In a society that otherwise resembles our own, mass slavery has persisted into the 21st Century. It is a common and accepted feature of public and private life. Males and females of all ethnic backgrounds are held thrall, without status or legal rights. They are quite literally living property, and may be bought, sold and used for any purpose, including: hard labor, breeding, menial work and sexual servitude.
This series of stories, which is not presented in any particular order, explores the daily life of a prostitute-slave named Sara. Purchased at auction by a Las Vegas casino, she is tasked with fulfilling the sexual urges of its clientèle, who pay for her favors along with room service and Wi-Fi access. Subject to their every whim, she has known both anguish and delight, but most often casual exploitation.
When she is not engaged by a guest, Sara must contend with capricious and underpaid corporate overseers and occasionally vicious slave stable politics.
***
When Sara stepped naked into the cosmetics station after her shower, she had expected to be alone. A high-rolling couple had held her over almost until evening, so her blind booking with a single male guest that night had been canceled. She was replaced with another slut and told to prepare herself for a display assignment instead.
The rest of the stable had washed and applied their cosmetics hours ago, so Sara was able to enjoy a warm, leisurely shower and thought she would have the long mirror and brilliant lights of the make-up counter all to herself.
She did not.
A tall slut with long, blond hair stood at the far end of the counter, applying mascara. Her call name was Jessica, and she was easy to hate. Even among a stable of sluts specifically bred and selected for their sex appeal, she was strikingly beautiful. She had a radiant smile, long legs, flawless skin and impossibly firm C-cup breasts. House Master Turner once told Sara that Jessica had received a 9.9 on her Moore-Fordham assessment – the highest possible score.
Sara could not ever recall having seen Jessica bruised or bleeding. She seemed to effortlessly avoid being disgraced or humiliated. Between her legs, she was allowed to maintain a small, neatly trimmed patch of public hair. Sara envied every follicle. She would sometimes imagine that she was allowed to grow out her own, dark pubes. She thought it would make her look more like a woman – not a slut, not fuck-meat – and then maybe guests would abuse her less.
In spite of all that, Sara did not hate Jessica – she admired her. Jessica was friendly and kind, and whatever the source of her mysterious immunity, she never used it to disadvantage another slut. Indeed, Sara had seen her try to protect other girls.
She walked towards Jessica, but stopped a few places short, not wanting to disturb her if she preferred her time alone.
“It is nice to see Sara,” Jessica smiled, continuing her work.
“This slave is happy to see Jessica,” Sara replied, a little giddy to be recognized, as she began dusting her face with foundation.
“Has Sara been photographed in the last few days?”
The question caught Sara off guard. She had been photographed – and it was different from the regular updates for the Helios website. It had been an uncomfortable experience. Shadowy figures stood at the back of the room, whispering among themselves while Sara flaunted her body for the camera. However, nothing had happened since and she had already begun to forget about it.
“Yes, she was.”
Jessica nodded.
“A lot of the best girls have been,” she said. “This slave knows seven for sure, including herself and Sara.”
The sinister implications of that statement were lost on Sara, who was overcome with joy at being counted among the ‘best girls’ by Jessica. Although she routinely received excellent performance evaluations, she felt awkward and alone among the other sluts, sensing that they resented her.
“Yes… What?” Sara stumbled, embarrassed that she did not actually grasp what Jessica was trying to tell her.
“All of the best girls are being photographed,” Jessica repeated, unperturbed. “This slave has heard that they will be used for some kind of special tasking.”
Sara’s emotions swung from elation to fear: special tasking never meant less pain.
“What special tasking?”
“This slave doesn’t know,” said Jessica, finishing her make-up.
She turned and smiled at Sara.
“If Sara was a guest, would this slave be pleasing to her?”
Sara turned and looked at her. She could not imagine a more beautiful woman.
“If this slave was a guest, she would buy Jessica from the house and keep her all for herself. She would have three bucks in her stable tasked with making Jessica happy.”
Jessica blushed.
“This slave hopes that Sara would take her pleasure from the bucks, too,” she said.
“No, they would only service Jessica. Sara would have five more bucks all for herself!”
The slaves laughed together.
***
Along with ten other house girls, Jessica and Sara knelt under bright lights at the front of a posh guest lounge. House Master Crawford patrolled up and down the line of identically dressed sluts, clutching a prod, while House Master Davis and House Mistress Ballard stood nearby, watching. Davis pulled a phone out of his pocket and looked at it.
Her eyes trained at the floor, Sara heard the double doors leading into the room swing open, and several people enter. In her peripheral vision, she could see the overseers visibly stiffen. Crawford stepped away.
“Eyes up, sluts!” said a woman’s voice.
Sara and the other girls raised their heads. A well-dressed woman wearing a pearl necklace with a tailored skirt and jacket stood over them.
“My name is Rebecca Endecott. I manage the Intimate Services Stables here at Helios. The house has been given a great opportunity – we will be featured on six upcoming episodes of ‘The Real Sluts of Las Vegas.’
“The show’s producers have looked over all of the girls in our stables, and they have chosen the twelve of you for a closer look. From here, you will be taken one at a time for them to examine further. They will ask you questions and have you perform certain tasks.
“Six of you will be selected to appear on the show. Those of you who are not selected will be taken down to Sub-Level 9 and a correction will be provided for you.”
“That is all. Eyes down, sluts!”
She handed a tablet to one of the overseers.
“House Master Davis, you may begin,” she said.
Davis glanced down at the tablet.
“Okay, 0748 – Alicia, up!” he barked.
Alicia gracefully lifted herself off the floor and followed him out through the double doors.
Fear was already gnawing on Sara’s guts. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, but it wasn’t enough. Her heart started beating faster.
She reminded herself that she could be one of the six selected by these “producers.” They were just a different kind of guest – that was all – and she always got good performance reviews from guests.
They would ask her questions and she would answer them. They would tell her to do things and she would do them. She recognized, even expected, that they would be painful and humiliating, but nothing could be worse than Sub-Level 9.
To avoid that, she would debase or hurt herself on command. If they told her to drink a bottle of cold spunk harvested from a dozen male utilities that had been locked in chastity for a month, she would swallow it down and beg for more. If they tasked her with touching a prod to her own sex and triggering it, she would burn herself and plead to do it again.
Sara told herself that she would, she could, do anything if it meant being spared the kind of corrections that were administered on Sub-Level 9. She used that idea to hold back the fear – cataloging all of the miseries that she would willingly endure to keep herself safe.
“Next: 1465 – Miranda!” House Master Davis called.
Sara was shocked by how long Alicia had been gone before House Master Davis returned for the next girl. A fresh surge of icy fear flowed through her veins as she tried imagine Alicia at that moment. What had happened to her? Was she bleeding? Was she happy? Was she in the elevator, descending to Sub-Level 9 with a collar tight around her neck?
Sara tried to push back against the terror inside of her again, but she was less successful than before. Her thoughts ran wild until she heard House Master Davis call out:
“Next: 2280 – Sara! Up!”
The slave stood alone on stage in a small auditorium. Blinding spotlights made it impossible for her to see who was out in the audience. In the center of the stage stood a tall shape, draped with heavy black fabric. In her heart, she knew that there was something terrible inside.
To her surprise, she had been allowed to retain her clothes. She did not understand how anyone could evaluate her without seeing her naked.
“You are Sara, correct? 2280?” asked a man’s voice.
“Yes, master,” she answered quietly.
“Sara, we don’t have a mic on you, so speak up, okay?”
“Yes, master,” she said, louder.
“It says here in your profile on Helios’ website that you are bisexual. If you got to choose, would you prefer to have sex with men or women?” asked a new voice – a woman.
“Sara will do anything to please you, mistress,” the slave replied.
The woman continued: “Sara, I’m sure that’s what you’re expected to say, but we need you to tell us how you really feel. If you don’t, we’re not going to use you. Understand?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Which is it: men or women?”
Sara stared out into the darkness. During the lesbian conversion program, she was trained to pleasure women and take pleasure from women. When it was done, she was told that she would service both men and women and enjoy them both the same – and she pretended that it was true.
“Let’s get the next girl in here… This one’s a dud.”
“Men, mistress. Sara prefers men,” the slave answered quickly.
“Do you cum when you have sex with men?”
“Yes, mistress – sometimes.”
“Do you ever cum when you have sex with women?”
“Yes, mistress – but not very often.”
Another man added his voice to the conversation.
“If you were giving a man a blowjob, and he let you decide whether he was going to finish on your face or in your mouth, which would you choose?”
“Sara’s face, master,” the slave answered.
“Do you like it when men finish on your face?”
She was silent. She had been taught that she liked everything that was done to her, unless it was specifically intended to cause pain.
“Sara, you have to answer these questions.”
“This slave does not like it when men cum on her face, master.”
“Then why would you choose that?”
“She likes it even less when men cum in her mouth, master. She has to swallow it, and it makes her feel sick.”
“Have you ever swallowed so much cum that it made you throw up?”
“Yes, master.”
“Tell me about the last time that happened.”
“The men Sara was servicing made her lick it up and swallow it again, master.”
The woman asked the next question: “What would be the best night you could ever imagine having with a guest?”
“The guest would not abuse Sara, he would make her cum and he would give her a good performance review, mistress.”
“That’s not enough, Sara. You need to start giving us real answers, or we’ll find another slut who will. Got it?”
Before the slave could answer, another woman out in the audience spoke up.
“Hang on, Barb. I think she’s smart enough to get this if we just lay it out for her,” she said. “Sara, we already know pretty much everything about you that everybody else thinks is important. We know you are beautiful. We know you have a perfect body. We know you will allow yourself to be hurt or humiliated if that’s what it takes to make a guest happy.
“You wouldn’t get to be a top-rated slut at a major Las Vegas casino if any of those things weren’t true. That isn’t what we need to hear from you. We need to hear about the things that no one knows about – the things you keep inside.
“If you give us that, then maybe we’ll pick you. If you can’t, or you won’t, or there isn’t anything in there, then we’re going to send you back to the stable and I’m sure that they will do something awful to you.”
Sara considered the woman’s words. She realized that these “producers” were much smarter than the guests and house masters that she usually serviced. They understood that her body had no more secrets to reveal. Sticky white seed had oozed out of every hole and over every inch of skin. Every single part of her had been used to give pleasure or receive pain more times than she could ever count – except for her imagination.
The only part of her that had never been fucked was the place that she went when she closed her eyes: exploring the gleaming towers she could see beyond the tinted windows of Helios. Having that place all to herself made her feel special and safe and she did not want to give it up – except that, back in the lounge, she had promised herself that she would do anything to avoid going down to Sub-Level 9.
She never considered that the anonymous people who held her fate in their hands would even know about that special place, much less demand that she give it over to them.
“What’s it going to be, Sara?” asked the woman.
She answered: “The guest would have this slave dressed in a beautiful black gown with sequins, so that she sparkles. He would take her in a long car – a limousine – and show her all of the houses on The Strip.
“He would make the limousine stop at different houses and he would walk around inside of them with her. He would not use a lead or a collar, and all of the people who saw her would think that Sara was a beautiful woman and not a slut.
“When it was time to go back to Helios, Sara would be so grateful that she would offer him anything: her mouth, her vagina, her ass – anything to make him happy. Instead, he would kneel in front of her inside the limousine.
“He would slide the gown up her legs and pleasure her with his mouth. Sara would cum over and over again, watching the houses go by outside the windows.”
When she finished, it was quiet for a moment.
“That didn’t hurt, did it, Sara?” the woman asked.
“It doesn’t hurt when when this slave displays her ass, mistress – it hurts when she gets fucked in her ass,” the slave answered.
“See, Barb? I told you she was smart.”
***
Sara continued answering their questions – she actually enjoyed it. No one ever asked her about her tasking, about the different ways guests casually hurt and humiliated her or how she endured it. Yet, even while she felt a profound sense of freedom – even catharsis – she could not escape a growing dread.
She was giving these “producers” the keys to her soul – her hopes and her fears, her dreams and her nightmares – and she knew that they could use them to inflict completely new types of pain on her. The experience was even more disturbing because she sensed that they were not seeking satisfaction for themselves.
She was always the most comfortable when she understood what she needed to do to get a guest off. It allowed her to protect herself by channeling all of the their energy and attention towards their own orgasm. The producers’ interests were much more remote, and therefore harder to understand and control.
Finally finished with their questions, one of the men sitting out in the audience said, “Okay, Sara, now we’re going to see how well you follow instructions. It’s very important that you do exactly what we tell you to do. Do you understand?”
“Yes, master,” she answered.
“Behind you, there is a rope hanging down from the ceiling. Pull on it.”
“Yes, master.”
Sara found the rope next to the tall, black-draped object at the center of the stage. She tugged on it and the drapes fell away. Underneath, she saw a slut, bound between two tall posts by her wrists and ankles, so that her arms and legs were held tight and wide. She had short blond hair and big tits. A red ball gag with a thick leather strap filled her mouth. She glanced fearfully at Sara.
“Do you recognize this slave?”
“Yes, master. Her name is Chrissy. She completed the lesbian conversion program with Sara.”
“Have you ever had sex with Chrissy?” asked one of the women.
“Yes, mistress.”
“Did you cum?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Did she cum?”
“Yes, mistress.”
Sara heard a noise behind her. She glanced back and saw an attendant wheeling a cart onto the stage. It carried a small cylinder with a red button on one end, surrounded by a dial with numbers on it. At the other end were two wires – one red, one black – connected to a pair of alligator clips.
Chrissy saw what was on the cart and looked over at Sara, terrified. Sara closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
“Go ahead and connect the wires to her labia,” said one of the men.
“Master, please, sluts are not permitted to be punished on their…” Sara began.
“We know you’re not that stupid, Sara. Get on with it,” said one of the women.
“Yes, mistress.”
Sara gathered up the items on the cart and knelt down between the bound slave’s trembling legs. She parted Chrissy’s lips and gently set an alligator clip on one of them. Chrissy flinched.
“If you want, you can put the other one right on her clit. That will be good for a few bonus points,” said a man’s voice. “You don’t have to, though – not unless you really want to.”
Chrissy pleaded wordlessly into her gag. Sara hung her head. She reminded herself that she wasn’t attaching electrodes to Chrissy’s sex: it was the faceless masters and mistresses sitting out in the auditorium doing it – she was merely their instrument, with no more choice in the matter than the wires themselves.
She carefully opened the folds of Chrissy’s feminine flesh and lifted the tiny steel jaw towards her clitoris.
“I’m sure it would be worse for her if you stimulate her first – you know, so she’s extra sensitive. That would be worth a couple of more bonus points for you,” said one of the women.
Sara shivered. She took a moment to find her resolve, then set the one remaining wire aside and pressed her lips against Chrissy’s sex. The bound slave moaned, although Sara recognized pleasure had no part in it – it was the horror of knowing what was going to be done to her.
She vigorously worked the bound slave’s clitoris with her tongue, but it stayed stubbornly nestled within its hood, almost as if it understood its fate. Satisfied that she had done all she could, Sara picked up the alligator clip and prepared close it on Chrissy’s spit-slick clit.
The helpless slave watched Sara intently. Seeing the gleaming metal teeth rising towards her unprotected genitals, Chrissy fought desperately to close her legs. Her muscles stood out like cables beneath her supple skin, but it was futile. There was nothing she could do but scream in frustration and terror as the slave kneeling between her legs carefully attached the clip.
Sara stood and turned towards the auditorium.
“Pick up the controller,” said the other woman.
The slave obeyed.
“Turn around and look at her, then go ahead and press the button,” she continued.
Chrissy frantically shook her head “No!” – her wet eyes fixed on the terrible device in Sara’s hand.
“Mistress, please…” Sara whispered.
“Do it, Sara,” said one of the men. “Burn your lover.”
Sara held her thumb over the button. In her mind, she rehearsed pushing and then releasing as quickly as possible. Chrissy was frantic, tugging uselessly at her restraints. Sara recognized ending her terrible anticipation was the best thing she could do.
She pressed the button.
The bound slave shrieked. The stout posts that held her bowed inward as she reflexively sought to curl into a ball around her tortured sex.
It was done in a fraction of a second, but Chrissy was changed by it. Stillness replaced her frantic struggles and she was soaked with sweat, which shined like glass beads in the spotlights. Her head hung down between her taut arms, her eyes dull.
“Sara,” said one of the women.
The slave did not respond.
“Sara,” she said again, louder.
“Yes, mistress,” the slave answered.
“This time, we’re going to use the dial around the edge of the button. Do you see it?” she announced.
The slave’s shoulders sagged.
“Yes, mistress.”
“Do you see how the numbers increase from zero to 30? That’s how many seconds the shock will last after you let go of the button. That way, you don’t have to hold it down the whole time. Isn’t that convenient?”
“Yes, mistress,” she said softly.
“Don’t forget to speak up, Sara,” said one of the men.
“Yes, master.”
“What you’re going to do now is choose how long you want Chrissy to burn,” he continued. “Go ahead and set the dial.”
Sara obeyed.
“Show Chrissy what you decided,” he said.
She held the cylinder up to the bound slave’s face. Chrissy’s eyes went wide. She began screaming into her gag and thrashing around so hard that Sara wondered if it would be possible for her to tear off her own limbs.
“It looks like you made a good choice, Sara. Now, press the button.”
Chrissy was suddenly still again, her total attention focused on the controller. Sara held it up and cocked her thumb.
She closed her eyes, steeling herself to send Chrissy to hell. In that instant, her thumb twitched – a tiny movement that no one, not even Sara, would have noticed under any other circumstances.
Then, a wet sound interrupted her thoughts, like a cup of water being poured out onto the floor. Sara opened her eyes and saw Chrissy pissing herself, her urine streaming freely into a growing puddle on the stage between her legs.
She waited until the last few drops had fallen, and then she pressed the button.
***
It had been a wonderful morning for Sara. After a week of safe and comfortable display assignments, she arrived at the dispatch desk to see “RSLV” written beside “2280” on the dingy white board behind the dispatch desk.
“That stands for ‘Real Sluts of Las Vegas,’” House Master Turner explained while escorting her back to a small classroom behind the overseers’ shared offices.
The space had been converted into a makeshift cosmetics studio and dressing room. A pair of attendants applied Sara’s makeup and gave her a skimpy swimming suit to wear. She spent the next two hours outside, frolicking with Miranda, Jessica, Tiffany, Rachel and Jewel in a secluded pool surrounded by lush palm trees. The warm air felt good on her skin, but the shade kept the blinding, burning rays of the sun away.
A man with eyeglasses and a salt-and-pepper goatee that she heard identified as “the director” ordered the six sluts to pose together – smiling, pouting, hands resting on each others’ hips – all for the unblinking gaze of three cameras that swept across their bodies.
Before it was over, Sara had sucked Tiffany’s heavy breasts to firm peaks while Jewel knelt behind her, pressing her tongue into Sara’s anus.
Afterward, she found herself in a luxurious suite near the apex of the pyramid. The director ordered Sara out of her house dress, panties and bra while half a dozen people rigged lights and attached cameras to sturdy, three-legged stands. A young man wearing jeans and a black t-shirt looked up from the equipment he was preparing and stared at her while she stripped, his cock swelling visibly inside his pants.
At the sound of a key in the door, Sara turned and watched House Master Turner lead in a pair of slaves. The first was a slut named Erika, who glanced around nervously at all of the unfamiliar activity in the room. Behind her was a lean, chiseled buck, wearing only a loincloth. Sara’s heart skip a beat when the director ordered him to strip out of it, revealing his substantial male organ, locked in chastity.
“Have you got the key?” the director asked House Master Turner.
Turner dug it out of his pocket. The director took it and tossed it to Erika.
“Work him up,” he said.
“Yes, master,” the slave replied.
She dropped to her knees and released the buck’s meaty shaft from its plastic prison, then took it into her mouth. The buck closed his eyes and groaned quietly, obviously unaccustomed to being serviced by a well-trained slut.
Watching Erika’s lips sliding up and down his swelling manhood, Sara felt an urgent heat rising between her legs.
“That’s enough,” said the director. “Randy, check and see if that one needs any attention.”
A fat man with a full beard walked over to Sara.
“Spread,” he said.
The slave opened her legs. She could feel her own wetness dripping down the insides of her thighs. Randy reached down and fingered her. He laughed. Turning back towards the director, he showed off his glistening fingertips.
“I’d say she’s ready, boss,” he said, smiling.
Sara felt her cheeks burning and lowered her head, humiliated.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Randy said, giving her a playful slap on the ass. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do right before you get plowed…”
He stepped away.
“Roll cameras,” called the director.
“Camera speed,” answered a pair of voices.
The director looked over at the buck.
“Okay, stud, lay back on the bed. Get comfortable – this is all for you. You’re a guest – relax and enjoy,” he said, watching to see his commands were obeyed. “That’s it… Honey, you’re on top. Straddle him. That’s right – good girl.
“Now, grab that big dick and put it inside you. Do it slow, honey – he’s huge. You’re afraid it’s going to hurt. That’s right, just the tip. Now, react! Good… Good… You don’t even know if you will be able to take the whole thing.
“Okay, stud, you want more. You paid good money for this twat… Put your hands on her hips. Good. Honey, when he pushes down, it hurts – but you like it. Do it! Now! Arch your back! Eyes shut! Perfect! Watch her, stud! Watch how it makes her feel! Good! More! Faster!”
Their rhythm established, Sara looked down into the buck’s eyes. Hidden deep within them, she could just pick out a trace of concern: he wanted to know if she was okay. Sara liked him immediately. She answered him with an imperceptible nod. He smiled.
“Listen up, stud,” the director said, watching the young slaves fuck. “This is a good news-bad news type situation for you. You will get to shoot before we’re done today, but it’s going to be a while, so just hold back.”
“Yes, master,” he answered.
“Have some fun, honey,” he said to Sara. “I want to see you to cum – for real. No faking.”
“Yes, master,” she gasped.
“Quiet on the set – I want nat sound for this.”
Sara leaned back and the buck shifted his hips so that the broad tip of his hot organ pressed against the special place inside of her that would bring her to orgasm.
She squealed with delight. He was perfect. He was strong, gentle, thoughtful and he knew how to use that big tool between his legs in ways that most men had never even considered – as a way to give pleasure, not just receive it.
Sara cupped her own breasts in her hands and threw her head back, panting. She imagined what it would be like to be a woman, a guest, and to have a buck all to herself: bliss, pure bliss.
After another few moments, her clit twitched and an orgasm tore through her like a bomb. She screamed and slumped forward, her trembling body resting on his broad, muscular chest. Lost in the hazy afterglow, she lifted her head and kissed him gently on the mouth.
“Cut!” shouted the director. “That’s a good first setup. Thank you, everybody.”
He walked over to the edge of the bed and looked down at the buck.
“That was pretty intense. You didn’t give it up for her, did you, stud?”
“No, master,” the buck answered, he erect organ still planted deep inside Sara.
The director nodded.
“Good boy.”
“Thank you, master.”
Sara’s eyes fluttered. Hearing the crew shifting equipment around the room, she tried to center herself, but the orgasm had ripped away all of her discipline and self-control. Sensing her weakness, the buck took her in his strong arms and carefully rolled over onto his side, sliding his long cock out of her. She shuddered.
“Up, stud,” said the director.
He obeyed, leaving Sara curled up on the bed.
“Where’s that fluffer?” he asked, glancing around until he spotted Erika, kneeling in the corner of the room. “You – come here. Suck your friend’s juices off him while we get ready for the next setup.”
Sara absently watched as Erika move across the room and kneel down in front of the buck. She looked back at Sara, her eyes smoldering with envy.
***
With Sara kneeling on the edge of the bed, the buck took her from behind – fucking her vigorously until she succumbed to another screaming orgasm. Afterwards, she lay on the bed, watching as the director ordered him to put on clothes: a dress shirt, jacket and slacks.
Even apart from the radiant, glowing feelings that she felt towards him after her second explosive climax, she admired him – his extraordinary stamina, his flawless technique, his gentle and perceptive approach. He was magnificent. Sara’s heart ached at the thought of a night alone with him.
“Okay, last scene,” said the director. “We’re working backwards here, so what’s happening now is that our guest has just arrived, and so our slut is going to greet him with a nice blow job.
“Remember what I told you, stud? Now it’s your turn – you’re gonna squirt all over her face… Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“Yes, master,” the buck answered quietly.
A few minutes later, Sara was kneeling at the foot of the bed, slowly working her mouth up and down his thick shaft. His eyes were closed and he groaned softly, enjoying every nuance of her service.
“Pick it up, stud,” the director snapped. “It’s not like she’s your girlfriend or something. Take her deep.”
The buck opened his eyes and looked down at Sara. She met his gaze – he was unwilling to make her suffer for his pleasure. She encouraged him with a tiny nod.
He put his hand on the back of her head and lightly pressed down until she gagged. He relented immediately.
The director snarled and jumped up from his chair.
“C’mon, boy! I’m giving you a chance that I know you don’t ever get otherwise…” he said.
Stepping forward, he slapped the buck’s hand aside, took a fistful of Sara’s hair, then pushed down hard until his entire length had vanished between her lips. She gurgled, then wretched – her throat in spasms.
The buck twitched, his cock immersed in an unfamiliar kind of pleasure. The director nodded.
“That’s it, boy,” he smiled. “Take it. Enjoy it.”
He released Sara. Her head snapped back. She coughed, gasping for air, as thick strings of saliva dribbled down from the corners of her mouth. The buck looked down at her. She took him back into her mouth, her eyes urging him on.
Sara understood what she was inviting on herself: being throat-fucked with a wide, eight-inch cock was pure misery, but it was what what the director demanded and she did not want to see the buck punished.
He looked down at her, kneeling between his legs, anxious to gag on his rigid male organ, then he closed his eyes, put his hand on the back of her head, and forced her all the way down.
Sara choked and spat as he continued, hesitant at first, but then with wanton enthusiasm. There had been an instant – Sara felt it – when animal lust finally broke through all of his restraint and discipline. Even as her lungs screamed for oxygen and tears streamed freely down her cheeks, some small part of her was grateful she had been able to give him that.
“On her face! Shoot on her face!” the director shouted. “You, honey! You keep your eyes open! Even if he shoots needles out of his prick, you keep your eyes open!”
He cried out, launching heavy ropes of milky white seed onto her face. The first one shot deep into her open mouth, another plugged her nostrils and two more laid down over her right eye before the sensation merged into a spattering spray.
***
His work done, the buck’s flaccid member was locked back in chastity and House Master Turner led him away, along with Erika. Sara was allowed to clean herself up in the bathroom. When she emerged a few minutes later, the suite was nearly vacant, except for the young man in the black t-shirt who had watched her undress earlier, his erection straining inside his jeans.
“The director called lunch,” he said, looking the naked slave up and down. “Too bad you missed it. No lunch for you today.”
Sara dropped her eyes to the renewed bulge in his pants.
“You could give this slave her lunch,” she said, biting her lip.
He smiled.
“You’re right,” he said. “I could.”
She sauntered over to him and dropped to her knees, looking up at him, her eyes hungry.
“Please, master,” she begged. “Please feed this slave.”
“This is only because I’m a nice guy,” he said, unbuckling his pants.
She pulled them down to his ankles along with his white cotton briefs, then took his cock into her mouth. He was big – about seven inches – but he didn’t force himself too deep. His endurance surprised her: it took several long minutes to coax his load out of him.
She swallowed it down and then sucked him clean, exploiting his relaxed, comfortable mood to ask a question: “Master, will every day that this slave is tasked for ‘The Real Sluts of Las Vegas’ be like this?”
“No, today we’re just getting footage for the opening credits, bumpers, b-roll – stuff like that,” he said. “You’ll start in on the scenarios in another couple of days. That’s when it gets rough.”