In each and every class, I tried to pay attention. At night doing homework, I tried to keep my mind on the material. Speaking with friends, I tried to listen to what had been going on in their lives over the summer. I honestly gave my best effort, but it didn’t matter. Mentally, I wasn’t on campus at all. I’d checked out. I was at the house.
I kept interrogating myself, demanding to know if it had really happened, or if it had all been a dream. The very existence of such a place, of such a culture, it seemed impossible. It was entirely too good to be true. It was such a beautiful vision, and every time I closed my eyes I was right back there, serving, obeying, submitting. I wanted nothing more than to be at the house, serving Lauren. I would rather be a slave in that place, I realized, than a free man anywhere else.
I was thankful I had a single dorm room. I needed my space to process this new reality, to come to terms with it, to pace and think out loud and let it sink in. I also needed to practice. Over and over, I descended to my knees, then stood, beautifully and gracefully. I couldn’t do this in front of a roommate; privacy was essential. The irony did not escape me, however, that at the house nothing was private. It hit me hard when I thought about it. Over the summer, I’d fantasized about serving Lauren semi-publicly, maybe in front of a few other people. It seemed delightfully humiliating. Now, literally hundreds of people had seen me naked, both women and other slaves. They’d watched me submit to Lauren and obey her, and if I thought about it in too much detail I ended up squeezing my eyes shut tight with a rictus grin, painful after-the-fact humiliation gripping me. I remembered Lauren’s words to me from the start of it all. There’s no privacy for a slave. Absolutely none.
Campus itself wasn’t a respite from the feeling of humiliation. I crossed paths with zoe’s several times on my way to class. We just sort of nodded to each other quickly. What else are you supposed to do? alexa’s, it turned out, was in my Physics class. That was a little awkward. I’d also see other guys on campus that I thought were slaves, but wasn’t quite sure. It was a little hard to tell. Jeans and a pullover with tennis shoes presents a completely different look than “the garment.”
I noticed some of the women, too, women whose names I did not know, except of course for Lauren. Any time I encountered Lauren on campus I stopped and spoke to her meekly, deferentially, even in front of her friends who smiled at me and I knew, just knew, that Lauren had shared with them the details of our lives. As much as I’d longed to be back in Lauren’s presence, in certain situations it was stressful.
The only place I found peace was in Lauren’s apartment. Every day after classes, I went straight to Lauren’s place to serve her for a few hours. The protocol became routine. Shoes and socks off before entering. Strip naked and kneel, waiting for Lauren. Submit to inspection. Dress only in a pair of tight jeans kept at Lauren’s, my garment while inside her apartment, and try not to let the zipper rub against my naked dick inside. Obey her, submit to her, serve her. Make supper, do the dishes, clean the kitchen, clean the bathroom, collect Lauren’s laundry. Studying at the laundromat became routine.
At night I tried to get used to sleeping with my hands outside the covers once again. I bit the pillow in frustration, my entire existence as a slave since I’d returned a never-ending turn-on, burning with desire despite knowing too well the consequences of failure. I didn’t sleep well. I fantasized of course, primarily about having Lauren’s beautiful feet again in my hands, massaging each one deeply, on my knees, pleasing Lauren. Pleasing Lauren was what I lived for.
Thursday afternoon, after dinner cleanup, after scrubbing Lauren’s toilet, after sweeping, just before it was time to go, Lauren sent me into a fevered excitement.
“Make sure you get over here as soon as you get out of class tomorrow, slave. We’ll be leaving right away.
“Yes, Lauren.”
Inside, I was soaring. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t wait. Concentrating in class was impossible. Finally, my last mid-afternoon class ended, and I was walking directly to my owner’s apartment, ready for the weekend.
Shoes and socks pulled off, I opened the door and walked in. I stripped off all my clothes, folded them, and placed them in the bottom droor of the little stand by the door. Naked, I walked to the center of the living room and knelt, waiting for my owner.
I could hear her in her room. I knelt and waited. I was excited. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was no longer alone. Elyse was standing in front of me, staring down at me with her big smile.
“Well hello, lauren’s!”
I was a bit stunned. Elyse must have been somewhere in here when I entered. She looked good as ever, cute and friendly, and I felt a quick wave of shame that started to fade just a little. What should I do? I was supposed to bow, but I was kneeling. Did the house rules apply here too? I decided to improvise. I stood quickly, for just a second, then bowed low toward Elyse, holding my position.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Holding my bow for a few more seconds, I took a deep breath. I stood up straight, then as gracefully as I could I returned to my kneeling position. Elyse wandered around the room, looking closely at everything.
A minute later, Lauren emerged from her bedroom, looking serious. She approached me, looked straight down at my naked body, then walked around me, taking me in. Finally she stopped in front of me. Lauren wore tight jeans and a pale pink t-shirt with plain white tennis shoes. She smiled, just a little trace of a smile, then spoke.
“You’re good, slave. Put them on.”
“Yes, Lauren.”
I stood gracefully, and walked to the little stand by the door. I bent down to pick up the pair of jeans, folded neatly on the floor beneath it. Elyse watched me closely as I pulled them onto my naked body, ever so carefully zipping them up.
“There are a few dishes left in the kitchen, slave.”
“Yes, Lauren. I will wash them, Lauren.”
Working helped. It was good to have something to do, to take my mind off my present reality, how excited and scared I was. I finished washing, put the dishes away, then knelt again on the floor.
Almost as soon as my knees hit the hardwood, the doorbell rang. Oh shit, I thought. Who is this? I became even more surprised when Elyse, rather than Lauren, went to answer.
“Good. You’re here. Shoes and socks off? You can go take your place next to lauren’s.”
A few seconds later, elyse’s was kneeling right beside me, almost touching me. God, he was a strong dude. Elyse stood in front of him, looking him over with a cute little smirk.
“Bare yourself.” Elyse sounded suddenly strict.
“Yes, Elyse.” This guy sounded very, very meek. He stood and stripped, just letting his clothes fall behind him. Elyse stared at him, hard and unrelenting. elyse’s was shaking just a little as he knelt again.
“Ugh. No, slave. Not like that.” Elyse had rolled her eyes dramatically while blowing so hard a wisp of her hair fluttered around. “Kneel up straight, like I taught you. Don’t slouch.”
“Yes, Elyse. I’m sorry, Elyse.”
elyse’s sounded very meek and intimidated. He had barely squeaked out his answer.
“WHAT was that?”
“Yes, Elyse! I’m…I’m sorry, Elyse!”
“Better.”
As Elyse inspected her slave, I reaized she was much more touchy-feely than Lauren. She ran a finger down his bare chest, gripped his large bicep, then bent down and squeezed his ass cheek, lingering and looking him over as she held on to it. From the corner of my eye, I noticed elyse’s growing erect. His lip trembled. I noticed him squeeze his eyes shut then quickly open them, struggling to keep them open through the invasive inspection. I could relate.
“You need to shave closer, slave.” Elyse held her slave’s cheek in her hand, looking straight into his eyes. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
“Yes, Elyse! I’m sorry, Elyse!”
“OK slave. I like the look lauren’s has going. Why don’t you put on just your jeans. Nothing else. Not even underwear. Got it?”
“Yes, Elyse.”
Standing, this muscular guy stood and picked up his jeans. Pulling them on, he was extremely careful zipping them up. He was still shaking a bit. It seemed a little odd, watching this guy who would intimidate most people so scared of Elyse, a thin wisp of a young woman. I wondered if Lauren and I appeared the same way to others. I towered over her, after all.
Turning back to Lauren, Elyse was once again excited and bubbly, almost bouncy. It shocked me how she could switch so quickly between two attitudes: cute, expressive, and excited, or strict and serious, almost mean. I wondered what it would be like to be owned by someone like that. Lauren, after all, was even-keeled. She seemed her same stoic self whether she was happy or pissed off.
“Time to go, slave. Carry my bag down.”
“Yes, Lauren.”
Carry her bag down? So I guessed I wouldn’t be putting on any more clothes. I sure hoped no one was in the hallway, or on the sidewalk. Elyse informed her slave that her bag was already in Lauren’s car as she herded him out the door. Lauren locked up and we all made our way down the stairs and to the street, elyse’s and I in nothing but a pair of jeans. Someone down the street gave us a sort of funny look, but before I could think about it too much I was in the back seat closing the door.
I rode silently in the back seat on the passenger side, watching the scenery go by. It seemed strange being so skimpily dressed in the car. I hoped we didn’t get pulled over. My bare back stuck to the leather upholstery. I sighed, running my bare soles back and forth across the carpet.
Diagonaly in front of me, Lauren drove, talking to Elyse, in the passenger seat in front of me. elyse’s rode in the back seat next to me, behind Lauren. Elyse laughed and gestured while she and Lauren caught up with the week’s events. In the back seat, we slaves remained silent.