Extraordinary Talent Pt 02

(These events occur in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is common-place for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. Eighteen years of age is the minimum for anyone in this world to be enslaved or be involved in slave business operations.

If you object to the basic premises of this story, I recommend that you find something else to read.

As always, this is strictly a FANTASY—in reality, informed consent is ALWAYS mandatory.)

(

Theresa Thornton's viewpoint

)

I have the best Daddy in the world. He's smart, loving, handsome, and incredibly successful, and I love him to bits. Since my mom and brother died in the pandemic, we've been even closer than before. But if he had been with me that day at the Longhorn Slave Market in Houston, I could cheerfully have kicked him in the nuts.

OK, so he's overly protective of his sole heiress, even when I'm in Colorado studying Petroleum Engineering (my choice, not his, so that I can work in his oil business when I graduate.) But, come on—I finally found ONE guy who wasn't just trying to get into my panties or my trust fund, and the great William Thornton comes up with this crazy idea to mess up my friendship. Matt was dirt poor but brilliant, kind, funny—just perfect, even if he was an overgrown nerd. (And no, just because he didn't make a pass at me didn't mean that he wasn't interested; I often caught his eyes on me when he thought I wouldn't notice.) Matt had tutored and encouraged me to get through freshman year of school with a great record. So what does Daddy do? Decide that the only way Matt can be around me in future was on a personal services contract, otherwise known as Texas Free In Name Only (FINO). The contract paid all his tuition and a considerable salary, with great opportunities for internships during the rest of our college years, so that he would be by my side the whole time. But, to ensure that I was safe (Ha!), the contract made Matt my de facto slave, at least in private, for the next four years. And Daddy told me that if Matt DIDN'T agree, he would ensure that the poor guy never got near me again. Why slavery, you may ask? My Mom (may she rest in peace) was a slave consort who married my father, creating the love of both of their lives; Daddy therefore considered bondage the best possible insurance that any guy will be completely trustworthy, loyal, helpful—the whole Boy Scout spiel.

Because this wasn't true slavery, we didn't need a court order to classify Matt as an "Extraordinary Talent" slave—in this case, an engineering tutor—which meant he didn't have to be naked and collared

in public

. Still, the Texas FINO statute required that Matt in-process and register at a licensed facility undressed like any other slave or indentured servant, and stay that way when he was in private with me.

So, the day after we finished our freshman year found both of us at the Longhorn Market. Bad enough the poor guy had to strip and kneel in front of me, which must have been humiliating since we'd never been intimate (I didn't say anything, but until that day I didn't realize how LARGE he was down there, if you know what I mean.) But now, as we went through the in-processing, the slave handler (no doubt prompted by dear old Daddy) insisted that I had to install a chastity belt and a butt plug on/in Matt's bound body. Both of us were blushing bright red. I could tell that the handler guiding us, an imposing woman named Florence, had more of the same on the "training schedule" for my study buddy, whose only crimes were being poor and my friend. I got it—I was now Matt's de facto owner and we both needed to internalize the change, but jeez . . .

The slave veterinarian stripped off her gloves, after which Florence and she released Matt from the monster gyno table—but his hands were still cuffed behind his back. The female slave handler, who was as tall as Matt and probably 30 pounds heavier, then walked us to one of the many caged enclosures at the market, where she released the handcuffs and ordered "Display."

Most of the slave block positions, aka Slave Yoga positions, are lewd and revealing, and Display was among the worst, but Matt knew better than to hesitate. On command, he turned away from the wrangler, spread his legs several feet apart, and bent down as far as he could, so that his head was between the knees and his butt was the highest point on his body. Here was a naked young guy, submissively bending over and waving his ass in the face of two fully-clothed young females—I can't imagine how horrible that was for him. And

then

Florence unclipped the rubber strap from the left side of her equipment belt, handed it to me, and stepped back several paces.

"Mizz Thornton, I gather you're friends with this boy." I nodded. "So, this is going to be hard for you, but one of the things you both need to learn is that the owner can AND WILL punish the slave as necessary. So, please, just bend your arm back and whack him a good one, right across the buttocks."

I hesitated, but finally decided to get it over with, since Matt was stuck in that position and dreading what was to come. I didn't really want to hurt him, but knew I had to put some zip into my arm to satisfy the "instructor." The strap made a horrible sound as it crossed the fleshy part of Matt's muscular behind, leaving a slightly red line. He grunted softly but held his position.

"That's almost strong enough, Ma'am—give him another one, a little harder." Whap! This time the sound was even worse, and the mark redder. I REALLY didn't like this, and Matt, who remained completely silent, must have been miserable.

"OK, not bad for the first time. Present, slave." Said the handler. Matt immediately turned back to face us and interlocked his fingers behind his head. His look of relief mirrored my own feelings.

"I know you didn't want to do that, Ma'am, but now BOTH of you know that you'll do it if you have to. Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing towards a cot bolted to the floor, where she and I both sat. "There are other ways to punish a slave, of course—you could just strap him down in his cage and leave him in "time out" for a while, but while he's restrained he can't do any work for you. Sometimes, the best thing to do is just whack him or spank him and get it over with. Just like paddling a puppy, he'll get the idea that you didn't like what he did, and avoid that behavior in future."

*****

Florence continued in the same conversational, friendly tone. "And like a puppy, he needs to learn that you can make him happy as easily as hurting him. Carrot and stick." Her voice shifted back to a command tone. "Slave, step around to your Mistress's left side and bend over her lap, face down." Just like that, Matt and I were in close bodily contact, with his bare rear end displayed across my lap. The metallic chastity cage pressed into my left thigh. As he shifted his legs to get balanced without leaning too much on me, I caught sight of the butt plug still lodged in his anus.

At Flo's urging, I gently rubbed his butt. I was trying to reduce the sting I had inflicted a minute before, but I couldn't help noticing how soft his skin felt. I must have said something to that effect under my breath because the handler responded as if I had asked a question.

"Yeah, there are some good ol' boys with skin like leather, but most men you meet have butts that are baby soft, just like women's, even though the drawers they wear are a lot rougher than panties. The difference, of course, is that guys are ALWAYS trying to feel OUR butts but they shy like crazy if anyone touches THEIR asses. See the way he's flinching?" I nodded. "So, tell us, Boy, why are guys so worried about getting touched back there?"

After a brief hesitation, Matt's muffled voice replied something to the effect of it feeling "gay."

"Gay? How can this be gay?" Florence's hand joined mine in softly rubbing all over his posterior. "I mean, you're a guy, and here you have your owner, a beautiful woman, and ANOTHER free woman playing with your naked body. That's got to be about as UN-gay as you can get, right?"

Florence chuckled, but somehow she sounded friendly rather than evil. "What you really mean, of course, is that you boys are afraid that someone will put something up your butts, right? Oh, wait—your Mistress already did that, didn't she?" She mouthed at me "wiggle it a little," so I very gently played with the plug. Matt grunted at the sensation.

"How does that feel, Boy?" The handler inquired. "Weird" was the reply.

"It's weird but not unpleasant, right?" When he didn't reply, she tapped the plug again. "No, Mistress, just weird."

She finally removed her hand and sat back. "OK, guys, I'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I'm trying to show you a couple of things about your new relationship. First of all, Matt—is that your name? You seem like a smart boy, so tell me, who owns your ass?"

His response was immediate, if sheepish—he really didn't want any more playing back there. "Mistress Theresa owns my ass." Flo and I giggled.

"I TOLD you he was smart!" she continued. "Ma'am, I highly recommend that you put him across your lap like this at least once a week to remind him who's in charge. If he's bad, you may have to spank him, but if he behaves himself, well, this is a way of giving him a little bit of a reward and bringing you together, 'K?"

"I see your point," I replied, "But I don't know if I can do that—like he said, it's really weird."

"I'll go one further," Florence pressed me. "He'll try to deny it, but sometimes what he REALLY needs is a vibrator up his butt."

Matt wriggled unhappily, and I couldn't agree either. "Oh, now that's just gross!"

"Not at all," the handler pursued. "Of course, it works best if you make him use an enema to clean himself out and then a plug to stretch the opening beforehand, but—haven't you ever heard of milking a man's prostrate?"

"I've heard of it, but again—gross!"

"Seriously, Ma'am. You two are students, right? Didn't he ever act sullen and antsy and uptight when he was under a lot of stress?" I had to nod in agreement, remembering how he reacted to the end-of-term madness, and even Matt has stilled to listen to her. "Think about this—the next time he gets like that, and just can't settle down, make him take an enema and bend over, and then just run a small vibrator in and out of his colon. You'll know when you hit his prostrate, because he'll stiffen up suddenly; just hold the vibrator there for a few minutes, and be prepared to mop up the jizz that will drip out of him. He'll even enjoy it after he gets used to the idea. Fifteen minutes like that and he'll be relaxed for days. Trust me."

She paused again, then sighed. "If we had more time, I'd demonstrate, but I can tell neither of you believes me. The first time you do it, you'll probably have to tie him down, but the SECOND time he'll be a lot more willing. I'm not naming names, but there's one guy who works here who is Mr. Macho Stud, dating any woman he wants to—except that every three or four months he asks ugly old Florence to peg him so that he can relax. I know that's too far out there for some people, but: For a female owner and a male slave, this is a great way to reward the slave while at the same time reinforcing that the woman is always in charge. Think about it, please."

*****

(

Matt Hewitt's Viewpoint

)

In all my dreams of making love to Terri, I never imagined being naked and bent over her clothed lap while she played with my butt and another woman tried to convince her to peg me. All this anal play really made me nervous; as soon as Florence ordered me to, I scrambled off Terri—excuse me, Mistress Theresa—and resumed my kneeling stance in front of the two women who controlled me. The huge Black handler visibly shifted gears. "One more topic we need to cover—oral servicing. Because Extraordinary Talent slaves usually don't go to any slave schools, it's standard for us to introduce them to pleasuring BOTH sexes of free citizens." Both Terri and I audibly sucked in our breath.

"Relax," Flo reassured us. "This should be relatively painless. We'll use this strap-on to talk about how Matt would give a blowjob --unless you'd rather I brought in a male wrangler to practice on?" I hastily assured her that the plastic probe was quite enough, Mistress, thank you very much. Dealing with that monster was bad enough without becoming a real cocksucker. I'd never been face-to-face with any kind of dick, of course, but this thing looked very large and was anatomically correct to the point of prominent veins, hanging balls, and (I soon discovered) slight flexibility. For five minutes, I stared at the pseudo-penis while she talked about the male anatomy involved, although my mind kept cringing about her suggestion that I get pegged like that. Then, for another five minutes, I awkwardly tried to lick, suck, and swallow the strap-on, practicing the mechanics she had described while I was still horrified about the idea of ANYTHING intruding into my body.

The first time it hit the back of my throat, I gagged, and both women giggled. "Now you know what it feels like," Mistress Florence smirked. My confusion must have been apparent on my face—what was she talking about?

Terri, bless her heart, took pity on me. "I don't think Matt is the kind of guy who tries to make a woman gag on him, even though he's got the equipment to do it." she explained to the handler. "Come to think of it, has anyone ever given you a blowjob?" I didn't know whether to be angry or ashamed, but with my mouth full, all I could do was shake my head negatively and continue the unfamiliar task of fellating a fake phallus. She finally explained for my benefit, "too many guys expect a woman to not only suck them off, but put up with their ramming themselves down her throat." Her tone of disgust matched mine—I wouldn't mind having her blow me, of course, but I couldn't conceive of making her uncomfortable by ramming it in. OK, I'd heard locker-room talk about face-fucking, but it just seemed so pointless and disrespectful to the woman.

Fortunately, Florence decided that I'd met whatever training objective she had in mind. "That's enough practice on plastic pricks," she concluded, withdrawing the loathsome thing from my mouth. "Just remember, though, as long as you're a slave—even a FINO slave—you have to be prepared for the fact that some day you might have to do it for real. So think about it now and get over your disgust."

I was still revolted, but grasped at the obvious straw. "But, only if Mistress Theresa orders me to, right?" They both agreed, and I mentally promised myself NEVER to give Terri a reason to demand that of me!

After giving me a drink of water from a bottle, Florence went back into teaching mode. "OK, now we need to talk about orally satisfying a Mistress instead of a Master." Without any hesitation or sign of modesty, she stood up just long enough to slip down her jeans and panties, then sat down with her thighs wide apart, right in front of my nose. I HAD been between one girl's thighs in high school, and she had professed to be satisfied with my fumbling and tonguing, but again, the lecture on female anatomy gave me a lot of ideas on how to do better.

When she finished explaining, Florence abruptly pulled her clothes back up and suggested that this time, my "practical exercise" should involve pleasing my owner, since she was the one I was most likely to perform on. Again, both Terri and I was acutely embarrassed—I wouldn't have minded pleasuring her in private, but doing so while I was slave naked and being watched by a third party made me uncomfortable.

"Oh," said Florence, I think deliberately understanding the hesitation. "You mean, you don't want him to see you down there, right?" That wasn't the whole problem for Terri, but for simplicity she nodded agreement. "No problem!" said the handler, reaching into the large bag from which she had already withdrawn the strap-on. "Bend your head towards me, Boy," she directed, and she installed a sleep mask that effectively blinded me. "NOW," she continued in a friendly tone, "Once your Mistress undresses and pulls your head forward, you can practice on her. Remember what I said, though—use your tongue to spell out the alphabet across her labia, got it?"

I couldn't resist, "Since I'm blindfolded, should I try the Braille alphabet, Mistress?" Terri, who by the sounds of it had just dropped HER pants, giggled, and I think even the handler snorted. "No more talking, Boy! Put that wise-ass mouth of yours to doing something useful," growled Florence, but she only tapped my head slightly. Then I felt another hand, presumably Terri, pulling me into contact with a warm, wet, fragrant area of skin, and I did my best.

For the past nine months, I had dreamed of being between Theresa Thornton's thighs, but not as her naked and collared slave. Be careful what you wish for, I thought, and dove in. I tried to apply what Florence had taught me, and whenever my lips and tongue evoked a sigh or moan I repeated that action. As I said, I had only limited experience at cunnilingus, but I REALLY wanted to make Terri happy, and not just because she could spank me if I failed. I don't know how long I worked at it, but it seemed like only a few minutes before she gave a loud cry, pulled my head even more closely into her labia, and suddenly tripled the already significant amount of moisture down there. As soon as she took a breath, I dutifully tried to resume my work, but she said something about "No more" and gently pushed me away.

After the sounds of clothing being rearranged, I felt a soft cloth wipe off my face and then the sleep mask came off, leaving me blinking in the overhead light and looking up at two smiling women.

"Not bad for a first attempt," commented the slave handler.

"Are you kidding?" replied my new owner. "I think I need to revise his contract. He was originally indentured as a tutor, but after that performance I've decided to redesignate his 'Extraordinary Talent' as cunnilingus. As your new owner, Matt, I'm giving you a new job, every night until further notice, understand me?"

I guess I passed the practical exercise. I couldn't resist kidding her by repeating one of the slave mantras, "I live to serve you, Mistress."

"Damn straight—don't forget it." She almost purred.

Florence gave me another drink of water, then had me stand and "Back Hands" so she could reattach the cuffs. I heard her talking to Terri—"We're done here, but I'm supposed to accompany you back out to the lobby. How 'bout you guide him there rather than me, just for practice?"

"Ummm, OK," replied Terri. "You mean, like, put a leash on him?"

"Well, that's for outside. Here in the building, there are simpler ways of directing him. Here put your hand right there." I felt a hand, presumably Terri's, cupping my right buttock with the fingers pressed firmly into my crevice; the middle finger made contact with the darn plug still inside me.

"This way," the massive slave wrangler explained, "It's easy to direct a cooperative slave, and he certainly seems cooperative, doesn't he? Just push forward to get him going, and if you want him to turn, squeeze his little butt and press in the direction you want him to go."

Once again, reality diverged from my daydreams. In my fondest imagination, I had walked with my hand on Terri's well-rounded rear, but now HER hand was fondling MY nude ass as we made our way to the front. Not what I had expected or wanted, but surprisingly comfortable and intimate.

*****

When we reached the lobby, it was even emptier than that morning—during my "training" the slave market had transacting its main business of classification and auction for the day. Florence had me "Display" again, after which I felt the welcome relief of the buttplug being extracted. A hollow sound indicated she had tossed it in a nearby trash can (but I noticed that she handed Theresa that equipment bag, presumably still containing a strap-on!) I didn't think much about it, because I was responding to the next order—"Back Hands," where I felt another zip-tie installed on my wrists before the Longhorn's cuffs were removed, and then "Collar," where I was briefly freed from the heavy weight and sharp prongs of the market's electronic collar, before Terri re-installed her simpler collar and clipped a dog leash back onto it. After the two talked briefly, while ignoring the new slave on a leash, Terri's sweet voice ordered "Heel, slave," and led me back into the parking lot.