“Shall I sign here?” she asked, her whispering voice was quiet but quite audible.
Dylan Kincaid nodded as she picked up the blue fountain pen and began to scrawl her name.
“And this,” he pushed another paper in her face, “affects a permanent change of your name, to em.”
“em, that’s all?”
“Slaves need no more than that.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lawyer seemed grimmer now, more authoritarian in his demeanor as the mood of the meeting darkened. He gathered up the papers, placed them in his file, and setting it aside, nodded to one of the men at the side of the room. “Jon, will you take the slave’s chair.” em hardly had time to rise before her chair was pulled from under her seat and she was left to stand while the four men continued to eye her with vigilant stares.
“Miss Janson,” the attorney buzzed his secretary. “May I see you in here?” He turned back to em. “Your master has asked that you surrender your clothes.”
“My clothes?”
“Yes, remove them.”
Her helpless look gave her feelings away, but this crowd was hardly moved. She opened her mouth to speak, saying only, “Yes, sir,” in a faltering voice.
She played with the button on the suit, as the attorney’s secretary entered the office, closed the door and stood like a faithful servant behind the trembling slave. With the button finally free, em’s eyes skirted the room for signs of emotion or approval, though nothing but blank, evasive looks of authority greeted her. Opening the jacket, she shrugged it off, revealing her slutty sensuous blouse, while wondering to herself why she was made to dress this way in the first place, only to ‘surrender’ her clothes.
em hesitated for a second thinking that the attorney might stop her, or Justin might offer his assistance. But neither man altered their expressions—mouths were fixed and gazes uncompromising. The room was hot, hot as they all were with passions underneath the fixedness, and the uncompromising attitudes burning with lust. They gave away no lustiness in their stares, but they’d made her the center of their attention. She was on stage to perform and she would remain so until she obeyed the attorney’s command. The beautiful, slutty white blouse was the next to disappear, and efficient Miss Janson was there with her red-nailed manicured hands to collect it. While em stripped her breasts bare, every eye watched the two jutting orbs as they shimmied proudly on display. Her nipples—always perfect giveaways for her natural state of arousal—began to shrivel into peaks, turning purple in color as blood collected at the very centers. They would be sensitive to any touch, even the movement of air around the room.
Miss Janson had her jacket and now her blouse, while em continued handing the woman the pale blue skirt, leaving herself with nothing to cover her private parts. Her breasts, her flawless creamy ass and even the shaved sex mound with its plump labial lips below were all on view.
She’d been nude before strangers before, disrobed in strange places with uncertain scenarios facing her. But she knew those occasions had their beginnings and inevitable ends that would bring her back to Justin. She had no such assurance this time. The end of this unusual staging was obscured even from her intuition. What would happen to her when she finally left this office was a mystery as shrouded in secrets as dying. Would he sell her? Keep her? Trade her to another master? She understood these options in principle. But faced with the unknown now, she was petrified of those possibilities as much as they aroused her.
Pushing back tears of sorrow for something irrevocably lost, she stared at Dylan Kincaid asking for more direction. Her hands just wouldn’t budge. Should she surrender the stockings and the garter belt, too? Her new high heels as well? Would she be left barefoot and naked? It seemed so. The man’s eyes did not alter their gaze, and with a nod of his head, he gave her all the command she needed to proceed. She was glad to have him there. Knowing what she might face in the next few minutes, she couldn’t look at Justin. The emotion was too enormous and the finality too sobering. Oh! How her body loved this, though; working her, driving her erotically to the end it sought.
“These are not your clothes,” Dylan reminded her. “They are the property of your master and he tells me that you won’t be needing them now.”
Now, as in the rest of the day, or the rest of her life? she wondered. Her panic grew along with her sexual longing. Removing the shoes, the garterbelt and the nylons, she turned and handed them to Miss Janson. The woman’s smile was guarded but knowing. As em watched her disappear out the office door, em wondered if she, too, were a slave.
“Kneel,” Dylan ordered once she turned back.
em obeyed, shakily sinking her knees into the thick carpet, being thankful that she wasn’t kneeling on hard wood or concrete.
“You have been stripped of human vestiges and given yourself over to the extremes of slavery with all the accompanying meanings that your master finds important. Your personal choices cease now. I hope that’s clear; as there is no more negotiation.”
“It is, sir.” She was saying this although she had no idea what that would mean. Her life was changing so rapidly, it was impossible to think straight. “Justin Booker has offered you to the Guild as an unrestricted slave… one of hundreds of women in your position who are bound by the same rigid structures and rules that bind you.” He turned to the men at the side of the room, to Jon, the one standing, a tall and lanky, Lincolnesque version of noble, agile and subdued. Given the nod, he moved forward with purpose and stood behind the kneeling slave so that she could feel his shoes against her feet. Reaching down, he grabbed her arms, pulled them up, so he could have her hands, and then drug her to her feet. Justin stood as well, pulling his chair away, to observe the scene from a few feet back. He seemed unusually stoic, although, like the rest of the men, underneath the cool surface, his body raged with savage excitement.
The lanky inspector moved brusquely, beginning a forceful and thorough inspection of em’s body. It was not unlike the other times she’d been inspected as a slave. The same kind of rough handling—fingers probing ass and cunt, her pussy splayed, her ass crack opened abusively and her breasts smacked hard until there were red handprints rising from the flawless white skin. Having endured such abuse, the examination should have been easy; and might well have been if it hadn’t been for the video camera trained on her and the wincing expressions of humiliation as each act became more intimate and determined. She stared into the camera’s lens like a startled animal in the wild.
Once the second stranger, the cameraman, had the video set, he joined the other man, probing her privates in the same commanding manner.
When the two backed away, she was directed into poses as if there were a still camera taking a picture of each ordered posture.
“Hands at your side,” Jon ordered.
Easy. She stood straight as an arrow, now relieved that their hands were not on her.
“Now, behind your back,” the Dom continued.
The camera whirred on.
“Turn around and show your ass,” the second fellow circled his finger as an example. “Bend over and part your cleft.”
Humiliation boiled within, but with her body not her mind in charge; she gave him what he wanted.
“Now squat.”
This feat was tougher, instantly putting her knees in distress. Her ankles ached and she was afraid she’d never keep her balance.
“Hands behind your head,” another command ripped through the air.
Her balance couldn’t help but falter, yet she managed to remain upright.
“And turn around.”
Turn around! How was that possible? Squatting on tiptoe, knees wide, her balance was precarious.
She held her breath while searching for some way to object, but she could think of no way out of this terror.
“Move, em.” It was Dylan Kincaid speaking.
With her pussy splayed and wet, and every muscle in her legs angry for relief, she slowly duck-walked until she wa
s facing the camera, and those four grueling pairs of eyes.
“Stand up,” the lanky Dominant ordered her.
There was no graceful way to pull her body from its crouch, so she managed it the best she could, keeping her eyes submissively lowered and her mood subdued. Her panic was receding. No reason why. Perhaps she was fitting into the spirit of the occasion, or just too numb to feel anything at all.
“On the stool.”
What stool! her bewildered mind wanted to know, until she restored her balance and peered down to see a button-tufted footstool in front of her. The low seat put her back in a crouch nearly as severe as the squat she’d just revived from. At least she had the comfort of the cushion to support her ass. And though her thighs were almost numb, she took a moment to relax.
“The tattoo here.” The men were behind her—all but Dylan Kincaid—with fingers fooling at her shoulder, pointing to her back and pressing against the skin as if they were deciding something important. Apparently they were.
The Guild insignia would be tattooed high between her shoulder blades.
“Anyone who sees this knows who you are by the imprint,” Dylan had the courtesy to tell her. “Your master has chosen the mark of the unconditional slave—which means he has great confidence in you as an obedient property.”
A slave.
Property.
Marked.
Tattooed forever.
Categorized.
Classified.
em’s body twitched and stung as the needles etched her pores with ink and her imagination filled with crude pictures of the ugly mark of a guild slave. She could hope for something beautiful, but must prepare for the worst. Every trembling moment was filled with commotion and a strange kind of wonder as she beheld her dreams staring her in the face.
Twenty excruciating minutes of waiting ticked painfully by until the tattoo artist behind her finished his job.
“Perfect,” her master spoke as he inspected the mark. Justin’s voice sounded strange, as though it didn’t belong to him, even though em recognized its familiar sound.
“Her profile has been entered in the Guild database,” Dylan informed them all, “she’ll be on record as of tonight. Her preliminary files have been transferred to the permanent one.”
“Good,” Justin was firm and thankful in his attitude. “Then we can proceed with her deportation.”
em’s world blurred from that moment, moving so briskly by that she hardly comprehended what was happening. Words flew around her; she could hardly make sense of who was talking and exactly what they were saying. She felt a sense of excitement and heart-pounding dread, and then a steady pulse between her thighs where she could feel the wetness of her own liquid brewing like some fancy liqueur.
“I have the car ready below,” Dylan Kincaid said.
“And I think simple handcuffs should do,” Justin decided. “I don’t want to arouse any more suspicion than I have to.”
“This time of day, there will only be a few people left in the building,” Dylan informed him. “The garage is nearly always deserted. We’ll take her down on the service elevator.”
“You think a cloak?” one of the Guild men asked.
“No.” Dylan Kincaid did not concur. “High 50’s, the weather’s reasonable, she’ll survive it naked. We don’t throw out protocol for anything except blizzards and hurricanes.” His mood was as brusque as the activity around him. A simple chain of one-inch links was flung over her head while her hands were handcuffed behind her in steel.
Her owner, Justin Booker now stood before her with a grave expression on his face. “I’m transferring you to a facility where your training will be continued until I’ve decided my next plans for you.” em could feel his body heat, the fiery stirrings of his passions communicated to her crotch from his, as if they were actually touching, as if in the midst of all this craziness they were still connected. It would only be by the most tenebrous means. What was left between them, she wasn’t sure. Not now, not when she was being sent away, sent adrift on this undefined sea of passion. “As your owner, I am proud of what I’ve made of you. And I know you’ll not disappoint me. You haven’t opted for an easy life. But it’s what you desire, and I could hardly deny that.” Was it sadness in his voice? Or grief? The hard edges of his demeanor had softened, leaving something of Justin’s kindness in its place. He seemed curiously vulnerable, as if none of this was of his doing.
“Sir, I am sorry if I hurt you.”
“I know.”
“But you are still my master?”
“Yes, of course, em. I am merely exercising my right to do with you as I please. Whether it pleases you is of little consequence to me.”
He said no more, nodded and backed away, with Dylan and the lanky Dominant, Jon, stepping to either side of her and escorting her into the outer office. A few secretaries looked up from their work, not particularly moved to see a handcuffed naked woman walking through the office. Several attorneys and a client were as undisturbed as the rest of the room. So surreal, bizarre, like a movie or a late-night TV show on an X-rated channel.
The humiliation and suspense of the next few minutes filled em with awe. How could they get away with this outlandish scheme?
Hustled to the elevators, she waited inside the clutches of the two proficient masters as they buzzed the service elevator, acting as if the transport of a naked slave was a common occurrence. Perhaps, in Dylan Kincaid’s world the act was not so astounding, or without precedent. Perhaps that was why the office staff so thoughtlessly went on with their routine. Were they all associated with the Guild? It seemed to be the only logical conclusion. But this question, like dozens more would go unanswered, filed away for a time, somewhere in the future when she might find an explanation.
As the elevator door opened, em’s body could already feel the chill of a cool afternoon turn her skin into a rash of goose bumps. She shuddered as she was pushed forward and turned around.
Though she was out of the public eye for a few seconds, there was little relief for the scared slave as the three made their quick decent to the parking garage. As soon as the door opened, another wave of anxiety swept her—along with the chilly October air. In the distance, at the far end of the garage there were businessmen and a well-dressed woman in a pale business suit. em remembered herself just an hour before, arriving for the appointment, dressed in designer clothes.
How all of that changed so quickly! And without one word of protest from her lips.
That morning, em followed Justin’s orders trusting him, given no clue that she would find herself exposed to a world that would see her this way and not seem to care. Even curiosity did not engage the stares of those across the parking garage.
The car was waiting as Dylan had said, a brown sedan with leather seats and a shoulder harness to secure her inside. She would ride naked with her hands uncomfortably secured behind her in the steel handcuffs. To make the posture even more extreme, a spreader bar was placed between her knees and anchored at each side with straps, forcing her legs wide apart and exposing her cunt. Thankfully, with the car door closed, no one would see. Even the window glass was tinted to prevent people from peeking inside. Obviously, the effect of the bondage was designed for her alone, and the humiliation was profound. She was chattel. Property. Slave.
As the car zoomed off through the near empty garage, she turned back seeing the silhouettes of her two attendants returning to the elevator. She was left alone with an unknown driver, moving toward an unknown destination. Her fear redoubled along with the incessant sexual ache in her belly.
This day of bizarre happenings could hardly be over; the only certainty was more humiliation. As the brown sedan moved briskly through the city, em stared out to the fast moving world realizing that she no longer inhabited the reality most would call their normal lives. She no longer fit in decent society. Her choices had been profound, not the stuff for the weak-minded or those without some great longing to fuel such a radica
l departure from society’s conventions.
What would become of her now? Shunted off by her owner to some strange place where her life would take another gargantuan turn. Was this what she expected of slavery? Hadn’t she wanted something more domestic, a simple mutation in a tedious marriage?
No. Her sexual hunger was not simple. It never had been. Her thoughts went to extremes, her desires followed, her body led and there could be no simple solution for what her spirit begged for.
Stripped down to blood, bones, flesh and need. Was that all she required for this new beginning? She thought longingly of Justin, wondering how he’d spend his night.
***
Putting em in bondage on her way to the formal training, Justin could wash his hands of his slave, keeping her safely out of his life and hopefully his thoughts until the training was complete. He shook hands with Dylan Kincaid feeling righteously thankful for his assistance in the matter of his former wife, and then he was off to other diversions.
“She’ll perform for you,” Dylan assured him.
“I know, better than the ones I already have.”
The attorney could see a mildly disconcerted look in his friend’s eyes. A day earlier Justin Booker had been convincing in his plans. A few months of turmoil had seemed to have a positive end. But now his resolve was changing again, and Dylan didn’t like the look he saw.
“You’re bothered,” he suggested kindly.
“And I shouldn’t be,” he said flatly trying to restore his customary equilibrium.
“We masters are human. This couldn’t be easy.”
Justin laughed. “You know the hardest part?” Dylan raised his eyebrows waiting for him to continue. “I’m all fucked up because it was so damned easy. I throw her off to someone else and I don’t have to care. Strange as it seems, I don’t want to care.” He looked thoughtful, but not guilty, just a little surprised by himself.
His Latest Acquisition Page 15