Freedom is Slavery (15 page)

I straddle it, planting my feet on either side. I balance myself there and look up at her. She’s upside down to me. I stare as she strips off her shorts and grey boxer brief underwear, seeing her sex closer than I ever had before. The dark blonde tendrils of pubic hair look wild, untamed.

Again, I feel the heat of her as she comes near. I can smell her sex. It’s pungent, heady. Before I know it, she’s over me. I see that her skin is wet with perspiration. Her vagina is over my face. Her muscular thighs on either side of me. Her legs are powerful from all the basketball practice. After all, she’s the captain of the team. And now she’s lowering herself down onto me.

My mouth opens and I drink deeply from her, tasting her juices. She wets my face and I feel like her pussy is the only thing in the world. I taste the earthy deliciousness of her pussy mixed with the acrid tang of her sweat.

I push my tongue inside of her, feeling the slickness and the heat. I find her clitoris and begin licking harder and quicker, thinking of it as the sensitive underside of Tony’s cock. What would Laura say if she knew I was licking her pussy the same way I sucked her boyfriend’s cock?

I find a rhythm, aided by Laura’s movements above me. I realize that I like what’s happening; the taste, the smell, the feel. Most of all, I like knowing that I’m giving Laura pleasure—this is the same thing I like most about serving Tony.

She moans, waking me from my reverie. I feel more wetness seeping from her. She’s bent over me farther now and I feel (what I can only imagine to be) a hand brush accidentally against the tented crotch of my pants. My cock is roiling and this slight contact almost puts me over the edge. I lick harder and faster.

I’m turned-on even more now, though I still feel a sense of unease, realizing that Tony must have set this up with Laura. Then, perhaps, she knows everything about me. Maybe she’s seen the video tapes that Tony made with me mincing around his mother’s basement, closely following a script wherein I tell him what a little wanton cocksucker I am and that I can’t stop thinking about his dick in my mouth all hours of the day.

Has Laura seen this? How many other people have?

She pulls me out of my thoughts by the shock of her fingers gripping the

crotch of my pants, her palm over my cock, using it like the horn of a saddle; appropriate as she rides my face, my tongue caressing the wet pinkness with vigor. She grunts the same way I had heard her grunt the few times I attended girls’ basketball games as part of "Pep Band."

She thrusts her hips down onto me, harder, bouncing her mons against my chin.

She grabs onto me harder and I have no choice but to cum right then and there, laying on the bench with her pussy against my face. I cum in my panties, under my pants. My hot breath bathes her clitoris and this seems enough to put her over the edge. She begins pushing and pulling against my crotch, screaming while she bounces on my face. Her screams echo loudly through the empty locker room.

She collapses on top of me. I can still hear the echoes of her screams in my head. I’ve given Laura what she wanted and that makes me happy. I also love the way her weight feels on me, the warmth from her body against mine. I look up to see her bare, shapely bottom, following the trail of downy hairs from her pussy up her backside.

Before I can get used to this blissful feeling, she gets up, pushing off of me. She doesn’t say a word, merely putting her gym shorts back on (sans underwear, I note). The quiet is oppressive. I want to say something but I don’t know what would be appropriate. I feel my skin tightening on my face, her juices drying.

She tosses the underwear onto my chest nonchalantly saying, "Wear those tomorrow night when you come over to Tony’s."

My eyes must widen a bit as she quickly adds, "Oh, yes, I know. I wasn’t too thrilled when he first showed me but I think that we’re going to come to an arrangement soon. One that Tony and I will enjoy. You, on the other hand..." She laughs again, turning and leaving the locker room.

The door slams loudly, with an air of finality.

I feel the last bit of cum drip from my withered cock and I know that I have gone from serving a man to serving a woman as well.

It was my first job out of college. I was a faceless wheel in the cog of Capitalism.

The office I shared with a handful of other slackers was separated from the rest of the company by both attitude and distance as we were about half a block away from the rest of the offices. The only thing that united us was the crappy intranet site we logged into each morning. It was a repository of corny jokes, Dilbert comics, and the occasional missive from upper management.

The one thing I enjoyed about that site was the section for swapping. People traded books, CDs, lawn mowers and other, less tangible, goods. I came upon the idea one day while walking around the parking lot at lunch that I could really do with a walking partner. I needed to lose those extra pounds that I had gained at college and missed human interaction.

When I returned to the office I placed a two line ad on the intranet.

No one beat down my door, of course. Most people spent their lunch hour loitering in the dank corners of the office park, dragging on cigarettes and gossiping about the people that weren’t there. Yet, a week later, a reply did arrive:

Been watching you. Think I can help. Let’s meet at lunch.

I expected to meet another overweight twenty-something but, instead, the person waiting for me in the parking lot that day looked more like he had just graduated from boot camp. He smirked when he saw me. Something about him scared me. It could be that he looked more like a bully who was there to punish me for some unforgivable crime against the pecking order than someone who was intent on helping me.

"How much do you want to lose?" he asked, jumping right over introductions and small talk.

"I dunno," I shrugged. "Maybe twenty pounds?"

"Not enough. You could lose fifty easy and still use some work. You need toning and a lot of cardio," he said, looking at me more like a piece of meat than a co-worker or walking partner. I was a bit put off, to say the least.

"Come on. Let’s walk," he said, starting out. I didn’t want to be rude so I fell in step with him as best I could. He was walking so fast that I started gasping for breath after a block.

"You really are out of shape," he sneered. "I can help you. Do you want that?"

"Yes," I said, gulping for air.

He handed me a card. "Meet me here after work tonight. No excuses." And with that, he was off and running (well, jogging), down the block, opening a distance between us.

At first, I thought that he was some kind of gym recruiter. But, when I got to the address on the card, I was surprised to find that it was a residence. The garage door was open and there was a large, opaque screen in front of it.

Unsure, I walked up to it and called out, "Hello?" I realized then that I didn’t even know the name of this guy.

"Open up the screen from the side and come in," he said.

I was amazed. The inside of this rather innocuous garage looked like some kind of twisted version of a commercial gym. Benches, weights, and other odd implements of exercise filled the room. He lay on one of the benches, lifting a large barbell overhead. After a few reps he put down the weight and sat up, dabbing his sweaty forehead with a towel.

He looked me up and down, the corners of his mouth moving south with distaste.

"You expect to work out in that?" he asked, scoffing.

I had dressed in what I thought were workout clothes— sweatpants and a T-shirt.

"Go into the house. All the way down the hall is my bedroom. Third drawer down on the left in the tall dresser are some better clothes for you. Go on. Hurry up. I haven’t got all night."

I felt like a spy, going into a stranger’s house while he wasn’t around. I could hear his grunts and the clang of metal as he continued to workout in the garage. I tried to avert my gaze and just walk down the hall but I was too much of a snoop for that. I checked out his living room—austere and neat—and looked around his bedroom a bit before looking in the chest of drawers.

His bedroom was also immaculate. There were a few pictures on the top of his dresser of him and a very well-built woman. They looked to be at some kind of auditorium and both were smiling from ear to ear. The one item that looked completely out of place in the room was some device hanging from the ceiling. It looked to be ropes and pulleys and I imagined it to be either some kind of decoration or an exercise device.

The clothes he had wanted me to wear were much skimpier than I should have liked; tight Lycra shorts and a mesh shirt. I was amazed when they fit (just barely). I was very self-conscious when I came back to his garage, my own clothes bundled under my arms as to not let them get too far from me. He introduced me to a rather strenuous workout regimen and didn’t hesitate from pushing me past my limits.

The next day at work I was sore as hell. I saw him while walking at lunch but he either didn’t see me or chose to ignore me. I had agreed to meet him three nights a week and, the next night, our routine was very much the same. I changed in his bedroom and came out to work out with him for an hour before retreating, worn out, back home. This became our routine.

He never seemed to enjoy my company or even looking at me. He treated me with contempt every time I saw him. This went on for months. Gradually, I noticed the pounds coming off and the soreness abetting in its intensity.

Weeks turned to months and I kept up with the program religiously. We never had a conversation, though I tried my best to engage him. Getting any kind of positive reaction out of him became something of a challenge. I worked harder, trying to please him with my determination.

A few more weeks passed and I found myself buying some new pants and feeling a lot better about myself. Still, he remained dour. But I did notice one small thing. As I worked out, I noticed him moving closer to me than he had been before. I thought that I was imagining this but I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up as I worked with him behind me, his breath on me.

I continued to strive, pushing myself harder and asking if we could add more difficulty to the routines. With that, I noticed him moving even closer. He was starting to invade my personal space but I didn’t really mind it. If anything, I liked it. I took it as a sign of approval and I hoped for more.

My routine got harder and it also changed to include some very uncomfortable and unusual exercises. More than simple weight training or aerobics, I was now doing some severe stretching. To that end, my grim instructor helped to twist, push, and pull me into some awkward if not slightly embarrassing positions. All for my own good, he assured.

Was I imagining a smile on his face as he was bent over me, my legs stretched up above my head? It was here that I was really glad for the one way screen that covered the mouth of his garage. What would the neighbors think?

It was six months to the day that I had first visited his home. I came in through the screen, greeted him and took the long walk down his hallway to go change in his bedroom. He still provided workout clothes for me. He had changed the sizes of these clothes three times since I had "enrolled" in his program. Either it was wishful thinking or he liked seeing me in tighter clothes as each subsequent set was snugger than the last, despite the amount of weight I lost.

I finished changing and went back to the garage where he was waiting. We started doing the stretching. I stood in the middle of the mat and he helped by pulling my arms up into my usual, awkward position. But then, something snapped.

I couldn’t tell what the noise was I heard but when I went to lower my arms, I realized that they couldn’t be taken down. I looked up to see a long chain coming down from the rafters with manacles on the end. These were secured around my wrists. I twisted to look at him and ask what was going on. When I went to face him, he grabbed my mouth and filled it with a gag that he got over my head with lightning speed.

I started protesting and he simply put his finger to his mouth to shush me.

"None of that," he said simply.

From his back pocket he produced a utility blade. I thought that he was going to cut me open and gut me like a deer right there in his garage. My eyesight started dimming, as if I was going to faint, and he slapped me out of it.

"No harm will come to you," he said and cut away my workout shirt. From there he moved down and cut away the shorts and underpants beneath them.

I was now without a stitch of clothing apart from my shoes and socks. He left these on as he secured two more cuffs around each ankle which were attached to chains on either side of the garage. I was faced out, looking outside of the garage seeing the picture-perfect suburban summer evening while naked and bound.

He stepped in front of me and touched my face. "You have done well." He moved his hand down to my chest. "You’ve done all that I have required and remade yourself from a fat slob to a lean and well-toned machine. Are you ready to make the transformation complete? To be completely what I want?"

I had no idea what he was talking about. His hand went over my stomach and I got butterflies. His fingers found my cock. He looked down and spit. His spittle landed on my cock and he used this to lubricate his hand as he started masturbating me to erection.

He wrapped a thick rubber band around my balls and the base of my cock. "To keep you hard," he said before walking out of the garage into his house.

It was a few minutes later that a car pulled into the driveway, stopping just inches from the screen that separated me from my exposure to the outside world. Out of the car stepped the blonde woman from the photograph in his bedroom. This whole time she hadn’t been around but now, here she was. I could see her and study her as she got out and walked across the path to the front door.

After what seemed like an eternity, he came back out to the garage with her behind him. They didn’t say a word. She walked over to me and looked me over like I was a piece of meat in a butcher shop window. She looked from me to him and nodded before she went across the garage and pulled up a lawn chair to sit on. She nodded again at him and I felt something cold and wet on my asshole.