I Never Thought I’d Star in my Own Sex Slave Story – I Guess It’s True What They Say: Never Say Never
Ok, so maybe I shouldn’t have gone. It was supposed to be a friendly little game in the back room of the local Bar ~n~ Grill downtown. Nothing major – dollar ante-type of deal. Seemed harmless enough. I mean, things have been a bit quiet at home, now that my son went to college. It was supposed to be just something to add a little excitement to my afternoons. It was NOT supposed to be the beginning of a sex slave story. Let me start from the beginning.
You see, I hated the idea of becoming a cliché empty nester – finding I have no identity and life beyond being a Mom. I was bound and determined to prove that I did, in fact, have a life beyond motherhood, and set out looking for something to distract me from all my free time.
Justin, the owner of said establishment, had been so nice, letting me tell him my woes about my son leaving. How I was hoping to expand my horizons to try and avoid that empty nest syndrome. That’s how he came to tell me about this friendly little game they held in the back every Wednesday afternoon. Nothing fancy, just good friends getting together for some innocent recreation.
Of Course, my Sex Slave Story Would Start Innocently Enough.
(Innocent my ass!! But I jump ahead of my story.)
At first, it was great – I was winning, and splurging my windfall on myself (after all, I deserved it, right?). And of course, there were times when I lost, but nothing to break the bank… at first. But somewhere along the way, the pots got bigger, and my losses grew exponentially. Justin was so sweet, extending me credit after credit. He always told me not to worry about it, that we would work something out.
Then one Wednesday, after I had lost more than I had ever lost before, Justin asked me to stay after the game to discuss “arrangements” for me to work off my debt. Ok, I thought, he’s going to ask me to work here at the Bar ~n~ Grill – I can do that. No. Seems Justin hosted these private parties over the weekend and he wanted me to be a sort of hostess; to “entertain” and “engage” his guests. The flattery was laid on pretty thick, telling me how gorgeous and sexy I was, and that I would add a much-needed element to his gatherings.
My Sex Slave Story was Morphing into something not-so Innocent
That was the carrot; the stick was him pointing out how much I now owed him. That with the interest I’ve accrued (interest? There was interest??), my marker was quite substantial. But not to worry – he would pay me generously for my time… as long as I kept his guests happy. His meaning was made quite clear – I was to become a “party favor” of sorts, and if I didn’t want to meet with an unfortunate accident or God forbid, have something happen to my son, I was to play nice. What could I do? I agreed. And let’s not mince words here – the bottom line was that I was going to be his indentured sex slave.
When I quietly acquiesced, it was like a switch was flicked inside him. He smiled at me and became almost kind after that. Like having someone agree to be his indentured sex slave was all so normal and happened every day.
With an arm around my shoulders, he explained that Thursdays I would receive a package containing two outfits – one to be worn Friday night, one to be worn Saturday night. That both nights he would send a car to ferry me to and from the parties.
Then with a gentle squeeze, and a kiss to my temple, he told me not to worry. My safety would be assured, him trying to placate my fears. Was he serious? All I had was fears. After all, it wasn’t like I had agreed to be indentured in my own sex slave story every day.
What had I gotten myself into??
My Indentured Sex Slave Story will be continued…
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