I didn't care. Master would take care of me. He would take care of all of it. I would be his hot pregnant fuckslave if that's what he wanted.
Soon, he and Franklin were pistoning hard into my body. Neither attempted to match the other; both were too firmly in control of everything in their lives to suddenly work with someone when it came to fucking. The Master behind me plowed into my cunt hard, and I could feel his thick, muscular belly pushing down on my ass as he grasped me harder and fucked me faster in my fertile cunt.
Meanwhile, I was doing everything I could do to make Master Franklin cum in my mouth. I wanted so badly to taste him; I knew that I would taste all the men around me, each in turn and some all at once, but I wanted all of their taste to work through the veil of the memory of Franklin's cum. His cock pushed against my throat, my cheeks, his fucking haphazardly hot. I could hear him grunting, and imagined him staring at all those other Masters, showing off what he owned.
Finally, with a hot groan, Master Franklin came in my mouth, and as I struggled to swallow his huge load down properly, the hulk behind me finished in my cunt. I moaned with an uncontrollable orgasm as he spurted hard against my g-spot and into my unprotected pussy. But even as I shivered and took in his cum, my cunt spasming and my throat soaked with fresh jizz, a new man entered my sloppy wet mouth and began to fuck it with his hard cock right away. I reached out to try and ask him to slow down, just even slightly, but as I did my hands wrapped around one cock and then another—two others who wanted a turn and did not want to wait. Master Franklin had trained me well in the art of giving a fast, eager handjob. As the new Master fucked my mouth like it was the cunt of one of his finest slaves, I stroked the other two Masters with eager frenzy.
Behind me, someone tried to enter—but was pushed aside.
“I want to watch her do this,” said Master Franklin.
He was hard again already, and pushed inside my slippery moist, tight cunt with ease. It made me quiver with lust, my body full of cum, to think of him so hard just as watching me fuck other men for him.
Just like always, he fucked me expertly, entering my body with supreme confidence and immediately pushing the tip of his huge cock against my most needy spots. My cum-wet cunt wrapped perfectly around his cock, and I felt my need for him grow and grow as his cock got harder and harder inside of me.
“Fuck, she's so good,” said the Master I sucked.
“You really have a treasure here, Franklin,” said another, I think one that I was stroking.
My heart swelled with pride.
The men must have been announcing their inability to hold back any longer, because soon after they said their kind compliments, they began to unload together all over my face and down my throat. Their thick hot streams ran down my forehead, my chin, my lips, covering me in that hot precious white goo that I had learned to base my entire life around.
Watching the three men spray their cum on my face at once, Franklin finally emptied himself into me. Another hot load into my willing, needy fertile belly. His creampie of perfect white jizz felt so amazing inside of my cunt. I came with him, unable to stop myself. I was just a good slave, and a slave cums whenever her Master does.
For a few, sad moments, I was empty, and I was afraid it was all going to stop. But thankfully, I was wrong—it was just taking time for new Masters to slide forward and to give me the gift of their wonderful cocks. And so even as full of cum as I was, the Masters closed in on my slave body, sliding their hard cocks around my mouth and then into my cunt.
I was ready for them. I was ready for anything.
I would be my Master’s perfect slave.
* * * * *
The front door was still open, there in front of me. Behind me, in the kitchen, I heard my fellow slaves fussing over the amount of cinnamon to toss into the morning’s bread. Very soon, I would have to tell them to quit and just get the job done. That was the most important thing. They need to come to recognize my authority in such matters, and there was no time like the present.
Before I did, though, I closed the door to the open world, feeling a small rush as I did so. The car with its keys was no longer in sight, and all thoughts of the horrors of freedom and exit from blissful servitude totally gone.
There was no other world than this one, to me. I was in my place, made to serve, and I would be here for as long as I pleased my Master.
# # #
Sold! Owned By The Man of the House
In a small sun room on my Trainer's estate, I sat across from another indoctrinate named Silah, the two of us fingering our pussies. We were both naked and covered in sweat, having been at this pleasurable exercise for hours now. The heels of our feet were pressed against one another, and we were instructed to focus on the bliss-inducing technique of the woman across from us. The idea was that no woman knew how to pleasure anyone quite so well as she knew how to pleasure herself. With intense, pleasure-fueled study of another’s methods, we might be better able to please others still.
All of a slave's life was devoted to pleasure. So much the better for us, then, that we were able to experience so much of it ourselves.
Silah kept two fingers slid up into her cunt, pushing up against the base of her clit, while she rubbed her thumb slowly around her moist pearl. As our heels pressed against one another, our knees slid lower and lower to the ground. Both of us had started with somewhat bad alignment and posture, many months before. I could barely sit up straight without exhausting myself, and I could no more let my knees touch the floor when in this position than I could build a ray of sunlight.
But time and dedication netted every sort of result that true service required. Now, I sat up straight, my gently toned abdominal muscles holding my weight perfectly, even with my 36D tits bouncing slightly on my chest. My tits were braless, of course, and so were Silah's smaller, but still quite firm, breasts. After so many hours of exercise and months of practicing, my knees remained flat on the floor, as did my calves and thighs, and I stared straight into Silah’s beautiful blue eyes. She was a Yoron, and so pale of skin and deeply red of hair, her body soft and supple even after her many months of training.
I myself was Talneshan, with sun-kissed bronze skin, deep dark eyes, and long, sweeping chestnut-colored hair.
The two of us chanted at one another, adoring our perfect servitude.
“Service is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience. Obedience is Life. Life is Service. Service is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience. Obedience is Life. Life is Service. Service...”
And on and on. In the nature of chants, there was much repetition, and as we fingered ourselves and came, again and again, writhing with pleasure, we never broke our repetition or our timing. Our voices, always, were in perfect unison; we even wracked with orgasm at the same time, so that the gentle catches of our voice on our waves of bliss matched one another.
I knew Silah better than I knew most anyone; even so, I had not exchanged any words with her outside of our chant. This was the way of the Guild of Service. This is what the process required—the perfect method by which all indoctrinates are transformed into obedient, willing, happy slaves who would do anything their Master or Mistress asks, no matter how large or extreme an order. For us, nothing was taboo or off-limits. Nothing was forbidden, so long as we were able to obey.
Kana, one of my Trainer’s favored slaves, walked into the sun room. She was of Imperial Hundret origin, like Trainer Cochran. Her smooth black skin was shiny and gorgeous, her dark hair shaved close in the traditional style of their Empire.
We were not in Hundret now—Trainer Cochran made his home in Talnesha. But everyone liked to be reminded of their homes, where they come from.
Little did I know just then just how reminded of home I was going to be.
“Leandra?” said Kana. “You’ve been called to the estate.”
Slowly, I stopped my chanting. Like a stretch, an obedience chant with a fellow slave is not something you can simply withdraw from right away. Rather, y
ou must ease your way out of it, slowing your breaths, carefully timing your voice so that it matches that of your partner.
Silah and I locked eyes, smiling with one another. We both could not wait until later, when we were allowed to lick one another wordlessly in our shared cell. Over the last few months, I had grown to adore her pussy, her breasts, the soft nape of her neck, the way her hips locked so sexily when she came. Before I was enslaved, before the process started, I did not think very much of women or even men in a sexual way.
Now, though, my need for cock was overwhelming at times, and the only thing that could sate me when I was not allowed to gorge on Trainer Cochran’s masterful meat was the pussy of Silah, or any other woman who I was so blessedly allowed to adore.
As our chant and exercise finally stopped, the words of Kana began to process, and I made sure that my response was precise and polite, like a good girl.
“The estate?” My voice was soft and supplicating, though I was puzzled. “Is there something wrong, Madam?”
“I did not question. You know that. Now, come along.”
I nodded, trying to show my eager and quick acquiescence. It wouldn’t do at this stage to suddenly develop a streak of stubbornness. Then, I’d never be sold, and never fulfill the one function in life that any good indoctrinate knows—to provide a profit for her Trainer.
It was mere days from the Fall Auction, and I had been fully trained for weeks now. I eagerly obeyed every order my Master gave me, and I knew that my appearance was in more than proper order.
Trainer Cochran was my Master, at least for the time being. I was to refer to him, while speaking, as nothing else. As such, he was also my Owner. He had been delegated the duty of processing me for the Guild of Service, of which he was a member. Every member of the Guild of Service (a great many Masters and Mistresses) were required every year to process a certain number of slaves to allow for certain privileges in society. Many of the Masters and Mistresses simply enjoyed training slaves, full stop, and so were happy to process as many as possible. Others enjoyed the abilities their status as Guild Members gave them in transactions of trade or political power.
Trainer Cochran was one of those Masters who found plenty of enjoyment in simply training and owning slaves. He had dedicated his life to it, and it showed in the results with me, a normal Talneshan eighteen year-old transformed into a veritable sexpot in just about a quarter of a year.
It was a delight to be found pretty enough to be a slave. I had enjoyed enough of the process to know that for true. My hair, a deep red-tinged chestnut color, had lengthened out past my shoulders, flowing in lovely locks. My eyes, which always had been a bright and inviting dark brown, now were somewhat more sultry and sparkling even as they were full of unquestioning obedience.
My body, which under Trainer Cochran’s care was often not covered with much at all—unless you happen to count very tall heels as a manner of covering (I do not, though they are wonderful decorations)—was in better shape than it had ever been. Our diet was quite restricted, and we were given just enough calories to sustain the activities that we needed to do for the day.
It has been my experience that it is the diet, much more than any exercise, that determines the nature of someone’s fit appearance. And so, even though our days were full of exercise—afternoon-long sessions of yoga, hour-long squats, days full of crunches and push-ups, and of course, all the furious fucking that Trainer Cochran gifted us with—I still feel it was our diet that enabled my body to be as slender and toned as it had become.
She led me up out of the training house and through the estate of Trainer Cochran. Trainer Cochran believed his slaves ought to be the image of civility—they should be elegant, eager, and happy, fully-educated in the finer manners of noble life. When you bought a slave from Cochran, you knew that you were gaining a companion who could easily discourse with you on matters of philosophy and history, even as she lovingly stroked your cock and called you a King among men.
His estate was rather small, considering the large amount of slaves he held. Mostly, we slaves were partitioned off to a guest house behind his own house. His own house was actually rather small in comparison. He had room enough for hosting small get-togethers, and to have rooms for his three favored slaves, along with bathrooms for all and a kitchen. The rather large guest house had a double-sized kitchen to provide all the food necessary for the slaves and also several layers of housing for the different layers of training each slave needed. There were levels in the house for diplomatic training, intellectual training, and sexual training. All were equally important, according to Cochran.
For me, though, only the sexual training was most important in the end.
We passed through the small garden between the guest house and Master Cochran's home. The azaleas bloomed, sprinkling their soft petals down all across the small stone path leading to the house.
“I love that slip on you, Madam,” I said.
I did, in point of fact. Her lithe, nimble young body was gorgeous, and the soft violet of her slip contrasted incredibly with the deep ebony of her remarkably smooth skin.
It was a slave’s duty to admire other slaves—particularly when that slave was higher up on the hierarchy. Though Trainer Cochran had many slaves in his house at any one time, the amount of slaves he actually owned were only three: Kana, Keelah, and Sidone. Kana was his most recent acquisition, but still he had owned her for more than a year. Even if he had owned her for only a matter of hours, however, she still would have had rank over me, an indoctrinate.
“Thank you, Leandra. You’re very kind. Sister Keelah honored me with it. She sews, you know.”
“I have heard, Madam”
Sister Keelah, like many of a Master’s favorite slaves, did not dally around with the inductees very often. Instead, she spent her days crafting all manner of methods to please her Master—be it sewing beautiful clothing for his other servants, planning banquets, or arranging special visitors who might heighten his pleasure.
As we approached the upper entrance to the house, walking up stone stairs leading to a balcony there, a girl walked by us, a helplessly blank look on her lovely face. There was nothing in her eyes—nothing of personality or spark. Just simple, blind obedience. She was utterly defeated, utterly broken. In the pale light of the day, she seemed almost like a ghost.
“Par-don-me-Mis-tress,” she said, stepping past Kana. “So-ve-ry-sor-ry-to-step-here.”
Her voice was robotic, almost, completely void of emotion or care. I watched her walk past us. She was clearly not of Master Cochran’s favored slaves, and yet she walked around completely unaccompanied, which was unheard of, in my experience.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked.
“Regina? They used the device on her,” said Kana.
“The device?”
“Yes. Don’t you know?”
I shook my head, luscious silken locks sliding gracefully around my face.
“When a slave is disobedient, it’s what they use to guarantee she’s compliant. She’ll never have a single thought again outside of serving her Master. She won't be very creative when it comes to her service, of course, but that's hardly important.”
“They can do that?”
“Of course. We are property. It is our responsibility to be good property.”
“I...o-of course.” I gulped slowly. “It must be so nice for her, to never have to quell a disobedient thought.”
“Indeed.”
Kana’s indulgent smile let me know I had replied in the correct manner. And yet all the same, I worried about Regina and the implications she held. I rather liked my ability to be creative in my obedience to my Master.
More reason than ever to be as obedient as possible, I decided firmly.
Kana led me in his house into the dining room, where he sat at one edge of the table, reviewing a series of very serious-looking papers. Papers and reading were such hard, difficult things to understand for a slave like me. It w
as better not to even try.
Trainer Cochran was a tall, black man; as a former member of Imperial Hundret, it was somewhat unusual how he resided now in Talnesha. Talneshan politics and society were notoriously xenophobic—almost every year there was some nature of societal scare regarding Brickhill immigrants or Berokian spies.
Kana had told me stories of how he had to train slaves for the Talneshan Parliament for more than a dozen years before they allowed him his citizenship and the ability to own his own slaves for him to keep. In that time, he had managed to make a science out of his methods, and my perfect obedience now was a result of that science.
“Hello, Slave Leandra.”
He gestured toward Kana, indicating that she leave. I knelt down, letting my forehead touch the floor before him.
“Greetings, Honored Master. I am so very lucky to have been brought into your presence.”
As my eyes were focused, obediently, on the floor, I could not see him smile. But, I did hear him laugh.
“Yes, I suppose you are. Assume second position.”
Obediently as ever, I retreated backward, my thighs sliding back onto my calves and my ass onto my heels. Still, my eyes remained deferent, looking closer to his chest than his face.
“You may witness, slave.”
Gulping briefly, I let out a happy sigh, admiring his handsome face as he had allowed me.
“Your service here has been brief, but valuable, I should say. You have learned quickly.”
I smiled brightly. “Thank you, Master. I am glad to have pleased you.”
I was glad to be complimented. Hearing my Owner praise me was like feeling the tongue of a lover upon my clit, sliding gently over the nub and sending thrills of bliss through my body.
“Do you enjoy your service thus far?”
It was a puzzling question. My many days of subjection to the process meant that I could have no answer but “yes,” but it wasn’t as if that fact was lost on Cochran.
“Of course, Master.”
“That is good. You should know, you’ve been rather a pleasure to interact with. Your submission was much more natural and well-inclined than most. You know your place.”
The Sold For Service Bundle Page 5
