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Review This Story || Author: Stacy M Kerns

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Part 1

Hi. Welcome. This is Stacy. Ill be your host for this story. The following serial novel is surprisingly true for the most part, and the inaccurate parts are mostly for narrative structure. All of the characters exist, and most of the events have occurred.

This is an important story. Its about sex and slavery, but its also about your life, and my life, and how we get through it all. Its an experiment, but its also a manifesto. This has all happened for a reason. I want to change people for the better, and if I have to enslave some people to do it, well, thats what Ive done.

Are you curious about me? Well. Ill tell you more about myself a little later. But first, I want to tell you about my slaves. I want to show you what they do for me. Ive let them write their experiences in their own words, but I heavily edited it to suit my own purposes.

Enjoy.


***


Part 1-1: Isabella


God, its early. Its way too fucking early for this line of work.

When I became a whore, I figured Id be a lady of the night. Thats sort of the understanding. This kind of thing happens under twilight. But its 8am and Im waiting for my trick to arrive and all I can think is I havent had my coffee. I wonder if he has, or if hell offer any to me. Of course, some things would need to happen first.

When my mistress left my apartmentthat would be about an hour agoshe made some preparations for the man that paid her to be with me.

First, she laid out the remote control on the couch, just so. Then, she made sure my computer was on a guest account. If he wanted to watch television or surf the internet, he could without any effort. The most recent mens magazines were stacked in an organic fashion on the coffee table. In the kitchen, several tuperwared leftovers: steak, ribs, pork. Meat. The microwave is easy to operate.

The apartment is clean, but not so clean he will feel uncomfortable. There are two red blankets draped lazily on the couch, and one more on the chair beside it. And visible, if you were to look into my closet, a hamper full of laundry. My apartment isnt like a hotel room. Thats the point my mistress made to me early on. Half the job is the setting. Im just the most important prop in the scene.

Another thing my mistress did before leaving for the day is lock me in my cage.

My cage is a four foot by three foot by three foot dog cage. Its for a small-to-medium size dog, something that would weigh no more than 140 pounds. I weigh 134 pounds. Im not shaped like a dog, but I have to be to fit inside the cage. My legs tucked underneath me, my arms tied in front. I cant really move, but thats another point for my mistress. Im a gift package. Im the mint on the pillow.

Its entirely up to the man if he wants to unlock me. The key is on the entrance ledge, where the house key goes. About half the men leave me in the cage. About half of those men dont even touch me. Its an amazing thing, to be paid more money than a whore to not even be touched sometimes. But thats the business were in, my mistress and me.

Well, thats the business shes in. Im just the really important prop.

The thing to remember about being a whore is that most of the time youre not a whore. But the thing about being a slave is that youre always a slave. Theres a really big difference there.

Another thing about being a slave is that sometimes youre a whore, and you dont really get a say in the whole matter, on account of youve given up your rights as a human being and all.

Thats how my mistress worked. If you wanted to be her slave, you had to be her whore, too. I really, really wanted to be her slave in the worst way. Thats how I ended up in this tiny cage, unable to move more than a few inches, waiting for a man who may or may not even fuck me.

I heard the creak of the lock. My mistress made copies of my door key for any man who paid for it. I was a different kind of whore. The man entered my apartment. Thats what he paid for. Access. He could do whatever he wanted in my apartment for up to two hours. He could watch a movie. He could smoke. He could eat. He could fuck me in any way he wished, for as long as he wished up to the allotted time. Sometimes they stayed longer. That was okay. In business, sometimes you have to stretch the rules.

Here is a list of a few things Ive been made to do as a whore for my mistress:

Been fucked repeatedly in all three of my holes.

Been pissed on, spat on, and kicked.

Been tied up, forced to swallow cum, to gargle it through my nose, and to lick up any remains.

Been gagged with my own panties, and with the panties belonging to the mans wife.

Been used as a table, a footstool, and a masseuse.

I hear the man come in, and drop the key. He takes his shoes off. I hear him open up the closet door and deposit his suit jacket. More often than not, the men who visit me wear suits. They generally come before work or during their lunch hours. Sometimes they come in the middle of the day. Nobody comes at night. At night, my mistress tells me, all these men are with their wives.

The mans footsteps are heavy. Perhaps he is old, and weighted down by age and success. Perhaps he is ugly. I keep waiting for a truly ugly one to show up, but they never do. More than anything, they look perfectly normal. The mans footsteps grow fainter. Hes walking towards the balcony. Some men cant wait to see me, naked in the cage. Its like Christmas. Other men, they want to breathe first, take a good lay of the land. Some men dont even come into the room.

Im a little cold, but its nothing I havent become used to. Ever since becoming my mistresss slave, I havent had the opportunity to wear that many clothes. In fact, theres really only two pieces of clothing in my closet left. Theres a little black dress, and theres a belt. The black dress is a size 0, very tight. It has thin straps, and goes mostly down to my knees. Its a very nice black dress. The belt goes with the dress. Sometimes my hands get tied with the belt. Sometimes its my ankles.

The dress is for whenever I have to leave the house.

I miss my clothes. I miss underwear. I miss sweaters. Coats. I miss warmth from something that isnt a naked man.

The man of the hour steps into the room. He sees me. I hear him chuckle a little. I hope he isnt too rough.

His hands touch the cage. Hes right above me. I look up.

“Hello,” he says.

I smile as best I can with my mistresss panties in my mouth.

“Can I help you with that?” He asks. He reaches in. He pulls the panties out. My jaw relaxes. It feels nice.

“Thank you sir,” I say.

“Keep your mouth open,” he says. From that, I can tell whats coming. I hear him unzip.

It takes him a second to kneel down so his cock is level with my mouth. He inches it into the cage. My lips meet it. I let it in. I still havent seen his face.

I suck his cock through the cage as best I can. He likes it. He moans. His hands grip the top of the cage. Hes ramming his crotch harder and harder into my throat. Part of me wants him to cum right there. Part of me hopes this is just the beginning.

You dont get into this line of work if you dont like sex a little.

When I think hes about to cum, he stops. He realized he was about to go, and he wanted to make sure he got his moneys worth. He stood. He left the room. I took a breath. Swallowed. I relaxed.

He came back in a minute with the key in his hand. He knelt down to the lock. My ass was open near it. He could see my ass, and my pussy. It was glistening. 

He reached in with two fingers. I couldnt hold in my moan. I let out a few key sounds of pleasure. He took out his fingers, and held the key. He inserted it into the lock. He opened the door.

“Im not letting you out,” he says. “Im just opening the door so theres nothing in between me and you.”

Fair enough.

He held his cock with two fingers and inched it into my pussy. He grasped the top of the cage with one hand, and reached in to grab my hair with the other.

He wasnt kind.

He didnt have a condom. I could feel his cum in my pussy. I could feel it leak out. A little drop of it fell onto my foot, and I wanted nothing more at that moment to be free from my cage to scratch it.

The man stood, walked away. I could hear him loot around my kitchen. He took something out. I heard a tuperware bowl snap open. I heard him sit. The TV came on. About fifteen minutes later I heard him leave.

I wiggled around. I tried to move, but I found my exit had been resealed. I thought there was maybe a chance he hadnt properly locked the door to my cage, but I couldnt get it open with my foot. I was still stuck, still imprisoned in my own apartment. There was nothing I could do until my mistress returned.

I was naked, cold, and hungry. A strange man had entered my apartment. Hed eaten my food, watched my television. Hed fucked me, and released his cum in my pussy. I never left my cage, and Id never seen his face. It wasnt the worst client, really, but I hated being caged this long.

I heard the phone ring. I obviously didnt pick up. The answering machine came on.

“Hi, this is Isabella. Im a little tied up right now, but Ill get back to you.”

After the beep, a reassuring voice. My mistress.

“Hi pet. I hope you had fun. Ill be back after my class to let you out.”

My smile turned sour very quickly when I thought about it for a second. It was Monday. My mistress had a class at two in the afternoon, and it went several hours. I might be stuck in this cage for four or five more hours.

I hate that I love her.


Review This Story || Author: Stacy M Kerns
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