• A Slave’s Story by Castor
  • SLAVE LAKE LOVE It’S Where My Story Begins Tshirt – …
  • My brother has made me his slave, his 'bitch'

Reader's Comments . Author's Note: This story is based on fantasies of my co-author, an Asian college girl depicted in the story as the victim.

Slave, My True Story by madeline brown on Prezi

*FREE* shipping on qualifying offers

Playing Model Who Was Kidnapped As Sex Slave: 'I Feared For My Life, Second By Second'
Photo provided by Flickr
Bob was at last dead and then followed his funeral. A box was made into which he was placed, all the slaves were brought to view his remains, a grave was dug, the improvised coffin was loaded into a cart and we all followed him to his burial. After the remains were lowered into the grave Master preached what was called a funeral sermon. The substance of his words were: "This negro, Bob, was a bad man. I paid my money for him and I was his master. You all know that if he had done right as you have done, he would never have been where he is. He cut his own throat and beat me out of my money. You know that I must be obeyed and if you do not obey me I must whip you; but he was so mean that whipping was of no use to him and it would have been better for you and me if his throat had been cut long ago. There isn't one among you but knows I have done right, as he was a mean, mean negro. You must understand there is no Lord or God who has anything to do with any of you, as I alone am your Master, your maker and your law giver, and when you do what I tell you to do you will get along all right."

Making my girl friend into a sex slave

A screenshot of the comment section on a story about "My Family's Slave" in ..
Photo provided by Flickr
I was dressed in the standard brown slave coveralls which were marked with the Dommeville logo. They were highly functional in that they could be removed quickly because of special Velcro attachments. All of my aunts accompanied me this time in the limousine and we pulled up to the ominous Roundhouse structure right on time.

 

BDSM Library - Slave To My Perverted Aunts

07/08/2017 · Playing Model Who Was Kidnapped As Sex Slave: 'I Feared For My Life, Second By Second'
Photo provided by Flickr

I rested against Mistress, tired in body, but my mind was working overtime. I was relieved that Mistress seemed deep in thought, so I could think about my own situation.

I knew that Mistress was right, that my burning sexual desires had been ignited and that I needed her to help me control them. On the other hand, she had just told me that she would unlock my pussy and that I should use what I had learned at the Pink Flamingo to please both men and women at some other location tonight. I was getting mixed messages, yet I knew that I could trust Mistress and that I wanted to please her.

Temporarily sated, I was able to think more clearly. Images flashed through my memories of the past few days. Some felt right, some felt very wrong.

I drifted off to a shallow sleep. "We're here, slave," Mistress said and jostled me awake. I looked out the window to see the neon lights flash "The Twisted Tit."

We strolled towards the door, hand in hand. The man at the door asked for ID's and I produced mine from my handbag. While he looked at Mistress's ID, I noticed the nicely printed announcement behind glass, declaring that tonight was Amateur night and that there were cash prizes to be won.

We sat down and ordered a drink. Mistress caught the manager's attention and asked him the rules for the competition. His answer was a cliché right out of the movies. "The rules are, there ain't no rules." He laughed, then said the winner was a combination vote by the judges who viewed the audience reaction to the dancer, along with their own opinion of how well she danced and her potential as a money maker. The winner would also be allowed to dance for money the rest of the night and be welcomed back as a regular.

I knew Mistress expected me to dance and win. I was a little nervous. Actually, more than a little nervous.

Mistress broke into my thoughts. "Listen to me. Remember how you danced at the club last night and how hot you were earlier with the pole? This is no different. You want to enjoy yourself and get men's attention."

Again, the contrast and the challenge. I know I reddened, and felt the heat on my cheeks, thinking of the shame I felt after disappointing Mistress last night and yet she was going to trust me again and unlock my pussy rings.

"You did well at the Flamingo and you will do better here. But here is one more tip. Make use of the whole stage, not just the pole. Make them want to fuck you. Show off your pussy lock and then make them notice the key around your neck."

She wasn't going to unlock my pussy, at least not yet. She wanted me to use the key as an enticement.

Mistress was still speaking. "...but most important is the eye contact. Make and keep eye contact with a man till you either know he is going to put money in your garter or not. Then move on to the next man or woman. You seduce them as much with your eyes as your body. Make them want you. Make promises with your eyes and moves, not your words."

I nodded and understood. I wanted to make Mistress proud. I knew my eyes were one of my best features. My lashes were longer than most Asian girls that I knew.

We had approached the dressing room area. I had this feeling in my stomach like when I played sports in high school. Pre-game jitters. I wanted to win so bad. CONTESTANTS ONLY IN THE DRESSING ROOM.

I don't know precisely what I expected when I walked into the dressing room, but certainly not the undisguised hostility that greeted me. I smiled and received glares in return. They must be regulars and immediately disliked any newcomer who might steal their winnings.

Most of the other girls were Hispanic, it seemed to me. I was never comfortable around Hispanic girls. They intimidated me, their full lips and sharply defined hips. And they always seemed to gather in groups of three or more. I hate to use the term "gang-like," but it is what it is. They stared at me and whispered and giggled among themselves. And as usual, they spoke Spanish to each other, even if they knew English.

I began to undress, realizing there would be no private stall available. I faced the locker, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. I glanced to my left as I lowered my shorts. There were two white girls, but they were not built like any girls I knew from California. They looked strong, like body-builders. Intimidating as hell. One spoke to the other and her accent was new to me. She had a harsh look. Eastern European was my first thought.

I saw one other Asian girl. She seemed much older than me. As I removed my top, I looked at her and tried my winning smile again. Just a stare echoed back, not the hint of a smile. She had very large breasts. They must have been enhanced. Suddenly I was embarrassed by my small breasts. What was I doing here?!

As I reached for my bag and monokini, the Asian girl walked by. She raked her nails across my lower back. "Slut, eh?" she said. "You look more like a slave to me," and she walked by, her ass swaying left and right in her bikini.

And then it hit me. I was the only one collared and cuffed, the only slave apparently. At the Pink Flamingo, I was one of many slaves. Collars and chains and piercings were all around. But not here. Here I was alone in my steel bands and chained lip. My tat and earrings screamed SLUT. My belly chain and pussy and nipple piercings left no doubts. I couldn't go through with this!

I wanted to disappear. This was my chance. I could put on my clothes, probably find a back door, and be gone in minutes. I was the last one in the dressing room, and my mind was racing as I put on the black outfit that helped hide some of my signs of enslavement.

Should I just disappear without my phone, and hope Mistress would have mercy on me? No, if she really cared for me, she would understand my feelings and take me away from this place. She loved me.

I grabbed my bag and left the room. Mistress was waiting for me outside the door. No one else was around. The show had already begun and apparently everyone had moved to that area.

"What the fuck is going on, slave?" she asked, not kindly.

"Mistress, please," I begged. "I can't go through with this! Everyone looked at me like I was a total whore. None of them were collared or pierced and they knew right away I was a slave, your slave, Mistress," I implored, my eyes tearing up.

I know what I hoped would happen, but instead Mistress reached out and grabbed the ring at my collar and forcefully pulled me back into the dressing room. I kept sputtering, "Please, Mistress, please," to no avail.

Once inside, she sat on a chair and pulled me over her lap. The flimsy outfit offered no protection and she began to spank me with terrible force. I was helpless against her onslaught. "You," SLAP, "will," SLAP, "not," SLAP, "disobey! You have forgotten what I told you," SLAP SLAP. "It never matters what other people think. Your only desire is to please your Mistress. I own you, body and mind. I have never," SLAP SLAP, "failed to protect you and do what is best for you."

She lifted me by my hair as she rose from the chair, and continued to pull me backwards until my back was arched and she was looking directly in my face. "If I have to, I will strip you, and lead you on all fours by a leash to the staging area. Your only desire in life, your one and only desire is to serve me and please me. Do you understand?"

"Yyyesss, please, I'm sorry," I whimpered.

Mistress propelled me forward with a push and I was stripping even as I staggered. Mistress was pulling a black, latex bikini from my bag as I finished and stood totally naked. She tossed me the bikini without a word and when I looked up for her approval, FLASH, she took a picture with my phone.

My first thought as I shimmied into the bottoms was that there was no bottom! It was a skirt of sorts, but hid nothing. And the bra was again cut to reveal my nipple piercings! This was no bikini. It was a pornographic ensemble.

When I was a little girl in my native Belgium, I was put to work as a sex slave. My mother sold me, and drove me wherever, whenever she got the call.
Photo provided by Flickr
As the man finished we all gathered around praising his work. It was very beautifully done and the message was clear. Karl spoke up and said, "Well, Slut, it seems that you have been well branded and everyone will know what you are. Remember, in our circle you can not only be proud of that fact, you can be proud to show your new tattoo." He motioned for me to take a close up picture of her new ink. I did and also took a picture of her wet and obviously dripping pussy. Then I showed both to her. She just moaned a little. To me both pictures were beautiful. How could she possibly deny that?

As Karl walked the man to the door he said for all to hear. "I can see you enjoyed your close encounter with my newest slave. We are having a party later in the week. Perhaps you can join us and then you can explore her a little more deeply." We all laughed and he said he would definitely attend.

Karl turned to us and asked, "Is it time?" I felt there was no reason to maintain the ruse. I nodded. "You first, Cyn."

I squatted in front of Kelli. "Look at me, slave." When she raised her head, I removed the mask.

She wailed into her gag, eyes wide open with surprise and shock. I smiled.