*This is copyright 2000, cat_slave*
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The Idiot's Guide To Making A Slut
Chapter I: Creating The Slut Mindset
Over the course of several months, my anticipation had built up. From
the moment we'd started sending each other e-mail and silly flirtations
outside of it all, I just *knew* that she was going to be mine. I *had* to
have her, and I didn't even know what she really looked like. But none of
that really mattered--she was my type.
Clay, begging to be molded.
Everything was going exactly like I wanted to, each detail had been
painstakingly thought through, pre-arranged, and replayed in my head
obsessively. Time was crucial, now, and I couldn't afford a mistake.
I finally convinced her to visit me despite her protests of not having
sufficient funds to drive, or fly out. So I played the role of the Good
Samaritan, and offered to purchase them myself. I even arranged for her
hotel accommodations.
Despite her insistence that she'd pay every cent of it back and
repeatedly telling me that she couldn't accept it as a gift, I knew she was
more than grateful. She was in my debt. She knew it.
The game was starting out perfectly.
Her flight arrived in the early afternoon, a few days later. A taxi
picked her up at my request, and drove her downtown to the luxurious suite
I'd arranged. After all, I'd eventually spending a majority of the weekend
there, and I wanted to be comfortable.
We'd made arrangements to meet in the hotel dining room later that
evening, as I had to work. At least, that's what I'd told her. In
reality, I watched from her from a small distance.
My heart shivered, when I saw her being seated at the bar, just like I'd
arranged. She was an earthly girl, nervous, and yet with an abundance of
almost child-like energy and passion. She'd dressed as I'd suggested,
casual; and her definition of that consisted of a discreet pink t-shirt
with a colorful butterfly over her breasts, and a pair of jeans that
loosely hung about her hips.
I felt my nipples tighten underneath the short white dress I wore as I
thought about just what it was I was going to do. Yes, this weekend was
going to be *fun*.
My dress had been meticulously planned, as had the rest of the evening.
A stunning, yet simple white strapless dress that was just high enough to
allow glimpses to the ends of the matching stockings, and garters. I wore
a pair of white-heeled sandals that wound around the ankles and lower
calves to complete the ensemble. Slowly, I fingered my Eye of Horus
pendant, and tapped my little present for her with my other hand, as I
watched her squirm.
I was fifteen minutes late.
I grinned, as my tardiness put her off edge. Trapped in an unfamiliar
city, no friends to call, and having been told that all the tables had been
filled and there was no room for her party, she was quickly getting
uncertain, not to mention more than a bit scared. I couldn't help but
chuckle to myself as she asked for a phone, more than likely trying to call
me.
I waited another five minutes, until she was ready to leave before I
slid from out behind the obscured booth, pretending to have just arrived.
"Sara!" I beamed, excited. Oh, and I *was* excited. She had no idea
what was in store for her.
She turned, and looked, relief washing over her face, along with a new
set of worries, then a tinge of anger. It was all rather comical. "I
didn't think you were going to show up," she said, half-mocking,
half-serious. She hugged me, spontaneously, warmly, and I returned the
show of affection.
*Good.* She was already starting to joke around with me. I wanted her
to feel herself, after all.
We unwound our arms from each other, and she stepped back, giving me a
friendly smile, "I wasn't sure what to expect, really." Her eyes fixated
for a moment on me, then lower. She was checking me out; which was more
than fine with me.
I shifted my leg slightly pretending to take a more comfortable stance.
This lent to my skirt sliding up just enough to lend a clear view of a
jasmine vine tattoo there.
Her gaze slipped down, wavered at my calves. She smiled, and then
glanced up back at my thighs, before looking me in the eye.
Grinning, I gently told her, "It does."
She looked momentarily confused. "What?"
I drew an imaginary line up my thigh, over my trimmed stomach, and to
the underside of my breast, an air of amusement in my tone, "Go all the way
up."
A gorgeous shade of shame pink colored her face. She swallowed, and
then grinned. "Oh."
After talking to the waiter, we were escorted to the table I'd booked in
my name. I casually took my prearranged seat at a right angle from her
rather than across, pretending not to notice her eyeing me. I shifted my
chair, so that for now I was completely blocking the lights behind me.
Grinning back to her, I patted her lightly on the arm, "Work held me up.
I'm sorry, I got here as quickly as I could."
She nodded, accepting that, then gave me a smile of vague discomfort.
"I thought this was casual?" She asked, probably wishing she'd worn
something a little dressier.
I gave her a small, appreciative smile. "Sara," I said gently, "this
*is* casual for me. I could've worn my black buckled leather vest, with
stiletto boots." I continued, gently chiding. "But then you'd just be
eyeing me all evening, and we'd never get anywhere."
Tilting my head, I noticed her eyes weren't exactly on mine. Brazenly,
I ran a finger across my rebellious nipples. "Do you like them?"
The pink turned a darker shade across her face, and she ducked her eyes
away from me, horridly ashamed. I chuckled lightly and murmured, "Well, if
we're not going to talk about me, we're most definitely going to have to
talk about you."
The air was cleared and suddenly she was a little more comfortable with
everything. "So, am I what you expected?" A question I was most certainly
expecting.
*More than you know, Sara. And everything that I want.* I nodded
slowly, with an almost lopsided grin. "Oh, yes. Very." Before she could
feign looking insulted, I added, "And I'm glad."
The waiter approached our table before anything further could be said. I
smiled at him kindly, and ordered for the both of us. My guest was a bit
put off by my sudden forwardness. To allow her to choose, however, would
ruin the ambiance of the whole evening. She couldn't be allowed to make
any decisions.
I offered to her as compensation, "Trust me. A lot of the stuff they
serve is *very* rich, fattening." I poked her belly, teasingly.
Her suspicions were starting to kick in, but she let them go and we
slowly began to really get to know one another. Casual
get-to-know-you-better type stuff. People, I've found, are always
different when you meet them, face-to-face, and it was important that I had
indeed gotten the right impressions of Sara, before continuing.
It didn't take long before I found that I was right. And I began
directing the conversation towards my purpose.
I moved just a little bit closer, pushing my luck. The light was now in
her eyes, and my perfume was more easily accessed. I gave her a long,
thoughtful look, and asked suddenly, "So ... would you?"
She blinked, her track of thought suddenly thrown off. "Would I --
what?"
I leaned back just a little bit, and crossed my legs against one
another. I savored the feel of my silk legs, and gave my prey a sexual
smile. The small green vine of the tattoo was now visible. Of course she
looked distracted again. I pretended not to notice.
"Would you," I reiterated casually, bringing a hand up to my breast, to
wind the silver chain of my pendant around my fingers, "Really go through
with it? If you could?"
Her thought processes snapped again, looking back up into my eyes. "Go
through with -- what?" She asked, perhaps guessing inwardly at what I was
getting to.
Of course, now that I had gained the upper hand, I wasn't about to lose
it. Again, I changed the subject. I dug a little perfume bottle out of my
purse, giving her a faint wink.
"Oh, before I forget," I quickly said, "You *have* to try this. I
really think you'll love it."
I held out my hand, for her to sniff. She did, and grinned like an
excited little child. Lightly, I spritzed her neck and nodded, satisfied.
Returning the bottle to my small purse, I stated with a sly grin on my
lips, "Mind Control."
She squinted at me through the light, giving me an odd stare, like I was
whacked out on some sort of drug. Then she just started laughing, "No,"
she answered, giggling quietly.
I shifted my thighs again, subtlety arching my back so that my nipples
definitely stared at Sara through the fabric. She eyed them again, though
trying to look as if she wasn't looking; I grinned at the almost
high-schoolish behavior. "They are, you know."
She blinked, getting only more confused. "Are what?"
With my fingertips, I lightly pinched my own nipple, "Pierced."
She turned a darker shade of pink, bordering on and started grinned
lecherously. "Well, you just might have to prove it," she countered.
"I would."
She blinked again, and then squinted. The lights were starting to her eyes. "You would -- show me?" She looked half-surprised, and
half-serious, that sort of wary look but with certain eagerness to it.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, and figured it was probably time. I
nodded, slowly, "Of course, Sara. Don't tell me that you came here just to
chat over dinner." I leaned forward, flirtatiously, "You wanted a good
fuck, you slut."
She gave me an amused/guilty smile as she was caught, but I could see it
also made her vaugely uncomfortable. Obviously, this wasn't something she
was expecting *just* yet. "Well, I had a little idea," she admitted with
hesitation. Paused, "But -now-?"
I shook my head, slowly, "No. First, I said I would."
She squinted at me through the light again, "Here?" She asked,
surprised, and now very uncertain. Her eyes couldn't help darting to the
daring nipples on my breast, that streched the fabric around them.
I couldn't help but laugh quietly. A bold hand of mine touched her
cheek, as I grinned, "No. I meant I would Mind Control someone, you little
slut."
The derogatory name was lost on her in the midst of her confusion, and
the interesting course the conversation was taking. "What do you mean?"
I could tell by her slowing movements that the perfume was having its
desired affects. "Quite simple, Sara. I enjoy making people happy," I
said, quietly. "I want to make you happy." I gave her an impish sort of
grin.
She thought I was joking.
Dazed, and not realizing it, she giggled just a little bit. Between the
lights, the confusion, and my own little special blend of pheromones and
other agents, she was already mine. It was time to play my trump card.
"That," she said, disbelievingly, "Has got to be one of the silliest
things I've ever heard anyone say."
I simply smiled back at her in turn, nodding. "Normally, I'd agree with
you. But you were born to be a slut. It's in your genetic makeup. I
mean, seriously, how many times have you thought about what I looked like
without this dress? What my tasted like?"
By this point, Sara was matching a ripe tomato on the color chart. I
was getting very wet, and would need attention soon. I shivered, imagining
her between my thighs.
I informed her fogged mind, "Only sluts think like that Sara. And for
Christ's sake, how many did you put yourself in, where you became a
slut?"
She shook her head, to clear it. The perfume was definately working.
Accompanied by the confusion I was throwing at her, the lights, and the
position I'd put her in beforehand, she was mine. "Those were just
fantasies," she smiled, lightly. "Nobody *really* goes through with them."
Again, I nodded, "True, Sara. True. Most people don't get a chance to
act out their fantasies. And most of the I'd agree are just for
fun, sexual adventure, and erotic thrills."
I drew closer to her, and said emphatically, "But they *are* your
fantasies. Fantasies are what we *dream* of happening. So you dream of
being a slut. You *want* to be a slut, don't you?"
She shivered at my instance, but still shook her head, "No," she whined,
"I was jus' pretending."
Close to her now, I pinched her nipple, and slowly, slowly began to
twist it. "Oh, get off it Sara. I've read your posts on the board. I've
read your stories. Hell, Sara. You write where your own
characters come to life and mindfuck the hell out of you to make you their
own personal slut."
She opened her mouth, slowly. I thought she was going to protest again.
Instead, she gave a soft, almost pleading whimper, trembling. In pure
pleasure.
I nodded, twisting slightly harder on the nipple I'd caught between
forefinger and thumb. "You see, Sara? You're wet. You're wet, at the
thought of becoming my slut. And you *do* want to be a slut, Sara. Slut
Sara. Sara the Slut. Slutty, Slutty, Slutty, Sara."
She leaned into me, like an attention starved kitten, and slurred out
the words under the daze of her mind fog, "sarassssssslut."
I couldn't help it. I bit my lip, and closed my eyes tightly in an
attempt to not have an orgasmic fit right there in the middle of the
restaurant.
Slowly getting hold of myself, I nodded. "Yes," I informed her. "Yes.
Sara the Slut. slutsara." I ran my hand through her hair, smoothly, "And
who made you a slut?"
Her jaw worked, opening and closing for a few seconds. Her lips curled
up, reminding me vaguely of a little girl's smile. "You," she whispered,
softly.
I nodded, "Yes, slut. So, whose slut are you?"
Her mind thought that answer was easy enough. "Yoursssssss?"
I kissed her on the lips for a reward. "Very good. Now, for being such
a good little slut, I have a present for you."
She looked pleased enough with that. I opened the small box I'd brought
with me. Pulling out the silver bracelet inside, I again admired the
craftsmanship. "Slut," I said quietly, to get her attention.
Slowly, she turned to try to look at me. I grinned, showing her the
bracelet. "Do you remember Mistress Rochelle?" I asked her.
She moaned softly, a bit of dreamy drool threatened to trickle out on
her chin. Her body shivered.
That was answer enough for me. "I am Mistress Rochelle, slut. But, I
have changed my name. I am now Mistress Cat. And this bracelet forever
binds you to my will. You will do whatever I command."
Her little squeal of pleasure was all that I needed to hear, as her lips
formulated the words, "Misstressss slut. Foreverrr."
I nodded slowly to her words, releasing her nipples. She gasped, and
leaned forward again, wanting me to retain my grip. Merely smiling, I
kissed her lips lightly, "Your Mistress has pretty legs, doesn't she?" I
mused.
Mutely, she nodded, trying to rub her against me, lewdly, in
this public place. I grinned at all the people watching us. "And you
*love* her shoes, don't you? So sexy."
She nodded again, beaming, slurring out, "Slut lovess them, yes,
Mistress." She slipped off her chair of her own accord, and started kissing
my silk-stockinged feet, and sandals.
I brought out the other thing I'd kept in my purse, and brought with me.
A small collar, and leash. These I slipped around her neck, and
fastened, telling her, "Well then, you can crawl behind your Mistress, and
watch them all you want. So everyone knows you're my slut. We're going up
to the hotel room, and you can show your Mistress how much of a hot, randy,
lewd and naughty little slut you really are."
She beamed with glee as I rose, and led her properly down the hall,
eagerly clambering behind on hands and knees. I was going to need a *lot*
of attention, now. I couldn't believe how well this had all worked out.
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Chapter 2: Now That You Have A Slut, What Do You Do With Her?
She followed, meowing like a horny little sex kitten behind me, until
we'd gotten into our room, and I'd closed the door. I smiled, and gave her
head a pleased pat. "Good, slut. Very good."
I sat down on the edge of my bed. Quickly, she came right up to me, and
began to nuzzle my silk encased legs, and almost drooling over my feet. I
lazily pushed a toe up into her crotch, and rotated. Whimpering, she
started to rock back and forth against it, as she showered me with
adoration and affection.
Bemused, I asked her quietly, "You *are* a dirty slut, aren't you?"
She took this as a high compliment, beaming with pride at my debasement
of her character. She reveled in it, "Yes, Mistress," she slurred in a
heavenly, sultry voice.
"But you're not *dressed* like a slut," I observed, casually. Brushing
a hand through her hair again, I tweaked the nearest nipple, causing her to
shudder wonderfully. "Are you?"
She shook her head, swallowed in slight fear, and trepidation. I
couldn't believe how far she was getting into this, and how effective my
simple little manipulations had worked on her dark fantasies. I'd opened a
can of worms that I had no wish in the world to close.
"First," I told her, "Sluts *never* wear bras, or panties. At least not
unless they're *really* sleazy, and naughty. They're always ready to fuck.
So, you'd better get rid of yours, saraslut."
Nodding agreeably, she stood up, pulling her t-shirt over her head, her
breasts bobbed slightly with the action. Her bra followed, allowing me to
have a sight at the glorious dark nipples, fat with arousal and signs
abuse. She even made a little show of it, shaking her hips and giggling as
her jeans tumbled down, just before her that were stained wet with
arousal. She was more then ready.
I pulled her close to me, and asked, cupping her gently, teasingly,
"Clean and shaven. Just like a fucking dirty little slut." She
squirmed at my teasing, trying her best to be obedient and stay still. She
was getting wetter, the more I pushed her to remind her what she was. So
was I.
"Do you know what sluts do, saraslut?" I asked her, licking my lips.
She nodded, slowly, and recited, "Sluts fuck whatever they can, because
they're horny little bitches, and can't ever get enough. Some sluts are so
horny that they can't control themselves, so they need a Mistress to tell
them what to do."
I nodded, smoothly. "Very good. Such a good answer, I think I'll let
you lick my pussy. Then we'll go show you off to everyone. Make them
jealous that you're *my* dirty little saraslut."
That sounded just fine to her. She practically fell down on her knees,
thrust her head between my skirt, and didn't even bother to pull my own
soaked down. Pushing them off to the side, I moaned, and fell back
into the bed as her tongue that had no doubt serviced other women before
worshipped and fed my thirsting need for arousal.
I wrapped my stockinged legs around her body, moaning in encouragement.
She rubbed against my thighs, and kissed, nibbled, and my clitoris
until I came. Hard.
It took me several moments to get back my breath, and as soon as I had,
she had me worked up again. I'd turned her into a slut, and I hadn't told
her to stop; again I found myself falling to her abilities, reveling in the
primal lust her tongue thrust into me.
I pushed her away, this time, as I came with my foot, and heaved a grin,
before murmuring, "Enough for now, Slut. Addicted, to Mistress Cat?" I
asked, too exhausted at the moment to get up.
She nodded emphatically, "Yes, Mistress! Can I please lick you some
more? I'll lick your whole *body*, if you want?"
Sitting up, I shook my head lightly, smiling. "Not yet. We have to go
show you off, remember?"
She pouted, "But Mistress, I didn't bring any slutty clothes."
I gave her a knowing smile. "We can fix that."
Standing at the mall entrance, leashed and collared, my new slut looked
proud to be at the end of it, displayed in her shredded T-shirt that hung
*just* below her nipples, and the jeans which had been cut Daisy Duke
style; with the added exception of the back pockets being cut out as well.
Two beautifully sculpted ass cheeks smiled at whoever was walking behind
her. I doubted if it was legal, but I didn't really care.
She acted like a cat, tall and proud at being put on display, trouncing
down the mall hallway. I said little for now, merely watching the
interactions between her, and the passersby.
Most of the eyed her with lusty passion. She giggled at them, and
shook her head, pointing to me, and telling those near enough to hear,
"Sorry, guys. This slut is taken." She'd then make a wide gesture to me,
the would ride over her clamped nipples, and they'd only stare
harder. A few daring ones even followed us, for a little bit.
The women, who mostly found her dress (not much less the open display of
me collaring and leashing her), disgusting and degrading, would make snide
comments. Her responses to this were just as priceless.
"I'm *happy* being a slut. Maybe you should let Mistress let you
lick her too. She tastes *really* good."
I couldn't help but grin. I was proud of my creation.
I led her into a favorite store of mine, Leather Works. It was a rather
large store; known in the local BDSM community for both it's tame and more
erotic and material. Play wasn't unheard of in the store.
The woman behind the bar, Janet, recognized me, and gave a little wave,
"Hey, Cat," she purred. "Got a new one, mmm? She's *really* tasty."
I nodded, gently pressing on Sara's back, urging her to bend over, to
touch her toes. "Look at that ass, will you?" I said, slapping it hard.
She squealed in delight. "Want to take a couple yourself. She's just a
slut," I told my associate. "It's her life's ambition to be the best slut
she can be." I grinned, "Isn't that right, saraslut?"
She whimpered, trembling in pleasure as I pulled on the very thin denim
line that covered her pussy.
glanced around, then shrugged with a grin, "You know I'm not
supposed to participate in your 'play'. I'm here to sell shit, Cat."
I nodded, "I know. I also know how fucking horny you get watching
this." I wandered a few steps away to get a leather-padded paddle, twirled
it in my hand, and gave Sara's ass a *loud* smack. She stumbled forward,
and shuddered in ecstasy. "Sluts *love* to be spanked, don't they,
saraslut?" I asked her.
She mewled her passionate agreement.
I glanced over at the clerk again, giving her a Cheshire grin. "And I
also know your weakness is paddling little a good one. Tell you
what, babe. You set her up with the sexiest corset you got in the store -
along with that 'special' one I ordered, and give her a few of the
sluttiest outfits you can find ... and I'll let you play with her now and
then. I'm keeping her."
My friend couldn't resist. With the loud smack of the paddle against my
slut's ass, as I held her in place by leash and collar, pinching her
nipples, the agreement was set into stone.
Hours later, saraslut walked out of the store behind me, still on her
leash; but now dressed in a super high leather miniskirt, black silk
stockings, and irresistible black leather platform boots. Her were
pushed high, and waist slightly curved inward in a very sexy manner at the
insistence of the corset that was wrapped around her body.
I couldn't wait to get her home, and unwrap her...
We arrived - this time at my house. Fuck the hotel, I had a makeshift
dungeon, and this was getting too erotic and fun to not use it. I lead her
downwards, into the basement.
"Slut?" I asked her, a brilliant thought coming to my head. My finger
hit the small weight of the nipple clamps, causing them to shift, swing,
and tease.
She moaned, awaiting my smallest desire.
I grabbed her wrist, suddenly, and shoved the bracelet I'd put there in
her face. Her eyes went wide, and her body shook as I felt in her the
familiar throes of orgasm. Then, she went limp, and fell against me. I
slipped to the side.
A worried look immediately creased my features, and I asked softly,
"Sara? Are you alright?"
Her eyes were half-lidded, and she looked oddly peaceful. A smile
seeped from her lips at hearing my voice. "Mmhmm," she said, softly.
I considered the events in my mind, and watched her. She lay there,
still, unmoving, her bare chest rising and falling in rhythmic ease. "What
happened?" I asked her, equally as soft.
"Mistress Cat," she said, squirming slightly, "wanted me to be
hypnotized."
I blinked, slowly at that thought. Remembering her stories, that was
the trigger that Mistress Rochelle had used, and I had used Rochelle to get
to Sara ... I had only thought it would make Sara more mine, more in my
control. In essence, her own fantasies and desires, along with my prodding
had caused her to put herself into a deep trance. And now I had her here,
hypnotized before me, pliable to my whims. By her own designs.
I fingered myself, slowly, writhing on excited, hurried fingers, as I
just watched her there, completely in my power. It didn't take long for me
to reach my climax, shivering, shuddering, and moaning into her hard tits.
Slowly pulling myself up, licking myself off of slick fingers, I asked
Sara, "Is Sara happy being a slut, for Mistress Cat?"
The sleeping beauty seemed to actually think about that for a long time,
before murmuring in a sleepy voice, "Mmhmm. Wanted it for a long time. Am
happy."
I smiled to myself. The game was getting more exciting by the hour.
"Good. Then you should always be happy, shouldn't you?"
Again, she nodded, that little girlish smile creasing her face. God,
she looked so cute. I kissed her slowly, snaking my tongue into her mouth.
Groggily, she returned the affections. I whispered to her, softly,
"Mistress loves her Slut. saraslut will *always* remember that."
I asked softly, my heart racing now, "Would slut like to be mindfucked
some more?"
She beamed at that nodding, as I lowered myself atop her, "Now be a good
slut, and show your Mistress how thankful you are for Her setting you
free."
I awoke, groggily, and smiled at the sleeping next to me. She was
laying on her side, her bright pink cheeks still shining at the mark of my
hand painting them as she laid over my lap, begging me to do it more. I
could still hear her screams, telling me what a dirty slut she was, and how
much she wanted it.
Gently, I rubbed their warmth, as I thought of how she had attended to
me, kissed her way up my tattoo, and the hours she'd spent just suckling my
breasts, as I fingered her over and over again.
I wondered, by the smile on her face, if she remembered the surprised
look on the other customer's faces, when she appeared in the lobby, leashed
to me, and dropped all her panties, and bras on the floor. "Sluts don't
need these," she'd said at my prompting. "And I'm such a dirty little
saraslut, that I'll never need them again. I'll be fucking *way* too much
to have to worry about taking them off." She had beamed happily at that,
and we'd tromped back to the room.
I giggled at the thought, and kissed the back of her neck.
That was when the pang hit my stomach. I realized that this wasn't just
what it was supposed to be, an innocent little fling, and a delve into each
of our fantasies. No. It had grown beyond me. As I now guessed it had
grown beyond her.
I was in love.
Her plane was supposed to leave, that night. She was going to fly out
of my life.
I couldn't let that happen.
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Chapter 3: Keeping Your Slut Yours, Keeping Her Happy
The dungeon had been created by a former sex slave of mine. She was
ingenious, inventive, and a superb carpenter. At my asking, and prompting,
she'd created it for me--and using the limited space, she'd done an
excellent job. I could easily change it around, to suit my needs and
desires.
Now, it would play an instrumental part in the completion of my darkest
desires.
I'd sent Sara to sleep, while I worked. It would take me awhile to set
things up properly, and I didn't need any distractions. It took me hours
to come up with what I thought were the right things to say, what seemed
best to mark her mind with. But, finally, upstairs, in my studio, I made a
recording of my voice, with no interruptions.
I put the CD in the system I had in the dungeon; I had several speakers
placed intricately around, to create the perfect sound system. My former
slave had proven invaluable.
I then laced the bungee-like cords around Sara's wrists, and ankles,
around her waist and between her legs, then through the back of the
restricting corset's eyeholes I'd had put in specially for something like
this. I hadn't really ever planned to *do* it, but now my living out that
small part of my fantasy also proved worthwhile.
Slowly, I hoisted her up into the air, suspending her in mid-air. Very,
very faintly, she bobbed with the slightest of movements, still in her
slumber.
I shut off the lights, and snapped my fingers.
"Mistress?" She asked, softly.
I closed the door, after hitting play on the CD player. Then I bit my
lip, and took a long hot bath, listening to the CD play it's through the vents, as I slowly played with myself in the midst of the hot
bubbles.
*There is no Sara. There is only the slut. Sara, and slut, they are
the same. saraslut. The Mistress created saraslut. saraslut lives to
serve the Mistress Cat. saraslut is hearing Mistress Cat's Voice, now.
Mistress Cat's Voice is Truth. Mistress Cat's Voice is saraslut mind.
They are the same, Mistress's Voice, and Truth.*
I shivered, as I worked the long slender dildo into my cunt, wriggling
it, imagining what I was doing, knowing how wrong, and horrid it was. It
didn't stop me. I loved her. I wanted her. I needed her. And I *knew*
she wanted it.
*...Obedience and Mistres's Voice are the same. Mistres's Voice brings
pleasure. Obedience brings pleasure. sarasluts body is Mistress's body.
Mistress owns sarasluts body, but lets saraslut uses it. saraslut
should always be grateful to Mistress. Mistress owns sarasluts body, so
saraslut is her property. Mistress can do whatever she wants with her
property. Being Mistres's property and Obedience are the same. Her Voice,
and being Her property, Obedience, Truth, and Law, are all the same.
Everything about saraslut is Mistress Cat...*
I orgasmed, over, and over, until I finally wore myself out, and fell
asleep, crumpled into the bed, tired, and doubting what I had done.
I woke up, at three am, two days later. Two days, I'd been asleep! I
yawned, stretching, and wondered why all my toys were on my bed. Then I
remembered saraslut.
I swallowed, suddenly regretting what I'd done to her. It *had* to have
been a dream. I ran down the stairs, to the basement.
Beyond the door, I heard a whimpering voice, sounding needy and
desperate reciting every single word on the endlessly replaying CD I'd
recorded days ago.
I opened the door, lighting a few candles. I knew the light would burn
her eyes if she were exposed too soon.
She was rocking herself, trying to get herself off on the straps about
her waist, her mind numbed, fucked, forever imprinted with my deepest
fantasies.
In the dim light, she saw me. Even from where I stood under her, I
could see her eyes were clear. The drugs had worn off. And I could see
the love, the adoration, the loyalty she had to me. My will was hers, hers
was ... well, gone.
Evaporated.
She was mine to command.
I let her down, slowly, and unstrapped the ropes around her wrists and
ankles, massaging them slowly. She beamed at me, "Thank you," she purred,
rubbing against me tiredly, "Mistress Cat. Slut is so very happy, now.
Just like she always wanted to be. Slut is yours."
I nodded, smiling, the feeling of remorse gone by the bright look of
love in her eyes. I quickly remembered what had inspired me to this end in
the first place.
I murmured, "Mistress loves her new property," softly, while stroking
her to me.
She shivered in ecstasy, as if *feeling* the extension of my love,
through my voice. I smiled, "Come, slut. That is how much your Mistress
loves her property."
She trembled, violently in my arms.
I saw the adoration, the love, the unabashed Obedience in her eyes. I
suddenly *knew* it was right. She was mine. It was always meant to be.
The clarity, the power of that thought gave me my own small orgasm. I
shivered back against my lovely slut.
"saraslut," I asked, softly. "Your Mistress is going to clear your mind
of everything ... everything, except for Her. Forever. Okay?"
She beamed at me with warmth, and complete and flawless love. The
pleasure in her voice was palatable against my skin.
"Oh! Thank you, Mistress!" She squirmed.
There were no doubts, now.
I brought her with me, her eyes shining with pride at being a simple
slut, a piece of property as I recorded another CD, mind bending her entire
life to my will.
Hurriedly, excitedly, and without any trepidation, I strapped her into
her suspension unit again. I had to spank her, two or three times, for
orgasming without permission.
I left her in the darkness. It was *right*.
*Mistress is Mistress Rochelle, slut. You know that now. She has
just changed her name. You were always in Mistress Cat's service. You
were created by her, to serve as her slut. Always a slut. You were always
a slut. Created, to be a slut. For Mistress Cat. When Mistress moved, she lost her slut. That was your life before. Those memories are
things you do not want to think about. They were without your Mistress.
Mistress searched for her slut, and now she's found her. You were
created, born, bred to be a slut. Mistress Cat's slut ...*
I hadn't heard come in, but she knocked at the basement door. I
went upstairs, quietly closing the door behind me.
"You were serious?" She asked, hearing the CD that was playing in the
background.
I looked up at her, then down through the door, imagining my slut. *MY
slut.* The slut that *I* had made.
I grinned, "Of course."
shook her head, "That's *twisted*, Cat. *Really* fucked up. I
mean, I know she wanted it, but it's *twisted*."
I thought about my new prize again, then up at Janet, who was busy
pulling out a cell phone from her leather jacket. I frowned, suddenly
sorry that I'd ever had any trust in her at all.
"Who are you calling?" I demanded. "The police?"
She gave me a smirk. "No. Evylen. She's the new clerk at the store.
And while she's on her way here to 'give me a jump start' out of your
driveway," she grinned, "You're going to tell me how to get started."
All I could do was grin back.
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