There were three judges, Masters all, sitting in a row behind a large empty
table. All down one side of the room was a long thin narrow bench at which sat a
dozen or so female slaves like myself in various degrees of discomfort. All of
us had collars, and we wore a motley collection of slave gear, in which the
predominant themes were leather, chains, and exposure of private parts of our
bodies. We had been told in no uncertain terms that communication in any form
was forbidden: we were there to watch. A few of the attendants strolled
leisurely behind us, no doubt enjoying the collection of mostly naked rumps on
the bench and watching for the stray communication with riding crops at the
ready.
There was a rap on the door at the far end, and the prisoner walked in.
She was young - late teens or early twenties at most. She had raven black hair
down to her shoulders, small breasts, and well-curved thighs. Clean shaven pubic
area. Her tragedy was she looked no more than fifteen or sixteen. She was
completely naked - not even a collar and chain or high heeled sandals. I was
beginning to learn that in this society, being naked like that was a bad sign.
On either side of her, as if worried she might cut and run, were two large
attendants in their neat black leather gear. They escorted her to stand a few
feet in front of the table, and then went back to the door, on guard. It was
clear that she was not going to get away. I could see her front profile as I had
been seated at the top of the bench near the judges' table. Her face was
expressionless.
"You are the slave formerly known as Dolores Wolny?" asked the middle judge, who
did pretty much most of the talking that day. They loved to use that formula,
'formerly known as.' All slaves lost their identities as soon as they were
caught; some Masters gave them back in limited form, usually first name only. My
Master, for instance, still simply called me 'slave' - or worse.
"Yes." Her voice was gently clear. I wondered if she had been a singer.
"Yes, Judge."
"Yes, Judge." There was a barely perceptible pause between the two words, the
way she said it.
"You are how old, slave?"
"22 years and four months... Judge."
"And been a slave to Master Lincoln for how long?"
"Six months, Judge."
"Six months" he appeared to contemplate the time period as if it was at one end
of an ice age, and he at the other. "Are you aware of how much you were sold
for?"
"150,000 US Dollars... Judge." Now that was a lot of money, and I could see how
the bidding for this girl tied with her arms to the stake would have gone up and
up, the frenzy ending in one bid at the top, unchallenged. There was an intake
of breath down the row of slaves.
"That's a lot of money. They did tell you about not escaping, didn't they?" So
that was it. This girl had actually made a fool of her Master and escaped! She
nodded, grimacing. Perhaps this conversation had already been played out several
times since her recapture.
"Speak for the record, slave. You were warned not to try to escape, not so?"
"I was warned, yes... Judge." I saw no evidence of any one or thing that would
record, and perhaps there was a general look of blankness on our faces because
one of the other judges drawled slowly
"The girl slaves on the bench are your record, honey. That's why they're here."
I see. Making her speak was not strictly necessary then.
"You are aware therefore that you have made your Master incur a substantial
liability by your attempted escape?"
She lowered her head and I thought I saw a tear in the corner of her eye.
"Yes" she whispered.
"Speak up slave."
She raised her head and said in her clear voice "Yes, I am aware... Judge."
There followed a long question and answer session, the purpose of which at first
did not seem clear. Dolores stood almost at attention, hands by her naked
flanks, and answered each question clearly and with precision. She was the
eldest of three girls. Their ages were 20 and 17. She had left her parents to go
and work in another town when she was nineteen. Her mother was 45 years old and
her father 51. Pictures of her family were produced, and verified. The judge
nearest to the bench passed them to us and we passed them down the line. The
older sister had been photographed on the beach in a bikini. She was dark
haired, but not as pretty as Dolores. The younger sister had been photographed
at a swimming pool, wearing a full length costume, but it was clear she had her
sister's looks. The parents were the usual worried middle aged couple, mother
still looking well, they had been snapped at a shopping mall.
Dolores had had four boyfriends. Under questioning, she revealed that the first
had not had sex with her except for blow jobs, which she didn't swallow. The
second took her virginity and she stayed with him for a year while still living
at home. They had made love ("You were fucked, slave. We call it fucking here.")
in the back of his car, oh, maybe 20 times in all. The third had also made love
to her in his apartment "on weekends for three months" and she had lived with
the fourth before she had been captured. With the fourth she had made love three
or four times a week, sometimes several times a night. No, she had not had
experience of anal sex before her Master purchased her, and she had never
swallowed semen before that either. That meant while she was in the holding
cells of the auction rooms the staff there would have had free rein to rape her
vagina, but nothing more. I shivered, remembering my experiences there, being
similarly qualified.
Of her two sisters, she assumed the older had been having regular sex with at
least one boyfriend and was known to be a little wild, but she was not sure of
the younger one. The line of questioning had evidently puzzled her as well,
because the soft spoken judge leaned back in his chair, stopping the flow of
questions.
"You see" he said quietly "what we want to know is, how you can re-imburse your
loss to the Master who purchased you. Now, you are aware of course that by the
laws of our society, runaway slaves are executed, so we want to know, should we
take your mother in your place? No... too old, no fun. Your elder sister? Low
value, if she's been around. So your younger sister. Geddit?"
I thought she was going to faint at that moment but she advanced to the edge of
the table, gripped it hard, and bending her little naked body forwards told them
very clearly what they could do with themselves. She had not even finished the
first sentence before the two attendants had seized her by the arms and pulled
her backwards, kicking and screaming, bare heels banging on the floor, back out
of the room. The door slammed. There was an ominous silence.
"There. Nothing worse than a sulky slave girl." observed the soft spoken judge.
"And you slaves will shortly, unless I am very mistaken, see the results of a
few home truths. Ah here we are already."
The door opened again, and Dolores stepped back into the room, flanked by her
two escorts. Same procedure. She looked paler than ever, which made her soft
flesh oddly attractive.
"Well?" asked the main judge.
"I'm sorry for my outburst judge." I noticed that whatever had been said to her
had included an admonition to address the judge properly without hesitating or
mincing.
She had taken advantage of a momentary lapse in her Master's attention and had
fled with nothing more than a blanket. She had stolen clothes from washing
lines, but had been picked up by the police on her first night; first, as a
vagrant; then, when her picture had been reported, as a dangerous psychotic
criminal who had escaped. Perhaps covered in grime and wearing an odd
assortment of clothes she may have looked the part. It was difficult to see the
identity now, with her looking clean and scrubbed and her unblemished pale white
skin.
"So why did you escape?" the judge asked, in tones of real puzzlement. "You had
gone through the usual period of induction by your Master hadn't you? Master
Lincoln is an experienced hand with girls." Oh I remember those six weeks where
the only person a slave ever saw was her Master; who fed you, washed you, fucked
you, spoke to you, and beat you senseless. I love my Master now, but I do also
fear him - and fear for him sometimes too. I wouldn't escape if he gave me a
suit of clothes and the key to his Saab. Those six weeks are certainly designed
to turn a young girl's head; they worked for older me as well.
"Yesss... Master Lincoln is a very experienced and a wonderful Master. He had
trained me to cum at his word and I was at the stage where he could simply walk
up to me and say 'cum' and I would find myself having an orgasm on the spot."
She looked down at the floor and tried to control her tears, her small breasts
heaving. "You see, he was telling me that he now wanted to... excise my clitoris
and... and... trim my nipples to see... if I could have orgasms... without
them!" She burst into tears, her face in her hands. We sat silent as she stood
there, rocking on her feet, shaking with sobs. One of the judges, the silent
one, got up and gave her a clean white handkerchief. She looked up at him with
tears over her face.
"Th... thank you, Master" she sobbed.
"Not your Master any more, bitch" he replied, turning his back to her as her
returned to his seat. Oh boy. So that was why she didn't have a collar. She was
no longer owned. And that was why she was naked. She had nobody to provide for
her with clothes.
"See here" said the main judge, after she had blown her nose and wiped her eyes
(she still held onto the handkerchief, twisting it in her hands in front of her.
I wondered if Master Lincoln was going to ask for it back) "there's no way but
that you're going to get snuffed, you realise that. Good. Now, the problem is,
how are we going to recompense Master Lincoln here?" His gaze went down along
the bench, catching each of us in turn.
"You see, you haven't got a penny to your name, you're a slave who's run away.
Now, you have a pretty younger sister, who might make your price. Your elder
sister or your momma certainly won't! So this is what we're asking ourselves, do
you understand, slave girl?"
She nodded mutely.
"Now, I have a suggestion, and it might just work. We've done it in the past.
Worst comes to the worst, we take your younger sis, so there's no risk. Heck, we
don't like to do that." The revelation of his scruples came as no surprise,
given the cynical way he said it. I wondered what he'd bid for her young sister
if she came up naked on the block tied by her wrists to the post.
He pointed his finger at her like a loaded gun. "You, slave, are going to be a
film star for a very fancy porno movie. Oh yes, you will be the main attraction.
Known for posterity as the slave who didn't get away. Not everyone will know
that of course but enough to make the point. While you do that, you're gonna
whore your ass off in the club here. The bigger the bang you give, the more you
make. You know how it is. And as a grand finale, we're gonna invite Masters and
their slaves along to your snuff party. Now it's up to you. What you're going
have to do is to get their hearts on your side and put up a really great show as
you die, because they're all gonna make sizeable donations. If the sum total
adds up to what you cost, kid sister gets off free, club keeps any change. If
not..." he shrugged "well, kid sister's going pay your debt. So you see slave,
it's really up to you. You play along with us, co-operate, da-da, and we'll
make sure you die nicely, in style, slate wiped clean. You don't..." he
shrugged. "I guess we spelled it out to you already, yes slave?"
"Yes" her answer was almost inaudible "Judge."
"Okay then, let's hear it for the record" taking a glance at the assembly of
slave girls on the bench. "First, you're going do you little best to make our
porno flick a hot seller, right?"
"Yes" she replied.
"Let's hear it louder. Porno star supreme, yes or no?"
"Yes." her strong clear voice. "I'll do everything I can."
"And you're gonna whore you pretty ass and blow the rocks off, your clients,
whatever they want, right?"
"Yes Judge. I'll be a whore. I know what depends on my performance."
"Right. And you'll come over nice and sweet and charm the Masters telling them
how much you really want to die for their amusement."
"Yes Judge. I'm going to do my best to woo their hearts by the way I die for
their amusement."
I suddenly realised that she had been speaking clearly like that for most of her
ordeal. She was no half-educated trailer trash. An educated woman, indeed; maybe
also, a resourceful one?
The judges stood up... we watched them. The case was at an end. "Filming starts
tomorrow, or maybe the day after" said the soft spoken judge. "Till then, you'll
be held in the whorehouse rooms. Might as well start earning today, honey." He
looked at the other two judges "And looks like you got yourself your first
client, old Lincoln wouldn't touch you with a stick, and Master Peter here has
other fish to fry, I'm told." He took her by the elbow, and she looked up at him
with a look that changed abruptly from loathing to a sweet but superficial
smile. He chuckled "Ooo... lot to learn baby... and guess who's gonna be your
first teacher..." The two attendants fell round the pair as they left, her small
bare feet padding between three pairs of boots. I could see he was deliberately
squeezing hard on her arm just above her elbow as he sweet-talked her out of the
room.
I had to spend another hour sitting in the bar, being admired by other Masters
and their slaves until my own dear fate arrived, whatever the business that had
kept him back. He chained my wrists together at the front as usual, and an
attendant put the cape around my shoulders and escorted us to the car. As I sat
down in the back seat, the cape fell open revealing my naked pussy and the
thigh-high boots that Master wanted me to wear. The attendant replaced the cape
with a smirk as his hand brushed over my pussy unnecessarily in the process. But
that was typical. We slaves were the lowest of the low, and the whole system was
designed to remind us of that fact.
It's difficult to talk from the back of a big car like that. I could only answer
questions from Master by leaning forward (most uncomfortable in that damn
tight-laced corset!) His main concern was that I should have understood the why
of what had happened.
"You have children, you know" he remarked. My heart froze... a girl of twelve
and a boy of nine. Having to let go of them in my mind had been painful, no less
than the sweet memory of my gentle husband. "You couldn't..." I gasped.
"Most probably not" he replied. "And anyway, girl, you were cheap. Picked you
up for a song. Good investment though. I'm really satisfied with you." Why did
that artless avowal make my heart leap with pleasure, eradicating a moment ago
the recall of my family? I sat back and watched his eyes in the rear view
mirror. Ah yes, we were flirting again. The system had picked me up, most
probably by mistake. And he had purchased me, and shown me the true nature of
what I really was - his cumdump, painslut. I could no more go back home than I
could fly to the moon ("Where were you darling?" "I was the sex slave of a
totally deranged pervert honey who taught me ways of having sex that I never
even knew existed. What's for tea?" You see? It wouldn't work.)
Master was kind to me that night. He chained me up inside his bed, and fucked my
ass deliciously squeezing my breasts and tummy with his capable strong hands. I
too was learning to orgasm on command.
***
I suppose if it had been my husband I would have gently chided him for flirting
with me in his driving mirror; secretly delighted that he did. With Master my
delight was more open since I didn't often dare to criticise him, in earnest or
in jest. He sometimes used language like a blunt tool to bludgeon me into
submission with, aware that although it might be an unequal contest when it came
to words, might was always on his side.
The day we returned to the club for Dolores' snuff day, he had given me a simply
gorgeous pair of black kid gloves to the elbows, with skin so soft and supple
that it was a sensual pleasure simply to move one's fingers. If they fitted
like a second skin, my corset was definitely exoskeletal. It was done up so
tight that breathing could really only be done from the top of the lungs, which
of course made my exposed breasts move in an interesting way - especially if
under stress. It pulled in painfully tight just above my hip bones, at the front
going half way down between my navel and the start of my slit, at the back, to
just above the start of the opening of my bottom. It made sitting uncomfortable
in any position other than extremely erect; the rear seats of Saab cars were
designed I decided for spineless Swedes who habitually slouched. The boots were
also tight laced and came to above the knee in a tight fit that opened out at
the top and so the best position for my legs was straight out in front. Master
had seen of course; he had the front passenger seat pushed forward to give me
room. Oh, my wrists were enclosed in a pair of silver handcuffs connected to the
chain from my collar, so that the best position for my hands was crossed in
front of me, above my exposed pussy.
In the car while we drove through what I began to think of as the 'world
outside' I wore a thick black cloak. Master was a good if sometimes impulsive
driver, the size of the car engine incited him to take risks because he knew
could get out of most dangerous situations simply by increasing his speed. The
journey took about half an hour; I felt like a child released from school for
the day: slightly guilty that I wasn't back in my little room in his house.
At the club an attendant opened the door for me and helped me out. I smiled
graciously at him and caught up with Master. The club was a rambling Victorian
building, far out in the wilds so that all you could see for miles around were
empty fields; some with a few horses grazing. Inside the hallway another
attendant removed my cloak. Everything in the place was designed to make slaves
understand that they were property; that their humanity was not an issue. As my
cloak was removed, the attendant pinched my nipple lightly and with an insolent
look on his face cupped my shaved pussy. I of course had to part my legs for
him.
"Not very wet, Master Alan" he remarked casually. "And nipples certainly not
out. Do you want me to do something about it for you?"
Master looked thoughtfully at me. "Not at present, thank you. The first part of
this evening may be hard enough for her. When is the ceremony scheduled?"
"Ten minutes. Seems to be a popular slave. There's quite a crowd."
Master headed off towards the double doors that led into the main hall of the
club, and as usual I walked as quickly as I could to keep up with him, aware of
my heels against the parquet floor. I think he was concerned that he wouldn't
get a ringside seat, and especially piqued when another man with his slave on a
leash stopped him for a word.
Slaves are not allowed to communicate unless explicitly told to, but they can
look. I had not seen this one before: chestnut, almost coppery hair done up on
top with a black bow, high cheekbones (her Master obviously allowed her makeup,
I was jealous) and an air about her of faint surprise. Her nipples were pierced
and a little silver bell hung from each; light but sonorous so that she tinkled
as she moved, the weight of the metal only sightly deforming the smooth natural
curve of her breasts. She wore a short dress and high heels. Around her neck was
a little collar to which was attached a small red heart hanging from the same
loop as the start of her chain. While our masters con versed we stood opposite
each other and I suddenly realised that it was the third time she had made an
almost imperceptible blink followed by an equally minute gesture of a smile. I
stared back, quickly flicked my eyes to our masters, who were oblivious to us,
and gave a small blink of both eyes back to her, watching her face intently.
This time she blinked twice.
Her master had pulled her chain. "I'm thinking of giving her a name again" he
told Master Alan. "Had her for over a year now as you know. These older girls
are best, don't you think? How's yours? My one wanted to see your new one."
"She's fine." My heart melted with gratitude for the praise. "Yes, the older
ones don't crumble easily and they don't make disgraceful messes like that slave
who used to be called Dolores Wolny. Are you coming to her snuff? It's starting
soon."
"We've seen enough to make the point. My little tittie is going to get some
extreme nipple torture in the exercise room today. She loves it, and she knows I
love watching her."
"See you later then?"
"If not in the infirmary" her master chuckled. "You know what can happen. I'd
hate her to loose any bits out of carelessness on my part. Be well, Alan. Seen
enough, tittie? Come on then"
Before she was led off we had another moment together. I blinked my eyes at her,
twice, ever so slightly. She nodded imperceptibly, and copied me. Then she
slightly shook her head from side to side as she blinked three times, but by
then her master tugged her leash and she had to turn her back on me, led away to
her session of extreme pain, the bells on her nipples tingling.
"When we get more settled I'll take you there as well" said Master, leading the
way in the opposite direction. A session of nipple torture that could land a
girl in the infirmary? I felt faint in the knees. We entered an auditorium, and
to Master's evident relief there were not more than a dozen couples seated in a
semicircle around a small raised platform. On the platform was a waist high
leather padded table gleaming in the spotlight, leather straps dangling
listlessly from it as if hungry for a victim to enfold.
We sat on a sort of couch affair, side by side. Master placed a hand on my
breast and gave me a long and lingering kiss.
"You know what's going to happen, don't you?" he murmured.
"I think so, Dolores is going to die to a paying audience?"
"That's right, the slave formerly known as Dolores Wolny, don't forget the way
we say it."
"I beg your pardon Master. Formerly known as Dolores Wolny."
He looked hard at me and pinched my breast as I blushed. Sometimes, I think I
have regressed to the status of a silly schoolgirl under his tutelage. But I
also knew that such little slips could be added up and reckoned at some stage.
His punishments were sometimes subtle, but they always made their point
effectively as they rarely involved simple pain.
We sat quietly for a while as he acknowledged the greetings of other Masters and
Mistresses in the room. I slowly tried to digest what I had learnt hoping it
would not show on my face. There was a secret language! One blink - hello, I am
me, a human slave like you. Two blinks, yes. Three, no. Hope well mixed with
fear flared inside me. The other slaves were a little too far away or a little
too much in the same line of vision as their owners for me to dare to practice
the code with them.
"Do you think she'll put on a good show?" asked Master of me. Had he seen
something in my face? I blushed again.
"I hope so" I replied. "I feel sorry for her sister as well as for her."
"Lincoln is an idiot. I shall send you to him some day so you can see for
yourself."
My stomach churned at the thought of being put into the tender mercies of that
man, but at this point a door in the back opened, and in stepped Dolores.
Her face was slick with tears, and her body, if anything, was paler than I
remembered, but it still had that creamy almost translucent whiteness about it,
accentuated by her rich black hair and eyebrows. She walked slowly, a trifle
stiffly, to the first pair in the room. Ah, she had been well beaten at the
back: from her calves to her shoulder blades. No wonder she was stiff. By the
time she had come to us Master had withdrawn his cock from his trousers and was
stroking it. I wondered if I should try to help him, but he shook his head,
pointing me towards the approaching girl.
She stood in front of us. Oh my heart went out to her. Close up, you could see
that a geological age had passed since I last had seen her. She no longer
looked that fresh sixteen.
"I'm very sorry Master Alan" she said, quietly in the lovely voice of hers. "I
apologise profusely for my thoughtless action and I hope you will enjoy the way
I'm put to death."
Master looked up at her, still stroking his cock. "Film go all right?"
"Yes, thank you. I'm told it'll be a great success. Everyone was very kind and
it was easy to play my role" she smiled. "After all, Master Lincoln trained me
exceptionally well."
"I'll make a good contribution, slave, you have my word."
She smiled at him. "That's extremely kind of you Master Alan. And thank you too
for the fucking the other night. Your slave must be a very fortunate woman to
have you as her master."
"Be well and serve."
"Be well Master."
As she passed in front of me we caught each others' eyes - and she blinked once,
faintly, imperceptibly. I copied her and she bowed her head as she went to the
next couple. My eyes misted slightly with tears and I found I had to blink
several times for real to clear them. This is how slaves said farewell to each
other. One blink - I am still a human and I am saying goodbye to you. A blink in
reply - fare well sister, God be with you.
"Scared?" Master whispered.
I nodded. "Master, would you kindly hold me? How will she die?"
He shook his head. "Surprise, I think, but Lincoln for all his complications has
plain tastes. You will see." His hand was comforting around my bare shoulders,
holding me to his powerful body.
There was Lincoln, in the company of a large black man who wore sunglasses.
Dolores was led to the torture table, and she stood in front of it, hands at her
sides, facing us. She had started crying again.
"We are a small community but a strong one" Lincoln was making an address at the
side of the platform. "And we have our rules and rituals, which are important to
all of us. A few weeks ago, something happened that should not have happened.
Today, we will witness an expiation of sorts. A redressing of the balance." He
stood down, sweating slightly from the exertion of speaking in public. An
attendant and the black man stood on either side of the pale girl, and expertly
whisked her up and over the torture table, onto her back, legs waving in the
air.
There followed a brief flurry of arms and legs as she began to struggle and cry
for help, but it was mercifully short. I bit my lip. Didn't she understand that
she had no chance? Young people always think that they can do it, they have hope
and they think they can buck the trend, come out on top. Her pitiful little
struggle showed the falseness of such ideas. Or maybe she had rehearsed this
last little act, hoping that resistance broken would be more satisfying for the
masters and mistresses assembled than mere passivity?
She was well strapped - by her wrists, above her head. Her legs were strapped
well apart at her knees and at her ankles so that her pussy was wide open at the
end of the table. She was gradually loosing the ability to move and becoming an
object for fucking. The black man slowly took his trousers and thong off and
yes, a predictably monstrous cock emerged, thick and long, and extremely erect.
Master gripped me by the waist and plonked me down on his lap, his cock entering
my pussy with a little resistance, at which he sighed. He couldn't see me wince.
I hoped it was a sigh of pleasure. It wasn't often he got to rape me with a
pussy dry with fear.
The drama on the stage was unfolding. The black man now completely naked but for
his shades casually rubbed his cock around her pussy. The contrast in colours
under the spotlight was stunning. Dolores moaned a little, and then the black
man carefully put his cock inside her: at first a little way, and then with a
rocking motion of his hips, further and further in until Dolores was crying out.
Lincoln stepped up, and fished out of his pocket a transparent plastic bag,
which he opened out with the air of a showman. To the sound only of the rasping
breath of the black man as he pounded Dolores, he placed the plastic bag over
the girl's head.
"Nooooo!" she wailed.
Lincoln was already tying the corners of the bag tight together against her
neck. I saw the bag open and close with her breathing, growing opaque as the
dampness of her breath emptied into it. Her breathing became faster and the bag
now clung to her face. I could see her breasts heaving as she tried to pull air
into her lungs, but the air just wasn't there for her.
The black man grew more excited, and his pushing rocked the body of the
spreadeagled girl. Lincoln's fingers passed over her lovely elegant little
breasts - was that regret? What had Dolores meant to him? A stream of urine
splashed out from her pussy over the black man's belly and down his legs - her
stomach spasmed as she lost control of herself.
I could see the black man was getting ready to cum, and suddenly, Lincoln
slapped the girl hard over her belly and roared "CUM!" at the same time stepping
back so the audience could see.
Dolores had her orgasm at the same time as I felt my Master spurt inside me. She
wailed and twisted and then suddenly her rapist was also cumming, shouting and
pushing his cock deep and hard inside the girl. The two figures on the stage
were like wrestlers locked in the last throes of a heroic struggle which the
girl had lost. She drooped, and was now mute because she had used up the last of
her breathing inside that moisture-laden bag that clung to her elegant face. I
saw her little foot curl, and then relax. The fingers of her hand splayed out
listlessly. A silence in the room marked her passing.
Then suddenly it was all over. The black man withdrew his cock from her, Master
made me stand up and I felt his cum leaking down my leg. There was a flurry of
greetings as Masters and Mistresses made themselves presentable again. Master
faced me.
"Don't you ever let that happen to you!" he said to me, sternly. My spirit
revolted and somehow I heard myself hissing to him, quietly "Don't you ever put
me in a situation where it can happen!" Our eyes met, his as wide as mine. I had
a moment of terrible fear that the trapdoor beneath my feet was just about to
open to swallow me up into the bowels of the club. He raised his hand.
And placed it against my cheek. "You're right, slave."
"Master." I felt the waterworks about to turn on again.
"Come on girl. Time to go home."
I was too preoccupied with my churning emotions to take much notice of anything,
but in the car I found Master had seated me in the front. He carefully arranged
my robe and pulled over the safety belt with a smile. I knew by then my face was
as wet with tears as Dolores' had been, especially when he kissed my neck behind
my ear as part of the business with the safety belt.
We were on the road. Once we had gained the motorway I found I was able to speak
again.
"You... fucked her the other day?" I asked, casually, in the same tone of voice
I would have asked, had he been to the bank or done the groceries.
"Yes, two days ago. She was very satisfying."
"Paid well?"
He nodded.
"And today... you paid for her today as well, didn't you?"
"Mmm..."
"Master. Look at me. How much?"
He gave me a quick embarrassed glance. "I gave her ten grand."
Ten grand! That was five times as much has he had paid for me, and he had me for
his own! I gasped.
"Did you.... love her, Master?"
"No" he replied, almost embarassed. "I never really knew her until I fucked her.
She was good, but not a great lay, really. It just seemed... right to do
that..."
My heart churned and I turned away from him to watch the moving traffic as we
swept effortlessly past it. At first I thought, yes, this is why I love this
man. This man is worth a lot to me, to Dolores and her kid sister... his care
and his humanity. He saved me, and he's helped save Dolores' sister. He has
twice to my knowledge now rescued women who were totally defenceless for no
obligation to him. But then my mood changed in that blurry universe I seemed to
be forever inhabiting those days. He never had to be part of that society. He
could have given himself, his talents, and his riches for things that were
really good. His gestures were to appease his conscience and for self interest
as well.
"Conscience money" I blurted.
There was a long silence underscored by the low roar of the engine and the swish
of the tyres on the wet roadway as I contemplated the possible consequences of
my temerity and so-called intelligence.
"You may be right. You know, I didn't make this world, with weak people and
strong people, and those people who have deep desires to dominate and those who
crave deep down to be enslaved by stronger forces than they." He watched the
roadway unrolling in front of us intently, his body relaxed in a state of quiet
alert. I blinked madly and tried to focus on him again.
"And yes, I have the money, and the power, and the influence. And yes, we live
dangerously, slave. Can you imagine what would happen if just one of those girls
ever escaped far enough to reach the ear of someone in the right place?"
I had thought at first that the silly girl had made fools of them which is why
their wrath and spite were directed so vehemently against her; that she had hurt
them, made them scared, and they had lashed back at her, publicly: their
vengeance both visible and terrible showed how really weak they were to fear
her. She had shown them for what they really were.
They were afraid that their whole society would come down like a pack of
cards... their privileges, their money, their rich lands, property,
investments... they would be hounded through courts, held up for public
ridicule.
But now the thought also entered my mind: and we the slaves faithful to our
Masters who had taught us what we were, what of us? Dolores Wonly had been given
a gift, the same as I, and she had trashed it. By her act she had endangered me
as much as Master.
Listen: once you have felt pain inflicted on your body by the man you love and
admire above all other men in this world and you have given yourself to this
pain, and shared it with him, and he has shared his anguish at doing what drives
the pair of you... is there anything else? To spend the rest of my life in some
home for the mentally spavined or incapacitated, to have some illiterate fool
mess with my mind to try to put me back together again and when he'd failed, to
ride years on the empty euphoria of mind reducing drugs?
I looked down at the chain that held my wrists together and suddenly felt glad
they had put her to death, and glad she had been made an example of so that the
other slave girls who had been there as recorders would think many times over
before emulating her. And I was doubly glad that I had a Master who had found me
out, had taught me what I really was and cared for me.
"It was close for all of us, wasn't it, Master?"
"Very." His glance at me, at 100 miles an hour, was precious, golden.
"Will you beat me for my insolence tonight, Master? Please? I'm... still in
shock I think... I'm sorry but -"
"- I shall beat you, slave, not as a punishment. I shall beat you because..." he
sniffed "well... I've grown to love you. Silly of me, but there you are. You're
special, cunt."
And so it was. By the time he finally took a tearful me into his gentle arms
that night my body was raw and bleeding, and I gave myself to him in our fucking
as earnestly as I had given myself to him in our beating.
