Yes, Mrs. Kort

It took off its shirt.

Reached back.

Unsnapped its bra.

As it pulled the bra off …

Its wide, pained eyes.

Scanned the room.

And …

For a moment …

Settled on me and Mrs. Rosenberg.

“Motherfucker,” I said.

Mrs. Rosenberg had a more direct response.

She came off the sofa like a jungle cat.

Moved quickly to the slave.

And slapped it in the face.

Brutally.

The slave staggered.

Its mouth dropped open.

And it crashed to its knees.

Instantly …

Mrs. Rosenberg knelt down beside it.

Grabbed its dark hair.

And ground its face into the carpet.

And said …

“You listen close, you worthless piece of shit.”

Mrs. Rosenberg quickly punched it twice.

In the belly.

It whimpered into the carpet.

Mrs. Rosenberg’s voice had chilled to sub-zero.

“If. You ever. Look. In my eyes. Again. I. Will. Destroy you. First. Your cunt. Then. Your. Asshole.”

She bounced its head on the floor.

Stood.

“I’m sorry, Eve. I just bought it. It still needs seasoning.”

Then she laughed.

“What?” I asked.

“Seasoning,” Mrs. Rosenberg said.

Laughed again.

Explained.

“Back when it was a woman, its name was Rosemary.”

Dana shivered.

She was standing in her bedroom.

Wearing panties only.

Erika.

Fully dressed.

Was pressed up against Dana’s back.

Her fingers moving.

Over Dana’s body.

Inducing.

Shivers.

Dana gasped.

As Erika’s teeth.

Bit and tugged an earlobe.

Erika’s fingertips brushed Dana nipples.

And Erika said …

“I’ve wanted to turn you out for so long.”

Dana shivered.

The fingertips stopped brushing Dana’s nipples.

And began to pinch.

Dana let out a long shuddering breath.

“I would look at you during faculty meeting,” Erika said.

“Look at you and know you would be mine one day.”

Erika’s hands travelled down.

Down Dana’s body.

Over her belly.

Into her panties.

One finger entered …

One very wet pussy.

Dana shivered.

Erika’s tongue …

Licked the back of Dana’s neck.

Dana shivered.

Dana flooded.

“I’ll have to shave this,” Erika said.

“Shave it, spank it and lick it. Until you lose your mind.”

Dana shivered.

Erika’s fingernails.

Cut into Dana’s panties.

The lacy silk was ripped apart.

“Straight women,” Erika said.

“Make the best lesbian slaves.”

Dana shivered.

It was just three days.

After Mrs. Kort told us.

Our “relationship” was over.

That my daughter …

Came to my bed.

With clothes pins.

She put them.

On my pussy.

Told me …

My pussy.

Was now hers.

She said …

It would be shaved from now on.

She called it …

A slave pussy.

She said …

It would not cum.

A slave pussy.

Does not cum.

That’s not what it’s for.

My daughter …

Made that clear.

Very clear.

That was 2 months ago.

I try.

Not to cum.

But I’m weak.

My daughter.

Is strong.

The slave pussy.

Suffers.

If I cum.

If I speak incorrectly.

If my licking …

Is not satisfactory.

The slave pussy.

Suffers.

“You were very rough with me in bed, Ashlee.”

“Oh god. I’m sorry, Mrs. Harrison.”

“No. No. I liked it.”

“Oh.”

“And remember to call me Caroline.”

“Oh yeah. It’s just …”

“I know. I’ve been Mrs. Harrison to you your whole life.”

“Yeah.”

“But not anymore.”

“OK … Caroline.”

“Anyway, I liked it that you were rough with me. Demanding.”

“It was … you know … spur of the moment kind of thing.”

“Hmmm. And that was really your first time with a woman?”

“Yeah.”

“Based on that, Ashlee, I don’t see how you and I can be lovers.”

“Oh. I said I was sorry. If you …”

“Wait. Let me finish.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re a strong, confident young woman.”

“Thanks, Mrs. … Oh, ahhh … Thanks, Caroline.”

“Strong women don’t need lesbian lovers.”

“What do you mean?”

“Strong women dominate. They take what’s theirs by right.”

“Oh.”

“You can own me, Ashlee.”

“Own you?”

“Make me your sexual slave, Ashlee. Your lesbian slave.”

“Oh my god.”

“Your property.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes. Fuck. Anytime you tell me. Anyway you want me.”

Beverly looked at herself.

In the full-length mirror.

Black heels.

A black leather dog collar.

Nothing else.

Pussy freshly shaved.

She heard the front door open.

She moved quickly.

Stood at the foot of the bed.

Two and a half feet from foot rail.

Exactly …

Two and a half feet.

She spread her legs.

Two and a half feet apart.

Exactly …

Two and a half feet.

She leaned forward.

Grasped the foot rail.

Lowered her head.

Waited.

Denise entered the bedroom.

Beverly wondered yet again …

How can it be?

Fear and excitement.

Embraced like lovers.

She shivered.

As Denise.

Standing behind her now.

Ran cold fingers.

Over the shaved pussy.

And said …

“You won’t cum tonight.”

Denise parted the pussy lips with a fingernail.

And said …

“This. This gets hurt tonight.”

Fear and excitement.

Like lovers.

But Beverly and Denise?

No.

Not lovers.

A 32 year age difference for one thing.

More to the point …

One owned.

One was owned.

It had taken the firm’s new junior associate.

Just two weeks.

To turn Beverly out.

Beverly said …

“Mistress. Yes, mistress. The slave won’t cum tonight.”

READ THE FIRST PART HERE

At the riverside loft …

I asked Mrs. Rosenberg what she knew about the girl.

“She’s on consignment from The Consortium.”

The what?

“It’s a group of ladies I do business with,” Mrs. Rosenberg said.

“Real bad seeds,” she added. “They bring me a young one two or three times a year.”

And Mrs. Rosenberg does what she does.

Brokers a deal and takes a fee from both buyer and seller.

My hero.

I asked her if I could talk to the girl.

She arched an eyebrow.

“In the market?” she asked.

I told her about the night at the club.

“Just want to know what happened between then and now,” I said.

***

I told the girl to follow me.

I walked to a corner of the loft.

She crawled.

So she’d had some training.

“What’s your name,” I asked.

She spoke in a slow, trembling whisper.

“Little Fairy Princess.”

I busted out laughing.

Those women.

That Consortium.

They were wicked alright.

I told her I had seen her that night.

At the club.

And had her take me through it.

Then to now.

A tragic tale of stolen youth.

Of strong versus weak.

And an example of how to break a girl.

With constant sex.

And the steady …

The heartless …

Use.

Of enemas.

It was the girl.

The girl from the club.

Fuck me.

Never thought to see her again.

***

I had gone with Mrs. Rosenberg.

To a loft at the riverside that she used.

To display lesbian sex slaves.

To potential buyers.

There were 3 pieces for sell.

They were kneeling.

Naked, cuffed and collared.

One lifted her head.

(Something she would soon be trained out of doing.)

That’s how I saw.

It was the girl.

From the club.

***

The girl didn’t belong.

In that nightclub.

She was only 18 or 19.

The bartender in the retro Allman Brothers T-shirt served her anyway.

Turns out …

She was in on it.

The girl was smiling.

As she passed my table.

Walking with the 40ish woman.

Who had been chatting her up.

And buying her drinks.

As they passed by the bar on their way to the back of the club …

The bartender winked at the 40ish woman.

She then talked to one of the other bartenders.

And headed to the back of the club herself.

I thought …

Hmmm.

Unfortunate girl.

She was expecting to have her clitty tickled by the tongue of an older woman.

She’d be surprised when the bartender appeared.

And she’d be forced to her knees.

And it would be her tongue in use.

Oh, well. That shit happens.

But then the whole thing took a dark twist.

When four women …

All in their 40s or 50s …

Rose from a table down the way.

And walked toward the back of the club.

READ THE FIRST PART HERE

Mrs. Markus adjusted the screw on the clamp.

“There was this quite stunning blonde leaving just before you got here,” she said to me.

The clamp was in her left hand now.

She leaned a bit to that side.

Reached her hand under the table.

Said …

“Hannah gazed at her just a little too long.”

The young brunette shifted in her seat.

Rising slightly and spreading her legs, I presumed.

Making it available.

Hannah, I was sure …

Was never allowed to wear panties.

So no obstacle there.

A strong, older woman like Mrs. Markus.

Has put a whole lot of clamps …

On a whole lot of clits.

She did it quickly.

Looking at and talking to me the entire time.

“I let her look at other girls. Beautiful young things appreciate beautiful young things. But she looked too long. Crossed the line between appreciating and desiring.”

Mrs. Markus brought her now-empty hand back above the table.

“Naturally, I don’t permit her to desire.”

Then it dawned on me.

On stupid me.

Not a beautiful young woman.

Not at all.

Slave.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Markus,” I said. “I thought for a moment she was your lover.”

She laughed.

“Oh no, dear,” she said.

She patted my hand.

“No need to apologize,” she said.

And added …

“Some of the beautiful ones — like Hannah here — if you dress them up, take them out in public. They can often pass for human.”

She looked back over at Hannah.

Who was repeatedly blinking her eyes.

And taking long, slow breaths.

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Markus said. “Not tight enough. Not tight enough at all.”

She reached under the table again.

“Slut.”

“Slut.”

“Bitch.”

“Bitch.”

“Whore.”

“Whore.”

“Cunt.”

“Cunt.”

“Slave.”

“Oh no.”

“Slave.”

“Please, no.”

“Slave.”

“Please.”

“Slave.”

“Oh my god.”

“Slave.”

“Slave.”

Aesthetically …

Pussy hair is wonderful.

A critical part.

Of your look.

Your style.

But a dominated woman …

Needs to be shaved.

Down there.

It’s a symbol.

Of her status.

Her weakness.

Also …

It heightens the abuse.

Down there.

And a dominated woman …

Needs to be abused.

Down there.

Often.

Intensely.

And it’s emotional, too.

Believe it.

I used to fuck Debi and her mother Ellen.

I saw Debi not long ago.

She told me she had …

Turned out …

And enslaved …

Her boss.

A divorced woman in her late 50s.

When it comes to training a slave …

Debi is a big proponent.

Of verbal abuse and humiliation.

Along with the frequent use of a cane.

But she said the only time the woman broke down.

In uncontrollable tears.

Was when Debi shaved her pussy.

That woman had hair there for over 45 years.

Suddenly …

Gone.

That said everything …

About what she was.

Now.

That spoke louder.

Than Debi’s taunting voice.

It hit home harder.

Than any cane.

So don’t be stupid.

If you dominate her.

Shave her.

Keep her shaved.

It’s who she is.

Now.

“Oh. Uhmm … Hi.”

“Sit down.”

“I thought …”

“Sit down, whore.”

“Oh god. If you …”

“Take off your T-shirt.”

“Please. Please let me explain.”

“My class was cancelled. Bet you weren’t expecting that.”

“I’m … uhmm … glad you’re home. I … Oh god. Please let me explain!”

“What’s the rule?”

“Please let me explain. Please.”

“What’s the rule?”

“I don’t .. I don’t leave the dorm room. Without a bra.”

“Hmmm.”

“I can explain.”

“I’ll explain for you. You thought I’d be in class. So you figured you could bounce those big boobs around campus without me knowing.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I just wanted … wanted to be … comfortable. For a change.”

“You stupid bitch. You think that’s your decision?”

“I guess not.”

“You guess not?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you a woman?”

“No.”

“What are you?”

“A slave.”

“A what?”

“A slave. A sex slave. Your sex slave.”

“Whose tits are those?”

“They’re your tits.”

“And you let every girl on the campus have a look.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry, alright.”

“I am. I’m sorry. I’m worthless. I know that.”

continued below

“You know what I’m going to do, don’t you?”

“You’re going to hurt my pussy.”

“Your pussy? Your pussy?”

“No. No. I meant the pussy. You’re going to hurt the pussy.”

“You just don’t know your place.”

“I do. I swear I do. I’m your slave. You own me. I’m your slave.”

“I’ve been too soft.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Too easy on you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And, yes, I am going to hurt the pussy.”

“Oh god.”

“So that bra made your tits uncomfortable, did it?”

“Uhmm … just … no. No. I was wrong.”

“Uncomfortable.”

“No.”

“Lying whore. Before I hurt the pussy, you know what I’m going to do?”

“What?”

“I’m going to make those tits very uncomfortable.”

“Please forgive me. Please have mercy.”

“I can’t believe I’ve owned you this long without torturing those tits.”

“Torturing?”

“I’ve been slack. Neglectful.”

“Torturing?”

“Tied up. Whipped. Pinched. Slapped and bitten.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Tied up for hours. Throbbing. Hurting … like you won’t believe.”

“Mommy.”

“You pathetic cunt. She can’t help you. You lying, deceitful piece of shit.”

“No no no no.”

“Throbbing.”

“Please!”

“Throbbing.”

“No, oh no.”

“Throbbing for hours.”

“God. Oh god help me.”

“The furthest thing from comfortable you’ll ever know.”

Slave cunt is hairless.

That’s what my daughter said to me.

Four days after Mrs. Kort broke up with us …

My daughter.

Slid into my bed.

In the middle of the night.

Reached up my gown.

Rubbed my pussy.

And said …

“Slave cunt is hairless.”

The next morning …

I shaved it.

Two weeks later …

She sold me.

***

Miss Brianna forces the strap-on dildo down my throat.

Until I gag.

She likes that.

She the cruel one.

Miss Lori is the strict one.

The one that enforces the rules.

But she’s not cruel about it.

She’s just strict.

And believes sincerely …

That rules must be enforced.

***

Miss Brianna and Miss Lori met in college.

They are in their late 20s now.

Both on their ways to very successful careers.

Miss Lori is a chemist.

Miss Brianna is a Treasury agent.

They bought a house together.

Then they bought me.

***

Miss Brianna is fucking me doggie-style.

A butt plug in my ass.

My breasts are tied very tightly.

When Miss Brianna uses the strap-on …

She always ties up my breasts.

My “disgusting tits” …

As she calls them.

What can I do?

I’m 49 years old.

Breasts tend to sag at that age.

As she fucks me.

She calls me Rita.

In a voice filled with heat and hatred.

I’m pretty sure Rita.

Was her mother’s name.

Miss Lori just calls me slave.

Her voice …

Is like ice.

“Cyndi won’t do this.”

“Really?”

“Ouch. No, she … ahh … won’t. Damn!”

“Too hard?”

“No. God no.”

“So she loves you, but won’t spank your pussy.”

“I know, right? Oh, goddamn. Oh, you bitch.”

“Ooo. You must want me angry.”

“Lord.”

“Hmmmm.”

“Fuck!”

“Cyndi’s stupid.”

“Ohmygod. Ohymgodohmygod.”

“So stupid.”

“Lord.”

“And you’re a slut.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“You want me to stop?”

“Oh no. No. Don’t stop.”

“Tell me you’re a slut.”

“I’m a slut.”

“Spread wider.”

“OK. Fuck!”

“You know what, Lisa?”

“Ouch. Shit. What?”

“Forget about slut.”

“Huh?”

“You’re going to be my slave.”

“What? No.”

“Yes.”

“OH! GOD! DAMN!”

“You want it. You need it.”

“Maggie … I can’t.”

“Cyndi won’t know.”

“Ow! God, this makes me crazy.”

“It makes you wet.”

“That’s for fucking … Oh fuck! … for sure. Damn.”

“You need it. And to get it, you’re going to be my slave.”

“No.”

“My sex slave.”

“Please, Maggie.”

“My sex slave.”

“Oh god.”

“Tell me what you are.”

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!”

“Tell me.”

“OK … I guess. I guess I have no choice.”

“You’re my slave.”

“Yes.”

“My sex slave.”

“I’m you’re sex slave, Maggie. I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you tell me.”

“I know you will. Finger your clit.”

“Yes, mistress.”