Chapter 5: Peanut

A few moments after he took my ass, Master fell asleep. About a half hour later, he rolled off me, and his flaccid cock finally exited me. On the holo, Mother Superior was doing a lesbian scene with Maria as she paid for the convent to hide her family from the Nazis.

I took the opportunity to get out of the bed. I needed to pee something awful for a while, and I couldn’t go without disturbing Master when he was on top of me. Without any light, I felt around on the floor for the dildo, and I took it with me as I entered the bathroom.

I cleaned up the device and then did my business. I wondered whether or not I should reinsert the dildo. After all, Master removed it from me, and I didn’t feel as if there was any obligation to put it back. He did tell me I’d be wearing it a few days, though, and I didn’t think a day and a half was the equivalent of a few. The choice was, which behavior would upset Master? Putting it in when I didn’t need to have it in any more, or keeping it out when he wanted me to be using it? There was only one safe choice, so I inserted it inside me.

I wondered about the lack of pain I felt when he entered my ass. Was it because I was already loose due to it not being my first time? Was it because the dildo was previously in my ass, preparing me for his entry? Was it because it was Master’s cock that was in there, and my body just naturally accepted it? I didn’t know the answer, and a part of me was actually afraid to know the answer.

It was clear that I was thinking of him as my Master now. Did that mean that the collar exerted total control of my mind? I tried to think about my feelings toward him. This was the guy that just relieved me from the most intense sexual feelings that almost threatened my sanity. He was also the guy I fell in love with and married oh so many years ago. He was the one that took me on a honeymoon in Jamaica. He was also the one that cheated on me repeatedly, the one that anally raped me, the one that stuck me with millions in debt, and the one that turned me into his personal slave.

It wasn’t easy to think about the negatives at first. Only the nicer things I thought about him immediately came to mind. Of course, that was when I was thinking of him as Master. It wasn’t easy, but once I started to consider him as my ex-husband and how he ruined my life, the anger came back easily. Nothing changed about him. He was still the same little shit that I detested! I wondered how my mind was able to rectify the two images of him, and thinking about that made my head spin, so I abandoned that line of thought for now. I could always revisit it later.

I finally got out of the bathroom, and the holo showed Liesl blowing Rolf so he wouldn’t turn them in. He blew his load all over the girl’s face and then blew the whistle anyway, and the young girl who was sixteen going on seventeen ran away, leaving her clothes behind. I shook my head. The girl playing Liesl was Nola Fronk, the daughter of Senator Fronk who was forced out of office due to a scandal. I knew Nola’s contract was picked up by Hollywood, but I didn’t realize she was doing soaps. This reminded me of my own situation and I frowned. I wasn’t as pretty as Nola, but that could have been me.

I turned the holo off with a soft voice command, and then went to my closet to get my blanket. I set it up and slept by myself on the floor near his bed.

That fucking six o’clock alarm once again jarred me awake, and I knew there was a job to do. I went to the bed and slowly removed the covers from his body. Even asleep, He was sporting a morning erection, and despite knowing I was going to get a belly full of urine, I took him into my mouth.

I could taste the tang that reminded me that this was in my ass the night before, and despite that, I continued sucking and licking until the taste was gone.

“That’s the way to wake up,” Master said, patting me on the head.

Of course, that sent a rush of pleasure to me.

Yes. I was back to thinking of him as Master. I was his good little whore.

“Do you know what’s happening when we’re together, Peanut? When you’re with me, your collar stimulates your pituitary gland to release a small amount of oxytocin into your bloodstream. That, in turn, triggers a bonding response in your brain. You’ve already experienced this sort of thing around the time your brat was born, when your cervix contracted in childbirth, and when she nursed after she was born. It caused the two of you to bond together as mother and child. Now you’re bonding yourself to me, or perhaps to my cock.”

I remember seeing an article on the Uniweb on the chemical and hormonal changes that worked around pregnancy, and I recognized what he explained. If that was what it was, it seemed to be working, whether I wanted it to work or not. It was insidious; even though he told me what was happening, I was incapable of doing anything about it. Maybe that was why the word “Master” was forming in my mind so easily. The collar put the thought be a good little whore for Master into my brain, and the bonding made my subconscious accept it.

What if I tried to fight it?

As an experiment, I tried to tell myself that I was forced to whore myself to the little shit I detested and that I was hating every moment we were together. I started to feel a bit sick ... and a general feeling of wrongness started to form strongly. I will be a good little whore for Master my inner voice started to chant, drowning out my feelings of hatred and disgust. Of course, I loved my Master my mind said, just let those bad thoughts dissolve away...

Yes. The collar was ready for my feeble attempt at mutiny.

I continued my sucking, never stopping or slowing down in the slightest as my mind fought against and lost to the collar. I kept sucking and sucking until ... yes, he pissed in my mouth again. In a way, I was happy that it was over with. That meant that I could continue to suck him, close my eyes, and let my mind go blank as I did his bidding. Like a good little whore. I knew that this was enforced bonding, but I was helpless to disobey his order on how he wanted me to wake him up or to fight the collar in any way.

I’m not sure how much time elapsed as I was there, sucking him as good as I knew how, but my mind seemed to come back a moment before I got a mouthful of semen. I felt a shiver of delight, and understood where that came from as I swallowed and and continued to suck, as it was my job to keep on going until the second alarm went off.

“That’s enough, Peanut,” Master said, pushing me off him. “At least, you’re getting a little bit better.”

The compliment sent a wave of excitement through me. Not the humiliation-induced excitement that stayed there and built on itself as the day continued. This was the real thing. Was this the first time Master complimented me since I got there? Even more important, what was this “Peanut” thing?

“I wish to be Master’s best whore,” I said without any irony or sarcasm in my voice. The words just flowed from my mouth, and I’m learning to accept it.

“Well, you’re getting there. I always told you that you needed lots of practice, and now you’re getting it.”

Another wave of excitement. This could get habit forming. Perhaps it was. Perhaps that was the entire point of it. “It will be my greatest honor, Master.”

Master laughed and then looked around. “What’s that blanket doing there? It was there yesterday, too. Tell me about it, Peanut.”

“It’s where I sleep, Master.” Apparently, “Peanut” was Master’s name for me. I never liked terms of endearment before. Use my name; it’s only one syllable, dammit! Now, for some reason I found myself warming to the name “Peanut.” After all, Master called me that, so that’s who I was. Peanut!

“Really?” Master asked, chuckling.

“As you told me, I’m a slave. My uniforms are in this room, so I assume this is the room where I should be. I cannot just assume to deserve to sleep with my Master. Sleeping on the floor reminds me of my place. I’m in your bed only to please you. When you don’t need me, my place is in that little cubby over there.”

Whatever was making me say these ridiculous things was brilliant. The reason I made my own spot was to avoid being with him. I knew sleeping on the floor was kind of demeaning, and the kind of thing a slave would do, but that wasn’t the reason I did it...

On the other hand ... what was interesting was the words I spoke actually rang true, even if I didn’t consider those thoughts until I said them out loud. I wasn’t lying to Master, I knew. I didn’t know that I’d be able to do so. I was a slave. That was not in doubt. That was my place. A slave doesn’t assume that she deserved Master’s bed. That was just as true as my original rationale for making my own little cubby. Of course, I think that was the collar at work converting my original act of rebellion into an acceptance of my true place in life.

“That’s ... interesting,” Master said. “Just make sure you keep the bedroom tidy.”

“I will return the blanket to the closet until tonight, Master.”

“Do that.”

Master left, and I tidied the room. The sheets on the bed reeked of semen as well as my pussy fluids and a bit of my shit as well, so I decided to strip the bed. If I needed to, I would ask Master where the sheets and bedclothes were, but I figured I’d find them if given the time. I shouldn’t bother Master with such things. It was my job to tend the house. I was his PA, his slave.

Just as all the sheets were removed, my seven o’clock alarm went off. I gritted my teeth and then sighed.

It was time to make breakfast.

The menu read bacon and pancakes today ... for Master and Shirley, of course. I got my usual mush.

This wasn’t a difficult meal, and for some reason, I started to follow some manual links on the recipe sites until I found an article that claimed to be definitive in cooking bacon. Apparently, cooking it at a high temperature in a frying pan results in bacon that might burn. The best way to get the perfect texture was to cook at lower temperatures over a wire rack in an oven where the meat wouldn’t come in contact with the fat dripping down. It took longer that way, though. I looked at the time on the comm and decided I should be able to do it right and still have a timely breakfast. I removed the bacon I already started on the stove, and found an oven pan with a wire rack. I did as the article said. More to clean later, but I didn’t mind chores. It was my job, after all. I wondered why all the other recipes suggested using a fry pan.

I have to admit that after a half hour, the bacon was an even light brown, crispy but with a bit of give. I would have cut off my right boob to taste a piece, but I knew that any deviation from my mush diet was forbidden. Still, it was very tempting. (I couldn’t even lick my fingers, damn it!)

Both Bob and Shirley seemed to enjoy the bacon.

“New program?” Master asked.

“No. I cooked it myself.”

“Well, it’s better than yesterday’s.”

Apparently, Master didn’t even seem to know that the automations in the kitchen were disabled for me. I still got a nice tiny thrill at the compliment.

Changing the subject, I asked him the question that I needed to. “Master, after I drive Shirley to the day care, may I stop at the local clinic? I need to get assigned a regular doctor for my duration here.” It wasn’t until I finished that I realized that I called him Master in front of Shirley.

“Of course,” he said, not even looking up at me.

I was happy. I would be able to do something on my own, even if only for an hour or two.

There was a free clinic in town. Master didn’t tell me he would pay, so this was a safe choice. Once there, I told them that I recently moved into town and needed to be assigned a physician. They gave me a tablet and told me to answer the questions.

The physical information, such as my height, weight, vital statistics, blood pressure, BMI, pulse, blood pressure, and the like were automatically entered as they were detected as I entered the clinic. The weight surprised me; I was about two pounds less than I weighed at the shelter.

All the personal information they wanted was, of course, at the WfD shelter where I used to live. However, privacy laws prevented the sharing of information, and the WfD shelter would have my data erased within thirty days as well. Thus, I needed to enter all that stuff by myself.

There was a standard question that was asked. I’ve seen it a million times before. “Are you in service at this time?” I used to think it was something to do with the military and I always answered it “NO.” This time when I looked at the question, I could see it was a veiled reference to being collared, and my instinct was to answer YES” so I did so.

After handing the tablet back to the receptionist, she glanced at my answers, and then at me. “Um ... We’ll call your name.” If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she shook her head and sighed.

About five minutes later, my name was called, and I was led to an examination room. I was told to wait there and the doctor would see me soon.

As soon as I saw the examination table, my mind seemed to cloud a bit, and without realizing what I was doing, I stripped off my uniform and folded it onto a chair. I then sat and then lay on the examination table. This was all an automatic impulse, as if I haven’t any control over what I was doing.

There was a knock on the door. “Jess? This is Dr. Harrison.”

“Come on in.”

The door opened, and a young doctor came in. He saw me on nude the table and he shrugged.

“Um ... I see you are a collared citizen.”

I bristled; I hated that term, and avoided it myself. It was a reminder of what I lost. “Yes.”

The doctor didn’t seem to notice my uneasiness. “That explains the nudity. I have a few standard questions to ask. Routine things, but things we don’t ask normal citizens.”

I sighed. There was that word again. Collared people were no longer citizens. Specifically, we didn’t have the right to vote. The politicians didn’t want people to get contracts just to skew the vote to make them worthless after a referendum, or perhaps they didn’t want collared people being forced to vote a particular way by their Sponsors, giving Sponsors additional political power depending on the number of people they have on contract.

The Doctor’s comments seemed to indicate there might be other differences between a “real” citizen of this country and somebody that wore a collar.

“What is your role in the sex industry?”

“Role? Sex industry?” I was confused.

The doctor looked at me and it was clear he was confused. “You are collared, right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t work in the sex industry? Are you an actress?”

“I don’t do soaps or any other kind of acting.” My mind added the word yet, but I didn’t utter it.

“Can you tell me your role?”

“I am a slave to a wealthy man.”

The doctor scrolled through the tablet and then nodded. “Oh, I see. Your record says PA. We don’t see too many of them. Most don’t use public clinics.”

“I am a slave,” I said, not wanting to mince words.

“I see.”

Then he waited ... and waited.

“Is there something you want me to say?” I asked.

“Uh ... no. I think you’re one of the few collared persons that has come here that hasn’t told her doctor her Sponsor wanted her emancipated.”

“That would be a lie,” I said. “Master wants no such thing.”

“Yes, it would, but it’s a common one we hear often. We’ve come to expect it.”

“Perhaps I might want emancipation myself, but my Sponsor doesn’t want it. What point is there to lie? Somehow you’d know that I was lying and would have to inform Master. Right?”

The doctor nodded.

“I’m here to get a doctor. If all you want to do is entrap me, then I request another doctor to replace you.”

“No! I mean, yes ... there is a bounty on attempted escapes. I’m sorry I thought that of you. Give me another chance.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“As are you. So ... you need a doctor, and I have room for many new patients. I’ve just started here, and I can use all the business I can get.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“I mean that. Let’s start at the beginning. You’re a personal attendant.”

“I’m my ex-husband’s slave.”

“What?” The doctor started to sputter. “That can’t be right! The first sale law specifically outlaws such situations. That is illegal!”

“It’s my life.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got to report this!”

I shook my head. “No. You don’t want to cross him. He’s wealthy and he’s powerful. He probably found some sort of loophole that lets him do it. He probably has a few dozen attorneys, and in the end, he’ll find you collared to a raging queen and begging to suck dick if you pissed him off.”

“It’s part of my Hippocratic Oath...”

“Listen. I don’t want a Sir Lancelot. I need a doctor.”

“Are you sick? The sensors here haven’t indicated anything.”

“No, but one of the things my ex likes to do is to have me blow him and then he pisses into my mouth in the morning. I’m forced to swallow. I don’t think that having this done regularly would be good for me.”

“I can get you an API shot. That would keep his bodily wastes from doing damage to the lining of your stomach. It’s a six month regimen. You’d need to come back twice a year. He’s really your ex?”

“Yes, and it’s no picnic.”

“Listen, I can be here an hour with you. The general assumption is that you ask to be emancipated and you’ll do anything for it. I send a signal, and we go at it, then the cops show up with your Sponsor.”

“How nice,” I said. I was glad I didn’t go with my initial, unthinking plan.

“Well, it makes money, and the people that do it, well ... I don’t want to go into it. You now have me feeling guilty about it all.”

“I don’t care about the others. I have a few other worries.”

“Name them.”

“I’m supposed to be on the DNI. I have a feeling my ex will have me reverse it and then go on IFP, if he didn’t order it done when I got collared.”