger. Rosa was already overworked cooking and cleaning, so she was naturally irritated about having to add me to her duties. In addition, there was a language barrier between us—I wasn't supposed to speak (only bark, except when Janey wanted me to howl obscene come-ons begging to be fucked), and Rosa had very little English (or at least she pretended to speak poorly; I suspect she was living up to the family's racist stereotypes in a way that allowed her to ignore or "misunderstand" the more inconsiderate orders she received.)

I suspect that Rosa had more cause to lord it over me than did Mistress Janey—psychologically, the poor maid needed SOMEONE to feel superior to, and I fit that description perfectly. Soon, she had established a daily routine of enemas to clean out my colon and ensure I didn't produce much solid waste—which was important because when I DID defecate, Rosa had to wipe my behind afterwards, a procedure that was acutely humiliating for both of us. It was disgusting for her and reduced me to a baby who wasn't potty trained.

After having to clean up my urine several times at the door when Janey wouldn't walk me, Rosa set up a box filled with kitty litter and used the traditional methods of house-breaking the "dog"—she took a particular joy in bopping my nose and tail with a rolled-up newspaper, loudly and contemptuously describing me as a "perro estupido" for missing the kitty litter. Of course, Janey loved to witness this! Even after I began to use the litter box on all occasions, Mistress Rosa kept up the newspaper act—apparently she enjoyed the idea of treating the blonde blue-eyed "norteamericana" like an errant puppy; I'm sure she got a charge out of the role reversal, and would have MUCH rather disciplined JANEY the same way!

Eventually, Janey's mother decided to put me to work. When Janey was absent from the home, I was expected to assist the maid with mundane tasks such as scrubbing the toilets (on my knees) and mowing the lawn (but only in late mornings, when children were unlikely to see me naked.) For such tasks I was "permitted" to walk upright and even (for safety purposes) to wear a ragged pair of Janey's old tennis shoes.

This gave my "owner" an even better idea—daily exercises in the back yard, slave naked except for the tennis shoes. I had to run laps around the yard, perform jumping jacks and pushups, etc. until I was covered with sweat and grass stains. Without a sports bra, my breasts wobbled constantly as I moved, and I'm sure my naked rear shifted obscenely. Janey sat in a shady lawn chair with an iced drink, cackling uproariously at my demeaning antics. She also found it amusing to toss a huge plastic dildo across the yard for me to fetch, and you can imagine what she said when I returned with that thing in my mouth! At the end, Rosa had to use the hose to wash me off; the cold water felt good except when (at Janey's instructions) the maid inserted the nozzle into my anus as a supplemental enema.

Perhaps it was Stockholm syndrome, but I tended to identify with Rosa, who was almost as low on the social hierarchy as was I. Within days, she had discovered my tongue, so that whenever the family left me at "home" I could expect to end up on my knees lapping her coño (look it up, gringo). Compared to getting jerked around by Janey, this was actually peaceful for both of us. Besides, once Rosa experienced a few orgasms from cunnilingus, she was much gentler and kinder to the family puta. I'd much rather use my tongue like that instead of having my butt turned red with a belt. While licking, I giggled for the first time since my enslavement, thinking back to Ms. Herrera who had tried in vain to teach me Spanish or even Tex-Mex. Do you suppose I should tell her that getting paddled with a newspaper while naked and collared was the missing motivation? Or was it the chance to have a little peace while licking my near peer, who was always appreciative of my service, to orgasm?

*****

Any heterosexual man is going to get urges if he watches a young woman, naked and on a leash, her pussy and breasts on open view, all while she is required to loudly beg for cock to be stuffed into her various openings. Not to mention said slave girl exercising in the nude; Rosa had to tie up the dog every time I did that, to prevent the animal from trying to mount me! Mister Bowers kept popping visible boners when he saw me, so at first I tried to stay away from him.

It terrified me when, after several weeks, I heard Janey earnestly talking with her Mom about how I "needed to be broken in" by a "man who knows how to control slave sluts. What's the point of having a slave girl in the house if she doesn't service the owners and guests—I'm sure YOU don't want to take care of Dad every time he sees her bouncing boobs and butt?" I was surprised that she would dare talk to her mother like that—apparently, I wasn't the only person who suffered from her crude arrogance. More importantly, though, I shuddered at the idea of losing my virginity to anyone, let alone such an old man, who would have little consideration for a slave girl. Still, I concluded that was preferable to Janey having some inexperienced teenager use me just to maximize my suffering. I had only a vague idea about the reality of love making, but expected it to hurt badly the first time someone did it to me, so maybe having an older, more experienced guy would be less painful?

The moment of truth came the next day when (immediately after another cold-water shower and enema outside) a grinning Janey cuffed and leashed me (with a choke collar!), then dragged me to her father's bedroom door. I had seen his wife drive off, looking angry (apparently because she didn't want her husband screwing the help.) Meanwhile, my mistress and owner had me kneel, hands still cuffed behind my back, then stuffed the leather handle into my mouth and knocked on the door before walking away.

Mister Bowers, a six-foot tall, slightly-overweight and balding man of about 45 years, opened the door, took the handle out of my mouth, and led me, crawling, over to the queen-sized bed. He stood over me, the leash taut but not digging into my neck, and asked me if I knew why I was there.

"I believe so, Master; Mistress Janey said that she hoped you would take my virginity," I replied softly, being careful to stare at the edge of the bed rather than look at his face, which is normally forbidden for slaves. I was quaking at both my helplessness/nudity and my fear of a painful deflowering.

"So you're still a virgin? I didn't believe there were any more 18-year-old virgins left in that high school, let alone virgin slaves."

"Oh, no, master—there are lots of stories about classmates having sex with each other, but I think it's mostly just boys bragging. I mean, I lost my hymen doing gymnastics, but I've never had anyone's penis inside there." While my statement was mostly accurate, I would have been VERY surprised if his daughter could say the same thing!

He gave an amused snort. "You're fortunate that nobody asked you that at the Longhorn—if they'd known that a cute piece like you was still intact, you'd have sold for twice as much money to a brothel that would raffle off your virginity the same night they got their collar on you." I shuddered at the thought.

Seeing me flinch, his voice became softer and more concerned. "That's why I agreed to Janey's crazy idea of my making love to you. I won't lie—you're a hot piece of ass that any guy would want to take to bed, but this could really be a better way for you to become sexually active. I know that the idea of having sex with an old man may horrify you, but in my younger days I was a slave wrangler who actually had to help a few slaves lose their hymens. If you can just relax and accept that this happens to slaves, I will ensure you get some pleasure out of it. Are you OK with that, girl?"

I had no choice but to trust him, so I bowed my head further and said "Yes, Master."

At least Mr. Bowers didn't give me the "wham-bam-thank you, ma'am" treatment that I feared from one of my male peers, inexperienced and intent only on their own pleasure. First, he pulled out a rather large but clean cock from his pants and sat down in front of me, so that I was looking directly at it. As I've already mentioned, since becoming a slave I'd been required to suck several dicks (no sense being genteel about it), but this was the first time someone had seriously tried to TEACH me what to do. I could tell that he had, indeed, trained female slaves before, as he described how to use my tongue, how to control my breathing, where the most sensitive areas (including the ball sack) were, and so on. Perhaps the most important thing he taught me was psychological: the way to give satisfaction when fellating a guy—not to mention the way to speed up the process—was to act as if I really enjoyed the rare treat he was offering me. And, to be honest, once you get past the idea of some fat slob using your mouth solely for his own pleasure while you kneel submissively before him, I found out it could be kinda fun to know that I was controlling him, that he enjoyed having me serve him. Here's where the acting came in: Mr. Bowers urged me to apply some method acting, to pretend I really liked being a cock-sucker. Moaning, slurping, telling my nipples that they must be hardening, and looking up, adoringly, into the guy's face especially at the moment of ejaculation. Not only did this pretending prepare me for the actual entry of a dick into my body, but the guy would swell quicker, get off quicker, and enjoy himself more if he believed (or could pretend to believe) that the cute girl kneeling before him actually ENJOYED giving him a hummer. In all my subsequent experiences with pricks (and trust me, at some level most guys are just dickheads who serve their own dicks), experiences that were often demeaning, humiliating, and even painful, these acting lessons allowed me to gain some type of control and relief, escaping mentally and sometimes physically from the worst aspects of being a sex slave. Thanks, Mister Bowers.

Just when he (and I, to be honest) were really getting into my oral service to him, he abruptly pulled that magnificent all-day meat sucker out of my mouth and told me, somewhat breathlessly, to stand up. After he released my wrists, he ordered me to move into the Present position—feet shoulder-width apart, hands interlaced behind my neck in a posture that inevitably pulled my (erect) breasts up and out. I could feel dampness between my spread thighs even before this skilled slave handler began to gently but firmly run his hands all over my body. I had been too exhausted and downtrodden to do much with the startling experience I had first had at the slave market, when even casual fondling excited me. Now this imposing man smoothly ran his hands everywhere—between my thighs, up between my rear cheeks (including goosing my anus), standing behind me while firmly grasping my boobs and manipulating my nipples, kissing my neck, and above all finger-fucking my cunt (I'm a slave, that's what it's called, ladies). The sensation of his left hand toying with my corresponding nipple while his right hand manipulated my clit made me so aroused that I came unexpectedly, shuddering and barely able to avoid falling.

After this masterful exploration and arousal of my body, my owner's father calmly told me to lie down on my back on the bed, to which he added the command to tease my own nipples. My attention was distracted by his rapid stripping, casually tossing his clothes onto a chair before he lay down beside me. For a middle-aged guy he was in surprisingly good shape. Using one hand, he gently turned my head towards him and guided me to kiss him, all the while indicating that I should continue playing with myself.

When he leaned up on one elbow and shifted over me, I naturally expected him to mount me, but instead he crept down to the bottom of the bed, between my spread legs, and—oh, rapture!—began using his tongue and lips to manipulate my labia and especially my clit. It had never occurred to me that, as a slave, I would encounter such an experience. In the urban folklore of my generation, at least, a guy only went down on a girl if he (a) absolutely loved the girl and wanted her to be happy or (b) thought that cunnilingus would earn free passage for his dick into the woman's openings. I suddenly understood why Mrs. Bowers would be so visibly angry about her husband deflowering a young slave—it wasn't solely about monogamy, but also her awareness of how rare and unusual he was as a lover, something not to be shared.

After he had brought me to two further climaxes, my owner's father slid upwards until he was lying on top of me, where he added another quick series of caresses and tweaks before he finally brought his massive shaft up to the charge. Even then, he displayed remarkable control and consideration, pausing up to 30 seconds after each thrust as he slowly rammed his way into me. It did hurt, but not nearly as much as I had feared. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of being under his control, of being pinned to the bed by his body and completely occupied by his dick. Even if I had been an actual lover instead of an 18-year-old slave, it was clear who was in charge, and it wasn't me. Yet he continued to kiss and touch me gently as he slowly worked in and out of me, clearly concerned that I would enjoy myself. When I finally gave up and begged him to take me, he pounded into my body over and over and over and over. (It felt like we had screwed for an hour, but it was probably closer to ten minutes!) When we finally came—not together but within a few seconds of each other—he pulled a sheet over us and held me, cuddling and murmuring nothings for an hour. And THEN he did it all over again.

*****

I had been royally, thoroughly fucked—there's no other verb to describe it, and I finally understood the forceful meaning of that verb—and my body moved slowly and painfully for the next day or so. But Master Bowers had ensured that my introduction to womanhood was among the best any girl might dream of, and as soon as my discomfort began to lessen, I found myself dreaming of being his love slut again. (I'm not advocating acceptance of rape, but if I HAD to be a sex slave, why not maximize my enjoyment?) More practically, he insisted that his daughter and maid leave me alone, making minimal demands on me and certainly not requiring sexual service for several days. Then he took me to the nearest branch of the Samson Clinic for Slaves, getting me an OB/GYN exam before releasing me back to the not-so-tender mercies of his vindictive daughter. I was acutely conscious of him watching my every move, but thereafter the most he would demand or accept from me was a blowjob.