drecksack2013:enigmamre:Admit it. You never wanted to be the serious, studious girl. You always

drecksack2013: enigmamre: Admit it. You never wanted to be the serious, studious girl. You always looked at the cheerleaders with envy. Pretty. Sexy. Perky. You’d listen to your friends call them sluts and bimbos. You’d join in but deep in your heart you wanted to wear the tiny skirt. You wanted men to put their hands on you. It’s never too late to change. It’s never too late to put away those baggy clothes and learn to do your make up. “Send me a photo to show my boss what kind of fuck-meat I come home to every day,” he sent, and she obliged, giving him a front and back photo, knowing that he had many, many more already on his phone, but knowing too that he loved to play this game with her.Then the phone rang and it was him, and he told her she was on speaker with him and his boss. “Do you suck my cock on your knees?” “Yes Sir,” she responded, licking her lips thinking of his boss listening to her. “Do you let me fuck your throat?” “Yes Sir.” “Does he fuck your ass?” The sound of his boss’s voice made her shudder in lust, her fingers sliding across her slippery cunt lips as she teased herself, panting. “Yes Sir.” “Do you enjoy it slut?” “Yes, very much Sir.” “Does he beat your tits, cunt?” “Yes Sir, until I scream.” “And your ass?  Does he beat your ass?” “Yes Sir, every day.” “How about your cunt?  Does he beat that?” She moaned, her hand dripping with her need.  “Only sometimes, Sir.” “I enjoy beating a slut’s cunt.  It makes fucking her afterward so much more enjoyable.  Ted here has said that I can beat your cunt if I want to.  That turn you on, slut?” “Yes Sir,” she gasped, “and it scares me, the pain of it.” “What are you doing right now?”  It was her man’s voice. “Edging, Sir.” “Good.  Now, I’m going to text you an address.  Leave right now and take public transit.  And edge all the way until you get to the address–I want your cunt slime running down your legs when you arrive.  You’ll be entertaining my boss for the weekend, and I expect you to behave.” “Yes Sir.” “What the hell are you waiting for, cunt?” he growled into the phone, and she shuddered, shutting off the phone and obeying, her body flush, her thighs already slick with her spend. The girl’s paperwork assured me that the cheerleader outfit was genuine. She had been sold by her parents upon her eighteenth birthday, just three months before she graduated high school, and she had made them quite a pretty penny.I was her fourth owner, and her price had come down quite a bit. Not that she was any less beautiful, of course. And at this point she was well-trained, obedient, and more than capable of faking sexual desire for whatever master owned her. No, it was simply that, with a constant supply of new slaves, as young women turned 18 and were sold by their parents; or committed a crime earning them a period of indenture; or slightly older women were sold off by husbands who decided they would rather purchase some slut than be stuck with the “love of their life” the truly wealthy could go through dozens of slaves a year. Or some of her previous owners might have been fetishists– rapists or trainers or others of their ilk.I was none of those. I just had a thing for attractive young ladies with curly hair, and had never had a blond before. And I admit, I did enjoy that she was a former cheerleader. I liked to think of the proud, independent young woman she had been; convinced that she would graduate and go on to rule a college campus somewhere just as she had her podunk little high school… before everything changed for her.I didn’t know if any of that was true, of course. A slave’s paperwork was detailed, yet nonspecific. Skills, experiences, statistics… but not biography. For all I knew, she might have been a Swedish cheerleader. At this point, it didn’t matter.Gagged and waiting in the dealer’s back room for me to pick up, she would have been trained to obey a certain set of commands common to all slaves, and picked up a few new ones from previous masters. “Speak when spoken to” was a universal command, as was “never speak about your past.”The commands could be broken, of course– that was a fetish, itself– but it was frowned upon. Reminding a slave of her life Before was deemed to cruel a treatment for a glorified cocksocket, though practically nothing was actually forbidden.And truly, all I cared about was how sweetly she gagged while I fucked her face, and whether she was a screamer or a moaner when I took her in the ass.The dealer– a redheaded free woman, dressed professionally in a suit, hair up in a ponytail– lead me back to my new purchase, and I smiled at my first sight of her. Made up to the max, kneeling in chains and collar, gag and cute little cheerleader outfit.The dealer laughed. “Want to try her out here? I’ll help.”I grinned at her. “Sure.” The dealer was not kind, dragging the girl over by her hair and removing her gag. Turns out, the whore gagged very sweetly.Ate pussy pretty well, too, from the sound of it.½ -- source link

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