Slave Yoga Ch. 02: Tracy's Journal

Her expression had been stern but Suzie grinned like the Cheshire Cat as I awkwardly slipped off my sneakers and took off my socks.

"Good start," she purred. "Now the T-shirt."

Obeying, I pulled my college t-shirt over my head, undid my belt and unzipped my jeans.

"I always liked you in pink," she purred, enjoying my embarrassment as she ogled me in my bra and panties. "Your scanties are always cheap and a little trashy, but lacy and girly, too. Too bad they're going to have to come off," biting her lip and grinning at me in a way that made it clear that it wasn't too bad at all.

I shrugged off my bra and dropped it into the pile of clothes in front of me. "Pert, firm breasts. The guys will like those. Nipples are hard too? Awwww, is it chilly-willy in here, slave girl?"

I blushed and instinctively covered my breasts as she laughed.

"All part of your conditioning," she explained. "Catcalls aren't that bad once you get used to them."

Her smile faded as she returned to her officious tone. "Panties too," she said, wiggling her finger down as she pointed at my crotch. I don't have all day for this."

Bullshit. She was drawing this out, savoring her power over me. I took down my panties.

"Nice. I like it trimmed, but I like it even better slave smooth."

"You mean shaved?" I said, looking down at my crotch.

"Of course. Most pleasure sluts are shaved. If you were my slave bitch I'd keep you bare as a billiard ball."

"I never shave," I said. "It makes me feel... exposed."

"Slave girls don't get that choice, stupid. I have a tiny bottle of 'Slave Smooth' I'll give you so you can try it out. Now let's get rid of those earrings and jewelry too. Everything off. Slave naked, remember?"

I took them off and put them in my purse.

"You can take off your fitness tracker, too. Slaves don't have to worry about fitness or what time it is. I'll make sure you work up a sweat."

"Take off that visitor's badge, too. It looks stupid. Slave girls don't wear visitor's badges because slave girls never visit."

The big yellow lanyard around my neck did look stupid, but as it was the last thing that distinguished me from the slave girl who had been rolled out on the dolly, I really didn't want to give it up. Nonetheless, I took it off and held it in my hand.

Suzie took a key off her keyring and tossed it to me. It was a small brass Victorian barrel key that looked very old.

"Take your shit and put it in the lower right hand file drawer," she ordered, indicating the huge Victorian file cabinet against her far office wall.

Piling all of my possessions into my arms I stepped off the yoga mat and walked barefoot across the cold, hardwood floor to the enormous old wooden cabinet.


I felt myself blush as behind me Suzie let out a slow, lascivious wolf whistle as she watched me walk. "Work that ass, baby! Work that sweet little ass!"

The old Victorian cabinet was about 8 feet tall and towered over me. It had dozens of filing drawers in it but Suzie directed me to put everything in the bottom right hand drawer.

"Look at that sweet little ass," she said as I bent over. "Shoot the moon, shoot the moon, baby!"

"That's a good little slave girl. Now lock up all your things, tight as a tick!"

I worked the old brass key into the ancient lock. It took a little bit of jiggling and a lot of elbow grease but I could actually hear the tumblers turn as the deadbolt finally slid into place. The sound actually made me feel queasy; my phone, my identification, my clothes, my credit cards, and everything that I had was now safely locked away.

Key in hand, I walked back to Suzie. She smiled and lovingly caressed the slave whip.

"In the mood for a little 'brisking?' she said, tapping the whip against her palm.

Feeling my nakedness I decided to play along with her joke. "That depends. Are you any good with that thing?" trying to make small talk to dampen my feelings of awkwardness at my nudity.

"Hold up the key," she said, smiling.

Confused, I held up the tiny brass key in front of me. In a flash she swung her arm and the whip cracked through the air like a lightening bolt.

For a moment I thought she whipped my fingers, but then I realized that the red mark on my thumb was from the key being yanked out of my grip by the whip.

"FUCK! ARE YOU NUTS?" I screamed.

Suzie laughed as she picked the brass key up off the floor.

"Present!" Suzie snapped. Without even thinking I dropped to my knees, bowed my head, spread my legs wide and placed my hands on my knees, palms facing upward.

"Good," Suzie said. "Smarty pants little Tracy, slave naked. This is going to be fun."

For the next two hours an amused Suzie watched from behind her elegant glass power desk as I performed naked for her. She made phone calls, signed papers, and used her computer, occasionally encouraging me on with a "nice move" or a "sexy stuff, slave girl!" compliment.

In our Slave Yoga class we exercise for about 50 minutes, and if it hadn't been for the many hours of exercises that I did at home I would never have been able to keep up the pace.

Interestingly enough I could feel the psychological conditioning working: I became less embarrassed the more I exercised. Ratcheting things up Suzie called in her paralegal, which made me blush, but she didn't even seem to notice me. Soon I stopped noticing her going in-and-out as I concentrated on my exercises.

Suzie had told me that the windows to her office reflected light which meant the people in the other buildings couldn't see me. However the window washer sure saw me, and he nearly dropped his bucket when I rolled naked on the mat in front of him.

"Concentrate" Suzie said sternly, and I resumed my poses. Suzie had the cleanest windows in the city.

Despite my comfort with my nudity I blushed crimson when Suzie moved a scheduled meeting with her colleagues from a nearby conference room to her office. I'm sure she did this to embarrass me and I blushed crimson when her three male colleagues sauntered in and sank into the comfortable couches directly opposite from where I was doing my Slave Yoga.

Despite my utter mortification at being made to perform my Slave Yoga naked in front of the men I found the psychology of the situation fascinating.

As I had often told Suzie, Sunfire and the other slave sluts who performed naked in our class were disgusting whores in need of a sound whipping. However from listening to them talk after class I knew the slave girls didn't view themselves that way. They were actually proud of their "performances" and competed to see who could draw the most male attention. They seemed to enjoy their exposure and regarded it as something of a game, and exhibited all of the classical symptoms of the psychological state of denial.

The slave sluts engaged in rampant minimization, denying the harsh reality of their preparation for the auction block by treating their disgusting and lascivious "performances" (euphemism) like it was some sort of dance (understatement, meiosis). They even engaged in projection, blaming Master John and Master Mark and the threat of the whip for the way they spread their legs and exposed themselves, as if they were the ones who were responsible for them being "slave hot."

As an objective, outside observer I was able to see the stark reality of the situation. The slave paces they performed in front of the men were merely practice for the marketplace, where their hot little pussies would be put up to sale and the slave bitches would be sold like the animals they were. Although none of the little sluts was particularly bright even the dullest of them were quite ingenious at rationalization and coming up with clever lies to deny the reality of why they were spreading their legs and butt cheeks and juicing themselves in front of the men.

Of course as a psychology student, I was immune to such self deception. I felt nothing but embarrassment as I did my Slave Yoga poses in front of the leering men and spent much of the first 30 minutes blushing even as I admired Suzie's expensive Gucci dress shoes. I consoled myself with the fact that I was at least doing Slave Yoga, where the goal was exercise, as opposed to slave paces, where the goal was to expose yourself naked on the auction block.

"That's a nice piece of ass," one of the men said, admiring my writhing body. "Did you collar her?"

"Of course," Suzie said proudly. "All part of the job, gentleman. All part of the job."

"That's certainly hot piece of snatch," one of the lawyers observed. "Let me know when she goes up for sale."

I expected Suzie to tell them I was NOT for sale, or that they couldn't afford me, or simply to laugh and say nothing at all. Instead she said, "Send my assistant a text so I don't forget."

Her answer literally made me shudder. I was angry that so urgent a matter as my sale would be handled through a tickler handled by her freaking assistant, no less. Worse, she talked about my sale as if it were something that might actually happen. However the worst was yet to come.

"Since you like her so much, let's see a bit more of her," Suzie said playfully. Her tone changed as she turned me. "Slave paces!" she barked sharply.

I stared at her, horrified. A part of me knew that this was part of my operant conditioning; now that I was comfortable with Slave Yoga in front of the men it was only natural for me to move up to the next step. But did she really want me to spread my legs like one of those little sluts in class in front of three strange men?

"Do I need to brisk you up a bit?" she asked, touching the whip. I wasn't sure if she was bluffing, but given our differing definitions of "brisk" and her precision in using the whip I decided not to test my hypothesis.

Dropping to my knees I spread my legs wide.

"That's a good little slut," she said. "Do your slave paces double time, and keep at it until I tell you to stop. I want you to work up a slave stink."

The men smiled as I launched into slave paces, showing every inch of my body to them as I spread, bent, and posed for their viewing pleasure. I blushed crimson but much to my embarrassment, their meeting continued as if I wasn't even there.

"We spend more time with the self-enslavements than with the court ordered ones," one of her male colleagues observed, while never taking his eyes off my naked body. "Self enslavements require more care-and-feeding."

Suzie disagreed. "I don't think self-enslavements or court ordered enslavements are any different, really. Let the paralegal explain the details to them. They're all terrified once you slap the collar around their necks and they all want to back out. Naked on the auction block all the little sluts look alike."

Suzie described a case where a young woman who had been touring a slave house lost her visitor's badge and ended up being processed into slavery. After three weeks the mistake was discovered, and the young woman threatened to sue the facility. There was even talk of criminal charges for kidnapping and false imprisonment.

Suzie argued that after three weeks of slave training the young woman could now be legally enslaved under the laws that allowed women to be collared for exhibiting "characteristics common to female pleasure slaves." The argument was going badly for Suzie until she suggested that the young woman be required to prove her "slave fire" by stripping naked in the Judge's chambers and demonstrating her "slave kiss" on the Judge who would decide her fate.

Knowing the power of behavioral conditioning I thought this was a very unfair test but Suzie and the other lawyers thought it was quite amusing.

"Naked and on her knees she polished the Judge's knob like a pro!" Suzie said, laughing. "She didn't want to do it — the little slut was actually thinking she'd get a big settlement - but her training kicked in and she sucked him like a vacuum cleaner. Not only did I win the case, I got a nice commission when they put her sweet little pussy up on the auction block."

As per the principals of behavioral conditioning spreading my legs and teasing my nipples and even showing them my bottom hole became less embarrassing the more I did it. Fortunately unlike the slave sluts in my class I had no need to engage in denial, for I wasn't a shameless whore practicing her moves in front of perspective buyers, but rather a psychology student collecting data as part of an important research project in social and behavioral psychology.

The slave sluts enjoyed exposing themselves because of their lascivious natures; naturally as an independent and successful career woman I didn't experience that. However as I became more comfortable I experimented with creating a positive feedback loop. I noticed the men smiled more and showed great interest when I did my slave squats or spread my butt cheeks for them. I adjusted my routine to expose myself more, and in return earned more smiles and positive feedback, which I naturally enjoyed.

"Look at that asshole!"

"Tight as a dime!"

"What I wouldn't give to bugger that!"

I was working hard, and keeping up the pace and grace of my moves required intense effort even as I listened closely to their conversation.

"Speaking of effective slavery, did you hear that some of the health clubs are offering Slave Yoga?" one of the male lawyers said.

"Yeah, free women practice their slave strut. Sexy as hell, from what I hear," the other male lawyer replied.

"They're all collar meat," the other lawyer replied. "We should get their names. If they don't enslave themselves I'm sure we could find a Judge who'd do it."

I smiled as Suzie blanched and the blood drained from her face. Her persona snapped and for a moment I saw genuine fear - and excitement? - in her panicked eyes.

Catching my enjoyment of her distress she pointed the whip at me. "Pick up the pace, you little whore, or your lazy rump will be wiggling under my whip!"

I was exhausted, but still picked up my pace.

"She's sweating up a storm," one of the lawyers said. "I bet she's thirsty."

"Yeah, I can smell her stink from here."

I knew I was sweating hard but felt distressed at the remark. Suzie had already had two bathroom breaks and had been drinking tea all morning. I was very thirsty, and had to pee badly. Nonetheless she regarded my plight with little sympathy.

"That's too bad," she said cooly. "Do you have the paperwork on the Parsons case? I'd like to get that little whore in a collar by Friday."

As the men got up to leave one of the men casually remarked, "Good meeting, but I need a bio-break." As if she just thought of it a smiling Suzie turned to me. "Do you need to pee, slave girl?" she asked.

"Oh, YES, Mistress," I said. "May I use the bathroom?"

"Slave squat!" she replied. I placed my hands on my head and squatted before her and the men with my legs spread wide.

Smiling, Suzie took the empty paper coffee cup out of one of the other lawyer's hands and placed it on the mat in front of me. "Go ahead and make your water. Don't splash or I'll make you lick it up."

I looked up at her, aghast. Did she really expect me to pee into a coffee cup in front of her, with three men watching?

"Tinkle, tinkle," she teased, using the shoe of her toe to push the cup directly between my splayed thighs. "Puppies must learn to piss at their Master's command, and so should you."

The men had seen me put myself expertly through slave paces for nearly an hour. If I suddenly got up, and claimed to be free, would they believe me? It didn't matter. The thought of claiming free status now, after what I had done in front of them, seemed far more embarrassing than relieving myself.

Still, ordinarily I never would have been able to debase myself this way, peeing on demand in front of my slave Mistress and three leering men. However I had to pee really bad, REALLY, REALLY BAD. "Shy bladder" would not be a problem; I was struggling to keep it in.

I picked up the cup. It was a grande coffee cup, at least, which made the opening a bit wider. Placing it against my sex I let loose my powerful stream.

My spray came out hard and fast and it didn't take long to fill the extra large cup. I hadn't relieved myself fully but at least I had taken some of the pressure off.

Suzie glanced at her watch. "I have a meeting to go to," she said, talking to one of the other lawyers. "Have my paralegal take care of her."

With that the lawyers exited and I was left in the office alone. Looking down at the mat I noticed that I had sprayed a few stray drops. I went to wipe it off with my hand, but remembering Suzie's command something stopped me.

No one was watching. No one would know. I had gone this far. I knew I couldn't stop now. There were only a few drops.

For a moment I actually considered licking up the pee. However I did not. After all, I was NOT a slave.

Going to the antique wooden file cabinet I tried to open the door to retrieve my clothes. I yanked hard but the stupid old world craftsman had secured my clothes with an enormous iron deadbolt. Shit!

The door opened and the paralegal came in, carrying a huge empty slave cage. I just looked at her when she dropped it on the floor in front of me and undid the latch to open the door.

"You've got to be kidding," I said, staring at her.

"Back bracelets," she replied. Immediately my conditioning kicked in and I turned around, offering my wrists.

"This is all a mistake," I explained as she cuffed my hands behind my back. "I'm not a slave. Ask Suzie. She'll tell you."

"Bit!" the paralegal replied tersely.

I had never been gagged, but from my Slave Yoga training I knew that "bit" was the command to open wide. Naturally I obeyed, and soon a slave bit was pushed into my mouth. It was basically a leather stick for me to bite on with a belt buckle that she buckled tightly around the back of my head. The gag was not cruelly tight, but it was tight enough that it pulled my lips back, forcing my face into a permanent and, I supposed, quite ridiculous smile.

She opened the cage door and pointed. I did not move. No way I was getting into a slave cage!

Saying nothing she took a small stick of out of her pocket and shook it, extending it to it's full length. To my horror I saw that she was holding a slave goad.

Holding it up and looking at me sternly, she waved it in the air. Still I didn't move.

Holding the prod in front of my face she pressed the button. My eyes went wide with fear as I saw the little sparks of electricity fly off the metal prongs.

"Call Suzie. I'm not a slave!" I said. Actually, that's what I tried to say.

With the bit in my mouth "aaww oooozeie ummm ottta ave!" is how it came out.

Losing patience, the unsmiling paralegal jabbed the cattle prod into my bare butt cheek and pressed the button.

I swear I SAW the bright light passing through me flash in front of my eyes as I fell to the floor. My next moment of awareness was looking at the interns neat black pointy shoes and the cattle prod dangling down in front of my face.

Quickly I backed into the cage. Tears formed in my eyes as she slapped a tiny padlock onto the cage door and picked up the phone.

The handcart the mailroom guy used to carry me to the reception desk was gray, not orange, but the process was much the same.

"The paralegal said I should leave her up here for Suzie," the mail guy said.

The receptionist regarded me doubtfully. "There's no tag on her cage. Where's she being shipped to?"

I shouted into my gag. I wasn't being shipped anywhere!

"Beats me. Suzie's paralegal said Suzie will be by to talk to you when her meeting is over."

The receptionist checked her computer. "Suzie is in a tax apportionment meeting. That might take a while. Are you sure this one belongs to Suzie?"