tagNonConsent/ReluctanceChristina, Slave In Training Ch. 2

Christina, Slave In Training Ch. 2


In Chapter One, Christine and her husband Stanley were on a camping trip when they were seized at their motel by a pair of local hard cases. Despite the brutal way she was raped in her mouth, pussy and ass, Christine responded to her humiliation and abuse with an intense passion and multiple orgasms. The story continues as Boomer and Luke lead their naked captive, along with her husband, across the highway to share her with their friends in a honky-tonk bar.

* * * * *


Boomer opened the door to the Bakersfield tavern, and Luke shoved their two captives inside into the smoky gloom. On their way across the street Christine had spotted a county Sheriff's car parked in front, and her eyes immediately searched the room for the officer that went with that vehicle. She found him seated at the bar. He was a big man with fleshy jowls dressed in police khakis, a big silver star on his chest, and a gun belt tucked in comfortably below the fat of his pot belly.

As they entered, Christine could also see that everyone in the room except for two waitresses were male. Those two fled almost immediately and were not seen again. All other eyes were frozen on the naked woman that Boomer was proudly leading by the rope lasso around her neck.

"Look here guys..., look what we brought you," Boomer announced proudly.

Christine stared hopefully into the eyes of the local lawman at the bar, but her heart soon sank. He merely grinned back at her, seemingly bemused by her predicament. Like all the other men in the room, he was leering at her nudity, as if totally unaware and unconcerned that there might be anything criminal about leading a naked woman into a sleazy bar on the end of a rope. Indeed, it appeared that this policeman might even be the ring leader of this cabal of drunks and nare-do-wells. At least he was the one who spoke up to ask about this tasty female treat that had appeared from out of nowhere into the midst of an otherwise dull alcoholic evening.

"Nice looking heifer you have roped there Boomer, but what do she do?"

"Anything you want Sheriff, anything you want. Me and Luke has already rode her. She bucked some, and tried to spit out the bit at first, but we broke her in right."

"Well, I know you boys are real good at breaking fillies. I'm sure you did a good job with this one. Tell me, is she tight in the saddle?"

The Sheriff stepped up to Christine and ran a hand over her ass in the way an experienced stockman might examine the hindquarter fitness of a young horse. His hand was cold from gripping a beer bottle and Christine shuddered at his touch. Then the lawman spoke again. "Stand her up on the table here and let's get a good look at her..., and by the way, who is the guy?"

"This would be her husband. He's been watching while we showed the bitch he's married to how a real man fucks. Ain't that right sister?" Boomer yanked suddenly on the rope around her neck and yelled at her, "What are you sanding there for bitch? You heard the man. Git your ass up on that table. Lock your fingers behind your head. Spread your legs and show the Sheriff what you got."

Reacting to a hard slap on her ass, Christine scrambled to lift a knee onto the circular top of the nearest table. Without anything to pull to, raising the second leg wasn't as easy. For a moment or two she hung in a split with one leg up, and the other on the floor. The Sheriff took full advantage of her precarious situation to run a finger into her exposed pussy, then lifting his arm, he half boosted, half tossed, the girl sprawling across the table top. Guffaws of laughter rang around the room.

"Do it! Stand up like I told you," Boomer yelled at her.

Christine stood, spread her legs shoulder width and locked fingers together at the back of her head in the posture of a prisoner of war. It was not enough to satisfy Boomer.

"Spread your legs more, cunt," he ordered, "and stick those tits out. Stand over here on the edge where Sheriff Cain can reach you girl," he ordered. "Give him and the boys a proper feel of your goodies. Luke and I expect some big money for your ass, and the guys are entitled to examine the merchandise before they bid on it."

"So that's it," Christine thought. "He's going to auction me off to the highest bidder. Sell me like a slave whore."

Often in her bath, Christine had run her finger deep into her pussy and imagined she was a captive Celtic woman brought to Rome to be sold as a slave. The mental images of herself in such distress were always quite clear. She could see herself naked and chained to a post at the front of a flesh market near the Forum. Prospective buyers were crudely inspecting her charms. When they were finished probing her cunt, feeling her tits, and counting her teeth, she was taken to the 'block' to be sold at auction. Half asleep in the warm water, Christine would frigg herself to an orgasm imagining her plight as horny males bid to own her for their pleasure. What, she had always wondered, would be the thoughts and emotions of a woman in such distress?

Fearful, even terrified certainly! A cruel owner might hang her by her wrists and whip her for no cause other than the pleasure of hearing her screaming in pain.

Sexy and sensual, certainly! All those virile males ogling her nude body, and lusting to have her pinned under their cocks, would be certain to trigger the teasing flirt that is natural to every female.

Aroused and passionate, probably! Every dick of every bidder was sure to be hard under his toga, ready to fuck such a lovely pussy. How could a woman know that and not go into heat?

This, however, was no fantasy to be enjoyed while tucked away safely in her bath. This was for real. This time Christine was actually bare assed and helpless, and these men were actually ready to bid on her exactly as they might buy a cow at the stock yards. What was it like to be a female slave for sale? Christine need puzzle over the question no more. Her answer was now at hand.

Obediently Christine stepped forward, carefully aligning her toes to the table edge from where the men on the floor could inspect the merchandise. Sheriff Cain was the first to edge his way up to the table. He reached up with a hand, casually running it up the inside of one smooth feminine leg, down the other, and then back up into her crotch.

At her cunt, the Sheriff's hand stopped. His fingers split her labia, testing her wet, checking the tightness of her vagina. His inquiry did not end there, however. His hand may have been between her legs, but his eyes were on face, studying her response to that invading finger, and measuring he level of desire in her eyes from the flare of her nostrils.

"Squat bitch," he commanded. "I seem to have a wet finger. Clean it!" Christine knees bent and spread as she dropped to her haunches and balanced herself before him on toes. In a squat, even on the table, her head was only slightly higher than his, and her mouth was in easy reach of his soiled hand. Her lips relaxed to take in the finger he pressed against them.

Diligently she sucked on the digit he had given her, scrubbing its knuckles with her tongue, before returning it to its owner, still wet but now clean of her taste. Her saliva was still there when the Sheriff ran his hand over her breasts and squeezed a nipple between thumb and forefinger. The pinch sent a sharp pain to her clit and, to the poor girl's horror, almost triggered an orgasm.

"My God, No!" Christine thought. "I must not let these brutes know that I am ready to go into heat like some animal just because they are treating me like one."

Seemingly satisfied, his face as blank as the veteran poker player that he was, the Sheriff had her stand and resume 'the position' as he backed away. The next prospective bidder immediately stepped in to take his place.

One after another these cruel men examined this delicious young female Boomer was offering for sale. Some had her squat to her haunches that they might examine her mouth and tits as the Sheriff had done. Others went further, forcing her to turn around and kneel, then reach back and spread the cheeks of her ass to display her anal charms. It was easier that way for a finger to check the puckered tightness of that third hole.

Finally, the examination part of her humiliation was over, and the bidding was ready to begin. Boomer, acting as auctioneer called out, "Gather round boys, you wouldn't want to miss a chance to own your very own female slave. Show 'nuff, this'uns the chance of a lifetime. Luke and I would like to keep her for ourselves, but we be headed home to the mountain and she's too much baggage. Anyway our wives and the preacher man up there might not understand. Most of you are single and running free tho. A woman slave to fuck any old time you want is just what you need. The bidding will start at one hundred dollars, all cash on delivery, no credit."

"What if she runs off, or that husband of hers goes after the State Police." a voice asked from the back of the room.

Boomer was ready with an answer right on the tip of his tongue. "Those are the problems of whoever buys her. If I was her owner I'd keep her chained, and you can do with the husband as you think best. Worst case tho, Sheriff Cain can handle the State Police. Like the times before, his investigation will show the state cops she was just another tramp who found a new stud and ran off with him. Whose going to believe the husband's wild tale anyway?"

"Do I hear a $100 to own this lovely girl?" Boomer shouted at the expectant crown around the table. Christine trembled at the realization that he meant her. It was hard to accept, but these men were really ready to bid money for her as if she was a prize mare to be bought and bred.

"One hundred," a young man up front chipped in hopefully.

"One twenty five," came a bid from the back.

"One fifty," came in quickly from somewhere off to the side.

"Two hundred fifty dollars," said a booming voice from an older portly man in overalls up front. There was a buzz in the room at the amount and the sudden jump in price.

"Three hundred," was the bid of the voice who had earlier bid one fifty. Another buzz around the room. Several men cursed, bemoaning the fact that the bidding was already beyond their available cash.

Then Sheriff Cain interrupted the bidding with his first offer. "Six hundred dollars, on behalf of the county Sheriff's Department..., and this auction is over. As a Department bid, these are county tax dollars we are talking about gentlemen. Surely nobody wants to run the price up, and cost the county money? I might take personal offense at a waste like that." The words carried a clear veiled threat that no one present missed.

The crowd around the table parted as Sheriff Cain came forward to claim his purchase. There was not much enthusiasm for what had just gone down. The price was pretty high, but it didn't seem fair somehow. All the grumbling was under the breath, however, and there was a reluctant and muted agreement all around that Christine now belonged to the Sheriff Cain and his Department. A wad of bills thrust at Boomer sealed the deal as he and Luke skedaddled out the door.

Christine wondered what it meant that the 'department' now owned her? That this back country Wyatt Earp would soon be warming his cock in one or all of her holes, she knew that for certain. Her concern was whether she was to be handed around to all his deputies as well?

Sheriff Cain stood at the edge of the table and reached up with a hand "Come to me girl Let me help you sit down here on the edge of the table. You belong to me now. Do you understand that my pretty little bitch?"

"Yes Sir," Christine answered simply. What else could she say?

She did as he asked, sitting on the table edge, dangling her legs over the side, her feet not quite touching the floor. Without warning, The Sheriff sent a finger exploring up her pussy. This was a repeat of his earlier examination of her hole, and it caught her by such surprise that her breath left her lungs in a sudden hitch.

"Be a good girl and do as you're told and things will be fine. Disobey me and you will be whipped. Try to run away, you will be whipped and put in chains. Neither will be very pleasant. Do you hear me? Are going to be a good bitch?"

"Yes Sir." she agreed once again, quietly and hopelessly.

Seemingly unconvinced, Sheriff Cain wiggled his wandering social finger inside her as if to test whether she was paying attention. That sudden assault on her pussy once again snatched her breath away. Christine wanted to cry out. "I'm listening! I'm listening!" but she held her tongue.

The Sheriff yelled to the bartender, "Joe make a call to my office and tell them I want Deputy Brian Huntsinger over here right away." There were an number of grins around the room. Deputy Huntsinger was a big strapping muscular stud, a local boy well known to be endowed with the longest and thickest tongue and cock combination that anyone in the county had ever seen.

The Sheriff's attention returned to Christine as his finger continued its hunt inside her pussy. He asked her, "Your cunt hasn't been cleaned up since the Boomer and Luke fucked you has it?"

"No Sir," she admitted.

"Well I'm not much on sloppy seconds, so I think I'll start with a nice blow job. You do know how to suck a man's cock don't you bitch?

"Yes Sir," Christine replied, in her despair accepting as fact that this man did now indeed own her, and that she must obey him as her master.

"Here," he ordered, "down off the table now and squat. Keep your knees spread. I want you to give the boys a show by jerking off with your finger while you suck my dick." Then he added menacingly, "and you had better cum before I do."

Christine dropped to her haunches, and spread her thighs to expose her pussy. "Open my fly and take my pecker out slut," was his brief order.

With the Sheriff's limp dick in her hand, Christine could see no choice but to give her new master her very best blow job. From tip to root she licked him, using her tongue to scrub the junction of his penis with his testicles before taking his full length in her mouth. One of her hands guided him carefully down her throat while the other masturbated her pussy. The Sheriff's newly acquired slave girl had begun to earn her purchase price.

Measured by political clout, the Sheriff may have been the big dick in town, but his actual penis was little on the small side of average. Christine had no difficulty taking all five inches or so of him down her throat until her lips gripped the very base of his prick, and her nose was buried in his pubic hair. Between her legs her social finger was furiously stroking her cunt and clit.

"What am I doing here," she asked herself, "sucking off one man and jerking myself off to entertain a roomful of others? Is this all a bad dream, or have I really been raped and sold into slavery... More to the point, God damn it all, WHY..., WHY am I getting off on being used like this?"

It was true, Christine was on fire.

In the same way steam at too high a pressure escapes from a boiler, her initial orgasm exploded from her ovaries and exited in a hissing scream from around the cock that filled her mouth. That first eruption was followed by another, and then another, before sheriff Cain abruptly jerked his pecker from her lips and finished by jacking himself off in her face.

"Bring that husband of hers up here," the Sheriff ordered even before he had finished spurting his load onto the squatting Christine. Stanley was shoved through the circle of onlookers to stand before his wife and her new owner. "Pull his pants down boys," was the Sheriff's next order. "Let's see if he enjoyed the little show his wife just put on."

Eager volunteer hands opened Stanley's belt and fly, and in seconds his pants and underwear where in a pile at is feet. Standing straight out from his crotch, all blood filled, rosy, and rock hard, was the incontrovertible evidence of his reaction to his wife sucking another man's dick. His face turned a fiery red as Sheriff Cain taunted him.

"Lookie there would you! The man gets off on watching sweet little wifie suck another guy's cock while she friggs her pussy with a finger. You're a pervert son, a dirty pervert, do you know that? Here, take my handkerchief and wipe my cum off your wife's face. That's the least you can do for her ain't it? Sheriff Cain took an unused and expensive monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Stanley who dutifully wiped the sperm off Christine's face the best he could.

He had hardly finished when the Sheriff had another idea. "Hey we can't leave hubby walking around with that thing sticking out like that now can we. He's liable to punch a hole in the wall or something with a weapon like that."

"You..., slave bitch," Sheriff Cain began as he turned to look at Christine. "By the way, What is your name slut? Here I paid six hundred dollars to own you and I don't even know your name."

"Christine," she answered softly, for the second time tonight giving her correct name when a false one would have done just as well. Once again the humiliation that her abusers knew her real name stuck in her throat.

"Well, Christine, I want you to beat hubby off with your hand, and let him cum on you face and tits for old times sake. Its only fair. I don't expect you will see much of his cock anymore after tonight."

Christine wondered what her cruel new master meant by that? Did her servitude mean an end to her marriage? Crushed by the thought, tears were in her eyes as she took her husband's hard-on in her hand and began to pump the foreskin back and forth over the sensitive head. She had jerked him off many times before, and true to her repressed submissive nature, she had always enjoyed taking his spurts in her face. She found it no less erotic now when forced upon her. Indeed, it was perhaps even more so. As a helpless slave with no choice but to bathe in male essence, this ancient ritual of female submission was even more overwhelmingly intense than ever.

Raped in every hole, and then sold to a cruel master, Christine's submissive nature hidden for so long had come to the fore. The humiliation of being forced to publicly masturbate her husband only fed the fire raging in her ovaries. When Stanley's ejaculation began, she opened her mouth hungry to catch what she could of his salty male sauce. Racked from tits to cunt with orgasmic spasms she lamented regretfully to herself, "If only Stanley had discovered before all this horror what a little slut I am. If only he had been the one who turned me into a sex slave."

"All right you two," Sheriff Cain ordered as the final spurts of Stanley's semen landed on his wife, "lets have a cum cleaning party. You slut, you wipe it of your face with your fingers and then lick it off. Hubby, you use your tongue on her tits."

As the cum on Christine's body disappeared either into her mouth or her husband's, a tall very muscular man in a tight but tailored Deputy Sheriff's uniform and boots was reporting to Sheriff Cain. Christine surmised quite correctly that this was the missing Deputy Huntsinger. Good looking with the olive skin, and the ink black hair and eyes, there was no hiding his Italian ancestry. This man was definitely a 'hunk'.

"Good to see you Brian," the sheriff greeted his deputy. "I just bought this little bitch for the department. Having a whore around for the boys to use will be good for morale. You and I though will be the first enjoy her. Problem is, her pussy hasn't been cleaned since that hill scum Boomer and Luke broke her in earlier tonight. You sit her back up on the edge of the table. I'll make her husband clean out her cunt and ass with his tongue. when he gets through, you can finish priming the pump. From what I hear, you are about the best pussy eater in the county. Once you have her begging for it, we'll fuck her, pussy and ass..., make a sandwich out of her."

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