Soccer Mom Slave

It was a smaller slave dealer located in a failing strip mall several miles from campus, but Sara Gemstone had chosen it carefully. It was about a 3 hour drive from her house, far enough away that she wouldn't run into anyone she knew but close enough for her to be home in time to meet her husband Bill at the Country Club for dinner.

Her husband Bill was the reason she was there, or to be more precise about it, the disgusting slave slut who Bill had purchased as part of his midlife crisis. The slave meat was young and pretty, to be sure, but even at 38 Sara knew she was far hotter and better in the sack. Even Bill conceded as much.

"You're a way better lover than she'll ever be, Sara," Bill had explained, "and I love you. But she's a SLAVE. There's something thrilling about having a naked girl in a collar who has to please you that I can't explain. It's just a guy thing."

"A guy thing." As if her husband fucking a juicy young slave slut he kept in their garage was something she could overlook. She was relieved that her son Steve was off at college; she couldn't imagine explaining her husband's hot slave tail to her son. She though Steve would be as angry and disgusted with his father, unless of course he wasn't. That would be even worse.

Sara was nothing if not calculating and carefully weighed all her options. A number of her friends were experiencing the same dilemma. Some had sold the slave without their husband's permission, but that only led to another fight when the new slave girl arrived. There was divorce, but Sara didn't see why she should have to compromise her luxurious lifestyle because her idiot husband couldn't keep his pants zipped.

"She's GRADED," Bill would say. "Grant you, it's only B Prime, not Grade A, but that's so hot. There's nothing hotter than fucking graded pussy. I can't explain it. It's a guy thing."

"A guy thing." The phrase drove Sara crazy, but fortunately at 38 Sara was still hot enough to fight fire with fire.

Sara decided she was going to be graded. The only question now was where.

The grading room looked very much like a doctor's office, complete with an examination table and white paper. Sara had opted for an official grading; it cost more but Sara had more than enough money and it would be worth it to get a genuine certificate. Sara smiled as she imagined her husband making his nightly pilgrimage to the garage to discover the disgusting slut he had been fucking was gone and now his beautiful wife Sara was in the slave cage, naked except for her slave collar.

"How may I please you master?" she would say. Her gobsmacked husband would pick up Sara's framed grading certificate resting on the top of the cage, read it, and smile.

Sara didn't sit on the white butcher paper of the examination table, option to sit on one of the other chairs. She had never liked sitting on paper in a doctor's office and she liked it even less here. Sara was not looking forward to her slave grading, but reasoned the result would be worth the embarrassment.

Sara hadn't asked for a female grader as she knew this was a small shop and most graders of female flesh were male. She reasoned it didn't matter much; a professional grading meant a professional grader, no one would know her at this remote location, and it would all be over in an hour or two. The butcher paper would be a distant memory and only the precious grading certificate would remain.

Sara was surprised at the youthful appearance of the young man in the white butcher's coat who entered the room, and even more surprised that he was black. She had driven far pretty far south and was now in farm country. In fact there weren't many colored people in her ritzy suburb, and those that were there usually had a broom or hedge clippers in their hands.

"Mrs. Gemstone?", the black man said. "It's nice to see you again."

Sara's mind went black. The lanky boy in the white was tall, young, skinny, and very black. Did she know him? She ran a quick check in her head; the silver haired janitor at her health club was black; the groundskeepers at her house and club were Mexican; the guy who cleaned her pool whose name she could never remember was Indian, or maybe from Iran or someplace like that, but not black.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"I'm Jamal. I'm a friend of Steve's. You've been driving me to practice since I was 10."

"Of course!" she said, suddenly recognizing him. "You were on Steve's soccer, basketball, and baseball teams. I remember you: the Negro boy who was so naturally athletic. Steve liked you a lot."

"Yeah, Steve was a great guy. How are things at Stanford?"

"Oh, he's doing well. I think he's comfortable there. He's meeting all the right people. And how are you doing?"

"I'm doing well. I got an athletic scholarship at the college here and I'm working on my degree."

"Oh, that's nice," she patronized. "I wish someone would pay for Steve's education but all the money goes to you people, I suppose. The less fortunate, I mean."

Sara paused, noticing Steve's white coat and pants, which reminded her of something a butcher might wear. "So what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to give you your slave grading," Jamal said cheerfully. "I'm getting a degree in slave animal management offered through the College of Agriculture. Working here is part of my program."

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'm so glad they make opportunities like that available to you people these days. Of course... and I hope you won't take offense at this... I think I'd rather have my slave grading done by someone else. Someone more... professional."

"Well, the official grading is done by a licensed grader," Jamal said. "However I usually do all the real work. However if you want someone else I understand completely."

"Yes, no offense. I have nothing against you people, but..."

"No worries. However I was wondering if you could help me out with something, as part of my program?"

"Sure," Sara said. "If you need a recommendation, or someone to put in a good word with you with the financial aid people, I'm happy to help. Steve said you're very hard working, and not at all lazy and shiftless."

"Thank you, Mrs. Gemstone. But actually I was wondering if you could slip on this slave collar for me?"


Sara stiffened slightly as Jamal reached into his pocket and produced a black slave collar, with a ring on either end. The rings, Sara knew could be used for slave tags, or to attach a leash.

"It's an experimental collar, and I need to get a sizing, and check to make sure it works right on a variety of subjects as part of my program. Could you slip it on, so I can run a quick test? It will only take a minute, and then I'll go get the real grader."

"Um...I don't know, Germy. The truth is I didn't really think I'd run into anyone I knew here."

"Jamal," he said. "My name is Jamal, Mrs. Gemstone."

"Ja-MAL," she said, "I hope you won't tell Steve about this. Not like you two hang together, but this is sort of supposed to be secret. Can we just keep this between us?"

"Sure, Mrs. Gemstone. I wasn't planning on telling Steve. Tell you what, you help me test out this new collar, and you have my word I'll forget all about you being here."

Jamal had a such a large and inviting smile on his face as he made the offer that Sara didn't feel at all threatened. She held up her long hair as Jamal buckled the collar around her neck and didn't resist when he snapped the metal locking bolt close.

"Excellent. It looks very natural on you. Now take off your blouse."

"Oh no, Jamal, I don't want to be graded by you. I think I'd like-


Sara didn't even feel the shock - all she saw was white light and all she felt was blinding pain as the electricity surged through her head. After the few seconds it took for her to regain her senses she heard Jamal laughing.

"Wow, that punishment setting is powerful! This model is different from most in that the electricity doesn't just shoot through a couple of prongs it goes through the entire collar. That extra jolt really makes the difference, doesn't it?"

Sara couldn't disagree and just stared at Jamal, mouth agape.

Jamal, laughing, repeated his command. "Take off your blouse, Mrs. Gemstone. I wanna see those nice white titties."

"Jamal, I have no intention of..."

Sara's protest was cut short by another jolt of blinding light.

"Sorry, it's going to shock you like that whenever you try to talk. You can grunt and make sounds, but try to form any words and you'll get the juice, a bit more each time. Okay, now you said you would help me test the collar and right now I'm testing the obedience setting. I need to know if the shock is powerful enough to make you obey. Was that good enough, or should I kick the setting up an couple of notches?"

Sara, unable to speak, shook her head no.

"Good. Now take off your blouse and show me those nice white titties of yours."

Jamal grinned broadly as Sara reluctantly unbuttoned her white silk blouse to reveal her lacy white silk brassier. "Wow, that is a nice pair of milk duds!" Jamal said. "All though school, you driving me around, I always thought you were hot. Baseball was my favorite 'cuz you used to wear those cute little tube tops. I loved sneaking a look at your pokies. You caught me looking a couple of times, didn't you?"

Sara nodded as she folded her blouse and put it on the butcher paper. Jamal picked it up and dropped it in a clear plastic bag he took off a roll from the counter.

"Okay, now let's have your shoes and skirt off. We can put your shoes in a separate bag, since we want to keep all you pretty lacies nice," he said, his unctuous voice betraying the tinniest trace of sarcasm.

Sara hadn't worn any hose to keep the undressing process brief, but that meant she was now standing in front of the lanky black teenager dressed in nothing but her sexy lace bra and panties.

Jamal never lost his customary grin. "Now we're getting to the good part!" he said enthusiastically. "Let's have that bra off, white girl. Show Jamal those white dairies of yours!"

Still in a daze from the shock collar Sara obeyed, quickly shrugging her bra off and covering her breasts. "Don't get all shy on me, slave girl!" Jamal chuckled. "Show Massah Jamal what you got!"

Sara felt her pulse quicken as Jamal reached forward and began fondling her boobs as if she had every right to do so. "Wow, those are nice jugs, Mrs. Gemstone! I used to watch 'em bounce when we hit that speed-bump in the parking lot. I used to love to watch those cute little hooters of yours shake. I mean, they ayn't that big or anything, but they are nice and firm, just the way I like them. Oooh! And now those nipples of yours are getting all nice and hard in my fingers. What nice set of pointies you have. Gosh, I could just squeeze and fondle your hooters all day!"

Jamal, laughing, stepped back. "Of course if I played with your titties all day that means I'd be neglecting that white girl pussy of yours. Peel off your fancy-panties, white girl, and show Master Jamal what you got. Peel off those nice, WHITE panties."

Blushing crimson with both shame and excitement, Sara rolled her panties over her hips and let them drop to her feet. Jamal was standing close now, too close, and she didn't want give him too lewd of a view. Stepping out of her underpants she used her foot to lift them up and offer them to Jamal.

"That's it! Hand 'em over, white girl. Now we got you all nice and naked, except for that cute little collar of yours. Do you remember when we were at practice? I was playing basketball without my shirt, and I heard you say to one of the mom's that it was too bad your family didn't still have it's plantation, because it sure would be fun to own a bunch of black studs like that one. I was kind of embarrassed the way the other moms all laughed at me when they was looking me up and down. Sort of like you feel now, I bet."

Sara's blush was her answer.

"Okay, now hop up on the table and put those cute little feet of yours in the stirrups. You know what's next, and it ayn't gonna be no pedicure, Soccer Mom!"

Sara hesitated, at least until Jamal purposefully cleared his throat and held up the tiny shock collar remote that was now all he needed to control her.

Fighting off the flying butterflies in her stomach, Sara obeyed, spreading her legs obscenely wide and obediently scooting all the way down to the edge of the table for the pie-eyed, grinning black boy.

Sara gasped as he quickly slipped two fingers into her already wet sex as he began to tease her clit out with two of his other fingers. Unlike other 19-year=old boys Jamal had been trained in both the art and science of female arousal. In fact, in the last 3 months of slave training he had more pussy than most men would have in a lifetime.

"That's it, slave girl. You just relax and let Master Jamal's fingers do the walking! Don't be embarrassed. I put the arousal setting on your collar to high. That's why you're juicing up so nice! You gotta hot little slave pussy, all moist and sloppy, and I bet it would bring old Jamal a fine price if I put it up on the auction block."

"You know, maybe I'll call up Steve's white boy friends, the one's you used to drive around. They all liked staring at your milky white thighs and watching your jugs bounce around while you prick-teased a car full of horny teenage boys. You remember prick-teasing us, Mrs. Gemstone?'

Sara grunted as Jamal rubbed her closer to orgasm.

"Steve's white boy friends would pay a lot to fuck this tight little pussy of yours, especially now that Jamal's going promote you from prick-teaser to prick-pleaser."

Jamal laughed as Sara grunted through her first shattering slave-gasm. "That's it, girl! Don't stop now. Keep wiggling that sweet white ass of yours for Jamal. You got a cute ass there, Mrs. Gemstone, and it's going to look even cuter with Jamal's initials branded on it. Would you like that, Mrs. Gemstone? Would you like to have me brand my mark on that tight white ass of yours?"

Sara responded by jerking and squirming as Jamal brought her closer to orgasm. That awful collar, and Jamal's skillful fingers, were driving her insane!

"That's it, slave girl. Just let go and enjoy your Master's fingers in your hot slave pussy. Nothing to be ashamed of. Just let go, like the little slave slut you are."

"Would you like Jamal's dirty black pecker inside you? I bet you would. Now Steve told me that dickless husband of yours had a vasectomy, and I gotta warn you that I'm not wasting a rubber on a hot piece of slave pussy like you. I'm just going to let my little swimmers swim, and fill that hot slave pussy of yours up with a nice sticky load of black baby batter! Sorry, but planting a little black bastard in your slave pussy really turns me on. It's hard to explain. It's a guy thing."

Sara couldn't speak but groaned and nodded as Jamal's talented fingers continued to stroke her even as he unzipped his pants.

Jamal filled Sara with a single thrust. "Ohhh, that tight white slave pussy of yours feels GOOD! All hot and wet and sticky. I just GOTTA tell Steve and the guys about this. I hope he doesn't mind, fancy Mr. Stanford's mom getting knocked up by the black boy who's name she never even bothered to learn."

"Remember when you used to take us out for ice cream after we won a game, Mrs. Gemstone. Now it' my turn to give you MY cream, all hot and sticky and ready to knock-you-up. Hold on: I'm going to give Steve a little brother!"

Sara rocked through her second slave-gasm as Jamal exploded inside her, filling her with his seed.

There was a lot of debate in his class about the control collars: everyone agreed the shock and voice features worked, but his Professor said there was no scientific evidence that the supposed "slave pleasure" setting made a slave more excitable.

Jamal groaned as Sara kept bucking her hips and his seed just kept spurting. As far as Jamal was concerned the collar worked just fine.