Author’s note:  This part is mostly set-up and introduction.  If you just want to get to the juicy stuff, that’ll start with chapter 1.

       The movement for sexual liberation for all began in the twentieth century, but It only truly caught fire in the twenty-first.  Where sodomy laws had been abolished in the twentieth, the new century saw the recognition of marriage as a purely religious institution, separate from legal unions that were made available to everyone of any gender or number who desired them.  As the movement for greater freedom spread, it was eventually determined  in the mid-2050s that since an individual’s body was his or her own, it could be bought and sold freely, even with the condition that the seller lost the right to change his or her mind.  It was the rise of a new wave of slavery.

Initially, many feared that this would be used to recruit cheap labor, but such a thing never materialized.  Virtually all workers, no matter how poor, wanted far more than minimum wage for work they could not walk away from until their contracts were up.

Instead, the new slaves were playthings for the wealthy.  Young men and women, fresh out of high school at the age of 18, were allowed to sign contracts with slave dealers to be trained and sold to the super rich.  While there were no requirements for what the contracts could and could not specify, some things became standard practice for such contracts:  Typically, the slaves were to be owned for 20 years after their sale, were to be sterilized before beginning service (albeit by a method that was easily reversible if their owner desired a free child by them), were not to be harmed in any way which would be likely to greatly shorten their lives or leave them permanently disfigured after their service ended (although, with the medical technology available to the elites, this was not much of a limitation), were to be immunized against all known STDs, and 70% of the money from their sale was to be set aside in a trust fund for when they were finally released (while it varied from slave to slave this was typically in the tens of millions of dollars).

Within a few months of the first slave being sold the industry was further revolutionized by two new developments:  the company SlaveWatch began work with slave dealers to implant tracking chips next to the spines of slaves, where they would be all but impossible to remove and would remain active until remotely deactivated by a computerized system upon completion of their contracts, and the approval of the chemical Lynodon on human subjects.  The drug, already having established a small market among pets and livestock, had two effects on any skin it touched:  It permanently removed all hair, and increased the healing capacity of the skin so that scarring almost never occurred, giving the owners even more leeway with how they could physically abuse their slaves.  Almost immediately it became standard practice to have all slaves “chipped and dipped” up to the neck, although a few were submersed entirely or not submersed at all for niche markets.  It is now 2083.

Introduction

       I looked across the table at Ivy as she talked.  Her perfect breasts bobbed up and down, her hairless hips and pussy swayed side-to-side, and her bowl-cut white hair swayed in front of her eyes.  The hair wasn’t died, my parents experimented with several different colors, and when they settled on white they had it altered at the roots.  I was so hard I could barely focus on what she was saying, but I could hear it enough to be angry.  I was being denied again.

       When the slavery laws were passed my parents had been the first in line.  Within twenty-four hours of the announcement they had paid the first slave company, Super Slavers, a huge advance to insure they were able to bid on the very first class of slaves to complete training.  And three months later, when basic slave training was complete, they had Willa, their first slave.  I barely remembered her, but twenty years later she was freed and they got Ivy.  I had only been 10, she was 18.  But she was beautiful.  Like most slave owners, my parents kept her perpetually naked except for shoes outdoor and heavy clothes in the winter.  While they had gotten her before chipping and dipping started, they promptly arranged the procedures.  And every night, while I lied awake in bed, I could hear all three of them crying out, them in ecstasy and her in a mixture of pleasure and pain, from down the hall through the dungeon door, that I was not allowed to pass through.

       I was in agony when my parents died in a car crash four years later, but deep down I guiltily took some pleasure in knowing the slave girl would be mine now.  I soon found out that wasn’t the case, though.  I was only 14, and while I technically own the entire estate including Ivy, it was under the guardianship of the trustee.  Ivy was the trustee.  What infuriated me even more was that she chose to continue to honor her position as the estate slave by remaining naked and staying in peak shape, even as she served no one and acted as my guardian.  Every night I would plot my revenge for my eighteenth birthday, while crying and whacking off to the thought of her.

       Now my eighteenth birthday was here, me still a virgin, and Ivy a 26 year old beauty who I would love to finally have my way with, and I was being told there was another clause in the will:  If they died, Ivy’s contract length was changed from twenty years to “until my eighteenth birthday.”  Apparently my parents felt there was something wrong about me using their slave, and now Ivy could walk away with all the money.

       “That blows,” I turned my head to Tom, who sat beside me.  He was my closest friend, from a family almost as rich as mine.  He had recently turned eighteen, and his father had bought him his first slave:  Sarah, a skinny, if a bit flat-chested, girl from the local public school with curly blonde hair and an adorable smile and slightly larger than average lips.  She stood next to him, keeping her eyes focused down.  He had offered her to me, but I had wanted my first to be Ivy, as my slave.

       “Yeah, you kind of get away with everything,” I said.

       “Well, yes Ryan, I suppose I do.  But, I do have an offer for you.”  She laid the piece of paper she was holding on the table, and spun it around to face me.  It was another contract, with her signature already affixed and a line for mine.  For a moment, I was excited, but then I began to read.

       “…partial servitude.  What does that mean?”

       She rolled her eyes.  “It’s a situation where some of the conditions of slavery are met, but not all.  First off, I won’t be naked.  You get to dress me, and it can be scantily if you want, but my pussy, nipples, and ass crack and cheeks must be covered.”

       “So, no thongs?” I asked.

       “No exposed thongs.  If you want me to wear one underneath just to make me uncomfortable you can.”

       “And if I make you so uncomfortable that you can’t stand to keep the clothes on.”

       She paused a moment.  “Then I take them off and you get me naked.  But, just so you know, you can’t make me wear anything that would maim me or be humanly impossible to wear.”

       I smiled, pervertedly.  “I think I can handle that.”

       “Secondly, you’re limited on punishing me to twenty lashes per day.  And they don’t roll over.”

       “So I could just keep you around to give twenty licks to a day?”

       “Yes, you could, but not if you want any obedience, since once those are gone you can’t touch me.  Instead, if you really want revenge for me never being your slave, I’d recommend you give me ten a day and hold the other ten in reserve.”

       “I can do that.”

       “Finally, there’s the matter of price and duration.  This will cost you three million dollars, and will last either a year or until you perform a sexual act with me.  Just so you know, though, if you do so my freedom doesn’t take effect until the next morning, and in the mean-time my status is reduced to the same as a slave, so if you want to fuck, beat, and humiliate me during that time, you can.”

       “What sort of legal mumbo-jumbo led to that stipulation?”  Tom asked.

       “It wasn’t a standard part of the contract, I had it added in.”

       “Why?” I asked.

       She sighed.  “Because, I want that money, and I figured that making your fantasy the thing that ends my time here would insure I’m not here much longer.”

       “So I could just take you to bed tonight?”  I asked.

       “Well, tomorrow night, or tomorrow day.  Before midnight tonight you’re still 17, so I’m your guardian slave.  After midnight tonight, if you sign it, I am your servant, but you wouldn’t get a full night, because tomorrow’s sunrise would free me.  If you took me tomorrow or early tomorrow night, youd have a lot longer.

       “I don’t think my parents would have been happy about this.  They set up the will the way they did to keep me from having sex with you.”

       She shrugged.  “And so, I haven’t let you.  But, my duty to them ends at midnight, and then I’m looking for the next big paycheck.”

       I smiled, reached for the pen on the table, and moved to sign…then I paused “…but, you do think I should fuck you tomorrow?”

       “Well, it would get me out of here faster, but it would also be a huge waste to not accomplish anything for that amount of money other than to get a rich birthday boy’s rocks off.”

       “What do you suggest, then?”

       “I could help you build your harem.  We both know you’re going to want slaves of your own.  I can help you pick the ones that are right for you, and get the best deals.”

       “…and when I have them I fuck you?”

       “Yep.”

       I signed the contract, she picked it up and took it over to the wall terminal to scan into the house computer, and forward to city hall.  Then she came back over.  I looked at my watch.  11:37 PM.

       “Ready for my suggestions?”

       “Make this good,” I said, or the instant the sun rises ,you have a dozen studded dildos in you.

       She laughed.  “You really are your father’s sun.  You need four slaves, for starters.  I have no doubt you’ll find more later, just for fucking, but I assure you you won’t be satisfied with less than four.”

       “Why four?” I asked.

       “Because that’ll get all the bases of things you want to do with slaves covered.  First, you’ll need a maid.  For that, I recommend basic slave training.  They do a special course for slave maids that lasts an extra three months, but the truth is that’s just money gouging.  Any slave who’s gotten through her three months can take care of a house, even a mansion like this.  Especially if you just leave the doors to all the rooms you don’t used closed.”

       I nodded, approvingly.  I knew I was messy, although due to Ivy’s handiwork that wasn’t obvious.

       “Next, you’ll want a puppygirl slave.”

       I felt a rush of panic.  “Don’t you mean doggiegirl?”

       She looked confused a moment, then let out another laugh.  “No, no, no.  Don’t worry, no minors.  No one who couldn’t agree to it.  You see, what happens is that a lot of times bitchslaves and muttslaves are the most naturally submissive of all slaves.  So, their owners will get together, and have them de-sterilized, and they’ll give birth.  The child is free, just like every other child born to a slave, or anyone else for that matter.  However, with the parent’s enslaved, as soon as the baby is off breast milk, the owners become his or her legal guardians, and raise the child like their own.  Oftentimes they’ll do this twice, or use fertility drugs to get twins.  One for each owner.  If the child wants to get on with life, so be it.  If, however, they prove to be naturally submissive, or like the idea of being a doggieslave, when they’re 18 they can sign a contract to be a “bred puppyslave.”  This comes with extra prestige and extra money, and the owner typically sells them and gets to keep a “breeders fee.”  Granted, there are cases in which the owner may influence their decisions, but child welfare services typically watch children of doggieslaves like a hawk, so if you know what you’re looking for, you can find a case where it was all for the right reasons.

       “Ah.  And so, why would that be perfect for me?”

       Ivy rolled her eyes.  “Because, you may not like to admit it, but you really need some gentleness in your life, and I assure you a puppyslave girl will be the most gentle companion you will ever have.”

       I must have blushed, because I heard Tom snicker.  Looking over, I almost thought I caught a hint of a smile from Sarah, although she hid it quickly.  I looked back to Ivy.  “Ok, and the third.”

       “That’s a ponygirl.”

       I looked confused.  “Why would I want a ponygirl?”  I had never shown interest in them that I could remember.  At least no more so than any other class of slaves.  Although we did have some old abandoned stables where my Dad had kept his horses.  But, I hadn’t wanted them, so Ivy sold them off four years ago.

       “Well, normal ponygirls you wouldn’t, but this is a special class.  They’re called Quarter Horses, because they’re contracts are for five years instead of twenty.”  She laughed at the clearly unfunny joke.  “Basically, when rich kids are too stuck up, and even the parents can’t stand them, then they threaten to disinherit them unless they go through the Quarter Horse program.  They cost a lot more because of the prestige and the thrill of owning one, and their training is separate from regular ponyslaves.  They go through the same basic process:  three months basic slave training, and six months ponyslave training, but they’re a lot softer on them than in regular training.  They build up the physical strength, speed, and endurance of a ponygirl, but they don’t hit them every time they disobey, so they think they can get away with a certain amount of insolence, right up to sale day.  They’re broken enough to obey about 90 percent of commands on the first command without cropping, but they whine in plain English about sixty percent of them.”

       “Why would anyone want an insolent slave?  For that matter, who wants a ponyslave who doesn’t know she’s not allowed to speak at all?”

       “That’s where the thrill part comes in.  They left them as partially broken brats so that the buyers can beat it out of them.  You’re buying a bratty, annoying bitch who you can put in her place.”

       I burst out laughing.  “You really do know me.  So, the last one’s my sex slave, right?”

       “Actually, no, the last one’s your horse trainer slave.  It’s usually not wise to trust ponyslaves to hired help.  They haven’t been training in proper loyalty.  You don’t know how to handle ponyslaves, and even if you did I don’t think you’d want to go through the trouble of the parts other than beating the insolence out of them.  Technically you could get a partial servant to do it, but I’m guessing that if there’s another attractive young person working on your property, you’d prefer it were a naked female who belonged entirely to you.  We can buy a few regular horses to keep her busy to.  She can also dictate to the grounds keeping service whenever they come over. And make sure they stay far away from your mare.”

       I looked at her confused.  “Ok, and what about my sex slave.”

       She chuckled.  “You have free access to all four, on demand.  That’s why they’re slaves.”

       “Yes, but I wanted one to share my bed.”

       She chuckled.  “You get that, and she’ll get bored quick.  Instead, you make it a competition.”

       “A competition?” I asked.

       “Yeah,” she said.  “The ponygirl’s out, it would defeat her purpose, but between the puppygirl, the maid, and the horse training, the most loyal slave every night gets to share your bed.  Think about it:  The maid will be taking over my old quarters, and my cot.  The horse training will have another cot down in that cabin next to the horse stables where your father’s horse trainer lived.  They’d both jump at the chance to sleep in a normal bed.  The puppygirl, as much as she might love being a puppy, will appreciate the chance to make love like a real woman again for a few hours, not to mention getting off that mat.”

       I let out a huge burst of laughter, just as the clock chimed Midnight.  “I love it!  It’s perfect!”

To be continued…

Maid

       It took less than a day for Ivy to locate a suitable slave trainer for finding my maid.  I got the impression that she already knew which one she wanted.  Not that I minded.  But, once she called them it took nearly a week before the meeting could be scheduled.  Ivy said this was unusual, but she felt certain that it was because of who I was.  They knew my family, and the kind of money they were dealing with.  They knew that if I wanted I could buy their most expensive slave every month for the next thousand years and not even have it put a dent in my regular savings, to say nothing of my investments.  For such a small trainer, I could be hugely important.  Ivy was certain that they had spent every second of the last week putting their slaves through hell to make sure they were in perfect condition for my inspection.  “Probably beating the soles of their feet when they mess up, though.  With the amount of punishment they’ll have been doing, it’s the only way to make sure there aren’t any unhealed marks.”

She felt that since we were going with a baseline-trained slave rather than a specially-trained maid, it would be best to buy from a small trainer like this.  She felt the bigger trainers who did specialties put all their focus into that, and ignored basic discipline.  I was excited about the prospect of my first slave, and already I had aspirations far beyond the four Ivy suggested.  While my parents, Ivy, and myself had been the only ones to live in our family’s mansion for some time, we did employ a fair number of people.  A chauffeur who was on call 24/7, and about half a dozen groundskeepers who worked part-time for us, and moonlighted elsewhere.  It was cheaper than buying slaves by far, but what was money to me?  I wanted an estate full of naked women, eager to serve me.  Not that I wanted to hurt any of the employees.  I’d give them all enough to retire happily on, the same as Ivy had when she sold my father’s horses after he died.

“We’re close,” Ivy half said, half gasped.  Today I had chosen to put her in a shoulderless, legless, sleeveless black catsuit, with a corset so tight she could only halfway breath, and stilettos.  She was not enjoying this trip, but now that she had her first chance in twenty years to wear clothes in summer, she was not taking it off. 

I was sitting in the very back seat, with Ivy sitting across from me, gazing through the window excitedly.  As if us getting there would somehow provide her with a change of clothes.  Next to me was Tom, who was busily groping Sarah’s breasts.  He had decided to bring her handcuffed today, so she merely tried to look impassive and stay still.  I didn’t really understand what he saw in passive slaves, but to each his own.

Beside Ivy was our friend Arnold.  Arnold was the same type of blue-blood wealth as us, but his father had made enough money as a slave dealer focusing on pony slaves to send him to the same privates schools.  Despite being gay, Arnold had picked up a pretty good knowledge of female slaves from his father, so I was hoping to get a second opinion from him.  In his lap was his slave, who he had affectionately decided to name “Hot Cheeks,” trying to cuddle with him convincingly.  We were pretty much all sure that Hot Cheeks wasn’t actually gay, or even bi.  He had that lean muscular look that women seemed to go for, so he had almost certainly expected a woman to buy him, not the son of the slave trainer he sold himself to.  Didn’t really matter, though, he signed the contract and that was that.  I even suspected that Arnold preferred it that way, just so he could make someone suffer.

Finally, we pulled up to what looked like a warehouse made of blue tin with peeling paint, and a  fence with an electronic gate out front.  Our driver punched in the code we had been given, and the gate slid open.  We drove through and parked, and a small door in the side of the building opened.  Out walked a woman in her early fourties, dressed in red leather from head to toe and carrying a crop.  Her reddish-brown hair was pulled tightly in a bun, but she seemed to have put on a pleasant face for us.  Or for me anyway.  We stepped out.

“Hi,” she said.  “I’m Mistress Caroline, I’m the head instructor here.  Welcome to the Dahlia Training School.”  She shook all our hands, one at the time, but seemed to linger on mine.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” I said.

“Wasn’t Ms. Dahlia supposed to meet us here personally?”  asked Ivy.  I got the impression that “Ms. Dahlia” would never in a million years meet with normal clients, but Mistress Caroline’s face immediately went white.  We had caught them in a screw-up they were hoping to avoid acknowledging.

After a moment of awkward silence, she apparently decided it was better to fess up.  “Her flight was delayed, we’re terribly sorry.  She’ll still be here soon, probably by the time you sign the contract.  I can go ahead and show you the line-up, though.”

“Fine with me,” I said smirking.  I got the impression that she was nervous now, and intimidating her could only help me.

We followed her into the building, and walked past a short hallway with offices on either side.  For a company that almost certainly brought in billions, the offices were certainly quite small.  Then again, in the slave business billions meant little.  She opened the door at the end of the hall, to reveal another room that looked like it belonged in another building.  In contrast with the tin walls and stone floor of the hall and the outside, the entire room was an oval carved out of mahagony wood, and above us bright lights covered the cealing.  In front of me, a row of roughly two dozen women stood, stretched out from my far left to my far right.  Each of them stood at perfect attention, eyes pointed downward, arms at their sides.  On each of their stomachs a price was written in sharpie.  They all had hair that went down to well below their shoulders, having been allowed to grow since they were first brought here so that the buyer could cut it to whatever length he preferred.  They were lined up according to price, with the cheapest on my far right, and the most expensive on my far left.  They had certainly been standing under the lights waiting for me for a long time.  They were all covered in sweat, and several seemed to be breathing hard, although they kept their mouths firmly clamped shut and seemed to gasp through their noses.  Their legs were spread slightly, showing off their hairless pussies.  Their postures made him feel powerful, knowing that they had all been assembled like this only to wait for his inspection, and hope for his approval.  He felt himself stiffen.

“This is our display room.  Take all the time you like,” said Mistress Caroline, smiling.  “When you find one that catches your eye, we can inspect it in more detail.

       I headed towards the cheapest slave.  She was a chubby slave,although with boobs that would have been reasonable on a thinner girl, and despite the intense look she forced on her face, a bored look in her eyes.  I began to walk down the row, and the variations started to mix.  Girls got skinner, chubbier, bigger tits, smaller tits, less intense, more intense, etc.  Overall, though, the pattern seemed to be towards skinner, bigger titted, and more intense girls.  He knew that what was written on them were just the asking prices.  It was assumed both that he would haggle over that, as well as buy some accessories and toys to use on them, likely expensive accessories to further the sign of status that buying a slave represented.

       Then, as I passed the halfway point something caught my eye.  A slave, almost exactly halfway down the pack, momentarily showed a flicker of a smile.  He turned his head towards her.  She was a short, and very skinny girl, with curly light brown hair and a somewhat long face.  Her boobs were not huge, but they were perfect for her size.  Her smile was not the type he had seen in a slave before.  Not like the mocking of Ivy, or the smiles of Sarah which came either when she thought her master wasn’t looking in protest, or when she thought they were expected of her, or when she saw something outright funny and couldn’t hold it in.  This was a smile that was being fought against constantly.  An actual, happy slave, trying to appear serene.

       The girl’s face immediately adjusted back to a serious expression, but he saw Mistress Caroline shoot her a look.  I got the feeling that if I didn’t pick her, she would be in for the beating of a lifetime after he left.  Finally, I reached the last and most expensive slave.  An asian girl as skinny as a toothpick, with boobs as large as watermelons, and the eyes of an automaton.  Then, I walked back to Mistress Caroline and his companions.

       “See anything you liked” she asked, nervously.

       “Yes, I believe I did,” I motioned for her and the others to follow me, and walked back to the girl in the center of the room.  All the other slaves rushed backwards and crouched on the back wall, poised to run back to the center of the room if I should decide against this girl.  The girl herself seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes down, and a serene expression on her face.

       “This girl” I pointed.  “What’s her name?”

       “That’s Jill,” replied Mistress Caroline.  “Do you like her?”

       “Possibly.  She interests me.”

       “Jill!”  yelled Mistress Caroline.  “Body inspection, now!”

       Jill leaped to attention, spreading her legs wider, and placing her arms behind her head.  I began to circle her with Mistress Caroline, who used her crop to push apart Jill’s ass cheeks to give him a better view.  I saw Jill bite her lower lip, but luckily for her Mistress Caroline missed it this time.

       “By all means, examine her pussy,” said Mistress Caroline.  I did, and found it to be very tight and soaking wet.

       “May I question her?” I asked.

       “Certainly,” said Mistress Caroline.  “She knows better than to lie.”

       “Jill, when I walked by you smiled.  Why?”  I could tell she was suppressing a look of utter panic now.  She knew she had to answer, though.

       “Because, I was happy, sir.”

       “Why were you happy?”

       “I-I don’t know sir, I just always am.”  Mistress Caroline stroked her crop gently across Jill’s leg with the stutter, apparently thinking that I wouldn’t notice, and threatening of beatings to come if she failed at this.

       “You’re happy being a slave?”

       “Yes sir.”

       “Were you happy before you were a slave?”

       “Yes sir.”

       “Can you ever remember a time when you weren’t happy?”

       “A few times sir, but never for very long.”

       “What if I decided I wanted to break your spirit.  What if I bought you so that I could throw you naked into a dark, cold room, and not give you enough to eat, so I could watch you waste away.  Would you be happy then?”

       “No sir.  I don’t think so.”  She wasn’t saying what she thought I wanted to hear, she was being honest, if nervous.

       “I could use a happy slave, though.  I’m looking for a caretaker for my home, do you think you could manage that?”

       “Yes sir,” she said.

       I turned to Mistress Caroline.  "I think I’ve made my choice.”

       I could see by the look on her face that she didn’t like my choice, but wasn’t going to argue.  I turned back to look at Jill again, as I circled her.

       Mistress Caroline looked at me, curiously.  “By the way, Mr. Dalbloom, have you ever whipped a woman before?”

       He raised his head to her, and thought.  “No…no, I don’t believe I have.”

       “Would you like to whip Jill?  Right now?”  She extended the handle of her crop

       I took the crop, and pretended to consider for a moment, while Jill braced for the inevitable.  “I’ll have plenty of chances to whip Jill in the future, if she’s going to be mine.  I’d rather whip someone I won’t get another chance with.”

       Mistress Caroline smilled, and motioned to the remaining slaves along the back wall.  “Take your pick,” she said, gleefully.

       I extended my finger, and pointed it directly between Mistress Caroline’s breasts.  She looked down at my hand, horrified.

       “Stop joking!” she said.  “I don’t take lashes, I give them.”

       “Tell that to Ms. Dahlia when she finds out that Ryan Dalbloom, prepared to pay twenty-five percent over the asking price of a slave, and was planning on buying solid gold, jewel encrusted correctional impliments for that slave, walked away from your business because you wouldn’t strip down and expose your back to ten lashes of your own medicine.

       After a moment of pure horror washing across her face, Mistress Caroline reached for her zipper and removed her leather outfit.  Underneath it, she was totally hairless.  I couldn’t tell if it was from Lynodon or just a very good shave job.

       “Now, on your knees, and hands behind your head.”  She quickly complied, looking disgusted but determined to bear the humiliation.  I wound up, and unleashed a fury of force at her lower back.  “One!”  I yelled.  Then “Two!  Three!  Four!  Five!”

       I stopped.  “Jill.”  I said sarcastically.  “I’m afraid that my arm has gotten tired.  Could you please give Mistress Caroline her other five strokes.”

       Mistress Caroline’s face was nothing but pure horror at the idea.  Jill’s face, broken from her posture and turned to me now, was the same.  Nonetheless, she took the crop and, as Mistress Caroline struggled to remain still, Jill delivered another wallop.  “Six!”  she yelled.  Then “Seven!  Eight!  Nine!  Ten!”  Despite her best efforts to control herself, the final blow carried so much force that Mistress Caroline couldn’t help but call out in agony.  For a moment following that, there was nothing but silence., and I placed my arm around my slave.

       Whatever happened next happened very quickly.  I had accepted Jill so quickly that Ivy and Arnold hadn’t even gotten a chance to check her out.  So, they were both allowed to inspect her, while Mistress Caroline re dressed.  Both their findings were very good.  Ivy gave Jill a few simple commands, and found that she had no problems with rapid comprehension.  Then, Ivy produced a lighter from somewhere (I couldn’t tell), and had me order Jill to hold her elbow over the flame for about thirty seconds, concluding that she had no problem with obedience either, even in the face of pain.  Arnold examined and felt every nook and cranny on Jill’s body, finding that her teeth and skeletal structure were excellent, and it would be a simple matter to arrange a diet and exercise regime that would keep her fit and fuckable for all twenty years of her contract.

       Then, Ms. Dahlia was there.  She was a plump older woman, in the kind of dark business suit you expect on a CEO, not a slaver.  We were quickly in her office, and Jill’s contract was on the table in front of me, with a pen in my hand.

“There, you see.  Here’s her signature, turning herself over to us, and my signature accepting her as a slave after the inspection proved favorable,” said Ms. Dagny, pointing to Jill’s signature and a rubber stamp of her own.  “We filled in the amount you agreed to, and all we need is your signature to take her off our hands.”

Then my signature was on the paper, and all that was left was to make a few decisions.  “How do you want her hair?”  Cut shoulder length, same color as it is now.  “Do you want to buy any clothes for her, if so we’ll measure for them and send them out to you.”  Just a short apron for when she cooks, I’ll get her clothes in the winter.  I want the apron to have two holes for her breasts, and stop just short of her pussy, leaving it exposed.  “What accessories do you want, we’ll ship them out to?”  I requested a variety of whips with gold, jewel-encrusted handles, a miniature cattle prod with platinum prongs, and a pair of golden handcuffs with a third cuff to attack to something else and hold the slave in place during punishment.  “Do you want any specific piercings, brands, or tattoos to mark her as yours?”

       Somehow this question caught me off guard.  I knew it was coming, and I had planned to say “no” since my family didn’t have a crest or specific marker, but now looking at Jill from behind, something about her left ass checked begged to not be left bare, but I couldn’t think of anything.  Finally, after a period of awkward silence, I said “Yes, put a roman numeral one on her left ass cheek, in bright red, with a dark blue outline.”

       Jill didn’t seem particularly surprised by this, and promptly bent over Ms. Dahlia’s desk to receive the tattoo from one of her workers.  Soon her ass was marked “I,” and then a bandage was placed over it to let it heal.  She was marked as my first slave.

       With that Ms. Dahlia began to put up the paper.  I suddenly felt awkward again.

       “So, um, is that it?”

       She looked up.  “Yes, that’s it.”

       “So…umm…do you ship Jill out to us, or what?”

       She looked confused.  “…we can if you want to.  Why, are you not going to be at your home for a while, and want us to hang on to her for now?’

       “N-no, I…I just wasn’t sure if it was ok to go ahead and take her with us.”

       Ms. Dahlia laughed.  “Oh, it’s fine.  Oftentimes specialty slaves require a bit of final preparation to meet their owner’s expectations, but Jill is just a baseline slave, nothing to fine-tune.”

       “Um, and so when we get home I can go ahead and…um…”  I stammered.

       Ms. Dahlia laughed out loud.  “However you were going to finish that sentence:  fuck, torture, make do my tax returns, the answer is yes.  The instant your signature went on that page, she became your legal property.  If we didn’t receive payment we could repossess her after thirty days, but that’s all. And I’m pretty sure that with you we can count on payment.”

       I looked at Jill, who was trying and failing to suppress a smile.  I had to re-establish dominance.  I put on a stern look, and smacked her across the face.  She looked shocked.

       “Why were you suppressing your smile.  I bought you to be a happy slave.  Now be happy!”

       Jill let her face turn to a smile, but she now seemed more wary of me.  And, I felt, suddenly more loyal.

Interlude 1

       When we arrived back at the mansion I showed Jill around quickly.  All the rooms she would be cleaning, and which ones I never use.  I gave her clear instructions to keep the doors to the latter closed at all times, and just let them be.  Finally, I showed her to the walk-in hall closet with the cot and the alarm clock that had served as Ivy’s old room (Ivy having been given permission to live in the guest room, until her services were no longer required), pointed her to the nearest bathroom, and told her to be up by six-thirty, have breakfast ready by eight, and sit patiently waiting for me until I arrive, be it at eight fifteen or noon.

       As I turned to go, I heard her say, almost a frightened whisper, “Master.”

       I turned back to her, trying not to look too frightened myself.  She was standing there, staring at me.  It was clear some part of her wanted to do as she was told and retire to her cot, while another part wanted to say something.  I somehow got the impression the later was the more loyal of the two.  Either way, she was clearly not going to come a step closer to me until she had permission.

       “Yes, slave,” I said, trying to be menacing.

       “We-well, M-M-Master…b-back at the training center you were asking if to-night you c-c-c…”

       “Spit it out!”  I yelled.

       “If you could…do…something to me!”  She yelled, and then immediately covered her mouth as if fearing what I would do to her for yelling.

       I tried to grin at her knowingly…I know I failed.  I pointed at her, and wiggled my finger.  “Come with me.”  I turned, and walked towards my bedroom.

       I walked her quickly to my bedroom.  It was gargantuan, and decorated in crimson and gold, with one of those enormous old-fashioned beds with the drapes.  I rarely used them, but now as I motioned for Jill to get in, I said “close the drapes.”  She dutifully obeyed, as I ripped off my clothes, and climbed in after her.

       Now, finally sure of what I really wanted, she no longer looked nervous.  Only excited…but willing to let me make the first move.  I decided not to waste time with foreplay, I grabbed her waste, and maneuvered her so that her pussy was directly above my throbbing cock.  She spread her legs over me, and placed an arm on either side of my head to support herself.  And I lowered her wet pussy onto me.

       At first I moved her up and down, but then as she started to get into the rhythm I fell back and let her do the work.  I wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but I doubted it was very long, before I climaxed, sending what I perceived to be a huge load of cum into her, instantly causing her to climax as well, and collapse onto my chest, gasping for air.  I felt a sense of accomplishment for a moment, then something occurred to me.  I grabbed Jill’s chin, and yanked her face around to face mine.

       “They trained you to do that, didn’t they?  You would have cum immediately after me no matter how long I lasted.”

       “As long as you…huh…last longer than thirty seconds, but less…huh…than forty minutes, and I don’t have…huh…orders from you to cum at some other time, or…huh…not to cum at all.”

       I noticed that she wasn’t sweaty.  “You’re not even out of breath, are you?”

       Her heavy breathing stopped, and she nodded her head downward in as much of a bow as she could manage lying in bed, with me  holding her chin.  “I’m sorry for my deception master, I was taught that it would make those I pleasured feel more adequate.

       I let go of her, and collapsed, not sure if I should laugh or cry.

To be continued…

Puppy

       No matter how many times Ivy explained it to me, I still had trouble buying the idea of a “bred puppyslave” as anything other than coercion, and I continued to strongly consider simply buying a regular doggieslave.  However, after many arguments she convinced him to at least go and meet with one.  She told him there was an elderly widower named Bruce Gabriel who had raised one about eighty miles from my home, and I agreed to go and meet with him.  Her name was, for the moment, Kia Lee.

Officially, the girl wasn’t a slave yet, and the selling of bred puppyslaves was different from most slaves.  Even if they lived as humans and their parents did not, having grown up in a household with a doggieslave, and the looser expectations of what a doggieslave was to do compared to other types of slaves (mostly just bark instead of talk, go on all fours, and be comforting), it was assumed that a bred puppyslave would have some idea of the expectations on him or her.  So, instead of being sold to trainers, bred puppyslaves were auctioned directly to owners, and started living with them immediately, but were required to go to a trainer over the weekends until judged fully integrated as a slave (a process that usually took no more than a month).  I contacted Bruce, and asked if we could meet him in four days time.  Between trying to integrate myself into my parent’s company, and fucking Jill several times a day, I was extremely busy (although I left the latter factor out), but he said that he was preparing to close the auction in three days time, and the bidding already appeared to have capped out with a man from West Palm Beach.  I immediately offered to pay him one quarter of what the man had bid in exchange for simply delaying a day, and promised that if I chose to buy Kia I would pay double his price, in addition to the fee for the delay.  Bruce asked for a few minutes to “consult with Kia,” and came back to announce that they had decided it was worth the risk of alienating the current buyer.

       So, sometime around noon on a Thursday we pulled up to Bruce’s house.  He lived in a suburb, clearly an unusual place to find…well, anyone who had the money to buy a slave.  But, he supposed the old man liked his living simple.  This time I hadn’t bothered to bring anyone other than Ivy, now dressed in Princess Leia’s slave bikini, with me, feeling ashamed I was even doing this, and almost certain that I wouldn’t be buying this girl.

The limo parked, and they climbed out.  An old but surprisingly spry man, with a beard that made him look like a chubbier version of Colonel Sanders, waved us in through the front porch.  We entered, and found a table set with a pitcher of fresh-brewed coffee.  They all sat down, and began talking.

“So, Bruce, if I understand this right, Kia’s the daughter of you’re doggiegirl and someone else’s doggieboy?”

“That’s right,” said Bruce.  “Normally when they do that, they breed them twice and split the pups, but with us we only did it once.  We paid the other guy to just leave.  Didn’t want to poor little Beijing through that again.”

“Beijing?” I asked, confused.
       “Oh yeah, that’s what we decided to name her mother.  Her real name is somethinIcantpronounce Lee, but we felt like dogs don’t have full names.  She’s Korean, you see, and we thought it was best that dogs not have human names either, so we decided to name her something for her homeland.”  I decided that if “Beijing” could have gone the past eighteen years and nine months (and however long before that) without telling them that Beijing was in China and not Korea, I could avoid saying it during this hour-long meeting.  “So, anyway,” he continued, “my wife, Wilda, was never able to have a baby, so we decided to have Beijing un-neutered, and get her pregnant.  Wilda was never fond of the idea of me being the one.  Sure, fucking her was fine, but actually getting her pregnant?  That was something else.  So, we decided to have her breed with another doggieslave.  We were already getting kinda old, and figured a rambunctious kid would be too much for us.  But, a docile one?  That we could deal with. Now, I’d be lying if I said the thought of a puppy breeder fee didn’t cross our minds, it did, but only if that was what she wanted.  So, it wasn’t the main reason.  And as she got older, we got to liking the idea even less.  I tried to convince her to go to college, or at least try it for a semester first, but no.  She was 18; she wanted to be a dog.”

He whistled and a naked Asian woman in her mid-to-late-30s I could only presume to be Beijing crawled in.  Bruce gave her a hand signal, and she crawled under the table, unzipped his pants, whipped out his cock, and began sucking him without a moment’s hesitation.  He continued as if nothing had happened.  “But, I supposed you’re not convinced I didn’t influence her.”

I decided to be honest.  “No, I’m really not.”

He smiled.  “Maybe you’d like to meet her yourself?  I’m pretty sure she could convince you.”

“So call her.”

“I don’t have to.  She has amazing ears, and I assure you, once you say you want to meet her and not before that, she’ll take it as an order to come down.”

“An order?”

He shook his head, as if annoyed.  “Yeah, she takes everything as an order.  When I tried to convince her to try college, it took me a week to get her to not just do it because I ‘ordered’ it.  She got great grades because I always ‘ordered’ her to study when she got home every night, and she wouldn’t stop until I ‘ordered’ her to go to eat or go to bed.  I had to ‘order’ her to make friends and go out to have fun on the weekends.”

I sighed for a moment, and then said “Ok, I want to meet her.”

A moment later a girl stepped through the hall door into the room.  She appeared to be half-asian, with less slanted eyes and slightly wavy, but still pitch-black, hair.  Her skin was a bit lighter than her mother’s, but she was still quite skinny, and of slightly above average height.  She smiled widely, her hands crossed in front of her, and bowed.  She was dressed in a pink sundress, and as far as I could tell had no bra under it.  I doubted she had panties either.

I rolled my eyes.  “You don’t have to do that, I haven’t bought you yet.”

She looked disappointed, but let her hands drop to her sides.  Then, she seemed to awkwardly force herself to speak to me casually.  “Y-you’re Ryan Dalbloom, right?”  I could tell she wanted to call me “master” and await orders.

Bruce had begun to gasp in the meantime, and finally let out a final huff as he exploded into Beijing’s mouth.  Being a good doggieslave, she sucked him clean, withdrew her mouth, and zipped him back up.  She then crawled back into the hall, Kia moving slightly to let her past.

“Why don’t you two go out and talk alone,” said Bruce.  I could tell that he was both trying to break the tension, and give her a chance to convince me she wasn’t being coerced.  I also thought I saw him eyeing Ivy from across the table.  The Leia bikini was definitely doing its job.  For her part, Ivy actually looked flattered.  I could imagine she might agree to be enslaved to him next, betting on his heart failing soon and her getting the full payout.

I nodded my consent, and she led me through the hall to the backyard.  It was fenced in, surrounded by tall hedges, and the yard was covered in chewed-up chew toys.  I also saw a doghouse with a two-in-one food and water bowl labeled “Beijing” in front of it.
       “I know what you’re thinking,” said Kia.  “You’re thinking that dad is trying to force this on me.  Well, that’s not true.  You can’t imagine how not true that is.  Ever since I was a little girl, the only thing I’ve been able to think about is being a dog!  But, as far back as I can remember, dad just wanted me to be his daughter!”  She began to tear up.

“I think, maybe, in the beginning he was hoping for a bred puppygirl, but he got over it quick.  I was too act human, study hard, prepare for college, everything.  The worst part is I wasn’t even allowed to acknowledge my own mother.  She was the family pet, I was the daughter.  I was over her.  You can’t imagine what it was like…being told to take her for a walk, when I felt like we should both be on the leash.  But, I did as I was told.”

“I think when I was around 8, dad finally said he’d let me play with Beiji…” she hesitated for a moment, and then seemed to feel a wave of strength “…with Mom as a dog for half an hour every weekend as long as I kept my clothes on like a good human girl, and was totally human the rest of the week.  He did it just because it got me to stop stripping.”  She pulled uncomfortably at the sundress.

“School was always hell for me.  Every time the kids went out to play, all I wanted to do was run around on all fours and fetch.  They made so much fun of me.  They thought I was crazy.  Then there was High School,” she through back her head in an ironic laugh, stifling a sob, “I tried to date, but none of the boys were into me…well, not in that way.  They all just thought ‘she’s a sub, easy lay.’  Not one of them actually took the idea of me as a dog seriously.”

“So, here I am, all laid out for you.”  She dropped to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks.  “Begging.  Just begging for you…for any master or mistress…to take me…b-because if you don’t…”

“What is it?”  I asked, concerned.  “Weren’t you already sold?”

She bit her lip, and then continued.  “Yes, but…not to a real owner, to a showdog trainer.  You see…it’s…Bruce didn’t believe in it, but I made him agree to it.  Dogs don’t get to choose their owners; it’s whoever pays the most.  They want me, but they don’t want a pet.  They want a showdog.  I’d rarely be allowed to play, or run around outside…and I’d almost never be used for my owner’s pleasure, they wouldn’t want to risk “spoiling” me.”

I leaned down, and pulled her head so that she looked at me.  Already, I thought I’d made my decision.  And it wasn’t the one I’d expected.  “Let’s see you run.”  And I released her head.

Like a bolt she took off on all fours, happily barking her way all around the yard.  She ran in circles, her sun-dress kept jumping up to reveal her ass and pussy.  I was already imagining a roman numeral two on that lovely rump of hers.

I looked around, and a moment later found a chewed up rope toy lying on the ground.  I picked it up, and yelled “Here girl, fetch.”  I threw it, and she bolted after it, and ran back, dumping it at my feet, and sat on her haunches awaiting the next throw.

I looked down at her as I picked up the toy, shaking my head in mock disapproval.  “Now, girl, I don’t think puppies are supposed to wear clothes.”

Like a flash, she backed out of the sun dress, and barked gleefully.  She was smiling, thrilled at the prospect of being completely dog.

I threw the toy a few more times, letting her fetch it each time.  Within a few minutes after that, the contract was signed.

Interlude 2

       Processing Kia took a bit longer than processing Jill had.  She still had to be fixed; chipped, dipped (I was amazed to find that she had simply been perfectly shaved the day we met).  But, within three days, the delivery truck showed up, and a large man in a shirt marked “slave delivery” asked me to sign a receipt, and handed me the silver chain leash to Kia’s gold collar.  She was smiling brightly, and seemed to be full of energy.  I figured I could wear her out with fetch soon enough, but it wasn’t my top priority.

       I led her to my bedroom, and signaled for her to climb up on the bed on all fours.  I took a minute to feel her lovely rump, now marked “II” to indicate her status as my second slave.  Then, I unzipped my pants and plunged into her doggie-style.  She let out a yelp of pain, and I let out a sigh of joy.  I couldn’t believe they’d actually managed to spay her while leaving her virgin tight.  I forced myself on through, and after what seemed like years I came.  Kia collapsed.  She hadn’t cum, but she looked far too physically pained to really want to, so I merely turned away to see Jill standing there, holding a vacuum.  Her apron wasn’t on, since it was reserved for cooking only, and she knew better than to cover her body for me.  So, she just stood in the doorway, awaiting permission to vacuum the room.

       I turned back to Kia, and decided it would be best to just let her lay there for now.

I leaned over her.  “I think it’s time to give you a name.  Kia’s a name for a human, not a dog.  So, in the tradition of your mother, you’re name is now Ottawa, in honor of the capital city of the country directly to the North of the country in which you were born.”  I chuckled, and Ottawa started to laugh, but seemed almost too stressed to manage it.

I turned to walk out, and nodded for Jill to go ahead and clean the room, and indicated that she was to help Ottawa recover.

Interaction 1

       Jill always made the best breakfast.  Part of it might be the pleasure of seeing her in that oh-so-revealing apron, but the food is undeniably amazing.  Today, though, there was slightly too much of it, and I ended up leaving about half my eggs on my plate, and signaled for Jill to take them away.  She laid my plate and cup next to the dishes, as she finished the bowl of fruit salad she was to eat for breakfast.  On the floor at her feet, Ottawa happily chomped away at her own breakfast of “doggieslave chow.”  It was actually just gruel made from a mixture of all five food groups, ground up together and died to look like dog food.  Still, I had no doubt that was unappetizing, and it was one of the few things about being a puppygirl that Ottawa had admitted under questioning to hating.  She seemed to like the experience of eating from a bowl on the floor, though, almost enough to make up for it.

       I turned my head away for a brief second, and when I turned it back I caught a glimpse of Jill slipping the last of my eggs into Ottawa’s dish before beginning the washing.  It had seemed strange that Jill suddenly lost her once-perfect ability to predict exactly how much to feed me and now I understood why.  I considered flogging them both, or just Jill, but instead I smiled and pretended not to see.  As long as Ottawa didn’t gain weight, I supposed I could tolerate it.  If she did, though…several possible punishments ran through my head all at once.

       I had expected the opportunity to sleep in my bed each night to entice the girls into rivalry, and it certainly had.  At the same time, though, I had been afraid that the rivalry might turn into bitterness between my slaves.  Instead, the opposite had happened.  While friendly rivals, the girls seemed to love each other, and wish to live together in harmony serving me.  Nothing could be better.

       “Jill,” I called, and she went stiff, turning to face me.  “Pull out that chair.”  I indicated a chair across from me at the kitchen table.  Jill promptly obeyed, appearing nervous but willing.

       “Sit,” I said, and she complied.  “Hands on thighs, spread your legs,” and I was once again obeyed.

       I turned my head to Ottawa now, looking up from her now clean dish.  “Ottawa, I think our…play yesterday left Jill here a bit…unsatisfied.  Perhaps we can see what that tongue of yours can do.”

       Ottawa let out a yelp of joy, and scampered halfway to Jill, falling on her face twice, and then slowing her pace so she could move safely on the linoleum.  As soon as she reached Jill, she promptly began lapping away at her pussy.  Jill knew better than to move a muscle below her neck, but couldn’t avoid letting her head drop to the side as she let out sighs of ecstasy.

       I looked on at my slaves, contented, and something began to dawn on me.  I no longer wanted nor needed Ivy…well, not for my pleasure anyway.  She had tried to exploit my fascination with her, and use my sexual desires to her advantage…well; two more slaves and something could be done about her.  I smiled.  Oh, she’d get her money all right.  But I intended to make damn sure it wasn’t worth it.

To be continued…

Author’s Notes: Ok, just wanted to let you guys know how the story’s going to go from here.  I’m going to write more chapters, and already have several ideas for them, but I’m also terrified of eventually getting bored and leaving people with a story that’s cut-off.  So, for now this will be the last chapter with a real arc to it.  That’s not to say there won’t be continuity between chapters, but future chapters won’t introduce any dangling plot threads unless I can think of any ideas for multi-chapter arcs that are just amazing.  I can, however, tell you that for the moment all future chapters will contain at least two parts: (1) A section in which Ryan acquires a new slave, and (2) a section which further develops pre-existing characters (either a slave or one of Ryan’s friends) through their interaction.  I want to make sure that I don’t end up creating a ton of throwaway characters (well, except the slave dealers of course, and even those might end up coming back if they prove popular) who never develop, and I really feel like Tom and Arnold need some time in the spotlight (but, yes, this will involve BDSM).

Horse and Trainer

       After acquiring Ottawa I decided to take some time off from buying slaves.  While Ottawa had to leave on weekends for puppygirl training, on weekdays she and Jill happily clambered to please me.  Jill cooking and cleaning furiously, and Ottawa rubbing up against my legs.  All in their efforts to win a place in my bed for the night.

       Or, at least that’s what I half-jokingly told myself.  Jill was every bit as studious on the weekends, when she knew she had no competition for the night, and when Ottawa was there I usually gave her orders to orally service Jill and myself once or twice a day each, and frequently allowed Jill to return the favor in some manner.  The truth was, I just had two slave girls who were honestly eager to please their master.

       Ivy, in the mean time, I merely kept around the house for my amusement.  Tom and I had turned dressing her into a game.  We bought her bikinis, and before giving those to her trimmed the bras with scissors, so that they were within mere millimeters of revealing her nipples.  We were both certain that there’d be a “wardrobe malfunction” and we’d be able to blame it on her clumsiness sooner or later.  But, it never came.  Ivy was amazingly skilled at wearing such clothing, and the game was finally starting to bore me after three weeks.

       So, I decided it was time for my final slave purchases:  my ponygirl and trainer slave.  I’d already sent away for five more horses, four mares and a stallion.  I wasn’t really sure if I was going to ride them, but I agreed with Ivy that it would be far too easy if the only thing my trainer slave had to do was watch my ponygirl all day, and try to earn a spot in my bed at night.

       This time I was quickly able to pick a trainer on my own.  Arnold’s father specialized in ponyslaves, and I was quickly able to confirm through Arnold that he carried Quarter Horses.  So, once again, we were off.  Ottawa seemed a bit sad to see us go, but Jill expressed enthusiasm in meeting the new trainer slave (and, though she would never admit it, I could sense she wouldn’t mind helping us make the life of a bitchy Quarter Horse hell as well).

       This time the drive was much shorter, and Arnold’s father managed a ranch only about twenty minutes from my house.  Tom came along once again with Sarah, naturally I brought Ivy, and Arnold had agreed to meet us there with his father.  I had finally given up on humiliating Ivy, so I merely had her in a white dress, even letting her have a long skirt.

       From the outside the Hadden Ranch appeared no different than any other, if perhaps a bit smaller.  There were several buildings that looked to be stables, and grass-covered tracks and pastures for exercising the stock in.  I was surprised that there were no ponygirls out running around, but I quickly realized that it must, again, be because of me.  Even though I had said I wanted a Quarter Horse, Mr. Hadden must have decided to have every slave ready for display, in case the need should arise.

       Mr. Hadden and Arnold, no longer with Sweet Cheeks in tow, met us at the gate to the Ranch.  They both wore denim shirts and riding hats.  Mr. Hadden was a strong, well-built man, in contrast to his skinny son.  However, they both smiles brightly and happily.  We left the driver in the car, as we went out to greet Arnold and his father.

       “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ryan,” said Mr. Hadden, shaking my hand.  “I’ve heard so much about you from Arnold.”

       It was clever of him, I thought.  Rather than emphasizing his business relationship to me, he was greeting me as a friend of his son.

       “It’s nice to meet you too,” I replied.

       Mr. Hadden released my hand, and began the questions.  “So, you’re sure you want a Quarter Horse?  You understand the name is because their contracts are shorter, right?”

       “I understand,” I said.  “But I can live with that.”

       “Very well.  And, you want a trainer slave?”

       “That’s right too,” I said, “I don’t want to hire anyone.  I want to own another woman.”

       Mr. Hadden smiled.  “Well, I think we can arrange that.”  He let out a whistle, and out from the barn eight naked women, all appearing to be in age from eighteen to twenty-five, and all both skinny and short, marched out in a rehearsed manner and formed a line running in front of the door, with all the girls facing me.  They stood at something resembling attention, but it was clear that attention hadn’t been a major part of their training.  There was no effort by them to conceal their playful smiles either.  I also noticed that this group wasn’t made up of ethnically diverse women, but of six whites and two blacks.  I could imagine that trainers slaves probably didn’t sell that well, so more likely than not they were simply recruited from local high school graduates who had experience with horses, and were light enough to ride a pony girl.  At the very least they knew to remain silent.  There was a single giggle, promptly silenced by a sharp look from Mr. Hadden.  It was over so quickly I couldn’t even tell which girl it came from.

       “Now,” said Mr. Hadden, “as I understand it you’re also bringing in some real horses for her to train?”

       I looked from the girls to him.  “Yes, that’s right.”

       “Thought so.  I make sure they get some practice with real horses, so they don’t get rusty if need be, but one piece of advice: Most slave owners like to keep their slaves naked and barefoot, but if they’re going to be riding they’re going to need riding britches, a helmet, and riding boots at the very least.  It’s no problem riding a pony girl, but their legs would just be raw by the end of the day if they don’t have the pants for the horses, and horses shit a lot more than ponyslaves…of course, that just means that if you ever really want to punish them badly, you can take away the boots and britches for a day.”  I caught looks of discomfort on the faces of all the trainers.  I got the impression that every one of them had experienced that.

       I glimpsed up and down the row.  It took only a moment before I pointed to one.  All the others backed off sluggishly, as if remembering after a moment they were supposed to wait behind her while I examined my first choice.

       Mr. Hadden chuckled as we walked up to her.  The girl had brown hair, slightly darker than Jill’s.  It had been cut to shoulder length rather than allowed to grow free, presumably to avoid interference with riding.  “So, why this one?” he asked.

       I pointed to her boobs.

       Mr. Hadden laughed.  “Is that all?”

       “It’s not just that I like them.  It’s that she has them, and that says something.  All the girls are skinny, they have to be.  But, all the others were flat-chested, which meant being trainer slaves was the best deal they could hope to get.  But, this one…well, she could have gone for more as anything, even a maid.  So, why did you make her a trainer slave?  Because she loves working with horses, and probably has a lot of experience with them.  You probably never even intended to sell her, just use her for training.  But, you were determined to make sure I left here satisfied, so I’d come back.  So, I’m the only one who’s likely ever gotten to see all the merchandise.”  I smiled knowingly at him, and he laughed.

       “Ryan, you are a smart kid.  Yeah, I’m gonna’ miss Amelia here, but she’s yours.  Gonna cost ya extra, though.”

       I turned back to her.  “I think she’ll be worth it.  Won’t you, Amelia?”

       “Yep!” she said excitedly, then paused.  “…yes, master.”  She shrunk back a little, but I got the impression she wasn’t afraid of being hit, so much as fulfilling her role as slave.

       I smiled.  “Don’t worry, I’m not looking for another shrinking violet.  I want someone who can get a little rough with a spoiled brat ponyslave.”

       Amelia’s eyes came up, and she had a big excited grin.  It wasn’t the kind of general happiness grin I saw on Jill.  I got the feeling she was imagining the poor, unfortunate girl who would soon find herself under Amelia’s crop…and possible of my crop coming down on her own rear a few times.

       Mr. Hadden dismissed the other trainer slaves, and led us inside the stable.  Ponygirls were lined up on both sides of us.  They walked on two legs, fitted into hoof-like shoes, and their arms were handcuffed behind their backs, with a chain attached to the handcuffs that ran up to the back of a collar around their necks, to further immobilize them.  Mr. Hadden explained that, in addition to running and walking, they required a series of push-ups daily to keep their arms from atrophying due to otherwise constant immobilization.  It was the only time their hands were loose, and they were closely watched, to make sure they didn’t attempt to relieve their sexual frustration (this was always a problem with Quarter Horses, since they didn’t really want to be slaves, they had no reason to even try to resist their own urges).  Aside from this they were mostly naked, although a few had a bridle on or some harness-related leather straps on their bodies, which covered nothing.

       “These are all the quarter horses ready to be sold.  Our standards are a lot lower than for the other ponyslaves, though.  We know customers like to break them in themselves.  They’ve all learned to shit and piss in their stalls or on the trail with people watching, and they…usually…don’t speak unless asked a question or ordered to.”

       I began to walk around inspecting them until I came to a sight that shocked me.

       “Cynthia!”

       “You keep lookin, cause I ain’t going nowhere with you!”  the ponygirl arrogantly said.

       Like a flash Mr. Hadden was in the girl’s stable, his crop raining down on her ass, Cynthia let out yelps and then sobs, but knew better than to move.  “Pony’s don’t talk!’  Then he turned back to me.  “I’m very sorry, I apologize.”

       I wasn’t even paying attention.  I was too focused on Cynthia.  She had curly black hair, and tan skin that caused many to mistake her for Hispanic.  She was actually just mixed, from a black mother and a white father.  She was short, and broader shouldered than most girls, giving the illusion of more bulk than she actually had.  Now that she was stripped naked in front of me I could see that.  Both her parents were fabulously wealthy.  She went to my high school, where she was a princess and a brat.  I had asked her out once, and she literally spat in my face.  Now that I thought about it, it was really no surprise her family was putting her through this.

       “No,” I said.  “It’s fine.  In fact, I’m pretty sure this is the one I want.”  I glanced over to see Amelia, looking up and down at Cynthia’s body.  Her smile told me she was gleefully imagining all the torments she could put the girl through.

       “You sure,” said Mr. Hadden, looking uncertain.  “Most customers want to try before they buy.  You should really take a blow job, at least.”

       I almost laughed out loud.  “Ok,” I said.  “I will.”

       Cynthia looked horrified at the prospect of sucking off a loser like me, but whatever she was about to say caught in her throat when her eyes glanced down to Mr. Hadden’s crop.  She fell to her knees, and I unzipped my pants.

       I had heard she got around a lot, and by the quality of the blow job, I had to agree.  Almost immediately her tongue began caressing my dick in just the right way, and she took it all the way in on the first try, deepthroating me like a champ.  I began to moan, but I was determined to last.  I noticed a clock at one end of the stables, and began glancing at it.  I wanted to make her earn this!  I placed my hands on the back of her head and began forcing her back and forth slightly faster, more to establish dominance than because she was too slow.

       Three minutes.

       As she went, I tried to think about something else.  Unfortunately, this proved harder than I expected, now that my entire life was spent surrounded by nubile women.  I finally settled on baseball, but this was hard to focus on because I had never been a sports fan.

       Five minutes.

       I had to make it to ten.  I was sure I could do it.  I began tugging on her hair, making her flinch.  Her pace slowed from the pain a bit.

       Six minutes.

       I could feel the cum in my cock.  I focused all my will on stopping it.  Then I glanced over, and saw Amelia standing  straight up, apparently not allowed to lean against the stable wall behind her, smiling.  And I exploded.

       Cynthia choked for a second, seemingly more from the force of the ejaculation than from the amount.  But, a moment later she swallowed.  I pulled her away from my cock by her hair, and gave her permission to stand again.

       “I take it you’re satisfied,” asked Mr. Hadden.  I was glad to see that no one seemed to be laughing at me.  I guessed seven wasn’t too short, especially when in the middle of a business transaction.

       I glanced at Ivy, who gave an approving nod directed at Cynthia, and another towards Amelia.  Tom was also smiling pervertedly, and Cynthia’s terrified glancing seemed to be jumping from me, to him, to Amelia.

       “Yes,” I said.  “I believe I am.”

Interlude 3

       Cynthia’s first few days at my estate were fun for everyone even without her getting fucked…well, fun for everyone except Cynthia herself of course.  Amelia took her out for daily rides, and Tom was over at least daily to give her a good whipping.  I allowed her to suck off Tom, but decided that I wasn’t yet ready to fuck her, and didn’t want anyone else to do it first.  I even gave Jill a turn with the crop a time or two for good behavior.  Sadly Ottawa, in her role as a dog, couldn’t use such a thing.  I thought Ottawa was far too gentle anyway.

       I decided that, while I chose Amelia first, Cynthia would bear the “III” and Amelia the “IV” mark, since Cynthia was the reason Amelia was here.  Of course, with the brown riding pants I allowed Amelia to wear, no one could see the tattoo, so I purchased her several pair of riding pants with the numerals emblazoned on them

On the second day of her stay Cynthia was horrified when I had a man come in to pierce her nipples, and even more horrible when she realized her nipple rings were specially designed to attach to stirrups for Amelia (sadly, the only one light enough to actually ride on Cynthia’s back).  She even blurted out that her nipples would be ripped off, and was beaten until her entire rear was blue and black for it.  In truth, Amelia knew exactly how much pressure to apply to the stirrups, and how much to place on the back, to keep Cynthia in constant pain during a ride, but unharmed and functional as a pony.

       Finally, though, I decided it was time for my first ride.  I had Amelia place Cynthia in a bridle and harness attached to a cart.  The harness was carefully designed to leave her breasts, ass, and pussy still fully exposed.  And with a quick snap of my whip, we were off.

       Cynthia’s legs were stronger than they looked, and I even had to hold her back at first, as we darted across the grass and trees of my estate.  I could tell she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, so I had to steer us away from flower beds a few times.  We circled the estate three times, before I decided to drop her off at the stables again.  I considered giving her another flogging, because the ride had left me hard as a rock.  I decided I didn’t want to punish good behavior, though, so I simply had her suck me off.

Interaction 2

       After Cynthia was put away that night I gathered all my other slaves together in a small study of my fathers.  Ivy was in her room.  I had begun to grow bored with her.  Ottawa lay curled up at my feet chewing on a rope toy, as Jill served Amelia and myself tea, and stood there smiling, nude, and holding the empty tray as she waited for us to order more.

       I had decided that Amelia, as a trainer slave, would be allowed to interact with her master far more casually than the others.  So, she sat in my lap sipping her tea, and waiting for me to periodically kiss her neck and face.  Her riding pants were still on, but her free hand kept wandering to them, as if expecting me to order them off.

       I nuzzled Amelia’s neck.  “You want me to use you, don’t you?”

       “Of course, sir!” she said, eagerly.

       “And if I chose Jill for the night?  Would you object?”

       “Of course not, sir!”  There was no insincerity in her voice.  Not just that, she seemed horrified by the idea that my choice of bedmates could bother her.  She was entirely mine, and wanted it no other way.

       I turned my attention to Jill.  “And you?  Who would you rather I used?”

       “Whoever you want, master,” said Jill, just as sincerely.

       I turned my gaze to Ottawa for a second, but didn’t even bother asking.

       I smiled.  “I think it’s time to end my contract with Ivy.

Finale

       I sent all the girls to bed except Jill, they would need their strength tomorrow.  Jill, however, helped me to set up a small, portable platform in front of my bed.  The platform had stocks on top of it, which we adjusted for Ivy’s height, to make sure she’d be bent in just the ideal position, as well as foot restraints, positioned to hold her legs apart.  Next, we loaded weights underneath the platform, to make sure that no amount of struggling Ivy did could move it even an inch.  Jill was then told to go to bed as well.  All of them were told to wake at 10 the next morning, and Jill was to feed them quickly, so that they could be ready.

       I then went to the guest room, and told Ivy to report to my room, nude, at exactly noon the next day, to end our contract.  She smiled and nodded, understanding.

       The next day she arrived, on time to the millisecond, and completely naked.  I pointed to the platform, in front of my draped bed.  She mounted dutifully, and I locked her neck and wrists into the stocks, and strapped in her legs.  She squirmed a bit, making sure she was truly helpless.  She smiled, looking at me as the little boy she knew couldn’t bring himself to harm her more than a slap or two when push came to shove, no matter what delusions of dominance I might have.

       I mounted the platform behind her.  I stuck a finger into her, and she let out a slight moan.  She was still tight, and just slightly wet…it felt like lotion, though.  I entered her slightly, so that her pussy lips just barely covered my glans, and then I immediately pulled out, jumped down, and walked over to my bed.

       “There we go.  Sexual act.  When the sun rises tomorrow, in about twenty hours, you’re free to go.”

       I looked back at the confused Ivy.  “That’s it?  Don’t you want to punish me?  Beat me?  Humiliate me?  Even fuck me properly?”  She laughed.  “After all these years, is that really all you can do to me!?!  Am I really that taboo!?!”

       I chuckled.  “No, Ivy.  You’re really that meaningless.  You’re not here to serve, you’re here to get rich.  I have three slaves, all of them dying to obey me.  What do I need with someone like you?  And why bother punishing you for a night, when I can wipe as many smug little smirks off Cynthia’s face for as long as I want?”

       She grinned.  “So that’s it, then?  I just stay here like this until tomorrow morning, and get a back as stiff as hell?  You have no idea what I’ve already been through with your father and mother.  This is nothing.”

       “Well,  I’m certainly not going to touch you.  My slaves, however, aren’t too happy you tried to seduce their master, and exercise power over him.”  With a single motion I pulled back the drapes, and Ivy’s mouth dropped in horror.  Jill, Ottawa, and Amelia were all standing on my bed, naked except for an eight-inch long, two-inch thick, studded strap-on each.  On either side of the bed Amelia and Jill grinned; Amelia savagely, Jill playfully.  Ottawa, on the other hand, was trying to grin, but looked far too timid.  She was clearly uncomfortable with her temporary role, not only as a human, but as a dominant human, and fidgeted.  Nonetheless, she was ready to do her duty.

       “Remember girls, all three holes, two of you at the time, one resting, and don’t let her choke.  I can afford to pay for the surgery to undo any other damage you might cause.  I’ll be back at sunrise.  Don’t worry about Cynthia, I’ll see to her.”

       As I began walking towards the door, Ivy began to yell.  “Ryan!  Ryan, you get back here!  Ryan, don’t you dare!  Don’t you dare do this to me!”  I closed the door, and began to walk towards the stables.  Screams permeated the estate, even through the strap-on she had promptly shoved down her throat.

       Entering the stables, I immediately grabbed up a bridle.  Approaching it, I placed the bit in her mouth, and pulled the bridle over her head, moving behind her.

       “Bend over,” I said.  She complied.  I checked my watch, and pulled down my pants.  I pulled her onto me with the reigns, and began fucking her.  She stayed bent over, despite the strain on her back and hips.  I continued to pull and pull, as she began to moan, trying to hide her pain.  Eventually she began to moan in some semblance of words through the bit “Pwease!  Pwease!  Pwease stop!”  I ignored her.  Despite her pleas, she quickly grew sopping wet.

       After a long period of time, she let out a single great scream, so loud it covered over Ivy’s distant screams.  I came, and pulled out, my cum dripping from her.  I checked my watch.  20 minutes.  I smiled.  Now, I was truly the master of the estate.

The end…for now…