I thanked him repeatedly, tears in my eyes, when he finally withdrew from me. He took a blanket from the bed and spread it on the floor next to me, and then rolled me onto my side on the blanket. He left me chained as I was, my arms still threaded inside my thighs and cuffed to the outsides of my ankles, unable to close my knees. Although the position was uncomfortable, I was by then accustomed to the rigors of bondage. I was grateful for the blanket, that I would not have to sleep on the hard wood floor. Soon I could hear him drifting off to sleep.
I lay there, awake, my mind still clouded with sex, thinking how wonderful it was to be a slave, and to be at the mercy of men. I hoped only that the master was pleased with his slave. Eventually I, too, fell asleep.
I awoke with a start. I was being casually turned onto my front, my wrists and ankles still chained together as before. In this position, my hips were unavoidably propped up on my knees, my body open and vulnerable from behind. With no way to support myself, my head was pressed against the blanket. Suddenly I felt myself entered from behind, held in place by firm hands on my hips. I felt his powerful strokes filling my body, finally surging as he emptied himself in me yet again. I felt him unlock the manacles joining my wrists to my ankles, only to join my wrists together again behind my back. He gave me brief instructions, and then returned to his bed, leaving me once again wide-eyed to contemplate my situation.
Earlier I had been thoroughly and ruthlessly dominated, forced to display myself as a slave and to beg repeatedly for the privilege of serving my master. Now I had been used as a simple physical convenience, a piece of captive flesh within which a man might find satisfaction for his basic urges. These were both unavoidable aspects of being a slave girl, I knew. In the morning I would have to experience a third.
As I had been commanded, I awoke shortly after dawn, while the man was still sleeping. In the gray morning light, I rose to my feet and, using my teeth as my hands were still bound behind my back, drew back the covers from the bed. Then I knelt beside my master's body and lowered my head to him, gently licking at him with my tongue. I could feel him stiffen and took him into my mouth, closing my eyes to focus exclusively on giving him pleasure. I could hear his body stirring as he awoke, and felt his hands searching for and finding my hair. He seemed content. I continued my work as he gained consciousness, slowly increasing the depth and intensity of my motions, until he locked his hands in my hair and took over the rhythm, forcing me down upon him at an increasing speed. He burst within me and I swallowed him greedily, not because I liked the taste in itself, but because I wanted desperately to demonstrate to him my absolutely, unconditional submission, my utter willingness to please him in any way. I continued to clean him with my tongue as he withdrew from my mouth.
"Did I please master?" I dared to ask.
"Yes, you did," he said gently. "You are quite a wonderful slave," he added.
"Thank you, master," I said with genuine gratitude. "I am happy if I have been pleasing."
"Yes," he said. "I can see that you are happy." He turned to an intercom by the head of the bed and pushed a button. "Marie!" he called. "Come fetch the slave!" Then he rose from the bed and went into the bathroom to take a shower and begin his day, seemingly without a thought for the slave girl he had so thoroughly dominated and used.
The same servant woman soon entered the room and, without a word, led me by my leash out and down the stairs. I remembered to crawl behind her on hands and knees, not daring to lift my head for fear of being struck. The two guards from the club were waiting for me. "Were you well used, little slut?" one of them asked.
I could not lie to a master. "Yes, master," I said. "I was used as what I am, a slave girl."
Then I was gagged, blindfolded, and bound as I had been on entering the house, and escorted back out to the waiting van. Now that I had served the customer, there were of course no prohibitions on what the guards might do with me during the ride back, and I spent it on my knees before them, still blindfolded, but with my gag conveniently removed, so that my mouth might be put to its most appropriate use.
The guards talked among themselves in French during the trip back to the club. I had studied French in middle school and high school, and could make out some of their conversation - a talent I had never revealed to my masters. I gathered they were familiar with the client who had rented me for the night, and that he was a prominent and powerful individual, one who often enjoyed the services of the club's slave girls, in exchange for some service that he provided to the club. The nature of those services had something to do with police protection for its business operations. I became more interested in the conversation, but took care to hide my interest with the contented moans of a sex slave being permitted to practice her arts on a master. But soon the topic shifted instead to me, and the qualities and shortcomings of my body and my sexual techniques, as they observed my efforts to please them. I blushed to hear myself described as a hot, juicy slave slut, a girl who loved nothing more than being thrown to her back and raped, or having her mouth occupied with pleasing a master.
As the van turned into the courtyard of the club, they finally allowed me to desist in my services. The man I had most recently been occupied with patted me on the head and said, "Hopefully she'll be the one we take to M. Roget's next time. Her mouth almost makes the trip worthwhile."
M. Roget. That was his name.
The next time my external contact paid me a visit, I dutifully informed him of everything that I had learned. He had changed his method of interrogation; instead of taking my statement and then rewarding himself with my body, he now forced me to give my report as he made use of me. But this time, when I told him about M. Roget, he abruptly stopped and, while remaining inside me, asked me a number of pointed questions. I answered as I could, pinned helplessly under him, my wrists bound to the corners of the bed where he had tied them. I described M. Roget as well as I could remember. Finally he seemed contented and, seeming only then to remember what I was good for, finished with me and withdrew.
"You did a good job, Jenny," he said as he was getting dressed. "And not just with your body this time."
As it turned out, the guards did get to escort me to M. Roget's several times over the next several weeks. Each time I left the house completely devastated, utterly ravished, dominated, and conquered, my body sore from the night's exertions but also glowing with the lingering ecstasy of a slave girl who has found fulfillment in her absolute sexual servitude. It was in this state of arousal and contentment that I invariably served the guards on the way back to the club, seeking in my service to them to prolong the feeling of blissful submission that was all a slave girl could aspire to.
It was late in November when, during one of his periodic visits, my contact let slip that the investigation was close to a major breakthrough. I did not dare ask what that might mean for my personal situation, but it did give me a glimmer of hope that I might soon be released from the enforced servitude to which I was growing ever more accustomed. Yes, hope. For although I was learning more and more about the helpless raptures of the pleasure slave, forced to experience both the depths of submission and the heights of ecstasy, I still held the belief - though less and less often - that being a slave was somehow an accident of fate, a cruel detour on my life's path, an injustice that had torn from me a bright future. In a man's arms, overpowered and ravished, I knew that no life suited me better than that of a naked, collared slave; but curled up on my bed late at night, trying to put aside the memories of the evening's abuses so that I might sleep, there were still times my eyes filled with tears on thinking of the degradations and humiliations to which I had been reduced. And I still remembered the promise Cristina had made to me, that someday I might be free once again, no longer available to any man at the snap of his fingers, no longer a casual convenience for his primitive lusts.