One of the guards crouched down beside me and removed my handcuffs, then my gag, and finally the blindfold. I blinked my eyes against the sudden light. I was in the anteroom of a somewhat spare but well-decorated house. A middle-aged woman wearing what appeared to be some sort of servant's costume stood before me, looking down at me disapprovingly. No doubt she saw in me a wanton, shameful slave slut, a girl whose every curve proved she existed solely to provide indescribable sexual pleasures to men. I lowered my eyes, embarrassed. At the time, I would not have contested that description of me.
The woman bent down and attached a long, thin chain leash to my collar. Once I had been terribly humiliated to be led on a leash like a dog; now I accepted it without a moment's thought. She tugged on the leash and began to lead me up a staircase. I rose to my feet to follow. Instantly she spun around and slapped me, hard, on my left cheek. I stumbled and fell to the ground. "You will crawl like the dog you are, slut!" she yelled at me. She kicked at me as I lay on my side. I hurried to rise to all fours.
"This slave begs your forgiveness, mistress," I said, staring at the floor. If she had been a man, I would have covered her feet and legs with kisses, hoping to distract his anger and encourage him to take my body in punishment. But I knew such wiles would not work with this woman. I trembled, hoping not to be struck again. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, leaving me to scramble after her on all fours.
The guards waited below. I knew that they would remain until the morning to provide additional security. A slave girl is too valuable a possession to be left unguarded overnight.
On the second floor, the woman led me into a large room with a bed, a large wardrobe, and a pair of armchairs. The floors were of wood, smooth and hard. I hoped that I would be allowed to perform my services on the bed and not on the floor's uncomfortable surface. These are the things that slave girls hope for.
She left me kneeling on the floor, facing the door, the leash dangling between my breasts and over my left thigh as I knelt. I remained there, nearly motionless. I had not been given permission to do otherwise. I wondered what my master would be like, what he would demand of me. I hoped he would not hurt me.
After a time, a tall, thin, grey-haired man entered the room. He was wearing a long, dark blue bathrobe, slippers, and apparently nothing else. I put my head down and kissed the floor before his feet. "I beg to serve you, master," I said, not rising from the floor.
"As you were," he said. I rose again to my knees. "Spread your knees wider," he commanded. I obeyed. "Thrust out your breasts," he said. I pushed them forward even more than before, and pulled my shoulders back for emphasis. When a slave girl kneels, it is usually in a position of relative relaxation, retaining freedom of motion in all directions. Now my body was rigid, my knees as far apart as my body could bear, my breasts straining forward for my master's attention. I hoped he liked what he saw.
"I hear you are the hottest new pony in my friend M. Arnaud's stable," he said after contemplating my body for a minute.
"My hope is to be pleasing to my masters," I said in reply. "I hope that they have found me acceptable."
"Oh, I'm sure I will find you more than acceptable," he said. He paused. "If not, you will be beaten."
I shuddered. At the club, I was beaten relatively infrequently, thanks no doubt to my careful attention to my duties and to the pleasure of my masters. I had no desire to feel the whip. "I will be absolutely obedient, master," I said. "I hope that my body will prove satisfactory."
The man walked over to the dresser and returned with a whip in his hand. He held its handle to my lips. I licked and kissed it, fervently and submissively. In California I would never have kissed a boyfriend with the passion I lavished on the instrument of my domination. But then I had not been a slave girl. Now I was.
Apparently satisfied with my performance, he withdrew the whip from my lips. "On all fours," he said. I obeyed instantly, my head lowered submissively. "Lift your head," he said. I did so. "Now turn and crawl to the other side of the room." I crawled, maintaining the position I had been taught - back arched, bottom high, thighs spread. Even in the most humiliating positions, a slave girl must always display her body to maximum advantage. "Now pick up the end of your leash and bring it to me." I knew what he wanted. I turned and retraced my steps to where the end of the leash lay on the floor. I bent down my head and picked it up in my teeth before continuing back to my master's feet. I lifted my head to present the leash to him. He took it from my mouth and stroked my hair. "What a good little slave," he said.
"Crawl backward two meters," he continued. I did so. "On your belly, spread your arms and legs" he said. I obeyed, my body vulnerably and openly stretched before him. "On your back." I rolled to my back, keeping my arms and legs wide. I had not been given permission to close them. "Grasp your ankles." I did so, drawing them up over my head, opening my body even more widely, brazenly presenting my charms for his view and potential usage. I held the position as he seemed to consider my form.
He continued to put me through my paces, making me open and display my body in ways that can only be demanded of an absolutely compliant slave girl. I hoped he liked what he saw. On top of the arousal that had been forced upon me during the ride in the van, I was becoming increasingly excited by this man's simple, strict domination of me. As both a natural submissive and a trained slave girl, I was conditioned to respond to mastery, to become heated in being compelled to obey another's will. Although he had hardly touched me, I knew that the services he was already commanding me to perform were profoundly sensual, and could only culminate in my absolute ravishment, in the kind of sexual conquest that only a slave can suffer at the hands of a master. And as a slave, I longed for that conquest, I longed to feel his body exerting its will over me and inside me.
Suddenly I grew bold. "Please, master," I said, uninvited, now on my belly, grasping my ankles behind my body, "let me please you! I beg to serve you, as a slave."
Suddenly I felt the whip burn into the flesh of my back. "You were not asked to speak, slave," he said coldly. I lay on the floor, silent, tears forming in my eyes from the pain. But I expected my pleadings were not completely wasted. Hopefully now he knew how desperate I was, how much I longed for my rape. And such knowledge, I knew from experience, generally has its effect on a man.
Finally he positioned me again on my back, my knees lifted and my thighs widely spread. I was completely open to him as a slave, and I knew my body was more than ready to accept his entry. He swiftly pulled my wrists first inside my thighs and then outside my ankles and chained them in place with a pair of steel manacles. Bound as I was, I was powerless to close my knees. Nor did I want to.
"Now you may beg to be raped, slave," he said as he crouched down by me and removed his robe.
"Please, master," I cried out. "Your slave begs to be raped. Take me, overwhelm me, use me for your pleasure, make me serve you as a slave."
But first he toyed with me a while longer, using his hands to heighten my arousal even further, but mercilessly preventing me from achieving climax. He also crouched above my face and used my mouth to prepare himself. I greedily licked at him with my tongue, thankful for the chance to give him pleasure. Finally, as I continued to beg him to have pity on me, he saw fit to enter me, and I cried out my gratitude as he had his way with my body, using me unilaterally as a debased, submitted slave.