AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story is a sequel to “My Guilty Secret”. You may want to read that before reading “Whipped Heiress” as you’ll get more of the backstory that way.
_ _
My name is Heather Mädchen, heiress to the vast Mädchen publishing fortune.
Most women with my sort of wealth would be spending their days shopping for clothes in Paris, attending fashion shows in Milan or rubbing shoulders with celebrities in Hollywood.
Me? I’m being displayed naked and bound on a public street in Gymnos Beach.
For years I’ve had sexual fantasies and wet dreams about being bound, naked, spanked, and forced to sexually satisfy women. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone about any of these fantasies, however, when Karen Bowden discovered my guilty secret and offered to take me to an island off the coast of Greece where slavery is legal and turn me into her naked sex slave, I impulsively and recklessly jumped at the chance to take her up on her offer.
It was a fifteen hour flight to Sklavia, but we flew first class, so we had plenty of leg room and I slept for most of the flight. I had the most delicious dreams as I slept and then Mrs. Bowden woke me up shortly before we landed at Aasfalís Poli Airport.
“Wake up, dear,” Mrs. Bowden said sweetly. “We’re about to land.”
My heart hammered in my chest as the reality of my situation came back to me. I’d signed a slave contract and the moment the plane touched down on Sklavian soil I would legally become Mrs. Bowden’s property. It was too late to back out now. I was going to become a naked slave whether I wanted to be or not.
I carried Mrs. Bowden’s carryon luggage as we walked off the plane and made our way toward customs. Mrs. Bowden declared that I was her slave, and she handed my slave contract to a customs official. The customs official looked over my paperwork, checked my passport and then she said that a security officer would take Mrs. Bowden and me to a special room where they processed slaves arriving from foreign nations.
The security officer was taller than me and had a handgun, pepper spray and handcuffs on her utility belt. I immediately felt intimidated by her.
“Come with me, please,” she said in a firm voice, and I was taken to a room where I was told to strip naked.
“Remove all of your clothing,” I was told. “Also remove all your jewelry. Surrender your phone and any other personal items you may be carrying. Slaves aren’t permitted to own any sort of property.”
Within minutes the room was filled with half a dozen security officers, both male and female. They all watched as I divested myself of my clothes and my personal belongings. I placed my clothes on the desk of a middle-aged woman who seemed to be in charge. Once I was fully naked, she gathered up everything and took my meager belongings to a wall of lockers.
Being naked in front of fully clothed authority figures made my loins throb and I felt feverish with desire. I desperately wanted someone to touch me. Little did I realize how soon someone would be laying hands on me.
I stood there naked, my breasts heaving up and down as my breathing became labored and I was informed that I’d get my clothing back in sixty days.
“Sixty days?” I asked. “My slave contract is only for a week!”
I turned to Mrs. Bowden, and she flashed me a wicked smile and said, “Well, I was concerned that I couldn’t do all the delicious things I wanted to do to you in just seven days, so I wrote your slave contract up for a longer time period. If you read it more carefully you would have noticed.”
“Can she do that?” I asked one of the security guards. “I didn’t realize that it was going to be for so long!”
None of the security guards seemed to be concerned that Mrs. Bowden had extended my term of slavery without my knowledge. The officer in charge gave me a bored look and said, “Once the contract is signed it’s legally binding. You should have read the contract more carefully before you signed it.”
I felt a sense of panic and betrayal and then my next humiliation came as I was told to bend over and rest my weight on my elbows so they could perform a body cavity search on me.
“What? Why?” I asked.
“Its standard operating procedure for processing new slaves,” one of the guards explained as she applied pressure to the small of my back.
I spread my legs and bent over at the waist. Then, one of the intimidating security guards snapped on a latex glove. My buttocks were grabbed and spread conspicuously far apart.
In addition to Mrs. Bowden and the guard wearing the latex glove, there were six security guards. They all watched with intense interest as my buttocks were spread apart to expose my delicate, pink anus. I could feel their eyes burning holes into me as a large blob of cold, oily lubricant was worked into my tight hole and strong, insistent fingers were thrust inside of me. It took all my self-control to remain bent over and shamelessly exposed as that authoritarian woman thrust her fingers roughly inside of me and probed deep.
The fingers slipped out and I felt relieved. Some of the tension went out of me, but then the fingers unexpectedly speared my asshole a second time and impaled me hard and deep.
“Aghhhhhh,” I gasped as she began to jam her fingers brutally in and out. I felt my legs getting rubbery as the fingers abused my delicate orifice and tears welled up in my eyes. I took long, deep breaths and tried not to look at the faces of the security guards who watched me with cold eyes as my anus was impaled.
My legs felt weak as my ass was raped and I breathed a sigh of relief when the fingers were withdrawn. Of course, my relief was short-lived. It took only a few seconds for the security guard to strip off her latex glove, snap on a new one and tell me that she had to check my vagina next.
I gasped when I felt two fingers slide deep, into my vagina. The fingers probed and searched, mapping out every square inch of my interior. I felt that she spent entirely too much time probing my insides. A legitimate search of my vagina should have taken only a few seconds, but her fingers explored my moist interior until I was on the verge of a shuddering orgasm. When she finally withdrew her fingers from my sex, I was panting and feverish with sexual desire.
A slave collar was then buckled and locked around my neck. Mrs. Bowden was given the key and she dropped it in her purse. There was a stainless-steel tag on the collar that had my name engraved on it. Also, Mrs. Bowden’s name was engraved on there as my legal owner. Information on how to contact Mrs. Bowden was imprinted on there…presumably to make it easy to contact her if I escaped and the people who found me wanted to return me to my rightful owner.
I was naked and wearing a collar that identified me as Mrs. Bowden’s property. She was fully dressed and held into the key that locked the slave collar around my throat. I felt owned, exposed, vulnerable, helpless…and sexually aroused.
“Sign here,” the officer in charge said to Mrs. Bowden. “Basically, this says that your slave has entered the country, gone through customs, been examined, found fit to be a slave and now she’s officially remanded into your custody.”
Mrs. Bowden signed and then she pulled some handcuffs out of her purse and ordered me to turn around and cross my wrists behind my back.
_ _
Mrs. Bowden took me by the arm and started pulling me through the airport. She hired a local man by the name of Kostas to carry her luggage as we made our way towards the exits. As I was dragged naked and overwhelmed past scores of travelers and airport employees, people stared fixedly at my nudity and yelled across the airport in my general direction. They were yelling at me in Sklavian, so I couldn’t understand a word they said, but Mrs. Bowden asked the nice man carrying our luggage to translate.
“They’re basically calling your slave names and offering to punish her,” said Kostas. “It’s a fairly common reaction when a naked slave is spotted in public. She can expect to get lots of attention every time you take her outside.”
With my hands cuffed behind my back, there was nothing I could do to cover my nudity. I could only bow my head in shame as I felt myself blush with intense humiliation as I was paraded naked through the crowded airport.
“One of them just asked if you’ll be taking your slave to the public stage,” explained Kostas after a series of middle-aged women shouted in our general direction.
“What’s the public stage?” Mrs. Bowden asked.
“It’s a place near the beach where slave owners take their slaves to be whipped in front of a large crowd. Usually, they take their slaves there when they’ve behaved badly and need to be punished, but sometimes they’re taken there simply because the slave owner wants to entertain the locals and show them how beautiful their slave is when they dance under the lash.”
My heart hammered in my chest at the thought of hundreds of people gathering around to see me whipped on a public stage. The thought both frightened me and made my pussy throb with libidinous excitement. And as I was dealing with that potent cocktail of emotions, I noticed both male and female tourists pointing their cameras at me or using their phones to take videos of my bound nudity.
One bold person moved in, got within twelve inches of me and pointed his phone directly at my shaved pubes. I felt my face flush hot with embarrassment and wondered how I could survive sixty days of this sort of public humiliation.
After my excruciating trek through the airport, I was relieved to discover that there was a car waiting for us outside. A tall, lithe woman in a dapper uniform was holding up a sign with Mrs. Bowden’s name on it.
“Hello, I’m Anastasia,” the uniformed woman said. “I work for Corrina Nomikou. I’m supposed to drive you to her estate.”
Anastasia looked me up and down, taking in every inch of my exposed nudity and then added, “And this must be your slave. Do you need any assistance in handling her?”
“No thank you,” Mrs. Bowden said, her hand still firmly on my arm. “She’s inexperienced, but she’s still very well behaved. Aren’t you, Heather?”
“Um, yes ma’am,” I replied, feeling overwhelmed by so many eyes on my naked body, but still certain that polite agreement was my best course of action.
Still handcuffed, I was shoved into the back seat of a German luxury sedan whisked away from the ogling, picture-snapping crowds.
“Anastasia, some people in the airport mentioned something called a public stage,” Mrs. Bowden said. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Oh, yes,” our driver said as she merged with highway traffic. “It’s a popular for the tourists and the locals alike.”
“So, you’ve been there before?”
“Many times. They have a whipping post and a whipping frame for the slaves. The post is the most popular. The whipping frame holds the slave almost completely immobile. With the whipping post, only the slave’s wrists are bound. That leaves the slave free to squirm and twist and dance around as he or she is whipped. It’s far more entertaining that way.”
“That’s good to know,” Mrs. Bowden said with a wicked tone in her voice. As she said it, she turned to me and favored me with a predatory smile. I swallowed hard and squirmed in my seat. I wondered not for the first time if I’d bitten off more than I could chew.
It took perhaps thirty or forty minutes to reach Corrina Nomikou’s estate. When we arrived, there was a security gated private entrance, lush landscaping, a grandiose two-story house, and a large motor court, large enough to park at least a dozen large vehicles.
I was allowed to get out of the car, although Mrs. Bowden insisted that my wrists remained handcuffed securely behind my back. As I was escorted up to the main entrance of the house, I felt myself entering that bewitched state I sometimes do when I feel helpless and aroused at the same time. It’s a delicious state of mind, filled with erotic desire and mindless obedience, where I feel helpless to disobey the authority figures who surround me.
Anastasia and Mrs. Bowden led me up the stairs and into the house. The main entrance led into a huge foyer with marble tile floors. I was pulled forward, deeper into the house and then I heard a female voice proclaim, “You must be Karen Bowden.”
I thought I had gotten used to strangers seeing me naked, but as I saw a woman in a maid’s uniform approaching, I felt another flood of embarrassment and my face flushed hot.
The maid introduced herself as Katerina and said that Ms. Nomikou would be down shortly. In the meantime, she offered to get us refreshments.
“Actually, would it be possible for me to wash up? Possibly take a quick shower. I just spent fifteen endless hours on a plane, and I feel grungy.”
Mrs. Bowden was taken upstairs to avail herself of the shower in one of the many bathrooms on the estate. As a slave, it was decided that I wasn’t permitted to wash myself and it was decided that I would be taken to one of the other bathrooms and a servant would bathe me.
My wrists were finally unlocked from the stainless-steel handcuffs. and I ended up being handed over to another maid. Her name was Ria and she had very definite opinions on slaves.
“Everyone on this estate are your masters or mistresses,” Ria informed me. “You will address me as Mistress when you address me at all. I will indicate when you may speak. Be careful to understand my wishes and do as I say. All the servants here will have the authority to punish you for disrespect and disobedience.”
I was instantly afraid of Ria; however, I was also sexually aroused by her stern, unforgiving demeanor. When she bathed me, she insisted that I arch my back and keep my legs far apart as if I were offering up my breasts and bald pubes to her. I gasped and squirmed as she washed me. She spent an excessive amount of time washing my breasts and my pink slit. By the time she was done bathing me and toweling me off, I was panting with sexual need and wave after agonizing wave of desire left me feverish.
_ _
Eventually, I was taken to meet with Corrina Nomikou. She was an elegant middle-aged woman of perhaps thirty-nine or forty. Her jewelry was tasteful. Her makeup was conservative and simple. Her hair was beautifully styled and presented, and her clothing was formal, yet stylish.
By contrast, I was naked, and my arms had been tied snugly behind my back in a box tie, causing my naked breasts to be pornographically thrust forward and lewdly on display for Ms. Nomikou to ogle. My wrists were bound with strong, unyielding rope with tight knots, and a ball gag had been forced into my mouth, preventing me from talking and forcing my jaws wide open.
The way my mouth was forced open meant that I had to continuously swallow to keep from drooling on myself. Inevitably, some of my saliva dripped from my wide-open mouth and down my chin. This increased my feelings of helplessness and humiliation even more. And then, some of the drool ended up falling upon my indecently exposed breasts.
Ms. Nomikou sat behind an antique mahogany desk and Mrs. Bowden sat in an upholstered chair nearby. The way the two dominant women were so well-dressed made me feel even more naked.
“Karen tells me that you come from a very wealthy family,” Ms. Nomikou said, “and that you’re your mother’s sole heir. I find it to be deliciously kinky to have a wealthy heiress in my home who is also a naked and helpless slave. I imagine it’s much more difficult for you than it would be for a working-class person.”
“Mmmff,” I replied through my gag. My mouth was stuffed, and I was unable to form words, making me feel even more helpless. I had a sexual desire to be helpless and displayed naked in front of total strangers, however, I couldn’t verbalize that sexual desire because of the gag in my mouth.
“While you are a slave in my home, I will not make things easy for you. I’ve discussed it with Karen, and she’s decided that share you with me as well as all my female servants. You’ll be required to service any women in my household that desire you.”
I’d be forced to have sex with the female servants? Even the maids? I hadn’t expected that. As somebody who came from wealth, I never imagined that I’d be forced to have sex with common laborers.
“Also, you’ll be given daily doses of a drug called Lagneserin. Lagneserin is a powerful aphrodisiac that is traditionally administered to female slaves in Sklavia. There’s a separate drug that we give to male slaves. We find that slaves are easier to control if they’re constantly aroused and in feverish need of sexual release.”
My eyes widened at that startling revelation. I was already sexually aroused just from being naked and helpless! How much worse would my sexual need become when she started drugging me with aphrodisiacs?
“Also, you’ll have to be taken out to the public stage and whipped,” Ms. Nomikou proclaimed. “It’s a tradition that new slaves be taken there within twenty-four hours of arriving on Sklavian soil. Failure to do so would be considered rude and disdainful of Sklavian traditions.”
“I wouldn’t want to seem rude,” Mrs. Bowden said. “We’re guests in Sklavia. We want them to think of us as ambassadors of good will.”
That line seemed a bit over the top to me. Mrs. Bowden was probably just eager to have me publicly humiliated in front of a large crowd of prurient men and women who would cheer as my naked body was brutally reddened by the lash. If there wasn’t a gag in my mouth, I probably would have said something sarcastic and insulting.
“Also, some of the servants have asked if they can use you to assist in their duties. It seems to me that it would help keep you in a slave-like mindset if you’re given manual labors to do, so I’ve decided that you can help the maids with their cleaning duties and our kitchen staff as well. And to make certain you’re motivated to do a respectable job; I’ve given the maids and the kitchen staff permission to punish you. If you’re lazy or do poor work, your cute little bottom will suffer for it.”
“Of course, as a slave you should constantly be putting your body on display for us. I like the way you’re thrusting your breasts out towards me, however your legs should be spread wide to make your pubic lips as exposed as possible. A slave’s owner should never have any difficulty in examining a slave’s genitals”
I spread my legs apart. Then Ms. Nomikou told me to spread my legs even wider. I spread them wider and wider, until I felt a strain in my inner thighs. I was putting my swollen, moist pink labia indecently on display, but apparently that’s what slaves in Sklavia were expected to do.
I was standing naked and bound while they sat. I struggled to maintain posture with my legs so ridiculously far apart and my chest so thrust out. I saw their eyes openly assessing my bound, naked body and clearly enjoying what they saw. It made me feel helpless, objectified, and exposed, but it was a delicious feeling. I was utterly naked, bound and juices were dripping from my lewdly exposed sex while Mrs. Bowden and Ms. Nomikou sat comfortably and fully clothed and openly studied every inch of my naked body.
_ _
Before my captors took me to the public stage, they drugged me with Lagneserin, and they waited to make certain the powerful aphrodisiac had the desired effect on me. When I was gasping with sexual need and my pubic lips were very visible and glistening with moisture, they decided that the drug had made me sufficiently delirious with lust and they said that I was ready to be taken out into public.
As I stood in line and waited to be whipped, I felt one agonizing wave of desire after another rip through my naked body. My nipples wee harder than I’d ever seen them before, and my sex throbbed with hungry spasms. I had tried rubbing my thighs together to alleviate some of the sexual tension I was feeling, but Mrs. Bowden slapped me hard across my ass and ordered me to stop.
“Slaves keep their legs well apart,” she admonished me. “Your thighs should never touch.”
“Sorry, Mistress,” I replied, and I obediently spread my legs apart, putting my dripping wet sex indecently on display. I watched as one slave after another was whipped and I listened to their screams as their naked bodies were scorched by the whip. Part of me wanted to run and escape the cruel punishment that was being inflicted on the other naked slaves. Another part of me wanted to revel in the feeling of being totally owned, totally submissive and totally helpless.
The public stage was near the beach and hundreds of tourists were gathered around to watch the slaves get punished. According to Ms. Nomikou, tourists from all over the world traveled to Sklavia to witness naked slaves be paraded around in public and be cruelly punished by wicked disciplinarians.
“We have tourists from France, Germany, Japan, South Korea, Thailand, the United Kingdom and even the United States,” Corrina Nomikou informed us. “There’s a possibility you may run into somebody you know from your homeland.”
I felt myself gripped with fear. I would die of embarrassment if anyone I knew saw me naked and bound and displaying my hard nipples and shaved loins in front of thousands of people. I prayed that none of the American tourists were people that I’d ever met before.
The slave currently on the stage was a slender female with smallish breasts, long, beautiful legs and firm, perfectly sculpted buttocks. She had admirable muscle tone and an adorable face.
It was announced that she was to be given twenty lashes for the sin of having an orgasm without permission. The crowd of spectators roared with approval, and I shivered. It seemed to me to be a needlessly cruel punishment for such a minor offense. She had flawless skin and exquisite muscle tone, indicating endless hours spent at the gym, pushing her body to its limits, sculpting her glutes, her abs, her obliques and every other part of her body. It seemed unfair to me that her perfect body would soon be decorated with painful red stripes.
The young woman tied to the whipping post had a look of disbelief on her face, as if she couldn’t believe this was really happening to her. I could understand her reaction. I was there to be whipped and I hadn’t even done anything wrong. I was just there to satisfy some local tradition and provide some entertainment for the tourists.
The poor, frightened woman was whipped by some sort of official disciplinarian in a tailored black and grey uniform. She was a tall woman of indeterminate age, and she held a whip that looked sadistically painful. I could tell just by looking at it that it would hurt worse than the leather belt I’d bought for Mrs. Bowden’s daughter to use on me.
The crack of the whip across naked skin was loud, however, the screams of the female slave may have been even louder. Sometimes between screams she would beg for mercy, but the whip-mistress knew her job. She wouldn’t stop until the slave’s naked skin had been scorched with twenty lashes.
I felt pity for the girl with the scorched bottom, but the large audience that witnessed her punishment laughed and encouraged the disciplinarian to inflict even more suffering on the poor girl. I watched the slave wiggle her naked bottom and mindlessly twist as she futilely attempted to avoid the whip.
Each stroke found her naked body. Her screams and pleas became even more frantic as her bottom became a collection of angry whip marks. She stamped her feet, tugged against the ropes that bound her wrists and lurched to the left and to the right, but no matter how frantically she struggled, the whip always managed to scorch her naked flesh.
Unlike the tourists that delighted in the struggles and screams of the naked slave, I felt pity for the girl. I also felt fear and trepidation, as once her torment was over, I was next in line to be whipped. My wrists were untied, and I was made to climb the stairs and got onto the stage. Once there, the master of ceremonies announced that I was the next to be punished.
“This slave is eighteen years old and has never been whipped,” the M.C. announced over a microphone. “Today is her first day as a slave, and she will receive twelve lashes to initiate her into her new life.”
The disciplinarian’s name was Marina. She spoke to me politely and even soothingly as she prepared me for my public punishment. I was told to raise my arms so the disciplinarian could tie my wrists to the whipping post. She expertly secured my wrists to the metal ring embedded in the wooden post and told me to try and get free.
Of course, getting free was impossible. The wooden post was sturdy, the rope was strong, and the knots were secure.
“Are you afraid, Heather?”
“Yes,” I replied, my voice thick with tension and anxiety.
“That’s normal,” she replied. “I’m going to hurt you quite a lot. But, if you give the crowd a good show, I’ll give you a reward afterwards. Would you like that?”
Suddenly Marina’s hand was between my legs, palming my swollen pubic lips. I moaned and squirmed my hips lewdly as I felt an intense throbbing in my loins.
“Yes, Mistress,” I replied. My pussy was soaking wet, and I desperately needed some sort of sexual relief. I would do anything Marina asked if she would just finger me to orgasm.
“Okay, Heather,” Marina said as her hand remained between my legs, “some of the slaves try to act brave and stoic when I whip them. They try not to scream or react to the pain. The crowds don’t like that. There’s not a lot of entertainment value in stoicism. So, what I want you to do is scream and writhe and beg for mercy. Can you do that for me, Heather?”
I promised Marina that I would do whatever she wanted if only I could get my orgasm. I would scream and recoil from the whip and even do lots of begging and pleading. It was going to hurt like hell anyway, so why not?
Marina told me to kiss the whip before she used it on me. It was degrading, but I assumed that was part of the entertainment value Marina wanted me to provide for the crowds of tourists who had shown up to watch my punishment.
Marina whipped me from behind, mostly targeting my ass and the backs of my thighs. As I had assumed, the whipping was very painful. Marina’s whip stung far worse than the leather belt I’d been punished with, and I soon found myself yelping, “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Aaaahhhh!”
This was no performance art. I was in intense pain as Marina whipped me. My agonized screams were genuine.
I only received a total of twelve lashes; however, these were all hard, painful lashes. I writhed under Marina’s whip and girlish yelps of pain escaped my lips again and again. I begged Marina to stop, or at least not hit me so hard, but she ignored all my pleas.
The crowds loved my screams, and they loved the way I writhed and weaved my hips as I reacted to the agonizing pain of being whipped. Some of the things the spectators yelled at me were in Sklavian and I couldn’t understand the words, however, some of them yelled at me in English.
Of the ones who yelled at me in English, some offered to deliver a much harsher whipping if they ever got the chance, others informed me that I was a bad girl who deserved to be punished, still others yelled at Marina and gave her suggestions on how to make me scream even louder.
I was the daughter of a multi-millionaire, born into a life of wealth and privilege. Yet there I was, naked, bound, subjected to a harsh punishment I hadn’t earned, trembling and in tears as hundreds of prurient strangers yelled crude comments at me.
When the whipping finally ended, I was trembling and sobbing uncontrollably. Then, I felt Marina’s hand, cupping forcibly between my spread thighs. I felt a finger push between my pubic lips and then slip into my vagina. The first finger was soon followed by a second finger.
The talented fingers probed my moist interior and twisted around. I was delirious and spread my thighs far apart. Men and women in the audience called me “slut” and other crude names as I shamelessly moved my hips in a wanton, pornographic fashion. Marina pressed up, curling both fingers against my g-spot. I felt her fingers inside of me, rubbing hard and I moaned shamelessly as the orgasm inside of me built.
“Aaahhh! Aaaahhhh! Aaaahhhh! Aaaahhhh!” I screamed boisterously as I came, I could no longer hear the shouts of the crude tourists who were ogling my whipped nudity. I could only hear the sounds of my own voice as my sex spasmed deliciously around Marina’s wise, probing fingers.
When my powerful orgasm subsided, Marina kept her fingers inside of me and the people in the audience continued to hurl invectives at me. They called me a “naughty girl”, a “libidinous wench” and a “sinful girl” and other names that I couldn’t understand. They also yelled at Marina, urging her to fuck me again.
In the delirium of my post-orgasmic bliss, I didn’t take offense at any of the names the crude tourists called me. And when I was untied from the whipping post and led away, I think I may have had a smile on my face.
When I was taken back to the car, Anastasia wanted to examine the whip marks on my skin. I dutifully turned around and placed my hands on the side of the car so Anastasia could take a good look.
“I’ve seen better marks,” Anastasia commented as she examined my buttocks and the backs of my thighs, “but I expect they hurt a bit.”
She ran her fingertips gently across my wounded flesh and I gasped as she felt me up. I was so sore that even a gentle touch was extremely painful. Of course, I’m sure that’s the whole point of whipping a girl, to leave her sore and tender for days.
_ _
When we returned to the estate, Mrs. Bowden grabbed me by the ear. And with my ear pinched between her thumb and forefinger, she led me upstairs, took me directly to her room and ordered me to kneel in front of her. She positioned me so that a full-length mirror was behind me. She explained that she wanted to see the reflection of my ass as I licked her to orgasm.
“The sight of your well-pinked bottom is a turn on,” she explained. Looking at it will make my time with you all the more delicious.”
My heels felt rough against my welted bottom. I had a hard time believing it was only pink. It felt as if it must surely be reddened. Before I had a chance to look over my shoulder at my own reflection, Mrs. Bowden grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face close to her sex. At that point, she had removed her shoes and pants. She was naked from the waist down and I felt her strong thighs as her sex was pressed against my mouth.
I forced my tongue into the gap between her labia and licked. I had already used my tongue to lick Alexa to orgasm, so why not Alexa’s mother? It was like I was a slave to her entire family.
Mrs. Bowden’s juices tasted exactly like her daughter’s. Something about that seemed sexy, although I’m not certain why. I wondered what it would be like to have a session where both Mrs. Bowden and her daughter were in the same room demanding that I sexually satisfy them one right after the other.
I worked my tongue tirelessly in Mrs. Bowden’s wet vagina until she began to make intense, desperate panting sounds followed by an order to apply my tongue to her clitoris.
Her clit was pink, swollen and bulging as if it was about to burst. It had already emerged from its hood, and I polished it with my tongue.
“Aaaahhhh,” she gasped as I worked my tongue across her rounded nub. She panted and gripped my head with both hands.
“You’re a good slave, Heather,” Mrs. Bowden told me passionately as she rocked her pelvis forward. “You’re making me so happy right now!”
My mistress shuddered and whimpered, and it was then that I circled her clitoris with my tongue and then began to slowly lick her exposed clitoris from bottom to top. She made inarticulate gasping and grunting noises as I continued to slowly and gently lick her hard, swollen clit. Her thighs rubbed up against the sides of my face as she writhed and gripped my hair in her strong hands.
She made pathetic whimpering sounds as I continued to lick her clitoris with slow and gentle strokes. Then, at my owner’s urging, I began to increase the speed and forcefulness of my licking. My middle-aged mistress howled and made noises that I have never heard coming from a woman’s throat before. She shuddered and trembled and moaned and wailed and eventually collapsed to the floor, leaving the two of us in and undignified pile, with her lying on top of me.
“Oh, Heather,” Mrs. Bowden breathed, “Oh, God.”
Mrs. Bowden was so pleased with my performance that she kissed me violently and passionately on the mouth, forcing me to accept her tongue and rubbing our tongues deliciously together.
“We’re going to do this every day,” my mistress informed me after she broke from the kiss, “maybe two or three times a day.”
_ _
Shortly after I was kicked out of Mrs. Bowden’s room Corrina Nomikou grabbed me and forced me to sexually service her as well. Then Ria dragged me down to the servant’s quarters and had me lick her to orgasm.
Anastasia was the next to demand my sexual services. She had seemed so affable when I’d met her at the airport, but when she’d learned I had licked three other women to orgasm before I got to her, she seemed angry with me. Then she swatted my poor bottom with her bare hand repeatedly as she herded me down the hallway towards her living quarters.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to be the first woman that gets to use that cute little tongue of yours, or else I’m putting you over my knee and spanking your ass until you’re crying like a little girl!” Anastasia swore.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I cried out in pain each time Anastasia smacked my ass and I made my way down the corridor faster and faster.
Anastasia herded me down a corridor to a small door. She ordered me to open it and then to step inside. My bottom was throbbing in pain once again by the time Anastasia entered the room and locked the door behind her. She gave me an intense look and ordered me to undress her.
Once she was naked and her clothes neatly folded and stacked, she had me work my mouth and tongue across her naked body. I was ordered to lavish attention on her breasts, paying special attention to her nipples before moving lower and working my mouth across other delicious parts of her female anatomy.
If ever Anastasia thought I wasn’t performing up to her high standards, she reached down to squeeze my sore bottom and reminded me that I was a slave and that she could inflict all kinds of pain on me if I didn’t make her happy.
I felt degraded and objectified as I was turned into naked plaything for one woman after another in Ms. Nomikou’s home. I was embarrassed, yet also felt an erotic thrill as I was forced to remain naked for my sixty-day sentence of slavery while Mrs. Bowden, Ms. Nomikou and all Ms. Nomikou’s servants had the freedom to use me.
They were fully clothed, while I was required by law to be utterly naked. Even the maids had a higher social status than me. They could come and go as they pleased, while I could leave the house only with the permission of my mistresses. I didn’t even have the freedom to touch myself to relieve the constant throbbing need between my legs. Slaves who had orgasms without permission were cruelly punished, and for the next sixty days I was a slave.
It was erotically humiliating to be owned, naked, forced to sexually service others and to be publicly whipped for the entertainment of strangers, and yet my heart pounded in my chest with a delirious sort of excitement as I luxuriated in my feelings of helplessness and vulnerability. Although I whimpered, trembled and tears occasionally welled up in my eyes, I was reveling in my slavery. Slavery was like a drug that placed me in a delirious state of arousal that overpowered me and carried me away on a wave of dark, forbidden pleasure.
Most of the women in Ms. Nomikou’s home didn’t understand this. They just saw me as a spoiled, rich girl who had fallen from a great height and become a naked and humiliated sex slave. They didn’t understand how this was a sexual fantasy of mine come true.