Chapter 12: Back to office

During the extended trip home, Yasmin cruelly demanded that Samantha indulge in self-pleasure, while simultaneously threatening her with severe repercussions should she dare to reach climax. This twisted game of power and restraint had Samantha on edge, her body taut with unbridled desire. Despite the chilly blast of the air conditioner, beads of sweat rolled down her flushed skin, each one a testament to her growing need for release.

As they pulled into the garage, the sound of the engine cutting off was the only thing that could distract Samantha from her desperate moans. Her body was a canvas of pleasure, painted with a sheen of perspiration that made her skin glisten under the stark garage lights. She begged for the sweet relief of an orgasm, but Yasmin remained unmoved by her pleas, coldly rejecting her.

With a wicked smirk, Yasmin instructed Samantha to disrobe completely, and without a moment’s hesitation, she complied. The act was both degrading and exhilarating, as she revealed her nakedness to the unforgiving air. On her knees, she assumed the posture of a submissive dog, her eyes never leaving her Mistress’s boots. Yasmin yanked the leash attached to Samantha’s neck, forcing her to crawl like an animal into the house.

The humiliating procession led Samantha to the master bedroom, where she found Anjali and Tyrone, her Owners, in the throes of passion. Despite her own burning need, she knew better than to interrupt. Instead, she was stealthily tied to the doorframe by Yasmin, who took care not to disturb the couple’s intimate moment. Her eyes were glued to the erotic scene unfolding before her, her heart pounding as she watched Tyrone’s powerful body dominate Anjali.

The sight of Tyrone’s manhood was almost too much for Samantha to bear. She craved the feeling of his thick, hard cock filling her up, claiming her as his. Yet, the fear of punishment held her back, a stark reminder of her place in this depraved hierarchy. Her fingers danced dangerously close to the wetness between her legs, but she knew the price of giving in to temptation would be steep.

The tension grew as she watched Anjali’s face contort with pleasure, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. The sound of their lovemaking filled the room, only serving to heighten Samantha’s arousal. Her body was a battleground of desire and discipline, each touch and whispered plea for release bringing her closer to the edge of oblivion.

Her breath grew ragged as she struggled to maintain control, her eyes never straying from the entwined bodies on the bed. Her Owners’ passion was a torment and a taunt, a painful reminder of her own desperate longing. Yet, she remained bound, her eyes watering with the effort of resisting the overwhelming urge to climax.

When Tyrone and Anjali reached the height of pleasure, Samantha was almost at her own peak, but she quickly withdrew her hand from her sensitive area, fearing any disobedience would lead to severe consequences. After a brief moment, Tyrone noticed his pet bound to the doorway and couldn’t resist the urge to bring her to the bed where he had just pleasured Anjali. He ordered Samantha to lovingly clean his manhood, which was still glistening with the remnants of Anjali’s intimate essence.

As Samantha dutifully performed her task, she couldn’t help but feel a mix of humiliation and arousal. She knew she was being used to clean up the mess from her master’s passionate encounter with her mistress, but she also found the taste of their combined juices strangely intoxicating. When she finished, her own desires were raging, but she held back, knowing better than to seek relief without permission.

With a wicked grin, Tyrone pinned Samantha’s hand behind her back, taking control of her body once more. He began to gently stroke her swollen clit, building up the pressure inside her until she thought she would explode. Anjali watched with a smug smile as Samantha squirmed and moaned under Tyrone’s skilled touch.

But just as Samantha was about to reach the sweet release she craved, Tyrone cruelly pulled his hand away, leaving her on the brink of climax, feeling utterly frustrated and used. The cruel twist of pleasure denied was a stark reminder of her submissive role.

After the intense physical scene, Tyrone and Anjali decided to take a break and enjoy the mental torment of their slave. They instructed Samantha to recount every detail of her visit to the registration office, her voice quivering with excitement as she relayed the events. The couple listened with great interest, their smiles growing wider with each humiliating detail she shared.

Once she had finished her story, they took the time to examine Samantha’s new Slave ID card, the official proof of her servitude. They also went over the government papers that had been provided, confirming her new status and the successful conclusion of her registration. The sight of her name printed next to the word “slave” brought a fresh wave of arousal to both Anjali and Tyrone.

Samantha was instructed to prepare a delicious meal for her three dominators, and as they feasted, she had to perform sexually degrading acts to satisfy their desires. Her face became a canvas for their lustful expressions, coated in their semen, which somehow made her look more adorable in her submission.

Once the masters were content with their food and her degrading service, they bid her goodnight and went to their chamber. Samantha’s handler, Yasmin, wasn’t done with her yet. She told Samantha to clean up the mess from dinner. The task was to be done thoroughly, leaving not a single trace of the evening’s depravities behind.

Yasmin presented Samantha with a choice: spend the night outside in a kennel, exposed and unprotected, or in her new, slightly more sheltered, but equally as humiliating space - a cage in the cold, damp basement. Samantha, desperate for some semblance of comfort, chose the cage.

The cage was a stark, metal contraption designed to hold her in a way that emphasized her vulnerability. With the door slammed shut and locked, Yasmin left Samantha in complete darkness. Despite the painful plug in her anus and the sticky residue on her face, she somehow managed to find sleep, her body exhausted from the ordeal.

The night was a mix of discomfort and anticipation. Her mind raced with thoughts of what the next day would bring, eager to endure whatever new humiliations they had planned for her.

The next day, Samantha was abruptly jolted awake by the harsh, metallic screech of the cage door swinging open. Her eyes squinted as she caught a glimpse of a small, cold screen bolted to the cage’s interior. It displayed her degrading daily routine, which she studied closely, knowing she had to obey without fail.

With a heavy sigh, she dragged herself back to the kitchen on all fours, her body still sore from the previous night’s relentless punishment. She prepared a sumptuous breakfast for her masters, their every whim laid out before them like a feast. Her stomach growled in protest, but she knew better than to indulge before receiving their permission.

Once the meal was ready, she slithered into her owner’s chamber, the very essence of submission. She approached her master, her eyes cast down, and planted a gentle kiss on his feet. Moving to her mistress, she eagerly buried her face between her thighs, her tongue darting out to taste the sweetness of her mistress’s sex. Then, she did the same for her Master, wrapping her lips tightly around his thick, demanding member. It was her way of saying “Good Morning,” a morning greeting of absolute servitude.

Her stomach churned as she watched her owners devour their breakfast. Finally, she was granted the privilege of eating from a bowl on the floor, like the submissive little pet she had become. The food was simple, almost tasteless, but it was sustenance, and she was pathetically grateful. Her body was desperate for nourishment, having only tasted cum of her tormenters for days on end.

Once the feast was over, Samantha was led to the backyard by her handler. The sun had barely crested the horizon, casting a cold, unforgiving light over the scene about to unfold. Her handler, a cruel and efficient woman, began a thorough cleaning of Samantha’s bruised and used body. The spray of the hose was painfully cold, the water hitting her tender flesh like a thousand tiny knives. Yet she remained still, enduring the torrent as she was scrubbed clean, both inside and out, like a piece of dirty meat being readied for market.

When she was brought back indoors, Samantha found her Mistress, Anjali, eagerly waiting for her in the bedroom. “You dirty whore, it’s time to get back to work,” Anjali barked, gesturing at the blue police outfit laid out on the bed. “You’ll wear this without any underwear, just like a good slut should.” Samantha nodded meekly and began to put on the uniform. Her heart was racing as she fastened the tight, blue fabric that left her feeling more exposed than ever. The new tits chain that her owners had attached to her body swung lightly with every movement, serving as a constant reminder of her subservient role.

Once dressed, she was handed a bag with all the “essentials” she would need for the day. As she walked to her office, her nerves grew. Only her Captain, a powerful black man, knew the full extent of her degradation. He had been a key player in her initiation the night before. But she was hopeful that her other colleagues, mostly white, would remain oblivious to her secret.

As Samantha reached the office, her heart pounded in her chest. The dress she wore today was designed to cover her body more than the scandalous outfits of the past few days. It allowed only her legs to be seen, but she felt grateful that her new tattoos were concealed from view. She sat down at her desk and began to work, trying to act normal despite the intense humiliation and pain she felt inside. To her relief, no one seemed to suspect anything. They carried on with their day, blissfully unaware of the torment and debasement she had suffered and was continuing to endure.

At half past ten, the captain’s booming voice echoed through the station, calling for a speedy assembly. Samantha’s pulse quickened as she felt the weight of the upcoming announcement. She tried to stay calm, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom.

The team members huddled around the captain, who was dressed to perfection in his spotless uniform. He had a pile of papers in his hands that he kept flipping through, his eyes finally landing on Samantha with a smirk that made her insides churn. But instead of addressing her right away, he let the suspense hang in the air.

“Good morning, team,” the captain boomed, “I’m sure you’ve all heard about the guy we nabbed a few months ago, thanks to our very own superstar, Samantha.” He looked at her, and she felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“Well,” he continued, “it seems our case didn’t have the oomph needed to keep him behind bars. So, he’s out, and the bigwigs are not thrilled. They want a scapegoat, and they almost got their hands on Samantha here.”

Samantha felt the room spin as she realized the depth of her situation. She was now the personal property of the man she had been investigating, and she had to keep it a secret. The captain had fought tooth and nail to keep her from getting fired, but he couldn’t save her from a demotion.

“So, Sam,” he said with a sadistic smile, “you’re going to be my new right-hand person. You’ll be doing all the grunt work, and let’s just say, I’m not the easiest boss to handle.”

Her colleagues offered sympathetic looks, completely oblivious to the true horror of her fate. They had no idea she was now a mere pawn in this twisted game.

The meeting wrapped up, and the captain beckoned Samantha into his cabin. She dragged her feet back to her desk, her heart heavy with dread. She packed her bag, feeling the weight of her new position, and walked into his office, ready to face whatever was to come.

Captain was busy with some papers in his cabin when Samantha walked in. He didn’t even bother to give her a place to sit, making her feel small and insignificant. “Samantha,” he started with a nasty smile, “are you just my assistant or am I your master?” She knew exactly what his twisted mind was thinking.

He came around her, making her feel like a piece of meat on display. “You’ve been a good girl, doing whatever your Owners tell you, right?” His laughter was cruel, like it was all just a big joke to him. “You better keep doing that here, too, or I’ll tell everyone how much you like being treated like trash.”

He touched her chest over her shirt, his hands feeling cold and rough. “I picked out those tit chains myself,” he said, making her shiver. “They’re perfect for a whore like you.” Even though she hated the chains, they turned her on in a way she couldn’t explain. She nodded, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He slapped her face hard, making her eyes water. “Use your mouth, slut,” he ordered.

“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled, feeling utterly humiliated.

He tore the sergeant’s badge from her shirt. “You won’t be needing this anymore,” he said, throwing it on the floor. Then he handed her some new outfits, explaining they were made just for her to wear from now on. She took them, knowing she had no choice but to obey.

“Go get changed and come back immediately,” the captain’s voice echoed in the room, leaving no room for argument. Samantha stared at the new uniforms laid out on the bench. She had no idea what to expect, but she knew deep down that this was going to be a significant moment in her life. With a mix of fear and excitement, she picked up the unfamiliar garments and walked to the back of the station where the changing room was located.

Once inside the small, dingy space, she began to peel off her old, comfortable uniform, feeling a pang of nostalgia as each piece fell to the floor. The fabric had been a second skin to her for some time, but now she was being asked to replace it with something ... different. She took a deep breath and held up the new blouse. It was a tight, button-up shirt, but the first three buttons were missing, leaving a gaping space that would expose her cleavage to the world. The material was thin, almost transparent, and she could see her piercings peeking through as if they were begging to be noticed.

The skirt was next. It clung to her hips like a second layer of skin, hugging every curve and highlighting her long, toned legs. The length was just barely appropriate for the job, but the way it hugged her made her feel more like a seductress than a protector of the peace. The shoes were a whole new level of discomfort. Stilettos, standing tall at five inches, they were definitely not made for chasing down perps. But she slipped them on, feeling the pinch and the ache start in her arches.

Looking in the mirror, Samantha’s reflection was a stark contrast to the woman she had been just moments ago. The Queen of Spades tattoo on her chest was now a glaring beacon, not just a symbol of her past, but a neon sign announcing her new status. And the collar she had been forced to wear, now looked less like a fashion statement and more like a permanent mark of ownership.