A Slut comes home (Camp Slut Series- Chapter 6)

Author’s Note: This is part 6 of the ongoing story started in The Camp Slut. I want to take a moment to thank those who have read the series, and I’m glad it has been as well received as it has been so far.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and fantasy. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental. This story is not intended to be an accurate reflection of any particular lifestyle.

A Slut comes home

The doorbell woke me up. It took a few seconds for me to figure out where I was. I’d gotten used to waking up on the ground in a tent. To be in my bedroom at home was a bit odd after nearly a week in the woods. Gail wasn’t in bed with me, so I figured she would be answering the door. Thinking of my naked slave girl answering the door gave me a chuckle, and I decided I would get around to installing the security webcam so I could enjoy the looks of the people taken unawares. I decided I should probably be up to help deal with whatever or whoever came to the door, so untangled myself from the blankets and made my way downstairs. I didn’t bother putting on even a robe, since it was just Mike and Gail here, plus whomever decided that they would intrude on our solitude. I bought this old farmhouse and the overgrown acres around it because it was remote, sat back from the road, and had a nice sized barn for me to use as a workshop. It had taken a little over a year to remodel the house, getting it up to code and suitable for use by a tech head like myself.
The squee following the door opening hinted that Gail was excited about our visitor. It was almost enough to make me turn around and grab some shorts. I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs to see Gail hugging Elizabeth at the kitchen door that served as the main entrance to the house. Seeing them together, it was impossible to miss the family resemblance. Elizabeth was dressed in what could loosely be called business attire. A dark pencil skirt with matching blazer, and pumps. Other than her glasses, that was it. When she moved, I could see right down her jacket to the bare flesh beneath, and the roll of her hips in the skirt showed none of the telltale signs of panties. I chuckled at the ensemble, then noticed the gold anklet. Even without my coffee, connections started clicking in my head.
“Good morning, Betsy. I didn’t expect you here quite so early. I figured I’d have Mike for another couple of days, still,” I said conversationally, crossing the kitchen to the coffee pot. “Your visitors leave already?”
“Please, David. You know how I detest being called that,” she intoned. She managed a passable show of aristocratic distain with most people, but as I learned more about her- and her family- it was less convincing. She looked around the room, brushing off one of the stools at the island before sitting regally. “Mother told me that little Gail had been claimed, and I had to see to it how she was being cared for.” She accepted the cup of coffee I poured for her without comment. “I must admit to being more than a little surprised when I found out it was you. From what Michelle has told me, I had always assumed that you were gay, or at least a submissive yourself. Timothy or Ss…” She coughed daintily. “Excuse me. Timothy or Stephen sounded much more likely candidates to have taken Gail’s reins.”
Gail looked almost mortified, though whether at my pouring out coffee or at Elizabeth’s comments, I wasn’t sure. I waved her off with a wink and a smile. “Gail, my pet, go get Mike up. Then take him upstairs, both of you get cleaned up, and have him help you find something to wear in my closet. We’re going shopping today, and as enjoyable as it would be, I can’t very well take you to the mall like that.“ I chuckled meaningfully, making Gail blush before she curtsied and left the room. I could hear Mike’s voice as she woke him, and his protests at being dragged away without coming to greet his wife.
Betsy seemed a little put out by it, too. “Is there a reason I am being kept from my husband and slave?”
I smiled wickedly behind my coffee mug, my cock twitching at the turnings in my head. “Yes, there is, Betsy. Or should I call you, ‘Liza’?” I drew out the pronunciation “LIE-za”, thoroughly enjoying the panic I glimpsed before she could suppress it.
“I have no idea to what or whom you refer, David. I go by Elizabeth, or Ms. Turner, if necessary. Why you insist on calling me Betsy or Bets is beyond me.” Her denials came out in a rush.
I chuckled. “Oh, I assure you that it is entirely disrespectful when coming from me, Betsy. It is sort of a bad play on words. ‘Place your Bets on the table, boys!’ I’m basically calling you a whore.”
I was very glad that I hadn’t gotten dressed. It saved me having to try and wash the coffee out of my clothes as she spewed the mouthful across my kitchen before sputtering out several octaves of denials and foul words.