- Published: Jun 12, 2009
- Author: firstname.lastname@example.org
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- Category: BDSM stories
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CONVICTED, JUDGED AND SENTENCED, In Her Meat Locker
By the time that a booted kick to my bare ass jolted me from my numbness, I had been locked in the cold of my dark prison for at least an hour. My unforgiving training during recent months, more than my keeper's sharp-toed boot as she drilled it into my ass, quickly awakened me from my brief and uncomfortable slumber. Now more instinctively than thoughtfully, I immediately prepared to render the service of a mere slave, which had slowly replaced the man of my former life.
As such, I groveled blindly to kneel at the girl's feet, simultaneously spreading my legs spread wide as trained to expose my privates to her inspection or whimsical abuse. After several months under my Mistress's unforgiving whip, my reduced station in this new life had been sufficiently beaten into me; consequently, I was careful to keep my head lowered at all times in supplication and humility before the unseen superior towering above me.
Despite being hooded, I quickly bowed fully to the cold floor, struggling in my blindness to find the cruel boots that had roughly called me to service. I dumbly groped in the darkness for several seconds -- a pathetic process that surely amused the girl staring down at me -- before mercifully finding the girl's feet. Thankful finally to end my humiliating search, I servilely kissed the toe and rise of her boot several times through my hood before turning to pay equal homage to the other. As trained, I then slowly removed my lips from my keeper's worshiped feet to simply kneel -- bowed, humble and exposed -- before the girl who, for all purposes, owned me. Her dutiful slave, I then silently awaited instruction or punishment as my superior saw fit.
My holding cell, composed of a concrete floor and unadorned plaster walls, felt as frigid as any meat locker. In fact, the barren and darkened confines were so bitterly cold that my near nakedness -- my enslaved body fully exposed to the frozen air save the black hood chained tightly around my neck and the short shackles binding my wrists behind me -- was now almost irrelevant; even if clothed and at liberty to move, I would be balled into a shivering and miserable mass. Confined as I was, I huddled meekly in a corner that I had groped for in darkness, my hands helplessly chained behind my back and my naked ass and balls painfully but necessarily fixed to a floor that felt like both ice and fire next to my bare and shaved skin.
My silent confinement had given me ample opportunity to reflect on the events -- some recent and others shrouded in time -- that brought me here tonight. Only an hour before, the nondescript metal door leading to my distant cage was the last image I saw before my keeper for the evening enclosed my head in the dark hood, immediately blackening the world around me. To secure its presence, the girl, a confident auburn-haired and slender stranger in her early twenties, had simply but effectively threaded my hood with what appeared to be a common steel chain that locked it tightly in place over my head. Taking her place behind me, my captor then summarily padlocked the chain at the back of my bare neck, jointly rendering the hood secure and me her blind and now collared slave. The young mistress -- who looked more like a college co-ed than a sadist -- completed my captivity as she bound my hands tightly behind my back in heavy locked steel that prevented any meaningful movement. The girl, far smaller and weaker than I, thus had me completely at her mercy and under her absolute control.
Once convinced that I was secure, I heard the muffled but distinctive high clicks of the girl's boots on the concrete floor of the long and vacant hallway. I heard her slowly circled me once before stopping in front of me. In my shackles, I was completely powerless to conceal my naked and vulnerable body -- shaved daily and variously pierced as demanded by my Mistress -- from the cold inspection commenced by the girl. In short, she objectively examined me like a piece of meat displayed for sale at the butcher's counter. The girl first brazenly ran her hands up and down my bare chest, stopping only to circle my nipples or fondle the metal rings that had been driven into my chest and stomach months earlier. Slowly working her hands down my body, she then grazed the top of my rapidly growing and denied organ before cupping my naked balls in her soft and feminine grip. Intermittently, she squeezed, pressed and prodded various parts of my exposed and offered flesh, punctuating the examination of her human chattle with occasional utterances that signaled neither approval nor distain. She then circled behind me and matter-of-factly positioned each of her hands on my exposed ass, marking the beginning of the more "interactive" stage of my inspection.
Addressing me with the confidence and marginal distain reserved by all beautiful girls for the solicitous and eager males they possess, she whispered into my hooded ear, "Boy, can you hear me?"
Well-trained in the slave's art of responding simply to the question posed and no more, I instinctively bowed a little lower and meekly answered, "Yes, Ma'am."
"Then let's get started. Do as you're told and you may be okay.
"Squeeze your ass cheeks together for me. Harder, boy. Tighter -- really squeeze them in, slave. I want to see you work it; don't make me pull out the whip.
As I strained to obey her humiliating commands, the girl continued to instruct me. "Now release them. Good. Now flex them again. Good. Keep that up until I order you to stop. That's it, boy, good. Trust me, you want to keep feeling my hands and not my whip on your ass."
Ever the obedient slave, I struggled blindly to make my bare ass dance for my inspector as she fondled me from behind, presumably testing the strength and firmness of my ass muscles. After several minutes of this humiliation, the girl abruptly stopped and roughly grabbed the back of my head, forcefully shoving it to the floor. She then jointly forced my upper body down and forward while also kicking my legs open to shoulder width, wholly exposing my naked ass to any assaults or violations she thought to impose. Without warning, my tormentor then gripped each side of my ass and pulled my cheeks wide open, exposing me like never before.
Bent over and with my legs spread wide, I then felt the girl press and prod a hard unknown object against my open ass as she inspected what seemed the very core of my being. Finally, she removed the violator from my tender hole and firmly slapped me once on the ass as she stepped away from me for further inspection. For my part, I remained where she left me, my head pressed against the floor and my savaged ass high in the air.
"You have a nice, strong ass and legs, slave. Very athletic -- I like that. If Brianna is willing to loan you out for a weekend, I may have to take you to a friend's farm in the country and make you my pony slave for a few days. Would you like to have a bit in your mouth and be harnessed up like my draft horse to pull me and a friend or two around the countryside in a buggy?
"I can just picture us now. I'm really into realism, so I'd have your arms chained helplessly to the buggy rails beside you as your sweating muscles strained under my whip -- just like a real horse! Of course, you'd wear little more than fitting dressage of bridle and bit, reins, blinders, a tight body harness befitting a little work horse, and probably a nice tight horsey plug and tail up your ass to 'keep your mind right.' I'd dressed for for the part, too, of course -- decked out in my shiny riding boots and pants, sexy little blouse, and a riding crop that would reach perfectly to my pony's harnessed little ass as it danced and strained in front of me. Don't worry, slave, I wouldn't whip you too hard -- provided that you pulled hard enough to please me -- and I'd take your bit out every once in a while, at least to drink! I might even put a harness over your horsey cock and balls so they didn't bounce too much when you run for me, but we'll have to see."
While I pondered the very real possibility that the nameless girl would, in fact, soon transform me into her laboring and abused farm animal, she returned to stand in front of me. Once there, she abruptly ordered me to "standing present" position -- a command that, for the first time, permitted me to stand before the girl. As ordered, I immediately rose to my feet -- with some difficulty in my bonds -- and spread my legs to shoulder width on the cold floor. I then bowed my head to the ground and arched my back as trained by my Mistress.
Once in place, the girl again gently cupped my balls in one of her soft and delicate hands. After almost massaging them for a long and pleasurable moment, the girl abruptly squeezed my sac in a vice grip and yanked my exposed balls toward the ground. Gasping for air into my hood, I immediately sank to my knees before her as she forced me to the floor in speechless agony. After several long seconds of groveling in misery at her feet, the girl finally released my balls from her iron grip with a parting squeeze that almost brought me to tears.
Roughly prodding my flaccid cock with the pointed toe of her boot, the girl immediately continued my torment -- a mere slave casually toyed with and enjoyed by his superior. "On your feet, boy, that's enough fun for now. We need to get moving." I painfully but instantly rose to my feet, racked with pain but fearful of even perceived disobedience or idleness.
The girl was indeed correct -- we had places to go. Taking hold of one end of the short chains extending down my back, she curtly and simply ordered me, "Heel, slave." Hardly positioned to disobey, I submissively responded, "Yes, Ma'am," into my hood before dutifully following at her feet, oblivious to our destination or my fate.
With a harsh jerk of her wrist that radiated down the length of my leash to the tight collar encircling my neck, the girl then began leading me like a dog down the long corridor. I had, by now, become painfully accustomed to the humiliation of being collared and tethered at the end of a leash like an owned animal or slave transported to auction; after two years, I sometimes felt almost naked without them. Oddly, however, I also felt a free end of my collar extend about a foot down my naked back as the other urged me forward in darkness, no more than a dog on the cruel and nameless girl's leash.
My blind passage was thus jointly marked by the now familiar rattles of my heavy chains and, contrasting starkly, the distinctive clicks of the girl's stiletto boots on the concrete floor as she confidently led me, blind and shackled, in her all-powerful wake. Although unknown to me at the time, the utility of my duel leash -- then merely ending in the well-manicured hand of the attractive girl bringing me to heel -- was soon revealed in full.
Before being enclosed in my hood, I could not help but notice the restrained beauty of the pretty girl who so casually held my fate in her hands. Properly dressed for our cold setting -- in opposition, of course, to my servile nakedness -- she was comfortably and alluringly attired in a tight red sweater dress that clung gracefully to every inch of her narrow and feminine frame. The girl had left the top few buttons of the simple dress undone, resulting in the tasteful exposure of modest cleavage adorned by several gold chains hanging from her slender neck. She had pulled her long hair back in a high utilitarian pony-tail, causing it to occasionally graze her tanned neck as it bounced with each stride of her long legs.
The short and provocative dress ended just above her delicate knees, yielding to black tights and laced knee-high boots that teetered gracefully on pointed and platformed five-inch heels. In any other setting, the sophisticated-looking beauty -- standing close to six feet tall in the shiny patent leather boots that I had become so acquainted with -- might have been on her way to a blind date or a few after-work cocktails with girlfriends. This night, however, she tugged forcefully and skillfully on the business-end of her tethered slave's leash. Naked and chained, that slave was hers to lead, command and use in whatever way she, as the all-powerful slave-driver, saw fit.
The girl mercifully had released me from my chastity cage when she collected me from my Mistress's apartment earlier that evening. Hours before, she had found me locked in Mistress's bedroom closet, collared as always and chained to an eye-bolt that secured me firmly to the floor at the end of my short chain. Before departing for the evening, Ms. Brianna -- my Mistress of two years and employee of three -- had consigned me to the small room, telling me simply that she was going out for the night with friends and wanted to "know where I was."
How Did I Get Here?
My life, like many, has been marked by many unexpected surprises and turns of events. However, of the many ironies life has held for me, the most pronounced may be that I, a wealthy and successful corporate lawyer to the outside world, am now the eager and obsequious slave boy to Brianna Stone, my young and beautiful office assistant. As my employee since she graduated from college, Brianna's daily obligations, of course, had been to serve at my beck and call as demanded. Being a typical male, I often took advantage of my superior status over the beautiful girl, commonly forcing Brianna -- who desperately needed the job -- to perform my personal errands and allowing my hands to occasionally "stray" for an inappropriate touch of her nubile and delicate form. For years now, that and other boorish conduct on my part (derisively calling her "my girl" to colleagues, repeatedly staring down her blouses, demanding that she "dress to impress" when important clients called, and so forth) has been revisited on me in spades.
Brianna is, in a word, stunning. Twenty-five years old, I had hired the girl fresh out of an east coast liberal arts college a couple of years before, desperate for a paycheck after unsuccessfully pounding the pavement in search of income to support her obvious habit for expensive clothes and designer shoes. Brianna had been foolish enough to major in Art History, which she soon found made her almost unemployable in the real world -- except by a man such as myself who was intrigued by the more "non-academic" assets the recent co-ed possessed.
I was captivated by those assets from the moment she strode into my office, nearly begging (the irony is not now lost on me) for the chance to serve as my office assistant. Brianna stood about five-and-a-half feet tall, although her medium height was concealed by the four and five-inch stiletto heels that consistently adorned her petite feet. A former college cheerleader, the girl religiously maintained the sensual, yet femininely muscular, body of an aerobics instructor or top-flight exotic dancer. She was possessed of long and graceful legs, a Barbie Doll-like waist, beautiful and firm breasts, and an ass more lovely and tight than any I had ever seen strutting the main stage of the many high-dollar strip clubs I so commonly patronized before my enslavement. Her lustrous black hair, straight and just below shoulder length, framed her beautiful and innocent face in an almost timeless way. Her eyes were dark as night.
Knowing the rare beauty that she was, Brianna was one of those women who somehow managed always to dress very provocatively -- to the great distraction of all men around her and the thinly veiled disdain of lesser women -- yet never to come across as a slut or cheap. Her skirts were always short and tight, but never too much so; her tops were commonly skin tight and mildly low cut, yet always tasteful; her expensive shoes and boots were always cat-walk high to display her toned legs, but never in a way that suggested anything other than burning sex appeal with class. She was perhaps the most feminine and beautiful girl I had ever seen. As such, I relished having her submissively serve at my beck and call for all the world to see.
Since circumstances -- and my own greed -- have reduced me to a mere slave at the feet of my "assistant," I'm confident that, on balance, I've received the far shorter end of the stick. In short, while Brianna clearly relishes the irony of continuing to warm her "bosses" coffee by day, I commonly kneel, naked and collared, at her feet at night to lick offered shoes and boots to a polished shine. While she copies my files, I am mercilessly whipped for small perceived failings or simply because Mistress had a less-than-stellar date. While she mails my letters, I am often chained through the night to the foot of her bed in case my fawning services are needed. While she takes my calls, I scurry on all fours to clean her floors, slavishly draw her bathe, minister to her beautiful body, and perform the other menial duties of a domestic servant. While she keeps my calendar, I serve lavish meals and entertain Mistress and her abusive and amused dinner guests. While she escorts my clients to business meetings, I am rented out as a maid, butler, or sex toy as required. In short, while she remains my paid employee, I am Brianna's indentured slave.
I began my sentence just over two years ago. As a corporate lawyer, I had learned important inside information from a client about a pending merger with another company. Eager to make a quick profit, I had emailed by broker and told him to execute several trades based on the inside information, earning an easy $250,000 profit. As my assistant, I foolishly had Brianna keep all of my trading records.
The broker, after trying to reach me for several days, had emailed Brianna and asked her to let me know the great news about my huge profit on our client's stock. No fool, she quickly put two and two together, compared the emails with the trading records and inside information to confirm her suspicions, and assembled a file that detailed my crime. She then walked into my office, whispered into my ear that she had written proof that I had illegally traded in our client's stock, and told me to wait for her in my office at the end of the next day, at which time we would "talk through things."
As promised, Brianna confidently strode into my office at 5:30 sharp. Without asking permission or even waiting for an invitation, my "assistant" made herself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of my desk, crossing her long and graceful legs and smiling silently at me for what felt like an eternity. In short, she acted like she owned the place and everything in it. Such liberties by a mere member of my office staff, of course, would have been unthinkable only two days ago. Instead, she would have stood in the doorway and meekly sought my permission before entering. But, no matter what events followed, we had entered a brave new world and she knew it.
Although my present circumstances were enough to focus my mind in full, Brianna had been sure to use the occasion to dress in a way that utterly commanded my undivided attention. As she later told me, she wanted to "assist" me in making the painful and humiliating decision she would soon put me to. In doing so, she took full advantage of the secret intelligence her time serving me had given her regarding my weaknesses for certain "qualities" of the weaker sex. In short, the girl I previously looked upon as my overpaid (to ensure that she tolerated by boorishness) and stupid office servant and eye-candy was apparently a very precocious student of me -- knowledge that she now used to her full advantage.
So armed with the inner workings of my simple male mind, Brianna clad herself in a low-cut ivory sweater that, far tighter than usual, clung jealously to every inch of her nubile and amazingly fit body. Her perfect and large breasts, which convinced me to hire the girl in the first place, appeared to be draped in no more than a second skin that did almost nothing to conceal the secrets within. The sweater and bra beneath it were thin enough to reveal hints of her delicate and erect nipples, made even firmer tonight than usual by her excitement over the proposition she would soon lay at my feet.
As she purposefully stirred in her chair before me, the front of Brianna's sweater was cropped just short enough to offer provocative hints of her tanned and tight waist and a previously hidden three-diamond navel ring that dangled tantalizingly from her taut and cut torso. Taken as a whole, her top barely concealed the charms of large but firm breasts that were grazed by her raven hair, the narrowest of waists, and a stomach ritualistically toned through a strict regimen of Pilates, yoga, and running.
Brianna's leopard-print mini-skirt was equally enthralling. Thin and tightly cut, it contoured closely to her skin to highlight a firm and small ass that would have been the envy of any exotic dancer and sufficient to drive the strongest man to his knees. When she silently rose and turned to close my office door, the skirt's unusual sheerness revealed that my tormentor's incredible ass, swaying melodiously as she strutted across the distance like a lioness, was visibly framed by the smallest of thongs. As she no doubt recalled in making her careful choice of undergarments, many times I had ordered Brianna to purchase similar g-strings and other whispers of panties for the countless girls I had met, used, and discarded like the mere spent sex objects that they were. Brianna's skirt ended well above her knees, and with her legs crossed as they were, highlighted the amazingly trim and tanned runner's legs so evocatively stretched out before me.
Her calculated vision was completed by pointed five-and-a-half inch platform stiletto shoes that, when worn by a temptress such as Brianna, were the very embodiment of sex appeal. The open-toed black patent leather shoes, which elevated the girl to a towering height of almost six feet, were fastened tightly around her slender ankles by a delicate and thin ankle strap -- giving her the allure of both a million-dollar stripper and a sex goddess from hell. Little did I then know that soon I, as her wardrobe slave, would routinely kneel at my "assistant's" feet in silent frustration, my clumsy hands fumbling to buckle the delicate clasps of these and similar shoes around her narrow ankles before bowing to press my lips once to each of her feet, signaling completion of my assigned task and my total submission. For now, as she methodically swayed her beautiful crossed legs in front of me and taunted me with her other "charms," I could scarcely focus on anything other than throwing her to the floor on the spot and taking her from behind to finally make the little slut my own.
After visibly reveling in the magic and irony of the moment, Brianna abruptly returned me to reality and my less-than-happy circumstances. She began in the matter-of-fact tone of a college lecture, speaking to me without wavering her eyes or even the hint of pity or concern for my fate.
"Well, we both know why I'm here, so I won't waste anyone's time. As you know, you're in quite a crack based on the insider trading that you've done, and I now have everything that I need to prove it. My first thought when I put it all together was simply to turn you in to the police, sacrificing a well-paying job for the satisfaction of knowing that I'd be screwing you're life up thoroughly.
"However, I've given your situation a lot more 'deeper' thought since then, and here's what I've decided to do. Even though fate kindly dropped all of the cards into my hands and left you with nothing, I've decided that I will actually give you a choice in the matter. It may be the last one you make for some time, so use it wisely. You'll have exactly twenty four hours to inform me of your decision, and then live with the final consequences, whatever they may be.
"Last night, I did some research into securities fraud. To my delight, I'm quite certain that you've committed this crime and, with the emails your friend was kind enough to send me and the trading records I keep for you, I can easily prove it. I'll be happy to show you the evidence that I've compiled against you -- copies, of course -- but I expect that will not be necessary, as you're no fool and know what you're guilty of. You look a little shocked. I'm not the stupid little girl you thought I was, am I?
"Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised to find that if you are convicted, the penalty for your crime could be as much as five years in federal prison. There, I expect that a fit and arrogant stud like you would rapidly become some-body's, what's the term, 'prison bitch.' You've heard about the prison sluts that convicted pretty boys like you become. They're basically turned into the unwilling sex slaves of the hardened cons who run the place -- they end up begging to take it up the ass, suck lots of cock, clean their prison master's cells, get sold or loaned out for cigarettes, things of that nature. Not much of a life, I expect, but considering the domineering ass that you've been to me, one that makes me smile! Of course, if you survived those years, you'd be a completely unemployable and penniless convicted felon once you were released from prison. In a word, your life -- at least as you now know it -- would be over.
"But I assume you don't want that, and frankly, neither do I. It just doesn't do a girl like me any good, other than knowing that my former pig of a boss is suffering in the same way that he's made me suffer!
"So what I'd prefer – and the choice I'm now giving you – is instead for you to serve as my personal and total slave for the next five years. Like most girls, I've never had a real-life slave boy at my beck and call, jumping when I say jump, living to satisfy my every whim and desire with a quick 'Right away, Ma'am,' and imagine that it just might be fun!
"Sure, I tied up a boy or two in college for a couple of hours of kinkiness, but I expect that you realize that this would be something quite different. In a word, this would not be some kinky and fun part-time thing for either of us, and certainly not for you. Instead, what I'm offering -- as your only alternative to prison, mind you -- is that for five years, I'll basically be 'Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile' and you'll be my loyal and devoted slave. As my slave boy, I would, quite literally, own you as a piece of property. You, in turn, would serve me hand and foot -- in whatever way I commanded -- just like we turned the clock back a few centuries to the days of queens and their obedient and groveling little devotees.
"Isn't it just deliciously ironic that you, who once referred to me as your 'beck and call girl' -- remember that? -- now have to make this wonderful, terrible choice? You either get to be my 'beck and call boy' for the next five years, with all the ramifications of being the owned property of a girl you once treated like dirt, or take your chances in federal prison and with the new 'friends' you'd make there. I can still scarcely believe it!
"Honestly, Carl -- you don't mind if I call you Carl, do you? -- it makes me positively wet just thinking about it. I can either send you to the prison you deserve, where you'd be more of a violated and humiliated sex toy than any of countless girls you've used and abused over the years, or I can put you at the end of my own leash to be trained and serve as my little domestic slave boy for a few good years.
"I can almost see it now, can't you? Just picture your bare and arrogant ass up in the air, dutifully scrubbing my floors on your hands and knees while I'm off for a run, a few casual drinks with friends, or maybe just towering over you with a whip at the ready if you make a mistake or simply aren't working fast enough for my taste. Or maybe I'd chain my subservient little slave to the coffee table to paint my toenails, massage my feet, or rub lotion into my tired legs after a hard workout, leaving me -- as your queen and slave driver, Carl! -- to recline on the couch with a couple glasses of wine and take in reruns of 'Sex and the City,' or simply to look down on my dutiful servant as he obediently ministers to me hand and foot. I could save so much money on pedicures and maid service!
"Or maybe I'd just relax in a long bubble bath that I make you to draw for me -- after my slave undressed me, of course -- to catch up on the latest Chick Lit. book or just take a quiet nap. You could then gently shave me, wash my hair and body, keep the water temperature just right, dance for my entertainment in the corner like a little male stripper, or just scurry about cleaning up the many messes that mere slaves exist to deal with! What an image! What a life!
"It simply blows my mind to think that I am so close to not lifting a finger to do ANYTHING, Carl, for the next five years -- because I can have you, my loyal little slave, literally waiting on me hand and foot! I could walk through the door and just throw my coat and shoes to the floor -- because you'd crawl behind me to pick them up! I wouldn't have to worry about scuffing up my shoes or boots anymore -- because I could have you polish them to a shine every night! Breakfast and dinner could soon just start taking care of themselves -- my kitchen slave would be cooking and serving me whatever my little heart desires, then cleaning up the messes while I stretch out in front of the TV! I'm simply on the verge of a dream come true!
"Just thing about that! Would you lik
Rating: ★★★★★ "In Brianna\'s Meat Locker" - 0 out of 5 from 0 votes - Click star to rate ☆☆☆☆☆
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