The Life and Tines of Slave N Ch. 01

My name is Lauren. Though when I'm at home, I usually answer to "Mistress Lauren," or just "Ma'am." I am a 39-year old woman. I owned my own successful real estate business - so successful I was able to semi-retire by my mid-30s and do quite well day trading and investing. I own and take full advantage of a live-in slave. Her name is N. She used to have another name - a boy's name - but that doesn't matter any more. As you'll learn from her story, N is not at all what she used to be. And neither N nor I could be happier with how things have turned out.

When I first met N about three years ago, he was a quick-witted, somewhat shy young man of nineteen with soft blue eyes and a naturally gentle manner. N is about 5'10" and has a slight build. He had a "pretty" look about him even as a man. N's skin is fair and soft making it deliciously and delightfully easy to mark with stripes from a cane, or deep bruises with a paddle or tawse. N's hair is dirty blonde, thick, and curls into ringlets when it gets long. His lips were thick for a boy, which made them seem slightly feminine. Those lips look so good stretched cruelly around the demanding shaft of a thick dildo or when they're slightly swollen and bruised from an evening of having her mouth raped by one thick, hard cock after another. But I'm getting ahead of myself . . .

First a word about gender in N's story. It's tricky writing about N in the English language and in the context of a culture in which so much of how we process information and communicate depends on a gender binary code. Yes, there was a time when N was a boy and identified himself as such. And when I talk about N in those times, I may refer to "him" and "he." But my carefully trained slave N is neither male nor female. Or perhaps both. Or perhaps neither and both. It all depends on how I look at her. Frankly, it doesn't matter to me what category you want to put N in. That's certainly your prerogative. But for ease of communication, in the story of N after I took possession of him, I'll generally refer to "her" in the feminine. I do so with some considerable hesitation. The culturally-ingrained association of femininity with submissiveness (aside from being wholly inapplicable in my case) is inherently misogynistic. So I want to make clear that I don't use feminine pronouns to describe slave N because I think her life of training submission and service is itself necessarily feminine. Our even more feminine than our is masculine. I just have run into a problem with the limits of this language and its dearth of workable gender-neutral pronouns. And try as I might, I just can't bring myself to call N an "it." However accurate that would be, it just feels too cold a way to describe one who brings me such joy and pleasure.

Regardless of N's gender, or lack thereof, she has a cock. A very pretty one, in fact. It's not small. Nor is it big. It's about average, circumcised with a perfect, broad mushroom tip. It gets veiny and cries beautiful tears of pre-cum desperation when we are close to N's milking day each month. N's cock has three functions. First, being filled with delightfully sensitive nerve endings as it is, it is a principle for administering pain and discipline. Cock whippings, clamps, icyhot and other fun punishments are all part of N's life, making that pretty cock of hers and essential tool for her continued training, discipline and improvement. Second, it is an instrument of her humiliation. As I'll explain in later parts of the story, N is restricted from masturbating, but that does not always include the use of a locked chastity device or belt. Frequently, her wrists are attached to her locking collar with chains just long enough for her to do her chores, but too short for her to play with that cock of hers. Aside from chastity, this same shackling is also used when she is subject to public service, sexual service with my boyfriends and lovers and when she is trussed up on the "rape rack," which I'll also discuss in detail in a later part of this story. This means that her arousal is always readily apparent and gives away her almost constant desire and need for extreme degradation, submission, and humiliation, which in turn fuels that very humiliation as her own body betrays her and tells me all the ways to drive her further under my control. Third, and most importantly, her cock is an instrument of her subjugation. Her constant desire for ANY kind of stimulation in a life of constant sexualization of her every task makes her eager to do anything I require of her just in hopes of an extra stroke or tease, a torturous edging session or, sometimes, just in hopes that I'll hurt her cock, simply for the sublime joy she experiences from my attention no matter its form.

And of course, N has balls, too. Those have only two purposes and serve no other function. They are her body's natural attachment point any time I need her to be securely bound, restrained or restricted, or otherwise attached to something or someone. And they are there for her to feel pain. And most often, both of these functions at once.

The early days

N had almost no experience with women when I separated him from his herd of friends at a bar one night. I overheard his tacky male friends referring to me as a "cougar," as several of them leered my way. Though I was 17 years older than any of them, I keep quite fit. I run, swim, lift and practice yoga regularly. I'm about 5'7" with healthy curves I've taken the trouble to maintain. I've never been the marrying type. I've always enjoyed keeping my options open. I relish the full sexual possession of my playthings, but the mutuality of that possessiveness is not for me, as this story will demonstrate.

I could tell N was timid. He resisted efforts by his friends to cajole him into sexist jokes and comments. But he was clearly transfixed by me. Over the course of several hours, I caught him repeatedly staring at me. When I locked in on his eyes, he would blush every time, look down in submission. It was simply adorable. And I knew I had to have him.

I waited until he stepped away from his friends to use the men's room. Then heading into the restrooms myself, I slipped a paper with my email address and phone number into his hand as we crossed each others' paths in the hallway. In addition to my contact information, it simply said: "I'll make it well worth your time."

N was mostly heterosexual in a romantic sense. He adored and desired women. It is still true that she does not find men attractive. However, beneath her sexual gender preferences runs a wild river of submissive desire and a deep-seated need to serve, even to be degraded and humiliated. I don't want to brag, but I could tell that about him that first night. So N does what pleases me. Anything that pleases me. And doing so pleases N. Almost paradoxically, the more N is subjected to things she does not like for my pleasure or entertainment, the more she feels she is serving and pleasing me and the happier she is. I'd played with other boys who had these tendencies and desires. Most of whom could not express them without my stern help because they believed that it made them "less of a man" . . . whatever that means. But nobody craved complete domination, control and servitude like my N.

He called me the next day and I invited him out to my house in the hills that next Saturday night. My plan was to very carefully nurture and train N, molding her into the perfect domestic servant, pleasure slave and just amusing plaything. So I had to start very slowly, teasing him further down the rabbit hole. That first night, after we had eaten some small plates and had a couple glasses of wine, we put on a movie and I put my legs across his lap as we sat on the sofa. I could feel his erection pressing up through his jeans against the back of my calf almost immediately. I not-so-subtly got him rubbing my feet by complaining they were aching, which prompted my little servant to immediately offer to rub them. I casually stretched or shifted in place over the course of the massage several times, making sure that the naked skin of my legs brushed over his crotch each time. I think I even caught a barely audible whimper escape his lips once.

I kissed him goodnight on the lips and sent him home that night, but invited him back the next evening. That first Sunday night started with a bottle of wine and he quickly offered to rub my feet again. This time I directed him to sit on the floor at my feet. As he rubbed, I made sure to keep my legs just far enough apart that he could see up my dress to my panty-covered sex. His nervous blushing and attempts to look without getting caught were so sexy and adorable I could feel a wet patch spreading through silk of my panties. He obviously saw it too as I could feel the passion and intensity of his massage increase. Not to mention a subtle raggedness in his breathing and a light crimson glow to his cheeks. We said nothing for several minutes while he tried not to look. And then I had him. I caught his eyes trained strained up my skirt. I looked at him sternly. Fear filled his eyes as I locked in on him. He didn't dare look away. Thirty seconds of his embarrassed silence passed, and without saying a word, I grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his face under my skirt, swinging my legs around and placing the soles of my feet on his shoulders while he knelt on the floor between my spread thighs, licking my labia through the already wet fabric of my panties, and inhaling deep breaths of my arousal scent. I paused him for a moment and had him stand. I removed his belt and tugged his jeans and underwear down over his hips, reaching into to spring his fully erect cock free from the waistband. I then took his own hand and guided it to his cock. He took the hint and began stroking himself gently. I then pushed him back down to his knees and told him to keep stroking as I grabbed his hair again and pulled his face back under my dress. I warned him to tell me if he was at all close. I would not be happy if he made a mess on my rug.

It was so sexy hearing and feeling him moan and whimper as he lavished licking kisses over my swollen lips. Almost immediately he warned me he was close. I told him to stop stroking but keep licking and pulled my panties to the side. Rising off the sofa, I pushed him onto his back, legs folded under him, and slid onto his face. I began grinding on his face, rubbing my hard clit against his nose while he passionately licked and kissed my labia, my juices coating his face and my scent driving him into a place he'd never been before. I told him to start stroking again, which he did. In a few seconds, he again warned me he was close cumming. I told him he could continue, but he'd be severely punished if he got any on my carpet. As he responded with his first "Yes, ma'am," the first huge wave of orgasm rolled through my body and I realized I was roughly fucking N's face, bouncing and grinding hard on his nose and mouth and cutting off his air supply. As my juices gushed out over his face, and even as he struggled to catch his breath, I felt his body stiffen beneath me. I turned around to see creamy jets spurt out of his cock onto his shirt, his belly and into the boxers that were bunched around his thighs.

I climbed off of him, kissed him deeply, tasting myself on his lips and tongue, pulled up his wet pants and sent him home in a state of post-worship euphoria. N belonged to me now.

For the next several weeks, I trained N to associate her own pleasure with pleasing me. I allowed her to cum only while servicing me orally and training her to bond her sexual desire to my scent and attention.

In addition to training her worship and serve my pussy orally, and bonding her to scent of my aroused sex, I also began training her to orally worship my asshole. Again, she was allowed to pleasure herself so long as she was french kissing my ass, rolling her tongue around the rim and softly tongue fucking my asshole, while I knelt over her face, queening her . . four weeks, her only pleasure was associated with me smothering her in my scent and dominance.

When I gave her permission to release her cum those first few times, it was always onto her own belly. I would often trace her release over her skin with my finger tip, extending her sexual associations past orgasm, and getting her used to interacting physically with cum. I started to get her used to consuming her own ejaculate and associating it with successful service. At first, this just involved making her suck her own cum from my fingertip, our teasing her about her dripping cock when she was too excited and making her taste her pre-cum.

By the end of those first few weeks, our scenes would usually involve her giving me full body massages on a portable massage table I kept in my office while she was completely naked. Her cock would impressively stand at attention the entire time - often as long as 90 minutes. I would then put N on her back on my bed and have her worship my pussy and ass, teasing and denying her stimulation off her cock to train her in improved technique and stamina. Soon she was able to provide amazing oral service and worship to both my pussy and my ass for as long as two hours. Afterwards, I'd get so turned on again watching her stretch her aching jaw, and knowing she'd hurt herself just to give me pleasure. It was so tempting to suited things up. As we sat and talked after those sessions, I would be secretly fantasizing about strapping her open on a fucking bench with her ankles pulled back over her head and aggressively and deeply fucking her little asshole with a thick, strapon until she was moaning and writhing. But patience was a necessity for what I had in mind for N.

The next step was training her to associate sexual pleasure with humiliation. After I was satisfied from her oral service - usually with 4-5 orgasms - I would put her on her hands and knees on the bed or the floor, slap her inner thighs to signal her to spread them for me, and I would gently and teasingly milk her cock, bringing her to the edge of orgasm over and over, learning her body's arousal cycle and mastering how to spot that point of no return. The first time I did this until she was so desperate she begged me to let her cum. I made her promise to consume her release, which she has always done ever since. She knows that all of her emissions are to be consumed. At first, I would catch it in my hand and feed it to her, making her suck and lick my fingers clean. My pussy would gush at the sight and feel if her degrading herself sucking her own cum from my hand to please me. Later, our ritual evolved into catching it on a plate. It's the same plate every time - her "dinner plate" - which she is required to go fetch for me when it is time for her milking. When she has released onto her dinner plate, I have her kneel at my feet and lick it clean as I watch.

And that's how it started, this life of slavery for N. About four months into her training, N moved into my house full time and taken over a wide array of domestic duties, including cleaning, laundry, cooking, and personal service duties from mundane to what most would find rather extreme. Rather than a narrative story, each part of the Life and Times of Slave N will deal with a different subject of N's life as my slave, from details of the various ways in which she provides sexual service to me in my home, to her public service and display at clubs, events and parties, to her regimen for her appearance, our rituals and methods for discipline and punishment and her domestic duties.

"Why would N submit to such things?" you might ask. Well, as I mentioned above, she is deeply wired to serve and please women. I have taken this aspect of her personality and reframed her sexuality to associate extreme humiliation and degradation with pleasing me and whatever other mistresses and masters to whom she is given. It's a cycle that gives her a perversely great pleasure just feeling that she is giving up so much of herself to please and entertain me. That includes regular service if and hard use by men even though she is not attracted to males.

And that leads to a frequent realization that excites me endlessly. Before I owned her, N had never had penetrative sex with a woman. And if it isn't clear from the above description, she hasn't since she became mine, either. Not even a blowjob. Yet she desperately craves, desires and worships women and endlessly craves their attention and touch. My excitement revs into overdrive anytime I think of that while watching her be spit roasted between two masters, one pounding her ass while she struggled to milk the cum from the other with her now considerable deepthroating skills. I orgasm almost instantly after such sessions - when she's on her knees worshipping me, and I know she still tastes a night of cock and cum while she passionately tongues my ass in a beautiful cocktail of adoration and desperation.

N now craves humiliation and service though above all else. She lives to want me, and to suffer for me. It's a vicious circle, her life of service. and thanks to the careful rituals and training, she now wouldn't have it any other way.