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Subject: {ASS}SSK: A Slave's Story  Pt 4 (M/F, NC, Bond, kidnap)
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                                     STANDARD DISCLAIMER

The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and 
has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author.

The author explicitly prohibits.

1) The posting of this story in an incomplete form. 

2) The use of this story in a larger work without his express 

3) The use of this story on any CD, BBS or Website without the
    written permission of the author.

This work is copyright J Snyder 1998. 

All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to 
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous or illegal.

Snyder 1998

		A Slave's Story By Snyder

Chapter 4

Oh great! I did it again. I was going to lie here and try to remember
my life as a free woman, and instead I've gotten myself all hot and
bothered. Have you ever tried NOT to think about something and then
that's all you CAN think about? That's what happens to me every day
when I tell myself not to think about being a slut. So here I am -
horny, alone, and not permitted to touch myself. (Remember, the MASTER
decides when I can cum, and he's got that damn video camera monitoring
me when he's out)

Sometimes I wish the madman who kidnapped me had been a "normal"
rapist, so my mind wouldn't be so confused now. After all, when I'm
not being turned into a brazen slut by his devious torture, I can
recall being an intelligent, independent woman, with a mind of my own.
One minute, I'm sure I'm not REALLY a slut, but the next minute I'm on
my knees *begging* him to use me again. God, talk about dilemmas! And
I've been wrestling with this dilemma since the fourth day of my

That was the day after my "good-slave" lesson. The "bad-slave" lesson
had occurred on the second day of my captivity, and consisted of an
introduction to his "switch" while dangling from my wrists. I'd never
been struck before, and I couldn't believe how much it hurt. It was
"only" 14 strokes, but it seemed like many times that to me,
especially because he made me muffle out a "thank you" after each
stroke. The day after that incident I was considerably more receptive
to his master/slave routine, and my reward was the "good-slave"
lesson. This was to meant show me that he could give pleasure as well
as pain, and no matter how I tried to resist it, his almost day-long
teasing and toying with me brought me to orgasms I never dreamed were
possible, and left me literally begging for more.

And so on that fourth day, I awoke before the alarm, feeling
wonderfully rested and refreshed. I'd never felt so deeply satisfied.
In fact, it took me a while to remember where I was and what I'd done
and said the day before. "No," I told myself, "that wasn't me! I'm not
a slut and I'm nobody's slave!" I was sure there was some logical
explanation for my behavior, I just didn't know what it could be.

Then I heard him starting down the steps, and remembered that I'd
better get on my knees fast if I didn't want to feel his "switch"

"Good morning, Slave."

"Good morning, Master. Your slave awaits your command," I answered,
remembering the greeting he'd ordered me to always use.

"Very good. And my command is for you to tell me how you're feeling
this morning."

Now, why did he command me to do that? Could he read my mind or what?
Did he somehow know what I'd just been thinking?

I tried to be coy, at the same time remembering to refer to myself in
the third person (his edict: a slave is an object, not a person, and
cannot refer to herself as "I").

"Your slave feels OK, Master."

"Just OK? Don't lie to me, because I can tell when you're lying."

I hesitated, not knowing how well he would be able to read me and not
sure how much of my confusion I should reveal. But I finally decided
to just tell the truth.

"Umm, well, you see, Master, your slave feels very satisfied in a way
she's never felt before. But I, uh, I mean 'your slave' can't
understand why she acted the way she did yesterday. A few days ago,
your slave was an intelligent, self-reliant woman. She never begged a
man to use her like she begged you yesterday, and she certainly never
referred of herself as a slut before. Your slave is troubled about
these conflicting feelings."

There was a pause, and I was afraid he'd jump on my slip-up when I
referred to "his property" as an "I". But thankfully he didn't.

"Yes, I know you're confused because you've been brainwashed for so
long into thinking that you were independent. But *I* know you're
really just a pretty toy made to please and amuse any man who takes
you and trains you. You acted the way you did because you *are* a
slut, and the sooner you accept that fact the happier you'll be here.
You are meant to be owned and used. You have no other purpose in

"But..." I interrupted.

He grabbed me by the hair pulling my head back sharply. "But what!
Slave," he shouted, obviously displeased at my interruption.

"Your slave begs forgiveness for speaking out, but, how could you know
all that about me, oops, about your slave? How could you be so sure
your slave would respond the way she did."

He relaxed his grip. "I'll answer your question, but don't push you're
luck. I will not tolerate disrespect from my property." He paused and
I said nothing. "First of all, all women secretly want to be owned and
used by a man. It's part of their nature, although it's more
pronounced in some than in others. You, in particular, always acted so
haughty and proud - your behavior was just an unconcious reaction to
your true desire to be enslaved. Any man who knew what to look for
could tell that you desperately needed to be taken and trained to be
fulfilled as a woman. Despite your apparent success in life, I knew
that you were really miserable. I knew you found the wimps you used to
date too timid and unassertive. You needed a true master who could see
through your facade and take complete command of you. The more aloof
you tried to be, the more certain I was." He continued to elaborate on
clues he said revealed my true nature. And it was scary how much of
what he said actually rang true, although I kept denying it to myself.

But the day was not going to be completely spent chatting. After a few
minutes, he seemed to rouse himself out of philosophizing, and got
down to the business of continuing the training of his new slave.
"You'll soon begin to see the truth of what I've been saying," he
said. "Yesterday I showed you what a wanton little slut you truly are.
But remember it's *your* purpose to please me, not the other way
around." And with that, he proceded to tightly bind my arms behind my
back, strapped on a ball gag, attached a leash to my collar and led me
to the living room. He forced me down to my knees, bent me over the
coffee table, and tied me down tightly. I found myself becoming
aroused at his rough treatment, and tried to suppress it, but as he
cut off my panties, I heard him chuckle to himself as he felt the
telltale moistness. Then, without the elaborate foreplay of the day
before, he proceded to quickly rape me doggy-style, leaving me moaning
into my gag, completely aroused but unsatisfied. And as he rested and
flipped through a magazine, I was left bound to the table,
unconciously swaying my hips trying to entice him to fuck me more. My
inner slut was on the loose again.

As he'd implied, that day was spent with him forcing me to serve his
pleasure. And his pleasure entailed tying me up in numerous positions,
always keeping me completely helpless, and fucking me repeatedly. He
fucked my cunt, my mouth, and my ass. I was hogtied, ball-tied, bent
in a strapado, and suspended upside down. I was also introduced to
nipple clips and crotch ropes. I'd never dreamed there wereso many
ways to tie a girl up.

After hours of this, he instructed me on some of my more mundane slave
duties. First, he dressed me in a "French maid" costume and strapped
my elbows behind my back. He connected the leather cuffs on my ankles
with a short chain and locked cuffs on my wrists too, but left my
wrists otherwise free. He finished my maid's outfit with a bit-gag
attached to a head-harness. Thus costumed and restrained, I was
commanded to dust, sweep, vacuum, serve dinner, clean up, etc. All the
chores a traditional wife might be expected to do, I had to do, only I
did them while hobbled and restrained. With my elbows bound, I could
not use both hands together, unless I kept them behind my back, in
which case I couldn't really see what I was doing. And I almost fell
numerous times tottering around on three-inch heels, with only about 6
or 8 inches of slack in my ankle chain (thank goodness he didn't make
me wear the 4-inch heels). It was frustrating and humiliating work,
and he took great pleasure in watching me attempt these chores,
occassionally offering "encouragement" in the form of a whap! on my
ass with a riding crop.

After all my chores were finished, he fed me and let me have a
bathroom break (finally!). But the evening was still young. There was
still time to show me the exercise room. Apparently, he didn't want me
to get out of shape, because he had a room full of equipment, to which
I was chained, tied, or otherwise fastened, and forced to work out.
For the last part of the workout, he commanded me to dance for him.
I'm not much of a dancer, but I fiured it wouldn't do much good to
protest. So, with my arms tied behind my back, but legs free for a
change, and with "Like a Virgin" playing on the stereo, I started a
half-hearted attempt to dance. Maybe I was still warm from the
workout, but as I got over my initial clumsiness, dancing before him
like some harem girl, and seeing the swelling in his pants, that inner
slut started asserting herself once again, making my movements more
sensual and evocative. Of course, he couldn't help but notice.

"You look mighty fine, Slave. And your dance is very effective, as you
can see," he said, while opening his fly and pulling out his enourmous
erect cock. "Would you like to suck it?"

"Yes, Master, please," replied my inner slut in a husky whisper.

He allowed the song to end, then ordered me to kneel at his feet, and
suck his cock, which I did eagerly and hungrily, with my arms still
bound tightly behind me.

That night, he fastened my wrists and ankles together with handcuffs,
chained my collar to his bed, and let me sleep with him. This was my
"reward" for learning my lessons so well. And so my fourth night as a
slave was spent gratefully at my Master's side in my Master's bed.

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