Through the Side Door Pt. 05

*****

(Willow McDonald's perspective)

I had no idea that Jack was so imaginative. I'd asked him to give my body to some of my colleagues, but I hadn't even thought about the trusty custodians! This had to be the ultimate role reversal, the greatest power exchange short of actually being auctioned—not only was the wrangler reduced to temporary slavery, but a former slave who KNEW she was a slave handler got to shaft her in both ends! Every time Roscoe and I met at the Longhorn over the next several months, no matter how much I appeared to be a tough wrangler in charge of helpless slaves, we would both know that I had submitted as a slave to him and serviced him with my mouth and pussy. And then, like a good little slut, I had thanked him for fucking me and called him "Master!" Damn, what a rush.

I was still on a sexual high when, with suspicious promptness, Barry reappeared as soon as Roscoe departed. Even though Jack was right there, Barry followed protocol, which was that the person being slave-graded would be walked out to the front lobby to be returned to the custody of her temporary "owner." The only concession to this unusual situation was that Jack handed him a pair of personal handcuffs (lifted from my own equipment belt, I later discovered!) to restrain my wrists, so that he didn't have to retrieve the Longhorn's cuffs in the lobby.

So there I stood, still naked and fettered, in full view of about sixty free citizens (most of the slaves were still inside, awaiting auction or other disposition). Ignoring me as subhuman livestock, as all citizens tend to do when talking to other citizens, wrangler Barry handed Jack—my official "owner" for the day—the paperwork from my slave grading. For my benefit, however, Barry announced that my average grade was Choice Plus. I had resigned myself to being graded Commercial or perhaps Standard, the fifth and fourth lowest categories (out of eight) for grading slave livestock. Instead, the slave merchants decided I was only one step below Prime! Memo to self: Thank Shirley Foster for prepping me so effectively. Besides, I needed to talk to that girl—I suspected that she and I shared more than just a wrangler uniform, at least as far as our sexual interests. Meanwhile, despite his efforts to remain professional, I could see Barry taking a final opportunity to ogle his busty co-worker while she was still naked. . .Boy, was he going to tease me on Monday!

All morning long, Jack had been carrying a large bag from which he extracted various necessities, from the soda for Roscoe to the handcuffs that now adorned my wrists. [Imagine being, say, a police officer cuffed with your own bracelets in public!) Having planned ahead, this time Jack produced a pair of flip-flops, to protect my feet while walking across asphalt heated for hours in the August sun. Bless him—did anyone ever have a more thoughtful boyfriend?

Of course, he also re-installed that leather slave collar and used the leash to lead me, at a slow saunter, back across that huge parking lot. There were fewer people in the parking lot now than six hours before, but every one of them got a good look at my Choice Plus (!) naked bod.

When we reached his car, he finally released my wrists and pulled me into a long, gentle kiss. My hands went around his neck, enjoying the moment and not caring that I was still slave naked. After several minutes of tongue, he murmured,

"You still have one more thing to do to get your clothes back." My heart soared—he had remembered the final act in my fantasy!

But I played dumb—I wanted him to ORDER me. "What's that, Master?"

"Suck my dick, slut."

I slowly knelt down in front of him, my eyes never leaving his face. I unzipped his pants and extracted a prick that was already almost fully erect, despite his recent performance inside. Still smiling up at him, even with my mouth full of cock, I did my best to give him the blowjob of his life, with kisses, licks, and sucking while fondling and occasionally swallowing his balls. Even though he had come just 20 minutes earlier, he soon filled my mouth again. Following slave rules, I slowly slid my mouth back off his rod, and then stuck out my tongue to display the salty goo I was still holding. With his permission, I finally swallowed it, then slid back up to hug him (I didn't think he would appreciate kissing me with cum breath.)

In a teasing voice, he murmured into my shoulder, "Damn, first I got to fuck you as a slave and then you gave me a magnificent blowjob. That was ALMOST worth the $200 thousand I passed up."

I leaned back, hands still around his neck, and looked at him seriously. "Well then, I guess the only way I can make the rest of that money up to you is to ask you to put the cuffs back on me, take me home, and try out my third opening."

He smiled. "Do you mean . . .?"

"That's right, 'Master.' Will you please take your slave home and fuck the shit out of me?"

*****

A frantic 20-minute drive (I think Jack did it in 15). A 3-minute scurry from his car to his apartment (I was so deep into sub-space that I didn't object to being marched slave-naked past his neighbors.) Half a bottle of water-soluble lube, with me in the "Slave 4s" position, head down and ass up. Ten minutes of very slow, gentle, gradual insertion. A feeling of incredible fullness, of being possessed and mastered by my man. Then 20 minutes of increasingly frantic pumping, accompanied by incoherent sighs, moans, "Oh, yeahs," "fucks," "please, please, don't stop," and "that's it, pound my ass!" Sigh, bliss, both of us collapsed together with his shaft still deep in my bowels and my hands still restrained in front of me.

In the shower afterwards he remarked, while soaping my breasts for the third time. "You know, darling, I loved that, but you're still taking too many risks. First you handed me that power of attorney—which is valid for another week, by the way, so behave yourself—and now you keep calling me 'Master.' Sooner or later you're going to say that in the wrong place and end up in a collar for good."

"Well," I replied, "I guess I'll just to have sign a personal services contract to be your FINO slave one day a week. That would protect my freedom, wouldn't it?"

He laughed. "I'd love that, but you probably make more money than I do, so what would I offer you in return? Thirty dollars a month and all the cock you can handle?"

I kissed him, and damn the cum breath. "It's a deal; where do I sign?"

(The end)