Page 20 of Force Me To Obey


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“No, ma’am.”

“Then you get the short course on rules. First rule: property respects its subservient status and enters the house naked. You’ll have to remove your clothes.”

“Remove my clothes?” I repeated astonished.

“That’s what I said.” She closed the door in my face, leaving me to obey her.

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The strangest quiver raced up my spine as the message registered.

I shouldn’t have been worried; I’d been taking off my clothes for Preston Lockhart regularly since our relationship began, and this may have been the least compromising situation of them all. No, it wasn’t real fear I was feeling, it was something much more. She called me property, as had the man at the front door. This wasn’t new to me; I’d been referred to as property before. But it all fit together now in a different way, as I realized what my master really meant by the derogatory term. I was not allowed the dignity of clothes, the right to cover myself in this house. I was less than human, demeaned, judged, stripped of the normal rights I would expect as a person. Had I any rights at all in this world? I shuddered deeply as I began to disrobe. The players in this game were serious sadists, I just a lowly creature.

I wondered if this was still a game, an innocent game of sex and thrills? It seems I’d stumbled on something much bigger than one man’s fantasy.

Naked as the day I was born, and shivering from the chilly air, I knocked on the door again and waited, finally hearing the shuffle of feet as the woman approached and flung the door wide open.

“Better,” she said in her dull monotone. “Follow me.” She turned, leading me up a short flight of steps and down a corridor. I quickly hung my clothes on a hook near the entrance, where I noticed other women’s clothes were stored. Noting that I wasn’t following close enough, the woman turned back to me, a little annoyed. “You tardy, you get punished.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I quickly made up the distance between us.

The corridor led to a door at the end of the hall, a half open pocket door, which she pushed a little further to the left. She peeked inside. I could barely see beyond her, as my eyes were still adjusting to surroundings where everything was new to me and completely mystifying.

“The new one,” the woman announced, then she stood aside, allowing me to pass in front of her.

For all my nakedness on Preston’s previous assignments, this occasion was clearly the most alarming. I stepped into a room of strangers—clothed strangers, a cocktail party of well-dressed men and women who chose to silently greet me with analytical stares. I gazed from eye to eye, bewildered, my body weak from fear and embarrassment. I wondered if I’d stumbled into the wrong room, or that I was crashing a party, uninvited. I expected a refrain of disgust and rebuke to follow, at least until the first man spoke.

“Ah, Preston’s lucky with you,” an immaculately beautiful boy-man strolled from the crowd and began to maul my breasts with obvious pleasure. The abundance of my malleable brown tits seemed to intrigue him. “He gets all this bounty to abuse.” He pinched my nipples so hard that I shrieked and jerked back. “A little jumpy are we?” he mocked. Like Preston, he was the kind of well-born, well-heeled, glamorous man I’d always taken great pains to avoid. But he was worse than Preston: too pretty, too stylish, too casual, too smug. I was wet between my legs just looking at him and that made me furious.

“Ease up, Ryder, she’s new. Can’t you see the fear in her eyes?” an unknown party spoke up at my defense.

“That’s her problem not mine. She’ll adapt.” He tweaked my nipple even harder, evilly, as though he despised me. The smirk on his face cut to my core. He backed away, smiling, enjoying the fact that I was trembling with fear.

I stood by myself in the center of the room, staring wide-eyed at my surroundings. I noted the same sort of decadent shabbiness inside the house as I’d noted outside. I found that oddly thrilling. But the people were another matter. All those eyes! There must have been two-dozen people filling the living room. They were as clean-cut and well dressed as the ones in my office—looking vaguely familiar, but dissimilar enough for me to understand that I’d never laid eyes on any of them. Frankly, I didn’t want to see a familiar face—with the possible exception of Preston. Oddly, he might have been some comfort to me had he been there—but I had no such luck.

At Ryder’s retreat, I was assaulted by the entire gathering, as a thorough inspection of my body began in earnest. At least six of the men and two women pawed and poked me. They slapped my ass, fingered my slit and probed the backside of my body. I had no instructions for my behavior, but just the fact that I was naked and they were clothed suggested that I had better let them do as they wished. After all, I was property.

One rather hefty fellow with a take-charge attitude pushed me into a crouch. “That’s it,” he glowered over me. “Now hands behind your head.”

I tried the awkward pose, but I could hardly hold my balance, squatting on tiptoe without my hands to assist me.

“Oh, that’s very pretty,” one of the women exclaimed, seeing my splayed pussy like candy for her eyes. In this grossly lewd position, my labia were very prominent, and my clitoris hung down between them, raw and vulnerable to whatever scheme they had in mind. I gasped each time someone bent down, leaning in to give my genitals a good yank. Somehow, I managed to stay on my feet. When someone moved behind my back and began fingering my asshole, I jerked right out of the position, and received a sharp slap on my ass for my error. It took some seconds for me to right myself and put my hands behind my head again.

“Better move to your knees, slut,” the take-charge fellow spoke, giving me a rude shove forward.

I dropped down instantly, my ankles thanking him silently for the change in position, although my gratitude was wasted. Being on my knees was not enough by itself. A heavy hand shoved me further forward. Then for several seconds, I was jostled and prodded, adjusted, readjusted, then finally found satisfactory. The end result of all the fuss might have been agreeable for them, but for me it was akin to torture—not to mentioned cruelly humiliating. My knees were spread wide and my arms were clasped behind my back, with my hands grasping my elbows. Then my shoulders were pushed down to the carpet, forcing my nose into the prickly fibers. The round tan globes of my plump behind must have been quite a sight with my anal cleft and pussy exposed to every eye in the room.

I waited, for a time being too shocked by my predicament to feel anything at all. Then the numbness faded, replaced by a familiar gnawing in my belly, which could only be sexual. I thought I was too afraid to feel anything. But the warmth under my skin, so evident to the hands that mauled me, became real to me too.

“She’s wet!” someone noted the fact while playing with my vagina. Whether the truth about me at that moment signaled the rest of the scene, I’ll never know. But obviously, I’d been found ready for their further plans.

I could hardly see a thing with my face so flattened against the carpet, but I knew without having to look exactly what came next. As soon as I felt a hand sensuously groping my cleft and fingers probing into the depths of my body, I understood their scheme. For a time the fingers were content with my pussy, but that was only to gather the juice from that spot and smear it over my anus. I understood the target, dreading the idea of having my behind fucked. I’d been played with there before when Preston had me impaled with a dildo, but I’d never really been fucked in the ass. My body locked up petrified, every muscle taut, every nerve screaming.

My obvious anxiety hardly swayed my rapists. Their fingers only probed me deeper, and for a time, one womanly voice kindly admonished me to relax. “Breathe deep,” she purred as if that were some comfort. Like hell, I’ll breathe deep! my insides screamed at her. Even so, I could feel my body beginning to ease, and my rear door open as if the act was natural. “Grease her,” someone ordered.

My eyes suddenly shot open—something I soon regretted. With my head positioned as it was, I looked back toward my feet, and saw a metal kitchen baster in the hands of one man, with the pointed end moving into my anal cleft. I should have closed my eyes but they were fixated on the appalling scene. When the metal hit the skin inside my cleft, a cold wave of anxiety passed through me. It was followed by a sudden stab, and then the feel something strange entering my rectum.

“I want that ass as slippery as

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