Sausages for the Slave Ch. 15

Literotic asexstories – Sausages for the Slave Ch. 15 by dyetied,dyetied
Dan’s new life in Paris properly began the day after Mary, his wife and former owner, had departed on her three year posting to Dubai. It took that reality; her on a plane heading for Dubai, him chained in a basement in some suburb of Paris, to force Dan to accept the facts. Mary had sold him on. Like a second hand car is sold on.

There was no going back. Money had changed hands. He now had a new owner. A total stranger, Sophia by name, or so she says. She was an American of French descent. That that was a good thing, Dan realised, it meant she spoke English. In his new ‘slave for sale on the open market’ state, there was no guarantee that any future owner would speak his language.

On his first night as her slave, Sophia had said she would make him suffer a whole week of punishments for attempting to escape from his former owner, and wife, Mary. That first night, he was whipped with a riding crop. Dan carried five livid red stripes on his ass for the next two days. The next day’s ball beating had left him very tender in that area. On the third night she had stung him all over with nettles, the painful effects of which had lasted till dawn.

As a result, on this his fourth morning under Sophia’s roof, Dan was most anxious to please his new owner ahead of his anticipated fourth punishment that evening. At the same time he had quietly resolved in the course of his sleepless, nettle stung night that he would escape the first moment he could. This despite having recited after each of the three previous punishment sessions that he would never, ever, attempt to escape again. Even honest Dan had concluded that honesty is not always the best policy. He would walk out Sophia’s front door naked and in chains, if that is what it took, the first chance he got.

Sophia did not wait till evening to begin Dan’s fourth punishment. What she had planned was more a humiliation than a punishment. After Dan had washed and was breastfed for breakfast, Sophia had him bend over, hands on the ground, feet spread, no diaper.

He heard her go across the room to the toy box, as he had named it, and fumble around in it. When she returned she moved in behind him, grasped his balls and pulled them back between his legs. Dan felt her place something like a length of wood against his thighs and over his stretched scrotum so that the wood or whatever balanced on top. He felt her place a second piece of wood against his thighs and beneath his scrotum. Next his balls were squeezed as Sophia brought the two pieces of wood together somehow, either some screw tightening mechanism of just by tying them tight to each other.

Dan gasped and whimpered involuntarily as the tightening grip of the two pieces of wood set up a dull painful ache in his balls. Sophia eased back a little on the tightness and his breathing eased. It’s a humbler, thought Dan, recognising the scenario that was playing out. His knowledge of humblers extended only to what he had seen online back in the day when he could access the internet. Back when all this sort of stuff seemed very exotic and exciting. This was the reality. It was unexciting, and painful.

‘Let’s see you stand up, Slave.’

Dan lifted his hands off the floor and got to where his body was horizontal without any problem. The pull on his balls began to increase as he raised his torso further. The ache grew steadily and became a severe pain before he was anywhere near upright. Dan gasped at the pain and abandoned trying to stand up any further.

‘OK. That seems about right, said Sophia, noting her slave’s discomfort. ‘You can bend forward till you are comfortable,’ she offered gracefully. Dan quickly bent over till he was horizontal again, his face facing the floor below him. Sophia clipped his wrist cuffs under his chin.

‘Walk around.’

Dan walked carefully around the basement room, his day chain clanking and dragging behind him, bent over like a ninety year old man. Each step caused a little twinge in his balls, so he moved slowly and carefully. Sophia assessed his painful progress and was satisfied.

‘That looks about right. Now, tell me why you are going to be humbled for the day, Slave.’

‘Because I tried to run away, Mistress.’

‘That’s right. Keep walking and say the magic words over until I tell you to stop, Slave.’

Dan, bent over and suitably humbled, continued stepping gingerly around the room. He repeated the mantra of the last three days.

‘I’m sorry I tried to run away. I will never run away again, Mistress.’

Sophia scrolled through her phone while she had Dan continue his penitential shambling around the room for about twenty repetitions of his lines. Dan felt mocked, pathetic and powerless. And there was nothing he could do about it, because he was powerless, and pathetic. Eventually Sophia directed him over to the desk and unclipped his hands.

‘Sit down, Slave and get to work. You have a full programme of lesson plans to get through today. I’ll check in on you later and let you use the bathroom.’

Dan sat down gently on the edge of the chair. It was a relief to know that he could sit carefully without adding any more discomfort than the persistent dull ache caused by the squeezing of the humbler on his balls. Once Sophia left the basement, Dan examined the humbler as best he could. It was nothing fancy, just two narrow lengths of wood with rounded edges. There was a curved slot in the centre of each length of wood to keep his scrotum in position behind his squeezed testicles. At each end, a threaded bolt held the two pieces of wood together. There was a lock nut on top that locked the humbler at whatever tightness Sophia decided. Nothing fancy, no bespoke varnished black curved mahogany elegance. Just two pieces of wood. Sophia doesn’t do fancy when it comes to BDSM equipment, decided Dan, Highly effective at the same time, was the considered view of Dan the scientist, as he tried to settle down to writing up his lesson plans.]

Towards lunchtime, Sophia arrived into the basement with what Dan would come to know as his classroom clothes. Sophia advised Dan that she had created the outfit for him to wear when he was on display to others. That would be mostly when he was giving online tutorials, which he would be starting shortly, she said. It was a two piece outfit, consisting of a roll neck pullover and a pair of stripper trousers. The turtle neck sweater was normal, with the advantage that it covered his collar and wrist cuffs, just like the one he had worn back when he was Mary’s slave but still teaching.

His trousers were different. Either Sophia had ordered a pair of stripper trousers online, or altered a pair of normal trousers by inserting Velcro seams starting at the back of the waistband and running down the lengths of the back of the trouser legs. Think of your typical male stripper reveal moment, The Full Monty or Magic Mike, when they rip their trousers off. Same principle only in reverse — and not at all exciting.

After directing Dan, bent over by the humbler, to the shower/toilet corner and callously watching him pee, Sophia had him put the outfit on. The roll neck sweater was no problem. It covered his collar and cuffs nicely. She had him stand as upright as he could, with his hands resting on the desk and wrapped the trousers around his waist, pressing the Velcro together at the back. Then she pressed the trouser legs closed around each of Dan’s legs starting at the ankle and moving up. The fit around the crotch was loose enough to accommodate the humbler inside the trousers. Sophia shackled Dan’s ankle cuffs together with the short chain and clipped his wrist cuffs to his collar.

‘Let’s see you walk around with the clothes on.’

Dan obediently shuffled across the basement bent almost horizontal to ease the painful drag of the humbler on his balls.

‘You’ll do, Slave. I’m going to display you to the neighbours over lunch. I have invited them in to view my new slave. They will be having wine and canapes. Your job will be to circulate, bent over as you are, holding a plate of canapes in each hand.’

The shock of the announcement stopped Dan in his tracks. Forgetting his humbler, he attempted to stand upright and look suitably indignant. A sharp pain in his balls and an aching pull in his groin stopped him dead and he was forced to bend forward again and take a few breaths. It should have reminded him that as a slave it didn’t matter what he thought. But Dan was well past thinking straight, such was his disbelief at what Sophia was proposing. Ignoring the absolute impropriety of it, the slave dared to question his owner.

‘But Mistress, what will they think? Keeping a slave is considered very uncool these days,’ he interjected bravely, desperate to put Sophia off this mad idea. Dan still harboured some vague notion of escaping the slavery yoke while in Paris, yet still working for Sophia for no wage. While earning his freedom he could present himself in the neighbourhood as a science tutor just lodging in Sophia’s. If Sophia told the neighbours he was her slave it would blow his chances of achieving any sort of normality. Not good.

‘I didn’t ask for your opinion, Slave. And neither am I amused by your impertinence. Clearly, a little more training is needed in that regard. I’ll come back to that later.’

Dan, bent over and humbled, knew well that he’d overstepped the mark, but he had been desperate to avoid being outed as a slave. He accepted that he would pay a price for it. He had tried, was all he could console himself with. Sophia decided it was time Dan understood his position in relation to the neighbours in the little suburb of Viroflay.

‘I’ll lay it out for you, Slave. The neighbours are already aware that I keep slaves from time to time. You are not the first. I find it useful that the neighbours know and recognise my slaves. Come spring, I might let you out in the back garden, or beyond. Even walk you down the main street. The neighbours need to know who you are, and what you are. If anyone doubts the fact that I have voluntary slaves, I show them the contract the slave has signed. Then they realise that the slave wanted to be a slave in the first place, and entered into slavery voluntarily. Which is a completely different thing from enforced slavery.’

‘Besides, I tell them it’s a form of psychotherapy. There is a little brass plate on the pillar at the front gate. Says I’m a psychotherapist and sexual therapy practitioner. As far as they are concerned, I’m facilitating you by letting you work out your fantasies. Instead of charging you a fee, I let you pay me by working for me. Which is sort of true. Isn’t it, Slave?’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ conceded a defeated Dan. He thought about enquiring about what would happen if he decided he didn’t want to be a slave any more. But, as if reading Dan’s thoughts, Sophia pointed out that the contract states that the slave can only be released from slavery with the agreement of both parties, the owner and the slave.

‘Slavery is what you signed up for, Slave. And slavery is what you’ve got. There would be no point in doing it if you could just opt out of it if you are having a bad day. To experience true slavery, the slave has to learn to do what they are told to do, even if they don’t feel like doing it. That’s what you will be doing this afternoon when you are passing around the canapes. So welcome to slavery, Slave. You might have gotten away with the “I’m your husband and you’re my wife and we should be reasonable about this” trick with Mary. Not anymore. What you will experience from now on is true slavery.’

With that, Sophia bade Dan to open his mouth, which he did, obedient slave that he decided he’d better be. She stuffed the ball gag in and tied it tightly behind his head, forcing Dan into silence. Next she attached a light blue dog leash to Dan’s collar. She led him out of the basement room and upstairs. Progress was slow as Dan gasped at the sharp jab of pain in his balls each time he lifted his foot up a step. She let his pause at the top, bent fully over to ease the pain.

‘Good boy, the worst is over. Going down won’t be so bad,’ said Sophia as she looped Dan’s leash around the banister post in the hall, near the front door. She left him there, bent over, facing the front door, awaiting with dread the first ring of the doorbell. It was the same spot she had parked him three weeks ago while he came to terms with the fact that his bid to escape Mary’s clutches had failed miserably.

While he waited, resigned to being outed to all her neighbours, Dan imagined what it might be like in springtime. Sophia leading him down the road by the light blue lead. Dan bent double by the humbler. Walking him like you would walk a pet dog. They would walk up the street to the boulangerie, Sophia giving a ‘bonjour’ left and right as she meets fellow shoppers. Dan keeping his head down, because he had to, bent over by the humbler. Getting the occasional tousle of his hair, or a playful pat on his ass, from a passer-by. Then Sophia would tie off the lead to an iron ring set into the timber of the pastry shop doorframe and enter the shop. Dan would wait outside, bent over, tied to the ring by the lead, while Sophia browsed. She might even linger for twenty minutes over a coffee and croissant with a pal.

He could imagine some old lady pottering along with her poodle in tow, stopping to feed Dan a few doggy treats from the palm of her hand. Patting his head, muttering ‘quel bel esclave’ or some such. Dan obliged to snuffle up the dog nibbles and respond with a ‘merci, Madame.’ While across the cobbled street he could make out the metal loop outside the charcuterie where he would likely next be tied to as Sophia made her rounds of the shops. Dan had a roaring hard on by now. It was forced to point downwards towards the hall floor due to the pull of the humbler on his scrotum. He was doubly glad of the trousers because, as well as giving him some dignity, they would prevent him dripping precum on the parquet. Just then the doorbell rang. The first of the neighbours had arrived.

For the rest of the afternoon, Dan bravely suffered the utter humiliation of being introduced to Sophia’s neighbours as her slave. Being forced to obsequiously circulate among these neighbours while bent double and holding a platter of canapes above his bent-over head, one in each hand, reminded him constantly of his condition. He was just a slave. All the while he suffered a dull ache from his squeezed testicles and the occasional sharp jab of pain when he stretched to reach his platter towards a visitor.

Dan knew he looked stupid, and he felt stupid. The language barrier added to it. He didn’t know what anybody was saying, or whether they were talking about him. Every so often a guffaw of laughter would burst out from a group, and Dan assumed that they were laughing at him. Yet he had to continue circulating, bent over, with his platters of canapes held high, serving those who were laughing at and making jokes about him to his face.

Lifting his mouth off her nipple after his morning feed the next day, Dan wondered nervously what his day five punishment might be. He didn’t have to wait till evening to find out. Immediately she had put her breast back in her nursing bra, Sophia led him to the whipping post, towing him by his penis. As she tied him facing the whipping post, and after she gagged him, Sophia told him the good news. This to be his last punishment for trying to run away.

The prospect of a daily punishment had hung over Dan like a dark cloud since Sophia had first announced it. It left him more than a little traumatised at the end of each day. No matter what she might be about to inflict on him now, Dan was still happy that the end of his ‘running away’ punishments was in sight.

‘I am going to have you barcoded, Slave. Tattooed with the barcode of your slave registration number. It will be a ‘lasting punishment’ rather than a painful punishment. Every time you see that barcode on your arm it will remind you that you failed in your duty as a slave. Remind you that you tried to run away.’

Dan wasn’t too fussed. Mainly because he didn’t expect this ‘punishment’ to be particularly painful. People get tattooed all the time, he told himself. Apparently it’s not pleasant, but not so bad either. While tattoos can last forever, Dan knew he could get it lasered off if he ever managed to escape from Sophia’s clutches.

He waited about half an hour, tied to the post, naked and gagged, until Sophia led her tattoo artist friend into the basement. One hour later Dan had matching barcodes on the back of his neck, on his right shoulder, front and back, his left forearm, just above where he would wear a wrist watch, and on the back of his right calf.

Afterwards, as Sophia untied Dan from the post and ungagged him, she told him that if he ever tried to escape from her, she would have the barcode tattooed across his forehead and across each cheek. Dan didn’t doubt it but said nothing while Sophia led him, holding him by the balls this time, to the computer desk. She told him to sit and switch on the laptop. She took out her phone and scanned the barcode on the back of Dan’s neck, sending the results to the laptop.

Dan looked in horror at the screen. Up came his slave register file; Slave registration number, both his original name, and the name Mary had given him, a headshot and two naked photos of him, front and back. Beneath the pictures his vital statistics, eye and hair colour etc. were listed. After the label ‘last known location’ were latitude and longitude coordinates. These, no doubt, would locate him at Sophia’s address right now. Worse was the footnote under the head shot: Warning: This slave has previously attempted to escape.

Sophia said a slave’s location was not normally displayed on the slave websites. But it was an option that could be activated by her at any time. Should he run away, the barcode tattoos would allow runaway slave hunters track him more easily. She claimed there were lots of barcode reading devices out and about. They automatically scan and pick up any bar code that passes across their field of view. Airports and train stations as well as supermarkets and other shops, she said. You can post a barcode onto a watch list and you get a text whenever that code is scanned, stating where and when.

Fine, thought Dan, not too convinced about the scanners everywhere theory. I’ll just wear long trousers and a long sleeve shirt whenever I break for the border. But he knew the internet wasn’t quite so obliging. The ‘right to forget’ especially didn’t extend to slave registers on the dark web. Dan’s hope of disappearing back into normal society – after his escape – and allowing the whole slave phase of his life fade to a bad memory might not be as easy as he had hoped.

That evening, after he was fed and before being prepped for bed, Sophia led Dan, by the penis this time, to the whipping post once more. She gave him ten fierce lashes across his recently recovered buttocks with the riding crop for questioning the wisdom of meeting the neighbours the previous day. And that was that, subject closed as far as Sophia was concerned. Dan, suitably chastised and chastened, resolved never to try to second guess his owner again.

He lay face down that night on his mattress, his ass throbbing with pain. Once more, he lifted himself up on his knees and pushed a turd into his diaper. Sophia hadn’t specifically asked for it, but Dan knew she expected it and he wasn’t prepared to suffer further. As it happened, that was the last night that that he had to fill his diaper before morning. Sophia felt the point was proven. She was confident that her new slave would, from now on, comply totally with whatever she demanded of him.

After that, Dan’s life in the basement settled into a simple pattern. Sophia was more relaxed around Dan knowing that he now understood and accepted that Mary was out of the picture for good. For his part Dan had no choice but to accept his new role as a slave owned by this person, Sophia.

As the days went by Dan was given more solid food to supplement the breast feeding regime that Sophia had put him on starting out. She reduced the breastfeeding to a short evening feed, for her pleasure more than for his benefit. In time her milk supply would dry up completely, but she still intended to have Dan suck on her breast for her pleasure. She introduced an increasing amount of bottled milk into Dan’s diet.

Sophia made Dan suck the bought milk from an infant’s bottle. It served to humiliate him by demonstrating his total infant-like dependency on her. While Sophia now allowed him use the toilet, just once in the morning and once again before locking him in his cupboard for the night, she still put him in a diaper day and night. Again underlining to Dan that he depended on her, that she could decide, on a whim, what he might and might not be allowed do in this most personal matter.

Dan was still chained at all times and still confined to the basement, day and night. He had not been allowed out, not even into Sophia’s walled back garden. After the first week, Sophia had a rowing machine installed in the basement. She intended to keep her slave fit and trim. Dan now got to do a daily workout. She’s just maintaining the value of the asset for future resale purposes, Dan decided. Sophia was careful like that.

Three weeks into his slavery under Sophia, Dan’s lack of sexual release continued. His balls were aching and blue with unrelieved need. Sophia still clipped his wrist cuffs to his collar each night so, as Sophia put it, Dan needn’t worry about being tempted to give himself an unapproved release. At the same time, she had no qualms about teasing him each morning with the white fluffy towel. She seemed to be able to balance being careful with her slave’s freedoms while being callous as to his needs and wants. A careful yet callous owner. This was a new experience for Dan.

While he was locked in the basement, Dan would regularly hear doors banging upstairs, other typical sounds from around the house, conversations, laughter, footsteps on the stairs, the doorbell ringing. Sounds of other people coming and going. Sometimes there was only silence. Sophia had gone out, Dan concluded, wondering where she might have gone, and why. Clearly she had a life. She was running her business he guessed. Meeting the clients; parents of the kids they were both tutoring online, he supposed.

Three weeks in, Dan still struggled to figure out just where he stood with Sophia, personally. She clearly wasn’t interested in using him for sex, much to Dan’s disappointment. With the typical lazy conceit of the male, Dan wondered if she was a lesbian. After all, reasoned Dan, any normal female slave owner would be delighted to have the opportunity to take advantage of Dan. And Dan would be happy to oblige. How Sophia catered for these facets of her life was a mystery to Dan. Sophia didn’t feel obliged to enlighten him.

The way the diminutive Sophia manhandled him was unsettling. Sometimes holding on to his penis to lead him somewhere, others times she carelessly pulled him along by his balls. It was as if Dan was a blundering elephant in a zoo being tamely led around by a petite female zoo keeper. When she placed her hands on his hips or waist to turn him this way and that, it was like she was moving furniture. Clearly she didn’t care for him, in either the emotional or sexual sense. Dan seemed to be just one more item in her daily schedule. A job on the job list. Slave sorted for the day; tick. On to the next item.

Occasionally, Dan would catch Sophia looking at him in a calculating way. Like he was a length of cloth she was measuring for curtains. No emotion to the look, just wondering how much she could get out of him. As if she was not sure that he was value for money. That maybe she had paid too much. No doubt, since she had paid good money for this asset, Sophia intended to sweat it for every cent she could get out of it. Then sell it on. That’s business, Dan.

Each morning, once Dan had eaten, Sophia would put him to work. He had one daily duty; to tutor science, online, to English speaking international students in France. Sounds like an easy number, but Sophia set him a ten hour working day, minimum. Dan was kept busy. He either prepared course material for the science lessons and tutorials; chemistry, physics and biology, or gave actual tutorials online. She didn’t burden him with any domestic slave duties. No housekeeping or cooking. The daily routine upstairs was none of Dan’s business as far as Sophia was concerned. She had purchased Dan for one particular task and that was what he would do.

In fact, Dan was quite enjoying the online teaching. Mostly he was doing group Zoom classes, teaching small groups, ten at most. He emailed them their assignments and they emailed him their work for correction. One thing Dan liked about his Zoom classes was that he got to be fully dressed. The other thing was that he was back doing what he was good at, teaching.

He had a few one-on-one Zoom classes for those students whose parents were prepared to pay handsomely for the privilege, mostly wealthy Middle Eastern families. Their kids were spoiled rotten and had little or no inclination to do the necessary work. Sophia even mentioned that she’d had enquiries from one of those families about hiring Dan full time. She joked that she could even sell Dan to them.

She’d tease Dan by reminding him that those rich Middle Eastern families have no issue with owning household slaves. ‘They use them to do all sorts of stuff. So why not tutoring their kids,’ she suggest with a smile. Dan would agree, showing off his knowledge by throwing in that in ancient Rome the teachers were often slaves. The only problem, she liked to joke, was that if the kids did not do well at school it was the tutor that got beaten and not the child. Beaten until the child’s performance improved, she liked to emphasise. Dan picked up the hint of a threat in there. He decided that Sophia was telling that if he didn’t perform to her satisfaction she would beat him. Or she might sell him on to somewhere he would will like a lot less.

Dan’s routine around feeding, sleeping, teaching, exercising continued unchanged until the fourth Monday of Dan’s slavery. The day started out normally, Sophia drying Dan’s throbbing penis with the fluffy towel, as usual. Nothing new there. Three weeks plus without release. Dan wasn’t sure he could take much more of it. But he had to take it. Sophia always stopped her incidental stroking of Dan’s penis before Dan got near the edge.

As ever, Sophia pleasured herself while feeding Dan. Had Dan stand by while she carefully put her drained breasts back in her bra. As usual, she grabbed Dan’s balls, avoiding his hard throbbing penis, but this time she led him to the whipping post, not to his desk. This was a definite change from the routine. Presuming he was going to be punished for some oversight, Dan braced himself for unexpected pain. He couldn’t think, off hand, of anything he’d done to merit punishment. Could it have been a customer complaint, he wondered.

Thinking positively, he decided he was just going to receive a maintenance paddling or some such.. It has been a while since his ten strokes of the riding crop. Sophia had mentioned previously that she felt it was necessary to make a point of punishing him occasionally, just to remind him of his place He’d read about maintenance punishments in the BDSM 101 book he bought for his wife all those years ago.

‘I’m setting you up for a little side hustle,’ is how Sophia put it as she positioned the naked Dan against the whipping post. Up to then there had been no hint that Sophia was planning any change in Dan’s routine. What’s a side hustle, thought Dan. Being ten years older than his thirtyish owner, Dan wasn’t quite up to speed on the latest slang. He wondered, as Sophia pinioned his arms behind him on the post, how much this ‘side hustle’ would hurt. But he knew better than to ask.

Sophia placed Dan facing out and pulled his hands back behind the post to secure them to the waist-height ring at the back of the thick square post, pulling his shoulders hard against the broad post. Next she secured his ankle cuffs to the rings at each side of the post. Only then did she unlock his day chain from his leg. This forced Dan to spread his legs a little. Last time she had done that was for the painful cock and ball torture session she had administered as one of Dan’s early ‘running away’ punishments. Dan felt a shiver course through him at the memory of it, but couldn’t imagine that he had done anything so wrong as to have Sophia decide it as necessary to inflict that level of suffering again. Nevertheless his erect cock quickly slumped and shrivelled up at the thought.

‘Open your mouth, Slave.’ The ball gag went in and was fastened tightly in place without protest from Dan.

After she gagged him, Sophia braced Dan’s head against the whipping post by wrapping a two inch thick elasticated belt around Dan’s head and the post, then pulling it tight from behind. Dan’s head was now securely fixed against the post. Dan found that his vision was strangely limited once his head was secured against the post. He could swivel his eyes right and left but he could not look down at his body. He could look out into the room and see whatever he could see without moving his head. The thick band across his forehead was like a hippy headband from the 1970’s. Dan the slave does Woodstock. Sophia stood back to admire her handiwork and tell Dan what he was there for.

‘Now Slave, here’s the deal. I’ve rented you out for the morning as a stud bull. You should be delighted to know that you are now a certified stud bull. How come, you wonder? Remember your accidental discharge during your first night with me? Well, I kept a little sample that landed on my hand and sent it off for testing. The results were good. Your certified sperm count is now listed on a ‘sperm for sale’ website for anyone to see, along with full length front and back photos and a close up head shot, plus your general vital statistics, size, shape, skin, hair and eye colour and so on. People like to know what they are buying.’

Dan was gobsmacked. This, he wasn’t expecting. His cock started to rise again. Dan the stud. He could identify with that. Sophia hadn’t finished her sales spiel.

‘My unique selling point is that the customers can come and take their sperm directly from the source; you. They can see your blue eyes and your fair hair. The sperm doesn’t arrive in an envelope in the post or get handed to them in a little phial out of a fridge. This is a great comfort to the purchaser. They can actually touch and feel the product — that’s you, Slave.’

Dan was now fully hard. The thought of being objectively used as a sperm bank had a certain appeal.

‘My first customers are due to arrive soon. They are two ladies; a couple. You’ll hear the doorbell ring shortly. I’ll direct them to the basement where they get to use you for the next two hours unsupervised. That’s the other attraction of my offer. They get to do what they want with you for two hours.

Dan was hard as a rock now. He was going to be used sexually for two hours — at last.

‘The reason I have you tied and gagged is so they can get on with their business without interruption from you. The ladies are interested in harvesting and using your sperm, Slave. They are not interested in what you think about the process, or any other opinions you might like to share.’

Sophia disappeared from Dan’s restricted view as she crouched between his legs and dabbed some cool lube against his asshole. Dan flinched with surprise as much as anything else.

‘I’m inserting a prostate massager,’ she said from below his waist as Dan felt a fairly large dildo like object push firmly against his sphincter and slide on in. ‘It’s got a handle out front to move it around to press on the prostate. There’s a remote control. I’ll give it a test’

A rapid buzzing vibration commenced deep inside Dan’s rectum and his cock immediately leaked precum. Sophia quickly switched it off the massager.

‘Don’t want a premature ejaculation, Slave. I just want to know that it works,’ said Sophia standing up and walking over to the table where Dan’s work laptop would normally rest. She placed the small remote control unit on the desk and continued to walk on out the door, closing it behind her without a backward glance at her slave. Typical, thought Dan. No wishing me luck, or hoping it goes well. No instruction, no nothing. That woman definitely has a deficit on the emotional level, he decided.

He waited, strapped to the post, bollock naked with a blatant erection, listening to the silence around him. Could do with some soft music, thought Dan, as he noted that there was an electric kettle, some mugs and tea and coffee making material on a tray on the table beside the remote. Nice homely touch. Then he heard the doorbell ring.

Suffice it to say, the two ladies got their value out of Dan, whatever it was they paid. Knowing Sophia, Dan assumed she didn’t sell him cheap. They arrived into the basement, clearly a couple. Chatting away in French. No time was wasted. While her wife was unpacking the large shopping bag that was slung over her shoulder, the red haired butch looking one quickly took charge of extracting the sperm. She felt Dan up like he was the woman. Running her hands up his thighs, cupping his balls, giving them a squeeze. Then on up his abdomen, making him shiver, up to his chest and onto his nipples, squeezing and twisting them, forcing a reaction, a sharp intake of breath. Letting him know she was in charge.

‘Tu fonctionneras bien pour moi, garcon,’ she said, putting a condom over Dan’s straining cock. If Dan could have nodded he would have — whatever she said. She stroked Dan’s cock quickly, looking coolly into his eyes as she did so, demanding that he perform. And he did. In about ten seconds, Dan felt his scrotum tighten hard against his groin and he came heavily, grunting into his gag. The husband, as Dan had decided to call her, immediately stopped stroking and removed the filled condom. It was like she was using an ATM machine to get out money, or coffee from a coffee machine. She just pushed the necessary buttons and the product was delivered.

Dan didn’t mind being treated like a coffee machine. He had enjoyed the rapid release. He didn’t feel drained, just normal, probably because it had been so long since he had any release. He hadn’t needed extensive foreplay, or any foreplay. Three weeks of abstinence combined with the fluffy towel treatment each morning was foreplay enough. The husband lady deftly removed the filled condom, went over to the big bag, rooted out a small glass bottle and transferred Dan’s load into it, sealed it and placed it in a small cool box which was then deposited back in the black bag. All done, in an instant. Dan was feeling proud of his stud bull performance. He had produced the goods which were now safely stored for later use. Dan wondered if they were going to go away now that they had got what they came for. It had taken only ten minutes rather than the two hours booked for the session. Easy money for Sophia.

The husband lady and her partner were showing no signs of packing up and leaving. In fact they were now unrolling a large yoga mat. They are not planning on leaving here anytime soon, Dan concluded. Besides, if they’ve paid for two hours they are probably going to take the two hours, if only to have a picnic, he reasoned. Dan had heard somewhere that the French like to get value for their money. Breathing heavily and basking in the afterglow of his pent up release, Dan decided he didn’t mind. They might as well enjoy the tea and biscuits. He was held motionless against the whipping post, save for the occasional spasmodic twitch of his still hard cock. He resigned himself to a long wait.

Instead of having tea, the two ladies got each other naked. Slowly, teasingly, having fun with each other. Then they made out on the yoga mat in front of him for about fifteen minutes, with much signing and moaning. It was like he wasn’t there or, like he was a statue. Dan the cigar store Indian. The husband lady paused their play to retrieve the remote from the table and walked over to Dan. She was naked now, tall, slim and small breasted. Her hair was very short and blond red. She had blue white skin and a light pubic fuzz of red curly hair. Very striking and very French, thought Dan, feeling his erection return to full strength. She pressed a button on the remote and Dan felt the low buzzing start behind his prostate. She reached under his scrotum, grasped the handle of the massager, and moved it about inside him. Dan responded, moving his hips a little and giving a pleasurable grunt behind his gag. His cock responded, hardening and twitching.

‘Ca te plait, garcon,’ she commented with a grin, fitting another condom over Dan’s manhood.

Then she went back to her wife, who had being lying on her side on the mat, up on one elbow, gazing with interest. She commented to her partner, something in French. Dan decided she said, this guy is good. He’s ready to go again. Her partner lay back on her back on the yoga mat and opened her legs, inviting her husband to go down on her. Which she did. Dan could only watch as they had a bit more fun, a then bit of tenderness, playfully biting and nipping like young pups. The endearments and encouragements were all in French, so Dan was none the wiser, but he didn’t really need to know what they were saying. Big picture; they were having a ball and he got to watch. His cock was hard and twitching now. The husband disengaged herself once more and approached Dan.

‘Pret encore, garcon?’ reaching under him with one hand to grab the buzzing massager, the other grasping his cock once more. Dan found the being under the steady gaze of the naked lady on the yoga mat, while being manhandled by the naked red head very exciting. This is my first threesome he said to himself as the red head reached under his balls with one hand to manoeuvre the massager while the other hand grasped his dick. It took a little longer this time. But her deft stroking combined with her steady fucking of him in the ass with the massager drew another satisfying ejaculation from Dan. This time, after she switched off the vibration on the massager, she left the condom in place on Dan’s cock, the sperm filled tip flopping over to one side.

Then, the novel bit. The husband lady went to the table and rooted in her bag for a harness which she slipped on over her slim hips and pulled tight to her abdomen. Next she dug out a rather large dildo — Dan was comparing it with what nature had endowed him – and quickly slotted it into the front of the harness. Well used to it, Dan decided, tensing a little as she approached him, her large black phallus swaying over and back menacingly with each step. He needn’t have worried. She had no interest in Dan’s already filled bottom. Instead she removed the condom from his slowly subsiding penis, being careful to not lose any of the sperm in the tip, and immediately stretched it over her dildo. The sperm filled bubble at the top stuck straight up and under pressure.

Dan watched as she pricked the top pf the condom with a pin before going down on her partner and fucking her with the dildo missionary style. The partner wrapped her legs around the redhead’s back, pulling her close and up into her with each thrust. The redhead kept one hand around the base of the dildo, gripping the bottom of the condom. Probably to pull on the condom and force the sperm out the tip, decided Dan the scientist. A sort of artificial ejaculation. Dan stood tied and naked at the post, watching the act of copulation happening right before him, watching his seed being used to inseminate a women whose name he did not know, listening to her quiet moans, moans of wanting, of wishing, of yearning for that seed to mate with her egg and make new life. He hoped it would work out for her.

Dan gazed longingly at her husband, as she rhythmically grunted and thrusted, her blue white buttocks tensing and flexing, as she delivered his sperm deep into her wife. That should be me down there, thought Dan. That’s my job. I should be grunting and thrusting. How long had it been since he had done that, Dan wondered. He couldn’t really remember the last time he had full man-on-woman intercourse with Mary. He knew theoretically. He could calculate it back. Probably sometime before he signed the slave contract. But he couldn’t remember it actually. It was a bit worrying to have forgotten the last time he fucked a woman properly.

Dan found himself thrusting his hips out from the post in time with the redhead’s thrusts, wanting to do it, wanting to play his part in that most fundamental of human activities. Wanting to be a free man. Free to do the very thing he was put on the planet to do; deliver his seed. But that was before he decided to become a slave. Instead, here he was, tied up and watching helplessly while somebody else delivered his seed. Who’s regretting it now, Dan?

The happy couple rested a moment after they finished fucking right there in front of Dan. Gentle kisses were exchanged. Eyes looked deep and lovingly into eyes. Then the husband slowly withdrew, drawing her partner’s legs together and rotating them to the side. The husband stood and removed her harness and dildo. Placed them in a plastic bag and put them away. So that’s it thought Dan. Show’s over. He was feeling fairly drained now, but happy that he had done his bit — twice over. Sophia should be happy.

But the redhead wasn’t finished with Dan yet. Still naked, she walked over once more. Dan felt a little threatened by her approach this time, a little apprehensive. Surely she’s done with me, he thought. She’s already got more than she’s paid for. But the husband lady didn’t think so. She held the prostate massager remote in her hand, finger on the button. Dan felt the buzz move up steadily through the five levels to max, almost uncomfortable, causing him, once more, to rock his hips and thrust into space, seeking relief, his penis hardening again despite the discomfort.

Again she placed one hand under his balls, grasped the handle of the pulsating massager and started fucking his ass steadily. Her other hand stroked his penis to full hardness again. She fitted a condom – the third of the session – and milked him mercilessly until she got the desired result. Dan came in jerks, somewhat painfully, especially as she kept stroking him hard after he came, milking him dry, until he had no more to give. As before, she transferred her smaller harvest to a glass phial and into the cool box.

By the time Dan had got his breath back after that final and slightly brutal drawing off of his sperm, the two ladies had dressed. The red head had taken a few photos of him with her phone while her wife was packing up the yoga mat and gathering their stuff. They went out the door and closed it behind them chatting happily to themselves. The coffee and biscuits remained untouched. Dan could hear their goodbyes upstairs. Sounded happy. Heard the front door shut. Silence. Dan waited for Sophia to release him.

While he waited, Dan reviewed his performance. He felt the boy had done good. Delivered the goods on time and to order. Probably over-delivered, but could he help that? Three ejaculations inside an hour and a bit, he guessed. The ladies were probably planning to have two more insemination sessions over the next two days, Dan the scientist decided. Maximise chances of conception. Soon Dan heard Sophia clattering down the stairs, bright and lively. She came in the open basement door, all smiles.

‘Well done, Slave,’ she said as she loosened the headband that had been holding his head tight to the post.

‘Push out your hips.’

Dan, the stud bull, obliged. Maybe Sophia wants to measure the length of the stud’s penis, he imagined fondly, for the statistics on the website. Maybe it had grown. Sophia reached under him, pulled the prostate massager out of his ass and dropped it into a plastic bag. She quickly slipped his day diaper up behind his ass, pulled the front up and did up the Velcro tabs. She patted it snugly into place under his crotch and gently squeezed his balls through the diaper after she’d done.

‘Just checking it’s a snug fit,’ she commented, looking Dan in the eyes, forcing him to drop his gaze, pulling him brutally off his stud bull pedestal and bringing him back down to the humiliating slave status that was his daily lot. Just like that, Dan was put back in his box. Waiting silently for his owner to decide what use to make of him next. Waiting to be untied from the whipping post. Waiting to be put to work for the rest of the day. Just as Sophia was about to unclip his hands, the doorbell rang.

‘Hold on a minute. That must be them back again. Probably forgot something,’ she said over her shoulder, briskly heading upstairs.

Dan heard muffled voices followed by silence. A little later Sophia appeared in the basement doorway again. She was walking slowly backwards with her hands on her head. The reason she was walking backwards was because there was a woman prodding her in the chest with a small gun forcing her to walk backwards, step by backward step, until they were both standing beside Dan. The gun wielding woman’s face was hidden by a blue Covid face mask and large dark sunglasses. She was dressed in a black snug jumpsuit, the legs of which were tucked into a pair of kick-ass black Doc Martins. A black beanie covered her head. On her back was a tidy black rucksack. Angelina Jolie in Tomb Raider came to Dan’s mind, before the seriousness of the situation put such trivial thoughts aside.

Dan was naked, gagged and tied. It made him a very vulnerable spectator in this ballet between the woman in black and a clearly very anxious Sophia. He hoped he was going to remain a spectator. What if this woman suddenly turned the gun on him? What if she was going to demand that he come again, right now? Was she a sperm thief? If so, Dan seriously doubted that he would be able to deliver. He could feel nothing from his cock, which was taking a well-earned rest. He didn’t want to look down for fear of drawing attention to his diaper and the flatness of its front, No heaving piece of manhood to be found there just now. The possibility that he might be about to be shot for failing to deliver the goods crossed his mind. He closed his eyes and desperately tried to think sexy thoughts.

‘Untie him,’ said the mystery woman, waving her gun in Dan’s direction. She’s American, definitely, decided Dan. He vaguely recognised the voice. But he couldn’t place it, not immediately anyway. He’d need to hear her speak some more.

Dan opened his eyes to see Sophia nervously scramble to get his hands and legs unclipped from the rings of the whipping post. The masked intruder slipped off her back pack while this was happening. She then told Sophia to undo Dan’s leather cuffs and collar. Is this it, wondered Dan. Am I about to be set free?

The woman in black had pulled out an orange garment from her rucksack and told the newly freed Dan to put it on. As the still gagged Dan quickly obliged, he pointed to his diaper with one hand, wondering if it should be removed too. ‘Leave it on. You’ll be needing it.’ Came the unexpectedly curt response. Dan wasn’t going to argue. He pulled on what was a workman’s type coveralls and zipped it up. Having done this he pointed to his gag, raising his eyebrows, questioning. ‘We’ll leave that on too, Dan. It’s necessary. You’ll see why,’ came the reply.

She called me Dan, thought Dan. She definitely called me Dan. So she knows me and I know that I know her from somewhere…. From his home town, probably, but who?

While Dan hurried to zip up his orange coveralls, the woman in black pulled some chains and shackles out of her backpack and tossed them to Sophia. ‘Cuff his hands in front and put this chain tight around his waist and lock the cuffs to it. Then shackle his feet with these.’ Sophia hopped to it. She was going to do to Dan whatever the woman in black told her to do to Dan. No point in getting shot for a slave would be her reasoning. Can always buy another one. Meanwhile, Dan was perplexed and worried. He’d had less than one minute of freedom before he found himself back in handcuffs and leg irons. Am I being kidnapped for my sperm? Is she going to keep me as a sperm slave?

‘Don’t worry, Dan. This is just for the optics,’ said the woman in black in response to Dan’s anxious frown. ‘I’m getting you out of here.’

Oh, yeah, thought Dan, then why am I tied up? He started running through who she might be. Could she be one of the old Slave Dan podcast subscribers? Missing her weekly fix of Slave Dan’s antics, maybe. But he definitely recognised the voice. Someone from his old school or, from the shops he used go to in town, or even one of the Manor Homes Village people? Who could it be?

The woman in black had turned her attention to Sophia. Directed her to stand against the whipping post and produced another set of handcuffs. She cuffed one of Sophia’s wrists and closed the other end of the handcuff around one of the rings in the post. A taste of her own medicine, thought Dan.

‘There is a timer built into those cuffs. They will pop open in two hours. You’ll be fine,’ said the woman in black to Sophia and she promptly led a shuffling Dan out of the basement, across the corridor and into the garage that had been Dan’s route into the house on the night of the great slave escape scam. Dan had managed a brief glance back at Sophia. She didn’t meet his eyes, she was looking at the floor. Probably calculating how much she lost on her investment. He doubted that anyone was offering insurance cover for stolen slaves.

‘Now Dan, I have been trying to find you, but it wasn’t easy. Until a few days ago that is. Once your owner put your picture went up on the internet, the problem was solved. It was the face pic that mattered, though the rest was very nice too. I’ve had an image search running for the past two weeks. Once it matched you, I tapped into the emails from Sophia to her potential sperm donor customers. That way I got the address and the time of today’s appointment. ‘Et voila!’ as they say in these parts,’

Dan had lots of questions, starting with who are you and where are we going, but he was still gagged and the women in black seemed intent on keeping him gagged.

She had shuffled Dan over past the old bicycle and the lawnmower to the small door that led to the driveway and, Dan had hoped, freedom. But now he was less sure. Freedom doesn’t rhythm easily with gagged and shackled. Through the small dust covered slit window beside the garage door, Dan could see a black transit van backed into Sophia’s driveway. The lady in black turned Dan to face her. She put a blue Covid face mask over his gagged mouth. Everything is black, Dan was thinking. She’s all in black, the van is black. For some reason the film Men in Black came to his mind. Is she from some super-secret organisation? It’s like I’m about to be transported to another planet.

As if sensing Dan’s disquiet, the lady in black explained.

‘All this is necessary, Dan, to get you out of France and back to the States. Remember you have no passport, no ID, no money. I can’t deliver you to Charles de Gaulle and put you on the next flight to New York. So we have to fly under the radar, so to speak. This will not be your normal civilian passenger jet experience. It’s going to be an uncomfortable ride. But when it’s all over you can put me over your knee and punish me severely for not rescuing you sooner. Isn’t that so, Daddy?’

And with that broad hint, realisation dawned on Dan. Had he been free of the face mask and gag, his rescuer would have seen a broad grin of recognition spread across his face. The lady in black was none other than Elizabeth Metcalfe, the youngest resident of Manor Homes Village. She had used Dan occasionally for a bit of Daddy play. Which Dan had enjoyed greatly. Dan had guessed she was about thirty years old. An unusually quiet and retiring type, she lived alone in a fairly big, expensive, house. Dan often wondered about her mysterious job in some mysterious research outfit. Now he wondered even more.

‘To get you home, I’m going to piggyback on an existing system we have in place. It’s called Extraordinary Rendition. The purpose is to whisk baddies out of wherever we find them and bring them to wherever we want. In this case, Dan, the destination is Guantanamo Bay detention camp in Cuba.’ Elizabeth could see Dan’s eyed open wide with fright. She had to calm that pony down.

‘Don’t panic Dan. That is not your destination, though it is where your two travelling companions will be heading. The aircraft, a small executive jet, refuels at an air force base on the east coast before heading for Cuba. My man at the base will take you off the aircraft, repackage you and send you on by road to Manor Homes Village. You will be sitting on my driveway locked in a U-Haul trailer waiting for me when I get home.’

While nodding away to show he was keeping up, Dan was putting two and two together. A transport system ‘we’ have in place? That must mean she’s CIA or some sort of black ops outfit. Explains a lot; the mystery research institute, the unexplained absences, the fuzziness about what exactly she does. It all fits.

‘It will be a long journey, Dan. Fourteen to sixteen hours or so from now till you get home. But you’ll survive. How do I know you’ll be okay?’ Elizabeth was grinning cheekily at him now. ‘Because I know you’ve been having only the best of nourishment for the past three weeks. I hacked into Sophia’s online slave blog. I could see she’s given you the best start in life a baby could get. Haw, haw, haw.’

Elizabeth gave Dan a poke in the ribs as she said this. Enjoying the moment. Cut the embarrassing chit-chat and the haw, haw, haw, he was thinking. Not the time for jokes, especially jokes at his expense. Elisabeth must have noticed him frowning. That ‘teacher is not well pleased’ look must be universal, even when the teacher is gagged and masked.

‘Oh, dear, I’m being soo-o naughty, Daddy. You are soo-o going to make me so regret this,…I hope,’ smirked Elizabeth, giving Dan another poke in the ribs.

‘Here’s the sort of plan I’ve hashed out, Dan. You’ll stay in my house. Give me a good time when I want a good time. Serve the other neighbours in Manor Wood same as before. Cut the grass all that, and extra on the side to those that want it. That will keep everybody happy. And when Mary comes back from Dubai, I’ll hand you back. Then she can do whatever she wants with you. Seems fair?’

Dan nodded his absolute agreement. Any plan that got him out of Viroflay and back to Manor Homes Village was a good plan. The details were just that. Details. Dan just wanted her to get him out of Sophia’s basement – now. Elizabeth must have got the message, or maybe got a signal into her ear, secret service style, from the driver of the transit van. She went straight back to business.

‘OK, let’s go.’

Firmly grabbing Dan’s elbow, she opened the small metal garage door and ushered him outside. Dan, as he was propelled, shuffling along, was still blushing at the thought that she had watched him being breast fed online. How many others had watched his humiliation? Had Mary seen it too? He wondered in horror about what else they might have seen. But all those concerns were banished by the joy of stepping through that door. For the first time in over three weeks, Dan stood in the open air. He looked up at the pale blue early winter sky, listened to the birds singing, felt the wind on his face. This is what freedom is all about. I want to be free, he thought.

‘Let’s get you into the van,’ said Elisabeth, sliding back the passenger door with its dark tinted window, impossible to see through, like all the other windows. There were three rows of seats behind the driver’s seat and a wire mesh separated the passenger compartment from the front. Dan saw two people already sitting in the van. Like him they were dressed in orange coveralls, shackled and with blue face masks covering their mouths. Ski goggles covered their eyes, ear muffs on their ears. Their heads were lolling against the window and they looked asleep. Elizabeth helped Dan clamber in on his knees because the shackles wouldn’t let him lift his foot up high enough to step in. It was a bit undignified, but Elizabeth managed to whoosh him up enough to get him sitting on the seat beside the door and fastened his seat belt.

‘Dan, this is where I leave you. Your travelling companions are sedated but coming out of it. They’ve already travelled some distance to get to Paris. You pretend to be sedated too. Act sleepy. You will all be sedated again on the aircraft after take-off.’

Elizabeth fastened Dan’s seatbelt and fitted a pair of ski goggles over his eyes. To Dan’s surprise he couldn’t see through them. The glass in them had been painted over. She tapped Dan on the head. ‘Stay safe, Daddy. See you on the other side.’ Then all went quiet as Dan felt her place a set of ear muffs over his ears.

The van moved off briskly leaving Dan feeling uneasy. He considered that Elizabeth had been a tad blasé. Just sending him off like this, like an Amazon parcel routed from China. Into some van, out of the van, into a warehouse, onto a plane, transferred to another plane, into some other warehouse, and so on. Stuff gets lost in transit all the time. He would have preferred it if Elizabeth was accompanying him. But he supposed, to console himself, that she and her organisation does this all the time, Paris today, Kabul tomorrow, Baghdad the next. He told himself he should be happy, overall. Things were happening. He should focus on the positives. It was enough for now. He was getting out of France.

Dan allowed his head to lol back against the side window of the van, like the other two had been. He didn’t need to do much else to look like he was sedated. After about an hour’s travelling the van slowed. There were a few short stops and starts before the van finally stopped and the engine was switched off.

Dan felt his seat belt being opened. Two pairs of hands gripped him under his elbows on each side and half marched, half carried him a short distance and up a few steps. He was plonked down into what he assumed was an aircraft seat. He felt himself being buckled in. This didn’t feel like a normal lap belt on a commercial airliner. It was a more complex affair, like what pilots have, or in a kiddie car seat. Straps were dropped over each shoulder. A second pair were brought around the outside of each of his arms to pin them against his body. They all clipped tightly into a central spot about stomach high. Then his feet were held in place with straps around his shins.

Still pretending to be woozy and not resisting, Dan was thinking, uneasily, that this is what being strapped in an electric chair must feel like. All they needed to do now was put a metal cap on his head. To put that thought out of his mind he wondered what would happen if the ‘in the unlikely event of an emergency’ moment actually happened. He supposed nobody would be too fussed. Three terrorists less to trouble Uncle Sam.

They weren’t done prepping Dan yet. He felt his forearms being placed, then held, on each of the arm rests. He could just about hear the tearing sound that sticky tape makes coming off the roll as they fixed his forearms to the arm rests. Sounds like they are using the whole roll of it to do it, he thought.

A while later, after sensing a bit of rocking of the small aircraft as people got in and out, things went quiet. Then Dan felt as much as heard that deep vibration through his body as the engines build power. He imagined that things would be rattling up in the galley, if there was a galley. Then a steady, accelerating bump – bump – bump – bump along the runway, transiting to that smooth silence which means lift-off has happened. The thump of the undercarriage being stowed, told him they were properly on their way. Dan relaxed a little. He was going home.

Shortly after, Dan felt his ear muffs being removed. His ears filled with the happy sound of a jet engine at cruising speed. Next his goggles were lifted. He blinked his eyes against the light and found himself looking close up at a black lady in military fatigues. She gently slapped the side of his face a few times.

‘Wakey, wakey!’

Dan blinked his eyes a few more times to make it look like he was coming out of sedation. He nodded while looking directly at her to let her know he was definitely awake. The flight attendant lady moved crossed the aisle and lifted the ear muffs and goggles from one of the guys Dan recognised from the bus, sitting directly across the aisle from Dan. He was also heavily strapped to his seat, his forearms taped securely to the metal armrests. Dan took the opportunity to look around him. He appeared to be sitting at the front of the passenger accommodation. The bulkhead between the passenger compartment and the cockpit was a few feet in front of him. Just ahead of him on his side was the external door. It had built in steps, so it doubled as the gangway for getting in and out.

Dan could just about lean his head out enough to follow the attendant as she moved behind him to wake the third, and only other, passenger. He was two seats behind and across from Dan, also strapped in. As the attendant moved to remove that guy’s muffs and goggles, Dan could see two stripes on her sleeve. A corporal of some sort, he decided, though he wasn’t sure if they had corporals in the air force, or even if the air force were flying this jet in the first place. She looked fairly matronly. Full figured and fifty-ish, Dan thought, with that resigned air of a person who relies on public transport to get around. You take it as it comes, and half of the time it never comes. Just doing her job.

As far as Dan could make out, the other two men looked broadly Middle Eastern in appearance, dark curly hair sallow skin and beards. Could equally be Mexican or South American he supposed, but given the circumstances, unlikely. They were both in their early thirties, Dan guessed. He decided to name his fellow passengers. The guy behind was Abdul and the guy across the aisle from him was Omar.

Dan was not too impressed with the interior of the executive jet. It was not what he imagined an executive jet would be like. There was none of the luxury fittings he associated with the executive jets he had seen on TV. No fancy leather-clad reclining armchair seats, no mahogany tables, no carpet on the floor, or on the walls for that matter. The plane was fitted with ten low spec commercial airliner seats, five each side, one behind the other. Metal armrests, PVC seat covering. Military spec, Dan supposed. Standard porthole windows along the sides. Dan looked out at a vista or clouds and more clouds. Up front in the centre of the bulkhead was a door which must lead to the cockpit. There was a little pull down seat on either side of that door. Crew seats for landing and taking off, Dan supposed. Dan didn’t expect there’d be anybody coming through the door pushing a trolley and offering tea or coffee. Not on this flight.

Dan looked back at his fellow passengers. They were taking a little longer to come to. Which was understandable, since they had been actually sedated, whereas Dan had just pretended. After a few more and sharper slaps, from the attendant the desired result was achieved. The military lady then said something to each and was answered in Arabic or Pashto or something. Whatever their language, their attitude was pretty aggressive. They jutted their faces towards the corporal and made that characteristic spitting action, but since they had the blue face masks across their mouths, she was not too put out by their effort. The corporal, Dan didn’t feel she would welcome the label ‘stewardess,’ moved back towards Dan.

‘I’m checking that you are fully alert now. State your name and the location you were picked up from.’

‘Nnn Ngggngnn. Ngssss.’

‘Ok, Let’s see what we’ve here, she said pulling Dan’s mask to one side. ‘If you spit, I’ll smack your fucking face off.’

‘Nnn.’

‘Ah gagged. You must have been very naughty. Well, aviation regulations, even our aviation regulations, don’t allow you to be gagged while airborne. Might get airsick and choke on your vomit. We can’t have that.’ The woman reached behind Dan’s neck, untied the gag and pulled it free.

‘My, my. A pink ball gag. Where did they pick you up from, a brothel?’

‘No. My name is Dan Murnaghan. I was picked up in Paris. I’m American. I’m not a terrorist.’

The corporal sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Where have I heard that before? Let me guess. You are innocent. It’s all a big mistake. The fact is, if everybody on these flights could speak English, they would all tell me they are totally innocent. And it’s always a terrible mistake. Those guys over there, if they could speak English, would tell me the same. There they were, out minding their sheep in the arsehole of some godforsaken bit of desert. Suddenly a helicopter dropped out of the sky and grabbed them. Could be true, I suppose. But that’s why we take you all to Guantanamo. To find out the truth.’

‘But you are dropping me off before then. When you refuel,’ Dan got in quickly, in case she decided to put the gag back in. ‘That’s the plan. I’m not going to Guantanamo.’

The corporal pursed her lips briefly. ‘Well, if it ever was the plan, it’s not the plan anymore, Dan. This aircraft has just been fitted with extended range fuel tanks. You are on the first flight that goes direct to Guantanamo from here. You’ll be there in 10 hours — less.’

‘I was told we were going to refuel. Definitely. There is a guy waiting for me.’

‘Oh, yeah? Well, he’s going to be disappointed,’ she said leaning in, her face inches from Dan’s panic-stricken face. ‘I’ll say it one more time. You are on your way to Guantanamo, Dan.’

‘But…’

‘Get used to the idea. I’ve work to do. We will chat some more, later. It will make a nice change to have somebody who can speak English on the flight, even if you are a terrorist.’

‘I’m no..’

‘Shut it for now, OK,’ she said, leaning away from Dan, ‘or I’ll gag you again, whatever about the regulations.’

Dan was briefly panic stricken at the prospect of being delivered direct to Guantanamo. But he wasn’t totally convinced about the direct flight to Cuba thing. Seemed a bit coincidental. His flight being the very first one that went direct. Maybe the corporal was only trying to wind him up. But she seemed pretty certain. What if it was true? A little knot of worry started to gnaw at Dan’s stomach. He tried to think what he knew about Guantanamo. Not much. Waterboarding once a day, every day, for a year. He was happier to not dwell on that.

Instead, as Dan contemplated the corporal’s well filled behind going in the cockpit door, he fondly recalled his big moment, only a few short hours ago, as Dan the stud bull. Hard to believe that only this morning he had been tied naked to a post, getting jacked off by two women he’d never met, now he was tied to an airplane seat being transported to a penal colony. Aggghh! Not back to that again. Dan forced himself to think of something else.

Going back over his dramatic escape from Sophia’s basement, Dan wondered if Sophia was free yet. It was probably only a little over three hours since Elizabeth had barged into the basement in Viroflay. He knew they left the basement door open when they went out and She put him into the van, so somebody, a neighbour maybe, would rescue Sophia eventually if the magic handcuff didn’t spring open automatically. He realised that his actual escape from Sophia took less than five minutes.

It was typical of Sophia that she hadn’t said a word during the escape, just followed Elizabeth’s orders. Her face had given nothing away either. She avoided eye contact with either Dan or his rescuer. She had seemed, Dan noted, strangely calm for someone being threatened with a gun. Maybe it’s just more of the way she is, he decided. Doesn’t panic easily. Part of her well organised methodological approach.

He wondered if she would contact Mary. Probably would. Try and get her money back. Then Mary would know he, Dan, was out there somewhere. Either on the loose or taken into slavery elsewhere, she would suppose. Would she look for him, he wondered. He hoped she would. Buy him back even.

Sophia would definitely put a runaway slave alert up on the slave websites. Especially now that he was barcoded. Like those poster for lost kittens you see taped onto a lamppost, only online: Anybody see this slave — he’s either run away or was stolen. Substantial reward paid for safe return — please contact Sophia at xxxx, followed by a naked photos of Dan, head shot, front view, rear view. The barcode along the bottom of the page.

Dan’s penis it began to stir inside his diaper at the thought of being a hunted slave. But before he could get fully into the fantasy, his thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the corporal reversing back out of the cockpit door wheeling a little trolley. Dan couldn’t believe it. They were going to get a snack or a meal after all. When the corporal stationed her trolley beside the first guy on the other side of the aisle, that hope died. Dan could see that the trolley didn’t contain any food or drinks. It was full of medical stuff.

The corporal busied herself taping the fingers of the guy’s hand to the arm rest so that not only was his arm strapped down, but his hand as well. Dan instinctively wriggled his hand around a few times, at the thought that its freedom was about to be removed for several hours. He flinched at the sight of the corporal brusquely inserting a cannula in the top of the guy’s hand and taping it in place. Next she picked up a clear bag of fluid from her trolley and hung it from the overhead luggage rack, fiddled about with it a bit before connecting it by a long clear tube into the cannula. Finally she replaced her ‘patient’s’ goggles and earmuffs, then moved on to the next guy.

So that’s it, Dan concluded, she’s putting us back to sleep. The worried knot in his stomach grew bigger and tighter at the thought that when he next woke up there was an at least fifty-fifty chance he would be arriving in Guantanamo Naval Base. He tensed some more as the corporal pulled her trolley up beside him and starting wrapping the tape over his figures to secure his hand to the arm rest. Better do something, he decided.

‘That won’t be necessary, Ma’am,’ he tried. ‘I’ve had lots of sleep already, really. Ouch!’ Dan grimaced as the cannula was punched into the back of his hand and taped in place.

‘No worries, Dan. This bag I’m hooking you up to is a saline and glucose mix. Keeps you hydrated and gives you a bit of sugar. There is also a blood thinner in it. We don’t want you getting deep vein thrombosis, blood clots, seeing as you won’t be able to move for ten hours,’ she said, pulling down the little fold out seat on the bulkhead in front of Dan and sat down facing him.

‘Thanks,’ said Dan, graciously, while hoping it would only be for six hours.

‘Like I said, it’s a change to have somebody on the flight who can understand what I’m saying,’ replied the corporal, settling back onto the little seat. ‘I inject sedative into the mix once it’s flowing. I’ll do them now, Later on I’ll do you but we can chat first. While away the time.’

Anxiously, Dan watched as she hopped up off the seat and quickly inserted a small syringe type thing into a connector up near where the bag fed into the tube of his neighbour. Then did the same thing to the guy behind him.

‘It takes a while to flow down the tube and get into the system. You’ll see their heads flop over in a few minutes. Don’t worry, I won’t rush you into it, Dan.’

‘Thanks er.. Corporal?’

‘It’s Petty Officer, actually, Dan,’ as she settled herself back into the seat. ‘So what were you doing in Paris, then?’

‘I was tutoring International students. They were attending English speaking schools in Paris. High school equivalent. Teaching them science. Giving them online classes.’

‘International students eh? Arab students too, I’ll bet.’

‘Sure there were some Arab kids. British, Chinese and American mostly.’

‘Teaching chemistry. Like how to make bombs?’

‘Not bomb making, no.’

‘Teaching bomb making to Arab males in Paris? Doesn’t look good for you, Dan. You’ll have a job wriggling out of that one. But you know, even if they find you guilty of helping terrorists to make bombs, that’s not the end of it. They don’t just lock you up and throw away the key. Not anymore, anyway. They have procedures now. After three years in Guantanamo, you’re entitled to have your case reviewed. That’s something to look forward to. He, he, he.’

Dan forced a nervous laugh in return. ‘Ha, ha. Funny. But eh.. no, it was just chemistry, physics and biology.’

‘Gee, Dan. Biology too. You were teaching them how to make biological weapons. Not good at all.’

Just then the head of the guy across the aisle from Dan flopped over gently against the window,

‘There he goes,’ said the Petty Officer. ‘He’s big looking guy. At least you won’t be a cell mate of his.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Well, the new detainees are usually put in isolation for a while. Later on they go into communal quarters of five each. That’s usually after they have spilled the beans and become well behaved. They have their own cooking facilities and all.’

‘What about me? Ae there any wh..eh.. non-Aarab types there?’

Yes, there are a few white idiots. Any non-Middle-Eastern types are treated differently. You will be put straight in with a group of Arabs. You will be put in with guys who have been in Guantanamo a long time and are well behaved. You’ll make up the fifth in the group. You’ll be a kind of reward for them.

‘How so?’

‘Well, there is no easy way of putting this, Dan. You’ll be their fuck toy. You see, to the Muslim you are an infidel. Which means you might as well be a dog. They won’t do it to themselves. That’s against their religion, but it’s no sin to fuck an infidel. And these guys have been a long, long time without having anybody to fuck. But look on the bright side. You’ll get to learn Arabic. Some Arabic anyway.’

‘Nice.’

I’ll teach you your first useful word. It’s “anhanaa.” A bit like “banana.” Say it.’

‘Ananaa. What’s that?’

‘Bend over. He, he, he,’ ”

‘You’re making this up.’

‘No, Dan. You’ll hear “anhanaa” a lot. They’ll take you in turns. Night after night. Week after week. Month after month. And in between fucking you they will make you clean their laundry, make their beds, and wash their dishes. You’ll be their slave Dan, as well as their sex slave. You know how Muslim men are allowed four wives? Well, same difference, only worse. You’ll get to have four husbands. Four horny husbands. After a while they’ll start shoving some Middle Eastern spices up your asshole to keep it tight. Burns like hell, I’m told. Makes you really clench them buttocks. The only break you’ll get is when the warders bring you for waterboarding.’

Dan tried to think up some witty reply. Some play on anhanaa and big hairy banana. Just to show she wasn’t getting to him. But it didn’t seem funny anymore. He felt a bit queasy. He’d like to be able to move his arms and legs a bit. He needed to pee. Must be the saline drip he thought. He didn’t feel like peeing into his diaper while she was sitting there looking at him. Sitting with a chirpy smile on her face that said you are sooo fucked, white boy. The engines droned on. The clouds below slowly slipped past. Bringing him nearer to Guantanamo. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He wondered what Sophia was doing now. Probably working on her ‘anyone see this slave’ notice.

‘Time to go bye-byes, Dan,’ said the petty officer after a while, standing up and slipping a syringe into Dan’s drip. Everything went dark as she placed his goggles back over his eyes. Then everything went quiet when the earmuffs went on. Dan slowly and steadily peed into his diaper as he slipped into a deep sleep.

Something was tickling the side of his face. Dan tried to brush it way, but he couldn’t seem to move his arm. He tried to get up but he couldn’t move his legs. Everything was dark. I’m having that nightmare where I can’t move, thought Dan. He could hear a voice. It seemed far off and indistinct. Then getting clearer and cutting through the murk of his deep sleep. Someone was calling him. Maybe it was Mary. He felt a few sharp slaps on his cheek. He realised he was waking up.

The voice came again, loud and clear and right beside his ear. ‘Wakey, wakey, Dan. We are nearly there.’

Light flooded his eyes as his goggles were lifted off. There was the petty officer in front of him, placing his earmuffs and goggles on her little trolley. ‘Eh.. eh..okay..I’m awake,’ said Dan thickly, battling his way out of the drug induced slumber. His mouth felt dry. He winced as she briskly pulled the cannula out of the back of his hand and stuck a plaster over the spot. That woke him up properly.

He remembered with a shock where he was and what was happening. And what was about to happen. Forgetting himself, he made to get out of his seat, before surrendering to the reality of being was totally strapped in with his arms and feet tied in place. He looked around wildly. Locked eyes briefly with his travelling companion across the aisle who was doing exactly the same thing. Blue covid mask covering his mouth, arms strapped to the armrests, head and eyes swivelling around uselessly. In desperate panicky fight of flight mode, probably shitting himself, thought Dan, smugly, seen as how he’d had his enema earlier that morning. Was it only this morning, he thought forlornly, that he had been pumping sperm on demand for grateful women, Dan the stud bull at the start of what could have been a very enjoyable interlude in his slave life. The intercom crackled into life.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, jihadis and mujihadin, this is your captain speaking. We are on our final approach to Guantanamo Naval Base, Cuba. To prepare for landing, our cabin crew will be passing through the cabin shortly to make sure your seat belts are still securely fastened. Ha, ha. As we make our approach you will see a long low grey building on your right. That is the waterboarding facility. I understand you all have appointments there scheduled for nine o’ clock tomorrow morning. Good luck with that, and thank you for flying with us today.’

Don’t need that sort of sarcasm just now, thought Dan, as the aircraft swept low over a rocky landscape of small trees and burnt grass. A few hundred feet above ground now and dropping, Dan could see the mishmash of temporary or hastily constructed buildings; admin blocs, accommodation units, warehouses and hangers set out in a grid pattern. All were linked by a crisscross grid of roadways and paths. A typical military base, thought Dan, anxiously keeping an eye out for a low grey building. Probably just messing with our heads. The aircraft hit the runway with a thump and slowed dramatically as the reverse thrusters kicked in.

As soon as the aircraft taxied to a stop, the petty officer unbuckled her lap belt and stood up from the folding seat in front of Dan. She didn’t look at him. As far as she was concerned, he was now just another piece of cargo that been successfully delivered. Her job was done. She turned and released the door handle to drop the door down. It now acted as the gangway steps. As she stepped down onto the tarmac, a blast of warm tropical air flooded into the cabin behind her. Dan groaned inwardly. Any faint hope that this might be New York State or anywhere near it died. Time to stop hoping.

And so Dan the slave’s second escape attempt ended. It’s ending badly, Dan concluded, possibly even more badly than the first, because this definitely was Guantanamo Bay Naval Detention Facility. And he was about to be detained there.

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