Theo's BDSM Slave Service

Then he reached behind his ass and gripped his buttplug. Keeping his eyes on her leaking cunt, he began to pull it slowly in and out, bringing it almost to the point of falling out and then pressing it firmly in again, alternately stretching and releasing his asshole. His breathing began to quicken as he fucked himself with the plug, and his cock, which had been as limp as a wet noodle when he pulled it out, began to stiffen again almost immediately.

I watched in naked admiration. It takes me quite at least twenty minutes to reset my cock for another fuck, and I like to think I'm pretty good in that department. I can certainly do it faster than nine out of ten of the guys I've watched in my private fuck rooms. But he seemed to be a pro. Maybe it was because he seemed to be so expert with the buttplug. Or maybe he hadn't gotten laid for a long time, hence the pent-up demand noted above. Some guys who like BDSM just can't get it on with a woman unless they have them firmly tied up. Women who genuinely love to be tied up and fucked are somewhat rarer, which certainly helps the runaway success of my business, and may also explain how much aching need this guy seemed to have.

Who cares, really, but the armchair psychologist in me likes to try to guess where my clients' behaviours come from.

Regardless, he was as hard as a crowbar within minute of pulling out from his first fuck. He seemed to be in the mood for another change-up, because he reached down and grasped the plug in her ass and started to ease it out. He spent a few minutes pulling it mostly out and then pushing it all the way home again, fucking her dark-skinned ass with it the way he had his own. Then he pulled it all the way out, leaving her with a partial ass-gape that obviously beckoned to him.

Because of the gape, it wasn't going to be as hard to work his cock in as it had been with the buttplug on her first anal adventure of the evening, but he re-lubed her to be on the safe side. Then he put his distended purple cock-head against her rosebud and pressed firmly.

This time it forced past her sphincter in one thrust, eliciting a muffled yelp from behind the gag. Then he got down to business, thrusting further and further with each stroke until her was going balls-deep into her ass. Having blown off once, he didn't seem to be as urgent this time, using long steady strokes as his breathing slowly picked up. She made a muffled grunt at the end of each in-stroke, and her body was propelled forward, causing her breasts to sway tantalizingly forward and back in rhythm.

Finally, as he had done in her cunt, he gave one long, hard thrust and held it all the way in. He threw back his head and gasped as his second load went way up inside her rectum.

He collapsed against her from behind, resting his face on her back as his spent cock slid out of her ass and dangled, leaking the last traces of cum onto the rubber floormat. He reached around and grabbed a breast in each hand, squeezing tightly and fingering her nipples, not trying to hurt them this time but just sliding his fingers over them to keep them as hard and responsive as possible.

He seemed to be pretty much milked dry by this time. He went to the sink and washed off his cock. Then he simply put his clothes back on and walked out the door, evidently relishing the experience of leaving her gagged and bound into a folded position with his cum oozing out of both holes. I pinged Jake to go and release her so she could return to the dorm, wash up and relax. I checked my watch and noted that it was time for Client Two to show up. There was nothing left to monitor so I headed back to the showroom.

Client Two

Client Two looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He was a smallish man, with fine and delicate but extremely handsome features and a neatly clipped brown moustache and wavy brown hair. He dressed in a casual but stylish manner, with new and neatly pressed jeans and a gray sportsjecket over a red shirt that gave the whole ensemble a dash of colour. He didn't look as though he would have the slightest difficulty attracting women. I felt as though if I had been a woman, I would have thrown myself at him in a heartbeat. But obviously he had some tastes that only my establishment could fully satisfy.

He walked up and down the line of staked-out women, calmly assessing each one with care but no urgency. They all kept their faces up as I had taught them, watching his eyes to see whether he wanted them to look at him straight on, or would rather they looked down deferentially as some men expected of hired slaves. He seemed to like to look them in the eye, assessing their faces as much as their bodies, and even took one under the chin to lift her gaze up to meet his. He caressed skin and held breasts, but didn't poke and prod, sometime lifting a large breast as if to assess its weight, or parting asscheeks to see how the woman was built in back. He kept stopping at Slave Eight, a pretty blond white woman with a petite physique, smallish but pert breasts, and a tight, toned body that she kept in great shape with more than the required hour minimum in the dorm gym. Client Two crouched down to inspect her pussy where the dildo pole thrust up inside it, and she contracted her crotch muscles as if massaging the pole. I could tell that she was hoping to be selected by this seemingly gentlemanly guy rather than being left to take her chances with whatever else came along next. She couldn't smile at him with the broad piece of microfoam over her face, but she followed him with her eyes, shifted her stance on the pole to give herself a little pussy massage, and made her attentions abundantly clear.

He obviously got the message, and was attracted to a woman who gave him some attention, even if he knew she had no choice but to come on to somebody who would do whatever he wanted with her. Wordlessly, he held out his hand and I put the hex key in it.

He slid the dildo slowly and teasingly out of her cunt. He also unclipped her ankle cuffs from the spreader, leaving her free to walk under her own power to Room Seven.

Once in Room Seven, he led her to the plastic-covered bed. He pushed her down into a sitting position, unclipped her wrist restraints from each other, and pushed her down on her back on the bed. He pulled her arms up and reclipped the restraints to two short lengths of chain attached to the top corners of the bed. Then he clipped her ankle cuffs to two chains at the bottom corners of the bed. Each chain had a racket mechanism that allowed the client to pull them tighter so they were exactly the right length to keep the slave firmly spread-eagled, with almost no movement allowed. Once Two had her in that position, he sat back to admire her stretched body, her snatch shaved down to a landing strip and her small, firm breasts taut and pointing their hard nipples up at his face.

He started at her neck, tonguing her skin and sliding his mouth very slowly down her body. He came to her breasts and took first one, then the other between his lips, pulling them out but not stretching them to the extent that they would hurt badly. After all the clients Eight had experienced, most of whom seemed to like to be as rough and painful as their no-marks contract would allow, she seemed to respond to this treatment, arching her back and moaning faintly behind her tape gag.

Client Two ran his hand up inside her thighs and up to her pussy lips. His left hand stayed on her lips while his right reached for the lube. He slicked her pussy and his hand generously, then slid two fingers firmly into her cunt.

He kept his mouth on her right breast, licking the nipple gently at first, then with increasing authority. His hand moved in and out of her cunt, the two fingers joined by a third and eventually a fourth, stretching her wide. I zoomed a camera in close to make sure I knew exactly what was going on there. The contract clearly stated, up to four fingers but no thumb and no fist. Fisting can be safe and pleasurable if both parties know exactly what they are doing and keep in close communication. With a bound, gagged slave, it's a recipe for the above-mentioned vaginal tear that can put a good earner out of action for weeks or even months.

He was keeping his thumb out of there. In fact, he had it up on her clit, working it in circles and then fast flicks that seemed to be gradually driving Eight wild. Slaves are coached to pretend to work up to an orgasm if that's what their client seems to want, but I was pretty sure this was genuine. Her breath was coming in long, ragged gasps behind the tape gag, and she was writhing and arching he back with each thrust of his fingers.

When she seemed to be getting really close, he reached down and peeled the tape off. Finally freed of its confinement, her mouth opened wide in huge gasps and then erupted in a long, powerful orgasmic scream that took full advantage of the soundproof room.

Client Two looked pleased with himself. One of many forms of male power is the ability to bring a woman to a wild, screaming orgasm, and this was obviously one of Two's favourite hobbies. He laid beside her, still gently fondling her pussy lips and nipples, while they both settled into a warm glow of a job well done.

After a few minutes, he stood up. He was obviously thinking that it was his turn now, after having gotten warmed up on her orgasm. He took off his shoes, his jacket and his shirt, then pulled off the neatly pressed jeans. Finally he pulled off his boxers.

No cock. No ball-sack. No nothing in terms of man-equipment.

I did a total double-take in the monitor room. What the fuck??

I zoomed Camera Three in close on his crotch, expecting to see evidence of some sort of injury. Maybe a nasty farm equipment accident, or a mob revenge hit. But what I saw was just a neatly shaved pussy. All the usual stuff -- mons, lips, a bit of clit just visible at the top. Just about the same as every other pussy I've seen, and believe me, I've seen a lot.

It was obvious as soon as I processed it. He was transgender. He had been born a woman, had top surgery, hormones -- hence the moustache -- and maybe some internal adjustments such as a hysterectomy, but not bottom surgery.

I don't happen to know any trans men well personally, but given my profession, I make it my business to know as much as there is to know about human sexuality. I know that male-to-female surgery is complicated but usually works. You can take a penis, carve it down and rearrange it, and use the sensitive glans tissue to make a pretty functional clitoris. It doesn't always work as well the other way. A penis has very complicated hydraulics, and efforts to make one out of female parts are frequently less than satisfying in terms of function. Some trans men would rather just keep the perfectly functioning bits they were born with and work out with their partners how to have a satisfying relationship and still be who they are.

This was clearly Client Two's thing. He operated as a man, but used his legacy sexual parts to get down with real horny pleasure. No fucking wonder that he could play a woman's body like a violin. He had personal experience of exactly works best for the other sex.

I was now riveted. Where would he go with this, I wondered.

He scooted up the bed until his crotch was right over Slave Eight's face. She did the same WTF double-take I had done. But she quickly figured out what he wanted her to do. No slave who wants to keep her skin attached to her body takes any longer than necessary to figure out what a client wants.

She lifted her head and began to tongue his pussy lips. She went up and down one side, then the other, taking his pussy lips between her mouth lips and pulling gently on them while she licked. He arched his back, closed his eyes and began breathing more and more deeply as she pulled and licked.

He had really lucked out choosing Eight, because she had the longest and most agile tongue in my entire harem. I made a mental note that if I ever saw Client Two again, I would make damned sure that Eight was staked out at the head of the line to get some repeat business.

She stopped licking and thrust her tongue up into his cunt, reaching in as far as she could go and curling the end of her tongue to lick the inside of his vagina. I figured she was going for his G-spot, and it looked as though she found it, because he gasped and grimaced with exquisite pleasure. I have no idea whether she had ever gone down on a woman in her pre-slave life, or did it for amusement in the dorm, or was just extrapolating from what she liked to have done to her pussy when she was having sex for pleasure rather than as a requirement. No matter -- she ate out Client Two like a total pro.

After she had licked the living fuck out of his G-spot, she got to work on his clit. She circled it, she licked up and down, she brought her lips together and sucked it, until finally he threw his head back and had a magnificent, screaming orgasm, much more woman-style than the male grimace, shudder and grunt. I'm not saying that once is better than the other -- how would I know anyway -- but he certainly seemed to be getting his money's worth out of the experience.

The other thing I envy about women is that, because they aren't dependent on semen for an orgasm, they don't run out of gas. A man can have two or three orgasms if he's lucky, as long as he has some recharge time in between, and then he's milked dry. Not necessarily so with women. Client Two subsided from his orgasm for about a minute, then went back to it. He released Eight's right arm from the chain, put a long squirt of lube in her hand, and slid up the bed so she could get her fingers where they needed to be. She stroked two fingers in his cunt, using her thumb on his clit, and in what seemed like seconds, he was getting off again.

This went on for a while. I lost count, but I think he must have had seven or eight orgasms before he finally subsided, pleasantly exhausted.

He hooked her wrist up again and rolled over on his back next to her. He lay for a long time, just idly handling various parts of her body and enjoying the warm afterglow of a really, really good fuck. It was kind of sweet, really, and a nice change from some of the hard, vicious fucks I've seen from men who like to hurt a woman as much as they can without losing their deposit.

Looking back on it, I should have spent even more time enjoying Two's quiet post-fuck bliss. Because that wasn't the ambiance I was going to get from Client Three.

Client Three

I switched the video feed to the iPad that Jake keeps on his lap. I was sure nothing bad was going to happen in Room Seven, but I didn't get where I am by taking anything for granted. Then I walked back to the showroom.

Two of the original seven slaves were now gone, and I like to keep a good selection on hand. I went to the dorm and picked two more. Client One had used up the one woman of colour in the first lineup, so I picked two more to keep the ethnicity of the lineup as varied as possible. One, Slave Fifteen, was a women of South Asian ancestry with a very full figure, her breasts round and high like those of a Hindu stature. The other, Slave Twenty-One, was a tiny Japanese-Canadian woman. She was twenty-two, but her nearly flat breasts and naturally hairless body meant that if they wanted, clients could pretend that they were fucking a twelve-year-old. I have no use for pedophilia and never enslave children, but if clients want to fantasize, I don't intend to stand in their way.

As they left the dorm with me, they shucked off the cotton pajamas the slaves all wear when off duty, together with bra and panties, and dropped them in a large hamper just inside the door. When I started, I never gave slaves bras, but after a while some of the more generously endowed ones started to have trouble with droop. I wanted even the largest breasts to be firm and well shaped, so I reversed course and now I insist that off-duty slaves wear good, supportive bras at all times.

They walked ahead of me to the showroom, carrying their own pairs of stilettos in their hands. I hadn't had time to wash off the two dildos that had already been used, so I took them over to two poles that hadn't been in service yet that day. Sometimes I let staff prepare the lineup for presentation, but I really like doing the job myself. Binding, gagging and impaling women is one of the perks of this job. Since the day wasn't busy, I gave myself the treat of prepping the new pair of slaves.

They obediently straddled the poles, legs apart, and waited while I lubed up the dildos, slid them firmly up their cunts, and locked them with the hex key. They put their hands behind their backs so I could hook up their wrist restraints, and I buckled the spreader bars onto their ankles. Finally, I took the roll of microfoam tape from its hook, cut off two lengths, and smoothed it over their mouths to complete the ensemble.

The remaining five slaves had been standing there for quite a long time by now, and were looking pretty tired. If Client Three had not been the last before the evening crowd started arriving in a few hours, I would have replaced them all with a fresh lineup. But since any that Client Three didn't select would be free to go back to the dorm shortly anyway, I figured they could manage a few more minutes of plugged standing.

I disliked Client Three on sight. He was a weaselly looking man with short, oily dark hair and narrow eyes. He wasn't especially well dressed compared to the other clients that afternoon, and the way he leered at the women as he walked up and down the line gave me the creeps. He didn't actually lick his lips or show fangs, but he looked as though he might at any moment. My women are all trained to look straight ahead and not show emotion when they are being inspected, but I could tell that they all were feeling varying degrees of discomfort. I could almost hear them thinking, "Oh God, don't pick me, don't pick me."

A lot of clients touch the women as they are inspecting them, and I have no problem if they give them a few pokes and squeezes as if testing the ripeness of the melons in a grocery store. But Client Three was really poking and prodding, picking up and dropping breasts and squeezing buttocks, and even feeling clits where they peeked out in front of the dildoes. Finally he stopped at Slave Nine, a robust but beautiful white woman in her early thirties with a particularly well-rounded ass, a trait he seemed to be looking for. He gave he ass a couple of preliminary squeezes, and then he suddenly hauled off and slapped her on the ass, really hard. He left a rad mark shaped like a hand, with palm and five fingers clearly visible.

She gave a surprised yelp behind her tape gag, and I jumped up. "OK man, that's it. You mark it, you've bought it. There's no way I can rent her to someone else until tomorrow when that mark's faded. Room Two." I handed him the hex key. He slid the dildo out of her pussy, twisted a big handful of hair in his hand, and with the bar still spreading her legs, half marched and half dragged her down the hall to Room Two. Jake and I exchanged a look that said, "Keep a close eye on this one."

I went back to the monitor room and brought up all the cameras and the microphone for Room Two. He dragged her over to the restraint chair and positioned her behind it. He unclipped her wrist cuffs from each other, bent her over the padded back of the chair, and fastened her wrists to two rings at the front of the seat. Then he unclipped the spreader from her ankle cuffs and used them to fasten her ankles to the bottoms of the two rear chair legs so that she was held in her bent-over position, legs spread and ass sticking up.

He went straight to the collection of paddles and floggers. I suspect he was disappointed to find no whips and canes, but he seemed happy enough to select the biggest and meanest-looking paddle on the shelf. In fact, of course, the more surface area a paddle has, the less likely it is to bruise or break the skin. My paddles are also covered with a thin rubber coating to cushion them a bit more. They can hurt like hell, but they are very unlikely to do real damage.