The Movie
by Master Ivan
I don’t even recall for sure how we met. The guy was an occasional attendee at some parties I had been to, a moderately experienced top as well as a submissive at times with a predilection to spanking. We were talking about usual stuff over coffees after one of our parties when he happened to mention he was getting into movies.
“As an actor?”
“Not sure yet. I just met this producer who was into making a movie in town using some local talent and he asked me if I knew anyone who would be interested.”
“And he is into Bondage? Dominance?”
“Pretty much. He seems to know the basics, but not to any depth.”
I thought about it. Might be fun to get in on that kind of action. And I had always fantasized directing a movie, although I had no experience from that end of things.
“Might be fun to talk to him. Never can tell what might develop…”
Turns out he had plans to talk to the guy the next day. I was invited to come along.
******
His name was Phil. He was nondescript. Probably younger than me by about five or ten years, dressed in a shirt and jacket, short hair and a bit of a mustache. But as we talked, he soon showed that he did know something about the production end and also had some interests in Bondage.
“Its a niche genre. Not for the general fan of erotica, but its followers certainly are faithful. And there are pitifully few producers who really know the scene well enough to represent it fairly—or realistically. So what I am trying to do is to locate people who DO know what is going on in that scene to get them to pretty much make the movie themselves.”
I thought a bit. There would certainly be time involved, and some long hours, but if the guy was for real, we might be able to come up with a working arrangement.
“I’m interested. But how are you going to decide on a plot, a storyline?”
“One thing I know about the scene—get the right people together, the thing will write itself. Good people in the scene always have a healthy imagination, a good dose of creativity. All I’ll have to do is to steer it into something that will present well on the screen.”
I smiled back. “You’re right. And to tell you the truth, I agree with the idea of the story coming from the people involved. I’ve often thought about writing a screenplay, or directing a film, but I know that the story would have to depend entirely on who was taking part. Given a few good people, as you said, the story would write itself.”
He looked back at me. “I’ve seen your work, and you’re good. If I give you the players, locations and the toys to work with, will you do it?”
It didn’t take long to decide. “Yes.”
******
It was a few days before I heard from him again. I got a call from him, and he told me that he had a few people ready to go, as well as a number of good locations which he described to me in some detail. And then he told me about the girl who had written to him…
“Her name is Denise. Her face is a bit plain, but her body looks to die for in the photographs she included. I had dropped a couple ads in the local papers looking for girls who wanted to do a bondage movie, and she was one of the first replies—and also one of the most promising. But here’s where it gets interesting.
“She says she is VERY interested in submission, but has never explored it. And she says she wants the scenes in the movie to be for real.”
I thought about this for a moment. Realism was also something I valued highly. Too often, I’d watch a video in which a girl was allegedly strung up for hours, then let down with nary a rope burn on her, let alone a stiff back. Somehow, the makeup never ran, the hair never got mussed, the welts never seemed to last more than the current scene. And I felt that if I took part in making a movie, I wanted no part of that kind of artificiality. It had to be real.
“Any idea what kind of fantasies she’s into?”
“She talked some about being trained as a slave, as well as hints at abduction or capture. Not too much in the way of specific fetishes and such.”
“Hmmm…perhaps I could talk to her myself. How long before your people would be ready to begin actual shooting for this?”
“We’re flexible. We’ve got some other performers ready to go at a day’s notice, and we could start almost anytime. The sooner the better.”
“And how about locations? Anything with a set of jail cells and a torture chamber?”
He said, “I’ve got access to a castle out in the burbs, totally isolated. You could lock up a slave in the cells, put her on a real rack, I could throw in some chain hoists, and you could flog her on the front lawn or in the woods and have her scream to high heaven and no one would be within twenty miles to worry about hearing it.”
“Good enough. Although, you realize of course that using a castle would fall headlong into the same old stereotypes you see in every other bondage movie. Along with the motel rooms, basements and warehouses.”
“Heh heh...good point.”
I smiled back. “Let’s talk to that girl and see how ready she is.”
******
We met her at a house Phil had rented for the shooting. As described, she was dressed in plain clothes: high-heeled sandals, faded jeans, a button-down shirt. Her face was plain, but nevertheless pretty. A good face for a victim, or a sacrificial lamb. And the man was right about her body—slender waist, tight little ass and a very generous chest. She had a round face, deep set eyes and full lips. She seemed self-conscious, but came thru the door without hesitation.
I had told Phil to have a camera ready in the place, thinking already about a possible plot line for the movie. When Denise entered, the camera was already shooting.
“Hi, I’m Denise.”
We smiled and introduced ourselves. Phil began…
“As I told you, Ivan here is an experienced Master. He would be more than willing to help you live out some of your fantasies in the course of making a movie. And he himself prefers realism. He can tell you more. Ivan?”
I began by looking at her body again. Not in the surreptitious way one would look at a typical girl on the street, but very overtly, starting at her face and looking intently at her entire body, one part at a time, including her bust and her ass. And of course, I made careful note of her own face as she responded to this invasion of her privacy, as she showed some embarrassment, but also began to radiate some female heat.
“So tell me, Denise, what DO you know about submission?”
She paused, very aware of our eyes upon her as she began to open to us. She emitted feelings like she was already trapped, yet welcomed the trap and yearned for the net to be tightened around her.
“I’ve read a bit, seen a few movies. I know about my own fantasies, and I have a pretty good idea of what turns me on, which would be most of it. I don’t have much experience though. I’ve been tied up and spanked a few times, but it is hard when you don’t have someone with a lot of experience doing the tying.”
She paused then, her eyes glancing nervously at the camera. “Uh, is that thing on?”
“Yes”, I answered her. “First, it will give us a good idea of how you appear on camera, how well you can cope with being recorded. It will show us how your face presents and such, giving us clues for things like color and lighting for you. And we may in fact be trying a bit of activity on camera as well.”
I watched her body language as I spoke. Subtleties there can reveal much about a person’s inner psyche, and Denise was no exception. Her arms seemed to move forward as if concealing herself, but then pulled back, almost arching out her chest just a bit. Her feet, too, separated a couple inches. This suggested a desire to be trapped before men, bound and revealed, forced to expose herself. We would soon see how real these indicators were.
We sat in the living room as I guided her to a chair which would make her the central figure in the room. The camera followed us in as we began to talk again.
“Phil told you about my feelings about realism. What I have in mind is an approach in which we would indeed be real about what we were doing. While we are not talking about literally forcing you to do things against your will -— you will always have the option of backing out at any time -— we WILL be using real bondage, real whips. If the story line says you’ll be bound for an hour, or all night, that will indeed be the case.
“The bondage will be the real thing. I will not tolerate any hint of loose ropes, of leather not fitting properly, of the girl being able to slip out of her bonds. If she is suspended, the screen will show her feet off the floor for the duration. When she is bound for a lengthy time, I want to capture the effects that prolonged bondage will have on her, both physically and emotionally. And when she is threatened with punishment, she must know that the threats are serious and genuine.”
Her eyes widened at some of this. But her excitement was clear and visible. She acknowledged what I was saying, understanding all the implications. And her body continued to reveal her need.
“Perhaps we should bring in Jocko and Stephanie?”
Phil looked back at me and said “Sure thing.” He walked out of the room and brought them in.
Jocko was black, about six feet tall, a good, trim, but muscular body. He worked out at the gym and it showed. I had already been briefed that he had a cock that was just like the stereotypes for porn movies—a good ten inches flaccid and almost two inches thick. Stephanie was very hot, long black hair, deep eyes, a body to kill for. She wore a brief revealing red sun dress. They entered arm in arm, clearly an established couple off-screen.
We made the usual introductions, then resumed our seats as they joined us. I could see Jocko’s eyes exploring Denise’s body as she moved, and I knew he liked what he saw.
I then spoke to Denise again. “Jocko and Stephanie have worked with Phil before. We know their experience. What we need to find out right now is how you feel about exposing your own body in front of other people, not to mention before the camera.”
She seemed briefly taken back by that, especially now that there were a total of five people in the room looking at her, including the cameraman. Yet, she continued to feel the heat, the arousal that comes from being controlled by others.
“Would you have a problem with our accelerating the process right now, having you show us your body and perform for us sexually?”
Now the exchange shifted, from the implied and the subtle to something which was now about to become quite overt. She knew she was being asked for consent, not just for sexual performance but perhaps for more, even including some bondage. As we looked at each other, I knew she saw it in my eyes—both the awareness that she had a choice, and the knowledge that her choice would probably make her helpless. I continued…
“Since this movie is indeed about a slavegirl, we will be asking you to perform AS that slavegirl. Are you ready to consent to that right now?”
“Yes.”
She did feel fear, not knowing what I had in mind. And she knew that she would indeed be burning some bridges behind her with that word of consent. But her mindset seemed to be one of a girl seeing the trap opened before her, knowing she both yearned for and feared being trapped in it. Yet, with that awareness at the top of her mind, she understood that being trapped that way was precisely what her fantasies hungered for, and with that realization, she took the plunge. She stepped into the trap with full awareness of its implications and pulled it closed behind her.
“Good. Stand up, and strip.”
Her face registered the shock of the sudden command. She showed the embarrassment of being given such an order as she faced six strangers. And she stood and began to unbutton her shirt.
It was another indicator to me, around the hidden signs of a person’s body language. A woman ordinarily wants to conceal her breasts. If forced to strip before men, she will often remove her pants or skirt first, keeping her shirt reserved for last so as to cover more of her body with it longer. But Denise began with her shirt, much as a trained slave would do.
She removed the shirt, revealing not a bra beneath it, but an old cutoff tee shirt, very brief and well worn, almost transparent and torn thru in a few places, revealing her. Her aureoles were visible thru the material, and her breasts were very well shaped, with not a hint of a sag, in spite of her having a probable D-cup or better in size. As her jeans came down, she revealed her panties, plain and white, and again transparent. I could see thru them that she was likely shaved. And they were visibly wet from her heat. Another good sign was that she left her sandals on, most likely knowing how her heels would affect her walk and the presentation of her body.
“Stop there. Leave the rest on for the moment. Now, walk around the room, turn slowly, show us your body.”
She obeyed silently, never making any move to conceal herself with her arms. Her face reddened at her embarrassment, yet she seemed to feed on it, arching her back slightly to present herself with even more exposure. She finished her circle of the room and stood in the center of the circle of eyes watching her.
“Very good, Denise. Are you still comfortable? Would you like us to move forward some more?”
Again, she was asked to offer consent to her further exposure, humiliation and now, perhaps, use.
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“I am going to have you strip completely for us. And then, you’ll be handcuffed behind your back, and ordered to suck off one of the men here. Will you consent to that?”
She was visibly shocked. Things were indeed moving quickly for her. But her nipples became visibly erect thru her thin tee shirt as the wave of arousal passed thru her. She shuddered, but answered, “Yes, Sir.”
“Take off the rest, then.”
Again, it was the top she removed first. Her breasts were glorious to see, a sin to cover with the shirt she wore in. And I was right about her cunt -— it was indeed shaved clean. And it was wet.
I stood and showed her the handcuffs. I even handed them to her to let her hold them briefly, to get the feel for them. They were the real deal, and she knew they would hold her securely until I unlocked them. When I took them back from her and simply said, “Behind your back”, she turned and yielded her wrists to be locked. I then told her, “On your knees, slut.” She reddened again, and fell to her knees, her eyes downcast and awaiting use.
I smiled at her, and spoke, “Now, I wonder whose cock you should suck for your audition . . . I think . . . yes, Jocko!”
Her face turned ashen as she looked at the tall black man she would soon have to suck off. But Jocko appeared a bit hesitant.
“What’s the problem, Jocko? Never heard of you saying no to a good blowjob.”
“Heh heh . . . you know I’d never say no to that. But Stephanie and I got it on not half an hour before you guys got here. I haven’t had the chance for a shower yet, and it’d take some time and work for me to get it up again this soon.”
I laughed a bit, but knew this would get even more interesting as a result. “Ah, so then Stephanie hasn’t had a chance to clean up after either, eh?”
Stephanie blushed a bit at that, but said, “No, I haven’t.”
“Well then I guess Denise will have to clean you both up, won’t she.”
The girl’s eyes widened at that, and she pulled gently against her cuffs.
“Stephanie, why don’t you walk over to Denise here and pull up your skirt.”
She smiled broadly and complied as I ordered Denise, “Beg Stephanie to let you suck the cum out of her pussy!”
Denise gasped as the reality of the situation gripped her. Stephanie stood before her, looked down at the kneeling girl and smiled, just waiting.
“P-please Stephanie, let me suck the cum out of your pussy.”
I was very pleased. Not only did she obey, but she used the very words I ordered, in spite of how degrading it was for her. The girl was a natural slave, waiting for a Master to drag it out of her. And he would not have to use a lot of force to get the job done.
Stephanie lifted the brief skirt of her sundress, then used one hand to take Denise’s head by a handful of hair and guide her mouth to the cum dripping down her thighs. The cameraman moved in for some closeup shots of her soiled pussy, then captured Denise’s face, her mouth opened and her tongue out as she began to lick up the cum.
Her tongue worked to clean the girl’s upper thighs, then moved to her outer lips until there was no more cum visible on the outside. Stephanie began to moan as Denise’s tongue licked her, then her hands gripped her hair more tightly as she forced the girl’s face hard into her cunt.
“Aaaaahhhh . . . yes . . . right there . . . suck it all out . . . ”
It took a few more minutes of sustained work, but soon Stephanie’s cunt was immaculate. She moaned as orgasm approached, then screamed as she went over the top, two handfuls of hair helping guide the mouth of the girl as she worked to bring her off and finally clean her again, licking up all her juices.
Stephanie lowered her skirt and resumed her seat next to Jocko, giving him a big wet kiss. Denise remained on her knees, her face visibly soiled and wet, still handcuffed and naked. The camera took a slow circle of her as we watched her.
“OK, slut —- Jocko’s cock is still waiting.”
Without needing to be told, Denise turned to face Jocko who was still seated, and begged, “Please Jocko, let me suck your cock.”
Jocko smiled broadly and rose. He walked to stand in front of Denise, then unzipped his pants and brought out his cock and balls. I watched Denise’s eyes as he did so, revealing the entire ten inches, now becoming visibly erect. And it was still wet with Stephanie’s juices.
Denise’s eyes widened as she saw it. I heard her moan, “Oh God! . . . ”, almost under her breath.
“Slut! -— He’s gonna be pretty sweaty after his fuck with Stephanie. You’d better clean his balls, too.”
Denise leaned forward and began. She shuddered again as her cheek made contact with him, her tongue soon beginning to lick his tight ball sac. I saw her grimace as she tasted the taste of the man’s sweat, cleaning his balls as his soiled cock brushed her face. Jocko moaned and became fully erect as she cleaned him, and soon her tongue traced a path to the base of his cock and down to its head. She took the head into her mouth and began sucking him in earnest.
I smiled at Phil seated beside me. “Y’know, most girls would have cleaned that big cock by licking it first. I guess Denise likes the idea of him fucking her throat deep with it and getting sucked clean that way . . . ”
She moaned again in response, pulling gently against the locked handcuffs. She began stroking him deeper and deeper into her mouth, and soon her nipples began grazing the rough surface of the man’s jeans. Another minute or two passed, and it was clear she had taken him as deeply as her mouth could without opening her throat to him. I told Jocko, “Go ahead guy, time to see if her throat is up to the task.”
Again, Denise’s eyes widened in fear, but Jocko was up to the task as he took two handfuls of her hair and forced his cock right down her throat. Her eyes widened as she choked on him, then his hands released her hair. She backed her mouth off of him, coughed briefly, then immediately returned her mouth to the job. Again he used her hair to pull her deep, then released her. After several repetitions, her throat was adjusting, and she took him deep without being forced. Jocko still used his hands to guide her though, knowing it would look better for the camera as well as for the viewers. And I am sure Denise enjoyed the force as well, as her nipples remained rock hard and her pussy was beginning to drip.
It took a fair time, but Jocko eventually approached orgasm. He looked at me for direction, and I simply told him, “Drop some of your cum on her face, then let her swallow the rest.”
Jocko complied. Two big spurts hit her almost in her eyes and immediately began dripping down her face and onto her breasts. His cock then pushed into her mouth again, and we could all see her swallowing desperately as a few more drops of cum dripped out the side of her mouth. When he finished, she continued to lick him gently, soothing him after his cum. Finally, he pulled out, then wordlessly repacked his cock into his jeans and, without a word, resumed his seat.
Denise remained kneeling, the cum dripping down her face and body as the camera circled her once again. Her eyes remained lowered as we all watched her for a time, enjoying the sight of her. Finally I spoke again.
“So, Denise. It would appear Stephanie and Jocko are satisfied with your performance. Do you think this is the kind of thing you can deal with?”
Her eyes remained lowered as she answered, “Yes, Sir.”
“You understand, in a regular shoot for a movie like this, right now I’d be releasing your handcuffs, telling you “Good job” and such, then letting you go off and shower.
“But this is not that kind of movie. As we told you earlier, we intend to deal with realism here, and that includes you playing your role as a complete slavegirl. That will include keep you restrained most of the time, only allowing you to shower and such when it suits our needs, denying you pleasure unless it is by our choice, even controlling your dress, both on screen and out in the public. Is that what you want? Is that what you are seeking?”
A tremor rolled thru her body, as she reacted to the intensity of the picture I was painting for her. After a brief hesitation, she answered, “Yes, Sir . . . very much Sir.”
“Good. You realize also that there are a number of rules by which you will live while under our care. You will not take pleasure or even touch your own body without permission —- that body is no longer your own, but ours. You will not cover it without permission, and wear only clothing we permit you to wear, when we permit you to wear it.”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“One other rule I impose for my own slaves -— when someone cums on your face or body, it is important that the slave and all that she meet know that she is a cocksucking cum slut. So you will be required to NOT wash the cum off your face until the following morning. You will let it dry there where all can see it, whether your wrists are restrained or not, and you will sleep wearing it so that you will know what you are. Do you understand, slut?”
Again, she gasped, fully conscious of the load which soiled her face and would remain visible for a substantial time. “Yes, Sir.”
“Now, the mind-set of a slavegirl is very important. Right now you have a small apartment, filled with your clothing and personal effects, and no doubt you have an image of returning there when we finish this shoot and resuming your former life. Correct?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“But in the context of realism, would a real-life slavegirl have any of those things?”
She paused, perhaps knowing what I was leading up to. “N-no, Sir.”
“So what would you rather do, slut? Finish the shoot, and then return to your former life? Or commit to the life of a real-life slavegirl right here and now, with all the changes that would impose on your life?”
Her eyes rose at that, looking straight back at me for the first time in the exchange. “Oh, that is my dream, Sir. I am afraid of it, but I also know it is what I live for every day. I want it badly, even though I know there are times you would have to force me to obey you, perhaps punish me. Still, it is what I wished for when I wrote the letter. And I still want to do it.”
“If you submit yourself, then this is what will happen. First, you will be given your initiatory whipping. You will be strung up by your wrists high enough so that only your tiptoes will be on the floor. You will be left there for a time to consider your situation. You will then be given at least two dozen very hard strokes with a riding crop on your ass. You’ll be left again for a time before being lowered to the floor. And then we will make a trip to your place to pick up your things and move you here permanently.”
I could see a wave of fear moving through her as I talked about her whipping. But she answered, “I understand, Sir, and I accept.”
“You will be trained as I feel appropriate. You will be used, on and off camera, as I wish. You will be punished, tortured, confined, shared with others, however I wish or anyone with me wishes. And perhaps someday you may even be sold or given away to another Master -— or Mistress. And if you should fail utterly as a slavegirl and be deemed untrainable, you may even be thrown out on the street, naked and with nothing, to find a new life for yourself.”
Her eyes lowered again as she listened to my words, but could see the logic in them.
“Yes Sir, I accept all that.”
“Then stand, cocksucker.”
She blushed again, fully aware of the cum still dripping down her body, and stood.
I unlocked her handcuffs, and her hands simply hung at her sides. She made no move to either cover herself or to wipe away any of the cum on her face.
I took out an oiled leather thong from my pocket. “Offer your wrists for binding!”
She knelt again, lowered her head and held out her wrists for the ritual of slave submission, and I quickly bound them. She struggled in the leather only long enough to confirm herself secured. I then passed the other end of the thong through an overhead eyebolt and raised her up to tiptoe, then tied off the thong to hold her there. She gasped as her body strained in her semi-suspension, then hung there helpless before all our eyes. I checked my watch briefly, then suggested, “Drinks, anyone? Perhaps lunch?”
Our cameraman captured the action as several of us moved to the kitchen in turn, as Denise hung helpless, the cum drying on her face and body. I watched her as her weight shifted from one toe to the other, trying to cope with the strain, her body forced into an arch. We sat and ate, not speaking of her for the most part, simply enjoying the sight of her as she suffered. The camera sometimes drew back to see her hang in the center of the room, then at other times it would come in for a closeup of her soiled face, her shuddering breasts also anointed with cum, her strained shoulder muscles and calves, her flattened tummy, her opened and wet cunt, even her white ass which would soon bear some vivid red welts. I allowed a bit over half an hour to pass before I rose to open the next phase in her initiation.
I stood before her holding the riding crop in one hand. She looked back at me, fearful.
“Cocksucker, you are about to be whipped.”
I saw her shudder, both from the warning of pain to come and the name I called her.
“You are not being whipped as punishment—you have not done anything to earn a punishment yet. But as a slavegirl is trained and used, she must eventually fail to please, and then she must indeed be punished. Today, you will be whipped, both to make you aware of the implications if you do earn punishment, and also to demonstrate to you that I am your Master and in control of all you will experience. You will receive at least two dozen with this crop on your ass, and it will be pain you will not be able to tolerate. You will scream, you may well beg for mercy, but there will be no mercy nor any reduction in your punishment. You will receive every stroke. Should you pass out from the pain before we finish, you will be revived before we continue. You will experience the full effects of each and every stroke.”
She was afraid, and rightfully so. Her eyes never left mine.
“For the last time, I offer you the option. You may beg to be released now, and you may dress and walk out the door, a free girl. Or you may beg me to give you your initiation as a slavegirl.”
She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. We watched her body move as she did so, very well presented. She then opened her eyes and said, “Please Sir, give me my initiation as a slavegirl.”
I said nothing. A couple of the onlookers smiled. I held the crop up to her soiled lips and ordered her, “Kiss it!” She obeyed, and I saw her tremble as her lips made contact with it. I walked to her side and lined up the crop on her ass. I wound up and swung, catching her with the full strength of my arm on the sensitive underside of her ass. She screamed, loud and piercing, drawing up her legs and hanging by her wrists as she reacted to the pain. Her eyes now reflected her terror at being truly helpless and unable to stop the whip. I waited until she settled down, then swung again.
She screamed and danced on every stroke. I saw the thong tighten on her wrists; I watched as the welts rose on her ass. She was sensitive to the strokes—more so than most girls I had whipped. She would learn much about the whip from this initiation and carry the lessons forward in her training. And I could also see her pussy dripping in response as her body betrayed her. I waited a substantial time between strokes, so she could get the maximum effects from them all. When two dozen strokes had been delivered, I added two more at the end for a total of twenty-six, mindful of my words to her earlier when I had said “At least two dozen”.
Finished, I again held the crop to her lips. I said nothing, but she kissed the crop again. I turned and rejoined the circle watching her.
She hung, dripping with sweat. The welts on her ass were vivid, and they would remain visible for several days. She would feel them every time she sat down. The rest of us talked casually, about a variety of things, from local politics, to the weather, occasionally returning to the subject of how to get the most out of our new slavegirl and produce a good movie.
After almost another half hour had passed, I stood and released her wrists, lowering her to the floor. She moaned as the blood circulation returned to her reddened hands, and she dropped to her knees. I locked her wrists behind her once more with the handcuffs, then sat on the sofa and had her kneel before me.
She looked back at me, tears still running down her face from the whipping. In spite of her pain, she felt no resentment, no anger. She was wallowing in the aftereffects of her pain, of the shock of that pain, of the feeling of being truly helpless for the first time in her life. Jocko’s cum still marked her, drying on her face. She had made no move to wipe it away. She looked at me for approval, desperate for acceptance.
“So tell me, Denise -— what do you feel now about being a slavegirl?”
She looked down at her body, then pulled gently against the handcuffs. Her knees were separated widely, exposing her cunt and opening it to our eyes. Her back was straight, her shoulders well back, presenting herself as a slavegirl should. She seemed to have the instincts of a true slave, displaying herself for our enjoyment.
She took a breath, then replied, “It is hard, Sir . . . I knew the pain would be intense, that it would be more than I could handle. I got what I expected, and probably deserved. But now, it feels right for me. It is what I needed and wanted, and I do not want to turn back.”
“So then, are you willing to commit yourself to my training and serving us as a group?”
She paused ever so briefly, then answered, “Y-yes, Sir.”
“OK then. We will go to your place and pick up your things, and you’ll move in here. How far away do you live?”
“Nearby Sir . . . only about four blocks away from here.”
“Good. We’ll walk there, and give you some experience in presenting yourself as a slave should when in public.”
She seemed to react to that, knowing it would again test her limits, and I did not disappoint her.
“Get your clothes and bring them here. We’ll dress you properly as a slavegirl.”
She rose and retrieved her clothing. I ordered her to put on the tee shirt first, and her panties.
“The tee shirt is acceptable, slut, but not the panties. They cover far too much of you. Remove them.”
She slid off the panties, and I pointed to the fireplace where a low fire was burning. She shuddered, and cast them into the fire. She then returned to her place kneeling before me.
I looked at her shirt and jeans, and told her, “These are totally unacceptable for a slave. A slavegirl must be revealed as well as accessible. It would take far too long to expose your cunt and ass wearing the jeans, and the shirt totally hides your tits. Get rid of them.”
Her eyes widened at that, but she rose again and threw them into the fire. She knelt before us now with only the tee shirt to cover herself.
“Stephanie -— do you have a skirt you could loan Denise that would be appropriate for her?”
She smiled, and answered, “I have just the thing.” She left the room and a moment later returned with a very short flair skirt, bright red, the material thin enough to show the crack of her ass when it draped across her. I smiled and nodded to them both, and Denise put on the skirt. Even riding very low on her hips, well below her navel, the hem of the skirt hung barely two inches beneath her shaven mound. And when she turned, the skirt would flare out and reveal her.
“Very good. THAT is how a slavegirl should be displayed. And remember, slut, if you cover yourself with anything more, you will be punished. In fact, if you cover yourself in any way, with clothing or even with your hands, without permission, you will also be punished. Now, just one more little thing…”
I whispered to Phil, who smiled and left the room to retrieve something from their stock of toys.
“Slut, you must learn that your body no longer belongs to you. You may not touch it without permission, especially to pleasure yourself. We, as your Masters, now own your body and will touch you, enjoy you, use you, pleasure or punish you on our whim.”
Phil returned with a dildo harness. It had a fair sized natural dildo mounted for her cunt as well as a finger-sized plug for her virgin ass. I took it from him and handed it to Denise. “Put that on, slut.”
Her eyes widened as she looked at it, but she stepped thru the leather and pulled it up her legs. It took some effort and work to line up both dildos on her holes and work them in, but soon, after more than a few moans and gasps, the dildos were both well-seated inside her. She tightened the belt and gasped again as the dildos both rose another inch as she did so. I stood, tested the tightness, then pulled it another notch tighter. I then locked a padlock on it to insure she could not remove it without our permission.
“Walk, slut. We wish to see how it makes you move.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She took a couple of steps, then gasped as she felt the two invaders inside her moving around, stimulating her.
“I did not tell you to stop, slut!”
She resumed walking, in a circle around the room as we watched, enjoying her. We saw her nipples harden explicitly under the thin tee shirt, and we leered at her, her face reddening as she realized she would have to walk the round trip to her place this way.
“Very good, slut. Now, only one more thing…”
I showed her a collar. Two inches wide, from my own collection. Black leather, trimmed in bright nickel plate, several rings around its circumference. And large letters across its front that could be read from twenty feet away that said, “slave”.
“When you hear the command ‘Collar!’, you will kneel and turn your head slightly to one side to enable your Master to put your collar on you, or remove it, or attach a leash. Understand, girl?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Collar!”
She obeyed, in perfect form. I wrapped the collar around her, snugged it up just tight enough, then padlocked it as well. I then leashed her.
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