Angelica and the Monster Cock: A Theo Story
Author's note: If you want all the background, you could look up "Theo's BDSM Slave Service" and "Signing Up for a Life of Slavery." However, I've tried to make this story as stand-alone as I could, so you don't have to in order to understand what's going on.
You've met me before: Angelica, the only slave who willingly abandoned herself to Theo's slave service. Some of the other women used to be into bondage in their previous lives, and a few were even into a bit of pain, but none desired the total lack of control that comes with being a real, honest-to-goodness captive sex slave. The factor of our existence that drives some women into chronic depression is like a tonic to me. It was the one aspect of BDSM that I couldn't get in the before-time, not for real as opposed to part of a role-playing game. I love having no established boundaries, no safeword, and no choice. I have to put up with whatever next comes through that showroom door.
As I stood in the showroom lineup waiting for business, I had time to reflect on the irrevocable choice I had made two years before. As I expected, the non-consensual bondage and sex never seems to get old: the creative ways clients restrain and hurt me keeps it interesting. But one aspect of the lifestyle I hadn't really counted on is the day-to-day monotony. Except for my nightly (or sometimes afternoon) shift in Theo's entertainment suites, my days seem mostly occupied by efforts to fill in time. If you've ever seen the Shaun the Sheep movie, you'll remember the opening scene in which the sheep finally get so bored with their repetitious lives that they go AWOL. Sometimes that's me. Except that there's no AWOL here.
Still, when I balance it all out, I'm happy with my choice. The possibility of getting a client who is into subjecting women to pain still excites me, and to tell the truth, my days aren't all that much more monotonous than days at my old office job with some bondage sex on weekends.
There have been no more new arrivals since I signed on -- twenty-five slaves seems to be just enough to allow Theo to expand his business as much as he feels like doing at the moment. I know the numbers go to twenty-seven (me), but two numbers have been retired. One slave was killed in a foolish escape attempt and another committed suicide when she couldn't adjust to her situation. When he was first walking me through his operation, Theo had also mentioned a few whom he had had to "put down" because they couldn't adjust, but whenever we had a full table at mealtimes, I always counted twenty-five. I concluded that Theo had made up that last part just to mess with my head.
The first twelve of us stood there in our usual showroom positions -- naked except for high stilettos, ankles forced apart by half-metre spreaders, wrists behind our backs in leather cuffs, mouths taped, and steel dildos mounted on poles forced up into our pussies to hold us in position, totally helpless.
I recognised the first guy who came in. We hadn't settled on a good nickname for him yet, but "OK Otto" was in the running. No nuance though. We were still working on it.
He was tall and muscular, with a short dark beard and piercing dark brown eyes. He seemed vaguely threatening, but I had had him a couple of times before and knew that he wasn't one of the nastier ones. He had an average cock, maybe a bit on the smaller side compared to a few of the monster cocks I've met in here. Remember that an "average" cock is about fifteen centimetres, or six inches -- look it up -- and men can easily be either bigger or smaller than that. Porn has given us a false expectation of penis size, and really, most women prefer average, used well, as opposed to a monster that requires special care not to hurt.
Aside from his average cock, I also knew from experience that he wasn't especially into creative sexual tortures. He loved to have women spreadeagled on the bondage bed, loading them up with lots of restraints, pushing vibrators into their assholes, getting his cock sucked, maybe some bare-hand bum spanking, finishing off with a good fuck in the cunt, but he never seemed to bother with painful suspension, nipple clamps, monster dildoes, or even anal sex aside from a vibrator or plug. Just a good old-fashioned bondage fuck. Hence the prospective nickname "OK Otto" -- he wasn't a great client like Gentleman Bob, or a horrible one like Whomping Willie, just OK. Frankly, he was a bit wasted on me, since I enjoy pain and came here precisely to get it, but he was popular with most of the other women.
He checked out the whole lineup, but kept stopping at Grace. She's a small, beautiful Asian-Canadian woman with slender hips, compact but inviting breasts, and a winning smile when it's not covered up by microfoam tape and she's not waiting apprehensively for an unknown client. Unknown rapist, to be exact. As usual, Grace looked slightly scared. She used to be pretty sexually adventuresome on the outside -- a bit of a slut, frankly, judging by her descriptions -- but she didn't like having to take whatever, without choice or limits. She always looked as though if she could find a way to lever herself off that fucking pole, she'd just run.
I really wanted to tell her not to worry, he's one of the nicer ones and wouldn't really hurt her, but of course with a wide strip of microfoam sealing my lips, I couldn't. Still, I was glad when he slid the dildo out of her and walked her down the hall to an entertainment suite. As she left, she looked back at me and I nodded my head in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. She seemed to take it as such.
Her breasts are too firm and compact to jiggle, but her little ass swayed a bit as she disappeared through the door to the suites.
The next guy that came in was really big. Big arms, large round face, large body -- not fat exactly, but very thick through the middle. He had a mid-length bristly black beard that stuck out in all directions. He reminded me of no-one more than Bluto, the villain in the classic Popeye cartoons. Cartoons being cartoons, all he wanted to do was kiss Olive Oyl against her will, but looking back on it I could see they were hinting at the possibility of a lot more, just like this guy was unlikely to stop at unwanted smooches. But no Popeye was going to rescue me.