Slaves of the Future

[Cedar]

PART ONE

I awoke feeling refreshed and stretched comfortably. I'd had a good, sound sleep and felt full of energy to meet the new day. Most of my nights were like that nowadays.

But I desperately needed to take a leak. I reached over to the bedside table and pushed the slave button, and faintly heard the bell ring in the hall.

A moment later Kristin walked in. She'd been awake for a while, of course, probably working in the kitchen. She was wearing her apron, but otherwise naked. By now she was familiar enough with my routine to know what I most likely wanted; she no doubt hoped I was just going to tell her to get started on breakfast, but this wasn't one of those mornings.

Kristin was a tall brunette of 37, still with just a little of the businesslike manner of the high-level banking manager she'd once been. Her face was a bit plain, but her body was superb. She'd been slightly on the chunky side when I got her, but I immediately put her on a strict program of diet and exercise which quickly got her slim, toned, and MILF-ishly sexy.

I sat on the side of the bed and summoned her over. She knelt down, leaned forward, and took my limp penis in her mouth, gently closing her lips around the base of it. I started relieving myself and felt the motions of her tongue as she began swallowing. From time to time she gave a little tremor or nasal whimper, but she'd had six months now to get used to this, and took the whole bladderful like a champ.

When I finished and Kristin withdrew her head, she was pale and trembling a bit, but not visibly struggling with nausea as she had been the first few times I made her do this. She was breathing a little raggedly and kept her eyes downcast, but still remembered to stammer out, "D-delicious, master."

Of course, I knew the stuff was anything but delicious, but it had pleased me to make it a standing order that she had to say this.

I patted her on the head. "Go get started on breakfast. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Over breakfast I read the news on my laptop. An escaped slave -- a former investment-firm executive sentenced to a two-year contract in the mines of West Virginia -- had been caught and had the length of his contract tripled. I shook my head. How could anyone think escaping would work, with the biometric tracking technology we had these days? Kristin would never be that dumb.

I noticed she wasn't eating much. Piss-drinking must be a pretty good appetite suppressant; it made it easy for her to stick to her diet. She ought to thank me, really.

After breakfast, I felt like letting off a little steam, so I yanked off Kristin's apron, put her over my knee, and gave her a good spanking. It wasn't a punishment, just something that gave me pleasure to do. Slap, slap, slap went my palm against her firm, shapely bare buttocks, good and hard; I had no reason to hold back. She gritted her teeth at first but was soon squealing and whimpering, her slim body quivering as her buttocks grew red.

After a few minutes, though, I'd gotten it out of my system and stopped. I shoved her off my lap and she collapsed to the floor. The spanking had started to arouse me and the sight of her lying naked in a heap with her ass red from the spanking was even more of a turn-on. I unzipped my jeans and ordered her, "Up here!"

She looked up, her face red with pain and humiliation and probably rage as well, though she dared not express it. I shifted in the chair to push my jeans down; that was all I needed to do to get across what was expected of her. She lowered her head and took me in her mouth again, going to work with her tongue just the way I like it, the way I'd taught her. I reached down and cupped her bare breasts in my hands while she worked. It took less than five minutes for her to bring me to climax. After I had finished, she pulled carefully away, not losing even a drop, and tilted her head back so I could see her face, see the white gunk in her open mouth. I savored the sight for a minute, then looked into her eyes. She gazed back unblinkingly at me as she closed her mouth and gulped, once.

That routine was a requirement she knew well. I love looking into her eyes while she swallows the stuff. Early on she had indignantly told me that she never swallowed, even for her husband. That moment of defiance had earned her a zap of the pain stick, but in fact, I'm rather glad she told me; knowing how much she hates swallowing adds spice to the experience of watching her do it.

I'd once looked up Kristin's former husband in the database. His slave contract was one year, like hers, and he was doing agricultural labor in California. A lot of the former financial-sector types were out in the fields, replacing the illegal aliens who'd mostly gone home now that Mexico was getting prosperous.

I noticed it was almost 8:00. "Time to get to work," I told Kristin, glancing toward the doorway to the front room, I'd had her convert into a simple office.

"Master, it's Saturday."

"Kristin, don't make me use the pain stick." In fact, it was at least a month since I'd last had to zap her. She'd learned not to talk back, mostly. "I don't have to give you weekends off if I choose not to, and it's almost April. There's going to be plenty of work coming in. You can have some time off after the fifteenth."

She swallowed her defiance and headed for her room to get dressed. The reddening on her buttocks hadn't completely faded. She was going to be in some discomfort sitting down for a while.

[Cedar]

PART TWO

After a few minutes she came out wearing the work clothes I'd assigned her: a thin tight white blouse and grey knee-length skirt, but no shoes, underwear, or bra. It was a moderately-sexualized parody of the formal office attire she'd worn at work in the old days, a constant reminder of her true status.

She went to the office room. She was a bit late, but I decided not to bother to punish her. I was still feeling tranquil and relaxed from the blowjob, and the first client of the day was already waiting.

I was rather pleased with myself for thinking of this. I'd wanted to get the maximum value out of Kristin after what I'd spent buying her one-year slave contract, and there's only so much sex a guy can have in a day. She had an MBA and years of experience; why not put it to use? So I worked her several hours every day doing accounting and taxes, with her earnings going straight to me. As tax time approached, so much work was coming in that I'd even had her cut back on doing housework to bring in more money.

After I bought her contract I'd taken a one-year leave of absence from my own job to be able to enjoy her full-time. The job would be waiting for me after the year was up -- that was very definitely guaranteed, these days -- but if I kept saving Kristin's income as I was now doing, I might be not need to go back to work for quite a while even after her year with me was over.

The bastards had brought it on themselves. After the Republican sweep in the 2012 elections -- achieved by blatant fraud, as we now know -- deregulation had gone further than ever before, and the mega-firms of Wall Street had engaged in manipulation and exploitation that made the abuses of the Bush era look like mere pecadillos. As unemployment soared and wealth became ever more concentrated in the hands of the few, discontent had exploded and been brutally suppressed. After the inevitable Second Great Depression descended, the new Occupation Socialist Party had stormed to power on a wave of rage, not votes, and the new Constitution of the United Socialist States of America had not only nationalized the entire financial sector but provided for sentences of temporary slavery for those convicted of malfeasance under the old order. As a minor leader during the revolution I had certain privileges, including the right to bid on the more -- desirable -- slave contracts.

Kristin's contract hadn't been cheap, but she was worth it.

Such arrangements weren't unusual. Kristin's 20-year-old nephew had worked at the same firm, though in a lower-level position; he'd gotten only seven months. His contract had been bought by a gay man I knew slightly. Most of the slaves, though, were older males whose contracts had been bought in lots by the state mining and agricultural enterprises. Many "trophy wives" of the wealthiest financial executives, women with great beauty but no marketable skills, were serving out their contracts in the state-owned legal brothels, earning revenue for the national treasury flat on their backs.

Occupy Wall Street, they used to say? Occupy pussy, I say!

I spent most of the day surfing the web, interrupting Kristin's work only when I wanted something to eat or needed to use her in her role as my living urinal. As she worked through the day, I knew she was always aware of my piss working its way through her intestines, being digested, becoming part of her. If "you are what you eat" -- I love reminding her of that saying -- then after six months of this, having gulped down dozens of gallons of the stuff in total, she's increasingly made of it, it's part of her forever. As I told her once last week after giving her a particularly generous fill-up of the golden elixir, "By the time this year is up, you'll be blonde!"

As evening came, the last of the day's clients left and she came back to the kitchen to make dinner.

Over dinner I broke the news to her. "I'm taking you off the diaphragm."

She looked up, alarmed. "But.....master.....you said you didn't want me to get pregnant."

"Not right away, no," I agreed. "I like the shape you're in now, and I didn't want you to spend most of the year pregnant. But I would get a hell of a charge out of knocking you up, and if it happens in the next month or two, you won't really start to swell until toward the end of your contract. I'll enjoy seeing you that way, knowing I did it, after I've already had you slim and sexy for most of your time here."

"But.....master....." she was pale with anxiety now, "I''ve never wanted to have a child....."

"After your contract's over you'll be free to get an abortion just like anyone else. The government pays for them now."

She looked down. "I don't believe in abortion."

"Well, get one anyway, or have the baby, it's not my problem. Discussion over." She knew better than to keep arguing.

After she undressed for bed that night, out of habit she reached for the drawer where she kept her diaphragm -- then stopped as she remembered. I'd removed it, anyway. She pursed her lips, looked down, and climbed into bed next to me.

As the months had gone by she'd actually gotten more relaxed about the sex. She didn't exactly enjoy it, I don't think, but she'd grown to accept it. Tonight she was back to being the way she'd been for the first few weeks -- body rigid and trembling, legs parting stiffly and reluctantly for me to apply a dab of lube and enter her. She was as warm and soft underneath me as ever, but as I thrust inside her, her clenched teeth and occasional tremors told me that she was exerting every ounce of will-power she possessed to stop herself from struggling and fighting. Her dread and desperation and my awareness of her unprotected fertility excited me to a fever pitch and I held her tighter and shagged her harder than I'd ever done before, and when I finally drove in deep and emptied myself into her, the explosion of ecstasy that coursed through me was so intense that I almost passed out. Her little moan of despair as she felt the spurt made the moment absolutely perfect. I kept my eyes open through it all, savoring the sight of her anguished face as I pumped my seed into her.

After I'd got my breath back and rolled off her, she got up and headed for the slave bed in her own room -- to sleep, perchance to conceive. I sleep better alone. It was going to be another good night.

Occupy Wall Street, they used to say? Occupy the uterus, I say!