It was a cold December night, a few days before Christmas, and Scarlett was still crying as she walked slowly down the hall Rick’s office late Saturday night, well aware that President Milford’s cum was dripping out of her pussy and her ass still bright red from the spanking he had given her. The guards had grabbed her the moment she had left the old-bastard’s room and ordered her to wait on Rick. She had spent every night that week in the President’s service, mostly eating out his wife’s rotten old cunt, and though they were far gentler than they had usually been with her, Scarlett’s life hadn’t grown any more enjoyable. When they had noticed that she had grown more docile and more willing to please than ever before, they had turned from torturing her to berating her with a stream of endless insults as they forced her to perform progressively more demeaning and degrading acts.

Her mother had returned to Hollywood two weeks ago to film another propaganda film for Mr. Worthington, and with her gone, Scarlett had become the center of attention yet again. She had left only after the humiliating public event that Scarlett had to suffer through on her sixteenth birthday. Uncle Sam had officially made the teen his slave. He had made sure that she looked her best and had her hair cut and styled and her make-up professional applied, then paraded her, buck naked, out on the stage to give a press conference. She had been forced to kneel by the podium as her mother gave an impassioned speech about how proud she was to deliver her only child into sexual slavery for someone as respected as President Samuel Milford himself. She had listened as the starlet went on about the pride she felt in knowing that her daughter was the youngest girl to ever take the collar in the White House and that she herself envied the young Scarlett and wished that she could be bound beside her.

Then, on live television, broadcast for the world to see, the president attached the permanent iron collar around the teen’s neck and sealed it forever in place with the presidential seal. This was followed by iron shackles around her wrists and ankles. Then, to the teen’s horror, President Milford bent her over the podium and fucked her on live TV. The teen was utterly humiliated at the fact that her once chaste body was violated for political gain and broadcast the world over. The crowd of reporters had cheered when he entered her and delighted at her screams and cries as she was fucked in the pussy by the president himself, then in the ass by his son, Secretary of State Greg Milford. The conference only ended after they had his guards hold her down and branded her with the presidential seal. She screamed like a stuck pig as they placed the small red-hot branding iron on the back of her neck and seared the one-inch-by-one-inch symbol of the nation forever into her young flesh, marking her forever as a White House slave girl.

She wasn’t getting much sleep, in the few times that she had been able to sleep alone in her little room they had turned the TV on, cranked up the volume, and forced her to listen to her own screams and cries as the ran the video of her collaring on loop. It was a reminder of her new place in life and her new lowly status as nothing more than a sex slave. Her mother’s speech had made it sound like Scarlett was herself proud of her accomplishment, proud of the fact that she was now nothing more than property, but the teen assumed that her screams and constant tears as she was humiliated on live TV would tell any view that she held only hatred and disdain for President Milford and wished for little more than her own quick death.

She had been running on program ever since, convinced that Andre was right about her stupidity and worthlessness and had found it far easier to just not think at all as she was passed back and forth between Uncle Sam and Andre. More than ever before she had focused completely and totally on obeying the commands of her masters and had not even stopped a moment to think or object when Andre would take a shit on a silver platter and order her to eat it. If she was a good girl and obeyed without thinking, she suffered far less and Milford and Andre were testing the limits of her obedience.

Tonight she would be serving Rick and fear had already taken over her. She had not seen him since their introduction and was fearful that he would be just as violent with her as the other men were when they first had her. She looked back at the past time in slavery as she was escorted naked through the White House; she had been fucked sixty-two times by ten different men (most of whom happened on the same day) since the President had taken her virginity and eaten out several different a total of three-hundred times. She had given eighty-four blow jobs to two different people and eaten out two ass forty-eight times. The count brought a new wave of tears to the poor teen as she realized that she had indeed become the slut that Andre, the President, and his wife had called her so many times. Good girls simply didn’t do the things that she had done.

Even though Scarlett had spent much of the past year naked as she served the President and his staff, she still felt an immense amount of shame every time she was forced to stand naked in front of a man. A shame that was no doubt doubled by the constant bombardment of vulgar insults the president and her other master’s continually threw at her. Before she became a slave she had been complimented on her fit and slender body and told by so many people that she was just as beautiful as her mother, but all of that seemed like a life time ago. Lately she had suffered only insults, an endless and relentless bombardment of insults. All the pride she had once had in herself had been systematically stripped away until she was nothing more than a hollow shell of the girl she once was.

Scarlett took a deep breath to study her nerves and slowly opened the office door. The room was trashed, or at the least it was far dirtier than any of the rooms she had been in. Every surface of the room, every table and night stand were covered with notes and pictures that stood inches thick and more often than not were topped with empty glasses and coffee cups. It smelled thickly of cigarette smoke and coffee. Her eyes scanned across the room, across the unmade bed and finally came to the large desk pushed against the wall in the far corner of the room where Rick, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, sat behind his computer and pounded away on his keyboard.

She moved hesitantly across the combination office and bedroom, trying her best not to make a sound. She knelt submissively by his side, assuming the position that President Milford had drilled into her over the past seven months. She sat back on her heels, spread her knees six inches apart, folded her arms behind her back, arched her chest out and stared down at the floor. She knew better than to announce her presence, and she didn’t feel much like speaking to begin with. She simply waited and held that position as she hoped that her master would address her and allow her to sit at ease before her muscles begin to ache.

She held the position for two hours straight and watched through the occasional quick glance as Rick chained smoked his Pall Mall cigarettes and pounded away on the computer. Occasionally he would stop to pour himself another glass of the Wild Turkey, or check his notes, but they were only brief breaks and he would soon return to his relentless pounding on his keyboard. When she was only a little girl, and her father was still around, he had read to her and even started to teach her how to read, but all of that ended when her mother entered the Milford Institute. In the years that passed she had forgotten what little she had learned and now struggled to remember the alphabet, let alone what sounds the different letters made.

Her illiteracy was never much to be ashamed of, hardly any girls her age were taught to read and write, or do basic math, all that had stopped with her mother’s generation. But from time to time that too brought about sharp pangs of shame and guilt along with feelings of inferiority. These feelings always arose when she watched people read, but the were never so intense as they were in those two hours that she knelt by Rick’s desk and waited patiently as his fingers flew across the keyboard. Judging from the amount of books and papers that were scattered about the room, and the intense and maniacal energy that he put into writing non his computer gave Scarlett the impression that she really was mentally inferior to him and that she would never, ever, be anything more worthwhile than a lowly sex slave.

“How can this slave please you, master?” Scarlett asked as she broke the rules and looked Rick in the eye. The last time she looked a man in the eye she had been beaten for it, it was a rule that she took pains not to break, and yet, for some unknown reason, found herself instantly breaking it the moment he turned his attention to her. She had also made it a point not to speak, even when most slaves could speak freely.

“Let me see your collar,” he said as he gently tilted her head to look at the Presidential seal on either side of the cold iron collar. It could never be removed; the pain and effort would be too much. “They did a good job; you can hardly see the seal. Did it hurt when they placed it on you?’

“Yes master.”

He gently stroked her cheek. “You haven’t been a slave for very long have you?”

“No master.”

“Excuse me,” Rick stood up and left the room. Scarlett, not knowing what to do, she remained kneeling by his desk as he left for the bathroom. “How long do I have you for?” he asked a minute later as he returned from the bathroom with one the soft white towels in his hand.

“One week, Master. Uncle Sam thinks I should spend time with other masters to accustom myself with their wishes.” She knew she was speaking more than she ought to, but she had the feeling that Rick would allow her to speak freely, or at least to stretch the limits.

He put the towel on the desk and sat back down in his chair. “Stand up,” he said, “I want to get a better look at you.”

“Yes master.” Scarlett did exactly what she was told and went so far as to put her hands behind her head so that Rick could get a better look at her. She found herself wanting to please him, and for the first time in her life, didn’t mind taking orders from a man.

He reached out to gently fondle one of her breasts and chills of excitement ran down Scarlett’s spine. She found herself wondering if this was how her mother felt when she dutifully obeyed Samuel and his guests and thought, for a moment, that slavery would not be so bad if her master was as attractive and gentle as Rick. “You look young for a slave girl,” he said as he traced his finger around her nipple, then down her torso to her pussy.

“Yes master.”

“Turn around, slowly.”

“Yes master.” For the first time, Scarlett didn’t feel the pangs of disgust and shame when she called a man master. She slowly turned around in her place and found that she was enjoying it.

“You are very beautiful.”

“Thank you master.”

He handed Scarlett the towel. “Pull up a chair.”

“Thank you master,” she said as she hurried to grab one of the arm chairs and pulled it next to Rick. She was shocked at how the warm feeling of happiness swept over her at such as small gesture as a towel to cover herself up with. He could have offered her more, there were plenty of warm blankets and soft robes in his room, but the simplicity of a towel was enough to win him her devotion and loyalty. She had not been treated this kindly since she came to the White House.

“No, I didn’t say you can wrap it around you. Just hold it up to your chest; my generosity doesn’t extend that far.”

“Yes master,” she said and still found herself pleased at what little he had offered her.

“Before you sit down I want you to fetch me another bottle of Wild Turkey? Can you read?”

“No sir, not well.”

Rick held up the empty bottle and pointed at the label. “It looks like this; you’ll find it in the liquor cabinet across the room. Grab two glasses and put ice in them.”

“Yes master.” She hurried to follow his orders and found herself wanting to please him not to avoid the threat of pain, but out of the overwhelming desire to make him happy. Carrying the glasses full of ice and the bottle of bourbon was only moderately difficult to accomplish with the towel pressed against her tits, but the fact that she was moving so quickly out of a pure desire to please made the task even more difficult. She almost tripped over the large towel on her way back to the desk, but found Rick smiling at her with kind eyes rather than furious with her as her other masters would have been. His patience with her clumsiness only made her more devoted to him.

“Sit,” Rick motioned to the chair and then poured two glasses of the bourbon. He slid one in Scarlett’s direction.

“I don’t drink, master.”

“It’s an order, not a request.”

“Yes master.” Scarlett hesitated a moment as she picked up the glass. She brought it to her nose and gave is a sniff as she stalled for time. She had been raised never to touch alcohol and from its smell her desire to experiment was completely washed away. Whatever bourbon was it didn’t smell like anything that appealed to her. She looked up at Rick to see him waiting patiently, then brought the glass slowly to her lips and downed it all in one fast shot.

Rick laughed as she doubled over in a coughing fit. The color drained from her face and she chocked and gagged in an effort to keep it from coming back up. She looked up at him and was slightly pissed that he had the audacity to laugh at her.

“You’re supposed to sip it,” he said as he poured her another glass. “Understand?”

“Yes master.” She looked hesitantly at the glass of bourbon.

“This isn’t a request,” he said as he lit a cigarette and watched her take a sip with a fairly amused expression.

“I want you to talk to me,” he said as he placed a microphone on the desk next to her and set up the webcam to face the young teen.

“What do you want me to talk to you about, master?” The bourbon was quickly going to her head and she was pleased to feel a warm sensation run through her body.

“I want you to tell me all about yourself. I want you to tell me everything you can remember to the point you sat down in that chair next to me.” He was pulling a small bag of grass and some rolling papers out of his desk drawer.

“What’s that?” She asked, eyeing it with curiosity. She had seen marijuana before, her father and his friends had smoked it around her since she was a little girl. Scarlett had known exactly what he was doing and had only asked the question to determine if he was planning on making her smoke some as well.

Rick didn’t scold her as she had expected, but simply looked at her with an amused sideways grin. “You’ve never smoked pot before either.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No master.”

“Do you want to try?”

“No master.”

“Your loss,” he said as he started to roll a fat joint. He paused and looked up at the teen, who was still eyeing him with curiosity. “You’re not talking.”

“I don’t know what to say, master.”

“What’s the first thing you can remember?”

“My father,” Scarlett said as tears welled up in her eyes. “My mother was yelling at him. She was drunk again, she had just gotten home from work and she had started screaming at him the moment she came through the door.”

“Why was she yelling?” Rick asked as he put his feet up on the desk and lit the joint.

“I don’t know. They always fought when I was young. I think that’s why dad left.” She had stopped drinking after her second sip and was holding the glass in both hands and staring at it as she spoke. “She was always yelling at him, she was always mad at him when I was a little girl.”

“When was the last time you saw your father?”

“He was on TV last week, at a concert in London.”

Rick laughed, “When was the last time you saw him in person?”

“The night my mom got home from the Milford Institute. I think I was six, maybe seven. I really miss him.” She was crying again, “He was, he was really good to me.”

“What happened after he left?”

“Mom moved us into the Milford Institute in Colorado Springs; we’ve been living there ever since.”

“Take a hit,” he said as he handed the teen a joint and poured himself another glass of bourbon, “You need it?”

“What do I do?”

“You start, by not neglecting to call me master.”

“I’m sorry, master. What do I do, master?”

“You inhale.”

Scarlett took a drag off the joint and broke into a coughing fit. “The more you cough, the more you get off. Take another.” She nodded as she took another drag off the joint and broke into another coughing fit. The weed hit her instantly and she looked up at Rick with eyes as red from the pot as they were from her tears.

“That’s enough for you, you’re a light weight.”

“Yes master.”

“I figured you might need to unwind a little. Do you feel better?”

“What?” Scarlett asked. For some reason she wasn’t sure if her was talking to her or not. “Are you talking to me master?” She opened and closed her mouth several times, then took another small sip of the bourbon to kill her dry mouth.

“Tell me about the Milford Institute.”

Scarlett opened up immediately and before she had the sense to control herself she had already told him more about that horrible place than she knew she should have. She had told him in detail about the dorms and how the people there made the girls sleep two to a bed in crammed little rooms. She told him about the “teachers” and how they would force the girls to drop their panties for a spanking in front of the entire class. She told him about the thongs, the strict dress code, she told him about the boys at the school and how they were allowed to spank the girls whenever they pleased. She told him about the classes, and how she had to learn to cook and clean and give massages while the boys learned how to read and write and do math. She told him about the dance classes and the singing classes, and how they were the only part of the school that she actually enjoyed.

To Rick’s credit he listened intently, pouring himself glass after glass of Wild Turkey as he sucked down his Pall Malls to the filter and stubbed them out in his enormous and overflowing ash tray. She had stopped drinking long ago, but continued to hold the glass as she told him story after story about the “teachers” and the lessons, and about the other children at the Milford Institute, the ones she liked and the ones she hated. She told them about the adults she saw, and how all the women dressed like sluts and did everything the men told them to. She told them about the punishments she saw, and about the time her friend, Rachel, was raped in front of the entire school for sneaking alcohol out of the men’s kitchen, and how her best friend Natalie was stripped naked and chained in the courtyard because one of the “teachers” caught her wearing regular panties instead of a thong. She told him about how all the boys were allowed to touch her in all of her places, but weren’t allowed to rape her because the infraction wasn’t sever enough to warrant that type of punishment.

He didn’t say a word when she told him about the theology classes. Her dad had been a Catholic and had taken her to Catholic school and Catholic mass when her mother was still an addict. The lessons about God and Jesus that she was taught at the Milford Institute were nothing like the lessons her father and the priests had taught her. Her father had taught her the Jesus was a man of piece that had loved and taken sympathy on Mary Magdalene, and the Milford Institute taught her that Jesus was a man of war that beat Mary because she was a whore. At the Milford Institute she was taught that Jesus was unloving and intolerant and she didn’t know which one was right, but Scarlett was certain that she liked her father’s Jesus more than her mothers.

She was out of breath and in tears by the time she had gotten to Election Day and told Rick the story of how she had lost her virginity. She described in detail the night she had to spend with the President’s son and the vile things he had done to her. She went over the times she had to perform sexual acts with her mother and how dirty and ashamed it made her feel. She told him about how she had grown to love her mother at the Milford Institute and how much she hated her mother now that she was living in the White House. And by the time she told him about Andre and when she officially became a slave she was sober again.

But she did feel better. It had been a long time since she talked to anyone, and spilling her guts to Rick made her feel far better than she had felt in a very long time. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and that she was free again despite her current situation. The simple fact that she had someone to talk to made her feel, for the first time in her seven months in the White House, like she could go on. For the first time since she lost her virginity she didn’t feel like killing herself. She felt free and at ease.

“Thank you, master,” she said when she was finally done.

“No, thank you,” Rick said as he turned the computer off. “It’s late, we should get to bed.”

“Yes master.”

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