Chapter 1: Foreclosure
Lisa shivered from the touch of cold iron against her naked flesh. There was so little room in her narrow cage that her breasts were pressed against the metal bars. A ball gag had been stuffed in her mouth to prevent any unwanted noise. Her cage stood on a small platform, so that prospective buyers could see her while they were bidding. Lisa could see a few of them staring at her already. The noise of the crowd subsided as the auctioneer began his pitch.
“I have something special for you today. One Lisa Andrews. Five foot one, twenty-six years old, dark hair, brown eyes, and as you can see, nice tits and ass. She used to be a stockbroker, but this dumb bitch ended up selling herself!”
The crowd laughed. Lisa tried to tell them that it wasn’t like that, that she wasn’t dumb, that she wasn’t supposed to be a slave, but the huge gag in her mouth reduced her to mumbles that were easily ignored.
“Now, naturally she can’t be expected to think, but Lisa’s just made for a good, hard fucking!”
The crowd cheered as Lisa cowered helplessly in her cage.
“Who’ll start the bidding? Who’ll have the pleasure of owning this hot little piece of ass and keeping her in chains?”
Lisa woke up in a cold sweat.
Calm down, she told herself. Under the circumstances, it’s only natural that you’d have a few nightmares. Lisa took a quick shower, made herself breakfast, and left early for the office. Win or lose, this was going to be the most important day of her life.
Lisa sat behind the desk in her one-room office and held her breath as she stared at the screen. Today she wasn’t trading on behalf of a client. This time she was the one taking the risks. Lisa had everything riding on this stock - literally. She had financed the transaction by mortgaging herself as a slave. Selling yourself had become legal nine years before. Naturally, as with oil and grain, a market for slaves had formed, but the people who actually sold themselves were usually desperate, with no other options. As a high-end professional broker with valuable skills, Lisa was able to mortgage herself for a tidy sum.
Many would have said that it was insane to take that kind of a risk. The threat of being turned into someone’s property would have made most people freeze in their tracks. But Lisa saw it as a calculated gamble as part of her masterplan:
- Mortgage yourself.
- Use the proceeds to buy all the shares you can of IntelliCorp, an undervalued stock that you have a hot tip on.
- Rake in enormous profits, and buy back your slavery mortgage before it’s due.
- Spend the rest of your life as a millionaire and live in a mansion with all of your worldly needs met.
Lisa knew the stock was a sure thing, but with such high stakes, she couldn't help being nervous. It was no surprise that she was having nightmares. She jumped as the mail icon lit up. Lisa opened the earnings report. Her eyes widened as she read it with a growing sense of horror.
No matter how much Lisa read and reread the report, the numbers stayed the same. She was ruined. She didn’t have a penny to her name. Even worse, when she went bankrupt, her mortgage had automatically defaulted. She was now for sale. Lisa could never say afterwards how long she spent staring at the screen. She just sat there, numb to the world.
When Lisa came to her senses, she saw that she had another message. It was a notice on her personal mortgage. Lisa had been bought - by Carla Davenport, another stockbroker. The law was clear. Slave collection agents would come to take her into custody and deliver her to her new owner. She said the words to herself.
My new owner.
They didn’t seem real to her. The idea that someone owned her was unbelievable. And it was Carla, of all people. Lisa had interacted with her before at some of the business events that they both attended. She had always found Carla to be vaguely... unsettling. She had a cold, remote quality about her. You could never figure out just what she was thinking or where the conversation was heading.
But that line of thought was pointless. Unsettling or not, Carla was her owner, and there was nothing more to be said. Lisa couldn’t think of anything to do before she left that seemed worthwhile. She turned off her computer and, without calling anyone that she knew, she locked the door to her office behind her and went down to the parking lot.
She didn’t have to wait long. The agents from the enslavement bureau arrived shortly, three of them in drab suits. One of them showed her an official looking document.
“Lisa Andrews. Under the authority given to me by the court I hereby declare your personhood to be in a state of foreclosure. Your rights, freedom, and citizenship have been revoked. You are now the legal property of Carla Davenport. Please put your hands in front of you so that you may be secured for transport.”
To her shock, she saw that one of the men was carrying heavy restraints.
“Um, I don’t think those will be necessary. I won’t make any trouble.”
This didn’t impress them in the slightest. They acted like they’d heard it all before, and Lisa supposed they probably had.
Lisa jumped as she felt the handcuffs close about her wrists. Leg irons were fastened to her ankles. One of the men used a chain to attach the cuffs to the irons. Another agent injected Lisa with a tracker chip in case she tried to run. Lisa shivered as the hopelessness of her situation began to sink in.
The agents led her across the parking lot to their van. The leg irons forced her to take small steps, and the chain connecting the cuffs and irons was so short that she had to walk hunched over. It was obvious to Lisa that she had no hope of escape, even if she had somewhere to escape to. Lisa wondered what her new owner was going to do with her. She had heard rumors that some people liked to keep their slaves in permanent bondage, welding their shackles shut so that they could never be freed. Lisa tried not to think of some of the even more unpleasant stories that she had heard. A slave had few legal rights, and even those were frequently ignored. There was no telling what Carla would do to her.
By now several office workers had stopped to watch the novel sight of a businesswoman being led away in chains. Lisa was glad to get into the agents’ van where at least she wouldn’t be stared at. After she had been chained to her seat, they drove away, leaving Lisa’s old life behind.
The trip wasn’t long. And all things considered, Lisa felt surprisingly optimistic by the time it was over. In spite of her restraints, the ride had cleared her head and given her time to think. She was even more encouraged when she got to Carla’s palatial home. Carla politely asked the agents to remove Lisa’s chains before they went, telling them that restraints would not be necessary. Lisa was then served an excellent lunch, after which Carla led her to an elegant sitting room to chat.
It was typical of Lisa that she already had a plan all worked out. She presented her proposal to Carla over coffee.
"You could maintain ownership of me, and lose money paying for my food and living expenses. Or, you could let me do what I'm good at. I can go back to trading, under your banner instead of my own company, and make you a fortune. I’ll even throw in my client list. In exchange, you let me buy back myself in 5 years. I get my freedom, you get even richer. Everyone's happy. What do you say?"
Carla rose to her feet and stared down at her. Lisa began to feel uncomfortable. She had always been a little insecure about Carla. While Lisa was the short and busty type, and dressed casually, Carla was tall, aristocratic, and always elegantly clothed. She was born into an upper-crust old money family, and it showed. She loomed over Lisa in her high heels and smiled.
"It's a good pitch, dear. There's only one problem. You see, I like owning pretty little things. Even if it does cost me. And you, my dear, are a pretty...little...thing. I have my own plans for you."
Lisa stammered, "Carla, you could make a -uh-a fortune with...me..."
She tried to get up, but her legs wouldn’t work. Lisa had to struggle just to keep her eyes open.
The coffee!
"What did you...do...to me?"
Carla patted her on the head. "Just something to help you sleep, my pet. I have some work to do, and I don't want you peeking until I'm done. I love surprises."
The last thing that Lisa saw before everything went black was Carla standing over her.
Lisa woke up to find that she had been blindfolded. She felt softness on her fingers, and some kind of choker had been placed around her neck. She reached up to take off her blindfold, only to have someone stop her with a firm grip.
"No peeking,” said Carla. “I'm going to put you in front of a mirror so that you can get the full effect."
Lisa had always found Carla to be something of a cold fish, making her tone unnerving in and of itself. Whatever was going on, Carla was uncharacteristically excited about it. She pulled Lisa to her feet and led her through the house. Then she took off the blindfold. Lisa looked in the mirror in front of her and saw...
PINK, was the first impression that hit her. Her whole body had been dyed pink. Not the pink of normal flesh, but a sugary, bubblegum pink. Lisa had been dressed in a skimpy pair of panties and a bra that were covered in a thin layer of light pink fur. The bra pushed up her already large breasts, putting her cleavage on display. The panties were tightly molded to her round ass, although she saw out of the corner of her eye that there was something on the back of them. Her wrists and ankles had matching fur bracelets, and her head was topped with a fluffy pink wig with bangs. Lisa’s hands had been encased in furry, fingerless mitts. And around her neck was a collar. Not a kinky one, but a cutesy, pink, sparkly collar. Like the kind you'd put on someone's...
"I'm a poodle! You turned me into a poodle!"
The wig, the paws, the underwear (which she now saw had a little tail on the back), her whole costume was designed to make her look like a saccharine-sweet lapdog. Lisa was beside herself. She had known that her new owner was allowed to do pretty much whatever she wanted with her, but she had never imagined something like this. She couldn't think of anything more humiliating. Her costume seemed ideal for putting her body on display while making it clear how unimportant she was. Lisa had always been proud of the respect of her colleagues. But she couldn't imagine anyone taking her seriously now. She had become nothing more than another woman’s accessory.
"I know," said Carla. "Aren't you adorable? I've always wanted a little toy lapdog for around the house. And now I have you!"
Carla circled her arm around Lisa’s waist in a possessive hug. A slight draft made Lisa uncomfortably aware of the hidden open crotch in her costume.
Lisa tried to take back some control of the situation. "I'm not a pet, Carla!"
Carla smiled down at her indulgently. "Of course you are, my dear. Look at yourself. What else could you be? And you’ll address me as Miss, or Miss Davenport. Now be a good girl. I'll be back in a moment. In the meantime, you should get used to your new station in life."
Before Lisa could think of a retort to this, Carla attached a leash to her collar and tied it to a nearby table leg. Lisa tried to follow her mistress out of the room, only to be jerked short by the leash that anchored her to the heavy iron table. She reached up to untie herself, only to be shocked to find that she couldn’t. The soft fur mitts covering her hands kept her fingers folded and useless. She pawed helplessly at the leash, unable to even feel the knot.
Irrationally, Lisa felt that if she could just free herself and follow Carla, it would prove that she still had some independence. That she wasn’t supposed to be a slave. But although Lisa tried her best to undo the knot, the only thing she succeeded in doing was to demonstrate to herself her utter helplessness. She had gone from a successful businesswoman to a pet tied to a piece of furniture. The leash was so short that she couldn't even stand up straight.
Lisa sat down on the carpeted floor. The little tail on her butt left her with no way to sit comfortably other than on her knees. She was surrounded by three dressing room mirrors. Whichever way she looked they towered over her, mocking her, showing her the same thing-a fluffy pink lapdog on her knees pawing at the collar that had been locked around her neck. Lisa’s pushed-up boobs bounced up and down beneath her bra as she tried in vain to free herself. It was hopeless. She was just as helpless as a real poodle would have been. Lisa gave up on the leash and switched to trying to take off at least some of her costume. But the thick paws left her unable to get a grip on anything. Lisa stared at herself in the mirror. Everything about her appearance was an embarrassment. She looked ridiculous. Anyone who saw her would see a submissive little slave, someone whose only purpose was to amuse her owner. Someone you would pat on the head and use small words with. Lisa was so preoccupied by her own reflection that she didn't even notice Carla's return.
"Oh, you're just too precious." Carla's reflection loomed over Lisa's in the mirror. Her hand rested on Lisa’s head, as if claiming her as her own. A pet and her mistress.
"No, I'm not, Carla! I'm a smart, successful woman, and once I figure out how to-"
Carla grabbed her the scruff of the neck and looked down at her.
"Stop it," she said with a steely look in her eyes. "We both know that I bought you. We both know that you have no say in what happens to you. I. Own. You. I think it's time for a little training. You need to learn to be a good girl."
Carla took out a small remote and pressed a button. Instantly, Lisa felt a jolt of pain from her collar.
"Ahhh! No! Stop it, you crazy bitch!" She rolled around on the carpet, pawing frantically at her neck in a vain attempt to remove her collar.
"That's no way to talk to your owner."
"You're not my owner!"
"Ahh!" The shocks increased.
“It’s only going to get worse until you come to your senses and apologize.”
Lisa was on the verge of tears. Anything to make this stop. "Please Miss, please forgive your pet!"
"So then you admit that you're a pet. Pets need owners, don't they?"
Dazed from the pain, Lisa blurted out the first thing that entered her head. "Yes! I'm just a dumb, silly little pet, I need an owner to take care of me and tell me what to do!"
The shocks stopped. There was a moment of silence. Lisa's face turned from pink to red as she realized what she had just said.
"Um, Miss Davenport, when I said-"
Carla patted her on the head. "No need to speak dear. But I do think you need another lesson."
Carla pressed another button, and Lisa felt an odd tickle from her fur-lined panties. Apparently her collar wasn’t the only part of her costume with electrodes in it. Then the tickle became something stronger. It felt good. Really good. Suddenly Lisa forgot about the costume she was wearing, or that Carla was watching her. Nothing mattered but the heat in her pussy. Her eyes half closed in pleasure, she rubbed her fur covered hands over her panties, willing herself closer and closer to an orgasm. And then-it stopped. Lisa pawed at her crotch, desperate to cum, even if it was in front of Carla. But her soft mitts made it impossible for her to bring herself to an orgasm. Lisa looked up at her mistress in a silent plea for relief, too ashamed to put into words what she wanted.
"Let's get something straight," Carla said in a firm tone. "You're my pretty pink poodle, and you belong to me. If you're a bad doggie, you'll be punished. If you're good, I can make you feel good. What happens to you depends on pleasing me. So get used to it."
Defeated, Lisa stared down at the floor. “Yes, Miss.”
“Now,” Carla said cheerfully, "time for walkies!"
To Lisa's utter humiliation Carla grabbed the end of her leash and took her for a walk around the grounds of her estate. Lisa was barely able to keep up; the little slippers on her feet had slippery soles that made it hard for her to walk. She found herself trotting in fast little steps, struggling to keep pace with her new owner. Lisa wasn't sure how her bra was made, but her breasts bounced embarrassingly with every step, to Carla's obvious amusement.
After they had been walking for a few minutes, Lisa stopped and turned to her owner.
"Um, Carla?" That earned her a forbidding glare. "I mean, Miss Davenport?"
"Yes, pet?"
"I-uh-I need to go..."
Carla raised her eyebrows. "Go where?"
Lisa shuffled her feet. "Um, I mean, I need to pee?"
"Well, you'd better do it then. We're on a nice piece of grass."
Lisa was appalled. "That's ridiculous. I'm not going to piss on the grass."
At this Carla sighed.
"I think that's enough from you." She clicked a button on her remote.
Nothing seemed to happen. Lisa didn't feel any pleasure or pain, just a mild feeling of pressure against her throat.
"What's that do?" Lisa asked. Or at least, that was what she had intended to ask. What came out of her mouth instead was a series of high-pitched barks.
"Yip! yip yip!"
What the hell?
“Yip yip!”
No matter what she tried to say, everything came out as dog barks. Lisa was mortified. It wasn’t even an assertive sounding bark. It was the sort of noise you’d expect from a spoiled, hyperactive little dog that everyone wished would shut up.
Carla laughed. “Poor baby. I'm sorry I had to do that. I'm sure you had lots of important things to say! But you really were talking too much. Now do your business.”
Lisa shook her head angrily. She’d had enough. But Carla didn’t even bother to punish her. She just stood there waiting with a firm hand on Lisa’s leash, like any other woman waiting for her dog to do its business. Carla gave the impression that she could wait all day.
Lisa gave up. She crouched down and, after a great deal of effort, peed on the grass. Afterwards Carla scratched her behind the ear.
"Good girl! Such a clever thing!"
Lisa wanted to sink into the ground. Being congratulated for peeing on the lawn only made it worse. It made her feel like she was an animal, that she was so dumb that knowing where to pee was an achievement. Carla gave a quick tug on her leash and they continued on their walk. At one point Carla stopped to talk with the gardener about his work. Lisa, still unable to speak, stood next to her. To her embarrassment, Carla began to talk to him all about her new pet, and how cute she was. Lisa gave a quiet, involuntary gasp as her mistress stroked one of her breasts, much to the enjoyment of the workman.
Finally, and not soon enough for Lisa, Carla led her back into the house and removed her leash.
"I think it's time to relax. Come along."
With no other options and still unable to speak, Lisa trailed after her owner, her slippered feet tip-tapping down the wooden floor of the hallway. Carla led her into the living room and sat down on a comfortable sofa in front of the television. Lisa started to sit next to her, only for Carla to pull her over so that she was draped over her lap, her breasts pressed against her mistress.
Lisa didn't know what her owner was watching. The show was in French, and she couldn't understand a word of it. With nothing to hold her attention, Lisa was left to her thoughts. She had never considered herself to be particularly kinky, although she had played around a bit with bondage. But when she thought about it, Lisa couldn't deny that she had been a little turned on by being led around on a leash, and of being humiliated and put on display. Maybe she had never fully acknowledged her submissive streak because she hadn't dared to risk her hard-earned reputation by experimenting.
Without anything else to hold her interest, Lisa found herself looking up at Miss Davenport. Her mistress. Carla stroked her back, and occasionally Lisa felt a thrill of pleasure as her mistress reached between her legs or stroked the fur over her breasts. She felt almost like a real lapdog, to be petted and pampered and controlled by her owner. Carla began to stroke her head. It felt strangely calming to Lisa. By the time the program ended, she was half asleep.
"It's been a long day for a little poodle, what with getting a new home and a new owner. I think it's time to get some rest," Carla said, and led her to a large bedroom.
To Lisa’s surprise, Carla didn’t invite her to climb into bed with her. Instead, she led Lisa to a large pet bed on the floor.
Lisa started to protest, only to realize that there was little point. She had no choice, and she was too tired to argue anyway. Any attempts at regaining her dignity would have to wait until morning. Without another word she climbed into the bed on the floor, curled up, and fell asleep at her mistress's feet.