Popularity Ch 03

Being a slave isn't about feeling safe and secure. It's about being awash with feelings of fear and helplessness. The exquisite thing about that is that the delicious feelings of fear and helplessness dramatically inflame my sexual arousal. Since I became a slave, my nipples are always hard, and my sex is constantly throbbing with wet, hungry spasms.

Was I a natural masochist? Did my indoctrination to slave life simply bring out something that was already inside of me? Or did the OPS have proven methods for turning good, decent people into submissive pain sluts? Or was my new body deliberately designed to become sexually aroused in response to bondage and punishments?

There was nobody I could go to for answers, so I just muddled forward and tried to endure in my new life as best I could manage.

I wasn't even aware that the federal government had an agency for the incarceration, training and exploitation of sex slaves until I was forced into becoming a slave myself. As a result, I was totally ignorant of what life as a slave would be like, and I was forced to learn as I lived the experience.

One of the things that I learned about was that every year there were three days set aside in early August for something called the 'Slave Olympics.' It was an ostentatious name for a three-day event where slaves were forced to compete in humiliating games for the entertainment of free men and free women.

The slaves were taken from the main federal building where we were normally incarcerated to a large, one-story building that resembled a convention center. When I was transported, they didn't handcuff me or have me escorted by armed security guards.

I mean, why would they? I'd been fingerprinted and photographed when I'd been enslaved. Also, I had no money, and I was stark naked! If I ran away, exactly where would I go? If I was lucky, I might have made it fifty yards before I was captured and returned to the custody of the federal government.

Constance ordered me to put my hands on the back of my neck so that I couldn't cover myself and marched me into the building for the Slave Olympics competitions. As we were entering the main lobby, I encountered a familiar face.

"Constance! How are you?"

Mistress Rose greeted my handler with an enthusiastic hug and a bright smile; however, her gaze kept being drawn over to me. She had a prurient look in her eyes, and when she broke from her hug with Constance she came over and patted me on the ass.

"I was hoping you'd be bringing Alex to the slave competitions." Mistress Rose was speaking to my handler, but her gaze was directed at me. She openly scrutinized my naked body, paying special attention to my outthrust breasts, my abdomen, and my bald pubes.

"Alex is developing quite the following," Constance explained. "More and more people want to see her. This venue will give her a great deal of exposure and help to keep a number of our VIPs happy."

"It might help if the OPS had more public events like this," Mistress Rose opined.

Constance waved her hand dismissively and replied, "Yes, yes, that's been suggested before. But every time that suggestion is brought up, my superiors always complain about the security issues and the high financial costs of public events. In issues of passion vs. practicality at government agencies, practicality almost always wins."

Constance put a hand in the small of my back and pushed me ahead, forcing me to march deeper into the building while she explained the Slave Olympics to me.

"Slaves earn points in these competitions," she explained. "If a slave earns seventy points or more, they get a reward. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

I had only been a slave for a brief period of time, but I had already learned that when a handler talked to a slave about a 'reward,' they were referring to orgasmic release. All of the slaves were forbidden to masturbate, and our handlers made certain we were constantly sexually stimulated. Our orgasms were cruelly rationed, thus making us extremely grateful for any orgasms we received.

As I was pushed forward, OPS employees moving in the other direction prodded naked male slaves past me, some bound, others walking as I was.

"I believe Alex will perform admirably in these competitions," Mistress Rose said as our forward progress was halted by naked female slaves and their handlers blocking our path.

"She has a young, firm body that was just made for athletic competitions! Just look at these impressive abs!"

At this point, Mistress Rose reached for me and ran her hand up and down my stomach, feeling the firmness of my abdominal muscles. Then she reached out for my ass.

"And her bum. She has a nice firm bum," she said as she squeezed each of my buttocks one after the other, complimenting me on my firm glutes and my obvious dedication to keeping fit through constant exercise.

"All the slaves are forced to exercise," my handler replied, "although Alex does somehow manage to have a more perfectly shaped ass than any of the other slaves."

Mistress Rose continued to fondle my bottom while we waited for people to get out of our way. When we were finally able to make our way forward, I saw some of the stages, booths and other staging areas where the slaves were competing and got some idea of what I was in for.

My first hint of what was in store was a stage where female slaves knelt and lowered themselves onto a variety of dildos. It took me a few seconds to see how this was a competition, a moment to take in that the dildos were arranged in size from smallest to largest. The most imposing was at least twelve inches tall and as thick as my wrist.

To gain the most points, the slave girls needed to impale themselves on the largest of the fake cocks. So, they knelt over the intimidating monster, coated it with copious amounts of lube and lowered themselves down onto it.

They guided the rounded head of the cock into the opening of their vagina and tried to force the rest of the thing inside them. I could see the looks of distress as these women struggled and strained to take it all in, but there are limits to how much a woman's vagina can stretch.

They grunted and gasped, and their brows furrowed with frustration. My heart went out to them, as dozens of people watched them humiliate themselves in a futile effort to impale themselves on a cock of frightening size. I was gripped with horror as I realized my handler could order me to endure the same humiliating fate.

A short distance away, male slaves were being made to suffer the same fate. Young, naked men knelt on the stage and while a crowd of prurient spectators watched, they attempted to work imposingly large silicone cocks into their anuses. They looked so vulnerable and exposed as they helplessly bounced, gasped, and whimpered as they attempted to impale themselves. It seemed cruel to violate their tight, boyish asses with something so huge, but then, cruelty was the point, wasn't it?

It was cruel and creative at the same time. But the organizers of the Slave Olympics didn't limit themselves to just one creative idea.

We moved on to an enclosure where the slaves were forced to race. It was far less dignified than an ordinary foot race for a multitude of reasons. First, all the contestants were naked.

In addition to that, they ran on their hands and knees. An OPS employee would throw a black rubber ball and order a slave to retrieve it. She would race across the track, pick up the ball in her mouth and bring it back. These details alone would have made the activity degrading enough, but adding to the slave's humiliation was the fact that there were people on the sidelines with leather straps who would whip the naked slaves as they scurried to complete their mortifying task.

The slaves were red-assed and dripping with sweat. It was a cruel competition, and even if a slave did well, they received extraordinarily little for their efforts.

An attractive redheaded slave dropped a ball at her handler's feet, and it was declared that she was the winner. Her poor bottom was a mess of painful, red whip marks, her naked body was glistening with perspiration, and her face was wet with tears, but despite all her suffering, she earned only ten points.

The next stage featured two slaves engaging in a competition of tug-of-war. Two female slaves pulled on opposite ends of a rope, the goal being for one slave to pull the other across a line that had been painted across the center of the stage.

The cruel part was that the slaves weren't allowed to grab the rope with their hands. Their wrists had been tied behind their backs and the rope they tugged on was tied securely around their waists and threaded through their swollen pubic lips. The more they tried to pull their opponent across the line, the deeper the cruel rope dug into the delicate flesh of their labia.

Both women had long, beautiful legs and I watched with rapt attention as the women tensed their legs, struggled, and valiantly attempted to pull their opponent forward. They grunted and gasped in pain as the rope was tugged deeper and wedged more painfully into that intimate part of their female anatomy.

Then, to my horror, Constance pushed me closer to the stage and said, "This looks perfect for you, Alex. You certainly have ideal legs for this sort of sport. I'm entering you into this competition."

"

What?"

I gasped.

I knew immediately that I'd said the wrong thing. Both Mistress Rose and Mistress Constance gave me dark looks. Then Constance said, "Alex, is that sort of tone appropriate for a slave?"

I was forced to admit that it was not. Then I was forced to apologize to both Constance and Rose for my violation of slave etiquette.

"You'll be punished later for that disrespectful slip of the tongue," Constance assured me. "But, for now, let's get you signed up and find you an opponent."

It didn't take long for my handler to pair me up against another slave. She chose a slave with a boyish haircut, smallish boobs, and dancer's legs. There was a blush on her face as if she were embarrassed to be naked in front of so many people.

Her naked body was glistening with sweat, highlighting the muscles in her legs and her abs. We made eye contact for a few seconds as the crotch rope was threaded between her pubic lips. She looked nervous.

Well, of course she did. I was nervous too! Having a length of rope yanked tight between a woman's labia would make any woman nervous! I probably had a similar look on my face as an OPS employee wedged the rope tightly between my poor pubic lips and anchored it to a rope tied around my waist.

The crotch rope bisected my pubic lips cruelly, and I could feel my innocent labia becoming chafed the moment the rope was pulled taut and tested. If the rope didn't dig deep enough into my pussy to hurt, they would have to make the appropriate adjustments.

"If you're not both hurting, it's not a real competition," the OPS employee explained. "This is less about athletic ability and more about your willingness to endure pain."

The other slave was named Danni and her eyes widened at that. And to make matters even more wretched, a large crowd formed around the stage, eager to witness our imminent suffering. Scores of men and women surrounded the stage, their eyes riveted on us, studying our naked endowments, reveling in our vulnerability, our helplessness and our exposure.

Our fear was a palpable thing, although it was a dark, delicious sort of fear. Were the enthusiastic spectators aware of the bizarre lust that I felt at being so helpless and abused and forced to exhibit my naked body to total strangers? I saw their whispering lips and smiles and feared that they knew my guilty secret.

"We expect good sport out of these slaves," an OPS employee announced to the crowd. "If they refuse to give us proper entertainment, they'll be sent to the penalty box!"

There were sadistic shouts from the crowd. I didn't know anything about the penalty box, but the cruel smiles on the faces of the more wicked spectators hinted at something even worse than having a rope yanked painfully between my poor, tender pubic lips.

The employee shouted at us, ordering us to pull against each other.

I moaned in response to her words and struggled to pull myself backwards as Danni attempted to pull me forward. My pussy felt unbelievably tender, and the rope just kept digging into my tender flesh, making my agony worse and worse.

"Pull harder, Alex!"

"Move your ass, slave! Drag her across the line!"

"Back away, slut! Take her with you!"

Shouts of encouragement and threats of punishment filled the air. Some of the spectators wanted me to win. Other spectators urged Danni on to victory. We were both threatened with spankings, whippings, and other horrible fates if we lost. These people took their kinky games far too seriously.

My wrists were bound behind my back with the same sort of rope that was digging into my pussy. And the way my wrists were bound forced me to pull my shoulders back and thrust my boobs forward. I suppose that increased the entertainment value of this game, but it made me feel even more exposed and vulnerable.

Barefoot, naked, bound and flustered, I propelled myself backwards, and pulled my fellow slave along by the rope that connected us.

I had almost pulled Danni over the line when she rallied. She flexed those impressive legs muscles and pulled me forward with the rope that bisected my pubic lips. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I was more afraid of losing than I was afraid of the rope cutting into my abused, pink sex. I redoubled my efforts and pulled Danni closer to the line.

"Aaaaahhhhh!"

Danni screamed as the rope cut deeper into her sex and I dragged her across the line. My pussy felt raw after having that rope tugged through it, so I felt a wave of relief wash over me when it was all over. I panted and trembled as an OPS employee removed the wicked rope from between my abused nether lips, but then dozens of disappointed spectators demanded a rematch.

I didn't want to go through that ordeal again, and from the stricken look on Danni's face, I could tell she didn't either. She looked like a deer caught in a car's headlights as spectators demanded that she and I do the tug of war competition a second time.

"Rematch! Rematch! Rematch! Rematch! Rematch! Rematch! Rematch! Rematch!"

Obnoxious people in the crowd kept the chant going until my handler and Danni's handler gave in and announced a rematch.

A boisterous cheer filled the air, and Danni and I were ordered to spread our legs wide so that we could be bound with the crotch rope once again. Somehow, the rope wedged between my plump, glistening pubic lips seemed even more painful the second time around. Fresh tears began welling up in my eyes before the competition even began.

Both Danni and I screamed as we pulled against each other. Every movement that we made ground our pussies against the rough rope, and we were both already sore before the rematch even began. It was painful, although a part of me enjoyed the feelings of helplessness as Danni and I were forced to compete with dozens of wicked perverts enjoying our pain and our public humiliation.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!"

Danni grunted and sobbed as I jerked my hips and pulled her across the stage. My pussy was terribly sore where the rope pulled up tight, and I just wanted to give up and let her win, but my handler and other people in the crowd were shouting at me, urging me on to victory. I gasped and moaned and sawed my soft, pink pussy against the rough rope as I took one step back, and then another, and then another.

Danni put up a spirited fight, pulling me forward before I hissed and gasped and pulled backward. My hips bucked and my head rolled. I jerked and bucked and felt the rope cruelly cutting into me, bisecting my pubic lips in a way that inflicted a scalding hurt, but I dragged Danni with me, pulling her over the line, winning the tug of war competition once again.

I gasped and panted and let my head hang low, but I was rapidly surrounded by my fans who cheered in celebration, lifted me up, hugged me and told me how proud they were of me.

I was embraced by my fans, kissed and given all kinds of accolades as I was untied, and the hurtful rope was plucked from between my sex lips.

* * *

At some point an OPS employee cleaned me up and rubbed medicinal lotion into my wounded flesh. She squirted a large blob of lotion into her hand and began to rub it into the rope burns on my waist. She worked her greasy fingers into the tight furrow between my buttocks. Then she ordered me to spread my legs far apart so she could rub lotion into my inflamed pubic lips.

I felt a surge of mortification as I spread my legs apart. She placed her hands firmly on my inner thighs and ordered, "Wider than that, Alex. I need your pubes to be fully visible if I'm going to do this properly."

I could feel my face blushing red hot as I spread my legs pornographically wide, giving the OPS employee a good look at my plump, glistening pubic lips. I could feel my vulva becoming visibly wet and shiny along its slit in front. It was impossible to hide from this woman the fact that I was sexually aroused.

"You're very red down here," she said as she rubbed her greasy fingers across my swollen, aching labia. "It will take two or three days before you're completely recovered."

"Oooooohh."

I moaned and trembled as she rubbed her fingers across my tender labia. My abused pubic lips were tender to the touch. In part, I was moaning because I was so sore, but I was also sexually aroused. The more she rubbed lotion into my wounded pink slit, the more I could feel my sex throbbing with hungry spasms and my nipples becoming painfully hard.

One wave of agonizing desire after another passed through me. I broke out in a feverish sweat and moved my hips in a lewd, suggestive manner as she rubbed the therapy lotion into my reddened vulva. I could feel a powerful orgasm building up inside of me. I thrust my pelvis forward and waited for the inevitable climax, but before I could reach my peak, the woman removed her fingers from my vagina.

"Ooohhh!"

I groaned in frustration. I was so sure she was going to continue fingering my pussy until I climaxed. When she failed to deliver the orgasm I so desperately craved, I very nearly broke out into tears.

"Oh, don't look so unhappy," the woman advised as she playfully swatted me on my naked backside. "You're a star now. Among the slaves here in Seattle, you're a celebrity. Everybody fantasizes about being a part of your life."

I didn't realize it was even possible, but apparently there were such things as slave celebrities, and I had somehow become one of them. Everyone immersed in the slave/master community knew my name.

This was both flattering and terrifying at the same time.

It meant that I wasn't going to be able to spend the next four years of my life in relative obscurity. It meant that I was going to be observed very closely. I was going to be objectified, photographed, looked at, poked, prodded, fondled, abused, and punished far more than the other slaves.

* * *

Constance entered me in several other competitions. They were all demeaning, even though I defeated the vast majority of the slaves who competed against me.

Then, there was Lexi.

Lexi was 5'8", had honey blonde hair, dancer's legs, a perfectly shaped ass and an oval-shaped face with bright, intelligent eyes and high cheekbones.

Constance arranged for me to square off against her in a wrestling match. Now, wrestling is an extremely intimate sport even under the regular rules, but in the Slave Olympics both athletes were naked. Also, once your opponent was pinned, you needed to mercilessly pinch their nipples or spank their ass before you could be declared the winner.