“You can just keep doing that yourself while we watch.”

The vibrator had been tunnelling in for I don’t know how long. Sometimes deep before being pulled back to the shallows and sometimes ploughing rhythmically as he thumbed and fingered my clit. Every now and then the vibrator would touch one of my cunt rings and the ring would shiver in harmony with the pulses.

It might have been ten, fifteen or twenty minutes, I’m not sure. I was sitting on the lounge with my legs spread wide as the mystery shopper did his deed. Behind the blindfold I thought many things, ‘Are my juices dripping onto the lounge? What is he going to do next? Is he going to hurt me now?’ I could hear Master somewhere off to my right silently witnessing the proceedings.

Then, leaving the vibrator in my cunt, the mystery shopper got up to have his cup of tea, announcing: 


Now, that is a sentence guaranteed to strike fear into the hearts of slaves everywhere. It’s one thing to be the ‘victim’, the ‘object of use’, it’s another thing entirely to suddenly be the ‘performer for the boys’ amusement’. Smiling in embarrassment/ disbelief/ I-just-want-to-die-ness, I did what I was told, imagining all the while Master and the mystery shopper sipping tea and watching the little fuck animal play with herself.

I was so very happy when he came and took charge again. I could slide back into anonymity and just be the “vessel” once more.

One thing that stuck with me during the whole experience was the smell of latex. It was the condoms of course. I haven’t smelt that smell since…god….2005? I didn’t let my ex-husband lay a finger on me without have one firmly in place (I was also on the pill, but completely and absolutely neurotic about getting pregnant.) My former owner used to cum exclusively in my ass or mouth. I often tasted the ‘delights’ of my anal passage as he finished.

Condoms are something that my brain associates with my ‘pre-slave’ days. Somehow, the smell seemed very out of place in that oh-so-slavey experience.


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