NATURAL BORN SLAVE – Femdom Story

3.9
(13)

by Tau_90

Sometimes the best way to hide something is to hide it in plain sight. People often fail to recognize the truth even when it’s poking them right in their nose.

Slave 22 was a living example of such a paradox, albeit in a slightly different way than one would expect. For slave 22 didn’t know the name of his owner, even though it was cruelly branded on the top of his head.

“Property of Mistress VanV” read the inscription, carefully spelled out in stylishly decorated letters. Letters that burnt like hell when they were branded on the top of his skull. They branded him weeks ago, but he could still feel their sting. It was ironic that the letters were so omnipresent, yet impossible for him to read. Impossible to know the name of a woman who owned him and held the terrible power to transform him into an immovable object, a toy, a living furniture.

She didn’t condemn him to his position to punish him. She did it because she could and because his purpose was to serve her as a guinea pig for her sadistic games. A few weeks ago he didn’t even know she owned him. He worked in the fields and toiled under the hot tropical sun while she enjoyed a life of luxury in her country villa.

As a matter of fact, a few weeks ago even she didn’t know she owned him. As a heavy labor slave he was used on one of her plantations, which she rarely visited. She didn’t care much about her business as long as it provided a steady and substantial flow of money. The management of the farms was entrusted to her personal secretary, mistress Whey, who did a great job driving the slave workforce to the limits of their strength. Besides, Whey never bought new slaves individually. Most of the slaves on her plantations were bought in packs of ten, twenty or even thirty slaves, which always brought a considerable bulk discount.

Slave 22 thus came to the farm quite unceremoniously a year ago, when mistress Whey replaced obsolete slaves with a thirty-piece pack of thralls. When they arrived, they were strong and healthy animals of firm and muscular stature, albeit they all exhibited the same abject servility that befits a slave. A year later they weren’t much more than a pack of emaciated wretches that toiled under the hot tropical sun from dawn till dusk, desperately trying to avoid the attention of their female overseers. When slave 22 was given a chance to leave this place, he grabbed it with both hands.

That fateful day a few weeks ago, he and a few other thralls toiled in the fields close to the main road under the watch of taskmistress Asami. The petite Asian girl looked all sweet and innocent in her white equestrian gear, but in these wretches she inspired ultimate fear and awe. Asami was one of Whey’s favorite employees. She was youthful and energetic and seemed to have a real talent for dealing with slaves. She rode a black stallion and circled around them, always exited at the prospect of finding a reason to punish them.

That particular day, she just caught one of the slaves taking a few minutes rest and she summoned slave 22, who was close nearby, to help her dismount. She always used slaves as footstools, when she dismounted. Hearing her order, slave 22 hastened towards her and and knelt on all fours. She dismounted the horse and jumped right on the slave’s back as if he was an ordinary inanimate object. She would normally take the reins of her horse and descent to the ground, but this time she remained standing on the slave’s back, observing a cloud of dust in the distance.

“Attention slaves! Line up at the side of the road! Kowtow! Now, vermin!” yelled mistress Asami.

A dozen emaciated creatures silently crawled out of the field and formed a kowtowing line by the side of the road. They offered a truly pitiful sight. They groveled in the dirt and humbly pressed their bold heads to the ground, inhaling the road dust. Were they not branded by numbers, there would be no way to tell them apart.

Slave 22 didn’t join the rest of the slaves. He remained on all fours carrying the weight of taskmistress Asami who apparently had no intention to step down.

A sound of horses galloping was drawing near and a few moments later two riders pulled up, raising a cloud of dust.

“Mistress Van, mistress Whey! A rare honor!” mistress Asami greeted the arriving equestriennes. “How can I be of service? 15, 14! Help them dismount” she barked at the slaves in line. Two slaves crawled from the line towards the horses and assumed their position on all fours so that the two ladies could step on their backs while dismounting their horses. Mistress Asami also stepped down from slave 22’s bruised back and ordered the slaves to return to their posts. Slave 22 joined the other thralls and assumed the kowtowing position at the end of the line.

“Mistress Van requires another roach for entertainment” spoke mistress Whey. “So I’ve thought about your pack, Asami. These slaves are relatively fresh. Most of the other packs are all used up. They wouldn’t be much of addition to your collection, Van”.

“We’ll see about that!” replied Mistress Van. “As long as they breathe they are my property and they will serve me, even if it is the last thing they do.”

All three approached the line of kowtowing slaves and mistress Van offered her foot to the first slave in line: “Kiss maggot!” The slave pressed his lips on the tip of her riding boot, but she immediately withdrew her leg and hit him with a whip. “Not impressed!”

The trio slowly proceeded through the line until the tree pairs of black riding boots appeared right before the slave 22’s face. As all other slaves he respectfully pressed his lips on the boot of his rightful owner. The leather of her riding boot was hot and dusty and he couldn’t help thinking how moist and hot her feet must be. Suddenly and almost instinctively, he opened his mouth and started to lick her boot.

It was a bold move. It could lead to a dreadful punishment. But it was also a sign of devotion and slave 22 desperately wanted to leave this place. Obviously he didn’t know what mistress Whey meant when she said they require a roach for entertainment. But it couldn’t be as bad as breaking your back in the fields, could it?

When mistress’s Asami and Whey noticed what he did, they both instinctively grabbed for their whips. “Wait!” mistress Van stopped them. “My boots are all dusty from the ride. He should clean them while he’s at it”. She gracefully raised her foot so he could lick the dust from her soles. She let him abase before her for a few minutes, then she kicked him in the head and turned around.

“This one, Whey. I want this one. There’s some spirit in him after all. Tormenting him will be a lot of fun”

With that they simply turned around, mounted their horses and rode away.

Mistress Asami approached him and placed her right foot on his head forcing his face into the dirt. “Miserable wretch” she laughed. “You thought you had a hard time under my whip? Wait for mistress’s Van and Whey to have their time with you, slave!

A few weeks later, slave 22 discovered his hopes of escaping the world of drudgery were partially justified. For the last two weeks he was indeed free from any work. In fact, he remained firmly bound under the throne in mistress Van’s personal boudoir. His body was kept immobile with the use of many straps, chains and shackles and his neck was placed in a spiked collar. The slightest move brought him acute pain.

His only real task now was to serve her as a footstool. And to suffer. She loved to see him agonized, utterly broken, dehumanized and humiliated. It brought her immense pleasure and she often visited her boudoir to use her special chair. Sometimes she would simply sit there for hours, reading, chatting on the phone or watching TV. Knowing that she has a slave underneath.

During these last two weeks she rarely spoke to him. But today she was in a slightly different mood. She came to the boudoir early in the afternoon, dressed exquisitely as always. Short black dress decorated in laces, pantyhose and high heeled leather boots made her look unbearably beautiful, dominant and arrogant.

She sat down on her throne, lit a cigarette, pulled her right foot out of the boot and placed it on the slave’s face. Slaves 22 took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his Goddess. She looked divine towering high above him. Her nylon-clad foot was warm and moist and the scent of her perfume was overwhelming.

“You like that, don’t you, slave?” she spoke to him seductively. “The more I torment and humiliate you, the more I trample you and treat you cruelly, the more you enjoy your existence as my plaything. I understood that the moment you first abased yourself before me, licking the filth off my boots. You are special. Not an ordinary slave, but a natural born slave. It would be a waste to leave such a slave out there in the fields. There is a cosmic connection between us. We are the opposite extremes of the same curve. I am a Goddess. You are a cockroach. Your purpose is to squirm beneath me. Don’t worry, this predicament is only temporary. I will let you out soon as I have other plans for you. You will always live in chains, but I know you would embrace them even if you were free to choose. You are and you will always remain a slave. Because that’s the essence of your existence. You are a slave.”

How useful was this post?

Click on a star to rate it!

Average rating 3.9 / 5. Vote count: 13

No votes so far! Be the first to rate this post.

As you found this post useful...

Follow us on social media!

One comment on “NATURAL BORN SLAVE – Femdom Story”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>