Through the Side Door Pt. 02

Through the Side Door, Pt. 02

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is common-place for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. Eighteen years of age is the minimum for anyone in this world to be enslaved or be involved in slave business operations. This is strictly a FANTASY—consent is always mandatory in the real world.)

(Jack Murtha's viewpoint)

My only defense is that I would do—and in fact did do—anything for Willow McDonald. I had always loved, even worshipped, this smart, statuesque, full-sized woman, but she had kept me in the friendzone for six years of school. I couldn't really blame her, since I was a weedy nerd with only computer smarts and a sense of humor to offer her, which wasn't enough. She was three inches taller and probably 30 pounds heavier than me, and she was therefore well suited to become a wrangler at the Longhorn Slave Market in Houston, Texas. In that job only two months, Willow had first persuaded me to help her practice block positions (aka slave yoga), the suggestive postures and filthy verbal propositions ("slave mantras") designed to arouse slaves before grading and auction. Then, she teased me into sneaking through the side door of the slave market and "pretending to be a slave," which meant I ended up naked, cuffed, and wearing a shock collar while my friend, fully dressed and armed as a wrangler, led me around on a leash. That was humiliating but bearable, until the management of the slave market detected her game. The Vice President for Operations, Mr. Foster, had been reasonable, but pointed out that we had not only created a liability risk for the company but also, while (un)dressed as slaves, had repeatedly addressed his employees as Master or Mistress, which a court would take as proof of self-enslavement.

Given little choice, we had "voluntarily" accepted slave discipline by agreeing to be kennelled as livestock for the next three days. That meant that Willow had to strip down and join me in a shock collar and handcuffs. I'd never seen her naked, of course, and my cock responded instantly to the sight of her full-sized beauty. Unfortunately, the "slave veterinarian" who gave us a quick medical exam then installed chastity belts on both of us, and my cock soon suffered from failed attempts to reach full erection.

I was particularly turned on when we both went to the "slut wash." We were strung up, hands above our heads and spread legs tethered, facing each other about ten feet apart. The upward pull of her arms made Willow's boobs even more prominent. Good lord but she looked magnificent like that. I had heard that many of the young people (one had to be 18 to even enter a slave market) who worked at these low wage jobs did so just for the fun of fondling and goosing the merchandise under the guise of "washing" us. In my case, the apparent head of the slut wash, another imposing woman named "Mo'," and her female partner were scrubbing and feeling me up thoroughly, while across from me two teenaged guys were having all kinds of fun groping Willow's 44D chest (it was at least that large if not larger; I'd never dared ask her size) and thoroughly fondling her groin and rear end. Unlike my chastity belt, hers was removed to permit a complete scrubbing. She seemed embarrassed but also excited by her naked manipulation, with her headlights on high beam. She had a little smile on her lovely face, as if she were trying to encourage me to get through the experience—or maybe she was just turned on by being a helpless sex object for teenagers.

I was so mesmerized by her nude form that I hardly noticed what Mo' was doing to me—there was no way I could resist, and she couldn't get at my caged cock, so except for some alarming fondling of my balls I just had to hang there and take it. Just when the sight of Willow was causing me the most discomfort in that damn cage, however, Mo spoke calmly in my ear,

"I know you're having fun staring at your girlfriend, but you need to close your eyes and don't open them until I say so." When a huge woman has you literally by the balls, it's wise to obey instructions, so I squeezed my eyes shut and asked her why.

"You're both listed as kennel rats, so we're required to use some serious chemicals on your hair to ensure there's no crabs or lice. Unlike the usual sluts who come on consignment, we've got no idea where you've been—don't want the creepy crawlies spreading to the rest of the inventory, especially the slave-grading princesses!"

For the next several minutes I kept my eyes firmly closed while the most alarming smells surrounded me. I felt like a cat immersed in flea dip, but eventually I smelled ordinary shampoo again, and Mo' told me I could open up. Across from me, Willow looked like a wet hen, but she had no more control over her bound body than I did over mine. Still, even soaking wet she looked wonderful to me—not just her body but her elfin face, which somehow fit her large frame. Eventually, each of us was blasted with warm air and our damp hair combed out of our eyes.

I felt the tension on my hands relax, and I thought we were done, but my ankles were still hooked three feet apart. As soon as Mo' released my wrists, she ordered "back hands" and restrained them behind me.

"Bend over, lover-boy," Mo' ordered me in a friendly tone, slapping my butt cheek to reinforce the message. Then she began to tighten the rope back there, forcing me into the strappado position to avoid dislocating my shoulders. In seconds, my torso was parallel to the ground as I craned my neck to look at the love of my life. Willow was now tied in a similar position, facing towards me, only in her case that meant that her magnificent tits were dangling down as if she were ready for milking. The thought passed through my head that, now that I had seen her in such vulnerable and humiliating positions, she might be too ashamed to ever talk to me again.

Seeing what the two guys were about to do to her reminded me that I would probably suffer the same fate. I felt a well-lubricated nozzle penetrate my rear end and warm, soapy water began to fill my colon. Leaning on my rear end with her hand preventing me from expelling the hose, Mo' remarked,

"I love telling White boys to bend over, and then shoving something big up their tight little butts!"

She and her partner giggled, but were very matter-of-fact about the whole thing. I guess that even giving enemas to helpless slaves can become routine when you do it dozens of times a day. For the next several minutes, the pressure in my intestines increased while odd gurgling noises and sensations wracked by guts.

Mo' finally jerked the hose out sharply. As I struggled to hold the water in, she and her partner released my ankles, then each took one of my arms and dragged me over to one of two toilets mounted in the middle of the shower bay. By this time, I was so anxious to void myself that I willingly cooperated with them, collapsed on the toilet seat, and unleashed a gush of soapy muck as I sat there stark naked, bound, and slightly shivering. Even more humiliating was that Willow had been forced to sit on another commode three feet away and was also voiding herself. Once I finished, the female attendants took me back to their wash station and again restrained my ankles. When I looked up, I saw that Willow was also back in that position. Yup—she'll never want to see me again after this embarrassment!

Mo' commanded, in a voice filled with fake erotic promise, "Bend over, sweet cheeks." Preferring to cooperate rather than risk my shoulders by being strung up again, I leaded forward while Mo' again sodomized me with the enema nozzle. She slowly pumped the spewing hose in and out of my ass, over and over as she probed my rear end. It actually felt kind of good, although I couldn't admit that. Under her breath, so that only her partner and I could hear, Mo' began speaking like a guy making love to a woman for the first time.

"Ooooh, Baby, you feel so tight and soft and wet and warm. That's right, I'm balls deep inside you and you're just the right size back here. I love doing this, pumping in and our of your butt. Your body looks so marvelous like this, bent over so I can shaft you; You are a fantastic piece of ass!" And so on. They both giggled quietly, while I saw Willow's face showing a mixture of arousal and shame. One of the young attendants was standing behind her, between her legs, with one hand on her hip as if he rather than the nozzle was penetrating her, and the other one mimicked milking her dangling breasts. I couldn't do anything to help her, but at least they did not seem to be cruel, just gently joking in the same manner as my two temporary mistresses.

After another trip to the toilets for each of us, the attendants rinsed us off, after which the two guys took one last opportunity to fondle Willow as they re-installed her chastity device. Before I knew it, we both had our hands cuffed behind our back again, and Jim, the slave wrangler who had been processing us, resumed control.

*****

(Willow McDonald's perspective)

I had gotten a thrill out of my previous times—abetted by my roommate, Gwen—pretending to be a slave while slave wranglers who didn't recognize me (I thought!) fondled and moved my helpless body around. So, when I had to accept kennel status to save Jack from the consequences of my silliness, I could see both good and bad aspects out of the experience. I could even enjoy the added sensation of being felt up by the horny young men who washed my body. The first time two fingers, covered by a rubber glove, pushed into my core I clamped down hard at the thrill of being invaded. But having to watch Jack undergo the same humiliation, when I knew he had no such submissive tendencies, was a quiet agony. I wouldn't blame him if he never spoke to me again, which was a shame since I'd finally realized that he wanted to be more than friends. How could I make it up to him?

After our enforced shower and lice dip, Jim—for the next three days, "Master Jim" to us—gave us "dinner," which for a transient slave meant water and a bowl full of slave kibble. We'd both tasted slave kibble back in our high school slave studies class—there wasn't much taste, even if it was nutritious for humans. But tasting it was one thing, while using it as your only food was quite another—especially for a big gal like me. My stomach growled ev4n after I ate every bite. Sigh—these three days were going to be a good diet for me, but Jack was already thin, and needed to eat. Jim was kind enough to uncuff us so we could use our hands to eat, rather than shoving our faces into the bowls in full feeding-trough mode. Like any slave, I had to be thankful for small mercies.

Then he marched us off to the unisex slave toilets, where once again we had to relieve ourselves in front of each other—no dividers between the commodes. Jack continued to be a gentleman, always averting his eyes or looking at my face rather than my figure. Again, Jim was kind enough to let us use disposable toothbrushes, which was an option that the handler could withhold for uncooperative sluts.

We ended up, as scheduled, in Cage K-19., where our cuffs were removed. It had been a naughty thrill to have my roommate lock me in a cage with slaves for a few hours, but now I was facing at least 10 hours of genuine imprisonment, and even when we came out of that cage we would still be collared and slave naked. I would have been happy to have spent the time making love to Jack for the first time, but I knew that wasn't permitted.

"Listen up, sluts," began Jim in his best handler's manner, then looked at me. "Cunt 6944, demonstrate Expose, the correct posture for a slave whenever a master or mistress approaches."

I knelt down, thighs wide apart, fingers interlaced behind my neck, so that any free person could see everything my mother taught me to cover. I stared ahead and slightly downwards, towards the floor rather than into a master's eyes. Even Jack couldn't help looking at my oversized boobs, which were thrust forward in this position. Jim gestured at Jack, who got the message and imitated my exposed stance.

"Correct," the handler continued. "Whenever you hear someone approaching the cage, you assume Expose position—if you don't, or if you break any rules or make any disturbance, you're subject to discipline which you will NOT enjoy. While you're in this cage, one slave to a bunk, no sex—not that you could anyway with those belts on you." He chuckled. "You can't lie down until lights out, which is" he checked his watch, "about 70 minutes from now. If you're cold before then, you can drape your blanket over your shoulders, but don't cover your tits or groin. In the morning, when the buzzer sounds, get up immediately, fold your blanket neatly the same way you see it now, and resume the Expose position, waiting until a wrangler comes for you. Questions?"

The cage slammed shut and he locked it—even with my wrists free, I was really imprisoned for the first time in my life. I'd had keys and locker combinations to open things all my life, but now I couldn't escape. A six dollar padlock controlled me just as easily as a high-tech shock collar and police handcuffs. The sound of Jim's footsteps receded. We got off our knees and sat on bunks opposite each other, staring into each other's eyes.

"Jack, I'm really sorry I got you into this."

He smiled, "Don't worry about it, Willow. I've often wished that I could spend the night naked with you—turns out I should have been a little more specific!"

"Damn!" I replied, giggling. "We finally find out that we're attracted to each other, and can't do anything about it."

He shook his head. "I thought we cleared that up in the vice president's office. I didn't say I was attracted to you."

That dashed my hopes. "No?"

Jack was firm. "Nope, I'm not just attracted to you, I've been in love with you for six years, but could never convince you how beautiful you are. I hate to be crude, but right now your body looks even more sexy than I ever imagined, and I've thought about no one else all those years."

OK, call it corny, Hollywood, or whatever you like, but we suddenly grabbed each other and started kissing. We ended up on our knees, halfway between the bunks, hugging and fondling until I realized how badly we were breaking the rules. He felt soooo good, but I finally pushed him away, saying this would have to wait until next Monday, or whenever we were released.

"At which time," I concluded, fiercely, "Your ass is mine, Mister."

He almost giggled, "I know we just had enemas, but I was kind of hoping for contact between our genitals, not our asses."

"Goofball."

Just then we heard the sound of boots approaching, so we promptly assumed the Expose stance and tried to look innocent when three wranglers stormed in. They weren't buying our act.

Jim pretended to be irate, although I saw a twinkle, or maybe it was sympathy, in his eye. "Jeeze, 6944, I can't leave you alone for two minutes without the control room telling me that you're playing tonsil hockey with your slave boyfriend. You know the rules, sluts—stand up! Display!"

Display has to be one of the most humiliating and difficult of all the slave block positions. I turned away from the wranglers, spread my legs, and bent down as far as I could, so that my butt was the highest point on my body, almost waving it in Jim's face. Jack did a mirror image, as if we were both mooning the wranglers. I knew what was coming, but again worried more about poor Jack. It was always a challenge for new wranglers like me to learn how to discipline rebellious sluts in a way that inflicting pain without serious injury. And the two guys with Jim appeared to be very young and uncertain.

Jim started with Jack, telling the other two wranglers, "this is a teachable moment. I'll start with this asshole, and then I want each of you to do the same thing on the cunt, who DEFINITELY knows better than to be necking in a cage, right, slut?"

"Yes, Master," I replied promptly—no sense making things worse by arguing. In short order, I heard three sharp whacks as he laced into Jim's upthrust butt with a rubber strap. My new love grunted slightly at the first impact, but then regained his balance and took the other two strokes quietly. I felt another wave of remorse for getting him into this mess.

"OK, Ralph," Jim continued. "Now, you try it on the bitch, and be sure you lay it on good; a tight, muscled ass like hers can take a lot of punishment. This is not some weak little drama queen."

WHAM! Ralph was certainly following instructions; I knew that stroke would leave a real welt across both of my buttocks. WHAP! WHAP! The next two strokes were, if anything, even more energetic. This (temporary) slave never wanted to feel anything like that again, which was the whole point of strapping me. Only, of course, I did feel it again a few seconds later, as the other new hire gave me another three strokes, almost as hard, but at an angle. I could already feel the ridges of red skin rising, especially where the strokes intersected. I imagine that my ass looked like graph paper, red lines on white.

"Good job, guys. That's just about the correct among of force to apply. Now that we've administered the discipline, though, we need to put on a little cream to ensure their butts don't get infected." That was another intimate slave experience. I was already turned on by the situation, finding my newfound lover, and being strapped like a real slave. So, when a young guy began rubbing cream all over my throbbing ass, I couldn't help moaning a little. I was already moist between my thighs.

The new handlers were surprised into laughter. "That's normal, guys," explained Jim. "Never administer pain without a definite purpose, but recognize that some cunts can get so far into subspace that they actually get off on being strapped and then fondled. I've even heard of real sluts who orgasm while they're being whipped in front of a crowd at auction. In a situation like this, you can give her an extra punishment and a reward at the same time. Watch." He then spoke directly to me, "Slut, stand up. Kneel before me. Mouth."

Damn, I thought. Wasn't six strokes of the strap enough punishment for my offense? Apparently not; I recalled that the shift manager, Josephine, had told Jim not to hesitate about disciplining me just because I had been a wrangler. And I definitely knew I was breaking the rules, so I guess I deserved it. Now I was naked, on my knees, required to suck off a co-worker in front of two other wranglers and my prospective boyfriend. The memory of my humiliation would stay with all four of these guys. My face flushed as I dutifully opened my mouth.

Jim promptly whipped his tool out and presented himself to me. I don't know whether he was on a power trip or actually found me attractive, but in either case he was fully erect before I even touched him. "You know what to do, sweetheart."

In my defense, let me point out that I was turned on by the entire situation of my temporary enslavement and frustrated because I wanted to make love with Jack. So I decided to pretend that I was swallowing him rather than Jim, and just get it over with. My horniness and submissive tendencies took over, and before I knew it I was frantically fondling Jim's balls, slobbering all over his dick and trying to cram as much of it into my mouth as I could manage. I could feel even more moisture dripping out of me.

"Whoa!" the young guy, Ralph, commented. "I thought you said this was a free woman being kennelled temporarily, but she's gagging for it like the horniest skank in a brothel." My blush deepened but I was too excited to back off.

Jim pushed the mental knife home. "Well, once in a while you find a bitch like this who's legally free and pretends to be an independent woman but is really hot for the collar. There are sluts who like to pretend to be slaves, but don't admit what they want, even to themselves, until they're placed under slave discipline like this. Who knows, maybe after her kennelling this girl will go down to the Agriculture Department and surrender herself. She could be back in the permanent inventory next week and will be happy for you both to sample her then. Uhhh. That's it, GOOD little cocksucker!" I was unquestionably a cocksucker, but it was a long time since anyone had called me "little!" OK, since he was looking down on my kneeling naked body with my ass still sizzling, maybe I did seem little to him. Damn, I thought how humiliating it would be if I ever worked with these guys in the future. (Got to avoid the night shift for a while.) Just then, Jim groaned softly and spewed a rather substantial load into my mouth. Knowing what was expected, I didn't swallow, but sat back on my haunches and stuck out my tongue to display the slimy mess. Jim pointed out this procedure to the two newbies, and then let me swallow the stuff, leaving a salty aftertaste. Bleech! At least he didn't make me lick him clean or fellate him back to rigidity.