Slave Yoga Ch. 02: Tracy's Journal

A kitchen slave! Most kitchen slaves were not even Select, but Choice. My eyes filled with tears as Master Mark turned and walked away.

"Answer my question, Tracy." Professor Crush's voice snapped me back to the moment. "Have you ever wondered what sort of slave grade you might earn?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Master Mark said I was Select. He said I would make a good kitchen slave."

I began to sob. Professor Crush immediately lifted me off my knees and onto my feet, hugging me tightly.

"There, there, Tracy. Don't cry. We can fix this. We'll fix this together. Do you trust me?"

I nodded as I sobbed into my Professor's expensive worsted wool jacket. The texture felt good and I enjoyed the sensation of her arms around me.

"Do you want to take your research to the next level and get a better grade?"

"You mean in class, or a slave grade?" I asked, wiping away my tears.

"Both my dear," Agatha said, chuckling. "I want you to be the best in everything. Now sit down and blow your nose."

Agatha gave me a tissue and a moment to recover.

"Have you ever thought about incorporating negative reinforcement into the experiment?"

"We do have negative reinforcement," I explained. "When Master John or Master John yell at me I feel awful. Really terrible."

"Let's not play games, Tracy. That's not negative reinforcement. In your Slave Yoga class how are the slave girls punished?"

"The whip?" I said, surprised at what Agatha might be suggesting.

"Exactly. Have Master Mark or Master John ever talked about brisking you up a bit?"

"Not really," I said. "Once when I got distracted and fell over Master John joked I was 'clumsy' and that he would have whipped me except he didn't want to 'tear my pretty leotard.'"

"Interesting," Agatha said, going back into full pedantic mode as she tapped her pencil against her palm. "I had never thought of it but I imagine whipping someone in a leotard could create a mess. The material could tear, and if you hit them multiple times you couldn't see where the previous strokes had landed."

I watched as Agatha rose and stared out of her office window over the quad thoughtfully. "A sound brisking might be exactly what you need. It would sharpen your wits and keep you on your toes. Perhaps we can solve multiple problems at once. In your journal last week you said that you were jealous of the girl with the long blonde hair. What was her name again?"

"Sunfire" I hissed, hating even her name.

"Ah, yes, Sunfire," Agatha said, returning to her desk to jot the name down in her notes. "You said that Sunfire was a "Prime" slave, a pleasure slut, and you hated the way she hogged all the attention from the men in the window. Isn't that right, Tracy?"

"Yes. Sometimes I'm right next to her, facing the upstairs viewing window. Even when my moves are better the men stare at her."

"I see," Agatha said. "That doesn't seem fair, does it? Tell me, Tracy, do the men stare because Sunfire is naked?"

"Of course!" I snapped, letting my anger overflow. "She is shameless slave meat! She spreads her legs for them like a whore. She has a brand on her ass, too. I'm glad someone branded her. I wish I could have watched."

"Yes, I imagine it must be very frustrating to have Sunfire beat you so handily given how hard you've worked. Now tell me, would you like to take our research to the next level, and get a top slave grade, and show up Sunfire in front of Master John, and everyone?"

"Oh, yes!" I said. "What do I need to do?"

Professor Crush made a note in her notebook. "It's quite simple, really. I need you to incorporate a classic visualization exercise into your practice sessions. I want you to imagine doing the exercises in class in the nude."

I was appalled. "You want me to do the exercise naked?" I said, aghast. "Like a SLAVE? In front of all those MEN?"

"No, of course not," Professor Crush replied. "I want you to visualize it. Visualization exercises are a powerful technique for overcoming anxieties and freeing our minds for success."

"Visualization is also a technique for mentally preparing yourself to do something that frightens you," I countered. "Are you suggesting I should do the classes in the nude?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Tracy," Professor Crush said tartly. "If you haven't noticed all of this has been your idea. I haven't told you to do anything. I can't order you to do anything. It's all been your choice, as per the protocol."

"What protocol? You keep talking about this like it's an experiment. It's not an experiment, it's data collection."

"Tracy, we're out of time, and to be frank with you I'm nearly out of patience. Do your homework and record the results in your journal. We'll talk again in two weeks."

"Can I start seeing you every week? I think... I think we're getting to a point where... These talks are really, really helpful. It's great to have someone I can share my feelings with."

"I'm sorry but you'll have to document your feelings in your journal. I'm very busy and I have lots of students. Once every two weeks is the best I can do."

4-11

The visualization exercises have been extremely difficult. I want to beat Sunfire very, very badly. However every time I try to picture myself naked all I can think about is the slobbering, drooling men in the window leering down at me, laughing amongst themselves as they grade my naked body like I'm a piece of meat.

4-12

I went to the store and bought a large mirror and set it up in the bedroom. Alone with nothing but my own image I discovered my naked body for the first time.

Slowly I did the moves. I was beautiful. Stunning. Amazing.

Now that I was naked poses that had never quite worked blossomed into their full beauty. Luxuriating in my sensuality, I danced through my slave paces, feeling lighter than air.

Laying on my side, I lifted my leg, rolled onto my tummy, and smiled seductively at the mirror.

Slowly, slowly, I lifted my hips off the floor, bringing my bottom into few as I playfully licked my lips, rearing up like a cat ready to strike.

Strike I did, kicking a leg out and rising into a slave squat. Running my hands through my hair I revealed my breasts, then ever-so-slowly spread my knees.

Some of the poses shocked me! Kneeling on all fours, my knees spread to shoulder width, I saw my moist sex and my bottom hole in the mirror. I had never seen myself that way, and had never revealed myself so fully, not even to a lover.

Reaching between my legs, I began to rub herself, keeping her eyes locked on her own expression as I made myself "slave wet" for the mirror's pleasure.

4-15

I have been practicing day-and-night. My moves are perfect, however I am obsessed by the idea that they could be even better. Numerous psychological studies show that athletes perform better when they have competition. As good as I am I know that performing next to Sunfire would make me that much better.

As I exercise I juice myself at the thought of beating Sunfire at her own game. The idea of performing naked in front of the lecherous perverts at the gym still appalls me. However tonight an opportunity to overcome my anxiety presented itself.

Obsessed with my fear and anxiety of performing in the nude I tossed and turned, and finally got up around 3AM. I noticed my neighbor, Mr. Puffkins, was awake in the apartment across the way from me. Mr Puffkins is a retired truck driver who is overweight and curses and drinks a lot. None of the women in my building like him because he is always ogling them when they are in the pool.

When I came into the kitchen I was wearing a short nightshirt that just covered my butt. The nightshirt was light blue and had cartoon drawings of a little bear doing Yoga poses. Old Puffkins noticed me immediately and turned off the lights in his apartment, then turned his chair so he could look out the window at me in my skimpy attire. However the old fool had left the television on behind him so I could see he was still sitting there.

Ignoring the leering pervert watching me from above I poured myself a glass of wine and mulled over the possibilities presented by exposure therapy. Used to treat anxiety disorders, exposure therapy allows the patient to face their fear or anxiety in a controlled setting with a minimum of danger. A person afraid of spiders might look at pictures of spiders in books, then go to the zoo and see one behind glass. The idea is that exposure to the feared stimuli removes the phobia's power to terrorize us.

Exposure therapy is a proven technique and I had seen in work in my own studies, but unfortunately I didn't see how it applied in my case. There was no "gradual" way to perform naked in the class. I considered wearing a bikini but that simply felt silly. No, either I would perform naked or I would not. Either I would conquer my fear or spend the rest of my life despising myself for letting Sunfire get the better of me.

The problem was creating a safe space, a risk free way of performing naked without necessarily exposing myself to Master John or Master Mark, all my friends, the other slave girls, and the dozens of leering perverts looking down at me from the glass window above. If there was a way that I could perform for ONE of my friends, or one of the men, then I could face my fear and move to the next level. If only...

As I considered my dilemma I looked out the window and noticed that Mr. Puffkins was still ogling me. He was a safe distance way, of course, behind the glass and above me, like the perverts who watched us in our class.

Yes! He was watching me exactly like the perverts who watched us in our class.

Knowing what I had to do I immediately got my Yoga mat and placed it in front of the picture window, being careful not to look at him. Turning my back to the window, I stripped off my nightshirt, and skinned my pink panties to the ground, kicking them to the side.

I stood there and breathed, not thinking of my audience, not thinking of anything. I was naked, beautiful, free. Breathe.

Relax. Breathe. Relax. Breathe.

After reaching a state of perfect relaxation I moved my arms up over my head and arched my back, perfectly segueing into the inhale position. Breathe. Breathe.

I moved to the exhale position, bending forward and touching my toes. Breathe. Breathe.

I did basic yoga positions for 20 minutes. By the time I switched over into doing slave paces I barely noticed him, because I knew he was eating out of the palm of my hand.

Why should his presence bother me? He was the one who should be embarrassed, sitting in his window, stroking his fat cock as he spied on me.

Disgusting old pervert!

Relishing my power over him I slowly slipped my hand between my legs and allowed myself the pleasure of my supple, teasing fingers. My first orgasm did not take long, and the second and third ones came even faster.

Even after Puffkins squirted his enormous stream into the air and dirtied his picture window with his filthy load I kept going. I kept going even after he fell asleep in his chair. He did not matter. It was not about him. It was about me.

As I sipped my coffee the next morning he was gone but his dried spunk was still splattered all over his picture window. I wondered if he would ever clean it. Men!

4-17

After class today I told Suzie all about my exposure therapy and discussed my idea for doing the class sans clothes. I felt like I could confide in her as Suzie and I have actually gotten quite friendly with her teasing me about my "slave potential" and me retaliating with mean lawyer jokes.

Suzie thought it was hysterical that my exposure therapy involved literal exposure. She also confessed she had been thinking about doing the class in the nude too and was delighted that I was willing to take the plunge and do it first.

She also loved the term "brisking" and thought it was the perfect way to describe whipping a slave girl. "Slave girls are lazy and stupid by nature," she explained. 'Brisking' is a way of sharpening the girls wits and getting her to pick up the pace."

After class she took me to breakfast in her building so we could discuss the logistics. The easiest approach would have been for me to simply wear my leotard to the gym, strip it off, then put it on when the class was over. However as I explained to Suzie this was entirely unacceptable. I wanted the men in the window to view me as just another slave, and they would only do that if I arrived naked like the other slave girls. Being a free woman stripping for the pleasure of men was humiliating; being a naked slave girl was sensual and wonderful.

Fortunately, getting into the workout room was easy. There was a utility corridor exit to the woman's locker room that led both to an outside exit and to the court where the women did their exercises. To avoid having to walk all the way around the club the free women would change into their leotards, walk about 30 feet down the empty cement corridor, and enter.

Suzie pointed out that there was a door from the slave pens that also led into this same corridor, so if I waited for the other naked slave girls to arrive I could make their entrance with them. Easy!

Exiting the gym was much more difficult. Unfortunately the door to the private utility corridor locked behind us so I couldn't use it as an exit. To get back to the locker room Suzie and I always walked all the way around the club, while the slave girls went down a stair in the outer hallway that led to the slave pens.

Although she offered to escort me I didn't really like the idea of parading through the club naked with Suzie. Suzie said it wouldn't be a big deal because everyone would assume that I was Suzie's naked slave girl. However I didn't want to take a long walk around the club stark naked and surrounded by free women. A slave girl is never so naked as when she is standing next to a fully clothed woman.

I suggested an alternate plan and she agreed to go back to the club with me so we could try it out at lunchtime. As I didn't have any classes and a few hours to kill Suzie took me up to her extremely impressive law offices on the 97th floor.

As we stepped off the elevator into the reception area I was surprised to see a naked slave girl, hands cuffed behind her back and with a slave bit in her mouth, in a padlocked steel dog crate. The package deliveryman was there, too, whistling cheerfully as he eased the tongue of his orange handcart under the slave's cage.

A young woman about my age but dressed professionally was kneeling next to the cage and checking the red shipping tag. As we stepped off the elevators she immediately turned to Suzie.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here. I wasn't sure what to do with this one. You marked her for shipment to Roman House."

I looked down at the cage and read the huge red luggage tag threaded through the bars with the logo ROMAN HOUSE, one of the largest slaving houses in the city, which billed itself as a upscale return to "classical slavery, in the grande Greek and Roman tradition."

"Yes, that's right," Size said, casually checking messages on her phone. "Her self-enslavement papers were signed by Judge Parker this morning."

"She told me she doesn't want to be shipped to Roman House. She said it was the strictest slave house and they were very mean to the slave girls. Plus her ex-husband works there."

Suzie was unimpressed. "She didn't put it in the paperwork. As for what she wants now, I truly don't give a shit. She's only a slave girl."

At this the slave girl in the cage shouted into her gag and tried to free her cuffed hands. Smiling, Suzie kneeled down in front of her cage and playfully wiggled her nose through the bars.

"Awwwwww, poor little slave girl doesn't want her mean ex-husband to see her naked in a cage? Too bad. Roman House is going to train you very hard and sell you for a very nice price, and that means more money for your lawyer Suzie. So you'd better suck your ex's cock good, or he's going to whip the shit out of you."

"Roman House?" the delivery man asked. Upon hearing "his" female voice I gave "him" a second look, and realized that "he" was actually a woman with short hair and enormous biceps which she had built on the job.

"Absolutely," Suzie replied, smiling.

The deliverymangirl tilted the dolly back and the sobbing slave girl gave a startled sob of panic as she slid backwards in her cage.

Suzie turned to her assistant. "Call Roman House and make sure her husband knows she's coming. He'll make sure she's properly trained. She's a juicy little slut and I want a fit price for her."

The coldness and cruelty of Suzie's work persona left me shocked. I watched transfixed as the whistling delivery girl cheerfully pushed the orange dolly with the sobbing slave onto the elevator. Suzie never looked back.

The receptionist gave me an enormous yellow lanyard with the word VISITOR on it, as if my sneakers, jeans and T-shirt didn't make it clear that I wasn't a lawyer.

Suzie's office was beautiful and elegant and had a stunning view of the river. Suzie explained that the enslavement business was exploding and that she was now the firm's youngest and best-paid rainmaker.

"Speaking of which, when are you going to show me these slave moves of yours?"

I laughed. "You've seen every move I have!"

Suzie smiled and sipped her cup of tea. "Yes, but not in the nude."

"You want me to do naked Slave Yoga for you?"

"Yes. You're the one who told me about using exposure therapy to overcome your anxieties and phobias. At breakfast you said you were nervous about performing naked in front of me and the other free women. Let's help you get over your bashfulness right now."

I watched as Suzie removed a yoga mat and a slave whip from her credenza. Suzie tossed the mat at my feet.

Suzie leaned against her desk, folded her arms, and smiled. "Take off your clothes. Every stitch," she said, grinning broadly as she enunciated "Every" and "stitch" with slow, undisguised relish.

Suzie had told me that she was not a lesbian although I wasn't entirely sure I believed her denials. She had confessed that since becoming a slave lawyer she enjoyed "making a few of my bitchier former clients put their tongues up my snatch, just for a laugh."

Suzie insisted it wasn't "a lesbo thing," and I knew she was into power games, but making a slave girl perform oral sex on you certainly sounded lesbian to me.

"I'm not sure I want to do this," I said.

"Come on, Tracy. You're never going to be able to perform in front of all those drooling men if you can't perform in front of me. After you get comfortable I might even help you and invite a couple of other lawyers in to watch."

"Don't even joke about it!" I said.

"You're the one who touted exposure therapy all morning. You face the stimuli that frightens you in a controlled environment. Over time you become used to it and the phobia looses it's power over you. You'll be in control."

"I'll be naked," I countered.

"I don't see what the big deal is. I've seen you naked in the locker room haven't I?"

That was true. Suzie was constantly checking me out in the locker room, and in class, but that wasn't unusual as we were all quite competitive and constantly comparing ourselves to each other.

"This is different," I won't just be naked. I'll be SLAVE naked."

"Precisely," she replied. "That's the point, dumb-dumb. Look, if we're going to do this, we have to do it right. I've got to be tough on you, like Master Mark and Master John are, or the operant conditioning won't work. Agreed?"

She was right - purely on a technical level, of course - so I nodded.

"Good. Now take off your clothes."

I stared at her. She was correct, but I didn't mean...

"NOW," she said, once again loudly and slowly enunciating the command for emphasis.