From Platoon Sergeant to Slave Girl
My introduction to BDSM began on a weekend trip to Munich. I mean, I'd read and
fantasized about D/s and BDSM, but this was my first real experience. Little did I know
that a long weekend would change my life.
At the time, I was a 28 year old Platoon Sergeant in a Military Police unit assigned to a
nuclear weapons storage facility. I was one of few females in the company, and the
senior female noncommissioned officer. I'd been in the Army 10 years, and had only
recently been promoted to my current rank. So far, my record was exemplary. Soon, I
wasn't going to care about it at all.
For the uninitiated, assignment to any physical security unit was considered, at best,
something to be avoided. During the cold war, however, roughly 70% of the MPs in
Europe were assigned such duty. Generally, it involved working 24 hour shifts, one day
on and one day off for a week, followed by four days of training and three days off.
During the duty days, most soldiers worked two hours in a tower, and four hours on
standby in a guard shack, repeating the two on, four off schedule until the end of the
shift. Training days were usually at least 12 hours long, and often involved everything
but training: covering the other platoons during staff shortages, vehicle maintenance,
mowing grass, even painting rocks white (yes, we really did do that). Of the three
scheduled days off, you'd get two if you were lucky...and if you were real lucky, they'd
be in conjunction with each other. In short, the job sucked, and given that this particular
unit was considered the armpit of the Army...well, let's just say it really sucked, okay?
Now that I was a Platoon Sergeant, though, I didn't have to work the same shifts as my
soldiers. I usually did anyway, but it wasn't required. My job now wasn't to supervise a
shift on the site, but to do everything else...scheduling, counseling, performance
evaluations, training, etc. The other Platoon Sergeants usually worked 8-to-5, Monday
to Friday, but that wasn't me. I didn't always work the 24 hour shifts, but if my guys
were on the site on a weekend or holiday, you can bet your ass I'd be there. We were a
platoon - a team - and by God I was going to show them that I was their leader, that I
gave a shit about them. They knew I fought for them with the idiots at the Head
Shed...the Company Commander and First Sergeant, mostly. They were so damned
worked up about "political considerations" and sucking up to their superiors that I often
felt like puking at staff meetings. The other platoon sergeants and lieutenants were ass
kissers, too, and since they were all men, I was doubly outcast. And, so typically of
hard-working, assertive, physically strong women, I was labeled a dyke.
This might be an opportune time to tell you something about myself. Five feet, six
inches tall, a muscular 140 lbs at the time. 34C, with a 26 inch waist. Blue eyes and
brunette hair cut straight just above my collar line. Sort of a lean, muscular look. I ran
marathons for fun, at ten minute per mile pace. I wasn't a world-class athlete by any
standard, but could still run two miles in under fourteen minutes and do sixty pushups -
real pushups, not those pussy kneeling girl ones - without stopping. I hadn't maxed my
physical training test in several years, but I always came close. When I played sports, I
played to win. Combat basketball. Tackle football. Same thing with military training. I
took my profession seriously. If I was going to lead troops, I was going to be at least as
good at everything they did. Expert marksman. Technically proficient. Had my "ticket
punched" at all the appropriate schools...advanced NCO course, jump school...would
have done Ranger school, but that was open to neither MPs nor women at the time.
Never backed down from a fight.
I played hard, worked hard, and partied hard. Of course, now I couldn't party with the
troops - senior NCO's couldn't do that - so I usually wound down in my room with a few
beers - Parkbrau was a nice local brew - or sitting at the corner of the bar in the NCO
club, downing a few and listening to music whenever they had a decent band. There
weren't many people I could (or wanted to) socialize with; .the other senior NCOs were
either married, drunks, assholes, or most often, all of the above. Officers, of course,
were out, as were my troops. Sure, it was okay to be seen with them at official
functions, or at work, but to go out on a date? Never, no matter how much I liked the
guy. Looking back on it, I thought the assignment sucked, but in reality it was me. I
was unhappy. I was lonely. I was getting burned out.
Anyway, the shit was getting to me when I finally decided I needed to take a few days
off. My request for a four-day pass was approved, and after a quick trip to American
Express to change some dollars into D-Marks, I headed to the train station. No idea
where I was going to go...just catch the first train to wherever, find a Gasthaus, have a
few drinks and relax. The first train was to Munich. Great...I'd never been there, and it
was one of those places I'd wanted to visit. Maybe visit the Olympic Village, where the
1972 games had been held. Mark Spitz, and all that.
I had the cash, so splurged on a seat in an upgraded compartment. Rather than sitting
on wooden benches, I'd have a seat that padding, at least. Since there was nobody
else in the compartment, I was able to stretch out across three seats and nap for the
first hour.
So...there I am dozing on the train, when we come to our first stop and a couple walks
into the cabin. If I had to guess, I'd say he was in his mid-20's, stereotypical blond
haired, blue eyed German. About six feet tall, wearing black leather. Boots, trousers,
jacket over a once-white, now dingy, tee shirt. Piercing blue eyes, and kind of a strange
smirk on his face, a haughty look, like he owned the world.
She was younger, maybe late teens. About my height, but much skinnier, maybe 90
pounds at most, maybe a 22 inch waist. Skinny, waif-looking, with her ribs showing.
Long black satin hair, down to the middle of her back. Mascara and eyeliner like Elvira
from television. She also wore black leather; a mini-skirt that almost covered the
bottom portion of the globes of her ass (which was very obviously bare), a halter top
that barely covered her rather minuscule breasts (probably A or maybe B cup, at most, I
figured), and spiked heel boots that had to be at least six inches high. But what caught
my eye immediately was the collar. Black leather with diamond-shaped silvery metal
pieces imbedded in it. A leash led from the collar to the man's hand. He sat down
across from me, smiling. She knelt on the floor between his feet, facing him. The train
started to move. He murmured something in German, and her hands disappeared
under her skirt. The smell of her need soon permeated the compartment. He just sat
there, staring at me while his slut continued to finger herself. I fidgeted, trying to avert
my eyes, but I couldn't.
"Does my slave disturb you, Miss?" the man asked in a quiet, deep and soothing voice.
"I make her stop if you wish."
"Uh, no, that's okay," I replied. "But maybe I better move to another compartment."
He jerked slightly on the girl's leash, and she immediately responded, clasping her
hands behind her back.
"I see this makes you...what is word...uncomfortable?" he said, pronouncing it in five
syllables, un-com-fort-a-ble, with the emphasis on "fort."
"Uncomfortable," I corrected, "But, no, it's not really that. I don't know how to explain it.
I feel embarrassed for her...hell, just the way she's dressed would embarrass any
woman." I felt strangely at ease with this stranger and his slave. Perhaps it was his
voice.
"I do not allow women to curse in my presence," he said sharply. "Please do not use
those words again." I lowered my eyes and mumbled an apology. "Please look at me.
You are not my slave, you may look at me, but a beautiful woman to use harsh
words...it is unbecoming."
"Yes, I know, but it is how I speak," I explained.
"United States Army, yes?" he asked. I nodded. "It is difficult for a woman to make
good in Army. You must be like man. I am sorry for you, but I can tell, you are leader,
yes?" Again, I nodded.
"I, too, am leader. I lead women, and they obey me. I train women to obey, like you
train soldiers, only for different purpose. You train soldiers to make war, I train women
to make sex," he looked at me with a toothy grin. "You wish slave to continue? She is
punished for bad sex, but today she pleases me so I allow her one orgasm, but only in
presence of other woman."
"Bad sex?" I asked.
"She is still new...not good slave yet. Not obey good. I take her to party, she makes
many mistake. So I not feed her, not let her cum for three days."
"Oh, my," I replied, staring down at the girl. I couldn't decide whether she understood
English or not, but she obviously knew we were discussing her, as she blushed
beautifully. "What has she done to get back in your good graces?"
"I give her to friend's dog. She make dog happy," he shrugged nonchalantly, as though
there was nothing unusual in his comment."
"Ewww...you made her suck a dog?" I sputtered, disgusted.
"No, not suck. Big Rottweiler, 50 kilos. Her choice. I tell her she have to do nothing,
but she gets food for suck, food and to cum for fucking. She does fucking. Twice she
cums while dog fucking her."
Now I could tell the girl understood English, probably better than her Master spoke it.
Her entire body turned a deep, bright red. I was undoubtedly blushing, too, but I was
too absorbed in the tingling between my legs. My panties were getting soaked.
"This excites you," he flatly stated. It wasn't a question. "You are in charge at work, but
you are away from work and need change, yes? I think you are not ready to be slave,
but you wonder. To have no decisions, to only do what Master says, is like holiday for
you, I think. I think you make good slave, but only if you want."
"I'm not sure," I whispered hoarsely. "What you say...it's true that I would like a time
when I could just have someone else make all the decisions for me, but I don't think I
can give up total control. I know I couldn't have sex with a dog like you made her do!"
"My slave does not have sex, she is used for fucking," he carefully explained. "Sex is
two-way, for pleasure of both. Fuck is for person using slave. Nobody cares if slave
enjoys. Slave not get fucked by dog for own pleasure, but for Master's pleasure. And,
by giving Master pleasure, slave has pleasure. Verstehen Sie?"
Yes, I nodded, I think I did understand.
"You wish to be slave?" He finally asked the question I'd been dreading.
"I don't know," I answered as honestly as I could. "I don't think I could give up total
control like she has, but like I said, the idea of not having to make any decisions, it does
intrigue me."
"Good. Then we talk more. Maybe have try where you see if you like being slave, but
with...limits. We make limits, and don't go past. But for now, you spend weekend with
slave and me, to see what is like. Only to watch, not to be slave. Maybe I let you use
slave, see if you like being Master. Only I not let women wear panties or bras, so you
go to WC and take off. Leave in trash, you don't need."
I really couldn't believe what I was doing, but there I was, sitting in the tiny restroom,
being buffeted around by the movement of train, trying to get my jeans back on. My
plain white cotton panties and bra...I hadn't even thought of ever owning anything
else...were hidden in the middle of a mess of paper towels in the trash receptacle. I
couldn't help but give myself a quick, quiet cum while I had the chance. Sitting on the
toilet, totally naked except for my socks, my finger brought me off more quickly than
ever before. I was sopping wet, and was afraid I'd leak through my jeans. A one mark
coin in the machine on the wall, and I quicky slid a sanitary napkin over my crotch
before I pulled the pants up and returned to the coach.
The slave girl was nowhere to be found when I returned; her Master sat alone in the
cabin, waiting for me.
"Where did she go?" I asked.
"She is good slave," he responded. "I have her for one year now. Today she make me
money. Now she go find man or woman who pays to use her, then later I think I sell
her. There is auction tomorrow night, many slaves, boy and girl. Maybe you like to
see?"
He was sending this young teen out to prostitute herself? And then he was going to
actually sell her? My pussy spasmed at these thoughts, my skin flushed.
"I see you think of this, too. You have thoughts of slaves, masters, whips, chains?"
"Yes," I answered weakly, not daring to hide my true feelings for some reason.
"You dream of wearing collar, of serving a man or woman for their pleasure only. Of
being chained and caged. Of doing only as Master says."
"Yes," I again answered, more softly this time, my eyes downcast.
"I cannot train you," he said suddenly. "No, I have not enough time, and you are U.S.
Army. But I think you make someone good slave. I will show you this weekend some
things, and help you decide. It is safe for you, I make sure nobody touch you unless
you say. No sex, no fucking unless you ask. Okay?" His smile disarmed me once
again. "Is deal?"
"Deal," I said, extending my hand to his, formalizing the agreement.
Gerhart - that was his name - was true to his word. I didn't get fucked that weekend,
though I have no doubt it could have happened. I was simply too engrossed in
watching what was going on around me. I wanted to experience this
new...thing...vicariously, I told myself. I wasn't ready for anything else. Another time,
after I learn a bit, and I might offer myself to the right person. That's not to say I didn't
enjoy myself; I had more orgasms over the next two days than I'd had in any other year
of my life.
Gerhart's slave came back to the compartment a few minutes later, blushing beautifully
as she handed her Master a wad of Deutschmarks. A flick of his hand and she lifted up
her short leather skirt, displaying her swollen nether lips and the semen drooling out of
them. I saw a bright red hand print on her asscheek; at some point in her encounter,
whoever used her had obviously given her a spanking.
He took me to a club that night, and I saw slaves - male and female - being abused and
humiliated by their Masters and Mistresses. I was actually surprised that there were
more male slaves than female, but even more so that they all looked so delicious. I'd
never seen a man who shaved down there before, but none of the slaves - male or
female - had any pubic hair. Their cocks looked so big and beautiful that way. I could
even see how excited some of the women were, their bare lips swollen and red, visibly
wet. I noticed that a couple of them were so wet they were actually dripping fluid on the
floor between their splayed legs.
Humiliation and torture seemed to be the favorite pastime here. There was very little
actual fucking going on; this, I discovered, was pretty much restricted to the private
rooms upstairs. I watched one poor young man - he couldn't have been older than
twenty - have his dick and balls whipped with a small crop until he was crying aloud.
Another was strung up and given enemas until his belly was so swollen that he looked
nine months pregnant. A group of about six males were placed in a daisy chain on the
floor, forced to suck each other's cocks. I found out later they were new subs, and
decidedly not gay. This was just one of the first of many tests to see if they were going
to be worth the time and effort to train.
The female slaves got their due as well. I was watching one get a new tattoo directly on
her cunt lip - her Master's name - when I heard an ear-curdling scream. The smell that
assaulted my nostrils was unmistakable; I looked over at the next cubicle and saw I was
right. One of the older subs - about my age, in her 30's - had just been marked on her
asscheek with a branding iron. The word she'd forever be carrying on her body -
"SLUT," in large capital letters - were burned into her body in the angry red and black of
charred flesh. No amount of surgery would ever completely rid her of that scar.
After that, everything else I saw was mild by comparison. Piercings - nipples, tongues,
noses and labia. Pussy whippings, so hard and brutal that the girls were nothing but a
mass of swollen, bleeding flesh between their legs, useless for sex until they healed. A
game of darts, using a male slave's ass as the target, his asshole being the bull's-eye.
Oh, how he screamed when a misplayed dart imbedded itself in his scrotum!
The one thing I noticed missing, though, was Gerhart's little slave. He was there, of
course, taking an active role in just about everything from a game of darts to betting on
how long one slave girl could last. She'd been tied onto a Sybian - the first one I'd ever
seen - and forced to ride it to orgasm after orgasm until she finally fell unconscious.
Gerhart didn't win, but I doubted I'd have been able to last five hours of near constant
cumming, either. I wondered about Gerhard's slave, but when I asked, he just said she
was being prepared. I wasn't sure what for, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
It was early morning when things finally quieted down. I sought out Gerhard and told
him I was tired, and was wondering if there was a place I could sleep. He smiled, then
led me upstairs.
"You may have your own room," he said with a grin, "or you can share my bed with me.
I will not use you as slave, but as free woman, this time. Maybe it will be last time like
this for you?" I almost accepted his offer.
"I think I'd prefer my own room for now, Gerhard," I said. "Please understand, it's not
you. I just need time to think. I don't know if I'm ready for this, or if it's what I want."
"Understand," he replied, showing me to my room.
It wasn't much, just a bed and a small nook with a shelf and clothes rack, but I'd slept in
worse. There was a deadbolt on the door, which caused me great relief. I could have
complete privacy and not worry about anyone bothering me. I stripped off my clothes
and laid down between the clean, crisp sheets. It was full daylight now, but shutters
effectively blocked most of the light from coming through my third-floor window. I lay
down on the bed, exhausted yet excited from the day's activities. Without realizing it,
my hands began to stroke my body, fingers working my sopping gash while the other
hand pinched my nipples. The walls must have been paper thin, because just as I was
finally falling asleep, I heard the "thwack-thwack-thwack" of what sounded like leather
on flesh, followed by definite female squeals, coming from next door. I masturbated to
three huge orgasms before finally falling off to sleep.
I woke up six hours later, feeling not quite rested, but having to pee. I put my pants and
shirt back on, and padded down the hall in search of a restroom. Finding it, I relieved
myself and then decided to find Gerhard, to see if there was a place I could get cleaned
up and perhaps find a bite to eat.
Gerhard was in the main hall, where all the action had taken place the night before.
When I explained what I needed, he showed me the where the showers were and told
me that a buffet meal would be served shortly. There was a dining room off the main
hall, he explained, and food would be available 24/7. I thanked him, and went off to get
cleaned up.
I returned to the dining room feeling mostly refreshed, although the German soap
smelled much different than what I was used to. I was still very self-conscious about
this whole thing, so I dressed in clean Levi's and a western cowboy-style blouse, and
against Gerhard's instructions, put on fresh panties and a bra. I could see he was
displeased, but I wasn't here for his pleasure. At least, not yet. The buffet was nice,
attended to by a number of the slaves I'd seen the night before. They scampered
around, refilling cups and removing used dishes from the table, many of them bearing
bruises which told the story of the previous night's abuses.
Gerhard told me nothing would be going on until later that evening, unless I wanted to
partake of one of the slaves, or perhaps, he hinted with a smile, submit to someone
myself. I declined the opportunity, reminding him once again of his promise; that
nothing would happen to me unless and until I wanted it. He nodded agreeably, then
offered to show me some of the sights in and around Munich. I spent the day as a
tourist would, taking photos of the Glockenspiel, the Olympic venues, even visiting the
town of Dachau, just outside Munich. I have to admit it was depressing to be there, but
I felt it was necessary. I was, after all, of Jewish ancestry. I was relieved to see that
Gerhard wasn't concerned when I finally admitted it to him, though he warned me that
some of the others would consider me something less than human if they found out.
Anti-Semitism, it seemed, was alive and well in Munich.
We returned to the club - I didn't really know what else to call it - early in the evening,
after a very nice dinner in a quiet restaurant. Gerhard had explained to me that I'd not
be permitted to bring my camera in, which I fully understood. He took it and locked it up
in his car for me. I had time to go get cleaned up and try to take a quick nap before the
auction began. Unfortunately, the thwap-thwap-squeal sounds from next door started
up again as soon as I shut my eyes. I finally gave up, and walked down to the main
room, taking a seat along the back wall.
Gerhard told me that there would be about 20 slaves auctioned off tonight; some for a
night or weekend's worth of service, others permanently. He was going to sell the
young girl I'd seen him with on the train, but didn't know whether he'd be buying a new
one right now or not. I could see a glimmer in his eye, and knew he was hoping I'd be
the replacement. We chatted while waiting for the sale to start, mostly about the types
of slaves and owners. Some, he explained, treated their slaves like family members,
while others used them as pets, housemaids, or even toilets. I told him I couldn't
imagine anyone being used as a toilet; he told me to just wait and I'd get a chance to
see it first-hand.
There wasn't much talking during the auction, just the voice of the auctioneer calling out
as bids were made. There wasn't much need to describe the merchandise; anyone
interested had been able to give anything they were interested in a "test ride," as it
were, the day before. There were no names used, but I could see that virtually
everyone in the audience literally smelled of money. Big money.
I watched quietly as the first few slaves were auctioned off; this first group consisted of
the "players," those interested in a few days or weeks of servitude, humiliation and
abuse. These weren't real slaves, Gerhard explained, just people who needed to get
away from their own reality for a short while, to let someone else make decisions for
them. He pointed out two in particular, a middle-aged, balding man who he said was a
bank executive, and a young woman who worked in the brokerage business. I knew
both were very high-stress jobs, and could understand their need for a "vacation" from
it. Gerhard laughed when I said that; the banker was here every month, and the high
bidder was invariably his wife, he said, pointing across the room towards her.
The true slaves - those who were actually being sold as property - were next. The first
lot would be a pregnant set of twins. Gerhard told me that pregnant slaves weren't
thought to be of much value. An Owner had to be careful during the last trimester and
for a month or so after delivery, and then there were the expenses: doctor's visits,
delivery, special diets, and so forth. He expected these two to be an exception, though;
identical twins, being sold as a matched set. Tall and statuesque, just 20 years old with
uplifted breasts and tanned bodies that set off their long, golden hair, swollen bellies
sticking out almost obscenely, barely hiding the permanently denuded clefts of their
sex. They both looked like they could be expected to drop their babies right there on the
stage. I could see why they'd be a prize, I whispered, they were beautiful.
"No, not just that," he whispered back. "The babies, they are mongrels." Seeing the
questioning look on my face, he explained further. "The man who fucked them, who
gave them babies, he is African - a black man - who they bedded together. Their father
becomes angry when he finds out, and says he has no daughters. Their man turns
them into whores, and now he sells them. I think whoever buys them will also sell the
babies somewhere; they are both girls, too, and there are places that train such
mongrels to be slaves." I looked at him in disbelief, but realized he was telling me the
truth. As Gerhard expected, the bidding on the twins was fast, furious and high. In the
end, they went for a bit over two million Deutschmarks - about $700,000 at the
then-current exchange rate. This was, I quickly discovered, not a pastime for the poor.
Not all the slaves were so expensive, though. Even one teen - she couldn't have been
more than fourteen - who was a medically-certified virgin, fetched only a bit $9000 by
the exchange rate at the time. I was surprised by this, but it seemed few of the
prospective buyers were interested in untrained flesh. The more training and
experience, I discovered, the higher the price.
Gerhard's slave was an average example, and sold in the mid-range of about $20,000
US. She was actually 22, a bit older than I first thought, but had been a slave for eight
years. From what I could decipher of the blurb on her in the mimeographed brochure,
she feared pain but relished humiliation. Unpierced and relatively unblemished -
Gerhard had given her a whipping with a belt earlier, just so the audience could see
how nicely the red stripes contrasted with her the pale skin on her ass - and a complete
description of her measurements and medical condition. Two abortions, both from
before she submitted herself into slavery, she was now on the pill; safe sex wasn't
always practiced in the BDSM world, but unwanted pregnancies were always avoided.
Gerhard was her third Master, and had owned her for almost three years. Her "resume"
included the fact that she'd been devirginized by her stepbrother at the age of 12, and
that he'd whored her out to his friends from then until, at age 16, she ran away from
home. She was experienced with all three holes, I read, was adept at pleasuring both
men and women, and there was even a photo of her fucking Gerhard's dog. I almost
wished I could afford to buy her myself, I thought, struggling to keep from shoving my
hand down the front of my pants. I had to leave the auction then; my need was too
great, and I knew that as soon as they brought those shaved, young men out, I'd be
creaming in my pants.
I did a lot of thinking that night, and the night after. I moved out into a hotel several
kilometers away for my last night in Munich, thinking that perhaps my thoughts were the
result of where I was staying. However, I found my mind even more focused on the
idea of submission, even imagining I was the one being sold, the picture one of me
kneeling down while a dog assaulted me from behind.
When I returned to work, I knew I had to explore my submissive side more. I began
taking to tying my ankles to the corners of my bunk at night (thankfully, I had a private
room with an adjoining bath that I didn't have to share), sometimes even gagging myself
with my soiled panties, or occasionally my dirty socks, at night. I started shaving
myself, too, finding a level of joy in the sensation of air blowing over my bare pussy
whenever I'd go out. I stopped wearing panties when I was in a skirt or dress, and
began wearing those two things as often as possible. Still, though, I dared not act out
my desires except in the privacy of my room; the closest I would get is going into town
sans undergarments.
My enlistment was nearly over, and though I was eligible for retirement in only a few
more years, I decided not to go that route. If I retired, I'd be subject to recall, and I
didn't want that hanging over my head. I did still have over a year before I could get
out, so I started looking around. I went back to Munich twice, checking out the BDSM
clubs, and visited Berlin to look for the same thing. A week in Great Britain only
showed me that the Brits have a thing for latex, spanking, ass-fucking and
homosexuality. I wasn't all that enthused with anything I found in Europe, so I asked for
a month's leave and went back to the States.
I figured Los Angeles or San Francisco would be the places to find people into the
BDSM lifestyle. New York was another possibility, but I'd be a stranger there. I was
born and raised in California, and that was where I'd be most comfortable. So, I flew in
to SFO, rented a hotel room and started exploring.
A couple of evenings later, I observed a burly man dressed in leather and a young
blonde girl walking down the street together. She was dressed in leather, too...the
tiniest micro mini skirt I'd ever seen, and a halter top that leaved exposed much, much
more than it covered. She tottered along with great difficult, in a pair of boots that went
to her knees and had spiked heels at least five inches high. Her hands were manacled
at her waist, and the man led her along at the end of a leash. Perhaps I'd found what I
was looking for.
I followed the strange-looking couple as they entered an alley running between two
rows of buildings. Another man stepped out from the shadows and spoke to the first
man briefly. I saw him hand what appeared to be a wad of bills to the girl's owner - for
that's how I thought of him now. With the motion of his hand, the young girl dropped to
her knees and reached to the second man's - the customer's - crotch, deftly releasing
his cock and slurping it into her ready mouth.
I was so intent on what I was watching, that I failed to notice tat the first man was gone.
Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind!
"What do we have here? A cop, or a voyeur?" he said in my ear. I could feel his hot
breath on my cheek as his hands wandered over my body. "Hmmm...no wire, so you're
probably not a cop. A pervert, then? Getting your jollies watching people having sex?
Well, which is it, Missy?" He shook me by the shoulders forcefully.
"Uh...neither, sir. Sir, please... I saw you walking with her, and I was curious. That's
all, please!"
"Uh huh. So what exactly about us caught your eye You claim to be so curious, so
what are you so curious about? Come on, girl, spit it out!" He urged me on with
another tooth-jarring shake.
"The way you were dressed - you, her - the skirt..." I mumbled.
"And the leash? Her collar? Maybe you were wondering what it would be like to be
collared yourself? To be led down a public street on the end of a leash, offering
yourself to anyone with enough money to rent the use of your body from your Master?"
"Yes, sir," I shamefully admitted in a quiet voice.
"Wondering what it would be like, or wishing you were her?" he asked, spinning me
around and looking into my face, his eyes burning a hole through my soul.
"I...uh...I'm not sure, sir," I answered as truthfully as I could. "I mean...I did a couple of
scenes in Europe, but I was wondering..."
"Wondering what it would be like if it was real, not just play? How it would be like to be
a real slave, to be bought or sold, rented out, used however your owner wanted? To be
a true slave, with no duty except absolute obedience?"
"Yes, sir," I responded, my voice shaking as I lowered my head in embarrassment. "At
least I think so. I'm not sure. I'm afraid to try, but I'm afraid not to. Does that make any
sense?" I was baring my soul, my darkest dreams, to a stranger, yet I felt totally
comfortable doing so. He responded with a laugh, releasing my arms.
"Of course it makes sense, little one. Your submissive side is drawing you, but your
logical self is telling you to play it safe, never put yourself at risk by giving up your
freedom."
"I guess so," I mumbled. I hadn't thought it over that way.
"So," he said, shifting gears, 'You want to go get a cup of coffee? Someplace public,
where can talk?"
"Um..." I said, nodding across the alley, where the girl was just finishing zipping her
now-satiated customer's pants up.
"Oh, her?" he asked incredulously. "Hey, fella! Here," he hollered, tossing him the
leash, "She's yours for the night. No charge. No rough stuff, ether. You fuck up her
looks, I fuck you up. Capische?"
"I gotcha pal. No problem...I take real good care of your bitch. You want I should bring
her back here when I'm done with her?"
"Nah, just kick the bitch out in the morning. She knows where to go."
The man nodded and started down the street, pulling the stumbling girl after him.
"She'll do that? Go with him and do whatever he says?"
"Yup. And do you know why?"
"Because she's your sex slave, and you told her to?" I asked.
"That's partly right," he explained, "But the reason is much deeper than that. She could
have said no, and nothing would have happened. Just like when I took her out tonight,
to be whored out. She could have said no. It's not like I need the money, and besides,
how much do you think she really earns at two dollars a blow? No, I don't threaten,
beat or blackmail her, either. She stays with me of her own volition, willingly, because I
give her the to things she craves most."
"And those are..."
"One, I give her the opportunity to serve...totally and completely give of herself to
another. Two, she needs to be humiliated. It's part of her sexuality. She craves it, and
it's the only way she achieves pleasure during sex," he told me frankly. "Now, how
about that coffee?"
He walked us to small diner, selecting a booth in the back corner. Ordering coffee for
both of us, he leaned back and crossed his arms, looking intently at me.
"So what exactly are you looking for?" he asked me bluntly. "A quick thrill? Is that what
this is all about? You're a thrill-seeker? Or maybe a fledgling author, gathering
information for a book? Or are you hoping I'll enslave you, take you home, tie you up
and fuck your brains out?"
I sat and stared, watching his face break into a grin, finally causing me to laugh.
"You really are a cheeky bastard, aren't you?" I asked.
"Yup. Never been anything but. So tell me what you're looking for."
"Hey, I don't even know your name, and you want my life story?'
"Bill. Nice to meet you... "
"Penelope" I responded.
"Bullshit."
"Penelope. Really. My mother had a thing for Victorian names."
"People don't really call you that, do thy? I mean what do people usually call you?
Pen? Penny?"
"'Sergeant,' actually" I responded.
"Sergeant?"
"Army. Just over ten years now," I replied.
"Shit. Two years was more than enough for me," he replied, "Sergeant."
"Drafted?"
"Yeah. Spent most of my time in the 'Nam, but what the hell," he shrugged. "That's
were I found out about this BDSM shit, you know? Little place in Bangkok. Went there
on leave. So, where you stationed."
"Germany," I told him. "MP, platoon sergeant, even."
"Fuck," he commented quietly. "A woman MP, running a fucking platoon. "
"Yeah, well you know, that affirmative action shit and all," I responded, smiling. He let
loose with another of his guffaws.
"Okay, Sergeant Penelope, ma'am...so tell me about yourself, and why you were
following me. And, yes, I did notice."
So, I told him the story about my trip to Munich, and the other places I'd visited, and that
I was intrigued, but not convinced, that being a sub was really what I wanted to do. I
told him that I'd come to San Francisco just to nose around a bit, check out the clubs,
maybe talk to someone in the lifestyle. He nodded thoughtfully.
"So this is sort of a 'find yourself' trip for you, then? You're unsure of what you want to
do with your life, so you're looking to experiment a bit?"
"Yeah, I guess, kind of," I replied. "I mean, I like the Army and all, but there's a need in
my life that it just isn't filling. I never felt so...well, full...and no pun intended...than when
I was doing that scene in Munich." He thought about it for a moment before
responding.
"I think I have an idea, but I want you to hear me out first," he said thoughtfully,
continuing when I put my elbows on the table and nodded. "How would you feel about
being sort of a temporary slave? With the right and ability to say 'stop' whenever you
want? To be able to set limits, and to know that whatever happens, it would be over at
a specific time? A trial period for you. Nothing that you don't willingly accept, and
nothing permanent?"
"I might consider it, if I knew someone I trusted."
"What, you don't trust me???" he asked, with puppy dog eyes and a hurt look on his
face. "Just kidding. Okay, how about this? You have someone you know, who you
can check in with each day on the telephone?" I nodded. "So, I give you my ID, you
tell your friend you're going to call each day at a certain time, and that if you don't,
something is wrong. You have them write down my name, license number, address
and everything, and if they don't hear from you, they call the cops. Fair enough?"
"I think so," I answered, "But how do I know you're showing me your real ID?"
"Simple. Tomorrow, we go down to the DMV together and have them bring me up on
their computer. I'll even show you that the address on my license is really my home.
You can quit whenever you want, no questions asked, and you can set whatever limits
you want. Nobody does anything to you unless you say so."
"For real? I mean, you're not just giving me a line of crap, are you?"
"Not at all. And, in fact, I'll even give you the chance to see if you really are a dom, not
a sub."
"How's that?"
"Simple. I'll give you full rights over that little slave girl you saw back in the alley. She'll
obey you just like she does me. You can do anything you want to her, and have her do
anything you want."
"Okay, I guess," I said, still a bit wary.
"Great. Okay...meet you someplace tomorrow morning, say about nine?"
"How about here?" It seemed as good a place as any.
So, I walked myself back to my hotel and called an old girlfriend of mine who lived in the
South Bay. I told her where I was, that I'd be spending the next few days with this guy,
and asked if it would be okay if I checked in with her once a day, just to be safe? She
said it was no problem, so I told her I'd be giving her some information tomorrow that
she needed to write down. Again, no problem.
I had troubles sleeping that night, my mind racing with a million thoughts. Should I trust
this guy? Did he really mean what he said? Is this really for me? What about his
girl...what if the guy he so casually gave her to turned out to be some sort of serial
killer? I made my decision, though. I'd give myself to him for 48 hours.
He nodded silently when I told him of my decision the next day, then reached into his
back pocket and pulled out a metal choke chain and a leather leash.
"Remove your undergarments, shoes and socks, " he ordered, "and kneel at my feet." I
did as he commanded - hesitatingly, but I did do it - and knelt as he slipped the choker
over my neck. Barefoot, he led me down the alley, stopping at the corner where it
ended at a main thoroughfare.
"The first and only responsibility of a slave is obedience," he said, looking down at me
like a schoolteacher lecturing to a second grader. "This is the first test of your
obedience. Go into the drug store across the street," he pointed, "and purchase two
dozen condoms. Make sure they're single packs, and each one has to be different.
They're behind the counter, so you'll have to ask the clerk."
I looked up at him in shock. I figured I'd be fucked, or at least be sucking a cock, but to
embarrass myself by walking into a store half-naked and asking for condoms? My face
turned bright red, but all I could do was nod.
"You don't have to do this if you don't want," he said.
"No, but I have to find out," I replied, taking a deep breath while he unsnapped the
leash from the choker. I walked out into the sunlight, my attire (particularly the choke
chain) garnering stares and outright leers from other pedestrians. I found out later that
the sun was shining through my thin rayon dress, making my nude form beneath it - or
at least the outline - visible to everyone.
The store clerk was a young boy - he couldn't have been more than fifteen - who
grinned broadly as I explained what I wanted. He deliberately made me ask for each
condom packet separately, and then he set them down at the back of the counter,
forcing me to bend forward and expose my bare breasts to him. The little shit knew
exactly what he was doing, and even asked me if I needed someone to practice putting
them on. I just stood there, turning redder and redder, taking his abuse while he rang
up my purchases. Then, with as much dignity as I could muster, turned around and
marched out of the store.
Master - that's what I thought of him now - was waiting back where I'd left him. I tried to
hand him the bag of condoms, but he shook his head and told me that a slut was
responsible for carrying her own rubbers. He took me back down the alley - the leash
back on now - and stopped at the rear door of a building which apparently faced the
main street.
"There are 30 men inside," he told me. "You have 24 condoms. I don't think any of
them have the clap or anything, but I can't be sure. You're going to make every one of
them cum, and how you do it without getting pregnant or diseased is for you to figure
out. This is your last chance to back out."
Oh, God, I was so scared that my legs were shaking. I'd never so much as taken two
men at once, and now I was going to be gang banged by 30? Master told me later my
face turned white, and he was scared that I'd pass out. He knew it was important for
me to find out quickly, though, whether I was suited for something like this; as he put it,
he wanted to find out if I'd break. I didn't, though. I steeled my resolve to go through
with this by taking a couple of deep breaths, clenching my fists several times to relieve
the stress, and simply walked through the door. I had to trust my Master that he
wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.
As it turned out, there weren't thirty but six. Four men and two women. What
happened outside had just been a test. The men were all like Master, biker-types but
muscular, unlike the beer-bellied freaks you often see on Harleys. The girls were both
petite and dressed alike, in short leather skirts and vests. The taller of the two held a
leash attached to the smaller's collar, watching while her charge bobbed her head up
and down, giving one of the men a blow job.
I was well and soundly fucked that weekend. I lost my anal cherry, and licked both my
first asshole and my first cunt in between the near constant dicking I took. When I
wasn't fucking, the dominant of the other two girls had me cleaning house; sweeping,
mopping, washing dishes and cleaning toilets. I managed an average of four hours
sleep each night I was with them; Master told me they were being easy on me so far,
though I didn't see how that could be.
By the time it was over, I was hooked. I told him I wanted to become a slave, or at least
a submissive - I knew the difference now. He said he didn't take submissives, only
slaves, and that he couldn't in good conscience take me as his slave as things were
right now. I wasn't ready, he explained; I'd only seen the nice side of things first. He
did, however, tell me about a place he could arrange for me to visit to learn more. I'd
be a slave there, but with the option to return to a "normal" life if I desired. If I could
make it through six months, I'd be considered a potential slave. I quickly agreed, and
he made the arrangements for me to go there immediately upon my discharge from the
Army. If I successfully completed the training, I'd be auctioned off and become the
property of the highest bidder. The auction proceeds - minus the cost of training and
upkeep - would be put in a trust in my name. In the meantime, he told me, I could
serve as his long-distance slave-in-training.
I returned to Kaiserslautern relaxed, unstressed, and though probably a little physically
worse for wear, feeling as though the weight of the world had been taken off my
shoulders. My decision was made, and I was about to embark on a new life for myself.
What the future would hold was still unknown, except for one piece: Once the auction
took place, I would never have to make a decision for myself again.
In accordance with my Master's instructions, I continued to go without panties, though
he'd given me authorization to wear a bra and sanitary pad after I explained morning
PT. It would be rather difficult for me to lead my platoon on our run, wearing a tee shirt
with nothing on under, and would probably get me into trouble with my superiors.
However, to pay for the privilege, whenever I was wearing a bra, I also had to have my
butt plug inserted. That wasn't so bad most of the time, but have you ever tried making
a three mile run with a nine inch latex tube shoved up your ass? Going braless was
almost preferable.
I took an in-country ETS, rather than flying back to the states on a MAC flight and being
discharged out of Ft Dix. There were a couple of reasons for this, but the main reason
is that was what my temporary Master wanted.
I didn't leave Germany for a full week after I was discharged, and used that time to fulfill
one of my Master's instructions, as well as a fantasy I'd had for some time. As usual,
there was a going away party for me, and my entire platoon was given the weekend off
to attend. Emptying out my savings - what would a slave need money for, anyway - I
invited everyone to join me in Frankfurt, where I'd rented two adjoining suites near the
airport. When everyone arrived, I offered them all drinks and then I explained that I had
a video tape that I'd like them all to watch, and would answer any questions afterwards.
I hit the play button on the remote as I exited into the adjoining suite, closing the door
behind me. I listened silently for a moment, as the tape began to play, and heard the
gasps and surprised murmurs as they watched.
The tape started with film of my abuse in San Francisco, being whipped, forced to fuck
and suck cum from another girl's pussy, and finally begging to be pissed on. Then it
moved on to my current Master performing a very detailed, painful and humiliating
examination of my body, commenting for the camera on everything from the size of my
nipples to the length of my clitoris. Finally, Master spoke directly to my platoon.
"As you an see, your Platoon Sergeant is quite the slut. My slut. She will soon be
joining me full time, and once her training is complete, she'll be auctioned as a slave.
Probably as a sex slave, either to some wealthy person, or more likely, to one of a
number of high-class establishments catering to people who can afford to pay for the
services of an absolutely obedient piece of female flesh. Of course, she could end up
working on some farm, or sewing dresses in a Haitian sweat house, but if I had to bet
on it, I'd say your former boss is going to be a whore.
"Since it's doubtful many of you will be able to afford her services - a single hour with a
sex slave costs more than most soldiers make in a month - I have a gift for you.
Actually, it is from her, but since I own her now, well, I think you get the idea. In the
next room, my slave is waiting for you. Consider her your community property for the
weekend. You may use her as you wish and do whatever you like to her, but she must
not be permanently marked, disfigured nor damaged. Other than that, my only
restriction is that she must be at the airport on time for her flight. I can personally attest
to the fact that she is quite experienced with all three of her holes, and I'm sure she'd
appreciate you using them thoroughly. Remember, though - no permanent damage,
and she must not miss her flight."
A moment later, the pass door between the two suites opened, and my former
subordinates found me kneeling naked on the floor, me head bowed submissively, a
leash dangling from the leather collar around my neck.
One of my former Squad Leaders, older and more mature than the rest, was the first to
speak.
"Are you certain this is what you want, Sergeant Anderson?" he asked with a concerned
tone in his voice. I responded by crawling towards him and submissively kissing his
foot.
"Yes, sir." I answered. 'It took me a very long while to understand what I was searching
for, but I truly believe I've found my destiny. I believe you - my subordinate leaders and
soldiers - helped make this possible, by doing your jobs so well and giving me time to
discover myself by not having to intervene in the daily problems you faced. Because of
that, I wanted to give you all something as a gift from my heart, to express my thanks. I
will understand if any of you refuses my offering, but I hope you won't. This is the real
reason why I took my discharge here - so I could offer the use of my body to you,
without worrying about the implications of military regulations. I'm no longer a
noncommissioned officer, I'm just another slut for each of you to use or abuse as you
wish."
"Sergeant Anderson," the squad leader replied, "Whatever you are, and whatever you
become, you'll never be 'just another slut.'
"Thank you sir," I responded, blushing.
"You're sure this is what you want? To be used like that by all of us?"
"Yes, sir," I replied again, the humiliation of my near-public admission causing my cunt
to get even wetter than it already was.
"In that case, bitch," he cruelly sneered, "Don't you think you should get that slut mouth
of yours to work on our cocks?" I screamed with my first orgasm of the day, the first
time I'd ever cum without being touched.
What happened next is a blur. I do know that for the next twelve or so hours, there was
seldom a moment when I didn't have a cock in my cunt, shoved up my ass or rammed
down my throat - and sometimes had all three simultaneously. The fucking and verbal
abuse went on and on until everyone - me included - was worn out and fell asleep.
The next morning I was awakened by having someone grab me by the hair and pull me
up to my knees. I found my hands were bound behind me; someone had fortuitously
brought a set of handcuffs. My eyes still blurry from the short nap and rude awakening,
I found my head forced backwards, a cock hanging in front of my lips.
"Open, bitch!" a voice commanded. I recognized it as one of the squad leaders. I
obeyed dutifully, and immediately found my mouth being filled with a harsh stream of
acrid urine. "Nothing like a toilet slut first thing in the morning!" he said loudly, waking
the others up. A line quickly formed, and soon my belly was swollen with the morning
piss of my former subordinates. Then, after allowing me to rinse my mouth out with
mouthwash, the fucking and abuse resumed.
The second night, one of the guys took the money from my purse and rented a couple
of hookers. Not just any whores, mind you, but two who had just finished servicing a
college party on another floor, and hadn't had an opportunity to clean up. Each of
them were full with several loads of cum, and it became my job to prepare each of hem
for their next Johns.
The boys suggested that they spread the word that there was a slut willing to paytwenty
dollars for the privilege of sucking the loads of cum in their bodies. Soon, a steady
stream of whores were showing up, shoving their semen-filled holes in my face,
collecting their money and going out in search of another customer so they could repeat
the process. Even when my money ran out, they kept coming back. I guessed I was
getting to be a pretty good cunt-lapper.
All too soon, though, it was almost time for me to head to the airport. The boys let me
shower, then each used their choice of holes one last time. Most took my ass, because
they knew I'd be wearing a butt plug for the entire 20 hours, until I was back at my
Master's residence. I wasn't allowed to shower after the last fucking, but by then I didn't
really care whether I smelled of sex or had semen dripping down my thighs. Dressed in
the clothes Master had sent me - a flower-pattern silk knee-length dress and sandals -
they accompanied me as far as the security checkpoint. There, they all stood while I
carefully waddled up the stairs. As I reached the top, I turned knelt on the floor, then
blew my boys a kiss, wondering if I'd ever see any of them again.
The rest, as they say, is for another day. Perhaps I will write about it someday, perhaps
not.
FIN
