The Continued Erotic Adventures of Slave Kala: Beach Mansion

I remember my first trip to Daniel Thorn’s beach mansion well; he was an extremely rich man, wealthy to the point there’s no point talking about it. I went for a party, and loved every minute. I had a great time during that weekend, and made ever so many new friends (it’s amazing how reminiscing on the past can make you feel younger, isn’t it?).

This was only the first of many times I spent with the Thorns, both at his island retreat off the coast of France and the place in the Hunt Country, I think I fell a little in love with the man, he’s such an easy natural dominant, much like my own Owner. In fact my Owner is now about the age Thorn was when I first met him, and when I think about it, the similarities are eerie. That first day, when he put me through my paces in his private playroom, Thorn was amazing; I know I’m a nymphomaniac, highly oversexed and easily aroused, but I really did lose track of how many times I orgasmed: he’s just an amazing top. I wish I’d known him in his twenties, (no I don’t, I couldn’t keep up with him in his prime I’m sure, I doubt anyone could). Unlike many dominants, he refuses to allow most slaves or subs however you like, I’m not big on the semantic side of S\M, to call him Master, he only owns his wife, everyone else calls him Sir. Even when he and his wife punished me for my misbehavior, I loved every second, and when his cook Greta wanted to do terrible things to me, I agreed just to please him (and my Owner too, but yes I wanted to please Thorn and at that point I’d known him less than a day). He was always a good master, firm but fair, hard only when he had reason to be, I remember when he sent Xo home, bound like a package as a message to the other slaves…

I enjoyed my game with Lizibeth, we played it many times, Thorn indulging it (he had to give the order for us to play). Over time, months and years as my Master and I got to know the young lady better, I slowly but firmly helped her come to terms with her sexuality. Among others, I met Xo here, and she and her Master became extremely good friends of ours. Steven, ah well what can I say about Steven? I enjoyed him very much, we’ve drifted apart, but for a few years I helped him mature; my husband even gave him pointers in rope bondage, yes he was a lovely boy, I should look him up again.

On a more serious note, after reading them in my journal, I’ve included the thoughts in it after thinking about it carefully. I have to reiterate I knew what I was doing when I got a hysterectomy, my Master and I discussed it thoroughly, carefully and even after I made up my mind, He made me wait and think about it more for 3 months. I’ve never really regretted what I did for Him, I’m happy and I am at peace with the fact I will never have a child of my flesh, we never adopted but that’s fine (and no I’m not protesting too much, I assure you). Now, on to what you want to read, enough of my thoughts hmm?

THE CONTINUED EROTIC ADVENTURES OF SLAVE KALA: BEACH MANSION-PART 1: INTRODUCTIONS

Totally unclothed, I knelt shivering on the deck of the huge yacht. Myself and the driver, the captain, appeared to be the only people aboard but the ship was big; as far as I knew, there could be a dozen other people somewhere. At first I had knelt with my bottom resting on my heels, a comfortable position most people liked the look of; but the captain whose name didn’t appear to be forthcoming had curtly snapped his fingers and ordered me to ‘kneel up’. So now I knelt, hands at my sides, head lowered to look at the deck, as we plowed onward through the calm waters.

I was being lent for a long weekend to an old business friend of my Owner’s; he was throwing some kind of celebration cum business dinner\party\announcement ceremony at one of his island estates. Apparently he was borrowing a whole bunch of slaves for entertainment, I’d never met the man but David knew him well. My Lord had explained everything to me clearly, I knew basically what was expected of me, the man borrowing me, Daniel Thorn, knew my few limits, the only thing expected of me was to submit and obey. My God the maker of my decisions had made it clear, everyone I would come in contact with from the moment the limo driver met me at the airport, was known to Thorn, screened, cleared and knew exactly what to do with me.

The limo driver had a sign reading KALA; he’d taken my luggage jovially, apparently recognizing me by sight (must have had a picture) and opened the door for me as a driver should. I sat in the back for only a minute; once the limo was out into traffic, the screen dividing the back from the front seat had come down and the driver, no longer obsequious, had gently ordered me to undress and crawl into the front seat with him. When I joined him obediently, he had me take down his pants and give him a B.J. telling me I was to swallow when he came, which I of course did, knowing I was utterly safe because my Master had told me I would be; knowing the man couldn’t have an STD because my safety had been assured. After I’d blown him, he briskly directed me in pulling his pants and undies back up, telling me to adjust him until he was comfortable. Then he’d informed me I was to go back into the back and dress again in my jeans and shirt, but leave my own underwear in the backseat when we reached our destination; at that point I had no idea where we were going. I’d simply said goodbye and boarded the plane for France, knowing I was going to be looked after when I debarked, I didn’t even know what was in my luggage, my Owner had packed for me.

The limo pulled up to a dock, the driver retrieved my luggage and opened the door for me as a proper driver should; no one could know I was, until I was passed along, his to command. He led me to a yacht and handed me off to the captain, who was waiting on deck with a mug of coffee in his hand. From their exchange I gathered they were both good friends, my captain owned this and other yachts and my driver owned the limo company, both knew Thorn well, but I never did get either of their names. The captain put me in the wheelhouse with him and started out, we were perhaps a half hour out of the harbor when, without looking at me, he’d ordered me to strip. When I was nude, he’d fiddled with switches and dials, and I think put the yacht on autopilot, before he turned and looked me over. Telling me to follow, he’d taken me below, we passed several large suites, open doors showing me all the modern conveniences, including plush beds; but he took me to a small cramped ill lit room, smelly, it had little to recommend it, except the hammock. It was the first time I’d ever been fucked in a hammock, I loved it… but then I suffer from nymphomania (literally). The way the hammock rocked and swayed while he roughly took me without a word drove me wild.

When he’d finished he handed me an envelope with my name on it and told me to come on deck as soon as I was ready, told me to use the bathroom in the nearest suite. The envelope contained a short, cheerful letter from my Lord and Master, the absolutely perfect God-thing David; He informed me I’d stay on the island for 3-4 days and I was simply to do exactly as I was told. My preliminary instructions, being transmitted through David by his friend Thorn, were that once on the island I was to remain kneeling, no matter what orders I received from the servants, until I was specifically told otherwise by Thorn himself. Also I was not to speak or make a sound (fortunately I’m voice trained); the servants I was to obey implicitly, they too being cleared by Thorn and knowing what to do with me. David made sure I knew they were allowed to fuck me as they almost certainly would. He also warned me that Thorn had told Him several of his servants had a penchant for attempting to trick slaves into disobeying, as they were allowed to administer punishments if they caught me at it. Apparently Thorn had told my Master this and left it completely up to him whether to warn me or not, I have such a nice Master.

I shivered although the middle of summer, the open ocean was full of cold wind, but I was careful to voice no complaint, I was not allowed to speak; the captain however seemed to expect my shivering and he came over with a big thick coat draping it around me.

“Pull it around yourself, there’s a good girl,” he told me nicely, I looked up at him gratefully. Showering him with thanks from my deep green eyes.

From then I knelt on deck for almost three hours, before we reached our destination; I couldn’t get a good look at it, kneeling on the open deck. The captain docked and ran out the same ramp I’d boarded,

“Off you go, I have other pickups to make, go to the end of the dock where the sand begins, then wait for someone to come for you,” he paused as I let the jacket slide to the floor. “Don’t worry about your luggage.”

I nodded, giving him a smile as I crawled nude past him on my hands and knees. I looked back once catching him watching my ass sway, he just raised a brow unconcerned, and I continued crawling.

The sand was warm from the sun, no one was around, the yacht was the only ship in sight and the boathouse at the end of the dock was silent. Remaining on my knees, I sat with my ass on my heels, hands folded in my lap, looking around; I didn’t think anyone would object. Unfortunately I couldn’t see far, the beach stretched curving out of sight in both directions, ahead of me it rose gently, eventually becoming verdant grass, banking up in a little hill, obscuring my view. An hour passed as I knelt there like a good girl, I didn’t worry. Arc lights were on a tall pole by the boathouse, the black globe on top of the pole I was sure had to be a security camera, they knew I was here; besides they had to have heard the yacht come and go; I was being tested. Finally I heard whistling, I waited as the whistling grew closer; from over the rise a figure appeared.

She was an inch taller than I was at 5’3, slim but athletically built, creamy skin had just a hint of a tan, red brown hair curled around her ears. She was in a classic French maid outfit, black tight blouse with a short skirt and dark hose, white apron complemented by a little frilly white thing not a hat almost like a lace tiara atop her head. I’m bright I say it without hubris, from the way the outfit was worn just a little from use and repeated washing and from the way she moved in it so unselfconsciously natural, I just knew it was the uniform she regularly wore on duty, not some little play device used solely for sexual purposes; (I saw soon enough all the servants were in old style outfits like this, the males all looked like butlers out of old English movies).

She came up to me smiling warmly; she looked younger than me 22-3.

“Kala?” It wasn’t really a question, she wanted a response.

I looked at her, nodded meekly.

“I’m Lizibeth, I’ll be in charge of you while you’re here, and if you have any questions you come to me okay?”

Again I nodded.

“Do you have any questions?”

I shook my head; clearly she was a baiter.

“Quiet type are you, that’s okay,” She looked around, “luggage?”

I looked up at her and shrugged, it had been left on the ship, but I wasn’t to worry about it.

“I see, well come along.”

She turned and strode back the way she came quickly. I scrambled to follow her on my hands and knees, falling quickly behind; she stopped and waited at the top of the rise.

“Good girl,” she praised me snidely.

At the top of the rise a flagstone path started, snaking through the grass, a quarter mile away loomed a forest, the path led into it. As soon as I reached her side she started down the wide path, I followed on all fours and she slowed her pace dramatically, allowing me to easily follow beside her. We went into the woods, the temperature dropped about ten degrees in the shade of the trees, but it was still comfortably warm. I saw this wasn’t the forest proper, but only a thick screen of trees, we soon passed into a wide expanse of carefully trimmed lawn at least a hundred acres. At the center of this, several hundred yards away, stood a large rambling mansion, 3 stories with two five storey wings leading off it, the mansion appeared even bigger because of the large outbuildings surrounding it.

Lizibeth led me down the path; my knees were starting to hurt. We approached the wide marble front steps, flanked by statues of roaring lions, but she continued following the path around to the back, I kept up on all fours. In the back I could see more outbuildings, one clearly a barn, a corral full of horses beside it. She led me to a patio, several sets of white iron furniture scattered across it, a barbecue in one corner, it looked out on an Olympic sized swimming pool, and she pointed it out.

“He has another one inside; he never uses the outside one,” she snorted, looking at me companionably; I could tell she was trying to draw a response.

I kept my head down looking at the path. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her shrug, leading me up a couple of steps onto the patio, over to a marble bench; through several closed french doors I could see a busy kitchen bustling with servants and naked slaves, some but not most of the slaves knelt like me.

Beside the bench was a large mirror, leaning against the stone railing of the patio; it clearly wasn’t usually there. On the bench were 26 identical objects, I wasn’t sure what they were until Lizibeth indicated them.

“One for each letter, the ink is semi-permanent; your owner has been told what solution to use to take it off when you get home,” she paused smirking, “and if you get strip searched at the airport on the way home, the fast talking is up to you. Now how do you spell your name exactly?”

I looked at the stamps for a moment, up at her as she stood waiting for an answer to her question. I picked up the K stamp ink pad and all, setting it a little in front of the others, followed it with the single A stamp the L and then took the A stamp and moved it around until it was on the other side of the L.

She chuckled, apparently enjoying our little game, “clever.” I gave her a docile smile. She sat on the edge of the bench, made a twirling motion with one finger, “well, turn and present.”

I turned on my hands and knees, proffering her my bum. She pressed stamps one by one into my right buttock, making two words one above the other in three-inch high letters, finishing with another stamp, simply a thick black line.

“Well, take a look,” she said, picking up the mirror and holding it for me.

I looked over my shoulder; my name was underlined in two lines across my cheek.

SLAVE

KALA

She put the mirror back down, “like it?”

I nodded; I loved being owned. Once my Master had considered actually branding me, he’d decided against it, my hysterectomy scar was more than enough of a physical sign of my submission for his taste.

She stood, “come on, time to put you to work.”

The last part tossed over her shoulder as I followed, she didn’t lead me into the mansion, but over to the barn a few hundred yards away. We entered the wide-open barn doors side by side (me crawling on all fours). I could see at the far end of the barn another set of open doors, several young men in rough work clothes were doing things with horses (I don’t know, I’m not big on farm life); she led me to what I guess was a horse stall. No horse in it, but a wheelbarrow sat there waiting, a short handled shovel in it.

Lizibeth reached into the wheelbarrow and pulled out a pair of gloves, tossing them to me. “You’ll empty each stall of manure, whenever the barrow’s full wheel it out the back, you’ll see the pile where it goes; when each stall is empty get fresh hay from the loft above, you’ll see the ladder, and spread it on the floor. I’ll check on your progress around noon, one o clock,” she shrugged. As if the difference between my doing 2 or 3 hours of labor was unimportant, I knew alone I’d be at it all day, the barn had at least fifty stalls down each side and I am not exaggerating. “Any questions?”

I shook my head, pulling on the gloves. I am a slave; I shuddered as I thought this, part fear part love of my helplessness.

“Good, I’ll bring lunch for you.” With that she left.

I set to work; in some ways I’m a bit of a lady. I’m my Master’s Pain Slut, his Fuck Whore, his Toy in whatever way he cares to use me, and of course, I clean our house so it’s spotless. I am certainly not above physical labor, even getting dirty, but I prefer to be neat and clean myself, fastidious. 

I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose as I knelt amid the (fortunately dry) manure of the stall, it was undignified, and I couldn’t help but get really dirty as I shoveled what are they called horse apples? and bits of dirty hay. I finished emptying the first stall, the wheelbarrow was half full. Obediently like the well trained, well-behaved willing submissive I was (I should mention David had made it clear Thorn wasn’t interested in games of defiance and punishment this weekend, David told me if I went I was to be perfectly behaved or I’d be sent back and it would reflect badly on him) I remained on my knees. It was hard work pushing the wheelbarrow that way but I did it, I pushed it into the second stall, common sense told me to fill the wheelbarrow, empty it, then lay fresh hay in whatever stalls I had cleaned by then (before of course starting all over again).

After about forty minutes I’d finally cleaned 2 stalls, and the wheelbarrow was piled high. On my knees, I strained to lift the wooden handles of the ‘barrow. My Owner, a powerful well-conditioned man, has me perform a simple but through exercise routine, it’s not obvious unless you look me over closely but I am not weak. I moved the ‘barrow.

Slowly I made it out the back of the barn, where half a dozen men were still doing things to the horses, brushing them and stuff; they glanced at me and kept working. I had to stop the wheelbarrow (losing my momentum) and look around, but I quickly spotted the manure pile a hundred yards away across the grass. Slowly, muscles trembling I made my way to it, finally tipping the wheelbarrow over to spill its contents at the edge of the pile. My arms spasmed slightly, on my knees, I hadn’t the leverage, I couldn’t keep this up for long, I’m not nearly that well conditioned. Sighing; on my knees, I righted the barrow.

“Kala.”

I turned, I hadn’t heard him approach. A young man, sandy haired, his work clothes wafted the smell of horse to me, it wasn’t unpleasant.

“That would be a hell of a lot easier if you stood up,” he told me with a gentle smile; as if it was something I couldn’t figure out for myself.

I sighed deeply and nodded my agreement; he didn’t seem inclined to say anything else. I started pushing the wheelbarrow back to the barn, but after a moment he followed me.

“Wait.”

I stopped and looked at him.

“Did someone tell you to do that while on your knees?”

I shook my head.

“Stand up then.”

I hesitated; clearly the kid didn’t know the specifics of my instructions, but I did; again I shook my head.

“You’re not allowed to stand up?” 

I nodded. he seemed at a loss. I smiled at him, shrugged, went back to pushing. He followed me into the barn. I stopped near the ladder leading to the loft; ignoring him I prepared to climb. I wouldn’t technically be standing to do it.

I was on the fourth rung when he spoke, it was a decisive voice, ringing with a tone of command; it surprised me how confident he sounded once he made up his mind.

“Stop, come down here.”

I obeyed, looking up at him.

“Not supposed to talk either, are you?”

I shook my head in agreement.

“Hay…yes, wait here.”

He went up the ladder quickly. A long moment passed as I waited obediently; anyone on the island was allowed to have me do anything. A thump drew my attention, a square hay bale had fallen in front of the doors a few yards from where I knelt. It was followed by a second, rustling as it hit the first, and it slid partially off to perch at an angle. Moments later the young man came quickly down the ladder and walked over to the hay bales; he had gloves on now. He picked them both up with ease (seconds later I found out they each weighed about 25 pounds) and carried them over to me. He pulled out a pocketknife and cut the strings off the first bale, taking them and folding them into a little circle.

“Well, go ahead,” he told me, smiling.

I smiled a thank-you at him and grabbed an armful of loose hay. It scratched lightly at my breasts, prickling as I gathered as much as I could, perhaps a quarter of the bale. He watched as I shuffled on my knees into the first stall and started to spread the hay out. It took another couple of trips and the entire first bale to coat the floor of the stall in a covering of fresh hay; he knew what he was doing when he fetched two bales. By the time I finished covering the first stall, he had cut loose the second bale for me; he watched silently as I started laying down fresh hay in the second stall; it too took about 4 trips, shuffling with armfuls of hay on my knees.

On the last trip he followed me into the stall. As I busied myself spreading out the hay to cover the floor, he slid the door closed. Finished with the hay, I turned, looked up at him; he pulled a wallet out of his back pocket.

His fingers fumbled slightly as he spoke with a suddenly hoarse voice, he didn’t look at me. “I’ve never really gotten the attraction of this master slave thing; but if being ordered around is what makes you happy…”

He tried and failed to make the trailing off sound light; he had fumbled out a condom, finally looking at me as he put his wallet away. I smiled at him encouragingly and he moved toward me, seeming nervous like he was waiting for me to object. Condom in his hand, he licked his lips as he looked down at me; I gave just the tiniest nod to show him he was fine.

“Take,” he swallowed, tried again, “Take my pants down” the tiniest pause, “slave.”

I reached up and undid his jeans, slowly lowering the zipper; gently I gripped his jeans in both hands, pulled the garment down around his ankles. his pole made a tent of his gray briefs; slowly I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his underwear, looking up at him. He nodded a little quickly and I slid them down too. He was rock hard, about average 6 inches, circumcised; he had only a little hair around his balls which hung low, full.

He didn’t say anything as I took him gently in one hand, I opened my mouth and slowly wrapped my lips around his engorged head, and he sucked in a breath. I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t tell him he didn’t need the condom, perhaps he’d use it anyway. He stood there as I suckled his cock gently, moaning a bit when I did something he really liked. Slowly sliding my mouth all the way down his cock, back up to gently suck just his head, licking at the underside of it; it wasn’t long before he was pulsing in my mouth on the verge of exploding. I wondered if I was supposed to suck him off, we didn’t need the plastic apparently.

Suddenly he made me stop, pulling back; stuttering out, “enough, take it.”

I took the condom from him quickly opening it; I rolled it onto his penis for him.

“Turn,” he ordered.

I did and he squatted behind me, I felt him take me by the back of the neck; gently he squeezed, pushed until I bent over, going to my hands and knees. Behind me, he pushed more, pressing my face forward until I was in the fresh hay. I’m a nympho, I was wet, more than ready for him by now, the dark hair around my snatch a little moist, my lips wet and parted. I could smell the hay as he pushed my face down more firmly; he rose up behind me and guided himself into me from behind. I was voice trained, I fought a moan as he impaled me, managing to remain utterly silent (I’m such a good girl; praise me) and he fucked me quickly, cumming in under thirty seconds, exploding into the condom.

He was young, the little foreplay had almost undone him, at 28 I was mature enough to forgive him (but dammit he finished before I could cum). He didn’t seem to consider my own orgasm (the one I didn’t have {no I forgive him really}). After he came, he leaned against my back for a moment, before pulling out and sprawling onto his seat. I knelt there, waiting.

“Kala?”

I turned, sitting up and facing him, I gave him a smile; I’m a slave, my own enjoyment must be subordinate.

He smiled back. “Alright slave, there’s a wastebasket by the front doors, take the condom, gently please,” he said it with a laugh in his voice, nervousness gone when I hadn’t objected, “you can wash your hands out back, there’s a pump.”

I nodded my understanding and, shuffling forward, I reached out, gently taking his now flaccid member, carefully working the condom off. He started pulling up his pants as I grabbed the wrapper and shuffled toward the door. It took some doing to get the stall door open, my vagina was throbbing with anticipation, I knew wasn’t going to be satisfied soon; he was on his feet by the time I slid the door open. I found the wastebasket beside the door as he’d said, then I crawled all the way out to the back, he was standing ready by a pump. As I crawled towards him he started pumping and cold clear water began to flow.

“Alright Kala, let me know when you’re clean enough.”

I nodded at him as I thrust my hands into the stream, it wouldn’t do to become sopping wet, as I’d get muddy in the stalls. I just washed my hands, before bringing them down between my thighs; he watched me with a smile as I mopped my mound (sting of pleasure). Wolf whistles and catcalls came from the other men around the horses. I looked over at them, they were watching.

“Pretty little thing isn’t she Jeremy?” one called.

“Get your own, Dave,” my new friend Jeremy called back.

“Easy enough,” another man said, “there’s twenty or so up at the house already, and I think fifty total coming.”

“Don’t worry, Jeremy,” another teased, “we’ll let you and your new girlfriend have some private time together, we can finish your quota of the horses.”

“Thanks.” The twenty-something called back laconically, not at all intimidated by the teasing of his friends, “I do have something to do up at the house.”

“What, you’re cheating on her already?”

Jeremy laughed, winking at me; I smiled. It didn’t matter if he found another girl and fucked her right in front of me, he didn’t mean that much to me. I was done washing myself; he realized this and stopped pumping.

“Back inside Kala, before they tease us to death.”

Grinning at the friendly byplay, and enjoying the teasing whistles as I departed, I crawled on my hands and knees back into the barn. I caught sight of the wheelbarrow, waiting for me, and gave just the tiniest sigh as I crawled toward it, picking up my gloves.

“Determined aren’t you?” Jeremy asked.

I hadn’t realized he’d followed me again; he should wear a bell. I nodded dejectedly, pulling on the gloves. He watched as I moved the wheelbarrow in front of the next dirty stall and picked up the shovel.

“No,” he said.

I looked at him questioningly.

“Put it down, you’re not doing that.”

I put the shovel down.

“Who’s in charge of you?” he sighed realizing, “never mind, just kneel there and wait, don’t do anything,” he paused, “that’s an order slave.”

I nodded at him. He strode away quickly, heading for the back of the mansion. I knelt quietly for about fifteen minutes, the wet portions of my skin slowly drying. I was dirty, smelly, covered in things I knew weren’t but determinedly insisted in my mind were flakes of dirt. I am very fastidious about my personal hygiene and behavior; I’d do anything for a proper shower right now.

Lizibeth came in; she looked chagrinned. “I hope you know I never meant for you to do more than a couple of stalls, I was about to come back when that handler found me.”

I assumed she meant Jeremy was a horse handler of some kind. I looked at her and shrugged.

“Come on,” she ordered.

On my hands and knees, I followed her to the back of the house. She led me further along the pathway to another patio, this one built of wood. A plate sat on a little table and the plate held a pair of sandwiches, cold roast with lettuce.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

I’d had breakfast, like dinner before it on the plane.  Although it was only eleven, I was ravenous and I nodded.

She picked up the plate. “Would you like this?” she asked sweetly; her tone should have warned me.

Again I nodded, looking at the plate and not at her.

“Ask.”

I looked at her, dumbstruck; she knew I couldn’t speak.

“You’re not going to ask?” she asked archly.

I shrugged, confused.

“If you ask for it, I promise I’ll give it to you,” she was teasing me; she waited a moment. “You aren’t hungry enough to speak to me, eh? Alright then I guess you’re not hungry enough to have these.”

She set the plate back down on the table, looking at me. Indignation rose up in me, mingled with a little shame at my treatment, then I forced it away. I was a slave and she had every right to be cruel to me if it pleased her, some people liked to humiliate slaves…and I was here for the pleasure of others. I knew I’d be fed eventually, and if I had to miss a meal or two first, well it couldn’t hurt; but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of being able to say I’d been disobedient, if she wanted to whip me she didn’t need an excuse.

She spoke softly, a little huskily, “it’s not too late, if you’re hungry just ask for the sandwiches, I swear you’ll get them, it’s not a trick.”

No it wasn’t, she’d let me eat, then punish me for misbehaving; I shook my head.

“Alright then,” she spoke briskly.

She went over to the wall where a hose lay, dribbling water, she picked it up.

“Can’t take you into the house like that.”

She pointed the hose at me, taking a few steps closer, “get ready,” she warned.

I braced myself as a gentle spray of ice cold water jetted from the hose, soaking me. I shivered and washed myself as she soaked me down, getting all the little bits of ‘dirt’ off me. She watched intently, apparently hoping the icy water would provoke a sound from me, (I bless my Master’s training). I was quickly soaking wet, but at least cleaner, I just wished I had soap. She didn’t wet my head so my shoulder length midnight black hair remained dry; she turned off the hose.

“Okay, heel, slave,” she spoke briskly, at least temporarily not bothering to try to make me misbehave.

I didn’t know if I’d really made her angry by refusing to ‘lose’, perhaps our game was over, or perhaps she was merely thinking about her next move. On my hands and knees I followed her (she kept her pace slow for me, absentmindedly, I could tell she led slaves around a lot) she led me around to the front of the house, now she led me up the front steps and through the front door.

The main hall was spacious, marble floor, large rooms opening off it to either side, straight ahead a marble staircase had wrought iron banisters. A slave stood in front of this facing the main doors, apparently waiting with her hands clasped behind her and head lowered. She was short about my height 5’4 maybe a hundred fifteen pounds, tiny breasts with tiny light pink nipples and almost no aureoles, she too had raven hair but her pussy was shaved clean. At her feet were 2 small steaming buckets 2 sets of dishwashing gloves and 2 toothbrushes. Lizibeth led me to her, I could see the buckets were full of some frothy steaming liquid; the other slave looked up, bringing her hands to her sides.

“Alright, we’re giving out jobs in small sections so people don’t get overwhelmed and just give up,” she paused making sure she had both our attention, “you two get the fun of cleaning the wrought iron banisters; split the job however you like, but I suggest you take a side each. There’s only twenty steps to the next floor, and don’t worry, others will be doing the stairs from there; make damn sure you use the gloves, that cleaner will burn your hands, but I expect the banister spotless when I get back in an hour. If it’s not, you get a whipping. Any questions?”

I shook my head, eyeing the toothbrushes.

“No Ma’am.” The Asian slave replied in a soft seductive voice.

“Back in an hour then,” Lizibeth said, “Remember, spotless.”

She left through a door. The other slave looked at me.

“Hi, what’s your name?” she said brightly in the same husky voice.

I smiled at her and presented my ass. I heard her chuckle as I turned back to face her.

“Can’t talk, hey, Kala? That’s alright, I think we’ve got a lot of work to do, I’m.”

She turned around, stamped on her ass: SLAVE XO

I resisted the urge to giggle, I had to be silent not just not talk.

She turned back to face me, “well, which side do you want?”

I shrugged, it didn’t matter.

“How about you take the left side, and I’ll do the right, how about for fun we switch sides halfway up?”

I shrugged and nodded.

“Okay then, red toothbrush or blue one? and don’t just shrug and nod.”

I smiled and picked up the red toothbrush, she laughed.

We donned gloves and took our buckets to opposite sides of the stairs, which could be mounted by at least a dozen people abreast. I soon became absorbed in cleaning, ignoring the ache in my knees as I knelt on the marble (Xo sat on her ass, much more comfortable). I cleaned, using the brush to scrape the iron spotless, it was easy, tiny bits of dirt and rust disappeared with a single stroke of the brush, the cleanser was powerful; but it was time consuming and we knew we’d be punished if we weren’t done in an hour. We didn’t switch sides halfway up, too absorbed in our work. Both of us completely ignored, and were ignored by, the half dozen livered servants and the dozens of naked inked slaves who passed us repeatedly, hurrying about on their own errands.

Xo reached the top step about four steps ahead of me. I continued working, she sat down and watched me for a moment. After a bit (I moved up a step) she spoke.

“Well I’m done…I’ll help you finish if you like,” her tone made it clear she didn’t really want to.

I glanced at the grandfather clock beside the front doors, we still had ten minutes. I looked at her and shook my head; she immediately took off her gloves and leaned back, relaxing. I finished my side of the stairs with two minutes to spare, the floor at the top was thickly carpeted; I luxuriated as I knelt beside Xo, and she smiled at me.

“Too bad you can’t talk, we can’t have a real conversation, although I’m sure they’ll lift that restriction soon enough. I’m from Canada, I guess you’re from the States?”

I shook my head; I’m from Calgary although I couldn’t tell her that.

“Oh, well I’m from Calgary,” she said brightly. “My Master lent me to Thorn for the weekend, they do some business together and a couple of times, well shouldn’t kiss and tell. Hey, are you a lesbian, or bi?”

I hesitated, I fuck whoever my Master tells me too, I don’t mind women, I just don’t choose them. I couldn’t explain that though; I nodded.

She laughed, “I should have asked just one, but in any case you’re beautiful, if anyone wants a threesome this weekend, I hope it’s you and me.”

I smiled at her, she was friendly enough.

“Hey, do you ever get to Calgary? My Master would love to fuck you.”

I grinned at her, she laughed. “We’ll discuss it later, okay?”

I nodded. Lizibeth appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“All done?” she called up.

“Yes Ma’am.” Xo replied submissively.

Lizibeth had my plate of cold roast sandwiches, now wrapped in plastic. She started inspecting the railing I had cleaned, stooping to look at the top and bottom base of several individual railings as well as glancing at the handrail itself. She only checked three or four at the bottom, before nodding, climbing swiftly to the top beside us and checking the top two. She nodded in satisfaction and murmured, “good,” and she looked at me, “hungry now?”

I nodded.

She held out the plate, “I asked Mr. Thorn, he backs me, you don’t get anything to eat until you eat these, and you don’t get these until I choose to give them to you. Ask and you can have them.”

She smiled, waiting, I looked at her blandly; eventually I’d get to speak, I was sure, even if not they wouldn’t starve me to death; I can be stubborn.

“Okay,” she shrugged, set the plate down next to me as if she thought I’d be foolish enough to take before she gave me. She went and checked the other railing.

She came back, shaking her head. She glanced at me hopefully, “the right side is not acceptable, who did it?”

Xo, bless her, was a good slave. “I did, Ma’am.”

“25 lashes with the #3 strap, you know where that is, you were shown last night.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Xo replied obediently with a slight shudder.

“Run your lazy ass there and fetch it for me, now!”

Xo leaped to her feet and took off up the next flight of stairs.

Lizibeth looked at me, “you did well Kala.” I smiled, I enjoy praise. She pointed at a door down the hall a little way. “That’s a closet for the cleaning staff, empty the buckets into its sink, then fill the sink with cold water from the tap and let the brushes and gloves soak. Leave the door open when you’re done.”

I nodded, taking two trips on my knees to do as she ordered. By the time I returned, a breathless Xo had come back with a thin long leather strap. It had no handle but one end had a loop for the wielder’s wrist.

Lizibeth took this, slipping the loop over her wrist. Calmly she spoke, “turn around, hands on your knees, you lazy bitch.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Xo answered meekly doing as she was told, presenting her back.

Lizibeth glanced at me, smiling. She turned back to Xo, raising her weapon; she gave Xo exactly 25 stripes down her back, very hard ones. By the fifth Xo was gasping, by ten she was outright crying. When Lizibeth finished, she folded the strap a couple of times, Xo continued to sob.

Gently she spoke. “Good girl, straighten up now.”

Crying, Xo did, tears streaming down her face as she tuned to face Lizibeth; every lash had welted and drawn a thin line of blood, she’d be marked for at least a couple of days.

Lizibeth brought up the folded strap, “open.”

Xo did and Lizibeth tenderly placed the strap in her mouth, Xo gripped it in her teeth.

“The cleaning supplies are in that open door, you’re going to clean the banister again, and you just keep the strap right there in case I need it a second time.”

Xo nodded.

“If you think you’re finished before I get back, I suggest you look it over carefully.”

Xo nodded, sniffling a little.

Lizibeth picked up my plate. “Kala come.”