by Dirty Old Pervert (dirtyoldpervert@hotmail.com)
[M/f+, F+/f+, f-self, spanking, teen, slavery, HighSchool, ScFi, Serious]
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the events depicted in this story and actual events is not only unintentional, but also a tad disturbing.
This story was inspired by an article I was refered to entitled "Overcoming Masturbation" which was writen in an effort to persuate people that masturbating is evil, and to give people advice about how to resist the urge to masturbate. I found myself imganing how opressive our society would be if people really weren't allowed to masturbate. So, I decided to write a story based on that premise.
For the record, this author (along with most of the rest of the world) believes that masturbating is normal and healthy. Furthermore, this author hopes that by inspiring this story, the authors of "Overcoming Masturbation" have managed to cause as much masturbation as humanly possible.
Enjoy!
Jasmine's desire to stay up was motivated by something far more intense than mere adolescent rebellion. Although she had engaged in her fair share of adolescent rebellion in the past, she was far more well disciplined these days. She had to be. The sensation of Daddy's hand swiftly striking her bare buttocks was enough to make any girl resist the temptation to misbehave. There had been a time -- before Jasmine had been born -- when many would have considered a girl Jasmine's age "too old" for a spanking, but that time had long sense passed. Society had long since come to realize that a female never completely outgrew the need for that form of discipline.
No, the demon Jasmine had to fight was far more insidious than a mere desire to misbehave. Her tormenter was the powerful sensation she had in the nether regions between her thighs. Her pussy demanded to be touched -- to be manipulated -- to be penetrated. And it seemed that with each passing day its demands became more and more unrelenting. Usually, during the day Jasmine was able to resist the temptations to give in to her urges by simply keeping herself occupied, and distracted from her female instincts. Once she was up, her only real moment of vulnerability was in the shower, when she had no choice but stand under the warm, invigorating flow of water in the nude and lather every inch of her own body. These days, she showered in a mad rush, taking barely enough time to get herself clean.
But she could not rush through the time she spent in bed. She had a bedtime, and it was strictly enforced. So, for hours upon hours she had to lay alone, in the dark, between her sheets with nothing but her own thoughts and her own body to keep her company. She wore nothing but panties and a flimsy nightshirt when she was under the covers, and pussy was so terribly accessible . . . and so terribly inviting.
But this night, as she crawled into bed wearing her typical, insubstantial outfit, she reminded herself that she must keep her mind off of anything even remotely related to sex. It was extremely difficult to do that these days, as it seemed as if her entire life revolved around her own sexuality, but she had to. She had to.
Horrible things happened to girls who touched their pussies.
Like most girls her age, Jasmine's ambition was to become an affluent, powerful career woman with a large cadre of minions following her every command to the letter and catering to her every need. Daddy was quite wealthy and influential enough to make that happen for her, if she could only make it through the next few years. She had to prove to both Daddy and the world that the she deserved to be a free woman -- to be mistress of herself and others, and to take care of those who were unworthy to make decisions for themselves.
A free woman was pure in thought and deed. She was governed by her wit, her cunning, and her ambition. She was not governed by her pussy. A free woman, it was thought, simply did not have the sorts of vile instincts that Jasmine even now had trouble suppressing. Jasmine tried hard to convince herself that she deserved to be a free woman, and that she could overcome her urge to touch herself. Only sluts touched themselves, and Jasmine knew perfectly well what happened to sluts.
Daddy kept several sluts in the household as maids, servants, and the like. They slept on the cold, cement floor, each locked in her own cell. Each wore a collar on her neck, with which she could be led around on a leash if need be. The collars were surgically attached to the skin, and could not be removed. Save for the collar, each went completely naked. No jewelry, no makeup, nothing. That was the way Daddy liked them. The only distinguishing mark each girl had was a serial number tattooed to the inside of her left thigh.
As Jasmine thought about this, she glanced under her covers and stole a peak at the inside of her left thigh. It was bare. That, thought Jasmine, was what made her different from the sluts who slept on bare cement in Daddy's basement. Her glance traveled above her inner thigh to her panties, on which a small spot of moisture was already beginning to form. Some of Jasmine's pubic hair could be seen from the outside of her panties, and that, thought Jasmine, was another thing that separated her from them.
Only free women had hair down there -- sluts had no hair anywhere below their necks. Some sort of chemical was used to kill their hair follicles once they were captured and processed. Jasmine did not know all of the technical details; all she knew was that she was constantly having to shave her legs and her armpits, while these sluts never had to shave at all. Of course, the hair around Jasmine's pussy was untouched -- that was a badge of honor for any free woman. But what she wouldn't give to be able to use that strange chemical on herself, so her skin could be completely smooth everywhere else . . .
"Stop it!" she mentally told herself sharply. "Don't even THINK that." She had had to reprove herself in this manner a lot lately. She should be just as proud of her need to shave as she was of her pubic hair. That is what made her a free woman. "Hold on to that," she thought. "You are a free woman. You don't need to give in to these disgusting urges; you are above them. You are better than the sluts downstairs."
Actually, it seemed almost as if that pussy hair was more a curse than a blessing. There had been a time when she was younger that her pussy was as smooth and devoid of hair as that of any slut. Daddy had told her that it was nothing to worry about. He had said that Jasmine's pussy hair would grow, and it did. In those days, Jasmine had not had nearly as much of an urge to touch herself. But as the hair of Jasmine's pussy grew, so too did its craving for attention -- its need to be fondled, manipulated, fucked.
At that moment, Jasmine was overcome by a fit of anger toward the source of all of her problems; her pussy. She spread her legs and smacked her pussy hard with her open hand, as if to punish it for being bad. The effect was, if anything, the exact opposite of what she had intended. Being smacked in that manner simply made her pussy crave attention more intently. Jasmine drew her hand back and smacked it again, but this time her hand lingered in the now much more moist area between her thighs. Without even thinking about it, she began to gently rub the area of her panties between her legs.
"What difference does it make?" thought Jasmine. "Even if I get caught, they'd never Auction me at my age."
But that very thought made her suddenly stop short, and with a cold tremor. It was nonsense, and she knew it. Girls Jasmine's age did, in fact, find themselves standing nude on the Auction Block with an alarming frequency. In fact, just a few months ago, it had happened to her best friend Brianna.
Throughout their childhood, Brianna and Jasmine had been inseparable. They had spent their afternoons and weekends together, they had sat together in class, they had studied together, and they had played together. In their youth, they had even occasionally played "doctor" together, although at the time both girls were far too young to fully understand the sordid nature of that particular game.
As they grew older, they also looked for boys together, but not with much success. Jasmine had heard rumors of a time when boys and girls populated the world in roughly equal numbers, but supposedly some kind of plague or something had happened. All Jasmine knew was that far more girls than boys were born each year now, and that it was said that the same disease that reduced the male birthrate turned the majority of girls into sluts. The only way to tell the difference between normal girls and sluts, it was said, was based on their behavior. Normal girls -- the ones who were destined to become free women and enjoy wealth, power, and leisure alongside the men -- were pure of heart and mind. Sluts, on the other hand, were base, vial creatures who were ruled by their sexuality. Normal girls had no need to masturbate. If you needed to masturbate, you were a slut.
Jasmine and Brianna had often talked of a future time when they would both be free women, each owning twenty sluts apiece who would wait on them hand and foot and do their bidding. They would have strong, handsome husbands whose insatiable sexual appetites would be more than enough to keep them both satisfied.
Sometimes, just for practice, Jasmine would bring Brianna down to Daddy's basement to "play with the sluts." Both girls would have endless fun taking turns spanking the sluts, whipping them, and fucking them with Daddy's dildos. Daddy encouraged this, saying that the sluts "needed the exercise." If either Brianna or Jasmine had ever fantasized about what it would be like to be on the receiving end of this sort of treatment, they certainly never spoke of it out loud.
Jasmine and Brianna had had most of their classes together, including gym class. Their gym class consisted entirely of girls, with one exception: Robert. Robert was a very well developed young man with a deep, sexy voice and a heavy, muscular build. The mere sight of him -- especially in his gym uniform -- was enough to make any girl's spine turn into jelly. One day they were playing volleyball, and Jasmine and Brianna found themselves on the team opposite Robert, completely dazzled by his masculine attributes. Of course, Robert's team won easily, but it was hard to say whether it was due to Robert's athletic ability, or his ability to distract the opposing players.
After that game, the girls hit the showers. There and then, it happened. Brianna completely forgot herself, and began to finger her pussy right there, in front of everybody. Of course, the Monitors immediately rushed into the girls' shower and dragged her away for processing. Jasmine did not know how she had managed to keep from touching herself after witnissing this scene, but somehow she had managed it.
A few months later, Daddy had taken Jasmine to the Auction, as he occasionally did, and there she saw Brianna being dragged onto the Block. They called her "Lot 47" rather than "Brianna," and she was completely nude and hairless from the neck down, but it was unmistakably her. Jasmine had wanted to bid on her, but Daddy had forbidden it. He had said that Jasmine had been to close to her, and that she would not treat her the way a slut needs to be treated. Brianna was ultimately bought, it looked like, by Robert, the boy in the gym.
Jasmine thought for a moment about what it would be like if she, herself, were on the Auction Block, nude, with men from all over bidding on her. These thoughts made her hand unconsciously find its way to her pussy. When she noticed this, she decided to give up resisting. "The important thing," thought Jasmine, "is not to get caught. Be discrete about it. If you do it under the covers, and you don't make any noise, nobody will ever know."
The girls downstairs in the cells may have to sleep on cold cement, thought Jasmine, but they could touch their pussies as much as they wanted. They were beneath reproach. And the men seemed to use them to satisfy their sexual needs more than they used their own wives. Free women were supposed to be pure, so presumably they didn't need any attention paid to their pussies.
Now, Jasmine's hand was under her panties, and her fingers were burrowing their way into her hole. "Just so I can relax and go to sleep," thought Jasmine, who then concentrated on keeping quiet.
Jasmine had once witnessed Daddy force a slut onto all fours, with her eyes blindfolded, her mouth gagged, and her legs spread wide apart. His massive cock was out, and he was thrusting it into her from behind. That, thought Jasmine, was the life of a slut. To be on all fours for the pleasure of the man who owned you. To have his cock thrusting into your pussy. What would it be like to have such a massive cock being thrust into you, and to be powerless to do anything about it? What would it be like to have a cock, daddy's cock . . .
Oh no! Was that a moan that she had just made? Even a soft moan could be detected by the sensitive microphones that Jasmine knew were in hidden her room. In the dark, it didn't matter what she was actually doing, but any sound . . .
The lights in her room suddenly turned on, having been activated remotely. Now, she knew that the hidden cameras could clearly see her lying on her back, with her legs spread apart, and with her hand inside her panties. There was no point in hiding it anymore; she had been caught.
She heard footsteps coming down the hall. Any moment, Daddy would come bursting into her room to take her away. He would be disappointed, just as he had been when he had taken her older sister Erica away, but he would come. He would strip Jasmine naked, he would spank her ass until it was red, then he would ship her off to one of those "processing centers" where she would be trained to be a slut. Then, there she would be, on the Auction Block, being sold to strangers as a mere piece of meat.
The thought filled Jasmine with fear, but it also filled her with sexual excitement of an intensity that she had never before known. After she violently tore off her panties and nightshirt, it was this thought that finally brought her to her first, and last, orgasm as a free woman.
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