Progression Of Insanity Slavery

This story is set in the 34th amendment universe shaped by Carl_Bradford, Gentlemanmariner, John Doe and others where sexual slavery was legalized. This is, of course, just a thrilling, dark fantasy, something one wouldn't and shouldn't want to be possible for real, just like you wouldn't want your neighbors to be vampires or the local high school to house monsters.

I stared hard at the computer screen and the aggravating blinking of the cursor that tried to urge me to start typing. I had been doing that for at least ten minutes, wondering when exactly the excitement had given way to monotony. I was twenty-nine, just reaching my prime if all those women's magazines were to be believed, earning well and coming up for another promotion in a few weeks. I should be happy.

But the truth was, I wasn't happy. At some point, and without me noticing, the exhilarating obstacle race through the fascinating business world had turned into bland sessions on a treadmill.

The cursor kept blinking.

Josh and I were both doing well, though he wouldn't have needed to work a second in his life. His trust accounts and business shares would last him a few lifetimes without a frugal moment, but he said he needed the challenge. So he was traveling a lot, but that had never been an issue for me. I could be traveling along with him, but most of his projects were for slave markets, something I didn't want to be party to. Thirty years had already gone by since the 34th Amendment was put in place, allowing what basically could be described as time-limited slavery. There were three different ways for people -- yes, both men and women, even though 99% of all slaves were female -- could become indentured. Almost all of the first slaves were offered indenture as an alternative to prison. This had saved the governments billions of dollar for housing and security. The second, nowadays the most used option, was to repay a debt. You could secure a loan with yourself as a collateral, and if you defaulted on your payments, the loan giver could claim you as a slave and auction you off to recover the money. The third option, and one used almost never, was causeless, voluntary indenture. But who in their right mind would pick that? There was very little a slave's owner couldn't do to a slave as long as they got fed and watered and kept in an acceptable state of health.

The cursor still hadn't stopped blinking.

Josh's family had made most of their money in that kind of business. Their company had set up the national slave registry system and supplied markets with the software and devices for their daily business. Shock collars. Slave tracking implants. The handheld tattoo device that imprinted a registered slave's ID number on the inside of their lower lip. All that had come from Josh's family, and he was the best consultant for those.

Our home life was pretty vanilla. Yes, he sometimes tied me up and teased me mercilessly. But we were equals in our relationship. I knew that there was a different Josh out there when he did business. He was expected to make use of the slaves the customers shoved his way, if only to understand their needs and wishes. But we never talked about that part of his work.

The fucking cursor was relentless.

I was glad when I got the job here at Tomorrow Trade. Some businesses allowed managers to bring their slaves to work, and since slaves were forbidden to wear clothes, hormones and sexism ran rampant there. I was safe here at TT, as the bosses thought it too much of a distraction.

There was only about an hour left to finish the exposé for the prospective customer. The lead had come in yesterday morning, together with a rough outline about available funds and acceptable risk levels. It was easy work, mostly just pulling together numbers from templates. But I had only managed to fill three rows out of fifty. If I didn't finish it before closing time, I'd be in line for a massive reprimand from the chauvinistic pig Warrington. He was everything I loathed. Rude. Sexist. He had two slaves at home and wasn't shy about sharing details with his male coworkers. Every analyst in our department knew more about the business than he did. But he was old money, he could talk, and he was fucking handsome. Six feet four, wide shouldered, dark haired, gray eyed, strong and fit. A jock of jocks.

To this day, I can't say what came over me.

The cursor was driving me mad.

Slowly, character by character, I typed "Fuck you, Warrington!" into the empty cell in the spreadsheet, saved and closed the document and mailed it to him.

I expected him to be livid the next morning. I expected shouting and threats of dismissal. I didn't expect the fifty years old whiskey or the wide smile.

"Cheers, Sarah," he said, eyeing me over the rim of his glass expectantly.

"Cheers," I said too, thrown off guard, and clinked my glass against his.

He took a large sip and waited until I did the same.

"You only had to ask," he said after a minute.

"What?" I asked. Then the penny dropped. "Oh. That's not what I meant."

"Are you sure?"

"Why am I here, Jake?"

"You know why you're here." He emptied his glass. "But you need to get rid of your clothes for that."

"Are you insane?" I stared at him. "Do you think this is a fucking joke?"

"Fucking? Yes. Joke? Well, at what point does having fun turn into a joke? Show me your tits before I decide if you get to fuck me."

"God, Jake! Stop that instantly! I can't believe what an asshole you are!"

"You don't have to be coy. Nobody will hear about it. The door is sound proof, and Lisa's making sure we aren't disturbed." He leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk. "But I understand. Your tits are probably not what they used to be, and I only fuck prime meat."

"I'm out of here!" I declared and got up.

"I didn't see your slave grade in your personal records."

"That's because I wasn't graded. Not every girl wants to play that sick game and let others demean her in the worst way just for cheap money or bragging rights."

"In my experience, those without grades are the flat chested or flabby ones with ugly cunts."

I was seething by now. "I'm not going to show you my tits, asshole."

He made a dismissive gesture. "There wouldn't be anything worth seeing anyway."

I already had the door knob in my hand, but then another bout of insanity reared itself. I'm not sure I was really myself at that moment, because it felt like I was watching a movie. I spun around, opened my dress' zipper, unclasped my bra and let both fall to the floor. "Not worth seeing?" I screeched. "These are top notch D-cups, perfectly tight and perky, probably the most perfect tits you've ever seen in your sorry life!"

He grinned, and told me in his most condescending voice, "They could be worse. I'm actually willing to consider your offer."

It felt like someone pressed fast forward, and reality hit me with a devastating clarity. My eyes misted up, and I started trembling. I tried to grab my clothes, but my vision was so blurry and my knees got so weak that I had to get down onto my knees. My fingers found the dress first. Then I reached for my bra, but a dark object settled on it.

"You look good down there, Sarah," he said.

I wiped my eyes and recognized his shiny black shoe on top of my bra. Arguing about it was the last thing I wanted to do now, so I forced myself to stand upright and slipped the dress over my head. I tried to reach the zipper, but my fingers shook so hard that I couldn't get a grip on it.

"Let me help you."

He stepped behind me and pulled it up, restoring my decency, but when I looked down, my bra was gone. I wasn't going to put it on anyway, not after he had stepped on the inside of the cups. The feeling of the zipper sliding up my spine, the knowledge that his hand was so close to my skin, added a terrifying intensity to the moment. But then he was done and thankfully stepped back. "There," he said. "All nice and proper."

"My bra-"

"You'll get it back after our fuck."

I didn't find any comeback. I swallowed the sob and slipped out through the partially opened door, not meeting Lisa's eyes. I felt naked and whorish without a bra. The dress was tight enough that every little movement was visible through the fabric, and the outline of my nipples was unmistakable. But at least there was nobody looking into my direction when I slipped back into my cubicle.

What had I done?

Josh was a considerate and careful lover. He never hurt me intentionally. That night, though, was a little wilder than normal, and when he put his weight onto his hand next to my head, he trapped my hair there, just when I had my neck arched back. Every stroke of his cock rocked my body and tugged painfully on my hair. I parted my lips to tell him, but then I saw an image in my mind's eye. This would probably be what sex with Warrington would be like, only it wouldn't be an accident with him. A wave of guilt rushed through me, but I couldn't stop picturing him in Josh's place, hard and strong and brutal, fucking me on his terms.

"Harder!" I panted. "Take me hard, Josh! Harder!"

He complied, rutting into me like he had never done before. It was carnal and even painful when his pelvis hit mine. It was horribly loud. But it was exactly what I needed right now, and it took less than a minute until the breathless wave of pleasure washed through me and I clenched my legs tightly around Josh's midriff.

I hadn't even realized that he had come at the same time. He gently pulled out and laid down next to me. "Oh," he said when saw some of my hair cling to his sweaty hand in that process. "Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No," I lied softly, floating in a weird cloud of satisfaction. "I was fine."

Warrington had ignored me for the rest of the week, outside of sending work my way as usual and short acknowledgments that my results were okay. I had been sure that he wouldn't let me hear the end of it.

I had, I realized when I stared at my reflection in the restroom mirror on Monday after lunch break, been excited that he wouldn't let me hear the end of it.

And then Tuesday happened, and he came by my cubicle. He pulled a spare chair inside, sat down next to me, laid one hand on the backrest of my chair, pulled my dress away from my cleavage and said, "You should go without a bra in the future. I actually like looking at them."

I fled. I clocked out five minutes later and drove home. I plopped down in front of the telly with a box of Ben & Jerry's and dialed Susan's number. Susan had been my roommate for two years at college, but she had switched uni after sophomore year because she decided to go into business psychology and sociology. We kept in touch, though, and she was the one friend I could trust to keep her mouth shut.

Susan picked up after the first ring, and I was lucky. She was riding a train home from a two week on-site job because her flight had been canceled, so she had all the time in the world to listen to my woes.

I had already poured my heart out to her about Warrington a number of times, so I didn't take long until I got to the crux of the matter. It took me far longer to confess to the gritty details of my little episode in his office.

"So," I said, my cheeks glowing with shame, "you heard it. I don't know what to do. I'm so ashamed, and seeing him every day is humiliating. The worst is that he keeps popping up in my head when Josh and I... I feel guilty every time."

"Well, you can't just confront him and expect him to never mention it again. He's a classic alpha, and pretty well integrated. You won't be able to beat him at this game," Susan said thoughtfully.

"That's not what I wanted to hear."

"We all have to pick our fights," she said. "But there are always options. You could go to his superior."

I laughed at that suggestion. "Barry Miller would have a field day. The two of them have a standing appointment on Fridays when the new Sandy Foot Girls catalog for the weekend is released." Sandy Foot Girls was kind of a brand name that one of the bigger slave markets in Texas had established for the girls sold there. They prided themselves on only selling the hottest, neediest girls in the States.

"I see," my friend said. "So not an option. Transferring to another department?"

I had toyed with that idea already. "I'll lose all the credits for my upcoming promotion. Four years for nothing."

"Well, then there's only one avenue left, but you won't like that."

"I'm not going to quit," I told her.

"I know that. You never were a quitter."

I flinched when she said it, because I really had a hard time with maths at college, and Susan had more than once suggested that I shouldn't be so headstrong and pick something that played more to my strengths. Something more people oriented and less demanding, she had called it, which had resulted into our sole big row.

"So what's the option?"

"The way I see it, and knowing how you keep on obsessing over things, there's really only one way to get it out of your system. Fuck him and get it over with."

"Susan!" I gasped. She had always been more a free spirit. She had even voluntarily spent a few months as an indentured slave to a business owner for her graduation paper in psychology. Sex was something casual for her.

"I'm married to Josh," I reminded her.

"And there you have the conundrum," she said. "Sarah, you asked me for my honest opinion. If you had said that Warrington is too much of a creep, or that he's ugly, or just that you could never imagine it happening, we could have taken the option off the table. That your first worry is Josh shows me that you subconsciously want it to happen. You can only fight your subconscious for so long."

"But Josh," I stammered, almost sobbing.

"It's your decision. Tell him or don't tell him. You know that he fucks others when he's doing business."

"But that's different!" I gasped, and then I nearly died inside, because I had just caught myself using a line of thought that was utterly horrible -- that those were only slaves. And the long pause from the other end of the line told me that Susan had caught it too. "I'm sorry!" I stammered. "I-" No, the excuse that I didn't mean it wouldn't fly with her, she was too sharp for that. "I'm sorry, Susan," I said instead in my most pleading voice, and held my breath.

She kept the tension going for what felt like ages.

"I forgive you," she finally said, and I let out a relieved breath. "But you know what you have to do."

"But I can't-"

"No. You don't want to. But you also don't want to face the consequences of not doing it. The actual doing is as easy as getting plug A into slot B."

"God, Susan!"

"It is like it is, honey."

"I've got to think about things. And my ice cream is almost melted. Thanks for listening."

"Any time. Tell me how it was."

I hung up and started spooning the soggy sweet ice cream, lost in thoughts.

It was Tuesday again when I caved. I had gone to work without a bra on Monday, wondering all day if he would notice. I was in his office twice that day, and he came by another two times to drop of some papers, but if he was aware of my state of undress, he didn't let on. He didn't sit down next to me. He didn't pull away my clothes to stare at my naked breasts. He didn't take me to his office, undress me and discover my soaked panties.

Lisa looked up in surprise when I stopped in front of her desk. My voices sounded strange to me when I asked if I could have an hour of Jake's time.

"You're lucky," she said after scrolling through his calendar. "He's got no appointments this morning. Let me check back with him quick."

She called into his office, and all I could do was listen to the one-sided conversation and try not to fidget.

"Sarah's here. She'd like an hour with you."

"She didn't say."

"No, she isn't."

"I'll tell her." She put the receiver on the cradle and looked up at me with big eyes. "Jake says to go right in."

"Thanks, Lisa." I took the few steps to his door and went inside. My fingers shook when I closed it behind me.

"Good morning, Sarah."

"Hi, Jake," I said. I had been unable to formulate a plan, and it showed. I stood nervously in front of his desk, and my brain was racing with questions. What should I do? Say? Where should I stand?"

"Are you here to get fucked, Sarah?"

And here it was, crude as could be expected, and yet, I felt a wave of relief because I hadn't had to broach the subject. "Yes, Jake," I admitted, staring down at the carpet and feeling my cheeks go up in flames.

"Strip," was all he said.

I felt awkward and like dying, but there was also a current of excitement running through me. It reminded me of the time when Josh had insisted to keep the light on and undressed me in front of the mirrored closet. It had been so embarrassing, but incredibly thrilling.

"Good girl," he said when I let the dress slide down and he could see my breasts.

"Wait!" he ordered when the last protection of modesty was about to slide down my legs. "Come here." He crooked a finger at me, and my body just followed its pull until I was standing next to him.

I shivered when his hands touched my skin and pushed the panties halfway down my thighs, and sparks danced on my skin. We both looked down at the glistening gusset, and he chuckled softly. "You're dripping for me," he observed, and the wave of shame that washed over me nearly brought me to my knees.

"I'm really considering fucking you," he told me, his gaze now fixed to my pussy lips. "But you'll have to suck my cock first, and you need to get rid of that mess before I commit to it." He gripped some of my pubic hair between his fingers and pulled, shooting a weird stab of pain through my vulva.

I stared at him in shock.

He opened his fly and pulled out his cock. It was larger than Josh's by a good measure. Both longer and thicker. The dark red head was almost half an inch wider in every direction than the base. It looked terrifying and intriguing.

A small sob of defeat left my lips when I sunk to my knees and wiggled between his knees. I sometimes gave Josh a blowjob when I felt he had a stressful day, but I was no pro at it. But in for a penny, in for a pound, I reasoned, rationalizing my situation, and licked a trail up from the base of his cock to the tip. I licked around the fat had, coated it with moisture, then I licked my lips and slid them over his cock, moving slowly up and down, making sure to spread my saliva around it so it slid easily over my lips.

"Not bad," he said, resting his hands on the back of my head. "Take it as deep as you can, and when the time comes, swallow its whole length."

You sexist asshole, a part of me wanted to shout, but another part of me reveled in the smooth hardness, in the masculine scent and the sheer debauchery of the moment. I really tried, but he was too big, and it hit my gums and made me gag with three inches to go, so I pulled back a little and took calming breathes through my nose while I continued bopping.

"Again," he said, exerting a hint of pressure on my head, and I had to gag and pull away again.

"Again." And once more. "Again."

Rivulets of drool were coating his cock by now, but I kept bopping as deep as I could, and I used one hand to caress his balls. I made user my tongue always had contact with his skin when I slid up and down, and just when I thought my jaw was going to kill me, his hands gripped my head and he spurt into my mouth accompanied by a delighted grunt.

He tasted salty and a little musky, just like Josh, but there was a lot more. I had to swallow again and again to get it all down.

And then he pulled me up, and my lips smacked together when his cock slipped free. I found myself staring into his cold, gray eyes and wondering if it had satisfied him.