Owning Professor Ballard Part 10
***DISCLAIMER: Nonconsensual fuckery ahead! This installment of the story contains elements of involuntary sexual servitude, coercion, blackmail, forced bisexuality and body modification. It’s basically an erotic revenge fantasy in which the victims turn against their torqueor and as usual, I take things way, way too far. If this is not your cup of tea, please move on to something more conventional. You’ve been warned.
There is some sex around the edges, but the majority of this episode deals with the mechanics of how Daphne is finally undone by her own hubris and narcisim. ***
***
Dawn.
The slave awoke in her cage at precisely 5:45 a.m. Her body clock had been trained to wake her at precisely the same time every morning.
God help her if she ever overslept.
The slave shuddered in the cold morning gloom, remembering the severe cunt whipping she had suffered when she had neglected to awaken her owner at the prescribed time several months prior.
She swung open the door of the dog crate at the foot of the bed and crawled out, her body jewelery tinkling softly in the dim morning light. She rose to her feet.
The slave was naked aside from her thick black leather collar. Her owners never allowed her to wear clothes of any kind in their home.
She looked down at the bed.
The sleeping couple were sprayed out on the bed, the covers only half covering their naked bodies.
The slave recalled the couple’s lovemaking from the night before. Her master had made her mistress cum at least four times as he took her from behind.
The slave had watched glumly as her mistress climaxed loudly over and over again on the man’s massive cock.
The slave herself had not been allowed to have an orgasm in almost a year.
It was part of her penance.
As usual, her mistress had ordered the slave to knee by the bed as the man fucked her.
Her mistress always made her watch.
The lady of the house stared down at the slave as she was being fucked by her husband’s huge cock, not even looking away as each powerful orgasm overtook her.
The slave knew her mistress was taunting her, reminding the younger woman of the pleasures she had once enjoyed, but would never know again.
The slave shighed and looked at the bedside clock, then silently padded out of the bedroom to perform her morning ablutions in the bathroom downstairs.
Later, the slave re-entered the room where the couple still slept. She held two steaming mugs of coffee, prepared exactly to the specifications of both of her owners.
She put the coffee down on the bedside table and knelt by the bed until it was time to awaken her sleeping mistress.
Just a few more minutes.
She wondered idly if the couple would have sex again this morning.
Since they had re-married, the couple seemed to fuck almost every morning.
If they did make love, the slave would knee and watch.
And then she would clean them both, sucking the man’s cock clean before crawling between her mistress’ legs to suck and lick the man’s seed from her pussy.
This was her life now.
10:00 a.m.
Professor Kathleen Ballard sat at the desk in her office at the university. It was a quiet Thursday morning. She was grading papers and humming tunelessly to herself.
Ballard was forty-five years old, but could easily pass for a woman in her thirties. She had luxury auburn hair, which she currently wore pulled back in a long ponytail. Her eyes were steel gray. She had a pert, slightly up-turned nose and full lips over straight white teeth. She was of average height with firm, medium sized breasts, a well-toned ass and shapedly legs.
The professor smiled thinly to herself, thinking of this morning’s love-making session with Richard. It had been almost a year since she had moved back in to the house with her ex-husband, and six months sinceThey had been remarried, but they were still as sexually animated as newlyweds. Perhaps it was the unique domestic dynamic they shared with their live-in pet that was spurring them to ever higher peaks of password.
Presently, the professor felt a wet trickle in her loins. She smiled again. Richard always came so volunteerly when he ejaculated inside her. It was not unusual for her to leak for hours Afterward.
She picked up the phone.
“Professor Daphne Swanson,” her younger colleague and Richard’s erstwhile ditzy trophy wife chirped when she answered Kathleen’s call.
“It’s me. Get in here, cunt. I need more cleaning,” Professor Ballard said brusquely and hung up the phone.
“Yes, ma’am. Right away, mistress.” Daphne replied breathlessly into the void of the dead connection.
Daphne quickly placed the receiver in its cradle and double-timed it down the hall to her mistress’ office, her siletto heels clacking loudly on the marble tiles. The slave quietlyentered her owner’s office and closed and locked the door behind her.
Unbidden, Daphne wriggled out of all her dress and folded it neatly. She was never allowed to wear underwear or a bra, so she was naked underneath. She fetched her collar from behind a book on the book shelf by the door. After buckling the black leather collar in place, the slave stepped nimbly up to the desk and stood naked before her mistress in inspection position.
Daphne stood clearly straight, her posture erect, legs wide apart, hands lacened behind her head, eyes downcast, her breasts and vulva thrust out before her. The slave was cutely conscious of the large steel butt plug embedded in her anus. The crisis jeweled base twinkled merrily in the slanted morning light as the slave’s sphincter contracted spasmodically around the broad circuitference of the large bulbous head.
Professor Ballard studioly ignored the slave for several minutes, savoring the humiliation that Daphne must be feeling atbeing put so casually on display here at work, with her colleagues and dozens of students only a stone’s throw away.
Finally, Ballard put down her papers. She remained seated and looked up at Daphne, regarding the younger woman from across the desk.
It really was amazing how much Daphne had been transformed in the span of a single year.
Kathleen Ballard had to admit that the woman before her was an impressive specimen. At thirty-three years old, Daphne could easily pass for a woman in her early twenties. She was almost six feet tall and built like a human Barbie doll, with over-sized breasts, a narrow wasp-like waist and long, well-toned legs. The slave was never allowed to wear jewelry or make-up, but her face still glowed with youthful vitality. She had emerald green eyes and full, expressive lips.
The slave’s once lustrous long blond hair had been shorn down to a manly crew-cut, really just a bristle of platinum blond now.
Professor Ballard’s let her gaze drift downward from her slave’s pierced nipples to her bare vulva.
She smiled to herself.
The tattoo that now permanently marked Daphne’s new purpose in life was clearly legible, even from six feet away. Etched into the pale, tender flesh were two words in black three-inch block letters that now defined her existence.
TONGUE
SLAVE
Ballard let her gaze drift down a bit further to take in the slave’s vaginal acoutrements. Daphne’s labia had been pierced during her first week of sexual servitude. The eight steel rings were as thick as the slave’s thumbs. The rings had been permamnetly welded into place and could not be removed without industrial grade bolt cutters. There were four rings on each side, all held together by a large brass lock.
The rings and lock served to deter any unauthorized penetration of the slave’s vagina.
Professor Ballard had literally thrown away the key to the heavy lock, tossing it with a theatrical flourish into thelake on campus as Daphne watched, her expression pained and bereft.
The weight of the vaginal jewelry and heavy lock had brought about the desired effect on Daphne’s most intimate anatomy. The slave’s delicate inner labia now dangled a full eight inches below the vertex of her thighs, stretched taught and white under the unrelenting weight. Idly, Professor Ballard wondered how much more the slave would be stretched in the coming years.
The point of installing the hardware had been to permanently transform the contours of Daphne’s vagina, to make it floppy and slack and generally unappealing to anyone, male or female.
In her previous life, Daphne had used that once pretty pussy with its light dusting of gossamer blond public hair to coerce dozens of innocent female students into sexual slavery.
That would never happen again.
Professor Ballard had made it her mission in life to literally ruin daphne’s pussy forever.
The older professor leaned forward and watched the rings and lock swing lazily beneath the twin flapjacks of the slave’s thin, pale, grotesquely elongated labia.
Mission accomplished, Professor Ballard thought to herself.
Kathleen Ballard grunted in satisfaction, then seemed to suddenly remember why she had summoned her pet.
The older woman stood slowly and reached under her skirt with both hands. She hooked her thumbs Under the waistband of her panties and rolled them gracefully down her shapedly legs. She picked them up and eyed the crotch closely. Just as she had suspected, several gobbets of pearlescent semen had pooled in the fabric.
She placed the soiled panties on her desk.
“I’m leaking again,” she said curtly to her slave. “You must not have gotten it all this morning,” she added gruffly. “Remind me to punish you for that tonight when we get home.”
“Yes, mistress. I’m sorry ma’am. I’ll do better, ma’am.”
Ballard sat back down behind her desk and spread her legs.
“Getover here and finish the job. And I’ll take three orgasms this morning.”
Daphne immediately dropped to her knees and crawled to her mistress. She took her familiar place between her owner’s legs in the well of the desk. When she was in place, she tilted her head back and looked up at her mistress and uttered the familiar incantation.
“May this worthless whore please worship your superior pussy, mistress?”
“Yes you may, cunt.”
Daphne smiled with geneine enthusiasm and buried her face between her mistress’ thighs.
Professor Ballard showed with pleasure at the first touch of Daphne’s velvety tongue. It really was amazing how skilled she had gotten at pleasure a woman. It was hard to believe that the hapless slave had never once tasted pussy prior to beginning her training.
In Only a few seconds, under the slave’s expert tongue, Professor Ballard’s pussy began to quickly, her juices flowing freely and mixing with the remnants of Richard’s semen as they descended from the vault of her vagina into the slave’s open, eager mouth.
Daphne grunted with pleasure, swallowing greedily as the warm tide of her mistress’ essence mixed with her master’s cum slide down her throat. She continued licking, her tongue, a living, pulsating ribbon of muscle, snaking ever upward.
Professor Ballard smiled down at Daphne as her first orgasm overtook her. The slave’s eyes were closed in ecstasy as her owner’s pussy spasmed against her tongue.
The slave quickly induced two more quick orgasm from her mistress with her well-trained tongue, the last eliciting a modest gush of squirt, which the Daphne gulped down greedily.
Professor Ballard casted contentedly as her slave licked her clean, lapping up the last remnants of her essence with the flat of her tongue.
She reached down and patted Daphne’s head affectionately. It really was amazing how far the slave had come.
Daphne had lived with Professor Ballard and her husband Richardfor almost a year now, serving as their live-in slave.
But now it was time to move on.
“That’s enough, slut,” Professor Ballard said brusquely, pushing the slave roughly away from her pussy.
She looked down at her kneeing colleague.
“I have some news,” Professor Ballard stated neutrally.
Daphne looked up at her mistress expected, her eyes radiating affection for her owner.
“I’ve sold you to the sorority,” her mistress said bluntly.
The slave’s eyes widened, her expression a caricature of shocked disbelief.
She began to sob softly, a single tear etching its way down her left cheek.
Professor Ballard leaned forward.
“There, there, slut. You’ll still live with Richard and I during the week, but you’ll spend your weekends serving at the sorority house.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daphne replied docilely.
Ballard struck a conciliatory tone.
“I’m sure they won’t whip you too often unless you give them a reason to, pet.Just do as you’re told and you’ll be fine, slut.”
“Yes, mistress,” Daphne replied softly. “It’s just that the younger ones can be so cruel,” she added disconsolately.
“Well, a deal’s a deal. You’ve already been sold,” replied her mistress dismissively.
“Yes, ma’am,” Daphne said meekly, then looked up into her mistress’ eyes, a question on her lips. It was clear from her expression that the slave had something on her mind.
Professor Ballard looked down at her.
“What is it, cunt? Spit it out,” her mistress ordered irritably.
The slave swallowed several times before speaking.
“May I ask how much you got for me?” she asked softly, her expression unexpectedly poignant in its open, guileless vulnerability.
For a moment, Professor Ballard almost felt sorry for the wretched creativity kneeing before her. Only a year ago, Daphne had been a proud mistress herself with a dozen pretty slaves at her beck and call.
Now, she was being sold as chattel.
“Twenty dollars,” Ballard stated flatly.
Daphne raised both eyesbrows in a pantomime of surprise.
“Only twenty dollars a week?” Daphne asked incredulously.
“No, silly goose. Twenty dollars in total,” her mistress replied tartly.
The kneeling slave shook her head slowly and looked down at the floor, as if apprehending the true depth of her debasement for the first time.
“I’m afraid that’s all they were willing to pay for you, slut, given your current…situation…down there,” Ballard continued disdainfully, nodding vaguely down at the slave’s disfigured vagina.
Daphne’s shoulders sagged.
“Yes, I understand ma’am,” Daphne croaked at the floor.
Professor Ballard pressed on, completely ignoring her slave’s dejection.
“Anyway, my decision is final. You start tonight. I think they’re hosting one of the fraternities for a party, so I’m sure your dance card will be quite full.”
“Yes, mistress,” the slave replied glumly.
“I’ve discussed the terms of your use with the head mistress in detail.”
“Yes, mistress,” Daphne replied softly.
“They will keep you hooded during gang bangs or when they loan you out to individual guests to protect your identity.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” Daphne replied robotically, completely defeated now.
“And of course your boundaries and limits will be respected.”
“Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress.”
Professor Ballard snapped her fingers.
“Ooh, that reminds me. How is that latest tattoo healing?”
The slave looked up from the floor.
“It’s fine, ma’am. It still itches a little, but there’s no more pain.”
“Stand up. Let’s have a look.”
The slave stood.
“Turn around, slut,” Ballard ordered, twirling her fingers.
Daphne slowly turned until her back was to her mistress, her labial rings tinkling musically as she moved.
Ballard leaned forward to inspect the large adheren bandage affixed to thesmall of the slave’s back.
“You haven’t peaked, have you?”
“Oh, no, ma’am,” the slave replied emphymically. “You said not to, mistress.”
It was a testament to Daphne’s progress in her training that Professor Ballard actually believed her. The slave had been punished far too many times over the past year to ever dare violate a direct order from her owner.
Ballard picked away at the edge of the bandage and then began to peel the beige rectangle off of the slave’s back. It came away with a tearing sound.
And there it was.
“Oh, it looks great, slut!” Ballard gushed. “Fat Tony does such excellent work,” she added, referring to the artist they had used for all the slave’s various markings and piercings.
“Yes, he does,” the slave replied wanly.
“It came out Even better than I expected,” Ballard observed, eyeing the large tramp stamp apprisedly.
Daphne turned her head to regard her mistress over her shoulder.
“Can I ask what it is,mistress? I was picturing a pretty floral motif or maybe something tribal?”
Professor Ballard smiled thinly.
“Something like that,” she replied vaguely as she examined the tattoo more closely.
Professor Ballard ran her fingers over the letters etched on to the pale skin at the small of the slave’s back. Each over-sized block letter was at least three inches tall, inscribed in black ink.
Ballard had commissioned the tattoo as an extra precaution to ensure Daphne’s boundaries would be continued to respect while she was serving at the sorority.
The slave had been vaginaly cevibate for almost a year now and her mistress damn well planned on keeping her that way.
Daphne’s labial rings and the struggle lock holding them together were secure enough, but the truth was that the slippery, constantly leaking interface of her distended, sagging lips was not exactly airtight.
A motivated suitor who was not particularly well endowed could easily sneak throughh if he was not aware of the slave’s parameters.
Ballard could not let that happen.
She would be damned if some drink frat boy was going to stick his dick where it didn’t belong.
The new tramp stamp would be impossible to ignore when Daphne was being mounted from behind by one of her suitors.
She ran her fingers over the large black block letters.
A N A L O N L Y
Professor Ballard smiled to herself in satisfaction, then ran her hands over the large tattoo one more time.
She stood up from her chair.
“Okay, cunt. Get dressed and go back and finish your work. I want to leave early tonight to get you ready for the sorority.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the slave replied softly as she slipped into her dress.
As Professor Ballard watched Daphne dress, she pondered her slave’s upcoming fate. She knew her younger colleague would not have an easy time of it at the sorority.
Ballard reflected on how the arc of both of their lives had hinged upon the unique fulcrum of the lesbian BDSM sorority.
Kathleen cast her mind back to the day she had turned the tables on her former arch nemesis once and for all.
Everything had changed on the day of the annual sorority party.
***
One year earlier…
Penelope Paine was having second thoughts.
The young mistress was sitting in an overstuffed chair in her dorm room, freshly shown and wrapped in a fluffy white robe. Her skin was still flushed from the three orgasms her slave’s tongue had provided earlier that morning.
Pudge knelt at her mistress’ feet. The slave was naked, aside from her black leather collar, nipple rings and a jeweled stainless steel anal plug. She was carefully painted her owner’s toenails, her expression fixed in rigid concentration.
Penelope was now twenty years old, a statuesque blond, with large breasts, a narrow waist and long, shaped legs. She had the body of a dancer, lithe and well-toned. Her face was a perfectoval of symmetry, with high cheese bones and brilliant blue eyes surmounting full lips.
Penelope Paine was a natural mistress and had already cultivated the enthusiastic submission of dozens of women over the years, their ages ages ranged from eighteen to forty-five. Her current slave, pudge, had been her randomly assigned roommate freshman year. Penelope had seduced and enslaved the innocent farm girl on the very first day they met.
Now, as sophomore year was coming to a close, pudge was completely devoted to her roommate-mistress. The petit, ginger-haired slave truly loved being owned by Penelope and never tired of pleasure and pampering her mistress.
Leave a Reply