Master chose me because of my breasts. Of course, he doesn’t call them ‘breasts’. He calls them my ‘udders’ and he expects me to do the same… Mary yearns to submit so she chooses to participate in an erotic enslavement reality show.
‘The Lucky Girl’ is a piece I’ve been working on. I’m not sure yet how long it will be. Let me know in the comments if you’d like to read more!
The Lucky Girl: Chapter 1
Master chose me because of my breasts.
He likes big breasts, you see, and mine are big and round. I used to think it was a liability, to be honest, as I struggled to find clothing that wouldn’t look ridiculous on me. Master, of course, doesn’t let me wear clothes at all, so the problem is solved.
Of course, he doesn’t call them ‘breasts’. He calls them my ‘udders’ and he expects me to do the same.
It was shocking at first. At the choosing ceremony, I stood in a line of all the prospective girls, waiting to see who would be chosen. Some of them Master didn’t even look at, just dismissing them with a flick of his fingers. When he got to me, he stood in front of me and just looked for a long time. My heart was beating so fast, I was so scared he wouldn’t choose me.
I couldn’t see his face yet. I looked down like I had been ordered to do, keeping my eyes averted. I knew he was tall and broad-shouldered, with darker hair and a bit older than me.
I tried to guess which of the men he was. We had all been participating in the game show competition for weeks now, the agency alternating between humiliating and degrading trials for us girls and long interviews with the Masters. The Masters didn’t have to do trials, of course, so they just sat around in their comfortable homes discussing their preferences in women and what they looked for in a slave.
We — the prospective slaves — hadn’t seen the final footage yet, of course. That wouldn’t be aired for months. But the agency running the show had shown us snippets of the Masters’ interviews. They were always segments where the men sniggered cruelly at how much they were looking forward to treating whichever slave was assigned to them roughly, cruelly, meanly.
The agency had recorded our shocked and frightened responses, valuable for the titillation of future audiences.
Tonight was my night, where I would progress to the final stages of the show or I would be sent home in disgrace. The Master would take only one of us home with him. Oh, how I desperately hoped it would be me. He would keep me for three months and at the end of that time, I could decide whether I would stay with him forever or leave.
I already knew that I would stay, though, if only I was lucky enough to make it that far.
For the testing tonight, we had been given strict instructions.
‘Keep your head bowed,’ the agency officer had said. ‘You’ll see his face after he’s chosen you.’
So I stood and waited, desperately hoping he would choose me. I didn’t even care which one of them it was any more. I just wanted to be a slave at one of the Masters’ feet.
‘Get your udders out, girl,’ he said, his voice crude and demanding.
I flushed bright red, never having had someone call my breasts that before. Then, fingers trembling, I fumbled with the buttons on the front of my dress, pulling my breasts out of my dress and bra, letting them fall naked and heavy outside my clothing. I felt so exposed, so wanton, so objectified and on display.
Of course, the dating agency had already tested our personalities, so he knew each of us was demure and compliant, naturally submissive. All he needed to do was to test which of us he wanted to see naked in his bed every night for the next three months.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked after a long time.
‘It’s Mary, Sir,’ I said, remembering to never look at his face.
‘No, it isn’t,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘It’s ‘udders’. I don’t want to have to remember two words for you.’
That was how I knew he’d chosen me.
There was some paperwork. I had to keep my breasts outside my clothing while I signed my forms, recognising that the agency was releasing me into his care for the next three months. Then Master snapped at me to ‘come, girl,’ and I followed him out of the building and into his car.
I could see the cameras filming the whole thing, even though I kept my head down, and I knew that the audience would be so titillated at this stage, finally granted a view of my breasts and salivating in their seats as to what Master was going to do to me. I was still just so excited though, I couldn’t believe I had made it through to the final round.
‘You go there,’ Master said once we were at the car, pointing at a space where a seat should be. I knelt down on the floor rug, pulling a specially fitted seatbelt around me, as Master settled himself into a regular passenger seat. In front, the driver started the car and we headed off into the night. I congratulated myself in a mixture of fright and excitement on having been so successful.
Master is wealthy, of course, and there’s a lot of prestige that comes with being a successful sex doll, but also I’ve always wanted to fully, completely submit. So when I saw the agency competition, I just had to participate.
The men always win of course — there are fewer participants and each of them gets to take a girl home at the end of the competition. But only one in thirty of the starting girls gets sent home with a Master. I felt so lucky to be chosen but I was still scared, that first night, kneeling at his feet.
I kept my eyes down as I felt him looking me over again, then a casual hand dropped to start kneading my breast. I jumped to feel him touching me for the first time. This was what I wanted, this was what I had participated in so many humiliating tests to achieve, yet I was still scared.
I belonged to him now and he would decide my future.
‘Have you been taking the pills the agency gave you?’ he asked eventually.
‘Yes, Sir,’ I murmured, a thrill of excitement flashing through me as I kept my head down, like a good submissive.
‘Any milk yet?’ he asked, squeezing my breast experimentally hard so that my eyes widened.
‘A little, Sir,’ I said, flushing with embarrassment, although I wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment at failing him or embarrassment at his planned future use of me as a milk cow. Or simple objectification, that he hadn’t spoken anything to me as a human yet. He seemed to be only interested in my breasts and my promised milk production.
‘We’ll double your dose,’ he said, sounding bored. ‘Hawkins, see to it, would you?’
Please follow me for more stories! If you like enslavement and sex doll themes, my novel Tatiana’s Awakening might be the read for you – available on All These Roadworks and Smashwords.
Chapter 2 of ‘The Lucky Girl’ is here.
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Pixie Isobella 