Through the Side Door Pt. 03

*****

(Jack Murtha's perspective)

I had never imagined sucking on a cock, so the entire idea was repellent, but Florence was calm and patient, and her counterfeit cock was a lot easier to confront that some guy's smelly dong. Hers was anatomically correct, so she gave us a brief tour including different techniques to excite different areas. Willow and I tried to make a joke about it, calling each other cocksuckers as we took turns practicing, with considerable commentary from our hermaphrodite keeper. I was startled when Flo told me to take her place on the straight chair—and then ordered Willow to practice on me! (She had not re-installed the chastity belt after we shaved each other.) I tried to refuse, but Willow seemed so eager that I finally sat still and "suffered" the best 20 minutes of my life up to that time. True to her instruction, the love of my life began with little licks and fondles everywhere, but soon progressed to wrapping her tongue around my helmet and then engulfing most of my rigid dick. I had envied slave wrangler Jim when he made Willow kneel and give him a sloppy blowjob last evening, but the reality was far greater than any anticipation. Imagine that a beautiful woman whom you've loved and lusted after for years is nude on her knees, eagerly swallowing your rod between soft lips while her velvet tongue swirled around it as she looked lovingly into your eyes. And then, she tilted her head back on that long neck and managed to accommodate all of me down her throat, bumping her nose against my hairless and sensitive groin!

In seconds, I could feel my sperm lining up for blast-off, but I remembered our instructions about not having orgasms. Teeth gritted, I managed to spit out a warning. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but please tell her to stop, Mistress! Otherwise I'm going to shoot down her throat right now!"

Florence gave another throaty chuckle, and told my fair fellatrix to sit back and take a breath. The three of us talked about something else—I still can't remember what—until my breathing calmed, after which Flo coached Willow in the fine art of edging, looking for clues that I was about to climax and then backing off briefly. After three cycles of on again, off again, both women were grinning at my squirming bliss, and Florence gleefully pointed out to Willow that, under favorable circumstances such as these, although the woman appeared to be on her knees serving the man she was actually in control of his pleasure. Eventually the wrangler shifted her instructions, talking about how a slut was supposed to hold her master's ejaculate in her mouth, then show it to him on her tongue and wait for permission to swallow. "I sometimes think that disgusting requirement is the only way a guy can reassert control after the woman has been playing him like a flute!"

By this time, I was desperate, and again asked for a break. "You've been very good, Jack, so WHEN I TELL YOU TO, you can come. Now, Willow, give him everything you got, and don't forget to look up at him like you're in ecstasy about swallowing his little head. Guys love that. Three, two, one, CUM, Jack." I'd been excited to one degree or another for the past 24 hours, so when I let go, the pleasure was so extreme that I almost passed out. I did remember to thank my keeper for the opportunity. I've never been the kind of legendary stud who pumps "gallons of cum," but when Willow showed me the result, it did look like a respectable pool on her tongue. Our mutual mistress told her to swallow, then sent her back to the bathroom to find a disposable toothbrush and bottle of mouthwash.

By the time she returned, it was 6:30. Florence had us re-install the chastity belts, then instructed us to set the dining table for three people. "Maureen will be home from the slut wash soon, and you heard me invite Antonne to supper, so it's time to follow the rules again. Behave yourselves so I don't have to punish you, got it? You'll still get to eat human food, but only after you serve us, and then on your knees on the kitchen rug. That's still a lot better than handcuffed on concrete at the Longhorn with your face in a bowl of kibble, right?" We eagerly agreed.

When the other two free people arrived, Florence quietly told me to wait on Mo' and her, with Willow to serve the auctioneer Antonne. He took the opportunity to fondle her every time she came within his reach, repeatedly complimenting her and generally acting as if he were already her owner and expected to bed her that night—or maybe just tell her to crawl under the table to service him right there. She positively glowed under this attention, and looked eager to do either for him.

It really bugged me to see this stranger treating my love like a sex toy, and I nearly did something that would have guaranteed me a beat-down from a much larger, more muscular guy. However, Flo' gave me a hard stare and a tiny shake of her head, reminding me that anything I did might cost Willow her freedom. When we were dismissed to eat our dinner in the kitchen (assuming that it can be described as "eating dinner" when you're naked, collared, and on your knees), my darling quietly assured me that she loved me, not Antonne. By now, I had seen enough to realize that Florence was correct: my love enjoyed the fantasy of slave submission, and would act that out when given a chance because it made her feel attractive, but she didn't want to really BE a slave. I hoped we had a future together—and not just because she gave fantastic head!

As soon as we cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, Josephine separated us. "4559," she said, referring to my slave number in front of the other free people, "Follow Mistress Maureen and me back to the room we were in earlier. Master Antonne will be training 6944 in the living room." I really didn't like that, but had no choice.

Once we re-entered her bedroom, Jo relaxed again. "Jack, calm down. I can promise you that Antonne won't do anything that Willow doesn't want him to do, although I grant you she's so happy playing slave she'd give him any hole he wanted. No, I'm kidding. I asked Antonne to give her more oral practice, and while he's at it he's going to work on her self-esteem. I never saw a woman with such a low opinion of herself."

"Yes Mistress," I replied, all the time kneeling in front of her as she sat in a chair with her sister next to her. "I've been saying for years how beautiful she is, but she acts like I'm lying or just being polite. And that clown Tank did a number on her head when he rejected her."

"Well, we'll all work on that, and maybe later on you can SHOW her how much she turns you on. For now, though, we need to continue your skills training." So saying, and without any sign of modesty, the two well-built female wranglers pushed down their jeans and undies, and began to lecture me on female anatomy. The lecture was followed by extensive practical exercise, mostly exercising my tongue. At least they gave me drinks of water every few minutes.

By now it should be obvious that I enjoy pleasing full-sized, confident women, so this training wasn't a particular hardship. Where else can a guy learn how to make a woman happy in bed without risking an on-going relationship? Still, I was ministering to these two wranglers while my own dick was locked up and Willow was doing heaven-only-knows-what in the living room. I REALLY wanted to be alone with her.

*****

(Willow McDonald's perspective)

I had enjoyed having Master Antonne touch and flatter me—even though I knew that the fondling was SOP for slave handlers, it made me feel attractive and desired, which (I suspect) is why I wanted to play slave in the first place. But, when the two sisters took Jack away, I began to worry that the auctioneer would go beyond the so-called oral training and end up disappointed with my inexperienced performance. My apprehension must have showed in my face because he immediately tried to reassure me.

"Don't worry, beautiful—nothing is going to happen here that you won't like, I promise. Before we get to your training, however, I want to show you something about your body. Trust me, and follow instructions while you're under slave discipline. Got it?"

Having little choice, I reluctantly nodded and said "Yes, Master."

"Good girl." Just as I had been trained to do, his speech reflected the tone one would use to reinforce good behavior by a treasured pet, a valuable animal, which is how we talked to obedient slaves. He led me to the hallway by the front door, a hallway decorated with mirrors. "OK, girl. See that wall? I want you to assume the position, as if a police officer were searching you for weapons."

This did nothing to calm my concerns—I obviously had no place to conceal weapons except in my "body cavities," and I'd already seen the outline of HIS weapon in his pants! But I reluctantly leaned against the wall at an angle, hands wide apart and feet some distance from the wall. I startled when Antonne put his hands on my lower back.

"Be still, don't worry. I just want you to focus on your body. Look to your right, please." I did so, and saw my naked, spread-eagled form with a fully dressed and very large man standing behind me, hands on my lower back. Perhaps it was because he was built on the same scale as I was, but for once I didn't feel like an ugly giant. I had to admit that the scene was erotic and the woman in the mirror looked pretty good! I almost didn't recognize myself, probably because I had never really believed (as opposed to fantasized) that I would be naked and under the control of a strong man outside of the slave market environment.

I was distracted from the mirror by the reality of Antonne's touch. As he ran his hands gently all over my back, arms, and neck, he kept up a constant stream of calming words in a low voice, generally praising everything about me—skin, muscles, butt (as his hands gently massaged it), and so on. He stepped to my left and very gently cupped my breast, rubbing a thumb against my nipple. My vulnerable position plus his intimate fondling really turned me on, and he knew it. His hand slid down my belly, and suddenly I felt that hand fondling my clit while the other slipped between my buttocks and teased around the edge of my rectum. Lord, that felt good—I realized that I was dripping.

Having slowly brought me to a full boil, the auctioneer again urged me to look at myself in the mirror. "Do you see what I see? A desirable woman who would probably grade out at Choice or higher and sell for several hundred thousand bucks."

My disbelief showed on my face. "Seriously," he responded. "This combination of a great body and sensuality, with a hint of submission, a female eager for pleasure—THAT'S what makes a great slave, not some abstract idea of a cheerleader or a fashion model. You never need to worry about whether somebody will want that body—in fact, you need to be careful that someone doesn't trick you into slavery because they want to USE that body." By this time his intimate fondling had declined to just gentle strokes, getting softer and softer. I realized that this guy must be a GREAT auctioneer since he seemed able to control and inspire female slaves.

"You OK, now?" I nodded and mumbled "Yes, Master." "All right, then, we need to get your oral practice out of the way. Mistress Josephine already went over the basics, right?"

In a leisurely manner, he walked me back into the living room and had me kneel before a straight back chair. Before he sat down in it, he unzipped and casually brought out the biggest set of male equipment I had ever seen. Up to that time, I had fellated only four guys, so I didn't have a real basis for comparison. I mean, Jack was very well-endowed for a guy about 5 feet 11, but Antonne was probably 6 or 8 inches taller than that, so it stood to reason he would have a larger physique. Even allowing for the size difference, plus the fact that I was looking at it from a distance of only a few inches, his dick seemed enormous. I mumbled something to the effect that women must have a hard time accommodating him.

He replied that he didn't want to sound like he was bragging, but he was certainly glad to meet women who were "full sized" as he put it, because he didn't want to cause pain to smaller ones. With very little hesitation, I found myself using lips, tongue, mouth, and hands to entertain the snake he had concealed in his pants. I could barely get the head of that monster into my mouth, but he seemed to appreciate my efforts. Even when I straighten out my neck, I couldn't accommodate all of him in my mouth and throat. I contented myself with kissing, licking, and sucking the first few inches while using one hand to caress his ball sack and the other, wrapped around his shaft, to give it some pleasure without letting him ram the whole thing into me. I really thought I might suffocate if the rest of him entered my throat and mouth unexpectedly, although I couldn't help wondering what he would feel like between my legs. That cock must have been 8 or 9 inches of warm, clean-tasting and VERY sightly flexible sausage, and it seemed to swell even more as I tried to please it.

Several times, Antonne told me to pause, removing my mouth so that he didn't climax too soon. During these breaks he discussed my technique, always praising and encouraging me, while waiting for his member to droop just a little bit, and then we had another round of "swallow the wrangler's super-cock." Eventually, he told me to keep going and reminded me to hold his discharge on my tongue until permitted to swallow—and he also gave me permission to touch myself and come! I'd never imagined that a woman could climax simply from giving head, but I was so far into sub-space that I had a minor orgasm just before he blasted my mouth full.

Antonne thanked me and calmed me down, petting me and giving me a coke to rinse out my mouth. Then he escorted me to see Florence, Maureen, and Jack, being careful to knock on the closed door before entering. The two women looked as if they had just pulled up their pants, and Jack's face was wet as he tried to look innocent!

*****

(Jack Murtha's perspective)

Willow looked none the worse for wear when they rejoined us, so I assumed that she hadn't done anything more than give Antonne a blowjob as part of her "training." He hung around, flirting with all three women, for about half an hour and then said he had to get some sleep—Saturday was always busy at the Longhorn.

Mistress Josephine told us to take quick showers, brush our teeth, and use the toilet, although this time, perhaps because her sister was present, she spoke more formally and sent us to the bathroom one at a time. Maureen said good night and headed off for her own shower, at which point Josephine marched us out into the nearly-empty two-car garage. Dominating one corner was a pet cage, but unlike the cramped poodle cages in the Longhorn pickup truck, this one was worthy of the winner of a kennel show—it was probably six feet wide and tall and perhaps ten feet long, with a thick, mattress-like bottom cushion and several blankets that looked a lot better than the ones at the Longhorn last night. Of course, two of us in the same cage was somewhat tight, but that's obviously what she intended, and I certainly wasn't going to object. She ushered us into the cage, handed me water bottles, a towel, and a large paper sack, and then locked us in with a cheap padlock.

"Listen up, you two. You behaved yourselves today, and good slaves get rewarded. Inside that sack are two things you need: a box of condoms and a plastic bag with your chastity belt keys. That's right, you have permission to have sex and cum, but ONLY if both of you want to and ONLY if you use condoms every damn time. Tomorrow morning will start early, so I expect to find my two temporary slaves kneeling in the Expose position with their belts back on and any used condoms in the paper sack. Questions? In case you're wondering, Mr. Jessie told me to allow this if you were good. Don't make us regret it. Good night."

She turned on her heel and left, turning out the overhead light but leaving a night light gleaming in the dark. I was still in shock by the sudden permission, and in the low light I turned my head to see what Willow thought of all this. Her eyes were gleaming, and without a word she rolled on top of me and began frantically French kissing me. I may be slow, but I'm not stupid, quickly reciprocating her embrace. My hands felt soooo good massaging the butt I had admired for years. About a minute later, she reminded me that we needed to use the keys and then carefully put the keys and belts in the plastic bag, so they didn't get misplaced.

I can't tell you how long we kissed—for me, it was an expression of six years of longing. Eventually, I broke the kiss and slid lower, eagerly tonguing and sucking on one of her nipples while I finally got to fondle the other fantastic tit. I tried to continue southward, seeking to please her with my new-found oral training, but she wasn't having it. She used her strength to pull me back into a clinch and rolled over, maneuvering me on top of her and between her spread legs.

"Now, baby." She said in a fierce whisper. "For heaven's sakes, FUCK this slave NOW!"

I took the hint, and using one hand to guide me slid my thrilled cock into her very wet, warm, and surprisingly-tight canal. I was fully mounted in two thrusts, then smiled down at her lust-filled face. "If you insist, I'll fuck this slave, but do you mind if I also screw the beautiful woman I love?"

Later on, we both got some more oral practice, after I flipped around so that I could be in the 69 position with 6944. After we switched back, falling asleep with her was sweet, although because she was taller, it seemed more natural for her to spoon behind me rather than vice versa. I could feel her superb rack pressed into my back. After another round of slower, more passionate sex about 2 a.m., we dampened the corner of the towel to wipe ourselves down, then reluctantly re-installed the chastity belts and went to sleep.

*****

(Interlude. Telephone conversation, 9 p.m. that Friday night)

"You've reached Jessie Foster's home, then is Shirley."

A low, friendly chuckle. "It's Josephine. How's my little Yankee slut?"

Shirley, obviously teasing. "I live to serve you, Mistress!"

Josephine replied. "You know better than that, Shirl—talking like that might earn you a collar under the Beetlejuice rule."

"Naaah—I'm covered. I still have three years on my FINO personal service contract to be Jessie's slut when I'm not in school, so I can't accidentally enslave myself. Seriously, how can I help you?"

Josephine: "Well, speaking of self-enslavement, I assume that Mr. Jessie told you about the wrangler you met playing slave, Willow McDonald—she put herself and her boyfriend at risk under the Beetlejuice rule. Is the boss home?"

Shirley. "I'm afraid not. He's such a workaholic, not home yet on a Friday night when he knows I want to play."

Josephine smiled. "Well, why don't you put on a collar and go down to the Longhorn? I'm sure my sister would be happy to lock you up with some horny slaves, or maybe let the night shift pull a train on you."

Shirley giggled, then said with regret in her voice. "The last time I did that he spanked me HARD and told me, if I did it again without permission, he'd lock me up for the weekend in the smallest poodle cage. AND make me clean the cage afterwards—yeech! Hang on, I think I hear him coming in now."

After a brief conversation in the background, a masculine voice with a faint Southern accent came on the phone. "Hi, Jo. Hope you didn't have too much trouble with the lovebirds."

"No, Mr. Jessie. They were really cooperative. Willow still got turned on playing slave, but I think a few more humiliations will convince her not to play games without permission. They were so good that I left them in the same cage for the night, with a supply of condoms. I've got a low-light camera out in the garage, and right now they're humping like overgrown bunnies!"