The Slave, the Stripper and the Slut

by Chan Nei

  She waited for hours, chanting her chant. Her own voice became deafening in her ears, drowning out any rational part of herself that wanted to reassert control. It also had the effect of indoctrinating herself to value the Doctor's opinion, each syllable she voiced like a mallet banging down on any

  thought of resistance. That mastery fueled her arousal and her body ached to be touched, to be touched by him. It was utter agony to not be able to feel herself and find release but, at the same time, this self-denial made this strange arousal all the more delicious.

  The phone rang and she let the answering machine pick up. It was Claire, asking to know what was wrong. She called back again and again, each time angrier than before until she finally swore she would never speak to Rachel ever again.

  Day turned into night and still Rachel knelt and reaffirmed repeatedly that she had been naughty. All thought other than what she had been charged to say had been eradicated.

  Finally the phone rang and Rachel heard the Doctor's voice on the answering machine.

  "Pick up the phone, girl!"

  Rachel surged up and quickly answered the phone. "Yes, sir!" She answered meekly.

  "Hello, girl. Did you obey my instructions?" She found his refusal to use her name intoxicating. It was if he robbed her of it as he claimed her for his own.

  "Yes, sir." She told him almost hungrily.

  "Good girl."

  The complement flowed over her like the most sensuous caress. In the midst of the ecstasy, she accidentally gave voice to a hidden question that a free Rachel would have asked. "What are you doing to me?"

  "Girl." The Doctor said in a stern fatherly voice. "Did I give you permission to ask a question?""

  "No, sir. Sorry, sir!" She was terrified that she would order her to return to her kneeling position and leave her there or the rest of the night.

  "Make yourself up nice for me and come over." He ordered. "I expect you to be here 30 minutes from now. Thirty minutes. No earlier. No later."

  "Yes, sir!" Rachel said but she found herself talking to a dial tone. After she put down the phone, Rachel quickly showered, put on her best cocktail dress and highest heels, painted her face and doused herself with her most expensive perfume. Dressed as if she were going to the most elite dance club, she walked back to the Doctor's doorstep. With each step, she had time to reflect. Had he really reprogrammed her into his.... She couldn't even think the word let alone think it. It was too awful to contemplate. Or was it too wonderful to believe?

  No, it was impossible she told herself. It was like those stage hypnotists. They didn't really hypnotize people. People just fooled themselves into thinking they were hypnotized because they wanted to

  pretend to be hypnotized. Rachel had been so starved for novelty in her life that the idea of being under Dr. Don's control just overwhelmed her. That was all. Everything she had done up to now was just a hiccup of psychosis.

  "I am going to control this." She decided. "It is all a bit of fun. I am going to tease that crazy doc and laugh in his face." As much as she tried to convince her obedience to his commands thus far had been a momentary surrender of will, the thought trembled on a foundation of doubt. It was a doubt that, at the moment, she was yet too frightened to recognize.

  After Rachel knocked on his door, the doctor greeted her with a mouthwatering smile as he drank in the angelic vision Rachel presented to him, a far cry from the housewife in t-shirt and jeans she had been earlier that morning. It was a smile that would have made Rachel's flesh crawl but now it made her tingle pleasantly all over.

  The Doctor informed her of his judgment. "Very nice." Rachel found herself suddenly giddy. She almost squealed with joy at his reaction.

  It was a short-lived triumph. Doctor Don looked at his watch. "But you are two minutes late."

  Rachel's elation quickly evaporated and was replaced by shame.

  "Come in." The Doctor commanded and she followed him inside, with her head bowed. Some part of her still new that accusing her that such a transgression was beyond silly but she could not help feeling that she had done something bad, like stealing. She roused herself to protest that she still retained her

  free will.

  "I'm toying with you." She told him. "I am not doing anything I don't want to do. This is just a game for a little excitement." There, she had asserted herself before him. If she was in control, why did she want the ground to swallow her up for fear of what he might do to her? Why was her greatest fear that she might send her away?

  "You're in control are you?" The doctor laughed.

  "Yes." Rachel shot back.

  "You'll have no need for clothes tonight." The Doctor told her. "Get rid of that dress."

  His words rumbled through her and spoke to every part of her mind except her rationality, the one part of Rachel that now had the least say. Desire, fantasy, hunger for sensual pleasure, all these parts of her that had been restrained throughout her adult life had now been unleashed. They all followed the map of her deepest, darkest, heretofore hidden dreams of being mastered. Rachel was partially right, Dr. Don did not control her, but the forces within her he had let loose with his programming did. These had wanted satiation for so long and this was their moment to drink their fill. Because they obeyed, she obeyed.

  Rachel found herself spreading the spaghetti straps of her dress over her shoulders so that it could slip from her body and fall to her feet.

  "I am in control! I am in control!" She whined, as she stood before him nearly nude. But she could not stop. She undid her bra and shimmied out of her panties. She was about to kick off her heels when the Doctor shook his head.

  "Uh uh. Those can stay." He told her and she left them on.

  Rachel stood before him naked, completely revealing to him her slim, lithe body of glowing skin and sleek curves. Her small breasts, with nipples the color of blooming roses hardening from arousal, were firmly round in their perkiness. Her tummy, even with its tautness, trembled when she thought of what was happening to her. Her sylvan face seemed almost childlike in her confusing state between horror and desire. She felt his greedy eyes grasp her in an invisible but paralyzing hold. Completely exposed and defenseless, she could do nothing but endure bathing in his gaze. To her surprise, something about that longing she created within him, within this man who was asserting his mastery over her, filled her with a delicious sense of pride and satisfaction.

  "Lean against the couch so I can get a look at that nice ass of yours." He ordered.

  Rachel put her hands on the head of the couch and leaned over slightly. She never felt so vulnerable and exposed in all her life. It was a feeling that was at once both frightening and exhilarating, like standing on the edge of a yawning chasm.

  The Doctor's hand fell with a loud slap against Rachel's tight ass. She clenched her teeth to hold back a cry but it was more from the shock than from pain.

  "You need correction. What happens to girls that are naughty?" The doctor taunted.

  "They're spanked." Rachel said gasping. The words escaped her lips before she had a chance to rein them in. "No...I am in control! I must be in control!" She told herself.

  The doctor's hand came down hard on her buttocks again. They burned with pain.

  "Yes. You're so naughty." The doctor laughed. "You need to be spanked."

  His hand landed on her again. Rachel found herself instinctively tensing and relaxing in rhythm to his slap. She knew she was being mentally transformed. That flicker of fantasy that had been struck when she read "The Story of O" and had remained with her was now inflamed, engulfing her personality remolding her into the slave she had been her dreams. There was no way to stop it.

  "I am naughty. I must be spanked." She found herself saying, a smile starting to grow on her lips. The old Rachel was warping and waning under the growth of her new self. All that she was--the knowledge, the restraint, the strength of will was moving to the background now, receding like the tide and being replaced by desire and hunger to be c
ontrolled, to be owned.

  "Say it again." The doctor told her as his hand came down again.

  "I am naughty, I must be spanked!" She cried as tears welled in her eyes. She felt her mind simplifying, almost regressing to an earlier time to a girl like state, that girl of so long ago that wanted to please.

  "I am naughty, I must be spanked!" She yelled at the top of her lungs now, almost affirming it. "I am naughty I must be spanked!"

  Her butt was raw by now and each blow blasted through, making her most erogenous zones sing. Each blow was confirmation of the control she did not have. Each blow drove her to the verdict, which she now had no choice but to admit--she had no control. Her lustful cravings dominated her now and Dr.

  Don had mastery over these. They did his bidding as she did theirs.

  The doctor stopped his spanking without warning, leaving Rachel gasping and sobbing over the couch. In her final submission she body seemed to radiate heat and was softly bathed with sweat. Her mouth was wet with hunger and her cunt was slick with its own desire.

  "I trust you will not be naughty again." He finally asked.

  "No, sir." Rachel cried. She was his and she would do as he asked, whatever he asked.

  "Good girl." The Dr. Don told her. "Now this display has made me rather excited, Rachel. What can you do about that?" He pulled her from the crouch, pressing up against her chest, taking a hand and gliding it beneath his waist. She could feel his manhood straining against his trousers.

  The slave Rachel had replaced the rational Rachel but, in the infancy of her new personality's power, she was still unsure about how far she would or could go. As her mind swam in dreams of all the ways she dreamt of pleasing a man, she now realized that no inhibition could stop her now from doing all the hungry, dirty things she had fantasized of since adolescence. Realizing she was unbound from all restraint, Rachel's slave self-latched on to that one thing she had always wanted to try but had been too ashamed to do.

  Rachel knelt before him, undoing his pants, pushing down his briefs. She was going on the stories of girlfriends, the stuff of romance novels and the ingredients of her own fantasies. Now she was performing it as a ritual to please the man who had mastered her. She massaged his sac with one hand. she used the other to guide his cock into her mouth. The hot wetness of her mouth met the hardening, velvety touch of his prick. His hands ran through her hair as her mouth slid over him. As master and slave, they both found rhythm and moved in unison, back and forth, up and down, thrust and swallow. She savored his taste as it grew richer and deeper. When his shaft swelled and tighten, she inhaled him deeply. With a murmur, he let himself go and she drank of him.

  "Good girl". The doctor said as he ran a hand through Rachel's hair. She smiled. She was kept, she was mastered, owned, controlled and it felt wonderful.

  "I think I will keep you." The doctor told her.

  Rachel tried desperately to contain her glee.

  "You are no longer a housewife or Rachel McGill. You will serve me and please me as my girl." He told her.

  "Yes, sir." His girl moaned with delight.

  "We'll keep my ownership of you secret. To the rest of the world you will remain Rachel McGill, bored housewife, but when I call upon you, you shall be my girl."

  "Yes, sir." She said excitedly.

  "Go. You will hear from me. Obey me well and I will allow you to know your own pleasure."

  Rachel quickly put on her clothes. She left holding the secret of her servitude lovingly close to her heart.

  She had entered Doctor Don's house as Rachel, the housewife who sometimes dreamt of being a slave and left it as his slave girl who pretended to be a bored housewife named Rachel.

  The next day Rachel knocked on Claire's door determined to patch things up. To anyone else this would seem like the act of a friend but Rachel had an ulterior motive--she had to put things back to normal so no one would suspect she was Dr. Don's girl.

  Claire answered but didn't say anything. She just gave Rachel a severe look.

  "I'm sorry about yesterday." Rachel explained. "I got sick all of a sudden and was puking all night. The chicken salad I had for lunch must have been bad."

  Claire was mollified by the apology. "That's okay, dear. So tell me, what was Dr. Don like. I've been so curious."

  "Oh, nothing special." Rachel lied with a smile.

  Part 2: The Stripper

  Monday. 10:45 a.m. Claire Willis and Rachel McGilll were having coffee as usual in Claire's dining room. Claire was telling Rachel about how a neighbor's exclusive handbag was actually a cheap knockoff.

  As Claire explained, "So she says, I bet it was $10,000. And I say, I bet she didn't spend ten bucks. And she says, no way, and I say, way. And she says, how can you tell? And I say, you can totally tell by the stitching. And..."

  Rachel's cellphone interrupted Claire's story.

  "Sorry." Rachel said with a sheepish smile. Claire frowned and sipped her coffee while Rachel checked the caller's number.

  "Sorry got to go." Rachel declared abruptly.

  "Hey!" Claire objected but Rachel was out the door in an instant.

  "She's been acting real crazy recently." Claire mused as she went to her front window to see where Rachel was going. She went into Dr. Don's house across the street.

  "Oh, that dirty whore!" Claire laughed. "I'll surprise her and the doc when they're getting it on. Let me time this right. Five minutes for chit chat. Two minutes to strip. Ten minutes for foreplay. Strike that. The doc has got to be a slow mover--15 minutes for foreplay. So I'll give them roughly 30 minutes and start banging on the door. That will scare them totally shitless."

  Claire thought about Rachel's infidelity while she waited for the right moment to surprise the couple. She felt responsible for it. She must have given Rachel the idea when she talked about how she wanted to have an affair. Claire hadn't been serious about fooling around. Sure her husband had other lovers. He probably had several, both guys and girls. Claire's reaction was "so what." He could play the field as long as he took care of Claire and he did that very well. He bought her whatever she wanted—the best clothes, the nicest handbags, the most expensive shoes, a great car. She had feigned anger in front of Rachel just to break up their dull routine.

  Claire had to admit though that she had sacrificed a lot for this life of luxury. Regular sex was one casualty. Her husband, Paul, wasn't around much and wasn't up for nookie when he was. Another price had been her dancing career. Paul was adamant it was inappropriate for his wife to be a dancer. At the time her husband had popped the question, giving up dance for security seemed like a good deal. She was unemployed, bouncing checks and her landlord was ready to evict her. Sure she loved the thrill of performing before an audience and showing off what her bod could do, but good gigs where always hard to come by. She found it hard to compete against the flat-chested stick figures with her deep breasts and curvy figure. The life was tough and she didn't want to go the way of Natalie Portman in Black Swan.

  Not that she didn't want to dance anymore. She practiced solo but it wasn't the same. That urge to dazzle a crowd was still with her and annoyed her terribly from time to time, to the point that she might explode if she didn't get on a stage. Sometimes, when she was really alone, she felt other urges and desires, feelings deep and primal that she kept locked away, a fantasy of dancing naked before an audience hungry for her and desperate to have her. She dispelled these feelings for fear they could doom her life of comfort.

  As much as her "kept woman" existence grated on her sometimes, Claire had to endure it as best she could, especially since Paul had made her sign an ironclad pre-nup that would leave her out on the street without a dime if she was caught fooling around. She was far too prudent to let that happen.

  Claire took great pleasure in being able to now wield that moral superiority over Rachel. Though they were essentially in the same situation as bored housewives, Rachel's Ivy League intellectual pedigree and smarts gave Claire a major league sense
of inferiority. Rachel seemed to know everything about everything. What made that worse was that Rachel had married for love where Claire had married for security. Those smarts and romance didn't carry much weight anymore and Claire took a lot of glee from that. Rachel slipped up morally and in a really stupid way. Now who was the better person?