A Slave's Story
by Bridget

Chapter One

I was fifteen when I began reading my brother's Gor novels, and I fell in love with the idea of being a slave.  It seemed so sexy the way John Norman described it, even when the woman was punished.  The thought of wearing the short slave garment, or nothing at all, and having to be available for men's pleasure at all times became an idee fixe in my head.  Soon, whenever I fantasized, it always involved me being bound to my lover as his slave, as his property.

Now that I am older (I am twenty-seven as I write this) it is no longer a fantasy for me.  I have been enslaved for nine years and can no longer imagine what it would be like to be free.  When I first submitted, at eighteen, it was completely voluntary on my part.  I wanted to experience what it felt like to be a slave.  I never dreamed that I would lose all choice in the matter; that someday I would be owned as property without my consent.  Now it is all I know.  I am not even sure that I could function as an independent, free individual in society.  I don't have a driver's license or birth certificate.  I can't remember my social security number because I have not used it in nine years.  I would have no money and no property to sell, other than my own body.  I can cook and I can clean (to very exacting standards) so I suppose I could get a job as a maid or cook.  But at twenty-seven, I also have no employment history, no references, and no way to get credit for clothes for an interview.

I am not complaining about any of this.  I am very satisfied the way things worked out.  In a way, I was born to be a slave.  I have heard all of the theories about genetic programming of men and women, how men are programmed to be dominant and women are programmed to be submissive.  Maybe it is right and maybe not.  The point is that I am a slave and I don't have anything to say about it.  Therefore I make the best of it that I can.

Master has asked me to write about the last nine years.  I have no idea what he plans to do with this narrative, but since he wants it, I must do it.  He will be reviewing my output each day, and if he believes that I have not made sufficient progress, I will be punished.

I suppose that the place to start would be with how I first experienced slavery.  At the time, my name was Megan (although it has since changed many times). As I already wrote, it was my decision to submit; I was not forced into it by anyone.  After reading some of the Gor novels, I started researching on the Internet.  This led me to a lot of other books and articles about present day slavery.  When I was seventeen, I read the Beauty trilogy for the first time and that, more than anything, has led to my present condition.  When I was eighteen, I began hanging out in D/s chat rooms.  It was there that I got my first taste of what slavery might be like.

I followed the orders of the men that I chatted with whenever I could.  Most of them wanted me to pack my bags and move in with them after several instant messages back and forth.  These guys I stopped talking with immediately.

But some of the others were pretty good at the cyber fantasy scene and I enjoyed my time with them.

I was still in high school, but it was spring and graduation was getting close.  I had excellent grades because I worked hard at it.  I dated some, but never for very long with the same guy.  I had applied to several colleges and been accepted at some very good ones, including some in the Ivy League.  Most of the acceptances came with scholarship offers because my family was not rich.

My body really hasn't changed much since then; Masters have always monitored my weight and made me exercise to keep in condition.  I was, and am, 5 feet, 4 inches tall.  My weight is around 104, never changing by more than a pound or two.  My measurements are still the same also, 33B-23-32.  My hair is light red and my eyes are blue.  I knew I was cute and pretty back then; today, I know that I am beautiful.

One night I was studying with Jeff.  We were good friends and had dated a few times.  I was at his house and we were in his room.  We had just finished a tough math problem when I stood up and stretched.  I looked around the room and it was then that I saw them.  He had the same Beauty Trilogy on his bookshelf that I had finished last summer.

I reached up and pulled the first volume off the shelf and flipped through it.  "What's this about?"

I will never forget the look on his face.  He was confused, embarrassed, and turned on all at the same time.  He jumped out of his chair and snatched the book from my hand.

"You wouldn't like it," he snapped as he put it back on the shelf.

"How would you know?"

"I know."

"Well, I'll have you know that I loved it."

"You haven't read this."  By his tone, I could tell that he was shocked at the thought that I had actually read it.

I started telling the story and he blushed as red as any guy I have ever seen.

"That's enough.  Why did you love it?"

Now it was my turn to blush but I answered truthfully.  "I have been fantasizing about being a slave."

"And would you like to take it a step further than fantasy?"

It was one of those electric moments.  We were staring at each other, both of us knowing that my answer would have a huge impact on us.  For a moment I thought about taking the pressure off by asking him what he meant, but we would both know that it was a stall and I didn't want to do that to him.  Then I finally whispered, "Yes."

"My parents are going to Savannah Saturday for the day.  Be here at 9:00 a.m. and bring an extra set of clothes.  Wear things that you don't care what happens to them."

I nodded.  There was not going to be anymore studying after this since neither of us could focus on math and we both knew it.  I left his room and went home.

That was on a Tuesday.  Getting through the rest of the week was hell.  My imagination was running wild with things that could happen on Saturday.  I could not focus very well at school and spent the evenings in my room.  My mother thought I was getting sick, but I assured her I was all right.

Saturday was a gorgeous spring day.  By 8:30 when I left the house, it was 70 degrees and the sun was shining.  It would still get warmer, but not a lot.  I couldn't take the car because I anticipated being gone all day, so I rode my bike to Jeff's place.

His parents had an old farmhouse out in the country.  There was a barn on the lot with the house, but someone else owned the farmland around it.  It took me about twenty minutes to peddle there at an easy pace because I didn't want to be all sweaty when I arrived.  When I rode up the driveway, I saw that his parents' car was gone.  Carrying my bag with the extra clothes, I went up the steps and was about to knock when Jeff hollered at me from the barn.

"I'm over here."

I walked over to him with a big smile on my face.  He was smiling too but I could not tell if his heart was pounding as fast as mine was.  When I got to the barn, he took my hand and led me in.  Then he had me sit on box.

"There is a lot that we did not talk about the other night.  Are you still a virgin?"


"Then you will leave that way.  However, if we continue this past today, you will have to get on the pill.  Are you okay with that?"

"Yes."  Actually, I had given a lot of thought to that part of it.  I expected to lose my virginity that day, and was both disappointed and relieved that I would not.

"Before we continue, there is one other thing that you have to agree to.  I don't want you to be afraid of me, but I want you to be afraid of displeasing me.  Therefore, I am going to whip you for no other reason than that.  Will you accept that?"

I swallowed hard before answering, "Yes."

"You brought the extra set of clothes?"


"Good.  Now stand over there under that beam and take off your shoes."

I kicked off my sneakers before I stood up and went to the place he pointed.  He picked up a rope and threw it over the beam I was standing under.  He crossed my wrists and tied them together with one end of the rope then took up the other end and started pulling it back over the beam, lifting my hands in the air.  When I was on my tiptoes, he tied the end of the rope off to a post.  Then he came around in front of me holding a knife.  For a second, I was startled, wondering if he was going to cut me, or worse, but he quickly pulled the collar on my shirt and used the knife to cut it from collar to bottom.  Two more quick cuts up the sleeves to the neck and the shirt fell away to the ground.

Next my shorts were cut away with a cut up the side of each leg.  I was standing in my bra and panties, breathing hard, not only because of the strain on my arms, but in anticipation of what was to happen next.  He took a step back and looked at me, letting his eyes wander from the top of my head to my feet and back up.  There was a smile on his face that I still treasure; knowing that he was enjoying looking at me bound the way I was in my underwear.

He stepped forward and cut the straps of my bra.  Then, grasping it between the cups, he ripped it away, breaking the snaps in back.  My breasts were too small to fall free, especially since they were stretched taught because my hands were tied above my head.  Last were the panties.  Two more cuts to them and I was naked in front of a male for the first time.  I know that I blushed all over.

"You are very beautiful," he whispered.  "You would bring a very high price at auction."

I smiled at the compliment paid slave girls in the Gor novels.  But then I remembered what was going to come next.  I had been focusing on his removal of my clothes, living in the moment as it were, while he undressed me with the knife and looked at me.  Now the price of those extraordinary feelings was going to be paid.

He stepped behind me and I twisted as much as I could to see what he was doing.  He unbuckled his belt, pulled it through the loops, and wrapped the buckle end around his hand twice, then closed his fingers over it.  There was about two feet of the belt hanging loosely from his hand.  I turned away and tensed, waiting for the first stroke.  When it did not come, I began to relax a little.  As soon as I did, I heard the leather whistle through the air before my back exploded in pain.

I slumped down so that the little bit of weight on my toes was transferred to my arms and shoulders.  I didn't cry out at all, but only because it had knocked the wind out of me and I was trying to get my breath back.  As I struggled to breathe and get back on my toes, the second stroke hit me, this time on the back of my thighs just below my bottom.  I know that I screamed this time, and sagged down again crying.  Quickly, the third stroke struck me across my bottom and now I could hear myself pleading with him to stop.  I felt as if my body was being consumed in fire as the pain raced up and down through me.

He walked around to my other side and swung the belt again, this time hitting me across the stomach.  I was still crying and begging him to stop, but I made no more attempts to stand up.  My chin was hanging down on my chest and as I pleaded with him, I saw the red welt rise on my skin.

In all, I took ten strokes for my first whipping.  When it was over, I was covered in a light sheen of perspiration and my hair was wet and tangled.  There were ten red welts, five in front and five in back crisscrossing my body between my knees and shoulders.  Master came over and held me up as he untied my hands.  If he hadn't, there was no way I could have supported myself and I would have fallen down.  Once I was free, he lowered me to the floor so that I was on my knees.

"Well, now that you know what it is like, do you still want to serve me as a slave?" he asked.

It only took me a second to answer, even though I still hurt all over from the whipping. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Master."

He hadn't told me that he wanted to be addressed that way, but I thought that was what he meant and I was right.  It was funny, I had often thought about addressing a man that way and it never seemed like it would be a big deal.  But kneeling on the floor, naked, and still in pain, it had more impact on me than I had anticipated.  Addressing him as Master made me feel more like a slave than the whipping had and I shuddered.

"Then we shall begin your training." Saying that, he stepped behind me and put a cloth over my eyes, tying it behind my head so I was blindfolded.  I heard him come around in front of me and then I heard him unzip his pants.

"You are now going to perform oral sex.  But if I cum within twenty minutes of when you start, you will be whipped again.  You will receive one stroke for every thirty seconds short of the twenty minutes.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then you may begin."

I felt the tip of his penis brush against my lips.  It was already erect without any help from me.  Very gently, I kissed the tip of it then ran my tongue along the side from tip to base.  I let my tongue continue underneath around his testicles before coming back up the other side.  Then I opened my mouth and took in just the tip.  All of this time, I was trying to decide what I could do that would keep him experiencing pleasure without making him ejaculate too soon.  I had never given anyone a blowjob before and other than the basic take it in your mouth and suck; I didn't know what to do.

I let my tongue roll around the tip of his penis with it in my mouth.  I could feel it tremble a little and was afraid that he was going to climax way too soon, so I pulled back.  Then I had an idea that maybe his scrotum wasn't as sensitive.  I turned around and leaned backward so my face was toward the roof of the barn and I was underneath his scrotum.  Then I opened and took one of his testicles between my teeth, biting very gently.  When I finished, I licked it all over and then repeated the process with the other one.

I figured that I was about five minutes into the process when I finished with that.  I turned around to face him again, but still on my knees, and held his balls in one hand while I licked his penis with my tongue.  After what should have been about two or three minutes, I opened my mouth and took the tip inside again.  But this time, instead of letting me run my tongue around the tip, he grabbed the back of my head with both hands and pulled me toward him.  I had no choice but to take him inside my mouth as deeply as possible.  I wanted to gag as the tip of his penis pressed against the back of my tongue and walls of my throat.  Very slowly, I pressed back against his hands and felt the pressure weaken.  As I pulled back, he slid out until just the tip was inside me.  Again, going very slowly, I slid my lips forward until I reached the base of his penis.  I wanted to hold it there as long as I could to help me learn to suppress the gag reflex and to stall for time.  He allowed me too, and after another minute, I began to pull back.

After two or three strokes like that, he took control again.  This time, he held my head in place while he thrust in and out of me.  He started slowly at first, but then he was moving faster and harder.  I went as limp as possible, letting him use my mouth for his pleasure.  In another minute or two, he had his orgasm and I felt his semen trickling down my throat.  He held himself inside me, pressing my face to his groin and I felt him grow soft in my mouth very quickly.  As soon as I swallowed completely, he withdrew.

"Sixteen minutes," he announced.  "Lie down on your back."

I did as he said, still blindfolded.  I wanted to protest that it was his fault, but I knew that would just make things worse.  Knowing that I was about to get whipped again for something he did; something that was not my fault, intensified my feeling of slavery and I relished the feeling.  Then came four quick strokes with the belt, covering my breasts, stomach, abdomen, and thighs.

"Roll over."

I did and took the last four strokes on my back, bottom, and thighs.  I was crying, but not screaming this time, not because the strokes were less painful, but because it was all I could do.

When he finished, he told me to roll over again.  When I was on my back, I received my next instruction.

"You did well not to complain that it was my doing.  For your reward, you may masturbate while I watch.  However, you will not cum without my permission."

I pulled my legs up and spread my knees.  When I touched myself, I was surprised at how wet I was.  With one hand at my nipple and the other at my crotch, I played with myself.  Within moments, I was ready for an orgasm.  "Master, may I please have an orgasm now?" I asked.

"Yes, you may, slave."

As soon as he said it, I exploded.  I wanted to see him watching me, to see his reaction to my orgasm, and silently cursed the blindfold that I was still wearing.  As my climax subsided, I stretched my legs back out on the floor and lay there, limp but eager for the next experience.  I heard him kneel down beside me and then felt his lips on mine.  I returned the kiss, lifting my head to press my mouth to his.  While he kissed me, he rolled one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.  As we kissed, I could feel the desire to have another orgasm start to build.  I don't know if he sensed it too from my response, but he broke off the kiss and let go of my nipple.  Then he pulled the blindfold off and told me to kneel.

I got to my knees and knelt the same way the pleasure slaves did in the Gor novels; sitting back on my heels, knees spread wide, hands on my thighs palms up, and back straight, breasts thrust out.  Not to diminish sex, but this was the beginning of my real training.

The first thing he wanted to teach me was display postures.  These are positions a slave assumes that shows off her body.  Each of the positions is designed to make her body open and vulnerable.  The kneeling position that I just described was the first one.  Once I was in it, Master made small adjustments with his words and hands.  I can't tell you how sexy it made me feel to have him touch me to get my body just so.

I'll describe a couple of the other positions that he taught me.  For one of them, I had to lie down on my left side with my head propped up in my left hand.  My right foot went behind my left knee with my right knee pointing straight up.  My right hand went behind my back and my right shoulder was turned back slightly.

Another one had me on my left knee.  I had to turn my right foot and leg ninety degrees to the right so it was sticking out the side.  My fingers were laced together and put behind my neck, with the elbows pulled back as far as possible.

There were about twenty positions in all.  Once I had learned them, Master would call out a position number and I would have to move to that position.  He still made small corrections, but less frequently.  Now he was focusing on how I moved from one position to the next.  It had to be graceful and effortless, like a ballet dancer, he kept telling me.

After about three hours he called a halt to the practice.  He tied a rope around my neck and bound my wrists behind me with another one.  The long end of the rope around my neck he used as a leash to lead me out of the barn and to the house.  There was a brief moment when I could have been seen from the road and I blushed at the thought.  But we were out in the country and the road was not heavily used.  Once in the house, he took me to the kitchen and untied both ropes.

I was instructed to make his lunch, a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and mustard.  He also wanted chips and a soda.  He told me to bring them to the living room when I finished.  I put everything on a tray I found and carried it into the living room where he was sitting in an easy chair.

"Do you know how to serve Gorean style?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then return the tray to the kitchen and do so."

I took the tray back and returned with just his drink in two hands.  I knelt before him, kissed and caressed the glass, then offered it with my arms extended and head lowered between them.  As I did, I said, "Your slave offers you drink and herself for your pleasure, Master."  That was a key element that I remembered.  When offering food or drink, it was supposed to be offered with a phrase that made it clear I was offering myself as well.

He took the glass from me and I went back for the plate with the sandwich and chips.  This time the phrase I used was, "Please refresh yourself with all that I can offer you, Master."  This kind of serving was one of the most common fantasies I had over the past several years.  I had come up with several of the phrases so that I never repeated one at the same meal.

He ate while I knelt before him.  When he was almost finished, he took the last of the sandwich and broke it into two parts.  Then he put one part in his hand and held it out to me.  I started to reach for it and he pulled it back.  "Do not touch it with your hands."

He extended his hand again and I leaned over to take it directly into my mouth.  I was being fed as an animal, a pet, would be.  I chewed the bite and he offered me the last part.  When I had swallowed that, he held out the cup and let me drink.

When I finished, he stood up and told me to wait there.  I heard him go out to the kitchen and then upstairs.  When he returned, he as carrying a towel, scissors, a can of shaving cream, and a razor.  He went back to the kitchen and returned with a stainless steel bowl of hot water.  He laid the towel out in the middle of the room and told me to lie down on it.  When I was in place, he told me to spread my legs as wide as possible.

He used the scissors to cut my pubic hair short and shaved me with the razor.  I had heard of this, of course, but never imagined it would be done to me.  As he shaved me, he was explaining that I was not to be permitted even the little bit of privacy that my pubic hair afforded me.  I closed my eyes to try and keep a tear in but it leaked out and ran down my cheek into my hair.  When he finished, he had me clean up and told me to bring everything back upstairs to the bathroom when I finished.  I carefully folded up my cut hair in the towel and took it and the bowl to the kitchen.  I was careful getting all of the cut hair from the towel to the trash.  Then I rinsed out the bowl and left it in the sink.  Everything else, I carried upstairs.

When he heard me in the hall, he told me to put everything in the hall bathroom and come to his room.  I entered the room and went to my knees to await his next order.

"Turn around and face the door, slave."

I stood up, turned, and then knelt again with my knees spread wide.  Then he closed the door.  I had forgotten that he had a full-length mirror on the back of the door.  For the first time, I saw myself as a slave.  My eyes were first drawn to my shaved mound.  Even with my knees spread wide, my slit did not open much, but the light pink lips on the inside were clearly visible.  It looked like a little girl's pussy, one too young to have pubic hair yet.  It also made me feel a bit like that little girl to see myself bare like that.  Then my eyes refocused on all of me kneeling as a slave.  I was able to take in the whole picture.  I saw the welts from the earlier beating, and I saw the erect posture, and I saw the look of satisfaction on my face.

"What do you see in the mirror?" he asked me after a few moments.

"A slave, Master."  I didn't hesitate at all.

"Do you like seeing yourself that way?"

"Yes, Master, it is a very powerful image."

"Powerful in what way?"

"Master, it shows me that I can adapt to my new status very quickly.  There is no doubt the woman in the mirror is a slave, Master."

"Get up. It is time for your chores."

My chores consisted of making his bed and cleaning his room, cleaning the upstairs bathroom, and dusting and vacuuming all of the rooms upstairs.  As I worked naked, I would sneak peeks at him watching me and smile.  The pleasure he got from watching me was obvious.  The other thing I realized as I was working was that I did not feel conflicted about my role.  I had wanted this, had fantasized about it for so long, that it seemed absolutely normal for me to be in it now.  I was almost whistling as I worked.

When I finished, he took me back out to the barn on the rope leash.  When we got there, he had me lie down on a worktable that he had cleaned off.  He tied my hands above my head, then pulled each leg to the side and tied each ankle to one of the table legs.  Again, I was spread wide.  Then he offered me his finger and I kissed it before he inserted it in my vagina.

"As I make you climax, you may move however you wish.  Don't forget to ask permission to have an orgasm when it is time."

Within a minute I was trashing about on the table.  My writhing made me more conscious of my bonds, and that just heightened the pleasure so that the bonds and his manipulation of my clitoris fed on each other in a positively reinforcing cycle.  After another minute or two, I was ready to explode.  "Master," I panted, may I please have an orgasm?"

Quickly, he pulled his finger out of me and I lay limply on the table as the feelings subsided.  Then he put it back in me and started all over again.  He repeated the process five or six times.  I noticed that even though each iteration was more intense than the last, it was taking me longer and longer to reach the point where I was going to cum.

Finally, he let me have my orgasm.  I was a sweaty mess on the table after rocking and heaving for the last half-hour or more.  My hair was tangled and partially covered my face and I could feel the small pools of perspiration underneath me at my bottom and shoulders.

"Before I let you up, there are some things I want you to do next week," he started.  "First, you need to get to the doctor and get some birth control pills.  Second, at school on Monday, you will not wear panties, bra, or pantyhose.  You probably don't have any, but stockings are okay as long as you use garters and not a garter belt.  Also, no pants; either a dress or a skirt and blouse.  Last, you are going to the prom with me, but I will pick out your dress and accessories.  Do you have any questions?"

"No, Master."

He untied me and took me outside again, but this time we went behind the barn where we could not be seen from the road.  He hosed me off with cold water and washed me as I stood there, loving the feel of his hands on my body.  Even though the water was very cold, I felt warm inside.  After he had me dry myself with some old rags, we went back into the house and I brushed out my hair and put on make-up while he watched me.  Finally, I get dressed in the extra clothes I had brought.  Before I left, we gave each other a long, deep kiss.  Then it was time for me to peddle home before his parents returned.  As I rode slowly, I was filled with the excitement of my first experience as a slave.