© Copyright 2009 - Tony-B - Used by permission
Storycodes: MM/f; bond; slave; transported; gyno; cons/nc; X
Part 1: Sold
My husband John sold me to be a sex slave for twenty thousand dollars.
Granted, times are tough, and we were strapped financially after he lost his job, but to callously sell me, like a sack of potatoes into slavery was just impossible to understand. I’m glad about what happened in the long run.
But let me start at the beginning.....
I always thought we had a perfect relationship. We were high-school sweethearts, and once I decided John was the man I wanted to spend my life with, I gave myself to him completely. I should have realized something was amiss when all my friends at school knew I gave him his first blowjob in the back seat of his car the day after it happened.
Girls say that sperm is an acquired taste, and it was to me, too. It took a while to get used to the slimy, salty taste of his sperm, but once I did, it was no big deal to take him in my mouth every day to give him pleasure. It became a daily ritual, eventually working up to at least three times a day, and that was in addition to being fucked at least twice every day.
But over the six years we had been married, there were no complaints. I serviced him regularly, giving him whatever kind of sex or play he wanted. Eventually we moved into bondage and sex, the one complimenting the other. He enjoyed tying me up (or down, as the case might be), and fucking me. It became a regular Saturday night, Sunday morning ritual, with me being tied and gagged for hours at a time, usually overnight.
We had many secret games we played where no one but us knew it was happening. For example, He would take me out to dinner unexpectedly, and once there, make me go to the ladies room, remove my panties, put them in a plastic bag I always had to carry in my purse, return to the table and slip them to him under the table, spending the rest of the evening, panty-less. He would return the panties only after we got home, often using them as a gag by stuffing them into my mouth while fucking me prior to going to bed.
Or, I was not allowed to wear any underwear under my dress for the entire day. We would often take long drives with me wearing handcuffs, and with my hands pulled down between my spread knees and anchored to the seat tightly by a chain connected to the cuffs. On command, I was required to part my knees when sitting, either to allow a view of my thighs, or access to my genitals, should he wish to feel me, or finger-fuck me. I usually had to pull the front of my dress or skirt up, so he could view my crotch area while sitting, and I was never allowed to wear pants. Should I fail to please him, there was always an over-the-knee spanking waiting for my transgression. I was spanked with a Ping-Pong paddle until I cried into my gag, and my butt cheeks were visibly reddened. I was usually required to stand in a corner or against a wall as punishment, holding the back of my dress up, exposing my reddened cheeks to his view, in order to satisfy him that I had “learned” my lesson.
It never seemed as if I did - he was always finding new reasons to spank me, and new “lessons” I had to learn to satisfy him. He never beat me, or left any marks that would show on my body, but the spanking became a routine part of my life.
John’s favorite method of tying me was what he called a “Quick Tie”. It consisted of a short piece of rope, knotted in the middle, with two loops looking like a figure eight, with the ends of the rope going back through the knot, effectively making a slipknot with two loops for the wrists. To apply it, my arms were pulled back behind the body, the loops were slipped over the wrists, and the end of the rope pulled tight, pulling them together behind me at waist level. The ends were pulled tight and secured with a swift overhand knot, preventing me from working the loops loose, or escaping them. The ends of the rope were then passed in front of my body and tied in front, effectively pinioning my hands and arms behind my back. Whenever I was tied like this, I was never able to work myself free without help.
Effectively, a woman’s hands could be immobilized behind her back in a matter two seconds, and once the rope was tied in front, she was tied for the duration. And, she could be left tied like that for hours, since the Quick-Tie was not painful, and created no stress on the arms or body.
Of course I was always naked whenever I was tied up. Being naked was just part of the bondage event. And I was kept naked when we were at home. Most of the time, I was Quick-Tied, kneeling in front of John’s chair, waiting for him to make me give him a blowjob. He liked blowjobs, and liked me kneeling in front of him, head bowed, and waiting to give him pleasure on command. Additionally, my ankles were tied together, with the rope extending up to my wrists at waist level, keeping me in the kneeling position for as long as John wished.
Another of John’s favorite tortures involved an Isolation Closet. In our house, there was a small cloak closet, just inside the front door. John stripped out the inside, removing the overhead shelf, and the coat hooks, and replacing them with eyebolts on the ceiling and at ankle level, near the floor. He soundproofed the inside with acoustic panels all around. He claimed that when I was inside and the door closed, no sound could be heard on the other side of the door. To prove it, he put a radio that was playing loudly inside the closet and closed the door. Outside the closet, indeed, you couldn’t hear a sound from the radio.
Another feature was that there was no knob on the inside of the door. If I were inside, even if I wasn’t tied up, or had escaped my bonds, I couldn’t open the door and get out. An escape would be impossible. I spent many hours in the Isolation Closet. In fact, since I was usually naked, gagged and in a Quick Tie, whenever anyone came to the door, John pushed me into the closet and closed the door. I remained there until the threat of discovery had passed.
But usually, I would only have to spend an hour or two in the closet, waiting to be fucked. Waiting, just thinking about what John was going to do to me, and whether he would allow me to have an orgasm this time. He often used my sexual pleasure as a reward for satisfactory performance in my “training”, or as a punishment through denial for my transgressions or failures. I never knew whether he as going to allow me pleasures or frustration when he fucked me.
In the closet, my wrists were usually Quick-Tied in front of me, or a leather strap held my hands together. In either case, my hands were pulled up over my head, and secured to the eyebolt in the ceiling. Additionally, my legs were spread apart as my feet were tied to the eyebolts on each side of the closet, leaving me spread and totally available to exploring fingers when the door was open, or accepting the mechanical fucking machine that John had bought and used on me regularly. Its one saving grace was that I could always reach an orgasm when being fucked by the machine. In fact, I had no choice.
The fucking machine was about the size of a small microwave oven, and sat on the floor between my spread legs. A vertical rod extended straight up, out of the top. It was topped by a twelve-inch rubber dildo, which could be inserted in a woman’s vagina. Stroke and speed could be adjusted, and a woman could be literally fucked to death if that was what her “Master” wanted.
The length of the stroke could be adjusted, depending on the internal length of the woman’s vagina, in order to achieve maximum sensation within her body as it repeatedly moved in and out. Being a small woman, the internal depth of my vagina is only seven inches, so the thrust of the fucking machine was adjusted to six inches, allowing a full stroke, without the head of the dildo falling out of the vagina at the bottom of the down stroke.
What was painful about being locked in the closet, was the shoes that John made me wear. They were a modification of a ballerina’s pointed ballet slippers. Once John had me tied in position, hands pulled up toward the ceiling, and legs spread apart with the ankles tied to opposite walls, he knelt in front of me, putting a slipper on each foot, one at a time.
First, he would grasp an ankle, and raise the foot off the floor, as far as the short length of rope would allow. Taking a slipper in the other hand, he would slip it onto the foot. While the slipper is satin and pretty, inside it is made of stainless steel, and holds the foot in rigid alignment in a straight line. A piece of metal extends behind the heel, much like a shoehorn might. There is a leather strap at the end of the metal piece, at the end farthest from the toe box.
Once the foot is firmly in the slipper, the shoehorn part is raised against the back of the ankle, forcing the foot into a straight line below the leg bones. The foot is lowered to the floor, forcing the woman to stand on her toes, which is not only painful, it virtually prevents walking (or running). The woman is forced to pull herself up by her wrists, and stand on one foot, while the other ballet slipper is applied to her other foot and secured.
Within moments, the weight of her body being supported on her toes becomes almost unbearable. The longer she stands in that position, the more she tries to relieve the pain by pulling herself up by her wrists. Invariably women begin to moan in pain, and begin to cry as best they can, especially when gagged. Leaving a woman in this position for more than twenty or thirty minutes and cause permanent damage to her feet. Fortunately, while John frequently made me wear the slippers, it was never long enough to do any permanent damage, although I frequently screamed into my gag for what seemed like hours.
The combination of the ballet slippers and the fucking machine was a unique torment.
I remember the night it happened.
I’ve played it over in my mind a hundred times, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Absolutely nothing.
In the first place it was Saturday night, and I was tied and gagged, with my legs spread wide apart and being held by a steel spreader bar. I was totally nude, of course, and lying on my back, waiting to service John’s pleasure when he was ready to take me.
I heard the doorbell ring, and thought to myself that it was an odd hour for anyone to come to the door, as late as it was.
I heard John open the door, and muffled voices of greeting - almost as if they were speaking quietly, so as not to be overheard.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened, and there was John, accompanied by another man. A large, burly man. He could have been a weight lifter, or wrestler. But bound and gagged, there was nothing I could do to get away, or shield myself from the view of this stranger.
“Here she is”, John said, as he ushered the stranger into the room.
The stranger grunted, came over to the bed and looked down at me.
“Yes”, he said, “very pretty. Almost virginal.”
Turning to John, he asked, “How long did you say you were married?”
My mind was racing, trying to understand what was going on..... I tried to figure out what was happening. Had John brought home another man to humiliate me? Or was he going to rape me - or worse? But what could be worse? I had no idea, but would soon learn.
Whatever it was, there was nothing I could do about it.
“Well, I’ll give you ten thousand for her, just as she is”, the stranger said.
“No, that’s not enough for a bondage slave”, John said. “You’ll have to pay more for her.”
“I’ll have inspect her before I can offer more”, the stranger said.
Suddenly I got it. John was trying to sell me to this stranger. Sell me into some kind of sexual, bondage slavery. I started screaming in protest into my gag, but the ball in my mouth effectively muffled my protests. I began to thrash about, almost as if my exertions would free me from my bonds.
Grabbing me by one breast, the stranger commanded, “Calm down, lady! I’m not going to hurt you.”
For emphasis, he squeezed my breast hard. I gasped in an involuntary burst of air, went limp, and let out one long scream as best I could. And that was that. I was defeated and knew it. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen, and that was that.
The stranger released my breast, and moved his hand across my chest to the other breast, and pinched my nipple very hard. The instant pain caused me to involuntarily close my eyes, squeezing them shut not wanting to see myself being hurt and hoping the pain would stop if I didn’t resist.
A moment later, as he released my nipple, the stranger said, “Good! You’re learning not to resist. That will save you a lot of pain.”
“Oh, she can take a lot of pain”, John said.
“I’ll bet!”, the stranger said. “At least you have trained her well, up to this point. But has she been broken yet?”
“No”, John replied. “She’s my wife, fer Krise Sakes! You don’t do that to your wife!”
He sounded agitated, and the stranger just grunted.
“Fifteen thousand”, offered the stranger. “Just as she is.”
“Not enough”, John said. “I have gambling debts to pay, and fifteen won’t cover them.”
“Well, I’ll have to examine her to offer more”, the stranger said.
It’s both curious and terrifying to be bound and gagged, helpless, while two men stand over you and discuss a selling price. It’s almost surreal. This just can’t be happening. I closed my eyes, hoping it was a bad dream, and that I could will myself awake, and all this would be gone.
But it didn’t happen. Instead, the stranger grabbed a handful of my pubic hair and pulled it, raising my hips off the bed a bit.
“First thing, this thatch of cunt hair will have to go. Have you ever shaved her”, the stranger asked?
“No”, John replied. “She’s totally natural.”
“Oh, so you like bushy muff diving, do you”, the stranger asked. I could almost detect a sneer in his voice.
“No”, said John. “That’s disgusting. I never ate her pussy.”
I heard the stranger sigh and could imagine him shaking his head in disbelief.
John continued with his thought..... “My Dick was enough for her.”
Another sigh as the stranger asked, “Did you ever ask her?”
I was beginning to gather this stranger didn’t hold John in any great respect.
“All right”, the stranger said. “Lift her legs so I can get a good look at her pussy.”
Obediently, John grabbed the spreader bar that was holding my feet apart and my legs open, and pulled my feet up toward my head, folding me nearly in half, and fully exposing my genitals and backside.
I felt the stranger’s fingers exploring my labia and clitoral hood.
“Does she cum easily”, he asked?
With that, his fingers found my clitoris and gave it a playful squeeze and tug upwards so I could feel it. I moaned a bit in surprise at the feeling, and knew that it would start my juices pumping, regardless of everything else.
“Yes”, John said. “I’ve trained her well.”
“Well, at least that’s one thing you did right”, the stranger offered.
I felt the stranger’s finger, as he pushed it into my vagina.
Moving it in and out, he asked, “How deep is her cunt?”
“I don’t know, I never measured it”, John said, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice.
He had obviously forgotten the adjustments to the fucking machine …..
“Well, her new Master is going to want to know”, the stranger said nonchalantly.
“He can figure it out for himself”, John said, his annoyance becoming more apparent. “She’s deep enough to satisfy me!”
“I’ll bet!”, the stranger repeated.
There was a double entendre there, and I’m sure John missed it.
The stranger pulled his fingers out of my vagina and moved them down to explore my rectum. Trying to insert a finger into me there, he met a stiff resistance.
“Did you ever fuck her in the ass”, the stranger asked? “She’s very tight there.”
“Nah, I never did”, John replied. “I don’t stick my Dick where it don’t belong! I wouldn’t want to dirty my Dick that way.”
“Did you ever hear of using a condom”, the stranger asked?
“Yes, of course”, John said. “But I prefer cumming in her pussy. I like to make her take my cum - I like to fill her up every day, pumping my hot sperm into her cunt or mouth.”
It was more than anybody would want to know .....
“What kind of birth control did you use”, the stranger asked in a conversational tone.
“She’s on the pill”, John replied. “She’s totally responsible for not getting pregnant.”
“Has she ever been pregnant? Ever had an abortion”, the stranger asked?
“Nah - she’s clean I tell you!”, John replied. “She’s a one-owner cunt!”
John smiled at himself for the little joke he’d made...... Somehow the bastard was finding this amusing!
“Well, a virgin butt’s a selling point. That’ll raise the price a bit”, the stranger said.
“Okay, okay”, John said. “So what’s your offer now”, he asked?
The stranger thought a minute then said, “Twenty thousand, take it or leave it. That’s my final offer.”
As John released the spreader bar and lowered my legs, he sighed and said, “Okay, I’ll take it.”
“Good”, the stranger said. “I was running out of interest.’
I watched as the stranger pulled two packs of money out of his jacket pocket and handed them to John. He must have known how much John would sell me for, and was prepared with the money in the event an agreement was reached. At that moment, I hated John with all my heart, and wished him dead!
As John was counting the money in the corner of the bedroom, the stranger turned to me and said, “Now just relax slave, I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m going to retie you in a more comfortable position while you are being taken to your new home. If you resist, I’ll be forced to hurt you, which I don’t want to do. Do you understand?”
I nodded my head. Anything to get out of here, and away from the man who had just sold me into slavery.
“Will you cooperate” my new Master asked?
I nodded my head again in affirmation as John, with his money, was sneaking out of the room.
“Good evening, Slave”, the man said.
“My name is Doctor Gregory. You will always address me as ‘Master’ - ‘Master Gregory’. Do you understand?”
I nodded my head. I didn’t know exactly how this new “Master” was going to fit into my life - or control it.
“In fact, you will call every man who speaks to you ‘Master’ from now on. All men are your Masters!”, he continued.
The stranger who had bought me from my husband John had been true to his word - he had been careful not to hurt me, but had retied me in a hog-tie with my legs bent at the knees and pulled up nearly to my butt, and roped to my wrists, which had been pulled down to meet my bound feet.
Additionally, a double loop of rope went around my knees, locking my legs together, and another double loop went around my elbows, pulling them tightly together behind my back. It wasn’t particularly painful, considering that I had been used to being tied for long periods of time for several years, but it was both effective and restrictive. I couldn’t move, and was barely able to breathe. The elbow tie forced my breasts forward, and stretched the skin tightly across my chest. I was acutely aware of my breasts, long since forgotten since I was a girl with developing upper body curves. Contributing to the discomfort was the fact that I was lying flat on my stomach in the Van that was taking me to my fate. My breasts, flattened by the weight of my body and the hog-tied position made the trip quite uncomfortable.
“I’m a Board Certified Plastic Surgeon, and will be your gynecologist while you are here.”
This new “Master” was speaking, and I was trying to follow what he was saying.....
“It’s my job, while you’re here, to keep you healthy and disease free while you’re being trained. After you leave here, your health care will be the responsibility of your new Master”. He paused long enough for that to sink in, or perhaps deciding what he would say next, then continued.
“We will get to know each other very well, and quite intimately during the months you are here. You see, you will be paying for my professional services by providing me with sex at any time I want it. It can be very pleasurable if you please me, and very painful if you don’t.”
In a way, he was propositioning me, knowing full well that I had no say in the matter. A prisoner as I was, he could do whatever he pleased with me, and he knew it ..... as did I.
Back at home, on the night that I was bought by the stranger, after hog-tying me, he simply picked me up like a sack of potatoes, carried me down to his van, and tied me face down in the enclosed back. I rode there in some discomfort for some time, as I was taken to our destination. I could not see, or figure out where we were going or where it was when we got there.
I was carried into the back door of a small, darkened building of some sort, and into a room that looked vaguely like a medical clinic. Could have been a veterinarian’s office for all I knew. But probably not ..... There was a standard medical examination table in the middle of the room, with attached stirrups at one end, like those in gyno clinics I’d seen. Also, there was a medical light over the table used for examinations and surgeries. I recognized it from my own doctor’s office.
When the stranger carried me in, he placed me on the examination table, and strapped me down.
“Don’t be afraid”, he said. “These straps are only here to prevent you from rolling off the table and hurting yourself.”
Not much chance of that, I thought to myself. I was still tied - arms, hands, legs and knees, and gagged to boot.
As he untied my legs, he pulled them apart, and placed each foot in a stirrup, and secured it with a leather strap, preventing me from removing my feet from the stirrups or closing my legs. My genital area was wide open again for his inspection. I remember wondering if he was going to play “doctor” with me. Once secured, with my butt hanging just at the edge of the table, he cinched a strap across my belly and pulled it tight, preventing me from moving from the waist down. It was then that he showed me an untypical moment of kindness.
Releasing the strap across my upper body that held me to the table, he raised my upper torso and slipped a pillow behind my back, and between my bound arms. As he lowered me back to the table, he pulled the chest strap tight again as he said, “That will relieve the pressure on your arms.”
It did, but at the same time, it pulled my flattened breasts against my chest painfully, so it was a toss-up.
In another moment of compassion, he gently stroked my forehead, sweeping my hair aside, into a better semblance of feminine beauty. Then, just as unexpectedly, he turned and left the room.
Master Gregory was speaking…..
“Tonight will be your first examination, but first I’m going to have to get rid of some of this genital hair.”
As he spoke he gave a tug on a curl of hair between his fingers, bringing my attention to the area of my body which best defined my sex.
“So for tonight, I’ll just shave you – quick and dirty. Later on, I’ll use a laser treatment to totally remove all your body and genital hair. You’ll be easier to keep clean that way, and the Masters will prefer it.”
story continues in Sex Slave 2: Examination