The Lost Bet
by Bridget
Part 2

It was just over a year ago that I agreed to become a slave. It was at Thanksgiving when Jack made me pay off the bet we had made on a football game. Looking back at it now, I could strongly argue that I actually won by losing. Master had known me better than I knew myself. Back then, I was trying to live up to some notion of the ideal woman. But that notion was false and I freely admit that I was born to be a slave and I am delighted that I was able to become one at a relatively early age. Today I am thankful that I didn’t have to play an unnatural role, at least for me an unnatural one, for years with all of the unavoidable mental games it entailed. But I am probably getting ahead of myself because when I agreed to become a slave, a real slave twenty-four hours per day and seven days per week, I had no idea what that meant or the process I still had to go through to reach the point where I can openly admit to others who I really am.

Initially, my slavery was to last through a four day weekend over Thanksgiving. But about halfway through, Master confronted me with an all or nothing proposition. He could no longer live the lie and deny his dominant nature so he forced me to choose between slavery and leaving him. At that time, I was so in love with him that the idea of leaving was really unacceptable so I chose slavery. Master has taught me the meaning of my slavery over and over during this last year and I not only accept it, I revel in it. So now, early in January, just fourteen months after submitting myself, Master and I are about to be married. Marriage won’t change my status as his property without any control over my life. In fact, it will be more like a submission ceremony than a marriage ceremony. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When I told Master that I would accept enslavement rather than leave him, he took me out to the living room and had me kneel in front of him while he sat down in an easy chair. He said he wanted to make sure I understood what was involved and that he would give me one more chance to back out after we talked.

“I want you to understand,” he began, “that if you do this, it is revocable only by me. There are some in the community that maintain that the woman always has a choice to stay or go, but I won’t accept that. You lose all ability to make decisions about your life when you submit, including the decision to end your slavery.

“Second, I want you to understand that I will not hesitate to punish you when you make mistakes. You have already felt the whip, but there are a variety of other things that I could impose on you that would cause you mental or physical pain, or both. When that happens, and I say when not if because no one is perfect and you will make mistakes, you may regret your decision. Whatever regrets you do have are yours and yours alone. You will live and, perhaps, suffer with them.

“Finally, I want you to know deep in your soul, that you are property, like any other thing that can be owned. Even your name could be changed if I so desire. I may decide some time in the future to rename you, or even withhold a name from you. In the latter case, you would then just be a nameless slave. I am sure you don’t understand how much of your identity is tied to your name. I am permitting you to use the name Maggie now because it suits me. But that could change in the future. Because you are property, I may decide to mark you in a way that makes it plain to you and anyone else that you are owned by me.

“On the flip side, I will care for you and protect you. You may interpret that as love if you wish, but you also might want to consider that I do it to preserve the value of my property, which is probably more accurate.”

He stopped talking and left me alone with my thoughts for a few moments. Just two days ago I was in a happy, loving heterosexual relationship and now I was willing to submit to slavery for the rest of my life. Can a person really change that fast or was there something else going on? I was seeing a side of Master that he hadn’t shown before but there was something about it that really did appeal to me. Do all women desire strong men, men to possess and protect them? Was there something about the dynamic of a master-slave relationship that I wanted or needed in my life? Over the years, when I was confused, I would always let my subconscious take over and help me make the decision. Some would call that intuition or hunches, but I thought of it as letting my subconscious mind integrate all the variables that my conscious mind could not. So I closed my eyes and relaxed as I saw myself living as a slave. And when I did that, I saw myself as happy. Something must have changed in my body language or facial expression because immediately Master said that he could see I had reached a decision.

“Yes, Master. I am yours to do with as you please.”

So that is how I made the transition to slave. Several things happened over the next several weeks. First, I resigned my teaching job without notice. Normally, I would never have done that, but that is what Master told me to do and it wasn’t like I was going to need references anytime soon.

Master’s house had four bedrooms with one of them converted to a home office. He outfitted the third bedroom as slave quarters. He removed the carpet and pad, exposing the concrete foundation, and he applied concrete to the walls and ceiling. He replaced the ceiling fan with an electric hoist and installed a steel post that ran from floor to ceiling that had rings welded on a various heights. He built a cage from steel bars that was three feet high, four feet long, and about three feet wide. The floor of the cage was elevated about three inches off the floor and he fashioned a pan from tin that fit under it to catch waste and spilled food and water. One wall had hooks from one corner to the other on which he hung various chains, restraints, and whips. When the room was complete, Master added two pieces of exercise equipment; a treadmill and a weight machine. I worked out every day under Master’s direction. He was careful with my diet and exercises. He wanted me fit and toned but he didn’t want me to lose that layer of fat that all women have that softens sharp angles into smooth curves.

Another thing Master did was give away all of my clothes except for the dress I had worn to the mall, a pair of sandals, an overcoat, and the red silk I had worn as a reward. Later, he added one more garment to my wardrobe. It was white cotton fashioned like a halter top that tied behind my neck except it came to just below my bottom and had a deep V that plunged to the red cord I used as a belt in front. Also, the sides of the garment were slit up to my hips so what covered my pussy and bottom were really flaps. That does not mean that I did not spend any time outside, however. Master had a new, higher fence installed in the back yard to help ensure privacy. Master objected to the tan lines from the bikinis I wore so each day he came home for lunch and I spent time staked out naked in the grass; spending half the time on my back and half the time on my stomach. Master arranged the four stakes in the ground to keep me spread-eagled with my open legs pointing toward the morning or afternoon sun depending on the time of day that I was allowed out. Within a few weeks, the tan lines were gone and I had acquired an all-over tan, not very dark but enough that someone would know I had spent time in the sun. After that, I spent time staked out every weekend to maintain my coloration.

I was allowed out for one other thing, grocery shopping. At first, Master came with me and walked with me through the aisles. Then he began waiting in the front of the store while I shopped alone. Finally, he let me go on my own, giving me cash and a list before I left. I think he did this because he saw I wasn’t getting harassed by anyone about my collar and cuffs. He did instruct me that if anyone asked why I was wearing them I was to explain that I was a slave and that my Master liked them on me. The first time I was asked, I barely got the words out in an almost inaudible whisper. At first, I wore the dress Master kept. About four months later, when I got the white cotton garment, he made me wear that. But by that time, I was so comfortable with myself and my slavery that it did not embarrass me; it excited me to be seen in it. At that point, Master threw away the dress and the cotton shift became my outside clothes. Also I became more self-assured with my responses to the questions of others and stopped whispering the response, not caring if others overheard or not.

Then there was my training. Master arranged for a belly dancer to come to the house to teach it to me. When making the arrangements, Master explained to the instructor the nature of our relationship and made sure the instructor, a woman, would not be offended by my nudity or cuffs and collar. She came two evenings a week and Master required me to practice every day. Although she was ostensibly teaching me belly dancing, she was also skilled at ballet and taught me several kinds of moves unrelated to belly dancing. One thing that I was required to do, and it bothered me a lot at first, was address her as Mistress. I don’t know what the difference was but when I was with her, I constantly felt inferior to her, somewhat less than human. I had experienced something like that with Master but not nearly as strong as when I was with her. She was constantly putting her hands on me to show me how to move my hips, arms, hands, legs, and feet. Master attended the first several sessions and when I did not learn things fast enough to suit him, he used a riding crop on whatever part of my body was exposed, except for my face. After several sessions, the instructor understood that I would accept the blows as correction so Master gave her the crop to use and stopped attending. She became proficient with it and I am certain that it made me work harder than ever because she seemed to use it somewhat more frequently than Master did. But as I learned, I was struck less and less. After about ten weeks, she declared that she could do no more for me. She arranged a demonstration for Master in which I danced for about thirty minutes, showing off a variety of dance movements.

After learning belly dancing, Master arranged to have a masseur come to the house to teach me massage. Again, he explained our situation and made sure it would not offend the teacher. But this pushed my boundaries a step further because my instructor was male and I was required to address him as Master. The masseur brought his own table the first couple of times until a folding massage table that Master had ordered arrived. In addition to learning several types of massage, I was also taught anatomy, at least the part of it dealing with the muscles and skeleton. This training went on longer, almost six months. Most of the time Master was the person I worked on but as my training advanced, I also worked on my instructor. It took me awhile to overcome my fear of touching another, almost naked man. But eventually I came to understand that it was my role to give pleasure to others and this was just another way of accomplishing that. After I was trained, I gave Master a massage three or four times a week.

Simultaneously with the dancing and then the massage, he brought in a local chef once or twice a week (depending on the chef’s availability) to teach me gourmet cooking. For the next five months I learned everything I could about cooking, from meat and seafood to pastries. I also learned about presentation, wines, and coffees so that everything could be perfectly matched.

Once I asked Master how he could afford all of this on his engineer’s salary. He had only been out of school a few years and working for the government paid less than private industry. Surprisingly, I learned that for his senior project, he had designed a significant improvement in the controls for small planes and had sold the rights to it to plane manufacturers all over the world. Instead of selling the design outright for a fixed sum, he got a royalty every time it was used in a plane of eight hundred dollars. He told me that his annual income from the royalties was three times his salary at NASA. I was a little skeptical and wasn’t sure if he was pulling my leg so I googled airplane manufacturers, opened up a list of all the different types of civilian aircraft, and the list went on page after page. Then I googled Master’s name and found articles about the improvement he had designed.

Master installed a heavy iron ring in the floor near the center of the house. Before he left for work every morning, he would lock my ankle cuff to a chain the other end of which was locked to the ring. The chain was long enough that I could go anywhere in the house or onto the patio in back. Conceivably, I could go through the front door in an emergency but would be stopped about twenty feet down the walk.

When I was whipped, it was usually with my arms overhead attached to the electric hoist so that every part of me was open to the whip. But Master used several other punishments to control me. Once he caught me masturbating when he came home early. I hadn’t done that often, maybe once or twice a week, but I knew it wasn’t allowed. He locked my wrists behind my back and put me in the cage for two weeks. When Master finally let me out, I crawled to him and kissed his feet, promising never to do it again. And I haven’t, not because I didn’t want to but because I feared another session in the cage. Without having experienced anything like that, I don’t know if I can describe it adequately. I could not stand up and I was sitting or lying on steel bars. My muscles would cramp and I had little room to stretch them out. I was fed and received water once a day. Another time, I spilled a few drops of his drink when I got down on my knees to serve him. For that transgression, I was forced to eat my meals for the next week from a plate on the floor with my hands bound behind my back.

Some nights, when Master was very tired, I spent the night in the cage, but usually I spent it curled up on the floor next to his bed after we made love. I was still chained by my collar to the bed but now the chain was longer allowing me get off the bed and sleep on the floor. Master insisted that I wake him up every morning by taking his cock in my mouth until he came. The first several weeks, I hardly slept at night, afraid I would oversleep and his alarm would go off, which meant I hadn’t completed the task he set for me. But after a few weeks, I learned to wake up in time. I would turn the alarm off, remove the covers, and whatever position Master was sleeping in, I would get in the correct place to suck him. I had to learn to do this without waking him so the first thing he felt every morning was my mouth around him.

For the first two months of my slavery, every evening after dinner, Master had me kneel in front of a mirror while I repeated over and over again, “Maggie is a slave girl.” I had taken some basic psychology as part of the teaching program in college and I thought I recognized what Master was doing. It is a fact that human beings can not remain sane if they are conflicted about their concept of themselves. As long as half my mind struggled with the concept of being slave, I was at risk for some type of mental illness. But as I sat in front of the mirror the visual and auditory reinforcement had the desired effect. The part of my mind that struggled with the concept of being a slave surrendered and I really accepted the fact that I was no longer free. I accepted the fact that I was a slave and there was nothing I could do to change that.

And I was happy. Far from resenting what was happening to me, I embraced it. I loved Master before my slavery, but I think my slavery really deepened my love. He became my whole life and I existed to make him happy. One of my favorite authors defined love as the state in which another person’s happiness is more important than your own and I had believed that, at least intellectually. But now I really accepted it on an emotional level that I did not know existed. As I came to understand that, I fell in love all over again with Master and came to understand how shallow our previous relationship had really been. Compared to what I felt for him now, we were just roommates sharing chores and expenses with some sex thrown in.

I don’t know if I can describe what sex was like with Master because it had so much variety in it. Needless to say, he determined when and if and I was supposed to be instantly available for whatever and however he wanted it. Most of the time it was at night with me chained by the collar as I described earlier, but there were hundreds of other times that he took me in different ways. Several times it was in the backyard with me staked out, arms and legs spread wide, while tanning. Sometimes I was locked to the pole in the room with my cage and Master lifted and spread my legs, holding me up with his hands on my buttocks. Or bent over the sink in the kitchen from behind, or, well, I could go on and on. But sex wasn’t just about intercourse, either. Sometimes after dinner, Master would put on some music and I would dance for him. After dancing, he would hold me and we would talk while some quiet music played and he fondled me. Believe me, that was just as much sex to me as all of the other ways.

I should also mention that Master took me to a place for laser hair removal. I will never again have to shave my legs, underarms, or pussy.

Just after I had completed the massage training, Master had me put on the cotton shift and sandals and took me to the beach. It was about ten o’clock on a Saturday night and there were still a few groups but they were widely scattered judging from the distance between the campfires. Master spread a blanket on the sand and we sat down and watched the ocean waves crash on shore. Then we made slow, gentle love on the blanket, taking forever as we kissed and caressed each other. That was the first time I really understood the practicality of the slave garment I wore. Master had full access to my breasts because it was so loose fitting and when he entered me, he just flipped up the front flap to expose my pussy. After we rested for a few minutes in each others’ arms, Master stood up and fixed his clothing then helped me up and suggested we go for a walk. We left his shoes and my sandals by the blanket so we could walk barefoot in the sand.

We headed down the beach with my arm entwined with his and my head on his shoulder. After we walked about a hundred and fifty yards, we came upon another group with a campfire. It was two college age couples, only a few years younger than us. As we approached, they waved to us and Master steered me toward them.

“Good evening,” Master said. “I hope we aren’t disturbing you.”

“No, not at all,” offered one of the men. “Sit down and join us.”

Master sat down and I knelt down, sitting back on my heels with my knees spread and my palms up on my thighs, just the way Master had taught me on my first day of slavery. One of the women asked if that was a swimsuit I was wearing.

“No, Mistress, it is what I am allowed to wear outside the house.”

“Allowed to wear?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress. I am a slave.”

That certainly got everyone’s attention. They looked at me in silence for a few minutes then began peppering me with questions. I tried to answer but doubt that I was understood over the others’ questions. Master held up his hand and explained that we had a Master-slave relationship and that I had given up control over my life to him. One of the women asked me how I could respect myself living like that and I tried to explain that my slavery actually freed me to be a complete woman. I tried to explain how our society tried to force people, at least part of the time, in sexless roles. I was happy and fulfilled as a woman because I was required to display my sexuality at all times.

They tried to argue with me about it but I didn’t say anything for awhile and then Master interrupted again. “Perhaps a small demonstration will explain it better,” he suggested. The women stopped talking and Master asked if they had any music available. One of the men turned on a portable player and I stood up, knowing what Master wanted without being told. I undid the red cord at my waist then reached up to untie the straps behind my neck. The shift fell freely to my feet and I stepped out and began to dance for them.

For twenty minutes I danced naked by firelight in the sand to a variety of tempos and rhythms. As I danced, I saw the two other couples huddle closer together and caress each other or briefly kiss. When I finished, I collapsed in the sand, arms extended and wrists crossed with my head between my arms, panting for breath. I was drenched in sweat and my hair was a tangled mess, but unseen by them there was a smile of satisfaction on my face because I know that I had never danced with such abandon and energy before.

Finally, one of the women broke the silence. “I have been studying dance for sixteen years and I have never seen anything so beautiful.” Then they stood and applauded giving me my first, and so far only, standing ovation. Master had me put my shift back on and suggested it was time for us to go. He took me down to the water’s edge and rinsed the sand off my legs and bottom. We headed back to our blanket, packed it up and went home.

On the way home, Master asked what had gotten into me on the beach. I wasn’t sure I understand what he was asking and said so. He explained that he had never seen me so beautiful, so female before. I told him that when I was dancing, I was trying to prove something to the others; that being a woman is a wonderful thing but to truly be a woman, all pretense and expectations of society had to be shed. No woman who has not been owned could have danced as I did, but any woman who has been a slave would find it easy to do. Master nodded his agreement and asked when I had discovered that.

“I’m not so sure it was a discovery as much as an awakening, Master. I think it was more a confluence of the time and place along with my training and formation of my identity as a slave. There is something primitive about a campfire on the beach and I felt that. It was like I was transported back thousands of generations to some early time in man’s history when technology and customs did not interfere with men being men and women being women. Don’t misunderstand me, Master, I like creature comforts as much as the next woman, but for that brief time the only thing that existed for me was the music and the blood of ancient ancestors coursing through my veins trying to please their men and make themselves more desirable. I just let go and it happened. Does that make sense to you, Master?”

“It does. I am going to marry you. You will still be a slave, but we will be wed.”

“Master, I am yours. You don’t have to marry me to keep me.”

“I know that yet we will marry. Not because I want a piece of paper, and not because it will make it easier for me to keep you. I want it because it feels right to me.” He couldn’t explain what he meant by ‘feels right’ and I did not press him on it. Instead I interpreted it as a sign of real love for me. When we got home, he had me shower then chained me to the bed so we could make love.

It was about two weeks after that when I served a dinner party as a slave. That Saturday morning before I went to the store, Master gave me the list and extra money. I looked at the list and the money and he explained that we were having guests that night for dinner. I nodded my head in acknowledgment and left for the store. While I was going up and down the aisles, my mind wandered to the party that night. Normally I could read the grocery list once and remember well enough that I could pick things out as I passed them. But I found myself doubling back several times for items I had missed. ‘Get hold of yourself,’ I thought and I imagined Master watching me wandering around half lost in the store. I focused on the task at hand and completed my shopping.

When I got home, I stripped in the garage and brought the groceries in and put them away. On the counter was the dinner menu and instructions to have everything ready at seven o’clock. He also said that the guests would be arriving around six for cocktails. It was only about ten o’clock when I finished putting the groceries away so I went to the office and found Master working at the computer. Normally, I would just have knelt down beside him and put my head on his leg but this time I interrupted his work.

“Master, may I ask a question?” He turned his chair to me and nodded that I could ask him the question. “You haven’t told me how many for dinner.”

“Two other couples, little slave.”

“Will I be nude while serving, Master?”

His face broke into a big smile and then he chuckled a little. “Worried about your modesty, slave?”

“No, Master,” I answered laughing. “You know your slave has no modesty. You took it from her with her freedom. But I should wash the shift if I am to wear it and it affects how I do my hair and make-up.”

He laughed even louder at that then told me to wear the red silk before turning back to his work.

Before preparing dinner, I cleaned the house and checked the china and silver to make sure everything was clean. About three o’clock, I started making dinner and had everything under control by 5:30. All that was left to do would be done between six thirty and seven, including cooking the fish, vegetables, and rice for the main course.

I showered and fixed my hair and make-up, then knotted the belt that held the red silk at my hip. At six twenty I went back to the kitchen and began the final preparations so that everything would be ready at seven o’clock. As always when I wore the red silk, it made me more conscious of my nudity. Although, technically, I was clothed, the semi-transparent silk hid nothing and the constant feel of the silk against my thighs, particularly the inner part of my leg as it moved with me when I walked, was a reminder of how my body was exposed and on display for others.

As Master’s guests arrived, I was summoned from the kitchen and took their drink requests. Master had a full bar in the family room with just about everything anyone would want. It also had a copy of the Mr. Boston bar guide in case someone asked for something that I did not knowhow to make. Almost everyone opted for martinis, except for one woman who wanted white wine. When I served them, I did it the same way I served Master, offering myself as well as the drink. After giving one woman her drink, she told me to stand and place my hands behind my head, and then she had me turn around while she inspected me. I pulled my elbows back as far as I could, thrusting out my breasts and kept my back straight as I slowly turned for her. I had known that something like this would happen when Master told me were having guests and I thought I would be more upset by it than I was. I was beautiful and I knew it and Master knew it. In both our opinions, my bondage made me even more beautiful. It was my role to give pleasure and if people got pleasure from looking at me, it was incumbent upon me to maximize the experience for them. So without a hint of shame or humiliation, I let her inspect me. After I had made a complete circle, she set her glass down and stood up. She walked around me and brushed her fingers up and down my side, across my bottom, and around to my breasts. She used her fingernail to flick my nipple as I held stock still with my hands still held behind my head.

“She is lovely, Jack. You must be very proud of her,” she said to Master. He nodded, accepting the compliment. It should be noted that the compliment was directed at Jack. As his property, he would receive the kudos for my appearance and performance. One, I have learned, would no more compliment a slave than one would a chair. Instead, the owner of the chair is complimented on his taste or the comfort of the chair.

I turned to Master and asked permission to return to the kitchen. With his nod of ascent, I hurried off. At precisely seven o’clock I went back to the living room and informed Master that it would be my pleasure to dinner to his guests. They adjourned to the dinning room and as soon as everyone was seated, I brought out the soup, lobster bisque, and ladled it into their bowls. Before serving each guest, I curtsied and asked their permission to serve them, addressing them as Master or Mistress.

Jack had decided that I would not kneel to each guest because the serving would take too long and I had other things to do. As I continued to serve dinner, I was often fondled and caressed by the guests. It felt good to have so many people touching me and I responded naturally, not trying to repress my response. When they finished desert, they went into the living room where I served coffee. After everyone was served, Jack had me pose for them. He would call out a position and I would hold it until he called out another. It was like a dance in slow motion as I moved from one position to the next. After about twenty minutes, one of the women called me over and pulled me into her lap. She began kissing my shoulder as her hand pushed aside my silk so she could touch my pussy. At first, she just used her nails around my slit but soon she put her finger inside me and kissed me on the mouth while she fingered me. Within a few minutes, I had my first orgasm of the evening, breaking off the kiss and crying out in pleasure as my body twitched.

Jack stood up and helped me out of her lap. He undid the knot at my hip, letting the silk fall to the floor. Then he took me back to the room with the cage and chained my collar to the pole on a low ring so I could not stand up. He put a blindfold over my eyes and chained my wrists behind my back. Shortly after that, one of the men came into the room and I heard him drop his pants in front of me. He guided my head to his cock and I sucked him until he came in my throat. Next was one of the women and I performed cunnilingus on her, then the other man, and finally the last woman.

After that, I was left alone for about thirty minutes. Jack came back and took the blindfold off and unchained me from the pole. I stood up and pressed myself into him, kissing him on the mouth. When the kiss was finally over, I put my arms around his neck and asked him if I had made him proud.

“You did well, tonight, little slave. I wasn’t sure if you were ready for this but I hoped you were. And you did magnificently. Your Master is proud of you.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Now go clean up the kitchen and let me know when you finish.”

An hour and half later, with all of the dishes clean and put away, I went from room to room looking for Master. I found him asleep on the bed, still dressed. I managed to take off his shoes and socks without waking him but I was afraid if I did more, he would wake up. So that night, for the first time, I chained myself to the bed before getting down on the floor with my small, thin blanket and going to sleep.

After that, Master would have a dinner party every four to six weeks. I never had intercourse with any of the men, but I did perform oral sex on the men and women. One time, one of the women brought her female slave. She knelt next to her Mistress the entire evening until the guests were in the living room after dinner. The she and I were ordered to make love on the floor for the entertainment of the guests. For about an hour, we kept doing each other over and over in different positions and sometimes using our mouths and sometimes our hands.

I’ve tried to explain how I have developed as a slave over the last year. When I think about the me who was free, the shy school teacher, it is hard for me to believe we are the same person. In my psyche, she is but a memory but I know that I came from her. Master and I are getting married next weekend in a special type of ceremony. I think about what would have happened if I had never suggested the bet that led to my slavery, but I think things would have turned out very similar. If I hadn’t created the opportunity with the bet, Master would have found some way to enslave me and, thereby, freeing me from myself.

My wedding was really a submission ceremony. We have a marriage license, there was a justice of the peace and witnesses, and we even had a band and a reception afterwards. But that is about all it had in common with a traditional wedding. I know it was nothing like I dreamed of when I was a little girl. But I’ll explain it all later.

Since I had only been out of college for a couple of years, Master asked me who I was going to invite. Of course, this was before I knew what he was planning. I had exchanged emails with college friends from time to time, but I really wasn’t close to anyone. Same for the people I had worked with at the school; I hadn’t really stayed in touch with anyone there so there wasn’t anyone I felt strongly enough about to really care if they came or not. Master said that I would have to explain to them about being enslaved before I invited anyone but that I still had time to think about it. As it turned out, I decided against asking anyone because Master had become my whole life over the last year. It wasn’t that I would feel embarrassed about talking about being a slave to anyone because slavery was such an integral part of my identity by this time that nothing that happened to me could cause me to be humiliated. I accepted whatever happened to me and whatever commands I was given happily because that is just the way it works. So we ended up with about twenty guests, almost all of whom I had met by the time of the ceremony. Of course that doesn’t count the slaves that accompanied the guests.

One of Master’s friends had a farm outside of Jacksonville and he decided that it would be a good place for the wedding. If the weather was bad, we could move things into the barn but the plan was to have the ceremony outside if at all possible. If you don’t know anything about northern Florida, there was an equal chance of 40 degrees and 75 degrees in Jacksonville in January. We would just have to wait and see. As it turned out, the weather was terrific, about 68 degrees at the time of the ceremony and bright, sunny skies. Because the farm house was set well back from the road, and the property had a fence, there was no danger of passing motorists seeing what was happening in the yard.

The chairs were set up between the barn and the house in the yard. There was space between each of the chairs for a slave to kneel down next to his or her master or mistress. There was a platform set up in front of the chairs which was where the ceremony took place. It was raised about three feet off the ground and had five steps leading up to it. The only item on the platform was a type of rack. It was shaped like an inverted Y out of steel. The stem of the Y, which was pointed up, curved backward. At different points on the rack were bands that were clearly meant to keep a person locked to the rack. Near the top of the stem were bands to hold wrists, where the stem and arms came together there was another one that went around the waist, then one for each thigh and one for each ankle on the arms. From the back of the stem there was another steel bar that formed a third contact point with the platform, keeping the rack stable. Behind the platform there was a fire burning in a pit. Around the lawn, tables had been set up where the food would be served.

Just before the ceremony, Master removed my collar and cuffs. It was the first time I had them off since I became Master’s slave. “You will be wearing a new collar soon enough,” he told me. “But I want you to understand, with the removal of your collar, I also removed your name. You are nothing but a nameless slave right now.”

I swallowed hard, nodded, and lowered my head before him. The psychological impact of having my name removed from me was intense. I never realized how much of my identity was tied up in my name. For all of my years, I had been Maggie and that had always been a certainty, an anchor, no matter what else happened to me. Now I didn’t even have that. It was the first time since submitting to Master that I felt less than human; I felt myself to be an animal. Master went on to explain that during the ceremony, I was to respond to him in whatever way I thought was appropriate. I barely heard his words because I was still processing the fact that I was now nameless.

Master had me extend my wrists and he tied them with a leather strap in a way that left a four foot length that he could use as a leash to lead me. He told me to test the bonds to see if I could remove them. I pulled and twisted my wrists for about thirty seconds and the strap held me just as firmly. He indicated I was to stop and then he led me from the house, down the aisle, and up to the platform. All of the slaves were naked or nearly so. The five male slaves there wore chastity devices on their cocks that prevented an erection and all were tethered in some way, either to stakes in ground or to the chairs used by their owners and had their hands bound behind their backs so that they could not undo the tethers.

There were three men waiting for us there, one of whom was the justice of the peace who would perform the ceremony although that isn’t quite right. He never spoke the entire time; he was there merely to sign the marriage license after the ceremony. The other two men were to be the witnesses who also signed it. On the platform, Master turned sideways to the guests and had me turn to face him. Then he pointed to the floor of the platform and I knelt before him.

“Do you agree to become my property?” he asked.

“Yes, Master.”

“To enslave yourself to me for as long as I choose to keep you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“To obey me and serve my pleasure in whatever way I demand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Who owns you, slave?”

“You do, Master.”

“Whose collar do you crave?”

“Yours, Master.”

He took my new collar from underneath his jacket where it had been tucked into his belt. It was similar to my old one except the steel had a red enamel coating and the lack of a ring. He came behind me and placed it around my throat and then used an allen wrench to tighten the set screw, locking it around my neck. He had me stand then nodded to the two men who took me by the arms and placed me in the rack. In seconds I was secured so tightly that I could only move my head. My arms were stretched high above my head and because of the curve of the bar, my body was bowed outward. My legs were held immovable by the bands around my ankles and thighs and my body was secured by the band across my hips. Master left the platform behind at the back and walked over to the fire pit. I turned my head to watch him as he removed something from the fire. As he came back up the steps in the back of the platform, my eyes opened wide in terror. He was carrying a branding iron. I was about to be branded.

The brand glowed whitely at the end of the iron. I started shaking my head back and forth, trying to negate what was about to happen to me, but without hesitating, Master pressed the hot iron into my thigh for about five seconds while I screamed the screams of the damned. As the hot iron burned into my flesh, I felt like he was holding it there for hours instead of just a few seconds. When he removed it and threw it to the ground away from the platform I continued my screaming then began sobbing as the pain in my leg slowly subsided.

Master knelt to examine the brand, a cursive S, then stood and nodded his satisfaction. One by one, the other guests came up to the platform and examined my new mark. Some of them, both men and women fondled my breasts or cupped my pussy with their hands. Despite the pain in my leg, I responded to their touch as a slave should, demonstrating for them my own need for gratification. Looking back at it now, I marvel at the job Master did in training me. With my leg burning, tears running down my face and gasping as I sobbed, I was still able to react the way Master wanted me to when intimately touched.

After everyone had examined my brand, the two men who had put me in the rack turned it so that I could see the tables. The slaves were released from their tethers and they went to the house and began serving the guests. After everyone ate, Master brought me some food and water and had me eat while still bound to the rack. By now the pain in my leg had become a dull, throbbing ache, uncomfortable, but bearable. As he fed me, several of the guests were getting ready to leave. Before they did, they would come up to the platform and congratulate Master. Most of them had their slaves in tow with some kind of leash, often for the male slaves the leash was attached to a loop around their testicles. As they said their goodbyes to Master, the male slaves were looking at me with lust in their eyes. One of the women actually slapped a slave’s penis several times, making him cry out before he lowered his eyes. After everyone had left except the owner, Master freed me from the rack and tied my hands behind my back. I knelt before him and asked permission to speak.

When he nodded, I continued. “Master, your slave begs you for a name.”

“No, little slave. You will remain nameless.”

I was crushed. With everything I had gone through for the last year, this was the first time I asked for anything for myself (other than beg for Master’s touch) and he had denied it as casually as if I asked him to pass me the newspaper. I think that it was at that moment that I understood that I was truly owned by another. It is hard to understand if you have never been through it yourself but throughout my slavery, always in the back of my mind, I thought that I could end it if I wanted. I didn’t want it to stop because it made me happy and fulfilled, but still, I thought that he would never hold me if I chose to leave. But at that moment, when he denied my request for a name, I finally understood how completely he owned me; how I was his property to do with as he pleased. If anything, I felt more enslaved than I had been.

Once we were home, Master put me in my cage and explained that I would remain there with my hands bound behind me until my brand healed. He said that it would only be a few days. It turned out to be a week before he released me. So I spent my “honeymoon” caged unable even to masturbate.

* * *

It was about a year later that we moved.

The twenty guests at my submission ceremony pooled their resources and bought an 800 acre ranch near Davie in south Florida. The purchase was made soon after my submission ceremony and they tore down the existing buildings and built a new house, a mansion, really, on the property. They surrounded it with five cottages for people who desired privacy, either temporary or semi-permanently, and another building that became the slaves’ quarters. When I say that they pooled their resources, that included me and the other slaves; we became the common property of the owners of the property. They put their remaining money into an investment portfolio that was managed by one of the owners. Master became the chief engineer for the property and designed many of the systems that went into making the compound as trouble free as possible.

The male slaves kept up the grounds and tended a garden with vegetables and fruit trees. The female slaves worked in the house, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and occasionally in the garden. None of the owners held jobs so they were free to pursue whatever interests they choose. And of course, as slaves, we were used by whoever wanted to use us. Once I was kept chained in one of the owner's cottages for three days as he went on a non-stop orgy of pleasure that included sex, haute cuisine prepared by me in the cottage’s kitchen, sensuous massage, and my dancing for him.

It was rare, but occasionally one of the slaves had to be punished. Usually it was one of the male slaves who looked upon his mistress or one of the female slaves the wrong way but sometimes one of the female slaves required punishment for some infraction. This normally took place in slave quarters and consisted of a whipping. It happened to me twice the first year after we moved. However one time, one of the female slaves struck a free woman in anger. She was placed in a large cage that also held the five male slaves. I saw at once that they had had their chastity devices removed. She spent three days in that cage, being raped hundreds of times by the male slaves. By the end of the first day, she was hoarse from screaming. When she was finally allowed to crawl from the cage (she was incapable of walking) she dragged herself unbidden over to the woman she had struck and kissed her feet as she begged for forgiveness.

After a year at the compound, Master pulled me away from my work. I no longer thought of him as “my Master,” but just as one of my masters. My ownership was by the group, not just one person. I think all of the slaves came to see things the same way, some more quickly than others, but eventually we all gave up whatever emotional attachment we had to our original owner. No, that isn’t exactly correct, we didn’t give it up, we transferred it. I can honestly say that I felt no different with him than I did with any of the others.

When Master told me that it was time for me to bear a child, I jumped up and threw my hands around his neck and kissed him. He laughed as I almost knocked him over in my exuberance. When I calmed down, he explained the decision the owners of the compound had made. It had started when one of the women owners decided she wanted a baby. There was nothing said about pregnancy in the covenant they had all signed when they pooled their resources so they held a meeting to work out the details of how the child would be raised and worked out several rules.

1.All children born of women owners would be free.
2.All male children born of male owners and female slaves would be free.
3.All female children born of slaves would be raised as slaves.
4.All male children born of male and female slaves would be raised as slaves.

I heard him but all I could think about was having a baby. My maternal instincts had started kicking in several months ago as I imagined being pregnant and having a baby to raise. All I could do was ask him when we would start making the baby.

“I am not going to be the father of your first child, little slave.”

“Who will be, Master?”

“We are going to breed you to one of the male slaves.”

I looked at him quizzically for a few moments, then lowered my eyes and said, “Whatever Master wishes.” Master ordered me to report to our physician who was one of the owners.

So a couple of weeks later, I was fastened into what the slaves called the rape rack for three days. I and the male slave that impregnated me were both hooded so we would not know with whom we had intercourse. The rape rack was designed and built by Master. It held me almost horizontally with my head slightly lower. My legs were held wide apart and my hands were bound at the sides of my head. It was designed so that the male slave would simply walk up between my legs and one of the owners would guide his penis into me because he was hooded and his hands were bound behind his back. We called it the rape rack because it was just about as loveless a way as there was to get fucked. Every six hours for three days, the male slave would ejaculate inside me. I never had an orgasm on the rack.

The male slaves were allowed relief only infrequently so they came quickly. I should mention that when the women used a male slave, he was also bound and the woman literally mounted him after making him masturbate at least once. In that way the males did not climax too quickly before the woman experienced her orgasm. By the end of the first day, I was praying that I became pregnant so that I would not have to repeat the process the following month. After the third day, I was finally taken off the rape rack and allowed to resume my duties. One of the other slaves was being impregnated by one of the owners who wanted a son. She also spent three days on the rape rack. The woman owner was having sex with all of the male slaves at her time of the month because she did not want to know who the father was and she knew that her child, whether male or female would be raised as a free person.

It took the other slave three sessions on the rack before she became pregnant. Before being bound to the rack for the third time, she was screaming and kicking, fighting the men who were taking her to the rack, but they easily controlled her and got her bound. I was worried about her sanity when she was removed from the rack after the third day, and for a few weeks, she was sullen and withdrawn. But our owners would not let her remain like that very long. They forced her through punishments and submission to men back to her normal self and when she found out she was pregnant, she completed her recovery remarkably fast.

A year later, we had three newborns in the compound. My daughter was the first to arrive, followed by the daughter of the owner and then the son the male owner hoped for. I became wet nurse to all three and, in effect, their nanny working under the physician. I was not put back on birth control while I nursed the children so they locked a chastity belt around my waist that permitted me to urinate and clean myself but sex or masturbation was prevented by sharp teeth around the small opening.

As the children got older, I became their teacher. I set up a home schooling program for them, including my daughter, however her education would stop at the sixth grade level. She was collared at four just before the children started the first year of formal schooling and as she grew, her collar was changed for larger ones. The others I taught all the way through high school. Of course, by then, we had many more children in the compound and I trained one of the other slaves to help me. The population of the compound grew not only through births but new couples would join us periodically. The dominant member of the couple had to meet a tough capitalization requirement that equaled one share of the total net wealth of the group. And not surprisingly, their investment portfolio continued to grow not only through income from the investments but also my original master’s designs that he sold under the same kind of arrangements as his original one with royalties continuing as long as companies used his design.

Now, as I approach fifty years of age, I can’t help noticing the changes that we have gone through. At first, to prevent jealousy from destroying the arrangement, everyone scrupulously avoided long term relationships but now many of the owners have fallen in love with individual slaves and keep them to themselves. Of course the slaves still serve any of the owners on demand, and the owner to whom they have become attached never objects to others using them. My daughter, now in her mid twenties, is one of those who seems to be especially attractive to one of the men who joined us after about fifteen years. He is a little older than her, he was in his mid twenties when he joined us having inherited his wealth but age differences have never been an issue in the compound.

There is a separate building now for mothers and babies because someone is pregnant constantly and the owners deemed it wise to segregate them somewhat. I should also mention that children who are slaves are never molested by adults. Teenagers both slave and free, engage in petting or oral sex but the males have been told that intercourse with an underage girl will be punished by expulsion from the compound. In all of my years here, we have never had a teenage pregnancy and the girls are not given birth control until they are eighteen. Likewise, there are no condoms in the compound. Everyone is disease free so they are not required so I safely assume that everyone, even the boys, have honored the restrictions.

Over the years the ratio of slaves and owners, including the free children of owners, has remained close to one-to-one. New owners are required to bring a slave into the compound with them and the way the owners established the rules for the status of children has kept the ration in balance. Male slaves are still being born of course, but not nearly as many as females. That is because slave to slave breeding is now rare. What keeps the ratio in balance is that many more children are born to slaves than to female owners. I myself have added four children to the population. In addition to my daughter, I have two free sons and another female slave who is now sixteen.

You might think that slave children would resent their free brothers and sisters but that is not the case at all. My sixteen year old wears her collar proudly and I can see in her adolescent body the movements of a slave, sexual and graceful as she walks naked. She is not ashamed of either her body or her status. In fact, it is just the opposite. Several free females, upon reaching the age of eighteen, have petitioned the owners for enslavement. They see how desirable and sexy their slave sisters are, how free they are to be women, and recognize the fallacy of their own freedom that prevents them from being women. Over the years, this has now become a ceremony of sorts. When a free girl becomes eighteen, she is taken before the entire ownership group wearing a robe and nothing else. There she must declare her intention, to become part of ownership or to become slave. If she declares for ownership, her tuition to any college in the country, to whatever level of education she desires, is paid for by the ownership. At the end of her education, she can return to the compound and assume an ownership share or disassociate herself from the group. In the latter case, the ownership will provider her with start-up capital. Free males also go to college under the same arrangements but they are not given a choice to accept slavery. If free girl declares for slavery, she removes the robe to stand naked before the owners then kneels to accept her collar.

Based on the trends, I can see a time in maybe three or four generations when the compound will consist of male owners and female slaves. And I believe that will be for the better. My experience with women who have slaves has not been pleasant. I think there is something inside them that makes them hate themselves because they can’t accept slavery and they don’t want to be dominant. As a result they treat female slaves far more cruelly then the men do. The men understand how joyful it is take a slave in their arms and make them submit sexually, begging that the men take them for their pleasure and thus satisfying the slave’s needs. And it is joyful for the slave also. I have found my femininity in arms of men thousands of times in my life and relish each submission.

As for the five original male slaves, I understand that there are submissive men who were content to be slaves, but I think that is a rarity. As the males who were raised as slaves matured, many of them resented their status and fought it until they realized there was no escape from it. At that point they became withdrawn and sullen and nothing could change that. I think seeing these unhappy young men had a profound effect on the ownership of the compound and that is why the slave to slave breeding has been phased out over the years. It is not an understatement to say that with the exception of the born, male slaves, this group of people was the happiest and most well adjusted group of people I have ever seen. All of us, even the slaves, are highly intelligent and as a consequence there is no delusion about the reality of life in the compound. When a slave does something wrong, he or she is punished. There is no finger pointing or blame. Likewise, when we do well, we are recognized for it, even if it is only a rare piece of candy or a word of praise. I guess what I am trying to say is that in one way or another, we are all accountable to each other and the recognition of that has made us mentally healthier than any outside group. That includes the owners who are accountable for our safety and security, not just the slaves.

Oh, and one other thing. As the men began to select and keep their favorite slaves, my original Master came back for me. In his arms one night he confessed that not owning me exclusively for the first ten years we were there was difficult for him. I joked and told him that I was sure he was able to find comfort in the arms of another and he laughed out loud. He admitted that he had on many occasions but he added that none of those encounters had the same passion as when he was with his nameless little slave. And that is how I have remained for the last twenty six years, his nameless little slave, content to serve him and offer him myself for his pleasure.

End of part 2

Copyright© 2011 by Bridget. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at brdgwriter@gmail.com