Through the Side Door Pt. 06

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace 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 involved in slave business operations. This is strictly a FANTASY—in reality, informed consent is always mandatory.)

(MrSmith27 and several others have suggested ways in which I could extend the story of "Through the Side Door" beyond the point where Willow McDonald and Jack Murtha discovered their love for each other—and for role-playing as slave and master. This is a sort of busman's holiday and role reversal for Willow, whose day job is as a handler or wrangler at the Longhorn Slave Market in Houston. I hope this will satisfy at least some of your fantasies about the full-sized, buxom redhead who enjoys playing at enslavement and humiliation almost as much as she loves Jack.)

(Willow McDonald's viewpoint)

Like most women, I had day-dreamed about someday having a romantic wedding. For a long time, that seemed like an impossible aspiration, given that I was well over six feet and 200 pounds, hardly fitting the traditional image of a delicate heroine. If you've read the preceding episodes of this strange tale, you know that, through my own foolishness, I learned that my high school best friend and fellow nerd Jack Murtha really loved me. To please me, Jack had reluctantly agreed to strip down and play slave at the place where I work—only to be temporarily enslaved, like me, because my bosses decided I needed to get my submissiveness out in the open where it didn't carry risky liabilities for the Long Horn. THEN, after playing slave together for three days and two nights, Jack and I were freed—but Jesse Foster, the Vice President for Operations, persuaded me to come back on the next Saturday with Jack acting as my temporary owner while I was slave graded. At the time, I was a little TOO realistic, giving Jack a power of attorney by which he could legally have pimped me out or enslaved and sold me that day. Fortunately, he cared more about me than the money such a sale would bring. I came out of my self-imposed peril with a grade of Choice Plus and a terminal case of horniness that was only partially assuaged when Jack gave my naked body to one of the former slaves who worked as "trustys" at the market. After that thrill, I encouraged "Master Jack" to fuck the few remaining brain cells out of all three of my openings!

Three months later, I got the wedding that I had always wanted. Jack looked magnificent in his tux, as did Mr. Foster and several other wranglers who attended, and Jack's adoring face told me he really did think I looked like a beautiful bride. Besides, he had told me that the next time I disagreed with him about my appearance he would NOT make love to me for a week—I don't think that either of us could have tolerated such a long dry spell, but I wasn't going to test him.

So I got the fairy tale wedding, all right. That said, there were three events associated with that wedding—one two weeks before the date and two immediately afterwards—that little girl and adolescent Willow had NEVER imagined. In retrospect, however, they were even more fun than the wedding itself!

* * * * *

First came my bachelorette party. Most such events occur two or three evenings before the big day, but my Maid of Honor and her friends insisted that what I most needed would have to occur at least two weeks before my honeymoon.

I should have figured I was asking for trouble, because my Maid of Honor and another bridesmaid were both qualified slave wranglers who had witnessed just how submissive and slutty I could be. When Mr. Foster had required me to spend several days under kennel rules—effectively, a temporary slave—he had turned me over to Florence Jones, one of three huge but shapely Black sisters who worked in various roles at the Longhorn. Florence had locked Jack and me into poodle cages, fully exposed in the back of a company pickup truck, and drove us (in broad daylight, with me playing the part of the broad turned into a female dog) right through downtown Houston to her home. There she put us through our slave paces while interrogating me so that she and I could better understand my craving for naked humiliation as a pretend slave.

Then there was Shirley Thompson-Foster, the diminutive (to me, anyway; I think she's about 5 foot 6) part-time wrangler whose full-time roles were as graduate student in chemistry and Free In Name Only (FINO) contract slave to her husband and my overall boss, Jesse. The day of my slave grading, Shirley had put me and a group of other temporary "slaves" through an epic series of block moves (aka slave yoga.) At the conclusion of that obscene drill, her motivational speech convinced us that we wanted nothing more than to masturbate into a frenzy and convince any customers that we were the horniest, skankiest bunch of naked sluts to ever wear collars. Shirley clearly understood both how to perform as a FINO personal services servant and also how to energize submissive women like me. Since Jack and I had agreed that I should enter into a Texas FINO contract as a fun means of surrendering myself sexually to him, it was natural that I would talk to Shirley about how best to please him and enjoy myself.

After several conversations over coffee and on the phone, Shirley had accurately assessed my relationship with Jack. "Sounds to me as if he cares about you so much that he's afraid to really treat you the way you want—as a slut."

I sighed. "You're right, of course. I mean, there I was at the end of my slave grading, and I had to practically beg him to take me home and stuff my back door! I doubt you have that problem with your husband, who has years of experience handling female slaves."

She giggled in agreement, once again causing me to envy her, but then she pursued her idea. "Every guy—or at least every guy who cares about you—needs some specific hints if you want him to fulfil your filthy dreams. But, how do you tell him how to ravish you without topping from below? You need to give him a clear idea of how far you want him to go, so that he loses his inhibitions, takes charge, and indulges your inner slut. Can you tell me—what parts of you does Jack like the most?"

I flushed, thinking of my Jack's rather large equipment in each of my three openings. Shirley picked up on my hesitation. "No, don't tell me how and where he likes to make love to you—Too much information, girl! This is much simpler: given his choice, what part of you does he most like to look at and squeeze? is Jack a boob man, a butt man, or a leg man?"

"Oh!" Now I understood. "Definitely a boob man—he twiddles my nipples and fondles my breasts until it drives me crazy."

My newfound advisor pounced. "Just what I thought. Can I tell you something that really turned Jesse on while we were dating?"

Of course, I was all ears, although my nipples and clit were also throbbing. Shirley had already told me that, to help pay for college, she had signed a Texas FINO contract with Jesse's mother; I had envied her such a deal, which included Jesse and (once he turned 18) his younger brother George probing all three of her entrances every week that she wasn't in school for a period of seventeen months. She had met the family because Jesse's sister, Pam, had been her college roommate. Early in that "scholarship" contract, Pam had taken Shirley to a tattoo parlor in Boston to have metal rings installed in her nipples.

"I'm not going to lie to you—that stung like anything, but after I healed, Jesse came up for a weekend visit. When he saw me wearing nothing but a collar, thigh-high stockings, heels, and a big bow tied between my new nipple rings, Jesse used those rings to tie me so I was bent over the desk in his hotel room. Imagine being tethered by your breasts, hands cuffed behind you and butt sticking up for your guy to spank and exploit! Jesse's always been great in bed, but those rings inspired him so much that he used his slave girl all weekend, leaving me bowlegged for days."

I smiling with longing—I could just picture that. "Sounds fantastic, but so what?"

Shirley smirked. "So . . . Flo', Pam, and I are gonna take you out to have you modified the same way, as a wedding present to your new husband. Once Jack gets a load of his new slave girl in collar, cuffs, and nipple rings, I'm sure he'll come up with lots of ideas of how to use you."

I protested half-heartedly, but we both knew I couldn't resist. So, one evening when Jack had to work late, Florence, Shirley, and Pam took me to a bar that featured a strip show of well-hung male slaves. That display got my motor running, although I spent most of the time imagining ME up there, stripping while Jesse and/or Jack ordered me around. That show plus a few drinks got me sufficiently excited, not to mention anesthetizing my body including my erect knobs.

Then it was off to a very clean tattoo parlor, where the girls had already taken the precaution of having me sign a notarized but vague authorization for body modifications. They ordered me to strip completely for the handsome artist. I ended up butt naked on my back, cuffed to a table while he pierced me and inserted two large rings. Since I was already helpless, Pam also insisted that I have two snap links installed in my labia, as well. When they finally released me, the sense of helplessness and exposure was so strong that I knelt down in front of them all; prompted by Flo', I happily sucked the guy off. He wasn't as well-endowed as Jack, but I got a thrill out of bringing him off with my mouth and hands while I was in such a humiliating pose. I'm sure I wasn't the first customer to submit to him, but the memory of it still makes me blush. And THEN the girls cuffed me again and walked me, butt naked like a slave, back to the car! In case you haven't figured it out, being exposed like that really got me dripping.

Damn, those four little holes hurt for a few days, but the rings looked fantastic and gave me all kinds of evil ideas. I showed my fiancé the results but told him truthfully that it hurt so much he would have to wait until after the wedding to try them out! In the meantime, he used my two other entrances.

* * * * *

So, that was before the wedding. Act two came after the wedding and reception, when Mr. Foster, the same three women, plus slave psychiatrist Nikki Sheldon all accompanied the newlyweds back to the bridal suite. As soon as the door closed behind us all, Jack gently kissed me, then ordered me to take off my wedding gown in front of all those people. And it didn't stop with my dress—the sexy lingerie followed. Before I was done, I was again completely nude, this time in front of all the important and powerful people in my life. He even ordered me to assume various slave block positions, as if I wasn't already completely exposed and horny. Of course, every one of these people except Dr. Nikki had already seen me like this, but the situation was still humiliating and hot at the same time, making me blush all over while my nipples and clit became erect again.

In front of all these witnesses, I went over the personal services contract that would make me a de facto slave to my new husband for the next five years. With a few exceptions such as time at work and any continuing education classes, I would be at Jack's beck and call. Talk about "love, honor, and OBEY!" Once I finished initialling every page, Jack signed as my owner, Nikki as my psychiatrist guardian, and finally me as the self-made slut who had just surrendered all her rights for the nominal pay of thirty dollars a month plus, Jack reminded everyone, all the cum I could swallow. As the new slave, I didn't even get a copy of the darn contract.

Those of you familiar with Texas slave laws can imagine what followed—on Jack's orders, I had to kneel with my thighs apart, lift my hair off my neck to facilitate my collaring, and remain on my knees until everyone had congratulated Jack and predicted he would have to spank and shaft me regularly to keep me in line. (Throw me in that briar patch!) And then they all left.

To be fair, once they were gone Jack pulled me back up to my feet and began a slow, gentle love-making that went on for over an hour. My FINO status didn't come up again until we had recovered from our horizontal exercise, showered together, and got ready for bed. Then, Jack padlocked one end of a long, light chain to my labia and the other end to the bridal bed, saying he didn't want his slave cunt to wander off while he was sleeping. We cuddled together and fell asleep, with me thinking that little-girl Willow had no idea how to "live happily ever after" as an adult submissive.

During the night, my new lord and master awakened me twice, first to give him a blow job and then to submit, in the Slave Fours position, while he happily pounded my slave cunt. Damn; no bride or newly-enslaved girl ever got used more thoroughly.

But when I awoke in the morning, my collar and chain were gone, and we acted like affectionate equals throughout the Uber trip to the airport and then the flight to Miami. Well . . .TSA did question all the cuffs and restraints in our luggage, but since they were in MY carry-on, I just showed them my slave handler's license and they were satisfied. I could tell that my new husband loved embarrassing me like that, but I got back at him by hinting to the TSA agent that I used that equipment on JACK to keep him in line. The agent's facial expression showed that it was much easier for her to believe that this huge, well-muscled woman was dominating the shorter, rather thin guy than it would have been to believe the reverse, which was that I had willingly made myself into his (pardon the cliché) love slave.

* * * * *

He resumed his control when we reached the luxury Miami hotel he had booked for the honeymoon. On the elevator going up to our suite, the 20-something busman had tried hard NOT to admire my chest, especially since the outline of my rings (which I had removed to go through TSA and then re-inserted) was visible through the lightly-colored fabric of my blouse. Just as the nervous guy was distracted while trying to get the door to the suite open, Jack quietly pulled down on the neckline of my blouse, unfastened my front-hooking bra, and flipped my large breasts out of my clothes, causing them to stand out proudly, nipple rings and all. And THEN he told me,

"Kneel down and use your tits to take care of this gentleman's tip" by which he meant both his gratuity and his cock!

I knew it was showtime, the first of many humiliations that I had begged him to inflict on me, so I dropped to my knees, replying sweetly, "Yes, Sir!"

It really wasn't fair to the poor bellman—he turned around to see my open mouth smiling lasciviously at him as I reached for his pants, pulled out his half-erect shaft, and firmly stuffed his manhood into my cleavage as my hands began to stroke his ball sack. I never even had to use my mouth, as he erupted in less than 30 seconds, spraying ropes of white stuff all over my face and boobs.

Jack gave him a more conventional tip ($20) and hinted that the poor guy might get a rematch with my breasts when we called for room service. (For the rest of our stay there, we got the most amazing service from the hotel staff, several of whom ended up getting the same "tip" service from the bride.)

The busman departed, leaving me still on my knees, half undressed with a thin sheen of spunk decorating my skin. For a minute, Jack and I shared a smiling glance, but then he told me to clean up, finish undressing, and report back to him correctly, in the Present position.

Five minutes later, I was slave naked, feet spread slightly apart with my new collar installed and my fingers interlocked behind my head. This pose showed my DD breasts to full advantage, pulled up and thrust forward, bobbing gently as I breathed in and out slowly. Jack had often seen me like this, but today felt like the true start of my self-enslavement, so my nipples were on full high beam alert and I could even feel a little moisture between my thighs. Jack was playing with his phone, pretending to ignore his slave for a minute, until he finally looked up and smiled.

"Ready to show everyone in Miami what a grade-A slave cunt you are?"

My reply was eager and sincere, "Yes, master!"

"Well, there's three things wrong with your presentation, Love. First, slaves don't wear wedding rings." I was emotionally attached to my modest engagement and wedding bands but surrendered them to him and resumed my position.

"Second," he continued, "we're going outside in the hot sun, so we need to protect your skin; I bet a redhead like you will burn long before she tans, so put this on." He tossed a new tube of SPF 50 suntan lotion to me.

There was something intensely intimate and thrilling about me fondling my own body, rubbing that lotion all over my nudity while my fully-clothed new owner watched. After I had done this for five minutes, he ordered "Back hands" and bound me with my own handcuffs from work, only now the key was out of reach, on a chain around his neck. Pinning my arms back like that again thrust my girls forward, which just made it easier for him to rub yet more lotion all over them, especially down my cleavage and on my alert areola. He also, quite unnecessarily, spread a lot of lotion all over my labia, clit, and buttocks. He finished by goosing me with two fingers up my sphincter, commenting that all slaves needed to keep themselves well lubricated back there, ready for service.

As for the third change in my appearance: After slipping heeled sandals onto my feet, Jack produced a "nipple bar" to connect the rings between my nipples. He told me that this kind of bar was usually intended to ensure that the boobs on pony girls moved together, wagging side to side when the slaves were pulling carts. I suddenly had a flash image of myself, wearing such a bar along with hoofed boots and a mouth-stuffing bridle with my arms strapped to a cart by leather restraints. I was laboring to tow my master around a track while a breeze kept my skin chilly and my nipples erect. Of course, trotting would be difficult because I would have a large dildo stuffed up my butt to hold my ponytail in place! After a hard workout, I would be bent over, still restrained in leather, while he fucked me in my stall—have to suggest that to him for a future vacation! My mind snapped back to reality when my husband showed me a leash with two spring-loaded clips, connected by a Y-shaped strap at one end. These he secured to my labia rings. It could have been worse, I realized—he might have snapped those alligator clips directly onto my nipples. Holding me on a literal "short leash," Jack looked deeply into my eyes.

"All set, Babe?" I nodded, eagerly, murmuring "Yes, Master." I'm sure there were stars on my eyes.

"Good—remember, from now on, we'll be out in public, so you need to act exactly like a slave, without hesitation. You're nothing but my collared slut and you will serve me completely. I love you, but don't balk unless you want the other end of this leash lashing that fine ass of yours. Come along—or should that be CUM along?—my little slut." He towed me out of the suite and over to the elevator, where I stood behind him, first waiting for it to arrive and then docilly attending him as we descended to the street.

The hotel backed up to a beach-front sidewalk that, in the early afternoon sunlight, was crowded with young vacationers of all types. Most of them wore very brief swimsuits, but even those tiny scraps of cloth set them off from the few slaves like me whose only covering was a collar and (if their masters cared properly for their property) suntan lotion.