Owning Professor Ballard Part 10
***DISCLAIMER: Nonconsensual fuckery ahead! This installment of the story contains elements of involuntary sexual servitude, coercion, blackmail, forced bisexuality and body modification. It's basically an erotic revenge fantasy in which the victims turn against their tormentor and as usual, I take things way, way too far. If this is not your cup of tea, please move on to something more conventional. You've been warned.
There is some sex around the edges, but the majority of this episode deals with the mechanics of how Daphne is finally undone by her own hubris and narcisim. ***
***
Dawn.
The slave awoke in her cage at precisely 5:45 a.m. Her body clock had been trained to wake her at precisely the same time every morning.
God help her if she ever overslept.
The slave shuddered in the cold morning gloom, remembering the severe cunt whipping she had suffered when she had neglected to awaken her owner at the prescribed time several months prior.
She swung open the door of the dog crate at the foot of the bed and crawled out, her body jewelery tinkling softly in the dim morning light. She rose to her feet.
The slave was naked aside from her thick black leather collar. Her owners never allowed her to wear clothing of any kind in their home.
She looked down at the bed.
The sleeping couple were sprawled out on the bed, the covers only half covering their naked bodies.
The slave recalled the couple's lovemaking from the night before. Her master had made her mistress cum at least four times as he took her from behind.
The slave had watched glumly as her mistress climaxed loudly over and over again on the man's massive cock.
The slave herself had not been allowed to have an orgasm in almost a year.
It was part of her penance.
As usual, her mistress had ordered the slave to kneel by the bed as the man fucked her.
Her mistress always made her watch.
The lady of the house stared down at the slave as she was being fucked by her husband's huge cock, not even looking away as each powerful orgasm overtook her.
The slave knew her mistress was taunting her, reminding the younger woman of the pleasures she had once enjoyed, but would never know again.
The slave sighed and looked at the bedside clock, then silently padded out of the bedroom to perform her morning ablutions in the bathroom downstairs.
Later, the slave re-entered the room where the couple still slept. She held two steaming mugs of coffee, prepared exactly to the specifications of both of her owners.
She put the coffee down on the bedside table and knelt by the bed until it was time to awaken her sleeping mistress.
Just a few more minutes.
She wondered idly if the couple would have sex again this morning.
Since they had re-married, the couple seemed to fuck almost every morning.
If they did make love, the slave would kneel and watch.
And then she would clean them both, sucking the man's cock clean before crawling between her mistress' legs to suck and lick the man's seed from her pussy.
This was her life now.
10:00 a.m.
Professor Kathleen Ballard sat at the desk in her office at the university. It was a quiet Thursday morning. She was grading papers and humming tunelessly to herself.
Ballard was forty-five years old, but could easily pass for a woman in her thirties. She had luxuriant auburn hair, which she currently wore pulled back in a long ponytail. Her eyes were steel gray. She had a a pert, slightly up-turned nose and full lips over straight white teeth. She was of average height with firm, medium sized breasts, a well-toned ass and shapely legs.
The professor smiled thinly to herself, thinking of this morning's love-making session with Richard. It had been almost a year since she had moved back in to the house with her ex-husband, and six months since they had been remarried, but they were still as sexually animated as newlyweds. Perhaps it was the unique domestic dynamic they shared with their live-in pet that was spurring them to ever higher peaks of passion.
Presently, the professor felt a wet trickle in her loins. She smiled again. Richard always came so voluminously when he ejaculated inside her. It was not unusual for her to leak for hours afterward.
She picked up the phone.
"Professor Daphne Swanson," her younger colleague and Richard's erstwhile ditzy trophy wife chirped when she answered Kathleen's call.
"It's me. Get in here, cunt. I need more cleaning," Professor Ballard said brusquely and hung up the phone.
"Yes, ma'am. Right away, mistress." Daphne replied breathlessly into the void of the dead connection.
Daphne quickly placed the receiver in its cradle and double-timed it down the hall to her mistress' office, her stiletto heels clacking loudly on the marble tiles. The slave quietly entered her owner's office and closed and locked the door behind her.
Unbidden, Daphne wriggled out of all her dress and folded it neatly. She was never allowed to wear underwear or a bra, so she was naked underneath. She fetched her collar from behind a book on the bookshelf by the door. After buckling the black leather collar in place, the slave stepped nimbly up to the desk and stood naked before her mistress in inspection position.
Daphne stood rigidly straight, her posture erect, legs wide apart, hands laced behind her head, eyes downcast, her breasts and vulva thrust out before her. The slave was acutely conscious of the large steel butt plug embedded in her anus. The crimson jeweled base twinkled merrily in the slanted morning light as the slave's sphincter contracted spasmodically around the broad circumference of the large bulbous head.
Professor Ballard studiously ignored the slave for several minutes, savoring the humiliation that Daphne must be feeling at being put so casually on display here at work, with her colleagues and dozens of students only a stone's throw away.
Finally, Ballard put down her papers. She remained seated and looked up at Daphne, regarding the younger woman from across the desk.
It really was amazing how much Daphne had been transformed in the span of a single year.
Kathleen Ballard had to admit that the woman before her was an impressive specimen. At thirty-three years old, Daphne could easily pass for a woman in her early twenties. She was almost six feet tall and built like a human Barbie doll, with over-sized breasts, a narrow wasp-like waist and long, well-toned legs. The slave was never allowed to wear jewelry or make-up, but her face still glowed with youthful vitality. She had emerald green eyes and full, expressive lips.
The slave's once lustrous long blond hair had been shorn down to a manly crew-cut, really just a bristle of platinum blond now.
Professor Ballard's let her gaze drift downward from her slave's pierced nipples to her bare vulva.
She smiled to herself.
The tattoo that now permanently marked Daphne's new purpose in life was clearly legible, even from six feet away. Etched into the pale, tender flesh were two words in black three-inch block letters that now defined her existence.
TONGUE
SLAVE
Ballard let her gaze drift down a bit further to take in the slave's vaginal accoutrements. Daphne's labia had been pierced during her first week of sexual servitude. The eight steel rings were as thick as the slave's thumbs. The rings had been permamnetly welded into place and could not be removed without industrial grade bolt cutters. There were four rings on each side, all held together by a large brass lock.
The rings and lock served to deter any unauthorized penetration of the slave's vagina.
Professor Ballard had literally thrown away the key to the heavy lock, tossing it with a theatrical flourish into the lake on campus as Daphne watched, her expression pained and bereft.
The weight of the vaginal jewelry and heavy lock had brought about the desired effect on Daphne's most intimate anatomy. The slave's delicate inner labia now dangled a full eight inches below the vertex of her thighs, stretched taught and white under the unrelenting weight. Idly, Professor Ballard wondered how much more the slave would be stretched in the coming years.
The point of installing the hardware had been to permanently transform the contours of Daphne's vagina, to make it floppy and slack and generally unappealing to anyone, male or female.
In her previous life, Daphne had used that once pretty pussy with its light dusting of gossamer blond pubic hair to coerce dozens of innocent female students into sexual slavery.
That would never happen again.
Professor Ballard had made it her mission in life to literally ruin daphne's pussy forever.
The older professor leaned forward and watched the rings and lock swing lazily beneath the twin flapjacks of the slave's thin, pale, grotesquely elongated labia.
Mission accomplished, Professor Ballard thought to herself.
Kathleen Ballard grunted in satisfaction, then seemed to suddenly remember why she had summoned her pet.
The older woman stood slowly and reached under her skirt with both hands. She hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and rolled them gracefully down her shapely legs. She picked them up and eyed the crotch closely. Just as she had suspected, several gobbets of pearlescent semen had pooled in the fabric.
She placed the soiled panties on her desk.
"I'm leaking again," she said curtly to her slave. "You must not have gotten it all this morning," she added gruffly. "Remind me to punish you for that tonight when we get home."
"Yes, mistress. I'm sorry ma'am. I'll do better, ma'am."
Ballard sat back down behind her desk and spread her legs.
"Get over here and finish the job. And I'll take three orgasms this morning."
Daphne immediately dropped to her knees and crawled to her mistress. She took her familiar place between her owner's legs in the well of the desk. When she was in place, she tilted her head back and looked up at her mistress and uttered the familiar incantation.
"May this worthless whore please worship your superior pussy, mistress?"
"Yes you may, cunt."
Daphne smiled with genuine enthusiasm and buried her face between her mistress' thighs.
Professor Ballard sighed with pleasure at the first touch of Daphne's velvety tongue. It really was amazing how skilled she had gotten at pleasing a woman. It was hard to believe that the hapless slave had never once tasted pussy prior to beginning her training.
In only a few seconds, under the slave's expert tongue, Professor Ballard's pussy began to quicken, her juices flowing freely and mixing with the remnants of Richard's semen as they descended from the vault of her vagina into the slave's open, eager mouth.
Daphne grunted with pleasure, swallowing greedily as the warm tide of her mistress' essence mixed with her master's cum slid down her throat. She continued licking, her tongue, a living, pulsating ribbon of muscle, snaking ever upward.
Professor Ballard smiled down at Daphne as her first orgasm overtook her. The slave's eyes were closed in ecstasy as her owner's pussy spasmed against her tongue.
The slave quickly induced two more quick orgasm from her mistress with her well-trained tongue, the last eliciting a modest gush of squirt, which the Daphne gulped down greedily.
Professor Ballard sighed contentedly as her slave licked her clean, lapping up the last remnants of her essence with the flat of her tongue.
She reached down and patted Daphne's head affectionately. It really was amazing how far the slave had come.
Daphne had lived with Professor Ballard and her husband Richard for almost a year now, serving as their live-in slave.
But now it was time to move on.
"That's enough, slut," Professor Ballard said brusquely, pushing the slave roughly away from her pussy.
She looked down at her kneeling colleague.
