Sausages for the Slave Ch. 12

Literotic asexstories – Sausages for the Slave Ch. 12 by dyetied,dyetied
Dan had tucked himself in behind the Foreign Exchange stall in the arrivals terminal of Paris Charles de Gaulle airport. He kept a close watch on the constant stream of people exiting from airside, trundling their wheelie suitcases or pushing trolleys piled high with baggage. No sign of Mary. If she had given me a mobile phone she could have called me, thought Dan. Or, using her fancy tech knowledge, she could have tracked me by seeing where the phone was. Serves her right.

Just then Sophia appeared, pulling one medium sized case. Sophia his saviour, or potential saviour. Dan looked at her objectively as he stepped out and waved. He didn’t appraise her in a sexual way, as he might instantly and instinctively do normally. Didn’t give her the old fuckability factor rating. Instead he rated her suitability as his meal ticket out of slavery. This was his priority right now. She was his great white hope. As he had guessed from his sideways glances on the plane, Sophia looked about thirty, shortish stature, long body, shorter legs relatively, sturdy frame, rather large breasted for her size, tidy bob of wavy brown hair. Wearing sensible clothes for the journey; grey leggings, soft lilac sweater on top, black pumps. Practical and comfortable, Dan decided. Sophia knew what she was about and would work for what she wanted. He felt in safe hands. When she came over to him, Dan gallantly took over the suitcase trundling duty. Sophie was familiar with the airport and they were quickly on their way to the train terminus.

Sophia bought the tickets for both of them from a machine, waving Dan away, saying she knew how to do this, which suited Dan, since he didn’t have a red cent to his name. Forty minutes later they were somewhere under Paris, heading, he learned, for Viroflay. Sophia told him it was a nice-but-nothing suburb to the south west, not far from Versailles. The great-aunt’s house was a typical turn of the last century suburban house, she said. Three thin storeys over basement, long narrow overgrown back garden, classic stone masonry finish, shutters on the windows. Think of Proust’s Combrey, she added. Meant nothing to Dan. Then Sophia got down to business and things became awkward.

‘I suppose the airline will be phoning you to let you know when your luggage is due to arrive. Which reminds me: We should exchange phone numbers.’

‘Eh..I don’t have a phone actually.’

‘What! You just travelled four thousand miles without a phone.’

‘Well… Since I’m taking a break from my old life. Heading out on a new adventure. I thought it best to make it a clean break. I didn’t want people phoning me from the States constantly and asking where I was and what I was doing.’

‘You could have just bought a new SIM card. Give yourself a new phone number. A bit mad to throw away the phone.’

‘Well… It was an old phone, anyway. I’ll get a new phone.’

Dan was saved by the need to change metros. Sophia led him through a maze of tunnels and escalators, to the metro that would bring them to Virofley. The train popped up to the surface after a couple of stops and ran along beside the river providing a welcome distraction. Dan became very interested in the river Seine and asked Sophia about the various landmark buildings in the distance. The immediate danger passed. After a load of stops Sophia told him they were getting off soon.

Dan trundled Sophia’s suitcase the short walk from Viroflay Metro station, past an exotic modernist parish church, across the main street and into a long narrow laneway lined with the type of houses Sophia had described. Most had walls topped by railings with tall pillars on each side of an ornamental metal gate which had sheets of metal welded on their inside. To keep dogs out or in, Dan mused, or just for privacy. The short driveways dipped steeply to a basement/garage. To the side of each driveway, level paths ended in a few steps up to the front door.

Sophia stopped outside the narrowest of the houses, produced a bunch of keys and led the way inside the locked gate. At the ground level there was a small window beside the front door. At the next floor above there was one slightly larger window with white shutters on either side. Above it, in the gable under the roof, a small porthole type window. At the foot of Sophia’s steeply sloping driveway, the basement garage door had been replaced with a slit window and a metal utility door.

Clearly space was at a premium in this house. Dan thought it looked more like a square lighthouse than a real house. He had enough sense to stifle the snigger that threatened and say it looked lovely. This was his potential underground railway, his route to freedom, it didn’t have to be a mansion.

Sophia walked to the short set of steps leading up to the front door. She stopped before reaching the door and turned back to Dan.

‘Dan, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a single girl and I have to be careful who I let into my house. I really don’t know you from Adam, so I need some insurance here. You understand?’

‘Sure. Makes total sense. I’d be the same. What do you want me to do?

‘Well, how about you give me your wallet and I check your driver’s licence and credit cards. Just to be sure who you are. I’ll take a photo of them on my phone and send them to a friend. OK?’

‘Eh…would my passport do?’

‘Wallet, Dan. Let’s see it. Now don’t tell me you don’t have a wallet?’ Eyebrows arched sarcastically, Hand held out expectantly.

‘Eh…Well…I don’t have a wallet, actually. Strange as it may seem. But I do have a passport.’ Dan blurted out, thrusting his passport into Sophia’s outstretched hand. ‘I can explain. Really.’

‘Really?’

But she took the passport anyway. Dan heaved a sigh of relief and waited while Sophia flicked through all the empty pages till she came to the details at the back. Standing slightly below her, Dan felt like a teenager with fake ID trying to blag his way past the bouncer into a nightclub or something. He wondered about saying the wallet must have slipped out of his pocket and between the seats on the plane. But then she’d be going on about cancelling his credit cards and all that stuff. Not going to work, Inspiration wouldn’t come.

Sophia pursed her lips as she flicked back through the passport. ‘Don’t see the name Dan in here, Dan…If it is Dan? It’s your photo all right. But who’s Nathan Hemmings?’

‘Me. Really… It’s me. I’m Nathan Hemmings, but everyone calls me Dan. I was named Nathan, but my other name is Daniel.’ Dan felt he was treading a careful line between a white lie and a sin of omission, but that he could defend his fancy footwork if accused of actual outright lying.

‘I have always been called Daniel but I didn’t put it on my passport. Who puts their middle name on their passport anyway?’ This was drifting into actual lying. But needs must, and Dan needed to get past this naming difficulty which was trivial in the whole scheme of things. Just that Sophia didn’t realise that yet.

‘People who are called by their middle name just might put it on their passport. Don’t you think, Nathan?’ Eyebrows very arched now. ‘Let’s sum up, Nathan. We have no Dan, No luggage. No wallet. No phone. Yet you have just crossed the Atlantic. Doesn’t add up really. Does it, Mr Nathan Hemmings?’

‘Look, Sophia, I accept it’s a bit of a stretch, but it is all explainable.’ Dan said, putting on his most pleasing ‘I’m just an ordinary guy’ face while desperately trying to put the pieces of his new future back together.

‘I can understand that if I were you, Sophia, I’d feel like sending me on my way right now. That’s probably what you are thinking. You’re thinking, I’ll just go into my house and shut the door. He’ll eventually have to go away. And, if he doesn’t, I’ll call the police. That’s totally understandable. But think of the big picture for you. Think of this business you are setting up. You know that adding the science subjects to your home schooling project would really make a difference to what you can offer. It moves it to another level, as you said yourself. With me on board, you can do that — straight away. Starting today.’

‘Besides, I know I would be very good for this project.’ Dan blathered on, anxious not to give Sophia a chance to reconsider, ‘I love teaching science. I am good at this stuff. Very good.’ He stepped back a step. Spread his hands out. No threat. ‘So, whadda ya say, Kid? Give it a go?’ He smiled up at her, giving up his cheeky movie brat pack grin, putting on the gangster accent. ‘Whadda ya got ta lose, Doll?’

‘I could lose my life, Nathan. How can I trust a strange man with some strange story that arrives in Paris with a passport in his pocket and nothing else? How weird is that? How could I feel safe alone with you, a mystery man, in my house?’ said Sophia, moving further up the steps towards her front door.

Dan could see his opportunity slipping away. Scrounging for scraps outside McDonalds was back on the cards. He had the wit not to run up the steps after Sophia and panic her totally. He needed to take things down a level, ease the threat away. He would talk that nervous kitten down from the tree. Dan the rational scientist would figure a way out of this conundrum for Sophia. He stepped back a step — no threatening moves from Dan.

‘Sophia, I’ll tell you how. Simple: Don’t have me in your house. I agree that is the correct thing to do. But don’t lose the business opportunity either. You can still make this work for your benefit, and safely.’

‘But Dan, you are not the only English speaking science teacher in the world. You are not even the only English speaking science teacher in Paris. I just have to put a search up on LinkedIn, or on the teaching websites. I can find one.’

‘True, but think of the time it would take. You have me here now, ready to start working for you. You kind of know me as a person after sitting beside me on the plane for over seven hours. Besides I can actually start on the lesson plans this evening. I could work on them full time. Some randomer you get off Linkedin won’t be ready to start for a month – minimum.’

She was listening, arms folded. But at least still listening. That was a plus. Dan pushed on.

‘So here’s what you do. Go in and close your front door behind you. Keep my passport. I trust you with it. Take a picture of it and send it to a friend. I’ll wait outside the gate,’ said Dan already stepping back towards the street. ‘Then, you go down to the basement. Leave some paper and a pen. Unlock the basement door and go back upstairs, locking the inside door to the basement behind you. OK?’

‘Sounds weird, but I’m listening.’

‘Lean out your living room window and tell me when I can go into the basement. I will go in and write out the full explanation as to why I am here and how. I will also give you contact names and numbers that will allow you verify that I am who I say I am. I’ll push that under the door for you to read. You can check me out while I am locked in the basement. I won’t be twiddling my thumbs while you are doing that. I’ll be working on a first lesson plan outline for you. Getting your show on the road. How about that?

Sophia looked long and deep into Dan’s face. He looked up at her, held her gaze, pleading and urging with his best sad puppy eyes. She gave him a slow smile. ‘OK. Outside the gate. Go.’

Dan decided to keep his account of events tight. He scribbled his story rapidly, using an old work bench loaded with gardening accoutrements, empty flower pots, bits of wire, and packets of plant food. Behind him, a ladies bicycle leaned on the far wall, above it was a shelf laden with old paint tins, boxes of odd stuff – junk in short. There was an ancient lawnmower by the back wall near the locked door leading to the interior of the house.

He kept his message simple. He wrote that he had agreed to be his wife’s slave and signed a contract to that effect. They were now divorced but the contract stood — in theory. He had decided to run away. The reason he had no possessions was because he was had been playing at being a slave, and slaves had no possessions. His ex-wife — still his pretend slave owner– was travelling for work abroad and had taken him with her. He wrote out Mary’s name and her mobile number. On the basis that nobody could make up a story that outlandish, Dan hoped Sophia would buy it, and not bother to phone Mary.

Dan was about to push the single sheet under the door when the bundle of green cable ties lying on the table gave him an idea. The ties were for tying plants to stakes etc. but were also the sort your average kidnapper or such uses to tie the hands of their victims. Dan noted that the bike behind him, Sophia’s no doubt, had the usual U-shaped bicycle lock hanging on the frame. He had an idea.

Dan added an addendum to his note to the effect that if Sophia passed the bicycle lock key under the door he would lock the lock around his neck and tie his hands to it with the cable ties. Then he would be no threat to Sophia. She could open the door. Dan the potential rapist and murderer would be neutralised. He pushed the revised note under the door and waited.

A short time later a short stubby key appeared under the door. Success. Dan got to work. Locking the bicycle lock around his neck was easy. It had a very medieval feel to it; heavy and clunky, but at least it was plastic coated and smooth against his skin. Next, he put a cable tie around each wrist and pulled them reasonably tight. The last bit was the hard bit. He slipped a third cable tie through his two wrist cuffs and manoeuvred the end of it through the U of the bicycle lock. After a bit of blind fiddling he got the tip of the cable tie slotted into the locking head and pulled the tip through until the cable tie was tight around the U-bar of the bicycle lock. His wrist ties were now tied to the bicycle lock by this third tie. Dan was effectively tied up. Deja vu all over again, as they say. He got down on his knees and pushed the bicycle key back under the door to the house.

Sophia had him stand out in the drive was while she surveyed him and satisfied herself as to his helplessness. No threat there.

‘OK, I’ll open the front door and you can come it.’

As he came in the front door and stood in the small hall, Dan felt his escape plan was back on track — at last.

‘Nice to see you all safe and secure, Dan, or Slave Dan,’ said Sophia with a smile, looking him up and down. ‘I hope you didn’t think I was being paranoid, but a woman has to be careful.’

‘I do understand, totally,’ said Dan, feeling slightly foolish as he stood in her hall with a heavy bicycle lock around his neck and his wrists clipped tightly to it. ‘Thanks, Sophia, for letting me into your house and for putting up with all this palaver. But it really will be worth it for your business. You’ll see.’

‘Maybe. Tell you what. Why don’t you go through to the front room and get to work on that outline lesson plan? Let’s see if you are as good as you say. I’ll get something going in the kitchen,’ said Sophia as she disappeared towards the back of the house.

Dan had to hunch over to get one hand free enough to write. He could do this stuff in his sleep. He rattled off the headings. Subject; magnetism. Target class; 13 years old/first year of post primary/ junior high/whatever the French equivalent was. Topics to cover; Magnetic field, Magnetising iron, The compass and navigation, Practical demonstration of magnetic effects; Practical exercises in lab; Homework.

He heard Sophia busying herself in the kitchen, taps running, kettle boiling. Suddenly he needed to pee. The sound of running water did it. This was a problem that even Dan the scientist could not solve without outside assistance.

‘Eh..Sophia?’

‘What?’

‘I need to use the bathroom.’

‘It’s upstairs on the right.’

‘But I can’t. My hands are tied.’

Sophia came in from the kitchen carrying a tray containing a coffee pot, two mugs and a packet of biscuits.

‘You are not serious. Is this a trick?’

‘No. Deadly serious. The running tap did it. I really need to pee.’

‘I’m not going to untie you. This whole thing could have been your plan all along just to get inside my house. Well now you are inside, so you are staying tied up.’

Yet again Dan had to come up with a solution fast. This freedom bid was becoming hard work. He needed a solution that didn’t involve peeing in his pants. And certainly not a solution that involved Sophia holding his dick while he pee’d. He didn’t think Sophia would go along with that. At the same time he didn’t want to find himself outside on the street and weighting up his chances with McDonalds again.

‘There is a way around this, Sophia. Here’s the plan. You take off my trainers and chinos — no peeping — my shirt will hang down over everything. You don’t need to see anything unpleasant. I’ll hop upstairs and be back down in a minute.’

Sophia had glanced down at Dan’s rapid work on the lesson plan. She liked what she saw. He clearly knew his stuff and was quick to deliver the goods. Yes, she decided, he’d be an asset for her home schooling business venture. She crouched down beside Dan and removed his trainers. While reaching under his loose shirt-tails to undo his chinos, she decided to lighten the mood, smiling up at him, joked, ‘Now this is an offer a gal doesn’t get every day. Hold still.’

‘Well make the most of it,’ Dan bravely bantered back. ‘And remember, no peeping.’

Sophia started loosening the button on Dan’s chinos, her hand brushed along the front of his trousers. The inevitable happened. By the time she was tugging his pants down to his knees, Dan had a roaring, throbbing hard-on.’

‘Oh, Dan, I accidently peeped. It looks like you are very pleased to see me. And what’s this? No underpants?’

‘Another ‘No’ to add to the no wallet, no phone and no luggage list. My, you really do travel light,’ she giggled, clearly not put out by the sight of the aroused male in all his glory.

‘Sorry, Sophia,’ apologised Dan, as he stepped out of his chinos, glad, at least, that the shirt tails hid his throbbing cock and balls from direct view. ‘It’s just that it’s been a while,’ he explained. ‘Anyway, I told you not to peek.’

‘Aww, poor little slave, mustn’t be getting any?’ Sophia standing up beside him, her head only up to Dan’s shoulder, running her hand up his thigh as she did so. Dan shivered as she gently cupped his balls. They were already tightening up, getting ready to spill. ‘When did you last get some?’

‘Please, Sophia.’

‘Answer the question, Slave.’

Sophia, still cupping his balls, let her thumb stroke the underside of Dan’s rigid shaft, while sliding her other hand between the cheeks of his ass and pressing into his puckered asshole.

‘Oh Goddd! I’m going to cum,’ blurted Dan, as Sophia gave a second thumb stroke to his quivering, trembling, straining erection. He spurted thick white cum heavily, urgently and repeatedly into the front tail of his shirt, from where it dripped onto the grand-aunt’s, circa 1937, best quality, varnished parquet drawing room floor.

‘Oh dear,’ smirked Sophia.

‘Sorry, Sophia. I really couldn’t help it. It’s been weeks, in fact.’ Gasped Dan, still panting heavily.

‘I’d have expected more control from a slave. Now what will we do with you? And what a mess you’ve made. Your shirt is ruined, and look at the floor. You’ll have to clean that up, won’t you, Slave?’

‘Yes, Madam, gasped Dan, forgetting in his excitement, that he was no longer a slave and that this wasn’t Mary or one of her gang of slave driving pals abusing him.

‘Wow! I’m getting to like that “Madam” thing,’ said Sophia. ‘Shows a bit of respect. I like that in a man. Keep it up. And I don’t mean your penis. You can let that have a rest, Slave.’ Sophia still had one hand cupping Dan’s balls as they slowly relaxed after the effort of ejaculation, Her other hand slowly circled his ass, bringing him down gently. Dan’s breathing eased.

‘May I go to the bathroom first, Madam?’

‘Just a minute, Dan. Hold it in. We’ll have to get that spunk riddled shirt off you while still keeping you secure. I don’t want you dripping cum on the stair carpet. What to do? I’d hate to cut it off.’

Dan, the can-do man, had the answer.

‘I know how. Unbutton the shirt, Madam. Pull it over my head and down my arms as far as you can. Put two new cable ties on my wrists above the shirt and through the one looped around the bicycle lock. Then you can cut the old ties and pull the shirt off.’

‘My, you are clever,’ conceded Sophia as she quickly followed Dan’s instructions and the shirt slid over his wrists and off. Quickly balling up the shirt, she wiped the drips of Dan’s cum from the floor.

‘It’s an application of topology,’ Dan piped up, eager to underscore his scientific know-how and his usefulness for her home schooling project. ‘The science of mobile surfaces.’

‘Well make yourself mobile up the stairs, Einstein,’ Sophia replied, giving a quick wipe to the tip of the now naked Dan’s deflating penis and thrusting the bundled shirt up into Dan’s manacled hands.

‘Rinse the shirt out and hang it up on the wire hanger over the bath. That’s where I dry my clothes. And be sure to leave the bathroom as you find it. I don’t want any man-splashes around the toilet seat, Slave.’

A man in a hurry, Dan quickly heading up stairs, intoning an ironic ‘Yes Madam,’ while half wondering if it was ironic at all, or if this mode of address between them was becoming the new normal. The speed with which Sophia had taken to calling him ‘Slave’ was unsettling.

As Dan carefully sat and pee’d, hands free and no splashes, he decided that Sophia was beginning to enjoy him being tied up a little too much. He also reflected uneasily on Sophia’s overly familiar handling of his private parts. No shrinking virgin was she, he decided. But it was more than that, he felt.

It was as if, now that she knew he was a slave, she was quite happy to control him. She didn’t seem put out any longer by the fact that he was virtually a total stranger from her perspective. Hadn’t she just said, moments before, she was afraid to let him into the house because she didn’t know who he was. The change had happened as soon as he had conveniently tied himself up so as not to be a threat to her. Then she seemed positively eager to get him naked. As if that wasn’t enough, in an instant she had one hand around his balls and the thumb of the other hand poking his asshole. And as if that wasn’t enough, seconds later she made him come. Stroked him off! And he was a total stranger to her.

Had he just been raped, Dan wondered. Was this Dan’s #metoo moment? Used certainly, he decided, but it was nothing that hadn’t happened to him as a slave back home. Slaves get used sexually, he accepted. Especially bondage/BDSM type play slaves. It’s what they want after all. But as a free man, since that is what he was claiming to be, Dan decided, belatedly, that he should have protested strongly. It wasn’t normal for a fellow to allow a strange woman fondle his balls and make him come. Not unless he is paying for the privilege.

Dan justified his acquiescence in his ‘defilement’ on two grounds. One, because he was so desperate to escape Mary’s clutches, he was prepared to put up with unexpected difficulties and hardship along the freedom trail. Even getting stroked off by strange women. Two, in his role as Mary’s slave for the past three years, he was well used to being manhandled, poked and prodded in all orifices with no consideration for his personal privacy. Suffering extreme humiliation before strangers was not a new experience for Dan. So, it was okay then. Besides, he decided, there is no #metoo for slaves.

The fact that all this happened after he gave Sophia the sheet of paper setting out his slave status and his owner’s contact details made him wonder further that things may not be as they seem. Maybe she did actually phone Mary, decided Dan, as he carefully made his way, naked and hands tied under his chin, down the steep stairway and back into the lounge. He didn’t want to fall and break his neck at this the final fence of his great escape race.

‘I made a phone call to that number you gave me while you were upstairs, Slave,’ said Sophia before Dan was even in the door. She said it knowingly, deliberately emphasising the slave part. ‘I spoke to your owner. She is on her way.’

‘I…I see,’ stuttered Dan, at a bit of a loss, grasping the enormity of Sophia’s words.

Is it all over then, he wondered, or is there still a hope. Maybe Mary would agree to let him go?

‘I see, Mistress,’ is the correct response, Slave. Let’s hear it.’

‘I see, Mistress,’ Dan repeated, his heart sinking to where his boots would have been if he wasn’t barefoot and naked. Mistress or Madam, was not the point. The point was she was treating him like he was a slave, not a potential employee and lodger. He had hoped that Sophia might have been satisfied just to have the contact details. She didn’t have to actually phone Mary, he thought. After all she has my passport.

Standing inside the door to the small lounge, Dan felt very slave-like all over again. He was naked, his hands shackled under his neck. His owner coming to collect him. Glad he had just pee’d because he couldn’t trust himself not to do it again otherwise. So that’s it, he thought. The great escape has come to an ignominious end. Sophia was openly treating him as a slave. As her slave, in fact, and expecting him to go along with it. Which was a bit weird. But he was going along with it. What else could he do, wondered Dan, the well trained slave, now that she had him naked and tied up.

He supposed that he’d shortly be hauled off to Dubai with his tail between his legs, Dan the failed runaway slave. Mary would probably keep him in a cage out there for the next three years. Feed him dates and bananas through the bars. He felt his cock stir and grow stiff.

Sophia took Dan by the balls again, gripping him firmly, a little too firmly. She ignored his new erection. Dan winced as she tugged him behind her, through the doorway to the hall, to the foot of the stairs. She secured him to the newel post at the bottom of the bannister rail with another cable tie around the back of the bicycle lock on his neck. She said she had stuff to do. He could wait there until his owner arrived. It could be a while, she said.

‘Yes, Mistress, said Dan quietly. He had thought briefly about making a witty remark, something along the lines of it being very obvious who wore the trousers in this house, but he chickened out. In truth, Dan was staggered at the swift change of character in this diminutive person. Half an hour ago they were discussing issues seriously, like adults, arguing points over and back. And now she was manhandling him and bossing him about like he was a three year old kid. Go there. Do this. Wait here. Things had changed in her mind obviously. It was as if she knew he wouldn’t put up a fight. Couldn’t put up a fight anyway.

Dan accepted he had no choice but to do Sophia’s bidding for now. There was still the possibility that Mary would release him, realising he wanted to end the slavery game and allow him do so. Because, after all, she now had bigger things to think about. But who knew what would happen when Mary arrived. He’d just have to wait and see, standing naked and tied to the bottom of the stairs, all of two feet from the front door. He could forget about the coffee going cold on the table in the front room, and the biscuits.

And so Dan stood patiently in the silence of the little hallway, leaning his back awkwardly against the square mahogany column of the bottom newel post of the stairs, listening to the ticking of the ancient grandfather clock standing against the back wall. He felt a bit like the clock, just standing there, ticking away the seconds of his new found freedom.

As the clock ticked on, Dan’s thoughts drifted back to when he first heard about upcoming the Dubai adventure. Of course Mary hadn’t bothered to tell him directly. He’d heard it second hand in the course of one of Mary’s book club meetings. This book club night was only a week or so after Mary had released Dan from his pig status and returned him to his slave status — his big step back up from the animal to the human kingdom.

The timing was accidental. Every six months or so, it was Mary’s turn to host the book club meeting. An event which broke the monotony of Dan’s daily round of slave chores. Truth be told; the book choice of the month never got discussed that much. It served as an icebreaker, before the members, all ladies, moved on to more serious discussions about the goings on in the neighbourhood. That, and having a bit of fun at the expense of Slave Dan.

Dan’s primary job on the night, as the house slave, was to make sure everybody’s wine glass was topped up and there was a good supply of nibbles available. Dan also had to make sure the fire was kept well fed with logs and blazed merrily all night. A rule of their book club was that no fancy catering was allowed. The club met in a different member’s house each month and they didn’t want to let a competitive home catering frenzy develop. White or red wine and nibbles — a few cheese dips, mixed nuts, tacos, grapes for the dieters and so on — followed by coffee and something sweet to wind up the night.

Each member was allowed produce one speciality or novelty item. Audrey’s home baked apple pie was a favourite when she was hosting. Mary’s novelty item was always Dan. That was his secondary job on the night; to be the entertainment, the eye candy. He was very popular. A full turn out of the other six ladies in the club could be expected when Mary was hosting. Of course some of these ladies were the very ones that Mary loaned Dan out to for domestic and yard duties from time to time.

For book club night, Dan was naked, save for his collar and cuffs. His hands were cuffed under his chin which made serving awkward but doable with effort, and with much bending over, which the ladies enjoyed. At least his ass was free of the butt plug for the night, but only so as to be available for their amusement. His nipples were clamped, but not too severely. The clamps were joined by a light loose chain that hung down to his belly.

His penis swung free in front of a thick green velvet ribbon that was wrapped first around his scrotum, tightly, then around the base of his shaft and finished in a bow above. All set for the inevitable game of ‘pass the penis.’ The tightly coiled velvet ribbon forced his balls to stick out in front making them an easy target for the occasional slap, or tickle, though the ladies seemed to prefer to slap. They enjoyed the reflex gasp and wince that the slap on the balls produced — every time. Maybe they were giving Dan the slap they would like to give their husbands, but daren’t.

Some ladies asked Dan to accompany them to the bathroom — that was allowed. There was no shame in it. Nobody ever queried the ladies on their return. Dan just resumed serving the wine or stood at his station by the fireplace, feeling the glow of the fire heat his thigh, waiting to be called. In the bathroom, Dan was usually asked to kneel before them and put his tongue to work. Tom Berovich’s wife, Mabel, used him differently. She told him to open wide and she pissed down his throat, Dan, gulping and spluttering, swallowed it down as best he could. Clearly she resented Dan for providing a sexual service to her husband. Maybe it was just jealousy: the thought that Tom preferred Dan’s ass to hers.

After Dan had cleared away the dips and so on, Mary would order him to move the coffee table to one side so that he could stand in the centre of the seated circle of book club ladies. Time for the ‘pass the penis’ game.

Mary controlled the music from her phone. Ravel’s Bolero was a favourite. Built the tension nicely, always heading to that climax. Dan slowly walked in a circle past each of the ladies until the music stopped. Whatever lady was in front of Dan at that point had a choice. She could grasp Dan’s penis and begin to stroke it, or she could have him bend over and slap his ass as hard as she liked. The winner was who ever made Dan come.

If he hadn’t come by the time Mary decided the game was over, Dan was bent over the coffee table and one of the ladies got to give him twenty strokes with a table tennis bat. As often as not the ladies preferred beating Dan to beating him off. In fact the ladies often sabotaged any hope of Dan coming by just stroking him very slowly when their turn came. Sometimes they just kneaded his balls while looking Dan in the face. Enjoying their power over him, and his obvious humiliation at being so used and so obviously mocked.

It was while he stood in front of one of the book club ladies, getting his penis slowly stroked, that he heard another ask Mary when she thought she would be heading to Dubai. At first he thought they were referring to some upcoming business trip or a conference, but the true import of the question hit home when he heard Mary reply that she still hadn’t found and apartment to rent. One with enough room to keep Dan too. She went on to tell the other book-club members that this was a big promotion and how great this opportunity would be for her career.

Dan had politely asked Mary over breakfast the next day what the Dubai thing was all about. And she told him, all matter of fact. She was getting a promotion. It was a three year posting. She would be taking him with her. That’s all he needed to know, she said and switched the conversation to her immediate project. Project ‘Get Dan back in shape.’ The objective, she said, was to have Dan rapidly shed his piggy fat and return his body to prime condition.

Thus reminded, Dan, as he stood manacled to Sophia’s bannisters waiting for Mary to come and claim him back or whatever, couldn’t help glancing down admiringly at his trim abdomen. There was an actual hint of a six-back leading down to a smooth flat belly. No love handles either. Not bad for a forty year old, he reflected, but he had been made to work hard for it.

Mary had introduced two fitness machines into the slave quarters within days of releasing Dan from his pig suit. Two instruments of torture as far as Dan was concerned. He had only been locked in the suit for about three weeks, but the deliberately heavy diet, both in quantity and composition, had already made him quite flabby. At a casual glance, the machines were standard home gym items, a rowing machine and an exercise bike. Predictably, Mary had modified them both. First she tied them electronically to her ‘intelligent house’ project so that both Mary and Alexa, Mary’s digital assistant, could monitor Dan’s efforts and incentivise him as necessary. The second set of modifications were mechanical in nature, and equally predictable.

The saddle of the exercise bike had been replaced with a dildo that stuck straight up from the saddle post. Each morning after breakfast, when he had done his basic house duties, Dan placed his feet through open metal cuffs on the pedals and his hands through similar cuffs over the handle bars. Then he carefully impaled his previously lubricated asshole on the post. Once he had sunk his ass deep enough onto the post a sensor was triggered. The saddle post lifted up higher pushing the dildo further up Dan’s ass, the cuffs closed so Dan’s feet and hands were gripped in position on the pedals and handlebars of the bike. He was now trapped on the bike. At full stretch on the pedals he was no longer able to lift himself fully off the dildo. He would be skewered up the ass by the dildo for the next hour and would not be released until he had completed his assigned exercise cycle and the saddle post automatically lowered itself to its resting position.

Once Dan was securely fixed on the bike, Alexa would speak up.

‘Slave, you will complete 20km in one hour, starting now.’

‘Yes, Alexa.’

Dan started pedalling. As he did so the dildo started moving gently up and down in his ass. Dan was basically standing in the pedals, leaning forward to shift as much body weight as he could onto his arms, pedalling as fast as he was able, and being steadily and constantly fucked in the ass. There was a little screen set in the middle of the handlebars that showed the speed, time elapsed and distance covered. Dan knew he had to maintain an average speed of 20 km/hr to meet the target set. He knew that Alexa could give him the occasional electric shock up his ass via the dildo, if needed, to encourage him to keep on schedule. If he went faster than required, that didn’t matter, but Dan found it only encouraged Alexa to lengthen the exercise distance or speed next time, so not wise.

After he recovered from his cycling session, Dan had (a very light) lunch and completed his afternoon household chores. Then it was time for Dan to settle himself carefully into the rowing machine for an hour of abdomen toning. Same story; a more flexible rubber dildo was permanently and firmly fixed in the centre of the small sliding rowing seat. It had some give which allowed Dan bend forward and pull back as he completed the rowing stroke, his feet locked firmly in the foot pedals. The dildo also had two metal rings spaced over its length. They carried the shock current for when Alexa decided Dan needed incentivising. Dan’s hands were free, but he had to keep them pulling on the handle of the machine in order to keep up the required stroke rate. If Dan stopped pulling he got shocked repeatedly in the ass until he started pulling again.

During the first week, at the end of the exercise bike session, Dan would be shattered. As the saddle post automatically lowered, it took all of Dan’s strength to pull himself up off the dildo. He would stagger off the bike, his legs on fire, trembling and weak. He could hardly stand up, stumbling the first steps away from the bike, bending over, gasping for breath, his hands resting on his wobbling knees. Sometimes he would drag himself to the corner and curl up beside the hole in the ground toilet, his guts heaving, threatening to spill his light fibre rich breakfast into the void. But it got better, soon he accepted the burn toward the end of the session, got into the endorphin rush, stuck with it as Alexa upped the rate to 30 km/ hr. Took the occasional zap in the ass in the spirit of no pain, no gain.

Likewise for the rowing machine, as the days went by Dan got into the rhythm of it, and his fitness improved. Catch, draw, lift, back…catch, draw, lift, back…catch, draw, lift, back, Dan would get the strokes rate up to where Alexa was happy. He could let his mind drift and imagine himself on the river Thames below Oxford of a summer’s evening. Jolly good show, chaps, blade on the feather, all that stuff. Admiring female undergraduates lining the riverbank. The ripple of Dan’s taut leg muscles as he pushed through the stroke, bringing a soft flush to their rosy cheeks, a hint of delicate perspiration to their upper lip, a teasing warmth to …..Agggghh! A hot whip of wincing pain shot through Dan’s lower abdomen as Alexa shocked him for letting his stroke rate drift down.

Dan would quickly pick up the stroke. He was a slave on a roman galley now. Facing him and the other galley slaves, on a platform up at the stern, a helmeted Roman amazon wearing only a light, almost see-through, knee length tunic, beat out the stroke rate on a big kettle drum. Thump….. thump….. thump….. thump. All the naked slaves staring, entranced, at the clear outline of her full breasts as they bounced heavily each time she hit the drum with her club. She haughtily looked back at her chained, enslaved oarsmen, beating their eyes down with the sheer arrogance of her stare, forcing them to accept their servility, their deference to her. She who decided their fate; from how fast they row, and when they get to stop rowing, to whether they live or die.

Dan was hard now. She was looking directly at him, her lips curled in a sneer. He knew when she did that, that he was about to feel the sting of a whip across his shoulders. Her sergeant, or corporal, or whatever, patrolled up and down the centre aisle between the line of galley slaves. Sometimes she was completely naked save for a roman helmet and her whip. She had a Phoenician look; dark hair, a long straight nose and piercing brown eyes. She sported a luscious bush of curly black pubic hair, from which she regularly pissed a strong stream of warm piss over her galley slaves. They daren’t try to duck out of its way. Just take it, splashing over their heads and shoulders, running down their faces sometimes. Her role seemed to be to remind the slaves of their powerlessness. She whipped at random. They all got to feel the sting of her lash. They had to keep rowing. Alexa upped the rate. Ramming speed now; thump.. thump.. thump.. thump.. thump. That meant Dan was into the last ten minutes of the session. He could do it.

In the end of each stroke, when Dan would have slid fully forward, his knees bend up to his chest, the slider seat would hit the stop, sending the dildo thumping against his prostate, and a drop of pre-cum would ooze out of Dan, the galley slave’s, throbbing cock, in full view of the drum beating lady, who smiled contemptuously at his helpless arousal. On the reverse stroke, as he stretched back, legs straight out in front, the dildo pressed hard up into him, a constant reminder of his stuffed state. Forced to suffer a daily arse fucking at the hands of his owners, for as long as they liked. On the next forward stroke another, bigger, spurt of precum oozed out.

The inevitable happened once. It was towards the end of one such pleasurable rowing fantasy. Dan came involuntarily when the Phoenician whip lady pissed directly in his face. As he spurted cum over the rowing machine, Dan’s rowing rhythm was shot to pieces. Alexa launched into confused paroxysms of dildo shocks, as she tried to get Dan back on stroke, which only made things worse. Immediately the iPad on the wall of the slave quarters lit up. Mary’s face came on the screen just as Dan’s convulsive thrusts were subsiding.

‘Well Dan. My phone lit up with all sorts of alerts. I thought you might be having a heart attack. Had a little accident, I see?’

‘Sorry, Madam.’

‘Enjoying your rowing exercise a little too much, maybe?’

‘Yes, Madam… I mean, no Madam. I’m really sorry, Madam.’ Dan knew it was time to turn on the humble apologies tap full blast. But too late.

‘You will be sorry, alright. That will be three hours in the T-Bar for you. I’m dining out this evening. Alexa can decide the punishment. I’ve registered it as a grave misdemeanour. I’ll release you when I get home. I’ll enjoy seeing the state of your ass after Alex had dealt with you.’ The screen went blank. Dan’s feet were promptly released from the rowing machine foot pedals by Mary springing the ankle cuffs open using her phone.

‘Yes, Madam,’ replied Dan humbly to the now blank tablet screen.

Dan wearily eased himself up off the seat and its attached dildo, his anus muscles still giving a few post-coital spasmodic twitches, still gripping at the rubber sides of the dildo as he carefully slid his ass free. He noticed that, sadly for him, the LED beside the slit under the T- bar now glowed red and was flashing. This LED was an enhancement, or, to be more accurate, a refinement, of the punishment afforded by the T-bar. It was another of Mary’s IT-type improvements. As well as now being able to open the T-bar cuffs remotely Mary thought it was a good idea to have an LED light that was always on, indicating that the T-Bar was ready for action. A constant reminder to the slave that he could suffer punishment at any moment. A reminder to be good, dutiful and obedient at all times.

There was a colour code. The LED was normally green. That was the basic setting. If Dan had to place himself in the T-bar when the LED was green, then the good news was that Alexa’s automatic whip was not going to snake out from the slot under the T-bar and give his ass an automated thrashing. It would just be a simple confinement, though it might last many hours. When the LED was showing yellow, orange or red, it indicated a whipping would be applied and the colour indicated the amount of whipping Alexa would administer. Seeing the LED upped the anticipation for the slave. Heightened the experience, you could say.

The LED went into flash mode as soon as the slave was advised he was to go into the T-Bar, be it by Alexa or Mary. When the LED light started flashing, Dan had 30 seconds to get himself into position with his arms locked behind him in the T-bar. The main idea was to prevent Dan dilly dallying and delaying his punishment. It also stopped him grabbing some food, or a drink, or using the toilet before locking himself into the T-bar.

Following his slave galley mishap, Dan had duly bent over, raising his arms behind him and reversed into the T-bar. As soon as his wrists clipped into the cuffs of the T-bar, it triggered Alexa’s punishment announcement.

‘The slave’s transgression has been rated grave. The punishment is set at sixty strokes, to be administered at half hour intervals over the three hour duration of the slave’s confinement. The first ten strokes will commence…’

Dan braced himself, tensing his buttocks taut and firm to take the first sharp slash of Alexa’s whip. He lifted himself up on his toes to take the first ten strokes on the top of his thighs. That way he could gradually lower his ass so as to present fresh undamaged skin for each successive round of punishment. He knew from experience that getting whipped on already whipped flesh was doubly painful. ‘

… in approximately thirty minutes.’

Dan hated the deferred punishment thing. Even as he unclenched his buttocks and tried to think happy thoughts, he knew that the next thirty minutes of waiting were going to seem like the whole three hours. He also knew he would have lost track of the time so that the first sudden lash of Alexa’s whip would catch his ass unaware, relaxed and flabby. It would score him deeply and painfully. Worse, it leave him liable to being whipped painfully in the same spot at some stage over the next three hours.

And so it proved. After three hours in which he received six carefully spaced out machine administered whippings, Dan was not a happy man, and yes, he had pee’d on the floor at some stage to add to his misery. When Mary came home and released him later that evening, she took pleasure in her slave’s sorry condition. His red eyes told her that the experience had moved him to tears. Ha! And, in her view, rightly so. After all control of a slave’s cock, and specifically, control of its emissions, was was fundamental to enslavement, as she saw it. Key to the whole sex slave thing. Which was what Dan had signed up for; to be a controlled slave, especially as regards sexual activity. So it was important, she felt, to remind Dan the slave, in no uncertain terms, the importance she placed on his enforced chastity.

Mary had Dan clean up himself and his mess before she ordered him join her in the front room. There she had him make her a cocktail and then kneel between her legs and lick her to a satisfyingly gentle orgasm while she sipped her cocktail and admired the parallel vivid red weals on his buttocks, stretching from his upper thighs to the small of his back. She sent him to bed, happy that her slave had been appropriately humbled and brought into line — all without her having to lift a finger.

But that lapse aside, Dan made good progress on the fitness regime. The flab melted away, his legs, arms and abdomen grew taut and toned. He felt quite proud of the tidy figure he cut as he waited, naked and tied to the foot of Sophia’s staircase. Even the heavy bicycle lock around his neck seemed right. Bit of an African slave being transported to the colonies thing about it. A Kunta Kinte moment; the heavy steel collar, a punishment collar for the runaway slave as he awaited the arrival of his cruel whip wielding master to repossess him. Dan’s dick stiffened some more at that thought and a drop of precum glistened at the tip. Then a shadow crossed the small stained glass window in the front door and the doorbell sounded. Dan froze. He half hoped it wasn’t Mary, but being seen naked and shackled at the foot of Sophia’s stairs by some local wouldn’t be much better. Ruin his image of being just another American in Paris. In his heart he knew that his dream of freedom was probably dead. As if to confirm it, Sophia brushed passed him in the narrow hall, like he wasn’t there, and opened the front door wide.

‘You must be Mary. Do come in.’

Dan looked sheepishly at Mary, his wife and owner, as she stepped up and into the hallway. After shaking hands with Sophia, Mary turned and looked Dan up and down.

‘Well, well. What have we here? The runaway slave? She reached under Dan’s balls and lifted them before squeezing and kneading them hard.’ Not going anywhere fast now are we, Slave?’ as she kept kneading his balls.

‘Ouch! No. Madam. It just happened. Uuuh….Spur of the moment thing. AggghI..I’m v..very sorry, Madam. Ooooww!

‘I suspect you will be.’ She let Dan’s sore balls drop free and turned towards Sophia. ‘We have some business to finalise, yes?’

‘Indeed,’ said Sophia ‘Come this way,’ indicating the door into the living room.

‘Just a moment, if you would,’ said Mary, rooting in her bag. She produced the big pink ball gag that Dan knew well. She asked Sophia if it was okay to gag the slave. Said she didn’t want him getting emotional and trying to make any maudlin speeches.

‘Good idea,’ replied Sophia. Mary had Dan open wide and quickly pulled the pink ball gag tight in behind his teeth.

The women didn’t bother closing the door on Dan. Clearly, whether Dan overheard their business or not was of no account as far as they were concerned. Mary reached inside her tote bag and produced a document.

‘This is a standard deed of sale. I’ve already signed it and had it witnessed. I’ve added a clause giving me first option on buying back the property should you chose to sell the slave at a later date. Everything else is standard. I’ve a copy for me. I don’t want to rush you, but I have to get back to a meeting. Have a look at it.’

Don’t worry, I won’t keep you,’ said Sophia, quickly glancing down through the short document. ‘All seems in order and as we agreed. We have a deal.’ They shook hands and Sophia handed Mary a bulging brown envelope. ‘Here’s the balance due on completion of the transfer. Cash as agreed. I’ll just get you the other stuff.’

Cash! Dan realised only then what was happening before his eyes. He was being bought. He couldn’t believe it. Sophia had just handed Mary a bundle of cash in exchange for him! He had been bought by this Sophia person! Like she was buying a packet of cornflakes. He had just been sold by his wife. Sold!! Like a slave in the markets of ancient Rome. Felt that nervous twitch of his anus. Felt a threatened dribble of pee. Had to press his knees together, till the moment of panic passed. His first thought was they can’t do that. This does not happen in real life. Not in Paris, anyway. Not anywhere this side of the Middle East probably.

But it had just happened. He saw it. Cash on Delivery! And he was definitely delivered now. Delivered safely into the control of Sophia, the buyer. Dan felt that terrible sinking feeling goes with the realisation that he was the only one not getting it all along. Dumb old Dan, the only one not to figure out the obvious. Slaves get bought and sold. He knew it was provided for under a clause in the original contract, and that he willingly signed that contract, and his signature was witnessed. Probably videoed on Mary’s camera for the record. But who thought any of that stuff was real.

Then another thought struck Dan. ‘Balance due on completion’ meant there had to have been an earlier payment, a down payment when the deal was agreed and the balance to be paid when Dan was delivered to the new owner. Dan couldn’t help feeling how stupid he was to not to even suspect that it might all have been a set up. That he had been sold before he ever got on the plane. Mary must have put an advert up on some kinky online slave exchange, or whatever way slaves are sold these days. He could see the advert; white male, forty, good condition, trim toned body, trained science teacher, good housekeeping, gardening and cooking skills, easy to manage, responds well to discipline. He started to get a hard on again at the thought of being advertised for sale like that.

Or, maybe it was the other way round. Sophia had seemed unusually comfortable around the slave thing once Dan brought the subject up. Didn’t freak out when he said he was a slave. Didn’t act like as newbie slave owner once she had him under control. Maybe Sophia had advertised for a slave who was a science teacher, or science graduate at least, and Mary saw it in the ‘slaves wanted’ listings. That would mean she had already been looking to sell him on. He felt betrayed by his wife now. After all she was still his wife really, as far as Dan was concerned.

The thought of how easily he was played by Sophia on the flight over made Dan feel almost ill. That he actually believed it was he who convinced Sophia to take him on as a teacher. How stupid. That he begged to be locked into her basement. Stupefyingly stupid! That he actually suggested tying himself up. The ultimate stupidity! He found himself struggling against his bonds without realising it. It was more out of frustration with himself than any serious effort at getting free. How they had played him for a fool. How dim and trusting he must seem to Sophia. Mortifying! He was glad he was gagged. He would have howled at his own idiocy if he could.

Just to convince himself, Dan mentally repeated the new reality. I have just witnessed myself being bought and sold. I’m a commodity now. He had that ‘Toto, I feel we are not in Kansas anymore’ moment. This indeed was a totally different country from the make believe slavery back home. Sure, he thought to himself, Mary used to own me — in a pretend sort of way. But I could have walked out the door anytime — aside from the prisoner bit — and started over. But now this lady has actually paid cash for me and does seem to believe she now owns me — in a real sort of way. She really believes I am hers to do with as she wishes. Probably feels entitled to do with me what she wishes, whatever she wishes. His cock stiffened and twitched upright at the thought. Dan didn’t care if the two women saw it. He knew now that his existence was not part of their existence. It was a bit like he was back in his pig suit. They just didn’t see him as him as Dan Murnaghan, anymore. He was a thing that got bought and sold.

Sophia was handing over a bulky bag to Mary. He watched keenly, eager to follow exactly what was going on. After all, this was his life changing before his eyes. And these two women were the ones changing it.

‘The clothes, sneakers and passport are in here. The shirt is damp. It’s in a separate plastic bag. Best you take them all. I don’t want our runaway thinking they are in the house, in case he might be tempted to run again.’

Dan wished she wouldn’t keep going on about the ‘runaway’ aspect of the event. She led him on after all. She was an accessory, he decided.

Mary took the bag and rooted in her own tote. ‘I’m going to give you some stuff that I used to have the slave wear. I won’t be needing them in Dubai.’

Dan saw Mary pull out his collar, wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs. She placed them on the coffee table. ‘These are good quality. I had them made especially and they fit nicely. The collar and cuffs snap shut, and this little key is for opening them. I kept him collared and cuffed most of the time.’

So this is the aftersales service decided Dan. Giving the buyer a few freebies to make them feel better after they had handed over a wadge of dosh. Must be Mary in her marketing mode he thought. It’s a wonder she didn’t give Sophia a free pen with ‘slavers united’ on it.

While reassuring the new buyer that she had made a good purchase, Mary stuffed Dan’s nice new chinos, his wet shirt and his cool new sneakers into her tote bag, followed by his passport.

‘He shouldn’t give you much trouble. He eats anything and is fairly well trained in housework and basic cooking. As you might expect with the male of the species, a little discipline is required now and then to keep him up to standard.’

‘I don’t expect he’ll give me much trouble,’ replied Sophia quickly and confidently. ‘He seems fairly docile. Besides I like to dish out a bit of discipline as a matter of course. Just to remind them who is boss.’

‘Good for you. Now I must be off. Duty calls. Pleasure doing business and all that,’ said Mary, waggling the brown envelope before stuffing in her bag.

‘Work him hard and you will get a good return on your outlay. And do let me know if, in the future, you decide to sell him on, I might make a bid, just for old times’ sake.’ That was Mary’s parting remark, as she walked past Dan. Maybe said it for his sake. She gave him a light slap on the rump, familiar-like, maybe even a little affectionate. Making his stiff cock wobble. Mary ignored it. And Sophia ignored it, as she opened the front door to allow Mary out. Dan saw Mary walk out into the early Paris evening without a backward glance at her former husband standing naked, tied, and tumescent behind her at the foot of the stairs.

‘Bye, Mary,’ whispered Dan to himself as the door slammed shut, thinking bye, bye my wife, bye bye my old life, bye bye the whole works. One tear did trickle down his cheek, and he had a lump in his throat as his wife’s brisk footsteps faded into the distance. Just as well that he was gagged really, he thought. Stop him making a right fool of himself.

Sophia moved past him, back into the front room, and closed the door without looking at him. Dan thought, what now? What the hell now? All the ‘let’s play at slave’ stuff was history now. He was tied and naked in the house of a women he didn’t know from Adam. And she firmly believed she owned him. She had paid good money for him, had a bill of sale. Expects to get her money’s worth too, no doubt. And she likes to dish out discipline, Dan gave an involuntary shivered as his new reality sank in. Alone in a foreign country, tied up, no clothes, no passport. No name even. He had noticed that Sophia had stopped calling him Dan quite a while back and started calling him ‘Slave.’ Had he no name anymore?

Suddenly it came to him, while on the subject of names, that Sophia might not really be a Sophia. It might just have been a made up name while she entrapped him with her job offer. He recalled that Mary had not called her Sophia, or any name for that matter. Maybe they agreed it between them. Keep the slave in the dark. Either way, Dan knew that he would be calling her Madam from now on. He’d probably never find out her real name. And she wasn’t interested in his. The whole grand aunt story might be totally made up for that matter.

Just then Sophia returned to the hall holding a riding crop. She flexed it between her hands while looking evenly at Dan, a little smile playing around her mouth. Dan could smell her shampoo as she stood close to him. She reached up behind his head and removed the gag from Dan’s mouth. She stepped back and looked directly at Dan again.

‘You are my slave now. You do not look at me. Look at the ground. Now! Look down at my feet always, unless I tell you to look elsewhere.’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

Sophia took a quick swipe with the whip at Dan’s semi-shrunken penis, an up from under shot. The rectangular leather tab at the end of the crop connected sharply with the exposed pink knob, causing Dan to flinch and gasp.

‘That’s for daring to look me in the eye. From now you will always address me as Mistress. I am your Mistress.’

‘Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress.’

‘Good. We have an understanding.’

‘After I have something to eat, I will begin your punishment for attempting to run away. A slave who signs up to be a slave never runs away. What you attempted was a fundamental breach of the contract you signed voluntarily. You chose to become a slave. You are still a slave. And until somebody decides to release you from your contract, you will remain a slave. The purpose of this punishment will be to convince you to never attempt to run away again.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ nodded Dan in anxious agreement. Wanting to get on the right side of his new owner. He was anxious to make it clear, as clear as any tied and naked slave could, without speaking out of turn, that he would never attempt the low, cowardly, despicable act of running away again.

‘In case you are wondering what your punishment involves, I will tell you. You can be thinking about it while I’m having my dinner. Basically I’m going to beat you once a day for the next week, each day and every day. There will be variety; the whip, the cane, the paddle, whatever and wherever. I intend to find out what makes you jump most. Then that will be the end of it.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ said Dan, nodding again to indicate that he concurred fully with this too. He decided It would be best to project his assent without speaking. Something told him that Sophia might impart particular pain with that whip if she decided he was speaking without being given permission to speak. Clearly, she knew how to use it.

‘Aside from that, we’ll get on with doing the job we discussed on the flight over. There will be other jobs I’ll have you do, but that job is the basic reason I bought you.’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ with more manic nodding from Dan. He wondered if he was overdoing the nodding. She might think he’d lost it totally.

Sophia, if that was who she was, placed the crop on the hall floor in front of Dan, and said. ‘Gaze on it, Slave. Think about what I’ve said. I’ll be back shortly to take you to the basement for your punishment to begin.’

‘Yes Mistress,’ nodded Dan at his new owner’s disappearing back as she returned to the living room, closing the door to behind her.

The tip of his penis still stung and itched. A reminder of what was to come, maybe.