Full Rigor

Full Rigor, Pt. 02

(This is a fantasy occurring in an alternative world where legalized slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debts, or voluntary self-indenture. Although there is considerable sex, sometimes distasteful and sometimes fun, the focus is on how people interact with each other within the constraints of this slavery. I welcome constructive comments within that focus. However, rather than complain because this story is not the one YOU would have written, I urge you to invest the time in writing your own, undoubtedly superior tale.

All characters in this story are over 18

, which in this fantasy world is the minimum legal age for any enslavement or involvement with slave processing. In the real world, slavery and forcible sex acts are NEVER acceptable.)

(Michelle Harkins' experience)

All my adult life, I had wanted to go beyond submissive sex play to become a real slave. The simplest way to describe me is as a humiliation slut who enjoys being subjugated sexually. With the twins off to college, my lawyer husband, Rich, had agreed in principle to become my owner, a situation that often happened when a non-citizen spouse had a falling out with the citizen spouse, who then found an excuse to enslave her or him. In our case, however, we were both citizens and deeply in love, so Rich demanded precautions before I self-indentured myself. The first precaution was that I consult with Dr. Nicola (Nikki) Sheldon. Nikki was an occasional partner for scenes at the BDSM club operated by her husband, Paul. Until Rich told me, however, I hadn't realized that Nikki was also a slave psychiatrist, a rare specialist who could assess and consult on my unusual desires. I drove to Dallas to meet her, by appointment, in her office at the Samson Clinic, one of the leading slave medicine facilities in Texas.

I was used to seeing Nikki at the club, usually with her hair in a ponytail, her face wearing evening makeup and her toned body barely concealed in a slutty version of a cheerleader's uniform (For some reason, she always grinned when her husband referred to her as a "Cheerleader Cunt.") In the clinic, she appeared much more mature, wearing her hair up with minimal makeup above a power pantsuit. Just as I raised my hand to knock on the open door to her tiny office, she glanced up and smiled broadly.

"Michelle! Welcome to my hole in the wall." She danced around the desk and gave me a quick hug, suddenly looking much more like my fellow submissive at the club. She urged me to take a seat while she closed the door, blocking off outside noise.

"I'm happy to see you, but I'm not sure what you need me to do. Rich told me I had to hear whatever issue this is from you."

I took a deep breath, smiled briefly, and launched into the explanation that I had practiced on the long drive that morning. "You already know I'm a submissive, but the truth is I want to go beyond BDSM and enslave myself to Rich; we're talking about a self-indenture of 400 days. I know that sounds weird--I've never met anyone else who wanted to self-indenture, but nothing else seems to satisfy my cravings."

Nikki returned my smile, saying, "Actually, you're looking at someone who self-indentured herself. I was required to spend six months in a collar to qualify in slave psychiatry, and it was the scariest thing I ever did. In fact, that's how I met my husband Paul--he bought me at the slave market! I'm telling you this just so you don't need to feel embarrassed; voluntary self-indenture is rare but not unheard of."

Michelle: "Wow. I had no idea."

Nikki continued, "So, I gather that Rich wants us to talk about this idea?"

"Well, yeah. He says he's willing to do it if I really want to, but he's hoping that we can retain you to talk to me periodically before and during my indenture, because he's afraid I may freak out."

Nikki nodded. "He's right that becoming a slave creates a lot of mental strain, but we'll get to that eventually. For now let's explore your idea. I want you to know that I'm not here to discourage you from doing what you want, nor am I going to judge you. Whatever you say today is privileged information, and you'll have to authorize me to talk to your husband about any of this. If he becomes your owner, the law changes because you would be his property; I'd be required to tell him anything that would directly affect your mental health or your performance, OK? Sooooo, tell me: why do you want to become a slave? Or, put it another way, what is it about being enslaved that attracts you?"

Michelle, after a deep breath: "Well, I know this isn't an answer, but the truth is EVERYTHING about enslavement thrills me. I'm fascinated with having no control over myself and especially with the sexual overtones of that situation. I like the idea of public nudity, coerced sex, constant restraint, kneeling before free citizens, the idea that almost any adult can demand sex, even the humiliation of submitting to people I don't find attractive or to people I already know."

I ran out of steam temporarily, so Nikki interrupted gently: "In reality, as I'm sure you know, a lot of what a slave experiences is simply boring or tiring, like waiting in uncomfortable positions for a master or doing routine tasks. Yet our minds always focus on the sex, so let's start there. At least part of what you just said seems focused on the idea that you want to be compelled to provide sexual service. Ordinarily, I wouldn't mention our social interactions, but when we were at the club you seemed to enjoy almost any combination of sex. Is it the copulation itself, or the feeling of surrender to another, or some combination of the two?"

I nodded. "More like a combination. Vanilla sex with good-looking partners feels great but having someone quote force unquote me to surrender my body makes the act seem a hundred times better, filthier. And I know I'll be terrified of the reality, but the idea that someone could just impose his or her will on me, use me as a pleasure toy, sends a shiver up my back."

Nikki: "I'm glad you recognize that some of those people using you may be unattractive, even repulsive. At Paul's club, we've both experienced the thrill of being taken without any say in the matter, but we could always use safe words, and the club management watched over us. As a slave, you need to prepare for the worst. For example--imagine someone you can't stand, someone you've quarrelled with, forcing you to submit sexually or watching you service someone else while you're naked and helpless. How would you feel?"

Michelle: "Something like that actually happened to me when I was slave-graded at age 18. Victoria, this blonde bitch who had stolen my boyfriend in high school, came to the slave market where I was devoxed and spread out for display. Some guys in our class played with my body while Victoria called me every name in the book."

Nikki smiled. "You know what my next question is going to be. How did that make you feel?"

I replied, "Truthfully? It turned me on. Of course, I was in agony at the time, filled with shame and frustration because I couldn't even talk to answer her. But I loved the subjugation of it all, the sense that this slut was lording it over me while I could only lie there and take it--you can't get more submissive than that! For a long time thereafter, the memory of that moment was guaranteed to take me over the top when I masturbated."

Nikki nodded again: "Sounds like there's a lot of things that you enjoy--without wishing to sound judgmental, your desires might be described as a combination of exhibitionism, lust, submission, self-humiliation, and even some masochism. Nothing right or wrong with ANY of those ideas, so please don't feel embarrassed. I just want to help you understand what you want versus what you might get. In connection with that, I've been working on a multiple-choice questionnaire that I'd like you to try. Again, there's nothing magic or misleading about the questions--they're just a way to help us identify your likes and dislikes so we can talk some more before you surrender yourself. Do you want to do this today or take it home and mail it back to me, to discuss at another meeting?"

I indicated that I should probably answer her questionnaire at home, and she agreed, but reiterated that I shouldn't agonize over the choices--just pick the answer that best describes my gut-level reaction to each question and then mail the form to her as soon as possible. The sample question in her instructions is a fair indicator of what she wanted me to consider:

If you had some input into what happened to you during indenture or slavery, which of the following would you MOST enjoy experiencing?

Being tied spread-eagled and naked in a shop window to attract customers passing on a busy street.

Using your mouth on a large group of adults at an office or party.

Acting as a call girl/boy toy, delivered by appointment to the hotel rooms of customers.

Serving as a whipping boy or girl who is punished when your owner loses bets with his/her friends.

Working as a hotel housekeeper, cleaning rooms and changing bedding; although guests may occasionally use you sexually, most of your work will be quiet and monotonous.

Working the night shift washing and ironing clothing, with limited human interaction and no sexual contact.

*****

I think you get the idea where Nikki was headed. Over the next month, I met with her several times to discuss the questionnaire and work out my expectations and motivations. She reinforced what I had already known in the back of my mind, which was that much of a slave's life was undesirable and uncomfortable without offering much sexual release. With my permission, Nikki eventually told Rich what he already knew, that I was serious about my aspirations, that I had a fairly realistic understanding of what it meant to be a slave, and that only the complete experience would satisfy me. She agreed to interview both of us periodically, beginning in late December just before my surrender date.

I'll spare you most of the ins and outs of my legal exploration. I was a little surprised when my new lawyer told me just what it meant to surrender my rights and self-indenture: Not only could almost anyone use me sexually, but I had no Constitutional rights of any kind. Because a slave was not a legal person, he or she was expected to serve anyone that the owner permitted, even if this service involved acts that, in a free person, would be considered adultery or incest. Nor did the owner or other free persons have to respect the slave's sexual preferences, such as heterosexual or homosexual, let alone different forms of intercourse. If I tried to escape my bondage, my one year of indenture would probably be extended by five additional years, including being branded as a "circle star" criminal slave and assigned to service undesirable groups such as the contract guards on chain gangs. The other surprise, which I learned from both the lawyer and Nikki, was the bind I was putting my husband into. As an attorney and officer of the court, he could not ignore disobedience or escape attempts, even by his once-and-future wife who had made herself into his personal slave. He HAD to punish and report such crimes. The emotional aspect of disciplining me and seeing me unhappy would be almost equally daunting for him.

Nikki told me of a case where some unnamed guy had self-indentured himself for a year to his girlfriend, knowing that she would discipline and feminize him because she wanted him to develop a caring, servant mentality. This owner had consulted Nikki because they both hated the experience of her disciplining him and forcing him to do demeaning things--eventually, she even rented him out as a chained cocksucker in a glory hole. Still, because the slave boyfriend loved her and she began rewarding him, they grew closer together. The boyfriend really did develop an attitude in which he enjoyed helping others such as small children and female co-workers, although at the time that enjoyment was apparent only if you carefully studied his actions. This bizarre situation worked, but some observers who saw only the externals of their relationship thought the girlfriend/owner was a psycho bitch who deserved retribution rather than forgiveness. That slave had sufficient love and forgiveness to understand her conflicted actions as his owner. After his indenture, they married.

I could see I needed to have long talks with Rich. I wasn't worried for myself, but I had to give him permission to discipline me and leave me miserable even if I hated it at the time. After all, if my fantasy really was to give up all control over my life, complaining about what others did to me was the worst kind of topping from below.

In the meantime, though, Rich had also insisted that I explain myself to all my friends, so that they were prepared when they encountered me as a slave. My naturally tendency was to delay such a revelation until December, just before I planned to indenture myself. (By the way, when I DID reveal myself, it was a great turn-on; I kept my clothes on and didn't commit any sex acts, but damn was it both humiliating and thrilling to abase myself in front of my friends.) As a trial run, however, I decided to talk to Shirley Holmes, the one other woman I knew who, besides Nikki, was both an acquaintance and a fellow participant at the BDSM Club in Fort Worth. That's where we had first met her, only to learn eventually that she lived a few miles away from us in the suburbs of Houston. This proximity led to periodic socializing as friends and occasional playmates. I was therefore not surprised when Rich, trying to deter me from making my dream a reality, had threatened to lend me to her as a slave. Shirley, who resembled the famous British actress Diana Rigg in her prime, was much tougher than my loving, "switch" husband; she was a no-nonsense, 100 percent domme, verging on Bitch Goddess, and my bottom was already stinging in anticipation.

Almost everyone referred to Shirley Holmes as "Mistress Shirley." A tall, self-confident brunette, she was always the acknowledged leader of any social group and the lead domme in any scene at the club. I know it will sound catty, but people other than Rich had told me that her hair, face, and figure were not quite as good as mine. Despite this, her confident demeanor was so attractive that people stared at her rather than me. Although she only wore a bustier or similar fetish wear while engaged in a BDSM scene, even her ordinary clothing drew attention to her cleavage, rump, and legs. Shirley was a plastic surgeon with an excellent reputation, while her husband George was a regional manager for a major auto parts distributor. She was in her late thirties but he was about a decade older; they had no children.

At the beginning of October, I called Shirley to ask if I could meet with her to talk. Once she realized that my request was personal rather than professional, she invited me to her house on a Friday afternoon when she was taking time off from work. (Based on what happened that day, I suspect that Richard had given her advance warning.) When I met her, I haltingly described my intentions, after which she thought for a moment and then observed:

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised--no offense, but you've always been the perfect little submissive in our scenes. Have you tried being Richard's full-time submissive?"

I told her of our recent ten-day experiment, when my husband had treated me as a full-time slave without letting anyone else know.

"Well," she replied condescendingly, "everyone has their own kink. And you're by no means the only submissive who wants to 'graduate' to slavery." She obviously expected me to ask about that statement, so I did.

Shirley's face assumed the predatory smile that I had often observed when she was acting as a domme. "OK--do you remember the costumes that George and I wore to the club Halloween Party last year?"

I searched my mind, then remembered. "Wait, you were in full regalia as a leather mistress with a whip, and I think George wasn't wearing much at all--just a heavy slave collar, cuffs, and leather jock strap, right?"

"Exactly, only for him it wasn't really a costume. Because you're such a dedicated submissive yourself, I doubt you'll be surprised when I tell you that George and I play those roles most of the time when we're together. Oh, when we go out socially we appear 'normal' [she hooked her fingers to imply quotation marks], although even then I sometimes make him wear a chastity cage or butt plug to remind him of his place. And once in a great while--like on his birthday--we reverse roles and George tops ME for a change, mainly to show me what he wished I would do unto him. But, most of the time he's a true submissive. Not only does he love bottoming to me, but he has admitted that he would like to have a man quote force unquote him sexually--believe me, he has no homosexual urges, just thinks that it might please ME to see him forcibly sodomized. Anyway, I heard his car drive into the garage just now, so if you wait another few minutes I'm sure he'd be VERY interested in your plans."

"While we're waiting," I replied, "You mentioned reversing roles. I'm certain you know that Richard is really a switch--I recall several times at the club when you did a great job of dominating him while George and I watched."

A smile flitting across her face. "To quote Maurice Chevalier, 'Ah yes, I remember it well!' Ordering him (excuse me, HER) to cross-dress so that I could tie her down, spank and peg her was fantastic. In my experience, there are a lot of guys for whom cross-dressing is not about gender but rather about surrendering power, assuming the stereotypical role of a dominated, penetrated woman. Your husband has the makings of a superb submissive, although I don't know him well enough to say whether he would enjoy worshipping another male."

"Well, on Rich's birthday I usually top him, and sometimes I even peg my favorite transvestite. But I only do it to please him--I've no real interest in dominating anyone, although he seems to enjoy taking charge of ME. So I don't do a very convincing job of indulging his kink. In fact, that's one thing I'd like your help on. Once I become his slave, it would be inappropriate for me to top him. Topping him might even be considered attacking my Master, which is a felony for a slave. Could you offer to dominate him a few times so that MY submissive desires don't completely deprive him of HIS enjoyment?"

Shirley suddenly became even more enthusiastic. "Now, that sounds like a great opportunity for me to play with 'Rikki'-- I'll have to talk to 'HER' [again the quotation marks gesture] about this. Of course, Rikki's slave shouldn't get to witness me topping a slave owner, so you would have to be restrained while we made love properly. I have this marvelous image of you hearing but not seeing the domination, because your husband has left you gagged and blindfolded in a cage while we play." Just those few words made me damp, and her tone of voice said she was excited as well! Her voice changed again as we heard a door open, "But here's George."

Her husband must have seen my car out front, but he barely hesitated when he entered the room, having obviously changed in the garage. I had seen George submit to her at the club, so I was not really surprised when he entered the room wearing only a pair of thigh-high nylons, a heavy leather collar, and a metallic chastity cage. For a man in his late '40s, George was in remarkably good physical condition without any visible fat on his body. He promptly walked to a point about two feet in front of her and fell to his knees, awaiting instructions with his open hands lying face up on his widespread thighs.