Hi I must admit wasn’t sure where to put this one.
& I must confess I got the inspiration for this from John Normans Gor series, Plunder of Gor, from Phyllis, waking up in slave bracelets prior to her ‘acquisition’ not one of his better volumes imho. They seemed to have lost most or all of their dubious misogynistic charm quite some time ago, again imho.
I’m also not so sure John Norman doesn’t secretly want to be one of the slave girls in his stories he makes them seem so happy and contented and slightly less one dimensional than the Masters.
But anyway & as always hope someone might enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Curtsy xx
We had been best friends at first, inseparable friends, going out for drinks after work, going out for
nights out. Always shopping together for clothes and gossiping. We liked to flirt with the men in the office together, and tease some of them too. But we were young and pretty, and so were most of the men. We knew we were there as eye candy office assistants and receptions for the clients. So we always dressed the part. We loved fashions and sexy business wear for the office. But then he had arrived and we so quickly became rivals. He was so manly and carried himself so confidently, not like any of the other men, and he made me feel so warm between my thighs just looking at him. I knew Emily felt the same way as I did.
And he never flirted with us, just rather bluntly, even curtly, instructed us to bring this file or that file, or coffee. And then when we did fetch and carry, he would keep us waiting standing there holding the files or his drink, for a minute or so before taking it.
He always said ‘thank you’, but it always felt like punctuation rather than politeness. And it was also the way he said ‘thank you’ you got the distinct impression , like it was beneath him to thank us, for anything
In that strange accent of his, his English was perfect, but with that couldn’t quite place it European accent. I had asked him once, where he was from and he had just brushed my question aside.
But Emily and I simpered for him, quite hotly, rushing to be the one who did his fetching and carrying. And we both started dressing up for him too. Emily bought herself a rather tight leather mini skirt, and seemed to be attracting more of his attention. So I bought myself an even tighter shorter mini skirt in high gloss, and a new very close fitting blouse. She retorted with an even tinier mini skirt until I upped the anti with Adele looking at a rather sexy, but also rather slutty looking patent leather and latex mix mini skirt, very shiny and tight, I had seen Emily, looking at it in a magazine, trying to decide if maybe it wasn’t a little too much for the office and had quickly jumped in and ordered online. Nonetheless she also bought another similar skirt but I enjoyed my petty feminine triumph for the day at least. Then it was the blouses, snugger and tighter, with another daring button undone, revealing a hint way too expensive lacy underwear. I thought I had won with my final blouse , black chiffon silk which was so sheer as to be rude but was pleated with very tiny, oh so difficult to iron pleats that gave the viewer tantalising glimpses of what was underneath, rather than an eyeful, somewhat like walking past a slatted fence. But she won this one with a superbly tailored, incredibly glossy but sheer at certain angles blouse. I was furious. The next battle ground was shoes and stockings, I think we came out level on that score. And always make up, nails and perfume , always expensive scents. We Emily and I were driving the other men, who we know considered to be just boys pretending to be men, compared to him, in the office wild but we only had eyes for him.
Needless to say Emily and I weren’t going out for friendly drinks anymore, but we did still go out with all the others from the office, hoping he might one day decide to come along but he never did. Then one evening as I was walking home past a very expensive bar restaurant, I saw him through the window, with a fabulous looking women in fabulous looking silk backless slip party dress. It was so gossamer and almost not there, I could tell just by looking at her she had no panties on under the dress or was wearing a thong. He had looked up and saw me, most likely agape through the window. Then he had smiled and looked away cupping his companions bottom with his large hands. I had fled with embarrassment.
The next day he called me to bring him coffee, and after keeping me waiting for the usual minute or so he looked up from his paperwork and said
“Were you having a nice evening last night Adele?” He asked, in that strange lilt, whenever he said my name or Emily’s it always sounded like he was questioning our ownership of our names, like he was considering whether w should have different names.
Also although his English was perfect his question about my evening made it sound like he wasn’t interested in my answer, or at least not much interested.
“Oh yes Sir, thank you.” I replied, he was very senior to me, and although everyone in the office was very casual, he was very formal, or least he was with myself, Emily and the other female office assistants.
My heart was in my mouth hoping desperately that he was going to ask me out.
“Did you have an enjoyable evening Sir ?” I ventured hopefully.
“Oh I always make sure I do.” He said rather flatly
Then he reached out and patted my bottom.
“You may go now Adele, back to your desk.” He told me
I was shocked and excited. No-one in the office, no-one in any work environment would think that was in any way appropriate, but I was so pleased and flattered, I wanted to lean into his hand, but hurried back to my desk, breathlessly. Emily gave me a curious look as I sat down, I smiled in elation, blissful with petty feminine triumph.
That night in bed, my hands, my fingers had strayed between my legs and I had wanted to masturbate, I hadn’t done so or even really thought about it much since college. But somehow although all I could think about was him and his large hand patting my bottom I couldn’t start, somehow I though he wouldn’t approve. Or he might find out and forbid it, which made the idea even more arousing. I had rolled around in bed for quite some time, and had eventually lifted my fingers to my mouth smelling and tasting my arousal, licking them clean but still did not somehow dare go any further.
The next day I was furious, Emily had brought him some files and he had patted her bottom too. I hope no-one else heard my cry of impotent jealous fury from the locked toilet cubicle, or saw me clenching my little fists weakly. And then that night even though my fingers had strayed again, I was too upset to think about anything but him patting Emily’s bottom or mine, in fact all I could think about was him, all the time.
That night the strange dreams started, and they were very disconcerting.
I had woken in the middle of the night and my pretty but rather modest nightdress, was replaced with a
much smaller and filmier nightdress , also I had no panties on. I was very grateful I kept myself fully waxed, as was the fashion for some girls these days, as at least I was smooth and pretty under my very short nightdress or rather negligee. But the scariest thing was the bracelets. Plain but still rather pretty and somehow feminine looking in their functionality, two matching bands of steel fastened, one for each wrist and locked around each wrist. Joined by a single link so relatively inflexible and impossible for me to move my wrists much in, or to attempt to remove them. I had struggled in breathless rising panic, as I realized how helpless I was, but feebly too pathetically, as if I should be locked in such things, in tears of frustration, then eventually I must have given up and drifted back to sleep again. Because the next thing I knew it was the morning. But the dream had felt so very real, so visceral, and my wrists also felt sore were the phantom rings of steel had been in my dreams.
In a disturbing way the dream had also felt somewhat arousing. On my way home I spotted a new lingerie shop, funny how I had not noticed the boutique shop before. In the window was a nightie just like the one I was wearing in my dream and I felt compelled to go and look at it, and as soon as I felt the slippery smooth, rather diaphanous fabric I had shuddered with excitement and had to buy the tiny garment, it was quite lovely. I had wanted panties to go with the slip of course. The very friendly, rather servile girl in the shop had a similar accent to the man and had guided me in my purchase. She had deftly avoided any questions about where she was from, however,
The girl did keep saying how pretty the nightie and she was sure that He, the man in my life would be very pleased to see me wearing it. Rather curious I thought when these days women bought pretty things for their own pleasure, not for the male gaze, didn’t they?. I did not mention that I was single but I got the distinct impression she knew already this, despite what she said.
She did wrinkle her nose slightly when I insisted on the matching panties, which I thought was rather odd because it would add to her sales commission. Also she didn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to let me leave.
“The fabric does feel lovely doesn’t it.”
“I suppose so yes.”
“Lovely and feminine, perfect for you.” She said, rather directly I though but I was flattered.
I bought another two slips and asked for the matching panties. Maybe she was a good salesgirl after all, or was I persuading myself
“Girls like us aren’t allowed to wear panties.” She said
“What ?, what did you say .” I said not sure if heard her correctly.
“Oh sorry I meant theses baby-doll slips, negligees aren’t usually meant to come with panties.” She said, then added quickly “Sorry my English grammar is a little spotty.”
In actual fact her grammar was perfect with just the trace of a European accent, just like him in the office. I did notice however that her accent didn’t sound so condescending, his was often jarring or dismissive, hers was very soft and inviting, anxious to please.
I didn’t question her any further but she did give me a little hug as I finally got ready to leave and a
peck on my cheek. I got the distinct impression she would have kissed me on the lips if she had been given the chance. They were so very pleasantly direct these foreigners, even if he was so blunt. I also couldn’t help wondering if she was wearing panties under her rather pretty and short skirt, but didn’t dare ask.
That night when I put on the lovely slip I had shuddered in excitement, the fabric was just so sensuous to the touch, quite maddeningly so in fact, but it looked so pretty in the mirror. I must confess I had thought about touching myself again, but still didn’t dare to somehow.
Getting dressed for bed I had made sure to wear the panties but had again woken up, wearing the pretty slip nightdress but no panties, and in the bracelets again. And also tonight I had the very foreboding feeling of being under observation somehow. Again though after struggling feebly with the cuffs and not daring to get out of bed I somehow drifted off back to sleep and woke in the morning. The cuffs were of course gone, but I was still in my slip, but the panties were crumpled up and tossed on the floor. Had I forgotten to put them on ? I cautiously sniffed at the fabric and the soft silk did smell slightly warm & worn. I had rushed my coffee and morning cigarette, and inadvertently arrived at work half an hour early.
He had been there already just about to get into the lift, holding the door for me letting me precede him
in, not in a gentlemanly manner though, almost as if I should be steered or guided by him.
In the lift he never said anything even though we were alone together, he just watched me silently then allowed me to proceed him into the office. Then once he was in his office he had called out for coffee. Most of us fetched our own drinks but he liked myself or Emily to bring his to him.
Again he never said much else to me except to tell me I could go now. I felt so flustered. But then I also felt very pleased when I saw Emily arriving at the office and the look on her face when she saw me coming out of his office, was priceless. It was still too early to start work so we had stepped out together to smoke on the office balcony. Quite furiously puffing away. Trying to keep our conversation friendly even though it was always rather stifled and awkward these days. He came outside too having his own executive veranda, on the floor above ours. He obviously saw us, and was close enough to have a conversation with us but he didn’t say anything, just looked at us with that unreadable expression. And when we went back inside he called Emily to fetch him another coffee, I was very nearly in tears.
The next night was much, much worse, I sleep woke to find my ankles were in similar bracelets, anklets, too. So even I had wanted to get out of bed I wouldn’t have been able to without falling over in helpless mess. My wrists and ankles also felt sore. And again the panties I was sure I had worn were on the floor.
My negligee slip, also felt and smelt rather fusty, my body apparently had been hot and bothered in my dream, I was glad I had a couple of spares to wear. And annoyingly the girl in the shop had said hand wash only, preferably with soap flakes and using your fingertips, so I had to find some old fashioned laundry soapflakes and a little bowl to wash the garment in. I chose a pastel pink bowl, thinking it was a feminine colour, though this sort of menial work would suit a stone basin better.
Then that night I woke in the bracelets, and anklets but the bracelets now held my hands behind my back, with a matching ring around my waist holding the bracelets in place, and I was face down on the bed. As I struggled to roll myself over, no mean feat in these restraints, I heard a voice in my head think say in a very feminine voice, ‘no touching yourself, pretty little thing’, as if I could now in these bracelets, and with the anklets I couldn’t even think about trying to go to the loo. The voice sounded like the girl in the lingerie store, slightly mocking or was it just a plain statement of fact, that sounded so final and so mocking. I suspected the latter but really wasn’t sure. Again I woke up in the morning completely unbound but a fusty mess, my panties on the floor, and my wrists and ankles sore from where the bracelets had been in my dream.
And then the next night I woke with an iron belt intimately snug between my legs locking to the ring
around my waist, a very simple but effective and pretty chastity device. With my wrists attached to the rear of the belt. I had sobbed in helpless fright for what felt like all night until I dropped off and woke again in the morning. The next night I found myself not on the bed but lying on my pillow on the floor, And this was every night now, and the only way I could get comfortable was lie sideways on the bed, curled up. There was no way of getting the sheet back around me either. Or if I sometimes fell from the bed, there was no way to climb back up so I just knelt on the pillow, retrieved with my mouth, , facing the wall. I don’t know why it felt right to kneel facing the wall but it did, as I struggled futilely in the bracelets and anklets, crying softly until I found myself awake in the morning again. Thankfully always unbound and in bed, but always with my panties removed.
And then came that night when the dream wasn’t a dream any longer. I had woken up face down on the bed in the bracelets, anklets and the iron belt again , but unusually still wearing my panties, but not for long. There was a man in my room and it was him, and another man too.
I had sobbed in fright, somehow I knew for certain this wasn’t a dream. With one hand pressing me
down onto the bed, very easily. With the other he deftly unlocked the iron belt and peeled my panties off then stuffed them into my mouth to silence me.
“This should keep pretty Adele quiet.” He said to the other man, who laughed.
I whimpered into the gag.
“Is she vital?” One of the other men asked.
The man who had gagged me put his big hand between my legs, I would have leaped in fright if his other hand hadn’t been so easily holding me down.
“Did anyone doubt pretty Adele or Emily would be hot and wet.” He laughed wiping his hand on my slip, then locked the iron belt between my legs again.
He slapped my bottom firmly when he was done, causing me to squeal, heavily muffled by the panties in my mouth.
The other man chuckled rather lewdly, as I moaned in misery into the gag.
He lifted me up and threw me over his shoulder, very easily indeed, then as he carried me from the bedroom, I had passed out.
That was the last I seen of him till now. Now that I was a slavegirl serving often nude or in tiny slip dress just like my negligee, except much more fantastically glossy slippery and diaphanous. And with no panties, unless a Master wanted me to wear such a silly negligible strip of fabric so he could remove them or order me to remove them so he could gag me with them for punishment or sex, or both.
A branded slavegirl, marked with the hot iron and sold at auction to a tavern where my sexual use came complementary with the price of a drink. Not a fantastic business model I sometimes thought, but slavegirls, although ‘too beautiful to be free’ were cheap and plentiful, in the markets, and when we weren’t on our knees for the Masters we were on our hands & knees performing housework, and other suitably servile female tasks, around the tavern.
I was on all fours with emily at his feet. We had been bought by the tavern as a pair due to our matching blonde hair, blow job blonde they called it. And also when the buyers had seen how jealous and competitive we were towards each other, and how much that would please his patrons. For that reason our owner had also swapped our names so I was now emily and she adele. He could of course name us anything he pleased, or leave us nameless. On all fours with adele, kissing Masters whip fearfully, begging to not be beaten, begging to please him.
It was a popular pastime of the Masters, making us beg together to be chosen, often kissing the whip, or kissing the Masters cock and balls together, eyes and lips meeting around his swollen throbbing glans. Or watching us lick or finger each other to near orgasm, before selecting one of us for fellatio, the other to fetch him another drink. Choosing one or the other to take to the alcoves, small reception rooms, for a more private rape. Even though you could still hear our moans and sobs, especially loud for anal, as they spread our thighs and buttocks, opened us, with their throbbing erections. Through the leather curtains that sealed off the room. And the men were rather big here and vital, quite insatiable until they were fully satisfied and dismissed us, or if was night time, pushing us down to lick them clean, as they drifted off to sleep.
His face was just as impassive as it always was in the office, but now satisfied seeing us firmly in our place, for his pleasure. He left us begging and pleading covering the whip with fervent kisses until we were quite helpless with arousal, and fear. In no particular order he could use either pleasure or punishment. Then he casually placed the whip on the side of his chair. We both sobbed choking with relief, the slave whip is horrible on your rear, or anywhere really, but usually across your bottom and your upper thighs. We were both still desperately fervently pleading to be chosen for his pleasure. Squidging and squelching with hot helpless need, my thighs were slick, and so were adele’s.
He reached down and patted my bottom and then adele’s. It was more of a slap than a pat.
“Run along now pretty slaves, it was most enjoyable to catch up.”
“Yes Master, thank You Master.” We sobbed humiliated and dismissed, hurrying away. As he clicked his fingers for another girl to come and serve him.
Both adele and I weak with powerless jealous fury, but always cringing obsequiously, in male presence, as he took another slave to the alcoves, while we hurried back to the housework, then later emerged from the alcove leaving the girl well used and still in the love chains. Paying for his drink and leaving without even glancing down at us. Or at least as far as we could tell, because we were not allowed to look up above the Masters beltline unless we were told too, or were performing fellatio, the Masters liked to see our eyes looking up at them submissively then.
Leaving without another word for us. And I knew we would most likely never see him again.
He had raped and dominated us, even more totally without raping us.
It must be so satisfying to be the Master here.
“Thank You Master.” I whispered tearfully and so did adele.
Hi I
