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Chapter 27
While you are being put through your paces by Chrissie I have spent my time trying to forget you exist – albeit unsuccessfully. After spending that first night crying over you I realised that I have to move on. I have heard nothing from Chrissie since I signed you over to her and though I have picked up the telephone a couple of times to call her I have put it back down again. It would not be fair to her to constantly phone her to check up on you. If there were problems I am sure she would ring me. I do feel sad though, because now that you are living with her I can no longer just drop by her house with a bottle of wine and a chick flick for us to watch, or just drop in to catch up on the gossip. Not only have I lost, for the second time, the man I love, I have also lost my best friend.
A couple of times I have been out clubbing with other friends and picked up guys and taken them home, hoping to numb the pain by losing myself in another man’s arms. But it just isn’t the same. I have become so used to having a bonded man in my bed eager to please me in every way that having sex with a free man is just not exciting. I have become so accustomed to having you spend hours between my legs pleasuring me with your tongue, or worshipping my feet whilst expecting nothing in return that it is a shock to sleep with a man who sees foreplay as a chore and is only interested in his own pleasure. Each time I have had another man in my bed I have lain there completely unsatisfied, crying myself to sleep after they have gone. Being left sexually frustrated and disillusioned with men in general I stop going out with my friends and refuse to take any calls.
Sitting at home feeling sorry for myself one day my thoughts drift back to you. I can’t help but remember that you were a pretty unselfish lover, even as a free man. You always made sure that I was satisfied before taking your own pleasure. Perhaps that’s why I fell in love with you. But I realise that I am looking at you through rose tinted glasses. If things had been that perfect between us you would never have left me the first time round, and let’s face it the only reason you stayed the second time was because you had no choice. You are a slave with nowhere to run. And if you really had grown to care about me this time then you would never have done what you did to my friend.
Thinking back to when I took you to the pub and Chrissie was being very ‘friendly’ towards you has made me wonder whether you were unfaithful to me years ago with her. I know she has an insatiable appetite for men and perhaps you were one of those she took to her bed. I always assumed that as we were friends she would never steal my boyfriends but perhaps I was wrong. I’m also starting to wonder whether you were having consensual sex the night you were caught with her, and she cried rape because she was afraid of my reaction. Even after giving you a second chance you still betrayed me. Have I been a fool I wonder?
I need to talk to someone about it and decide to phone Maritje from the auction house, who has become a good friend, and is also the only one apart from Chrissie that knows I own a slave; so will understand what I am going through.
She listens sympathetically; as she understands that many Owners become emotionally attached to their slaves. She is also shocked at what happened.
‘I must say Tracey that I am really surprised that your slave has done such a terrible thing. From the conversations I listened to when he was here he certainly seemed devoted to you. I remember that he even made his friend promise to take care of you and not hurt you in anyway if he ended up under your ownership, and when he begged me to help free him he told me how much he loved you, so to find out that he attempted to rape your friend sounds very unlike him. But I suppose we also have to remember what he did to you so perhaps that side of him was still simmering below the surface and hadn’t been erased as we thought. I know you have said that you are going to take him back when his time with your friend is up, but I really think you ought to consider selling him for real. I would be more than happy to put him through another auction for you. I think he needs to be firmly controlled and I know of a couple of men who would be just right to own him.’
‘I think perhaps you are right Maritje. I wish to God that I had never set eyes on him. Twice now he has broken my heart and I can’t go through that again. I just wish it was easy to forget about him. I can’t stand feeling so unhappy.’
After a short pause Maritje says ‘I think I may have just the thing to cheer you up actually.’
My curiosity aroused I ask what she means.
‘Do you remember your slave’s friend? Dennis I think he used to be called in his free life.’
I definitely remember him! I used him regularly to pleasure me while you were at the auction house to make you jealous.
‘Yes, I remember him, who wouldn’t! He is an extremely attractive slave with a body to die for! What about him?’
‘Well as luck would have it his Owner has been posted abroad for six months with her job and she can’t take him with her, so she has offered his services to me while she is away. She never said that I couldn’t lend him out to anyone, and as long as he isn’t harmed in any way I’m more than happy to lend him to you, to help cheer you up.’
Stunned I ask ‘Are you being serious?’
‘Of course I am, I wouldn’t mention it if I wasn’t’
‘I – I don’t know what to say’
Laughing Maritje says ‘Just say yes, thanks very much for the offer when can I collect him?’
‘Well if you’re sure, then I gratefully accept your offer! When can I collect him?!’
Laughing Maritje replies ‘I have a ladies evening planned for tonight so I’ll have him prepared for you after that, so if you want to drop by on Thursday he will be ready for you then. Actually, why don’t you come to the party tonight. I think you might enjoy it, as I have arranged something special for us to watch, which I guarantee will leave you highly aroused!’
Intrigued as to what it could possibly but not sure if I really want to return to the auction house for a ladies get together, incase it reminds me of the times I attended when you were there I hesitate to accept her offer.
She senses my reluctance and assures me that I will be enjoying myself so much I won’t have time to think about you.
‘Ok, I’ll come, thanks for inviting me.’
‘No problem I will see you at seven.’
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Arriving at the auction house I knock on the door and wait nervously. I’m not really sure that this is a good idea. But before I have a chance to change my mind the door opens on well oiled hinges to reveal a Roman Gladiator standing before me.
My jaw dropping open in surprise all I can say is ‘oh my God!’
‘Please ma’am come in and let me take your jacket for you.’
Completely speechless but heart racing at seeing a secret fantasy standing before me I manage to close my mouth and hand over my jacket as I step into the hall.
Following him through to the mansion’s large drawing room I soon notice that the men – all slaves – are dressed in either gladiatorial or ancient Roman Army uniforms. My heart gives an involuntary lurch as I take in the sight of so many muscular and tanned men dressed so sexily. It is ironic that the Romans would dress their gladiators in such masculine and commanding clothes yet they, on the whole were slaves, only allowed to live so that they could die ‘in battle’ in an arena for the pleasure of their bloodthirsty owners. I remember the first time I watched the film ‘Gladiator’ with Russell Crowe as the leading man. Never has there been a more powerful and sexy man to wear a skirt! How many hours did I spend lying in my bed dreaming of him sweeping me off my feet and taking me to be his woman? And now here this evening at the auction house, for my pleasure and the pleasure of all the other women present are numerous men dressed in the very costumes that I find so horny, ready and waiting to do my bidding. Perhaps I will be able to forget about you and enjoy myself for a few hours after all.
‘Welcome Tracey, please don’t stand there in the doorway, come in!’ Maritje’s voice calls from where she is reclining on a chaise lounge by an open fire, with a young slave, still in his teens judging by the spots on his face, kneeling in front of her with one fine silk stocking clad foot in his mouth and the other resting on his cock and balls.
Stepping through the doorway I pick up a glass of rioja from a tray resting on the back of a kneeling slave, whose role this evening is to be the drinks trolley and make my way over to Maritje.
‘Thanks for inviting me Maritje. I’ve spent too much time at home on my own wallowing in self pity. I promise not to be a misery this evening. In fact I think I’m going to have a very enjoyable evening. I can’t believe how you have dressed your slaves. They look amazing and I have to confess that being swept off my feet by a Roman Gladiator has long been a secret fantasy of mine!’
Grinning Maritje replies ‘I’m glad you approve! It is rather erotic I must admit being surrounded by so many muscular and ‘manly’ men, knowing that although they look commanding they are in fact ours to command and they will obey. Now tell me Tracey, would you like to have Dennis serve you exclusively this evening to see how you get along, or would you rather sample the delights of some of the other slaves on offer this evening?’
‘Well I’m not really sure to be honest. Seeing so many gorgeous beasts makes me feel like a kid in a sweet shop, so many sweets to choose from I don’t know what to pick!’
‘Ok, why don’t you just relax and let all the slaves serve you. I won’t let Dennis service any of the others sexually, he will be left for you to use when you are ready, is that alright with you?’
‘Yes, yes of course it is. Thank you very much for being so kind to me.’
As I move away to look for somewhere to sit a gong is struck by a male slave dressed in a toga, signalling that dinner is about to be served. The ladies are helped to their feet and led on the arms of their chosen ‘gladiator’ into the dining room. As soon as each lady is sitting her ‘gladiator’ stands to attention behind her. Trailing along behind them I move to take my own place at the table. Immediately a spare gladiator rushes over and pulls out the chair for me. Once I am seated he takes his place behind me. Tonight’s centre piece on the table is an oiled and very muscular black man, his skin almost the colour of ebony. Many of the ladies, myself included stare in fascination at his cock which has one end of a pink ribbon tied tightly round the shaft just behind the head, with the other end of the ribbon stretching his cock upwards towards the ceiling with the end tied off to the chandelier hanging above the table. But that is not why any of us are staring at it. It is the size of his cock that we can’t believe. It has to be at least 10 inches long, even in its flaccid state, it is absolutely enormous! A couple of the women shuffle uncomfortably in their seats as a vision goes through their minds of how big that cock must be when it’s hard, and what it would be like to be impaled on it.
Dinner is wonderful as always. Maritje certainly has some highly skilled slaves amongst her collection. One, I found out later was once a top London chef with his own string of restaurants. Unfortunately he also liked to drink and lost everything because of his alcoholism; his wife, children, home and business. When Maritje came across him he was almost a ‘down and out’ in the gutter. She offered him a job and promised to help him beat his drink problem. What she didn’t tell him was that he would have no choice but to stop drinking once he entered her home and her world. He was of course impressed when he saw the size of the house, and his eyes lit up when he saw the fabulously laid out and well stocked kitchen where he would be working. It could easily pass for a professional kitchen in a top London restaurant. Maritje led him to believe that she ran the house as a home from home for extremely wealthy guests who needed a break away from their stressful lives. Although that was true, it wasn’t the whole truth. She ‘forgot’ to tell him about what the guests did to relax and enjoy themselves, and of course she never told him about the slave auctions.
The first night of his stay she treated him as an honoured guest; carefully keeping away any slaves from him, as she didn’t want to give him any inkling of the real business she ran from ‘home’. He went to bed a happy man, believing Maritje to be his salvation. By morning when he woke the realisation that things weren’t quite what he believed them to be came when he found himself in a completely different type of room to the one he went to bed in. Gone were the luxurious fixtures and fittings, and in their place a plain metal framed single bed screwed to the floor, with a thin blanket and bare stone walls and no window. In shock he tried to jump off the bed and race to the door, only to find that he couldn’t - he was chained by one ankle to the bed.
For several weeks he endured ‘cold turkey’ as he was denied the alcohol his body desperately craved. In all that time no one spoke to him, slaves came and went with his food and he was given a bowl of fresh water each day to wash himself and clean his teeth. A bucket served his basic needs. Apart from that small contact with other human beings he was left to endure his own private hell. When his body had finally overcome his addiction Maritje freed him from his cell and allowed him to take a luxurious bath with scented oils and female slaves to wash him. There were however, two burly males in attendance incase he got any funny ideas about overpowering the women and making a bid for freedom. Washed, shaved and his hair cut short he felt human again, and ready to believe that the hell Maritje had put him through was purely to help him beat his addiction. He wasn’t prepared to be told that he was in fact now a slave, and would be kept at the house as a chef to cook for all her dinner parties etc. Providing that he did as he was told, she told him, there would be no need to whip him but she expected complete and total obedience. Of course, as he was a well known face in public, he would never be able to leave the house again but she promised to take care of him - if he behaved.
Although he was a gifted chef he was a weak man and realising the hopelessness of his situation, he reluctantly agreed. He was told that the slave collar that had been locked around his neck would ensure that he got no further than the front and back doors of the house, so there was no point trying to escape. Leg irons were also locked around his ankles, but his wrists were kept unfettered for practical reasons. He did once foolishly test the collar and found that as soon as he opened the kitchen door and stepped outside a shock went through his whole body, making him collapse to the ground in agony, his body shaking as if having an epileptic fit. It only stopped when he was dragged back inside by one of the other slaves. Needless to say he didn’t try to escape again. Instead he worked hard and soon came to realise that with hard work came rewards.
With time he earned some personal luxuries. He was given his own bedroom in the attic with a small adjoining bathroom. He was also allowed after a couple of years to have a portable TV and radio in his bedroom, so that he could keep in touch with the outside world. At some point every day the shocking device in his collar would be disabled and he would be escorted out of the house and chained with a long length of chain to a ring set in the stonework of the house, so that he could get fresh air and exercise if he wanted to. He also had use of the slave’s gym as Maritje expected him to be physically fit. She had a deep disgust of fat unhealthy men.
After five years as Maritje’s slave he had found contentment with his life, no longer resenting his slavery but eventually coming to look upon it as his salvation. Without Maritje he would surely be lying dead in a gutter by now; a broken and defeated man. He was even given more freedom within his slavery, having free access to the whole house and grounds, and not once did he abuse that freedom, he had come to be grateful to Maritje for saving his life, and was now devoted to her. Without her he knew he had no life.
After dinner we all retired again to the drawing room to rest and gossip whilst we let our magnificent meal settle. Everyone was far too full to even contemplate any strenuous activities with the men at our disposal. Not that any of the slaves were complaining, they were mostly relieved that their most arduous duties for the next hour were re-filling the ladies glasses and foot massage. Those with nothing to do knelt submissively at their given Mistress’ feet.
At the sound of the gong being struck Maritje clapped her hands in delight whilst the rest of us looked curiously at her, knowing that the gong signalled the start of the evening’s entertainment and wondering what she had planned. I had an idea what was going to happen and was proved correct when we all traipsed into the large ballroom, where previously I had watched you cage fighting in an attempt to win your freedom.
The room had been set up to resemble a mini amphitheatre. Benches with cushions on them were arranged at a safe distance around the outside of the ‘pit’. Everyone would have a good view of the ‘gladiators’ who had been chosen to fight for our entertainment without risking coming to harm themselves. A couple of the more genteel women were not too keen on watching slaves fighting each other, especially if it was to the death as in Roman times. Although they were slave owners and recognised that some physical punishment was necessary in order to ensure a slave’s obedience, they didn’t believe in unnecessary violence or abuse of those men forced into slavery.
As they were about to excuse themselves from the entertainment Maritje walked into the centre of the arena.
‘Welcome to all of you. I hope that you will enjoy the surprise entertainment that I have laid on for you all. I know that there are some amongst you this evening who may find the entertainment distasteful or even upsetting, and you are of course free to leave and enjoy instead other types of pleasure on offer this evening. But for those of you who haven’t attended this type of event here before I would like to reassure you that although the slaves you will see shortly are fighting each other for real they are all, each and every one of them volunteers. There is of course a reward for the winner, and each of those fighting is doing so because he wants to win that reward. I also want to reassure you that this is not a fight to the death as in olden times. Each gladiator you will see is equipped with real armour but the sword and gladius he fights with are made from wood. There will be no blood shed this evening.’
Only one woman after hearing Maritje’s opening speech decides to leave and return to the drawing room. Although she isn’t particularly bothered about watching men fight, the thought of having several slaves all to herself for the next hour or so is much more appealing.
The rest of us remain seated waiting with anticipation for the first combatants. It is clear from the way they move and avoid each other’s weapons that the slaves have been practising for this evening. This is no amateur fight, each gladiator although not necessarily powerfully built is skilled in the use of their chosen weapon. It is when the third pair of gladiators enter the arena that I really sit up and pay attention. The more muscular of the two men preparing to fight is none other than Dennis. Raising an eyebrow in surprise I look at Maritje sitting a few feet away from me. She smiles in return knowing exactly what is going through my mind! I watch intently as both men battle it out, each trying to batter the other into submission. The sweat forming on Dennis’ tanned body and his taut rippling muscles send an unexpected thrill through me. I am aroused by him and can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have him in my bed.
Unsurprisingly Dennis wins overall and he kneels in the middle of the arena head bowed towards Maritje. Although it turned me on to watch Dennis fighting I am disappointed that he has won, assuming that, as before, he has been fighting for his freedom. It looks as if I won’t get to take him home for a few months after all. If anyone could make me forget about you and your betrayal it would have been him. I’m surprised therefore to find out that his reward is to spend one day and night as a ‘free’ man, although his freedom is restricted within the house and grounds of the estate. Although his slave collar (which like all the others is fitted with a shocking device to prevent him escaping the grounds) must remain around his neck, his wrists and ankles will be unfettered. His freedom also means that he can wear clothes and shoes and use any of the facilities available. He will in fact be treated as a guest, and waited on if he wishes by the other slaves.
I’m surprised that any of the slaves put themselves through so much in order to gain only 24 hours of restricted freedom. Surely the pain of being beaten through fighting isn’t worth it just to gain that small amount of freedom? When I look back later on my thoughts at that time I realise how naďve and insensitive I was. How the hell could I, a free woman, know what it is like to suffer being a slave to another human being? Of course they would volunteer to fight or do anything for their Masters and Mistresses just for the promise of even a small amount of freedom from the unending daily grind of suffering and humiliation.
Dennis chose to start his 24 hours of freedom from the following morning. It was already quite late and he knew that to have his freedom now would waste valuable time for him, as exhausted he knew that he would fall asleep as soon as he was given a bed to lie on. His decision made he was led away to shower and clean himself up.
Relieved that I wasn’t going to lose the opportunity to have him for myself I asked Maritje if I could make use of his services for the rest of the evening. Smiling she confirmed that of course I could, but if I was staying the night and intended to keep him with me then I must release him from whatever bondage I put him in at 8 o’clock in the morning. Blushing I promised that I would.
I had returned to the drawing room and drunk a few more glasses of wine, making myself a bit tipsy by the time Dennis had showered and changed. In the middle of a conversation with one of the other ladies, I didn’t notice at first that she was no longer listening to me but staring over my shoulder. When I realised I turned round to see what she was staring at. Right behind me Dennis was standing waiting patiently. My heart skipped a beat as I took in the ancient Roman army uniform he was wearing; just for me.
Before I could speak he took the glass of wine from my hand, passed it to a nearby slave and lifted me off my feet and into his arms before carrying me up the sweeping staircase to my bedroom.
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