I was browsing the university's chatroom, looking at the Wanted Board, when I saw something that caused my penis to give a painful twitch: Two female 2nd-year students wishing to spend summer vac in splendid opulence in cottage in remote part of Cornwall seek live-in “slave” to make dream come true. Suit obedient girl who is a workaholic. If interested, send PM to Bluebelle.
Was this ad for real? Who was Bluebelle? What did she mean by slave? It was in quote marks, but perhaps she and her friend really wished to enslave some student.
They were seeking a girl, but might they consider a boy? Could I be that boy? I felt my penis struggling to expand at the thought and I winced.
I took a screenshot of the post while I pondered its significance. This was just as well, as a few hours later I returned to the chatroom to find the message had been deleted. Bluebelle was still a user, but she had no posts. Had she found her “slave”? Was I too late?
oooOOooo
The next morning, I decided I should send Bluebelle a private message: Hi, Miss Bluebelle, I saw your post seeking a slave. Did you find one? Sammy.
It was a couple of hours later when a reply came: It was a joke, idiot! That should have been obvious. We'd had too much to drink.
I answered, Oh! That's a shame.
Why?
I would like to be your slave.
I waited for a reply, but nothing came. Had I frightened her off?
Then, that evening, when I had given up hope, there was a message for me from Bluebelle: Send me your address, so you can be interviewed.
oooOOooo
I was told to ready myself to be interviewed at 6 PM the following day.
It was exactly on the hour when my doorbell rang. Anxiously, I opened the door to be confronted by two girls, both casually dressed in jeans and T-shirts. They were similarly slim and well proportioned, with pert boobs and blonde hair. But, most noticeably, was that their mouths both dropped open when they saw me.
“You're a boy!” the taller one commented.
“Er... yes,” I unnecessarily replied. “I'm Sammy—Sam!”
“We wanted a girl. We advertised for a damn girl!”
“Sorry,” I replied, well aware of how inadequate that sounded.
The taller one looked irritated, whereas her shorter companion's face bore a subtle smile as she looked me up and down. Once again, my penis gave a throb.
“Come on, Abby, let's go! He's wasting our time,” declared the taller one.
“We're here now, so there's no harm in talking to him. Besides, he looks cute... sweet,” Abby giggled. “Come on... just five minutes.”
“All right, we'll give him five minutes to explain why he thought squandering our time by pretending to be a girl was a good idea.”
They came in and sat side-by-side on the sofa.
“I'm Bluebelle, or at least that's the name I use online,” the taller one explained. “Oh, and this is Abigail,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
“Okay, yes, hello,” I stuttered, nervously. “Something to... er... drink?”
“Erm... we'll both have beers,” Bluebelle replied.
I went through to the kitchen and brought back three beers. The two girls were huddled together, whispering something to one another. They pulled apart on seeing me, and then Bluebelle looked sideways at Abigail, who returned an almost imperceptible nod of her head.
“We didn't say you could have a beer, did we? Wannabe slaves don't drink alcohol,” insisted Bluebelle. She glanced again at Abigail, who gave her a wink.
“Er... no, sorry,” I replied, sensing my face was turning red. I went to sit down in the armchair opposite the sofa.
“Nor would they sit in their owners' presence,” Bluebelle added. “Get down on your knees, facing us.”
“Er... right, I see,” I said, unsure of what was happening. It was embarrassing, yet I could understand that if I was to be their slave this was precisely the type of treatment I should expect.
“So, why were you pretending to be a girl?” asked Bluebelle.
“Sorry, but I wasn't. It was a mistake. I should have said I was a boy when I messaged you.”
“Our post said a girl, not a boy.”
“I know, but I thought you might accept a boy. Please consider me.”
“So, what makes you think you would make a good slave, Sammy?” asked Abigail, speaking directly to me for the first time.
“Er... God, this is embarrassing,” I answered.
“That's not an answer. Slaves answer questions,” Bluebelle interjected.
“Yes... of course... er... I've had submissive tendencies towards women for a few years,” I diffidently replied. “And—”
“You mean you jerk off to porn featuring semi-naked women with whips,” interrupted Bluebelle. “That doesn't make you a good slave. It makes you fucking pathetic.” Her face bore a look of contempt as she spat out the last word.
“No, it's not like that. Can... can I show you something?” I reached for the buckle of my belt and began to undo it.
“What the fucking hell are you doing?” screeched Bluebelle.
“No, please let me show you.”
The two girls looked at one another, before Bluebelle decided. “Okay, go on, but if you're going to show us a stiffy then that won't impress us.”
I said nothing, but resumed undoing my jeans, pulling them down to the floor, revealing I was wearing a pair of white cotton panties bearing an image of a large pink heart at the front and with a small pink bow at the waistline.
The two girls stared in wide-eyed amazement. “Oh, my God!” exclaimed Abigail, before stifling a giggle. “He's wearing knickers!”
My face was burning up, but I was determined to brazen it out.
“Is that what you always wear?” she continued, with a puzzled expression. “Or are you putting on a show for us?”
“Erm... yes, I always wear them. I threw all my boxers out months ago. Panties are all I have.”
“Oh! So you are a girl in some respects,” Abigail laughed. “Those panties are so cute,” she commented. “I think they suit him, don't you, Blue? He's got the androgynous figure needed to carry them off.” She turned to look at Bluebelle, who rolled her eyes and let out a deep breath.
“There's more,” I declared, pulling down my panties.
“What the hell?! What's that?” asked Abigail, her eyes wide open in amazement. She turned to her friend, hoping to be enlightened.
“It's—” I began.
“Shut up!” hissed Bluebelle, while Abigail continued to stare intently at my restrained penis, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
Meanwhile, Bluebelle's head was gently nodding, telling me that she knew what I was wearing, even if Abigail didn't. “It's called a chastity cage, Abby,” she replied. “I've... erm... seen photos of them.”
“What's... what does it do?”
“It's more what it doesn't do,” smirked Bluebelle. “With that locked on, the little pervert can't become erect and he can't have sex—not even sex with himself.”
“What?!” asked Abigail. “You mean he can't even toss himself off?”
“No, he can't. And it's a good quality one, I reckon. Stainless steel, not cheap plastic, like some I've seen,” explained Bluebelle. “Not that I've actually seen any in real life...” she hastily added, her face turning pink. “Only pictures, you understand.”
“Wow!” responded Abigail, who leant forward for a closer look. “So, he can't do anything, not even wave his willy around? Does that... does that mean he has to sit to pee?”
“Yeah, unless he wants to make a God-awful mess,” remarked Bluebelle, almost smiling for the first time.
“So, he's even more of a girl, then! We've struck gold, Blue. He's got some feminine features, he wears panties and he sits to pee. And he's cute!”
“Jesus wept, Abby!” exclaimed Bluebelle. “He's a fucking man! We advertised for a girl!”
“How long's it been locked on?” Abigail enquired, ignoring the negativity from her friend.
“I've worn it for months, every day, around the clock,” I explained. “I take it off just twice a week for... you know what. But it shows I am serious about being submissive. It's uncomfortable to wear and restricts what I can do.”
“Hmmm?” replied Bluebelle, sounding dismissive about how much it really controlled my life. “But you can unlock it whenever you want. When did you last cum? We want the truth!”
“Er... last night... after reading your post.”
“Aaah! So, you don't have much self-control, do you?” suggested Abigail, who gave me a sarcastic smile that caused me to grimace as my dick strained inside its tube.
“I... I do my best,” I replied. “Miss,” I added, as an afterthought, which brought a more natural smile to Abigail's face. “I am submissive and would make a good slave, Miss.”
“But you'd prove your point better if you gave us the keys to your cage,” butted in Bluebelle.
“Do you fancy us?” interrupted Abigail. “Do you fancy me?”
“Er... yes, I suppose I do,” I replied. I fancied them both, but it seemed best to be as vague as possible.
“I love the idea of a boy wanting to fuck me but being powerless to do anything about it,” Abigail explained to Bluebelle. “But, of course, you're the only one for me, Blue—you're the only one I will ever go to bed with.” She leant over, placed a hand on Bluebelle's arm and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Let's give him a chance, Blue! It's him or no one, and we need someone to do the hard graft while your parents are away. You said so yourself, after you'd had second thoughts about pulling the ad.”
Bluebelle stared hard at me and then turned to her friend. “I guess we have to, Abby. Why the fuck do I always give in to you?” she mused, shaking her head.
“Thank you,” I replied, whilst wondering what I was taking on.
“We need the keys to your cage for you to show your commitment,” declared Bluebelle.
“Yes, come on, give us the keys.”
I hesitated for a moment. What I'd told them about only unlocking the cage twice a week was true, but giving someone else control of those times was in a different league.
“Come on! Show us you're serious,” urged Bluebelle. “Or we leave now!” She stood up, beckoning Abigail to do the same.
“No, please...” I pleaded. I got up off my knees, pulled up my panties and jeans, and went to my bedroom to retrieve the keys, which I passed to Bluebelle.
“Are these the only ones?” she asked. I nodded, which brought another smile to her face. She licked her upper lip in a manner that was both bewitching and scary. “We'll be in touch,” she concluded. Moments later they were gone, leaving their beers untouched. Had I been taken for a fool? Would they ever contact me again?
oooOOooo
I spent an anxious few days waiting to hear from either of them. I was excited at the thought of serving them but concerned they had lost interest in having a slave. I began to wonder how I could break free of the metal cage, other than by seeking professional help from the fire service.
Then, three days before the end of term, I received a message from Bluebelle: Are you still interested in coming to Cornwall as our slave?
Yes!!! I will do whatever you want. I will do all the housework, all the cooking, everything. You and Miss Abigail can laze around.
Bluebelle responded: It's not a game. You'll be a proper slave, labouring for long hours. We'll be extremely strict with you. You're going to suffer for pretending to be a girl! Understood?
Yes, Miss!
We're not a charity. Can you afford to pay us £300 to cover expenses?
The true answer was “no”, but I wasn't going to forsake this opportunity, so I would somehow scrape the money together.
Yes, Miss!
OK! We will collect you on Friday at 4 PM. Be ready. Bring just the clothes you are wearing plus spare panties, a toothbrush, your razor, your front door key and £300 in cash. No suitcase - no room in car. And no phone.
My penis tried to spasm in the confines of its cage. In three days' time I was to become their slave, subject to their orders, control and discipline, and most likely denied sexual relief.
oooOOooo
The days passed slowly while sexual frustration built exponentially. By the time Friday came, it had been a week since I'd last masturbated and I was now desperate to empty myself, but that only served to fuel my desire to be a good slave to these two fit girls.
Sure enough, at 4 PM on Friday, the last day of the semester, I watched out of the window as Misses Bluebelle and Abigail drove up outside my flat in a two-door BMW Mini Cooper. Carrying just what they told me, I wasted no time leaving the flat. Abigail got out from the passenger seat.
“Hello, Miss,” I said, trying to be polite.
“I'm afraid you're in the back seat, slave,” she replied, dismissively, pushing the passenger seat forward to allow me to crawl in. I'm quite tall, so it was a squeeze, but it was to be expected that the two girls would occupy the better seats while their “slave” squashed himself into the rear.
“Afternoon, Miss Bluebelle,” I ventured.
“Shut up! Slaves speak only when they are spoken to, so we don't want to hear a word from you on this journey, unless we ask you a question. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Miss,” I replied, ensuring I was economical with my reply.
Even before I had done up my seatbelt, Bluebelle put her foot down hard on the accelerator and we shot away.
Abigail swivelled her head to face me. “We can't keep calling you slave, despite you being one. We own you, so you need a new name and we've agreed on... drumroll... Puppy! Yes, Puppy! That's what we'll call you. Like a puppy dog, you're owned by us and you'll be trained to be obedient. Okay?”
“Yes, Miss,” I meekly replied, my dick pushing hard against its metal restraints at the thought of being reduced to a non-human, marking me as the property of these two women.
