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A Journey into the Shadows I always knew there was something different about me. When I was younger I remember reading history and not quite getting what was so bad about being a slave. Not having slaves, mind, but being one didn't seem like it was too terrible. I realized as I got older that it was more complicated than just serving someone else, and the public part of me felt guilty about this, while the private part of me still got warm and excited by the idea of having no control over my own life anymore. So I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise how quickly I was roped into a life where I had no control. Here's how it happened. About a month after graduating high school, I had started making a habit of hitchhiking. I never went far, and I always came back home, but it became a kind of a hobby. I liked the thrill of getting into a car with a stranger, of having conversations with random people, and seeing where they took me. In that month, I never encountered anyone that had any ill intentions for me. The furthest I ever went was less than a hundred miles from where I started, and the most unpleasant experience I ever had was with a fellow who didn't say a word as he drove, and took me a bit further than he said he would. I lived in a relatively mild area, so it didn't come as too much of a surprise. But then I met James. …the next moment changed everything
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A Journey into the Shadows
I always knew there was something different about me.
When I was younger I remember reading history and not quite getting what was so bad about being a slave. Not having slaves, mind, but being one didn't seem like it was too terrible. I realized as I got older that it was more complicated than just serving someone else, and the public part of me felt guilty about this, while the private part of me still got warm and excited by the idea of having no control over my own life anymore.
So I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise how quickly I was roped into a life where I had no control.
Here's how it happened.
About a month after graduating high school, I had started making a habit of hitchhiking. I never went far, and I always came back home, but it became a kind of a hobby. I liked the thrill of getting into a car with a stranger, of having conversations with random people, and seeing where they took me. In that month, I never encountered anyone that had any ill intentions for me. The furthest I ever went was less than a hundred miles from where I started, and the most unpleasant experience I ever had was with a fellow who didn't say a word as he drove, and took me a bit further than he said he would. I lived in a relatively mild area, so it didn't come as too much of a surprise. But then I met James.
James was a long haul truck driver. He lived 90% of his time in his truck's cabin and the other 10% at rest stops. He was probably in his late 40's and had a gruff, attractive, sun baked exterior. When he first stopped for me, he was sweeter than pie. He had a light southern drawl and the habit of calling girls "sweetheart" - including me, at least at first. When I first got in his truck, I commented on how it was the first time I had ever ridden in a semi before. He laughed and told me it was likely because most truckers he knew wouldn't stop for hitchers. It was too dangerous, and they could lose their jobs over it. He told me there was just something sweet about me and he knew giving me a lift would be just fine. It didn't take long for him to glean that the reason that I really liked hitching had nothing to do with the conversations or travelling, but the fact that I was putting myself in a position where I didn't have control. That I didn't truly know where I was going to end up when I got into the passenger side of a stranger's vehicle. It was true, and being told that at point blank made me sweat a little, made my heart race, made my cheeks flush.
That first night, when James pulled over at a rest stop and showed me his cabin, he asked me to take off my shirt.
My cheeks flushed deeply. This was the first time any of my rides had asked me for anything beyond a cigarette. But my heart pounded, and I felt my loins warm. Biting my lip, I slowly pulled my shirt over my head while he sat on the edge of his cot.
He reached out, and without asking, pulled first my right, then my left tit from my bra, leaving the bra on but with my chest completely exposed. My heart was pounding even harder, my nipples rock hard, completely turned on. Gently, he slapped one of my tits, looking at my face and gauging my reaction.
"Do you like that?"
I nodded, knowing how red my cheeks must be. He pinched my nipples with both of his hands gently, then much harder. Then he raised one hand and slapped my tit harder than he had before.
"Get on your knees."
I obeyed immediately. Almost too quickly. He chuckled at the speed at which I knelt, and unzipped his fly. My heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. The warm feeling radiated throughout my entire body. I felt, in turns, like a whore, and completely at peace. I felt that this was right - whatever this was, whatever was happening. He pulled his cock out of his pants, and started stroking it. He laced one hand's fingers through my hair and pulled my face down towards it, laying his cockhead on my cheek while he stroked.
"You know what I think?" he asked. I barely squeaked a response. "I think you're looking to be an owned slut. Does that sound right to you?" I shivered, staring at his groin, at his cock growing harder against my face, at his pubic hair that I knew I was about to be getting very closely accommodated with, and with my red hot cheeks flaring, I nodded. "Is that what you are? Just a slut?" I nodded again. "Just a worthless slut?" Nod. "Look at me."
I looked up at him just in time to get a full handed slap against the cheek. I yelped, immediately putting a hand against the slapped cheek.
"Put your fucking hand down, slut. Worthless sluts don't get a say, you understand? Worthless whores like you don't get to complain. Worthless whores like you take what they are given and are thankful. Do you understand?"
I nodded, putting my hand down and feeling the sting radiate through my cheek. Still, my pounding heart would not relent. I felt my blood pumping through my system as if I was a new person. Here I was being told something that made sense to me. I wasn't what I had been told I was my entire life.. I was a worthless slut. I would take what was given to me. I would not complain.
James nodded, taking his other hand and slapping my other cheek harder than the first. I kept my hands at my sides.
"Good slut. Open your fucking mouth." I obeyed, opening my mouth as James slid his cock in, one hand firmly gripping my hair and pushing my head down. I felt his cock slide into my throat, choking and gagging me, but he was relentless. For the first time ever, I had my throat fucked. I'd given blowjobs before, but this was different. This was a man using my face like it was a pussy - banging into my throat at his heart's content, and not thinking of the fact that I needed to breathe out of that face. He would let me up for air once in a while, but for the vast majority of it, his hand simply banged my head up and down on his cock, choking and gagging me. By ehe end, my lips were tingling and my throat was raw. Tears streamed down my face and drool littered my tits. When he came, he took both hands and held my head down on his pulsing cock as he unloaded deep in my throat. While I gagged, I could still feel his cum sliding down my throat in waves. I nearly came myself. He kept my head down to a count of ten after he blew his load, and instinctively, I sucked at his cock as he pulled my head off. While I gasped for air, he let his hands untangle from my hair and sighed contentedly.
"You'll sleep on the floor, whore. Go wash your fucking face, then get some sleep. I have plans for you."
. . .
The next day, James woke me up with my new name.
"Get up, fuckmeat." I heard him say. I rose slowly, a crick in my neck from laying on the awkward floor. "I said get the fuck up. I need to piss. Get your mouth over here."
I swallowed. Did I hear him correctly? But I didn't ask questions. I climbed into his cot with him. He pushed me down to his cock again and instructed me to hold the tip of his cock in my mouth.
"Don't you dare fucking spill. You'll take this and you'll fucking drink. If you think you're going to yak, you raise your hand or so help me, I will slap you silly. Do not get my sheets dirty, cunt."
Obediently, I lowered my mouth to his limp cock, putting my lips around the head and suctioning slightly so nothing would drip. He let his piss flow almost immediately. Without warning, his hot urine filled my mouth and I was forced to swallow before I started to overflow. the taste was acrid but mild. Unpleasant, but not nauseating. The act itself even turned me on, and I was beginning to realize how much my whole life I had been holding back now that I realized that I was actually enjoying the act of drinking a man's piss just so that he wouldn't have to get up in the morning. After three full mouthfuls, he was done. He instructed me to lick his cock from base to tip to make sure no piss was missed, and I obeyed. He regarded me afterward with a fierce sternness. "You'll do that every morning, cunt." I nodded.
Before he got back on the road, he had me stand. With scissors, he cut my clothes off piece by piece. First my shirt came off in four pieces. One cut down the front, one down the back, and two along the sides of my chest. Then my bra was snipped between the cups, rendering it useless. My pants were cut down the sides of each leg and from crotch to ass crack. My panties were last, and he cut them once from my navel to my ass. Before taking them off, he had me stand with my legs spread, my cunt peeking through the cut, while he pleasured himself. After his cock was hard, he pulled me over to it and slid into me with the tattered remains of my panties still on me. He went in without a condom, which I noticed briefly but didn't mention.
He fucked me doggy style, pulling my hair into a ponytail as he did. He commented on how wet I was already, and I didn't mention that the ritual of cutting my clothes off had nearly given me an orgasm. After he came inside me, he pulled off my panty pieces. He threw all of my clothes into a corner. He had me turn around, and with a zip tie, he fastened my hands behind my back. from a drawer, he fished out a large white tee shirt, pulled it over my head for me, and told me what my assignment for that day was.
Assignments were going to be a big part of my life. I didn't know it at that moment, but this was the first of many. Every day I had to do something, and if I didn't succeed to his expectations, I was punished handsomely.
Today, I was to choke on his cock.
That may not sound like a big deal, given the night before, but this was different. He had to drive, so I was to kneel between his legs while he drove without being too in the way, at the same time as I was pleasuring him. This meant kneeling in a very awkward way between his legs and sucking on his cock for hours on end. By THE END
When I was younger I remember reading history and not quite getting what was so bad about being a slave. Not having slaves, mind, but being one didn't seem like it was too terrible. I realized as I got older that it was more complicated than just serving someone else, and the public part of me felt guilty about this, while the private part of me still got warm and excited by the idea of having no control over my own life anymore.
So I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise how quickly I was roped into a life where I had no control.
Here's how it happened.
About a month after graduating high school, I had started making a habit of hitchhiking. I never went far, and I always came back home, but it became a kind of a hobby. I liked the thrill of getting into a car with a stranger, of having conversations with random people, and seeing where they took me. In that month, I never encountered anyone that had any ill intentions for me. The furthest I ever went was less than a hundred miles from where I started, and the most unpleasant experience I ever had was with a fellow who didn't say a word as he drove, and took me a bit further than he said he would. I lived in a relatively mild area, so it didn't come as too much of a surprise. But then I met James.
James was a long haul truck driver. He lived 90% of his time in his truck's cabin and the other 10% at rest stops. He was probably in his late 40's and had a gruff, attractive, sun baked exterior. When he first stopped for me, he was sweeter than pie. He had a light southern drawl and the habit of calling girls "sweetheart" - including me, at least at first. When I first got in his truck, I commented on how it was the first time I had ever ridden in a semi before. He laughed and told me it was likely because most truckers he knew wouldn't stop for hitchers. It was too dangerous, and they could lose their jobs over it. He told me there was just something sweet about me and he knew giving me a lift would be just fine. It didn't take long for him to glean that the reason that I really liked hitching had nothing to do with the conversations or travelling, but the fact that I was putting myself in a position where I didn't have control. That I didn't truly know where I was going to end up when I got into the passenger side of a stranger's vehicle. It was true, and being told that at point blank made me sweat a little, made my heart race, made my cheeks flush.
That first night, when James pulled over at a rest stop and showed me his cabin, he asked me to take off my shirt.
My cheeks flushed deeply. This was the first time any of my rides had asked me for anything beyond a cigarette. But my heart pounded, and I felt my loins warm. Biting my lip, I slowly pulled my shirt over my head while he sat on the edge of his cot.
He reached out, and without asking, pulled first my right, then my left tit from my bra, leaving the bra on but with my chest completely exposed. My heart was pounding even harder, my nipples rock hard, completely turned on. Gently, he slapped one of my tits, looking at my face and gauging my reaction.
"Do you like that?"
I nodded, knowing how red my cheeks must be. He pinched my nipples with both of his hands gently, then much harder. Then he raised one hand and slapped my tit harder than he had before.
"Get on your knees."
I obeyed immediately. Almost too quickly. He chuckled at the speed at which I knelt, and unzipped his fly. My heart felt like it was going to beat its way out of my chest. The warm feeling radiated throughout my entire body. I felt, in turns, like a whore, and completely at peace. I felt that this was right - whatever this was, whatever was happening. He pulled his cock out of his pants, and started stroking it. He laced one hand's fingers through my hair and pulled my face down towards it, laying his cockhead on my cheek while he stroked.
"You know what I think?" he asked. I barely squeaked a response. "I think you're looking to be an owned slut. Does that sound right to you?" I shivered, staring at his groin, at his cock growing harder against my face, at his pubic hair that I knew I was about to be getting very closely accommodated with, and with my red hot cheeks flaring, I nodded. "Is that what you are? Just a slut?" I nodded again. "Just a worthless slut?" Nod. "Look at me."
I looked up at him just in time to get a full handed slap against the cheek. I yelped, immediately putting a hand against the slapped cheek.
"Put your fucking hand down, slut. Worthless sluts don't get a say, you understand? Worthless whores like you don't get to complain. Worthless whores like you take what they are given and are thankful. Do you understand?"
I nodded, putting my hand down and feeling the sting radiate through my cheek. Still, my pounding heart would not relent. I felt my blood pumping through my system as if I was a new person. Here I was being told something that made sense to me. I wasn't what I had been told I was my entire life.. I was a worthless slut. I would take what was given to me. I would not complain.
James nodded, taking his other hand and slapping my other cheek harder than the first. I kept my hands at my sides.
"Good slut. Open your fucking mouth." I obeyed, opening my mouth as James slid his cock in, one hand firmly gripping my hair and pushing my head down. I felt his cock slide into my throat, choking and gagging me, but he was relentless. For the first time ever, I had my throat fucked. I'd given blowjobs before, but this was different. This was a man using my face like it was a pussy - banging into my throat at his heart's content, and not thinking of the fact that I needed to breathe out of that face. He would let me up for air once in a while, but for the vast majority of it, his hand simply banged my head up and down on his cock, choking and gagging me. By ehe end, my lips were tingling and my throat was raw. Tears streamed down my face and drool littered my tits. When he came, he took both hands and held my head down on his pulsing cock as he unloaded deep in my throat. While I gagged, I could still feel his cum sliding down my throat in waves. I nearly came myself. He kept my head down to a count of ten after he blew his load, and instinctively, I sucked at his cock as he pulled my head off. While I gasped for air, he let his hands untangle from my hair and sighed contentedly.
"You'll sleep on the floor, whore. Go wash your fucking face, then get some sleep. I have plans for you."
. . .
The next day, James woke me up with my new name.
"Get up, fuckmeat." I heard him say. I rose slowly, a crick in my neck from laying on the awkward floor. "I said get the fuck up. I need to piss. Get your mouth over here."
I swallowed. Did I hear him correctly? But I didn't ask questions. I climbed into his cot with him. He pushed me down to his cock again and instructed me to hold the tip of his cock in my mouth.
"Don't you dare fucking spill. You'll take this and you'll fucking drink. If you think you're going to yak, you raise your hand or so help me, I will slap you silly. Do not get my sheets dirty, cunt."
Obediently, I lowered my mouth to his limp cock, putting my lips around the head and suctioning slightly so nothing would drip. He let his piss flow almost immediately. Without warning, his hot urine filled my mouth and I was forced to swallow before I started to overflow. the taste was acrid but mild. Unpleasant, but not nauseating. The act itself even turned me on, and I was beginning to realize how much my whole life I had been holding back now that I realized that I was actually enjoying the act of drinking a man's piss just so that he wouldn't have to get up in the morning. After three full mouthfuls, he was done. He instructed me to lick his cock from base to tip to make sure no piss was missed, and I obeyed. He regarded me afterward with a fierce sternness. "You'll do that every morning, cunt." I nodded.
Before he got back on the road, he had me stand. With scissors, he cut my clothes off piece by piece. First my shirt came off in four pieces. One cut down the front, one down the back, and two along the sides of my chest. Then my bra was snipped between the cups, rendering it useless. My pants were cut down the sides of each leg and from crotch to ass crack. My panties were last, and he cut them once from my navel to my ass. Before taking them off, he had me stand with my legs spread, my cunt peeking through the cut, while he pleasured himself. After his cock was hard, he pulled me over to it and slid into me with the tattered remains of my panties still on me. He went in without a condom, which I noticed briefly but didn't mention.
He fucked me doggy style, pulling my hair into a ponytail as he did. He commented on how wet I was already, and I didn't mention that the ritual of cutting my clothes off had nearly given me an orgasm. After he came inside me, he pulled off my panty pieces. He threw all of my clothes into a corner. He had me turn around, and with a zip tie, he fastened my hands behind my back. from a drawer, he fished out a large white tee shirt, pulled it over my head for me, and told me what my assignment for that day was.
Assignments were going to be a big part of my life. I didn't know it at that moment, but this was the first of many. Every day I had to do something, and if I didn't succeed to his expectations, I was punished handsomely.
Today, I was to choke on his cock.
That may not sound like a big deal, given the night before, but this was different. He had to drive, so I was to kneel between his legs while he drove without being too in the way, at the same time as I was pleasuring him. This meant kneeling in a very awkward way between his legs and sucking on his cock for hours on end. By THE END
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