Shocking New Life

This story takes place within the ‘34th Amendment’ universe in which penal and voluntary slavery exist. All persons engaged in sexual activi

This story takes place within the ‘34th Amendment’ universe in which penal and voluntary slavery exist.

All persons engaged in sexual activity are at least 18 years old.

A Shocking New Life

Graduation was so close.  Prom had come and gone.  Finals were next week, with graduation one week after so the teachers and administration had time to determine the exact class rankings, inform the top two of their status, and print the programs for the ceremony.  We’d all been studying hard for finals.  For some, it was the last chance to bring their grade back up.  Others were desperate not to fall below their current state.  Most of us had acceptance letters, but a bad grade could endanger our scholarships, for those of us that depended on them.  That was nearly all of us.  A few could get by on partial scholarships, but we weren’t a wealthy school, so everybody needed some outside help.  Even the ‘rich’ kids that wore the nicer clothes found the cost of college daunting.

“So did any of you brainiacs get into Harvard?”  Jake called out.  Jake was a ‘smart jock’.  He played hard on the football field, but still managed A’s in his classes.  Granted, he took regulars classes, rather than honors and AP, but he went heavy on science and math.  He hadn’t taken calculus yet, but he might just test into it in college.  For sure he’d at least make it into precal.

Heads shook no.  Harvard was expensive and exclusive.  You had to be rich, minority, or foreign to get in there.  It was out of reach for our white-bread, low-income asses.  Maybe if we’d gotten a 1600 on our SAT’s, we’d’ve gotten in, but none of us were that smart.

“Pity.  So who’s going to A&M with me?”

Boos and cheers greeted him.  Some of the boos were emphasized with a ‘Hook ‘Em Horns’ hand sign.

Kirk, however, had to try and sound witty.  “Lisa hasn’t responded yet.  Where you goin’ short stack?”

At 5’3”, Lisa Gordon was on the short side.  Having seen her in a bikini, I knew her torso was too filled out to be slender, but she sure as hell wasn’t ‘thick’ or even ‘full-bodied’.  Well, not until you got to her chest.  Lord knows I’d love to get to her chest.  She was a 32 or 34 band, sporting pec pillows that were double D, bare minimum.  Soulful brown eyes and thin, tawny hair down to her ass completed a girl-next-door image that had my dick tenting my shorts if I thought about her too long.  Something I avoided because she was a good friend and I wasn’t a creep.

The object of Kirk’s attention merely shrugged.  Like any shark, he smelled blood.

“Oh, I bet I know.  You doin’ a two-year kneepad internship to build up your college fund?”

“Hey, Kirk, that ain’t cool.”  Denise Spratly had been senior class president and did not brook any disparaging crap.  Which is why she often locked horns with Kirk.    “First off, you know better than to suggest she would do that, and second, even if it were true – which I highly doubt – it’s rude as fuck to bring something like that up.”

“Oh layoff, Denise.  I’m jus’ havin’ fun.  Anyway, she ain’t denyin’ it none.”

“Okay, you wanna get in the mud?  You ain’t even goin’ to college.  You ain’t got the grades.  What’s gonna happen when you’re out on a job and you plow into some car with your work truck?  Or some pissed off rich bitch accuses you of theft, or assault?  You wind up in a gay brothel suckin’ cock and takin’ it up the ass.”  She leaned back, crossing her arms under her medium breasts.  They paled in comparison to Lisa’s but assessed on their own, they were quite nice.  “Ever think of that?”

Kirk was never a fan of science fiction, so he never had been exposed to the first lesson of scifi – never piss off the redhead.  He glared into Denise’s flashing blue eyes.  “Don’t be a bitch, D.  There’s a fuckin line, ya know.”

“Yeah, and you fuckin’ pole vaulted right over it.” Denise spat back.

Jake and Mark took Kirk by the shoulders, dragging him away before he could dig himself any further.  We all split up a few minutes later anyway.  Denise and others taking an opportunity to hug Lisa reassuringly before making their departure.  I gave her a friendly wave before walking to my car.  

I lived in a modest, three-bedroom home.  Not because the space was needed, but because I had a cover to protect.  I didn’t live with any family.  My sperm donor split about three months after I was born.  Mother stayed around, physically at least.  She had no education and only moderate work ethic.  Ok, that was a little unfair.  I usually got a meal in the evening, after eating breakfast and lunch on the school lunch program.  Summers, well, I had to be very careful rationing what I ate.

Mom’s income kept a roof overhead and utilities on, and a little food in the house.  And bought her all the cigarettes, alcohol, and other drugs she wanted.  I don’t think she ever did anything with needles, but if it could be smoked or snorted, and she had the money at the time, it went in her deteriorating body.  Come to think of it, I think some of the rent and utilities were ‘earned’ on her back with a rotating cycle of ‘boyfriends’.  I knew to just stay in my room.  Better for everyone that way.

In middle school, TI gave away some high end (at the time) laptops to every student in the district.  By then I knew the stakes, so I kept it out of mom’s sight for as long as possible.  I’d managed to convince the complex manager to let me earn money working the grounds.  I cut the grass at least once a week and trimmed the bushes every month.  It was her job, but she clearly hated it when I saw her engaged in the task.  She wrote up a written agreement, though I knew as a minor, it wouldn’t be binding on her.  She honored it anyway.

She was leery at first, but within a month I’d established that I knew what I was doing and had a reasonable work ethic.  Of course, that very first week I’d gone to the public library and checked out books on lawn maintenance, landscaping, and hedge trimming.  After the first month, Ms. Griffon gave me the key to the tool shed instead of meeting me at pre-arranged times.  God, I felt so mature and responsible – and determined not to let her down.

Well, that work was paid under the table, in cash.  This I had to keep safe from mom, so I’d already bought a small safe that I could hide under my bed.  Not on the floor – bolted to the frame, so it was much less obvious.  When I got the laptop, I started pinching my pennies even harder so I could buy something big enough to lock my grand new prize away from my mother.

I checked out book after book on coding.  Public libraries are fucking awesome.  I learned so much more there than at school.  Hell, by the time I got to high school, I’d learned half of what I was going to be taught, just by reading on my own.  The internet helped a lot too, but you gotta be careful what you take from there.  Learning to code gave me another opportunity to earn money and  I started writing programs or subroutines for contract bids.  I forged mom’s signature to deal with the paperwork.

That backfired.  Mom got a hold of one of my checks.  Not just any check, it was my first big, ‘real money’ checks, not just a penny-ante check.  Not to disparage those, they meant I had some grocery money, or built a little savings.

She blew it on a long weekend’s worth of nose candy.  She missed two shifts at her diner job and one at the strip club cocktail waitress job.  Both fired her.  The club took her back, but starting out at base pay again.  I think the owner tried to push her into lap dances or working in one of the ‘champagne rooms’.

I was livid.  I researched what it took to become an emancipated minor, and got it done.  I was on a deadline, because I had two more checks coming in from work I’d just finished.  Each was double the one that mom had blown.  I moved into an efficiency apartment initially.  Contract work was iffy, and I now no longer had the landscaping job.  I tried my hand at day trading.  I’d heard the phrase a few times.  Of course, I looked up everything I could in the library and online first.  Turns out, I had a knack for spotting what I called ‘turning points’ – not the tops and bottoms of trends, but the point when a stock began ‘pulling out of the dive’ or began ‘nosing over from the climb’.  Those were my terms, you understand.  I later learned the proper terms in online forums and such, but I stuck with my own.

The studying I did, and reasoning I’d made, to gain success in day trading helped out immensely when I picked up a calculus book from the library during sophomore year and taught myself calculus.  From then on, I referred to those points I’d recognized before as ‘inflection points’.  Math is … relaxing sometimes.  It’s clean and precise.

Anyway, I started building funds quickly.  I put some money away in less risky investments so I could build money for college.  Sure, I had a good shot at scholarships, but you can’t just count on those.  Besides, there’s expenses in college that scholarships won’t cover.

One investment, I was living in right now.  I didn’t want my classmates to know I was on my own, or that I had money.  So, I closed on a modest three bedroom house in a respectable but low-income part of town still in the same ‘feeder zone’ as my high school.  Now people saw me come and go from a legitimate family home and just assumed there were others living there with me.  I spent about one weekend a month, or every weekend in one month of a semester doing some small improvement so the home was worth more when I graduated than it was when I got it.  

Now, bear in mind, I still loved my mother and cared about her.  I just couldn’t trust her with money.  Or anything worth money.  I delivered groceries to her apartment and visited her once a week – mostly.  Sometimes I was so busy it was only twice a month.  I made sure to call her those weeks I didn’t come by.  By then, she’d swallowed enough pride to ask if she was hurting for groceries.  I’d arrange a contactless pickup with the grocery store, pay for it, and all she had to do was show up in the parking lot.

By then, I was often taking jobs to write whole programs for small businesses.  Many were similar, so all I had to do was alter a few lines of code to make it unique, or match some specific capability the client asked for, and all my old work was worth a new payment.  A significant payment.  I wasn’t Richie Rich, but between coding, day trading, and long-term investments, my financial worries were …not gone – they were on a different level now.

I took a little time to decorate the house as if my mom lived here.  I made up the master bedroom like a woman lived there.  Women’s bodycare and beauty products in the master bedroom.  Thick fluffy towels in the hallway linen closet.  I didn’t have people over often, but my charade was enough for those rare times I hosted a study group.  I did not host parties.

Well, okay, one time I hosted a game night.  I claimed my mother was out of town on business.  She did, in fact, live in a ghetto apartment in Dallas itself, while both my initial efficiency and this modest home were in a small suburb.  I forbid booze, which was not overly unpopular, and that kept the antics below the level of garnering police attention.

Graduation day itself was boring and thrilling.  How long can someone talk about nothing?  Not a single one of the four speeches – Principal, Keynote speaker, Valedictorian, and salutatorian – said anything real.  It was all a bunch of glad-handing crap.

On the other hand, my friends and I were all getting our official recognition that we’d completed this major hurdle in our lives and were now ready to move on.  College or tech school, we were all moving into our adulthoods now.  That would explain why so many smiles had an undertone of unease.  Most of us might not see each other until our first class reunion.  I will admit, Lisa’s inability to disguise her worry bothered me.

I was replying to an email from the realtor I’d hired to sell the house when my phone rang.

“Marty?”

“Hey, Lisa, what’s up?”

“Can you do me a favor tomorrow morning?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I need a ride.  I need to leave my car here at my parents’ house.  Can you pick me up here, about 8:30?”

“Yeah sure, no problem.  Anything I should bring?”

“No, nothing special.  It won’t be a long drive, it’s here in the metroplex, and just one way.”

“Okay.  Anywhere special?”

“Please, Marty, just be here at 8:30 sharp.”

“Okay.  You can count on me.”

“I knew I could.  Thank you, Marty.  You’ve always been a good friend.”

She hung up immediately after that.  The finality of her words left me uneasy.  Again.  First, when Kirk got mouthy, then at graduation, and just now on the phone.  I’d made too much money on trends not to notice one.  And I didn’t like the conclusion I was drawing.

Precision’s always been my hallmark.  The dashboard clock rolled from 8:29 to 8:30 just as my front tires kissed the beginning of the Gordon family’s driveway.  Lisa came rushing out, crossed the drive in front of my car, and hopped in the shotgun seat of my Versa hatchback.

“Let’s go.  Head north, please.”

I said nothing as I pulled out.  Her haste and nervousness, along with the direction she’d indicated, all pointed to the conclusion I’d made last night.  To be fair, there were plenty of destinations that would start by going north from her house, and plenty of reasons for her to be nervous.  I maintained my silence, but the pattern of turns she called for kept matching with my suspicions.

“Lisa … are you asking me to take you to the slave auction house?”

Her head snapped in my direction.  “Please Marty, I have to do this.”

“Look, I’m your friend, Lisa.  If there’s really no other way, I will do this for you, but surely –”

“I can’t Marty.”  She choked down a sob.  “Please don’t make me cry.  I have to get I high slave grade.  I can’t do that if I look like I’ve been bawling my eyes out.”

“Look, if something’s bad at home, there’s space at my place.  You could crash with me for as long as you need.  Not in my room, either.  I can give you your own space.”

“Marty, that’s very sweet of you,” she said, lightly dabbing her water-rimmed eyes with a paper napkin from my glovebox.  This was not her first time in my car. “But the fact of the matter is my family doesn’t have the funds to cover the family contribution for college, and I don’t have the grades to get in to a good school.”

“I thought you had great grades.”

“You remember last fall when mother was so ill?”

“Yeah, I know you missed some classes, and we each brought some kind of dish over.”

“Well, my concentration wavered.  I was a week late with an English paper and what I turned in was incredibly sub-par.”  She paused, clearly gathering herself.  “To make things worse, I put in a marginal effort on three algebra homeworks and punted the unit test.  Worst was when Mr Thompson denied my request to turn in the history paper late, so I got a zero.  I had to change my diploma to regular instead of honors.  I didn’t have enough credits.”

“But so many people get college loans on the contingency of being enslaved if they default.  Can’t you just go that route?”

“They determined that my grades and attendance and a few other issues made me too high a risk.  I have to serve first, then get my college funds.”

That revelation shocked me.  I mean look, I’m not trying to sound snooty, but the ‘regulars’ diploma was for people going into the trades, or people that won’t even rise that high.  Folks that are going to spend much of their lives saying ‘you want fries with that?’  I swear to God, I’m not a snob, I just don’t know a nicer way of conveying that thought.  I’m more of a numbers guy than a schmoozer.  Though, if I’m gonna go into finance, I’d probably better learn the art of making people smile while telling them something they didn’t want to hear.

I tried, as gently as I could, once more, to convince her not to go.  I kept us on course though, trying to ease her into the idea.  She wasn’t accepting my assertions though.  Or maybe she wasn’t even hearing them.  When we arrived at the slave auction and induction center, I knew I’d shot my last bolt.

“If you tell them you’re a virgin, they won’t … uh …”

“I’m not Marty.  Sam and I started on his eighteenth birthday and kept at it until we broke up two months later.  Look, don’t feel bad.  This is my choice.  I’m taking this path out of the mess I’m in.  I got myself in this situation, and now I’m getting myself out of it.”

So that was it.  We said our awkward goodbyes and I watched as my high school friend walked into the induction center to spend the next few years getting fucked in whatever way her owner deemed fun … or profitable.

I skipped lunch.  I had no appetite.  By dinner time, I made myself eat a sandwich and a piece of fruit.  And that’s when I had a thought.  I ran to my computer and found the auction house’s website.  I had to surf through several teen girls on the page before I found Lisa’s picture and profile.  Slaves lost their names when inducted and I didn’t know her number, so I had to use the search parameters and then pick through all the slaves that fit the same criteria.  As big as the metroplex is, there were quite a few that fit the parameters of ‘short, busty, blonde, teen’.  I almost scrolled past when I saw the bold red bar with ‘Virgin’ in white letters.  Had she pulled a fast one on me, or the auction house?

Lisa’s sale was tomorrow in the earlier afternoon.  Enough time for me to enact my plan.  Before going off half-cocked and forgetting something, I sat down and made a list.  Items needed.  Steps to be taken.  About half of my ‘steps to be taken’ would have to wait until start of business tomorrow, but I could go get the ‘items needed’ right now.  I threw on my shoes, snagged my keys and got out the door.  By the time I had all the things on my list, I felt so good about my plan, I stopped for ice cream.

And then I got a bad case of nerves and nearly threw it all up.  I managed to calm myself down in time to get a decent night’s sleep.  I had to be fresh as a daisy first thing in the morning.  My investment firm was in NYC, on east coast time.

“That’s a sizable chunk of dough there, sir.  Are you sure you want to liquidate that much?”

“Yes, I do.  Unfortunately, I have a large purchase to make this afternoon.  I’ll need those funds transferred immediately.  My next call is to my bank to inform them of the incoming transaction.”

“Very well sir.”  The kind lady then spent a few minutes on what I suspect was now a federally mandated flowchart to head off internet thieves trying to relieve susceptible schmucks from their funds.  In the end, I convinced her I was not replying to a Nigerian prince or a desperate and lonely Russian bride or any other scam.  The banker I spoke with (after being forwarded by a teller, and then stumping a rather new-sounding account manager) was incredibly suspicious until the deposit appeared on the screen.  I think I heard his jaw hit the floor.

“Well, yessir, it is here on the screen now.  And you say you need the funds immediately?”

“This afternoon.”

“I’ll verify the funds personally, this hour and authorize the release of funds.”

“Thank you, sir, I appreciate that.”  When in doubt, make them feel like they’re doing you a favor.  I guess I do know a little about schmoozing.  An hour before the appointed time, in the new attire I’d bought last night, I arrived at the auction house to get things in order.  The first of which I’d been working on all morning.  Buyers under 25 had to prove they had funds available to make a slave purchase.  The clerk’s eyes bugged out when the bank clerk verified how much I had on hand.  I just smiled sweetly and signed where she told me to.

Properly documented, I neatly folded my papers and stuffed them in the pocket of my new trench coat.  I’d always wanted one, but they were somewhat impractical in DFW.  At least for a high schooler, anyway.  Now, wearing a dress shirt and tie – uncommon for me, but not unheard of – the trench coat, and a brimmed hat that was not a fedora, but sure looked like it belonged on some neckbeard, there was no chance Lisa would recognize me from the stage.  I didn’t want her doing something rash if she recognized me before I won the bid.  And I didn’t want to get her hopes up if I lost.

Half of the ‘items’ on the block today were young teen girls, just turned eighteen recently, and about a third were virgins.  About half of the young flesh was here ‘voluntarily’ – either they or a family member submitted them for sale.  The others already had a DUI, or a shoplifting conviction, or some legal infraction that put them on the block.  I grew uneasy waiting for Lisa to come up for sale.  There were two I almost bid on.  The look in their eyes haunted me, especially after the auctioneer announced they were being sold by their family because they needed the money.

I steeled myself not to.  I had only mildly toyed with the idea of getting a slave prior to this.  I was here to keep Lisa from being some greasy toad’s mattress.  That was my mission.  Finally, I spied my prize ascending the steps.  The auctioneer announced that she was a virgin, choice grade slave, adept in her slave yoga.  As she was a virgin, she was only lightly trained in sexual techniques, but training classes would be available post-purchase if her owner wanted to rapidly increase her skill set once he’d enjoyed her first penetration.

Bidding was contentious and fast.  Two different slave houses bid for her right off the bat.  One was a bordello, the other a pony-girl ranch.  Which, really, was just a specialized fetish bordello.  They bid each other up for a time, but each had already purchased a few of the others, some of whom were virgins as well.

Just as their bidding slowed, a short man in an impeccable suit jumped in with a fresh bid.  His face looked like he’d lost a fight with a hammer.  Man probably had to buy any pussy he got, one way or another.  I had just about made my move when he raised his paddle.  I held back, waiting a bit longer.  Sure enough, the bordello dropped out when Richie Kruger stepped in.  Two bids later, and the pony girl ranch failed to respond to his raise.

Now it was my turn.  I raised him by two thousand dollars.

“No way this idiot kid has this much scratch,” he shouted.

“I assure you sir,” the auctioneer said after checking his notes, “the young man has provided bona fides indicating he can make good on his bid.”

“Fine,” he says venomously, “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.  Beat that you little shit.”  That was a sizable jump.  Nearly double my opening bid.  My slim hope of getting her with much of my liquid funds intact sank.  Good thing I had cashed in a lot more than I thought I’d need.

My guts coiled, but I knew I had that much.  We were getting close though.  Much more and I’d have to cut into college money.  Outwardly, I stayed cool, staring directly into the remaining bidder’s eyes with steely determination.  “One hundred-seventy-five thousand.”

A ripple ran through the crowd.  Rich bastard asshole’s head grew so red I expected it to burst open and spew blood like an enormous pimple.  Which is how I saw him.  An infection on the human race.  This was going to set me back a bit, delay some plans, but it wasn’t going to stop me.

The sawed off bag of arrogance stormed towards me.  “Just go to fucking college and get all the fresh pussy you want to, you stupid shit! She’s mine!  Two hundred thousand!” He punctuated his bid with a right hook at my face.

It didn’t land.  An enormous mountain of muscle that had been hanging out on the periphery, pretending to be a fly on the wall, had moved swiftly and silently to intercept the overheated, entitled little shit.  He squawked when the powerfully built man arrested his fist in its flight, seemingly with little effort, and so rapidly the short-stacked asshat may have ripped a muscle with the abruptness of the intervention.  Muscle man carted the miscreant out of the hall as the worm wriggled and screamed the whole way.

“Attempting to assault another bidder invalidates the bid.  The current bid is one-seventy-five to the determined young man in the third row.  Going once … going twice … SOLD for one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.  Young man, you’ve just bought yourself a prime piece of pussy.  Enjoy in good health.  See the bursar to make your payment and process your ownership papers.  They’ll give you the details about receiving your merchandise.  Next on the dock, we have a very well-maintained redheaded MILF with a bad case of sticky fingers.  This is her third conviction, so her term of service …”

I lost track of the auctioneer’s spiel as the door closed behind me. Following signs painted on the concrete walls, I found the bursar.  I made my payment and then waited for all the paperwork to scroll through the purchaser screen.  Then I signed my name on the digital pad.

“Congratulations young man, you now have your very own virgin slave girl.  Taking her to college with you?”

“I am now.  I hadn’t planned on getting one until after college, at least, but I didn’t know she was doing this until too late.”

His face grew serious.  “Friend of yours?”

I nodded.

“Girlfriend?”

“No, we never dated.  Just in the same circle of friends.  I never had a thing for her, exactly, but she’s good-looking, smart, and a nice person.”

“Some free advice kid: your friend no longer exists.  She ceased to exist when she walked in here.  What you’re getting is a very attractive, and marginally trained virgin slave.  Marginal, because she’s a virgin and she’s only been here barely a day.  She got a few hours training on cock-sucking and pussy eating.  She got a butt plug inserted during that time and some ass stretching training.  She’s still effectively an anal virgin as well – we didn’t go to big gauges since she hadn’t had anything up there before.  Just enough so she’s not in screaming pain if you take her shitter tonight.  You’re not her friend anymore, you’re her master and she is your slave.  You can be a kind and caring master, but you need to keep your place and her place straight in your head.  Fuck it up at college and she’ll get taken from you and given to some frat house for a maid and fuck toy.”

I took a deep breath.  I nodded my understanding.  Then I moved off to the chairs in the waiting area for individual slave buyers.  The bordellos and other large buyers picked their slaves up at the docks in the back of the auction house.

The door opened not long after I sat down.  I still wore my hat.  Lisa’s head was down, in proper slave fashion.  I was mesmerized.  Lisa was dressed in standard slave attire – her birthday suit.  The attendant handed over her leash and walked away with a smirk.  My newly acquired slave jolted but said nothing.  Either the finality of her choice had just now sunk into her brain, or … she recognized me.  Her head was still down, but it was possible she remembered my shoes, or perhaps my hand.  Avoiding any dramatics, I said nothing as I led her to my car.

She finally looked up at me as I helped her into the backseat.  There was no surprise in her eyes when they met mine.  I buckled her in, behind the passenger seat, and then climbed into the driver’s seat.  She was silent for several minutes.

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why are you doing this?  Master.”

“I told you, I have enough funds to take care of you.  You could have remained a free woman and lived in my house, gone to college with me, and just helped out like a good housemate.  Not that I would have objected if things got frisky, but no expectations of that.  Now, well, there are external expectations on both of us that need to be met to some extent.  Some of it I can just say fuck off because it’s not my style, but in somethings, I will … insist on getting my way.”

She snorted.  “Of course, master.  Your way.  I had it all planned out so only you would know, and you don’t tell people’s secrets.  I could have disappeared for three years and come back with no one the wiser and picked up my life where I left off.  Now, our friends are going to see me when they visit you and they’ll all know I’m a damn slave!”

“Watch yourself.  You are a slave, and I am your master.  As for why, I couldn’t bear the thought of you spending the next few years getting used by some rando sleazeball.  Did you see the greasy shit that almost got you?  Even his own mother couldn’t love that face.”

“But no one would have known,” she repeated, with less heat this time.  Hell, she almost sounded docile.

“Bullshit.  Given the little discussion with Kirk before graduation, I guarantee if you disappear for a couple years and come back, everyone will believe Kirk when he mocks you and calls you out.”

She cringed at the tableau my words evoked.  She clearly realized the truth of what I was saying.  Then her lip trembled.

“Master,” she said timidly, “are you going to … share me around?”

“No.”  It had become common practice for those slave owners in college to share their property with friends, frat buddies, teammates, etc.  Some held parties with the naked slave at the center of attention.  By the end of the night, the slave was so soaked in cum a dozen baths couldn’t get the smell off.  Or so the legends said.  “I’ve never had any desire to share a woman’s affections or body with any other man.”

I saw the look on her face, and knew there was unmet worry there.  “Ask your question.”

“You said men.  Are you … are you going to put me in a threesome?  I mean, you’re my master, not my boyfriend.  You have every right to date free women.  Do you plan to …share me with another woman?”

“You almost sound hopeful,” I chuckled.  Her blanching face almost fooled me, but then I saw her eyes.  “Oh, I see.  That’s very interesting.  I’ll have to admit, that’s a tantalizing idea.  I’ve had less than a day to get used to the idea of owning a slave.  I haven’t given any thought to how that changes my dating life in college.  I suppose I could let you sate all my desires, but that might get frowned upon by some.  I’ll have to think about how I’m going to work this.”

Silence reigned again for several minutes.  Then the question from last night popped back into my head.  “Why did you tell me you weren’t a virgin, and then tell the auction house you were?  I assume they check that sort of thing.”

“They did, master,” she said, squirming.  “A lady slipped her finger up … there, slowly and felt around for … it.”

“Okay, so why did you tell me you weren’t?”

“I just told you that so you wouldn’t freak out that I was going to sell my virginity to the highest bidder.”

“Which turned out to be me.”

She blushed crimson.

I pulled into my driveway and realized my next problem.  This neighborhood was not one for owning slaves.  Almost no one here could afford one.  But I got an idea quickly.  I went around to my trunk and pulled out the blanket I kept there for my emergency kit.  Opening Lisa’s door, I removed her ankle shackles.

“Lean forward.”   When she obeyed, I draped the blanket over her.  Now it looked like I was escorting some nude or scantily clad girl into my house.  Fuel for the rumor mill, but not on par with ‘he bought a slave’.  I sat her on the couch once we were inside, with the blanket underneath her.  The suede wouldn’t be uncomfortable on her bare skin, but I had no idea what it would take to clean up the couch if she were to … leak on it.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.  You will cook and you will clean.  When I’m horny, or just feel like a grope, or anything else, you will be there for me to enjoy.  That shouldn’t be too hard on you.  I don’t have any seriously kinky shit in my head.”

“I am going to college.  I will take you with me.  I’ll email them tonight or tomorrow about changing my housing requirements.  They have on-campus housing with space for slaves.  It’s not common, since most that have one are trust fund babies living in frats or their own house off campus.  Those folks can buy their way out of the first year on-campus housing policy.  Usually.  Hopefully there’s still a slave accommodating dorm room open at this late date.  If not, I’ll go try the ‘buy my way out route’.  Actually, I’ll see if I can talk my way out of it.  If they don’t have proper housing available, it would be a poor choice to house a slave in the standard dorms.”

“Your price came out pretty high, so it cut into some of my plans for after college money, but I shouldn’t have too much trouble building it back up in time.”

She ducked her head down at that revelation.

“I expect you to keep our space neat and cook a hot dinner each day unless otherwise instructed not to.  Laundry should be done weekly.  I’ll get a bottle of stain remover in addition to the usual stuff.  You know I’m prone to grease stains on the front of my shirts from run-away food drips.”

Lisa snorted, smiling and shaking her head.  I was notorious in our group for not being able to get through a meal without something winding up on my shirt.  My two ties had already gone to the dry cleaners twice.  Which is why I bought a third one last night.  Couldn’t very well show up to a slave auction and bid on one of the top ‘products’ with a stained tie, now could I?

I’ll get you a wardrobe this weekend.  I’ll run out in the morning and get something you can wear, and then we’ll go out together to get you more clothes.  I have no intention of showing your nude body to every grabby little shit out there.  You’re mine, and I mean to keep you for myself.”

I swear her breath caught when I said that.  Did she have a submissive fetish?  It would certainly track with applying to be a slave.

“Lastly, I will need to check into the community colleges in the area and see what classes you can take.”

Her head snapped up. Her eyes were wide.

“Yeah, the university won’t take you with your grades, but community colleges exist precisely for people that need an intermediate step.  I think you’re not allowed in public without me, so probably online classes only.  We’ll have to see about that.  And just for simplicity’s sake, we’ll ease into this.  This first fall semester; you won’t take any classes.  We’ll adjust to moving down there and finding a rhythm with my schedule.  By spring though, I think you should be in two or more classes.”

A sob rose from deep in her chest.  When she leapt off the couch and hugged me fiercely, I knew it was a cry of joy.  Her college setback would not be as prolonged as she once feared.  She stepped back, a wicked gleam in her eye.  Just as her knees bent, and she began to descend, I caught her by the chin and pulled her lips to mine.  I was not rough, but I was insistent.  She was mine now, and I wanted this.  She moaned as I clutched her massive tit in one hand.  Well, not the whole thing, my hand wasn’t that big.  The other hand I slipped behind her and tugged on her ponytail.  Another moan issued from her mouth and resonated into my own.  I detached from the kiss.

“Now, you may kneel and suck my cock, slave.”

With a hint of trepidation, she bit her lip and lowered herself to her knees on the carpeted floor.  She kept her eyes locked on mine as she licked, kissed, and sucked on my rod.  I was just about to force the issue when she finally took the head in her mouth.  Her tongue trilled the underside of my helmet.

She shoved her face forward, engulfing much of my length until I hit the back of her throat.  She gagged, her body arching reflexively.

“Okay, retching is not sexy, so let’s avoid that, okay?  We can work on deepthroat later.  I’m sure you can find videos to develop your technique.”

“Yes, master,” she said breathily.  She proceeded to work my pole, getting about two-thirds of it in her mouth before withdrawing. Her attentions were pleasurable, but not enough to get me there.

“Ok, upstairs slave, on your back on the master bed.”

“On your mom’s bed?  Master?”

“Not my mom’s, mine.  I’ll … explain later.”

As soon as she was in position, I devoured her with my mouth.  I nibbled her neck and ears.  I kissed her collarbone as she giggled and squirmed.  I took her enormous mammaries in my hands and buried my face in them.  I licked, nipped, kissed, and suckled her luscious breasts.  I was so eager, I wanted to lick her kitty for a few minutes and then pound my way into her tunnel.  I remember overhearing her talking with other girls in our group about birth control pills, and timing, and other associated headaches, so I knew I wouldn’t plant a baby in her tonight.  The idea had merit, just not right now.

I dove on her pink, bare sex.  Musky juices greeted me.  She was ready and willing.  The law may not give a shit, but I did.  Besides, unlubed pussy would fucking well hurt.  I learned that when Crissy Henderson said she was good to go, but was dry as a desert after half an hour of making out.  I pulled out after a few very painful thrusts and she admitted she just wasn’t into guys and it was time to face facts.

Emotions were all over Lisa’s face.  Understandable.  We were not in love.  She had sold herself, and I had bought her.  She was losing her virginity to a man that bought her like a puppy at the pound.

On the other hand, the man that owned her was a friend that she knew had some modicum of respect and concern for her.  I was going  to take what I wanted, but she could hold on to some hope that over time, she’d get some pleasure or at least satisfaction out of it.

I lined myself up with her swollen pink lips and pressed inward just enough to hold the contact as I hunched my body over hers.  Penetrating her passage was harder than I’d realized.  I’d never been with a virgin before.  Pushing in … hurt.  It felt like a knife edge scraping the top of my dick.  I went slow.  She panted heavily between my short pushes forward.  Pain was evident each time I worked my way further in.  It felt like an eternity before I was seated fully inside her.

Pulling out was easier.  Going back in was not as difficult as the first time, but still slow going, in small steps.  Finally, her passage relaxed enough that I could make continuous thrusts, albeit very gradually.  When I felt her slickness increase, I picked up my pace.  Now it felt more like what I expected, very tight, but smooth, velvety, and slick.  Her face slackened.  She was not in love, not enamored of me, but she opened herself up to me.  I took her then, claiming what was mine and driving myself in and out of her warm, comforting depths.  I was so caught up in the joys of her sex, my orgasm surprised me.  I exploded inside her, blasting hot goo in her passage.  My arms wobbily, I lowered myself beside her.  She shifted to lay on her side, her head on one hand, elbow on the bed.

“Should I call Denise for you in the morning, master?”

“Why would you call her?”

“She had a thing for you.  She only hid it because being class president made everything complicated, and Cindy Timmerson said you had a tiny dick – which is utter bullshit.”

I was dumbfounded.  File that for a possible later though.  Denise was attending UT with me.  “No, I need you to have clothes.  Tomorrow is the best day for that.”  We crawled under the covers and fell fast asleep.