Trying on a Collar Pt. 05

Me, sighing. "That's sort of what I imagined, and I think I could live with it. I know I'll have no choice about my duties, but do you think your Mom will lend me to Jessie?"

Pam: "I think she's smart enough to use that as a carrot to motivate you—behave yourself like a good little bitch all week, and you can spend his day off servicing Jessie, something like that. Speaking of brothers, though . . ."

She paused, trying to think of how to broach a subject, then continued. "Mom has often spoken about buying an indentured servant, but she's never done it, I think because she didn't want to expose her children to the situation while we were little kids. Now, however—well, you may not remember this, but George turns 18 this May."

Me: "Yeah, that occurred to me too. Don't tell me—I get to be his birthday present? He can't get a real teenaged girl, so you have to buy him a mature piece of slave tail? I'll survive, but the first time I met him he was leering at me like a typical horny boy. I hope your Mom won't let him torture me?"

"Ha! Never mind Mom. Jessie and I will have his under-developed balls if he hurts you."

Me: "If I'm doing this, I intend to do my best, without complaints. One last thing, though—we need a way to refer to this contract without telling everyone on campus that I'm a slave. You know, how do I remind you that I need to study, and how do you remind me that I have to do what you want?"

Pam: "That's easy—the codeword is 'scholarship', because that's why my Mom wants this for you."

So I telephoned Jessie and told him I had decided to sign the contract, provided that it wouldn't ruin our relationship. He assured me he would enjoy having his girlfriend in a collar.

"However," he started, then hesitated. "Anyway—IF you're going to be a slave, even a temporary FINO one, you're going to encounter anal sex."

Me: "I know, Darling. I just wish it would be you that took me back there for the first time."

He replied, "That's why I'm bringing the subject up now, while you're still free. If you want me to take your last virginity, just say the word now so I know you aren't being coerced by the contract."

I responded, almost whispering down the phone, "Oh, word! Word!" Then, channelling my slave mantras, I added, "Please shove your massive cock up my ass, Master—I know you'll be gentle." I was very nervous about anal sex, but since it was going to happen anyway I wanted my boyfriend, who cared about me, to initiate me.

A few days later, Pam laughed out loud when she saw that Jessie had sent me a package containing three black plastic butt plugs of varying sizes, together with a large bottle of lube. She decreed that we must resume slave yoga sessions to get me ready—she wore a leotard, but I had to perform slave naked with my ass stuffed! Have you any idea how difficult it is to twerk without losing muscular control over a large plug in your back passage?

On February 15, I took a deep breath and telephoned Mrs. Foster to tell her I would like to accept the contract. She seemed unsurprised that I had agreed, but told me to talk to my parents soon, so she could then call my mom. After that, I would accompany Pam back to their home on the Thursday that spring break began; Mrs. Foster would take me to the Longhorn the following morning so that Dr. Nikki could witness my signing, to be followed by some "training"—she didn't specify what—at the market.

My mother tried to conceal her dismay that my time at home would be so limited, but agreed that being a personal assistant for Mrs. Foster, with the salary she was offering, was a great opportunity to finish college without debt. Of course, I didn't tell Mom that I was literally putting my ass in hock to get that money.

*****

The last night in the dorm, Pam helped me shave and wax my body. On the plane headed to Houston, I was relieved to hear that her Mom had sent George off on a trip for his spring break, so I wouldn't be naked in front of him on this trip, at least. All too soon I found myself coming through the front door of the Foster home, for my last evening as a guest rather than a servant cunt. Stephen the butler was as polite as ever, but I felt his eyes mentally undressing me as Pam and I carried our bags to her room, which I usually shared with her. I noticed a large dog cage, complete with mattress and a lock on the open door, in the corner of the bedroom, causing me to shiver slightly.

Pam took me into her arms to reassure me, stroking my hair and shushing me like a baby. That evening, her parents was as polite and friendly as ever, but I felt a sense of impending doom and cried myself silently to sleep—My mind told me that I had made a rational and potentially enjoyable choice, but I was still worried that my sex-crazed imagination had written a check my body would have to pay for.

I was too nervous to eat much the next morning. I got in the back seat of Mrs. Foster's car—she and Pam were dressed rather stylishly, as if they were going to a social function, whereas I had on nothing but T-shirt, sweatpants, and flip-flops, in anticipation of having to strip quickly. The lobby was again crowded with people and slaves when we met Doctor Nikki at the concierge desk. Standing at the desk, I scanned through the contract again, initialling each page while trying to check the key provisions such as time outs, salary, discipline, and so on. I was nervous to make my future owner wait, but we all recognized the importance of this agreement. I signed at the bottom, below Mrs. Foster and Nikki Sheldon.

Then the older lady looked at me, expectantly—her normally smiling face suddenly appeared stern, although that may have been my nervous perception. I knew what she expected, so I hastily stripped off my minimal clothing, handing each piece to Pam who stuffed it into a large canvas bag. I was acutely aware of the large audience, some of whom may have witnessed an enslavement before, but rarely in the lobby of the Longhorn! After handing my T-shirt—the last stitch of clothing I'd had on—to Pam, I took a deep breath, spread my legs a foot apart, and interlocked my hands behind my neck, facing my new owners with my eyes downcast. The orders came quickly:

"Collar," said Mrs. Foster. I dropped to my knees, legs apart, one hand on hip and the other holding my hair away from my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a slave wrangler securing a heavy shock collar around me. The two prongs sank into my neck just as the collar was locked on. It felt too tight.

"Back hands," and my wrists were cuffed together. Nikki looked away, obviously uncomfortable. Pam's face was as troubled as I felt, but I was no longer in control. I tried not to hyperventilate.

Talking over my bowed head to the wrangler, Mrs. Foster asked, very calmly, "You have my instructions for her training and shipment?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Then we're done here." She unbent enough to say to me, rather gently, "I'll see you tomorrow; be a good girl." Then she patted my head like a dog's, turned around, took Pam's elbow, and began walking towards the doors. I felt bereft, abandoned, but had no time to brood on it.

"Heel, slut," the (male) wrangler said, not unpleasantly. He led me on a leash briskly past the customer desks and toward the double swinging doors into the main part of the slave market. I felt as if two hundred eyes followed my every move, but I was still too busy adjusting mentally to even think about embarrassment.

He allowed slack on my leash so that he could open the door with one hand, while with the other he cupped my buttock, gently squeezing me as his fingers slid into the cleft between my buttocks. A typical wrangler move, grabbing and goosing to show that I was totally under his control—and incidentally teasing the merchandise. Only this time, his middle finger unexpectedly encountered the base of a butt plug.

"You're a dirty little girl," he remarked in pleased surprise.

"Yes, Master," I agreed. I couldn't suppress either a giggle or a tiny smile on my face, as my nipples began to harden and I felt a tingle between my thighs. As my mind kicked into bimbo mode, I reflected that perhaps this contract would be survivable, after all.

His nametag read "Phillip," and he had me kneel on the concrete floor while he accessed the National Slave Registry data base.

"Because you're one of the first persons collared under Texas-FINO, and because you're technically free, I'll show you what I'm doing in your file. Just remember you're still a slut," he added, tweaking my nipple gently.

"Yes, Master; thank you for showing me this."

"You just had your photos taken three months ago, so there's no need for new ones, but we need to add the data off your contract." So saying, he entered the start and end dates of the contract in the spaces normally used for the dates of an indenture, and listed Anne Foster as my owner with her telephone number. In the remarks block, he added "Texas personal services contract (FINO). Guardian: Dr. Nicola Sheldon."

After that, he ordered me to stand and heel. It's tricky to go from kneeling to standing with your hands cuffed behind your back, not to mention a plug in your anus. Fortunately, I'd practiced such moves ahead of time; Pam had got a kick out of ordering, collaring, and cuffing me for those sessions (she loved bossing people around anyway), but now it was all too real. At least I didn't have to worry about flashing someone when I stood up—everything I had was already on display. Phillip took advantage of the situation to feel me up but, hey! That's one of the things I liked about wearing a collar. Then it was off to the slave veterinarian.

If you're not familiar, the physicians who treat slaves and indentured servants are called veterinarians, because their patients are technically livestock. I knew from Nikki that there was no special training for such a position; any new medical school graduate could get a license just by applying, but this one seemed to know what he was doing. Besides, for a submissive like me, having a male authority figure in a white lab coat restrain me and then explore my nude body in intimate ways was a real turn-on. And this guy wasn't half-bad looking, either.

Pap smear, blood test, palpitations (he seemed to explore my boobs and vaginal canal much more thoroughly than my OB/GYN doctor.) The vet asked me what birth control I was using before implanting an etonogestrol rod under my skin to suppress my menstrual cycle for the next year. He even warned me to remind my "owner" that I would need some other birth control precautions on the anniversary of my collaring.

*****

Before I knew it, the vet was finished and shucking off his plastic gloves, while Master Phillip released my Velcro restraints and restored the cuffs behind my back. He led me past a practice platform, where four other slaves were listlessly performing their block positions (aka slave yoga) and mumbling obscene slave mantras.

"No, no, no!" I recognized the annoyed voice as soon as I heard it, even before I identified the tall, muscular Black woman standing with three other slave wranglers. I had met Mistress Florence (and her sister on the night shift, Mistress Josephine) when I had been slave-graded in January—they were unforgettable, dominant, statuesque full-sized women that made me feel like a timid child by comparison.

The voice continued its rant. "Didn't any of you take slave yoga classes? If you stumble around like that when you go on the auction block, you'll be lucky to be field slaves picking cotton in the daytime and getting your butt fucked by the overseer at night. I say lucky, because no-energy cunts like you usually end up as twenty-dollar-an-hour whores, chained to the bed in a slave brothel 12 hours a day. Is that what you want? I'd hate for that to happen to any of you." I thought she was focusing on her four charges, but as Phillip guided me by, one hand on my butt as usual, she suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm.

"You! Don't I know you? The little Yankee girl who came through here for slave grading 'bout three months ago?"

My response was the usual docile affirmation, eyes downcast: "Yes, Mistress."

"I thought you were hot for the collar then, and I guess I was right—you're already back wearing red. You deserve to be a pleasure slut!" Phillip had put a red-banded collar on me, signifying pleasure slave, since there was as yet no specific collar symbol for a Texas FINO. "Phil—can I borrow this slut for 10 minutes? I know SHE paid attention in yoga class."

"Sure, Flo," he replied, removing my cuffs. "Mount the block, dirty girl."

Once again, I was thankful that Pam had put me through the humiliating slave yoga drills. For the next few minutes I pranced at the front of the platform, between the four listless slaves and the assembled slave wranglers. In response to Florence's commands, I twisted and shook my entire body shamelessly, all the while almost shouting the most obscene phrases such as "Please buy me and fuck me stupid," and "I beg you to ram your huge cock into me, Master" and so on. I was focused on Flo's commands—she seemed in a good mood, but I'd seen her shock a recalcitrant slave without hesitation, and I wanted no part of that. As she started repeating positions, I sensed that the girls behind me were moving in a rhythm with me and even repeating the same phrases.

Finally, she yelled for us to stop, followed by, "And THAT, you worthless cunts, is how you do block positions." Turning to my handler, Mistress Flo inquired "Is she up for sale today? This one would easily sell for a quarter-million, while the rest of them aren't worth the price of their kibble."

Phil showed her his tablet, which apparently had my registry information. Flo cocked her head, then mused, "Missus Foster? Really? Does that mean this little slut is Mr. Jessie's Yankee g____?" Thankfully, she saw the silent appeal on my face and stopped herself just in time. I really didn't want to be known as the fool who put on a collar to serve her boyfriend, even if it were true! Besides, that tale might embarrass Jessie. Then Florence grinned at me, announced "lucky man, lucky slut" in a quiet, friendly voice, and almost knocked me over with the "love tap" she delivered to my ass! In the next moment she was back yelling block commands at her charges, ignoring me.

Phil guided me towards a remote cage, where another wrangler, whom I recognized as the dayshift manager when I had been there before, was waiting impatiently. The two men ushered me into the deserted cage, freed my wrists, and had me kneel on a thick, rubberized pad. It felt marvelous after repeated contact with the warehouse-like floor of the market and the worn wood of the practice block platform.

"OK, 5579—you're scheduled for a short, two-part training session on performing oral sex." So saying, Phil calmly pulled out his (rather impressive) equipment, and acted as a demonstrator while the manager briskly reviewed male sexual anatomy. I know these two young men found this as bizarre as did I, and they were careful not to touch or stare at each other's cock and balls—but I was expected to pay strict attention!

After the five-minute lecture came the practical demonstration—which meant that I got to demonstrate on them. With my hands free, I found it much easier to excite first Phil and then the manager. In fact, Phil blasted my mouth after less than five minutes. This gave me the chance to practice the approved method for slaves, which was to hold the foul-tasting stuff in my open mouth until the Master gave permission to swallow. After that, the manager wanted me to learn to edge him, so I had to take it more slowly, with less hand and mouth friction, trying to prolong the blowjob whereas I really wanted to get it over with. A third male wrangler showed up just as the manager zipped himself up—but at least he brought a bottle of water and a bowl of slave kibble to reward me for sucking him off. I learned some techniques, but it was hardly a fun time.

That wasn't the end of my oral instruction (pun intended.) Just as I finished the kibble, Mistress Flo and another female wrangler showed up. You guessed it—once the male wranglers departed, the two women dropped their jeans and panties and gave me a face-to-crotch tour of their pussies, followed by having me bring them off. I'd never had ANY lesbian experience before, nor any interest in it. OK, I'll admit to a schoolgirl crush on a few teachers and on my friend Pam, but I'd never imagined having sex with them—my daydreams stopped at hugging. I tried to learn from the wranglers, knowing that I might well have to service Mrs. Foster, Pam, or any of their friends.

When we finished, Mistress Flo was kind enough to walk me to the toilet and even give me a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash. Then another handler took me to the slut washes, where the same horny teenagers I'd met in January "washed" me and felt me up. I don't have a fetish for rubber, but those rubberized hands felt good after being on the giving end of stimulation for hours. They extracted and washed the butt plug, then gave me several power enemas with warm, soapy water. After wearing the plug for most of the day, it felt good to be cleaned out. The last thing the guy did was flood my colon with lube and then slid the plug back in, holding it for a moment until my anal muscles finally contracted. For the next ten minutes, I waddled around as if I had to go to the bathroom, trying to hold the plastic intruder in until my sphincter muscles finally settled.

*****

The next few hours of my first day in a collar were actually boring. A handler left me alone in a cage with another water bottle and a plastic baggie full of kibble. No one was abusing or using me, but I was left with nothing to do, nothing to read—that brought home my loss of freedom. Recalling the rules from my previous time, I hung a blanket over my shoulders but didn't cover my no-longer-private parts.

There was no clock, but it might have about 8 p.m. when I heard a pair of boots coming towards my cage, so I slipped off the cot onto my knees, dropping the blanket and clasping my hands behind my neck. I was overjoyed to see Jessie, who pulled me up into his arms. When he cupped my tush to lift me up for a kiss, he encountered the butt plug, which brought out a lascivious smile and wink.

"Ready to continue your training, my gorgeous slut?" he inquired.

I couldn't help smiling back and nodding.

Jessie: "Time to teach you how to entertain people with your third opening, sweetheart. But, I don't want to freak you out, so I'll give you the choice—do you want to suspend your slavery for a little while and do this as my lover, or are you willing to be trained as a slave would?"

Gulp; my apprehension ramped up suddenly, but there was only one right answer. "I trust you to do what's best for me. Besides, I need to try to please your mother as my owner, and I think she wants me to experience real slavery. Just . . . please be as gentle as you can, Master."

"You've got it, Darling—we do this just as if you were any other part of the inventory. I'm an expert with years of experience—don't try this at home." We both laughed as he ordered me to "Back hands," then guided me, hand caressing my butt, to another cage that contained a strange device that I decided must be a bondage platform, meant to hold a slave at waist height.

"Slave fours on the equipment, Beautiful." I complied instantly, only to find him strapping me down at elbows and thighs. My legs were in a sort of knock-kneed position, knees turned in and ankles outside, slightly widening my butt crack. I'm sure Jessie could see both of my entrances. A snapping sound indicated he had pulled on a latex glove, and a moment later I felt his fingers first withdraw the plug and then very gently open up my back passage, pushing a glob of something sticky into me. I was already lubricated from the slut wash, but he repeated the same process several more times.