The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

AN AGENT ENSLAVED

CHAPTER 8:

The General Population

I awoke slowly, reaching for a tunnel of light that seemed to pull away from me no matter how hard I strained.

Tazers, energy blasts, hand to hand combat are all customary hazards of being a Sector Authority Officer so this was not the first time I’d been rendered unconscious. But this time something was seriously different. Coming to was a grueling endeavor, like trying to claw out of a thick sludge that was working against you; the more you struggled the more the mire tried to suck you back down.

I waded back through the fog in my mind and summoned up the last few moments of my conscious memory. All those men watching me, the male slave, the intense forced orgasm that had left me utterly senseless and swooning, it was all coming bake to me. But this mire in my head was not an after effect of simply passing out. I had been drugged.

“You must get in line,” insisted a soft female voice from out of the light. I used the voice as an anchor to help pull myself out of the darkness. “Our master-trainer will be here any moment.”

As my wits gradually returned my first awareness was of soft fur against my bare skin. I was completely naked, laying stomach down, and surprisingly I wasn’t bound. I forced my eyes open to see a young, nude, voluptuous blond girl standing over me.

“You must get in line,” she reiterated.

With great effort I rolled over and pulled myself up to a setting position then scanned over my surroundings. I was in a dimly lit chamber. No windows, just a surveillance camera housed in one corner, a steel door, and a row of very, very comfortable fur mats. The blond was not the only other girl in the chamber, there were about a dozen other nude female slaves lined up facing the only exit door. I was unbound and for the first time I had no personal escort shadowing my every move. Add to that it seemed I had been thrown in with the gen pop of female slaves. Despite being a special agent for the Sector Authority, apparently the fiasco at the club convinced the powers that be I was no longer any sort of a threat.

I myself had been bathed and oiled up with some sort of perfumed moisturizer. And . . . I was shaven?! Every iota of hair beneath my neck had been removed; my entire body as smooth as a baby’s behind. But my newfound hairlessness wasn’t my only surprise. There was a dainty, silver trinket affixed between my legs-a piercing! The intrusive ring was skewered through the delicate flesh just over my clit. When I touched the ring and it vibrated softly whirring against my perceptive nub and I gasped and shuddered from the unexpected sensation.

“What the hell?!” I said aloud. But I didn’t have any time to examine myself any further. It was that moment that the lock on the door began to clink.

“Get in line or you will be punished,” said the blond as she rushed to stand at attention with the others. I didn’t have any idea what was going on, but one thing I did know was that these sadistic slavers enjoyed harassing their slaves. The last thing I wanted was to do was give them an actual reason to torment me. Add to that I knew my only chance to escape this Godforsaken planet lie with convincing the slavers I was conditioned. I needed them to drop their guard and for that I would have appear to be a dutiful slave. But I was under no illusions, imitating being conditioned while not actually becoming conditioned would be like walking a tightrope, and the slavers would no doubt be poking me with fiery sticks as I struggled through that balancing act.

I leapt up from the fur and got in line emulating the other girls just as the heavy door slid open.

A burley, ruggedly handsome man, with a jaw that could have been chiseled by Michael Angelo himself, stepped through the doorway first with two thuggish guards hot on his heels. Without saying a word the lead man walked down the slave-line looking up and down each girl. One by one he examined every slave as he made his way down the row until at last he ended with me.

“Ah, the new slave,” he noted as his blue-grey eyes scanned me over. His eyes lingered at my thighs- and then his hand darted to my crotch to fiddle with my new piercing. A soft gasp slipped from my lips and he smiled. “Is your slave-ring irritable?”

I really didn’t know quite how to respond to that so I simply moved my head from side to side while stood there, suffering through his trifling. The cold, metallic circling vibrated against my clit and his fingertip pressed the wretched piercing down firmly against the nub intensifying the sensation. I couldn’t keep from wriggling my hips over his hand and he smiled approvingly.

“Good. Then after the morning routine you will join with your slave-sisters for couples training.” With that he simply turned and walked out the door. Then one by one our line filed out behind him with the two guards following up the rear.

I had no idea what exactly ‘couples training’ entailed, but first thing was first. My group was led through what I assumed was the usual procedure for slaves. Our morning routine consisted of a regimen of swimming, calisthenics, and then a healthy breakfast. Other than the trainer and the two guards there were no men watching us. The morning routine was taken seriously by all and there were no distractions. The drill was well organized and it occurred to me all the slaves of my group shared the same physical attributes. I ascertained that this morning routine was specific to our group to sculpt and maintain our particular bodily type. After breakfast we were all ushered into a posh salon to be bathed, oiled, and perfumed for the day’s festivities.

When we were all adequately freshened up my new headman escorted my group out of the preparation chamber. He led us through the corridors completely nude and being hairlessly groomed as I was made feel even more naked. The cool air itself seemed to breathe against my sex as I walked really driving home the fact that I was unclothed. Of course all those clad, men we encountered in the hallway didn’t help matters any. I followed along with my entourage bowing my head unable to bear all those inquisitive leers of every rubbernecking passerby. As we maneuvered through the passageways I wondered just what my next lesion would entail. It seemed every time I allowed myself to believe my situation couldn’t possibly get any worse; I was proved wrong in the worst possible way.

This next trial was no exception. When the large wooden door opened up to our final destination my breath caught in my lungs. With a quick scan I counted twelve men, and all of them were naked! Then upon closer inspection I realized they were not quite men at all. Although all the males were tall, broad, and well built, I realized the enthusiastic group that ogled my slave-sisters and I were mere teenage boys. They were all fit and tone yet their unassuming demeanor screamed ‘male slave’.

The chamber itself was circular with broad rows of stone stairs leading down from the door to the floor, more or less like a small amphitheater. The male slaves lay leisurely throughout the chamber on soft fur mats like the one I had woke up on and I wondered if this was their sleeping chamber. When my group stepped through the doorway the boys sat up attentively. Although they gaped at my entire group as a whole I was still embarrassed. Red hair had its drawbacks. The usual light completion that came with it accentuated one when they blushed. I felt burning embarrassment cascade up my body. Without thinking I covered myself with my hands which only served to make me stand out in the throng of nude women.

“Ah, it seems our newest slave is a shy one,” crooned our escort, his disapproving glare humbling me further. I immediately dropped my arms back down to my sides but it was too late. His comment directed the attention of all the boys to fall solely on me and I knew my already reddened hue had just darkened another shade.

“Pair up with a slave-brother so we may begin today’s lesson,” instructed the slaver, his eyes still on me, still grinning. One by one each of my slave-sisters stepped through the doorway and obediently coupled with one of the awaiting boys.

But when it came my turn to step through the doorway the slaver’s muscular arm stretched out across the door frame cutting me off from the group. “I have other plans for you my bashful beauty,” conveyed the slaver. “Go to the front of the hall and kneel. I am certain your slave-brothers will enjoy getting to know the new girl. Perhaps if you ask nicely your slave-brothers will even aid you in doing something about that pesky modesty of yours.”

I gaped at him horrified, although I had no idea of what exactly he had in store for me.

“Oh no,” I whispered with pleading eyes. The slaver gave me an expression that let me know I was out of line and I quickly amended with a resigned, “Yes master.”

He didn’t move forcing me to duck under his arm to get by. I walked down the stairs to the open circle in the very center of the room and I could feel the weight of all eyes on me. Once at the front of the hall I turned back to face the entryway and the conclave of slaves. For the first time it occurred to me then that at twenty-four, I was the oldest slave in the room. I knelt down on the thick padded floor, hoping the fact that all of my prevailing onlookers were likewise slaves perhaps simply kneeling before them would be enough. I had hoped that I would not have to further humiliate myself in front of my newfound fraternity.

Of course that was not to be.

“You know better than that, slave. Open your knees so that your fellow slave-brothers can have a better look at you,” the slaver directed as he closed the door to the training chamber.

I looked up at him with a sorrowful expression attempting wordlessly to implore him not to make me do this. But the son of a bitch simply watched me stone faced as he strode down the stairs toward me. It was clear he would not be swayed. Considering the blustering expressions on all the gawking young men, it seemed even adolescent male slaves were higher up on the food chain than I was.

In the short time that I’d found myself a slave, I’ve had to spread my thighs numerous times for the sheer whimsy of total strangers. That was quid pro quo for a female slave. Yet this was the first time I would so without being under the influence of that horrid ointment. The effects of the ointment crippled me with desire, need, and arousal coaxing me to do things I would never under regular circumstances consider. The mere awareness that I was under the sway of the ointment also made it easy to succumb mentally, it gave me something to blame for my self- imposed degradation. Yet I knew if I ever wanted to exploit an opportunity to escape should one ever present itself I needed to keep my head clear. I needed to do whatever it took to keep myself to keep that ointment at bay. Despite the humiliation I had to obey every twisted command of not only the slavers, but every depraved male on the planet, or risk one of them breaking out that little black container. I was making real headway and if I again lost myself in the horrid thrall of that ointment I would be right back at square one.

Nevertheless, knowing what I had to do didn’t make doing it any easier. I bashfully bit the corner of my lip. The eyes of every one of my slave-brothers went wide with anticipation as I placed my hands on my knees. Then I did exactly as I was bid. Obediently, I spread my thighs just as the slave trainer strode up beside me.

I looked forward at my brothers as they inspected me. Some male slaves licked their lips and others swallowed hard. All those who had till now been lying down sat up attentively leaning forward to better scrutinize the sight of me. Nearly every one of my slave-brothers grew excited at the open sight of me as I settled into that vulgar pose-grew being the operative word. I watched my slave-brothers as they watched me and to my dismay I found my own need flare up at the sight of those tone, brisk young men going erect.

“Come get a closer look at your new slave-sister,” consented the slave trainer. Apprehension gripped me as the male slaves began to rise from where they lingered and step down the stairs to the open circle where I knelt. With the slaver’s invitation clearly directed toward only the males within the chamber, the female slaves all hung back and passively remained in their places.

My avid slave-brothers all circled around me savoring the sight of my soliciting position from every angle. I found that my own hungry eyes were drawn to my gawking suitor’s awakened bodies nearly as ardently as their own eyes were drawn to me. My own desire fed off of theirs and was rapidly beginning to spiral out of control. I wanted to close my eyes but I could not find the strength to deny myself the vision of their hard, ready bodies. I was mortified to discover how aroused I was becoming and realized then that the wretched slave conditioning had a tighter grip on me than I thought. I had been so concerned about loosing myself to the thrall of the slaver’s ointment; it never occurred to me that my very own individual needs would be just as self-destructive.

One of the strapping teens crouched down in front of me and I felt my sex twinge with the anticipation of being touched. The slave was a fine specimen and masculine in every way, but he had an indistinctly lissome body that hadn’t quite fully matured yet.

“This slave is exquisite,” noted the one standing at my right. “Her body is well made to give pleasure.”

“I have never even seen a woman with red hair before,” commented another at my left, “very unique.”

“Do you think she squirms well?” asked one who stood over me.

“I wager this slave squirms rather nicely,” noted the one crouched at my right. “Remember our lessons? Observe how her breathing has quickens while we look upon her. Despite her bashfulness, this slave is clearly eager to please.” His hand reached out to me grasping high on the inside of my thigh. As though to affirm to his words my torso arched of its own volition and I took in a sharp, shivering breath.

His eyes went wide and he grimaced, “See how readily she responds to even so meager a touch?” attested the teen as he squeezed the inside of my thigh. “This slave is already aroused and our lesson has not even begun yet.” His naive, curious eyes met mine and he candidly inquired, “Tell me my red-haired slave-sister, are you already wet and swollen?”

I felt embarrassment crawl up my face from such brazen directness and I had to break my gaze away from his insistent staring. “I . . . I am,” I stammered hoping he wouldn’t attempt to find out first hand right there on the spot. I was also well aware that the slave trainer was watching both of us-and most likely he was evaluating me.

“So you are already prepared for use then?”

“Yes,” I breathed as I felt his hand slid up my thigh just a little higher. My nipples hardened with a blissful jolt. It was a reaction that did not go unnoticed and the boy before me grinned. His hand massaged and kneaded my bare thigh and I could feel my sex throb and snap excitedly. I hoped with every fiber of my being that loathsome reaction would slip by his notice.

He was so close to touching me then that my need blazed up like a solar flare. Inwardly I prayed his hand wouldn’t venture any further up my thigh else he would discover just how strongly this disgraceful scenario indeed aroused me. During the short course of my conditioning I had been frequently forced to climax hard again and again. That little repetitive drill had primed my body to readily respond to my slave-brother’s interest and the undeniable truth of that added a whole other layer of humiliation. Yet, despite everything I had endured I had still not become fully accustomed to being molested in front of an audience. Once again my mind and body were at odds, battling it out in a tug-of-war where my very psyche was not only the rope-but also the prize.

“Let’s get to know our little shy flower a little better,” chimed our foreman as he moved to stand even closer beside me. The hand on my thigh was gone and the boy who stooped before me stood and moved back with the others disappearing within the group.

My breath came in short, shallow, uneven huffs, my body trembling with anxious disappointment, my mind reeling with relief at the unexpected reprieve.

“As you are clearly aroused, you may ease yourself, slave,” the trainer said offhandedly.

My eyes popped open and I craned my neck up to look at him. “Wh-what?!”

“Ease yourself,” this time he added the snap of command and he was clearly not pleased with having to repeat himself to a slave. “Ease yourself to show your slave-brothers exactly how you wish to be touched. Is that a problem for you, slave?”

“No,” I surrendered. I faced forward, baring all those attentive eyes on me. Everyone in the room watched me, waiting for me to begin. Although my slave-brothers were obviously eager to see me “ease myself”, I could tell this clearly wasn’t the first time they’ve played this little game. I assumed this was some sort of twisted initiation for all the new slave girls. They would simply stand there and observe how I get myself off and then every one of them would know the best way to work me over. I licked my lips and swallowed hard working up the nerve needed to comply. Then slowly, my right hand moved up my thigh. The circle around me closed in tighter as began doing exactly as I had been told.

My finger brushed the piercing causing it to buzz and my body seized. The sensation was undeniable, coupled with my conditioning I knew it wouldn’t take long for the vibrations of that sinister trinket to become habitual.

At first my fingers moved in large, slow circles over the ring and every time that humming piercing grazed my clit I shuddered. The slaver hesitated a few moments before moving on, making certain I was not simply going though the motions, but obeying his directive with enthusiastic commitment. As hot as I was there weren’t going to be any problems on that front. By the end of that first minute the circular motion of my fingers had grown rapid and desperate, yet I broke the stride every few seconds to slide my fingers up inside me. Once my slave-trainer was satisfied with my zeal, he began to address my attentive audience.

“See how her entire body subtly surges with every in-thrust of her finger?” Although he spoke directly to the attendee’s their collective attention fell solely upon me. My eyelids fluttered shut while my right hand hastened its rhythm. The slaver had commanded me to make myself cum, and despite my embarrassment at obeying such a command it definitely was not going to take long. “Observe how her hips move on their own accord,” he continued on nonchalantly as my left hand rose to pinch and pull at my taut nipple. “See how her body strives to ease the burning need that seizes her. Open your eyes, slave.”

My eyes drifted open while I continued working myself vigorously without halt. My classmates watched me with great interest and my need further seethed from their attention, rising up high and so close to boiling over.

“Ah yes, see how her eyes are out distant and out of focus? This shy little slave is very close to release.” Amused, he looked down at me while I continued to touch myself with determination. “However you should be aware, not every woman will be this quick to climax, most will require some effort on your part.” His words brought laughter to everyone within the chamber. Even the female slaves, who till now remained utterly silent through my ordeal, giggled amongst themselves. Despite the slaver pocking fun, I was poised up on that white hot edge of release, mere breaths away from finishing myself off, and I just could not stop toiling.

But I was a mere slave and the choice to climax was not mine to make. Abruptly, the slaver’s fist twisted painfully in my hair and jerked my head back bowing my spine. “That is quite enough slave,” the cruel brute chuckled. His free hand grasped my right wrist dislodging my sodden fingers. “I think your slave-brothers get the idea.”

“Aungh!” I howled out in sharp frustration, my reaction further feeding the laughter that already rolled throughout the chamber.

Ohhh!” the slaver crooned as he held my right hand out away from my trembling body. “You appear to be somewhat restless slave; you are a hot one indeed.”

“Yes master!” I panted desperately, inwardly fighting the urge to pull my wrists from his grip. “I was. . . I was close.” He smiled wide, watching how I rubbed my thighs tightly together attempting futilely to alleviate the burning itch consuming my sex.

“Did I give you permission to close your legs, slave?” The fist entangled in my hair cruelly pulled my head back even further spurring on me to conform. I swallowed hard, gulping down my frustration and then spread my knees like good little obedient slave girl.

“Very good,” he approved releasing my right wrist but still persisting to hold my head back. Squirming and gasping for breath, I placed my idle hands on the tops of my thighs. Beads of cold sweat broke out all over my body and my chest rose and fell as I panted struggling to pull myself together. Yet apparently I wasn’t suffering enough. The slaver’s hand slid over my breast then gave my up-thrust nipple a sharp tweak driving the remaining air from my lungs. I groaned through clenched teeth and I wriggled wildly in agitation. My sex, aching and throbbing with its ravening emptiness, was ground zero for the shudders that rippled through my body from my fingertips to my toes. Nevertheless, throughout my anguish I held my knees wide for the amusement of my ogling slave-brothers.

Unfortunately however, the slaver wasn’t finished running me through the ringer just yet. His hand slid down my torso, tracing down the flatness of my belly, then coasted down even lower over my midriff. I knew full well he had no intention of easing me so I didn’t bother wasting my very limited breath begging for it. He was simply entertaining himself, having a little fun at my expense, and there was nothing I could do but endure.

Getting a slave primed up for orgasm only to heartlessly withhold it was a very popular pastime among many of the slavers. But I understood that there was more to it than that. This little depriving game was the slaver’s way of giving female slaves a mental beat down. Orgasm denial was the very core of slave conditioning, the perfect demonstration of mastering a slave. Bodies crave pleasure. Once aroused, to fight against the slaver’s will forces one to battle against their own basic needs. Get the slave hot and bothered then leave her with only two extreme choices, torment or release. Submit to the slavers, and if you’re lucky, out of the kindness of their black hearts they’ll allow you to climax-all the while drilling into you that it’s the ultimate reward. By that the time you’re so delirious with need you’ll buy whatever nonsense they’re selling. I was also onto their sneaky tactics. Get a slave all worked up and then drag it out. When the slave is eventually granted her reward the pent-up, long withheld release is nearly mind blowing. Repeat those depraved tactics again and again and again the scenario will eventually become addictive.

I knew this first hand because I was an addict, and right now this cruel slave trainer was my dealer.

Too mortified with the thought of what was to come I could not look upon the trainer. I could not bear to see that delighted gleam in his grey eyes or the smug grin that I knew stretched across his lips. Instead I looked directly ahead into the fixated eyes of my slave-brothers as I felt that solitary fingertip continue to trail downward. I stiffened as the single finger slid between my open thighs and slithered its way through the cleft of my sex so that the son of a bitch himself could test my heat firsthand. Of course he easily found the dangling ring, and wrenching out a demeaning squeal from deep within my throat was as effortless as twiddling his fingertip. Content with my reaction his lone finger moved on to stroke and caress me, nestling itself between the fleshy folds. Deliriously, almost reflexively, I opened my thighs even wider begging him without words to finish what he himself had commanded me to begin. Yet, even as I further humiliated myself in front of my gawking slave-brothers, I knew that the demeaning gesture would be futile. With less effort that it would take to dial a telephone he had mastered my body. Unfortunately for me the slave-trainer knew it too-and so did everyone else within the chamber that was watching this little escapade play out.

“Now pay close attention,” he directed toward my classmates. “Male slaves are frequently called upon to aid in training or even punishment of female slaves.” The slaver leaned in close and whispered, “This lesson is for you as well.” His warm breath brushed against my skin teasing me further. All the while his finger repeatedly caressed me, sporadically dallying with my piercing simply for sport. “Do you wish to please me slave?”

“Yes master,” I rasped in a soft whisper.

“Even if it pleases me to see you suffer? To see you remain so hot and agitated?”

“Yes,” I breathed, ashamed to discover that I really did mean it. Despite my utter turmoil I truly wanted the bastard to be pleased with me.

His technique on me changed then. I gasped with widening eyes as it was then brought home to me just how proficient this slaver truly was with a woman’s body. His fingers grazed over me lightly . . . very lightly . . . too lightly. The scant touch was not enough to feed the need that consumed me, it only served to churn the hunger, rile it up and piss it off. Tears welled up in my eyes as I struggled to restrain the screams that blossomed from deep with my lungs.

To my credit, for those first few moments I held that submissive, kneeling upright posture perfectly while I suffered through that misery. However, the vile slaver was determined and those slow, meager caresses never stopped coming.

I opened my thighs as wide as I was able and pushed my hips out toward his fingers.

I squirmed frantically over the toying hand.

I moaned out shamelessly, now completely unshaken by all the badgering laughter of my spectators.

And then I begged.

“Please master!” Two words were all that I had breath for, and although they came out in a soft, whining whisper there was no doubt to anyone who bared witness that my pleading was nothing but heartfelt and sincere. I poured my soul out to the trainer with those two words, but he simply chuckled and continued on undaunted with his torture.

The merciless brute rubbed and stroked between my open thighs until eventually, unable to attain release, my sex seized with hollow spasms of pain and need and fire. With that, I could not keep from screaming out in anguish and he finally released my hair. I fell forward on my hands, my sweat soaked hair dropping frontward and webbing over my face.

“Who is your master, Slave?” asked the cold son of a bitch. His hand moved of over the roundness of my bottom as I rested on all fours, heaving for breath as though I just completed a triathlon.

“You-you are my master,” I gasped dropping my head between my arms in exhaustion. “You are my master.”

“Very good,” he said approvingly- then he swatted my ass hard driving a high pitched yelp from me. To my dismay, the swat itself was like an added jolt of vim to my already crippling needs. Satisfied for the moment, the slaver stood while I remained cowered upon my hands and knees at his feet struggling to catch my breath. I felt distracting streams of sweat run down my skin, merging and consolidating into droplets that trickled from my chin and pointed nipples.

“There are no greater ways to master a female slave than through forced orgasm or orgasm denial,” my cold-hearted conqueror lectured. “Observe this slave and her situation. No matter how persuasive she may be I must unsympathetically discern how her conditioning will best be served.”

“But why now do you still choose to punish this slave, master?” inquired one of my brothers, a virile blue-eyed teen who eyed me hungrily. “Has she not been obedient?”

“What exactly has she done to earn her reward? This slave adequately obeys, that much is true, but she is a slave after all and it is her lot to obey.” The trainer reached down to take a fistful of my hair then pulled my head up forcing me to look straight into the beaming leers of all my young, exhilarated spectators. “See the heat in her eyes? The primal need I have brought to the surface? This slave is truly a hot little thing and I simply enjoy watching her writhe. If watching her squirm pleases me then why should I, her master, deny myself such a display?”

My slave-brothers cackled, most of them jovially voicing their agreement.

“Rather than give this slave her reward and end my fun, I would much rather test the limits of her obedience?”

The way the enthusiasm of the male slaves spiked made it clear that this was some new addition to the game, a unique, little bonus my gawking slave-brothers had not expected.

Then the slave trainer gestured at the blue-eyed slave. I watched as the nude teen stepped out of the crowd and approached me.

“Yes master,” Blue-eyes said with real gusto, more than eager to be of assistance.

I looked up at my slave-brother, at his hard, ready body. The conditioned slave in me felt a sense of pride knowing that he was so hard and ready on account of me, almost like his erection was my recompense for a job well done.

“Lie down beside this slave,” the trainer instructed the blue-eyed teen and he immediately went to his back at my right. With that the trainer shifted his attention to me. “Climb on top of your slave-brother,” he commanded.

Silently I mounted enthusiastic male slave, yet my panting breath did noticeably quicken from the eager expectation as I hovered over the naked teen. Although his eyes gleamed, the male slave remained unmoving as I straddled him planting my knees on either side of his hips, the ravening furnace between my thighs poised just above his own stiff need. Situated as he was positioned my body forward toward everyone else within the chamber, my eyes darted from face to face and I found then that even the female slaves impatiently looked on.

“You obey without hesitation,” noted the trainer, “good. Now, take your slave-brother inside you and then I will instruct you further.”

I stared up at all those sets of eyes peering down on me as I reached down between my legs and took hold of the male slave, wrapping my fingers around the very thing that I needed so badly. He shifted under my body as I slid the tip of him up inside me. I lowered myself, my own hungry, wet, swollen sex taking him in full length right off the bat. The slave was rock-hard and setting up as I was pulled him back inside me. His unyielding stiffness pressed against my G-spot while the tip of him grazed another sweet spot deep inside me. I could feel him throb and I couldn’t keep from fidgeting my hips. The trainer looked down at me, chucking at my obvious desperation.

“Easy slave,” my self-appointed drillmaster chuckled. “You are too eager. I had only intended for you to allow your slave-brother a mere inch inside you.”

Mortified at such a heartless directive my mouth dropped open and my eyes went wide. “I-I don’t understand. Am I not to use this slave? Don’t you wish to see me use this slave?!”

“Calm yourself and do exactly as you are instructed,” the trainer said crossing his arms over her broad chest. He cocked his head, looking down at me once again with that disapproved expression of a parent having to needlessly explain himself. “Rise up on your knees so that you are only just barely penetrated. That’s it. Now reach behind you and take hold of your ankles.”

Trembling, I did as the trainer directed. While all the other slaves bared witness I held that vile pose, remaining just barely impaled upon my slave-brother.

“The position should be more graceful, more sensual,” he explained, “Arch your back and thrust the front of your body forward. Good, now you will hold that position till I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

“What!?” I gasped wide-eyed. “Please master! Don’t . . . don’t leave me like this! The need-it burns and I . . . and I can’t take it!” I looked forward and the weight from all the leers from my ogling slave-brothers hammered at me like physical blows. “And they’re all just standing there, looking at me!”

“You clearly are hot and ready to cum,” the slave trainer gibed in his ongoing effort to further humiliate me before my adolescent spectators. “Yet, if simply maintaining this customary exhibition pose offends your delicate sensibility, I would imagine that climaxing before your peers would certainly be more than you could bear.”

“No,” I cried shaking my head as tears rolled down my cheeks. “I . . . I don’t care! Please! I’m begging you now, isn’t that what you want?! I’m begging you! Let me use this slave!”

“I think not. As I said before, I do enjoy watching you suffer.”

I opened my mouth to plead with the single minded sadist, but before I could utter a single sound the blue-eyed teen beneath me brushed his thumb over that intimate ring dangling between my thighs. Instead of intelligible words, a long, gravelly groan burst from deep within my chest and sounded as though it had building for a decade. Although I had been commanded to grasp my ankles, the slave under me was under no such instruction. His hands remained free to roam about the front of my body and it was an advantage over me he had every intention of exploiting. While his right hand toyed with my piercing the left lifted to my chest and playfully pinched at my nipple. I winced and my own fingernails bit deep into the skin of my ankles as I gripped them tighter.

“Hold that pose slave or there will be consequences,” the slave trainer snapped making it crystal clear that was the finale word on the matter. All I could do was nod in acquiescence as I heaved and panted through clenched teeth while the slave under me continued to trifle with the furnace between my thighs. “You may toy with your partner, but be alert. She is close and will climax if you are not cautious.”

“Yes master,” replied the tormenting male slave beneath me as he writhed from the very squirming he himself coaxed from me. Despite the euphoria that clouded my mind, I found myself amazed at the self-control exercised by the blue-eyed teen. He was rock hard and hurting and clearly wanted to use me, but somehow he found the will to put my conditioning above his own aching desires.

I admired the blue-eyed teen’s selfless fortitude.

He was truly a good slave.

The soulless slave-trainer then shifted his attention to the other slaves and began to explain what was expected of them for the day’s training session. Without a glance back or even so much as a second thought my master simply left me there positioned as I was, bestriding my slave-brother and shamelessly impaled.