In Search of Master Exeter

In Search of Master Exeter

by Ashley B. D. Zacharias

Celine was bored: bored with teaching, bored with being single, bored with life in general. A bored woman is a woman looking for trouble and the place to look for trouble is on the Internet. Celine found all she could want in the form of a little advertisement on a site called, “www.adultadventuresunlimited.com”.

It began simply enough one spring day. She came home from school, bored practically to death, having struggled to teach four classes of twelve year olds to avoid dangling their participles. She needed some excitement so, after checking her email, she typed, “bored woman desperately needs excitement” into Google. The combination returned an endless number of personal ads, and she spent the remainder of the afternoon leafing through them.

Most of the ads were uninspired pleas from men looking for women who would be willing to have sex with no obligation. In a typical ad, a horny man was looking for a married woman who was bored with her husband and wanted an afternoon quickie. It was easy to see their reasoning. A women who was married was already having sex so accommodating another partner would be no big deal for them. She would already have a husband who was supporting her so she wouldn't be looking for a commitment. And she would have to be so discrete that she wouldn't expect to be treated to so much as a dinner and a movie in exchange for her sexual favors.

Celine flipped through these ads with disdain. She would bet that most of the men placing the ads were married themselves and were bored with their own wives; and that most of the women who answered the ads were prostitutes who would be happy to relieve the man's boredom for a nice fee. Chances were good that these people would reach a business arrangement that would please both of them. Though the man would only be pleased until the day came when his faithful wife discovered that he had passed a dose of herpes to her and kicked his sorry cheating ass to the curb.

Celine did not answer these ads because she didn't satisfy the basic requirement: she might be bored but she wasn't anyone’s wife and she had no interest in a tawdry affair with someone else’s husband.

But when she hit the Adult Adventures Unlimited web site she saw something different. The entire site was a single page displaying one small ad that said, “ Bored? Lonely? Are you a woman looking for some excitement in your life? Do you attract good men but can't make them commit to you? Learn what men really want. Serve as a sexual slave for an experienced master for a two-week training period and your life will be changed for the better. All activities are guaranteed to be safe, sane, and consensual. Email MasterWilliamExeter@primail.com for details.”

She read the ad and was about to hit the Back button but paused to think. Maybe she shouldn't dismiss this idea out of hand. She was exactly the woman described. She had always been able to find a boyfriend, could keep him interested for a few weeks, sometimes as long as a few months, but as soon as the initial flush of excitement faded, so did the relationship. She was twenty-eight years old, had had more than a dozen boyfriends since high school, and had been dumped every time. She was tired of kissing frogs; it was time for her prince to come. Maybe she needed to try a new approach. Maybe she needed to learn what men really wanted from her. Master Exeter promised that he could teach her a magic secret.

She liked the phrase, “guaranteed safe, sane, and consensual”. She wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but it sounded like she wouldn't be taking too much risk. If the arrangement was guaranteed, then what could go wrong? It wouldn’t hurt to hear about the details. It might even be amusing.

She wrote Master Exeter a short email that said that she was a single, twenty-eight-year-old woman who would like to know more about his proposal that she be trained as a sexual slave. Typing the words, “sexual slave” disquieted her, but she told herself that the “sexual” part wasn't such a big deal – she'd had sex with a dozen men in the past decade; it wouldn't hurt her to have sex with one more – and the “slave” part wasn't such a big deal, either, if all activities were consensual. Consensual activities couldn’t really be enslavement. “Consensual slavery” would be an oxymoron. Besides, at this point, she was merely seeking information, not making any kind of commitment.

She ignored her misgivings and pressed the 'send' button.

When she did not hear back within a few hours, she decided that she had been foolish to expect anything and forgot about her email.

Two days later, she was reminded when she received the following reply:

Dear Celine:

Thank-you for responding to my advertisement. I am an experienced dominant male who enjoys tutoring women in the best sexual techniques that satisfy men's innate biological desires. By making your man feel like he is an alpha male, you can earn his undying love, respect, and loyalty. By sacrificing the appearance of power, you can gain actual power. You will be able to control and shape your future romantic relationships to your satisfaction. Thus, paradoxically, by being a submissive women, you will gain more control over any man than you ever dreamed possible.

Learning these powerful techniques requires that you participate in a two-week long course of one-on-one training. During this time, I will personally tutor you. I will do this strictly for the pleasure of seeing you discover how to achieve your own goals. I do not charge any fee or tuition. However, you will be asked to cover basic expenses, primarily food, lodging and some special equipment. The cost of these expenses vary, depending on what kind of accommodation you prefer. The least expensive alternative is for me to travel to your home; the most expensive is for you to take accommodation for both of us in a luxury hotel in a resort destination.

This is your first lesson. Merely by agreeing to serve as a sexual slave, you have already taken control of the location of your servitude.

Be assured that there is much more for you to learn and much more power for you to acquire.

If you wish to pursue this further, I would be pleased to provide more detailed information.

Sincerely, Master William Exeter

Celine was intrigued. It sounded like she had more to gain than lose in this arrangement. The overall tone of the letter sounded “safe, sane, and consensual”. She read it again and was impressed that it was well written. There were no grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. Irrationally, that reassured her more than the ideas presented. She liked to think that she was dealing with a professional.

On the other hand, she had no intention of getting herself involved in anything as weird as volunteering to be some stranger’s “sexual slave” for two weeks. She had explored this idea as deeply as she wanted.

Two days later, she had to admit that she wasn’t so bored any more. Since she’d answered Master Exeter’s ad and read his email, she’d had something more interesting to think about than warning yet another class of seventh graders about the dangers of splitting infinitives. She kept wondering about the “more detailed information” that he “would be pleased to provide”. It wouldn’t hurt to feed her fantasy with a few more details, would it? On the third day, she spent part of her lunch hour sending another email asking for more information about being trained as a sexual slave. The words, “sexual slave”, were already beginning to feel a little less strange when she typed them. What would it be like to be able to think of herself as being a properly trained sexual slave? She doubted that many women could claim that expertise. Would she get a diploma at the end of the course? She giggled at the thought of a fancy diploma in sexual slavery hanging on her office wall next to her Master’s degree. Then she was struck by the sobering thought that it would be a hell of a recommendation to any man who saw it. He would be dying to spend the night with her just to see what it meant. Or maybe even spend the rest of his life with her enjoy the passionate fruits of her labors.

As she pressed the ‘Send’ button, she thought, for the first time, that maybe, just maybe, something might come from her inquiry.

Two days later, something did come.

Dear Celine:

This is the detailed procedure for enrolling in the Exeter Training Course in Sexual Submission.

You will have to complete an Application Form, which is attached below. Acceptance for admission is not guaranteed. In fact, as my time is limited, I can only accept only a small proportion of the many women who apply.

If your application is accepted, you will be asked for a detailed description of your expectations, of limits on the activities that you will be asked to perform, and of special features that may be required to tailor the course to your specific needs. This will be done through an on-line interview to ensure that every important aspect of your experience is covered. At this time, we will jointly decide on the practical details of the course, including a time and location that is convenient for both of us.

Third, you will be sent a detailed contract which will explain your rights and obligations as well as my obligations to you. This contract will be based upon the information that you supplied during the on-line interview. We must be in complete agreement about every detail of the contract to proceed. You will be permitted to suggest modifications of the contract, but I have found that, if you are honest and forthcoming during the interview, the contract is unlikely to need modification.

I look forward to receiving you completed application form.

Sincerely, Master William Exeter

Once again, Celine was impressed by Master Exeter’s professionalism. She looked down at the application form. It was straightforward. Idly, she began filling it out. Name, age, and education were easy: Celine Oxley, 28, B.A., M.Ed. It asked about her medical history, allergies, disabilities, medical conditions: none. It listed sexually transmitted diseases and asked if she had ever been tested for them, had ever been diagnosed with them, and was currently suffering from them. She admitted to having had a yeast infection a couple of times, but had never contracted any STD. She doubted that she would have completed the application if she had needed to admit to anything else. Having had syphilis or gonorrhea would have made her sound slutty. She refused to consider how applying to be trained as a sexual slave made her sound. She was tempted to check the AIDS box just to make certain that her application was rejected, but decided to play it straight and see what happened. Master Exeter had already suggested that she was unlikely to be admitted to his program anyway, so it wouldn’t hurt to complete the application.

The next section stopped her. She was required to provide a sexual history, including basic information about every sexual partner that she had had: his or her gender, age, number of sexual encounters, and type of acts performed. What incredible gall? Her personal life was hers alone. She closed the email without finishing and went back to work. Two days later, she reconsidered. Sure it would be embarrassing to list her complete sexual history, but she could see the point and had to admit that it was probably a good idea. She would have been a lot better off if she had had all that information about some of the men that she had dated in the past few years.

She thought back all the way to the varsity tight end who took her to the senior prom, accepted the boon of her virginity that night, and dumped her the next day. With a sigh, she began filling out the last section of the form, recalling one painful humiliation after another.

Next, she was asked to list her clothing and shoe sizes.

The last requirement was that she attach a current picture of herself. The form did not specify whether she was to attach a portrait or full-body shot and did not say what clothing she should wear. Was this a test? Would a naturally submissive woman feel compelled to send a nude shot of herself and a woman who was unsuitable for training send a picture of the back of her head? What about a woman who sent a nude picture of herself but wore a mask? More likely this was a way for Master Exeter to weed out women who were fat or old or ugly – exactly the women who would most need to be trained in special techniques to attract and keep a man. Or maybe Master Exeter was racist and this was his way of weeding out women who did not have the correct skin color.

She decided that she would not attach a picture of herself. Let him guess what she looked like. And if he denied her application for that reason, she would probably be better off.

Then, she contemplated that two weeks of sexual slavery couldn’t be much more degrading than a lot of the sexual relationships that she had endured during the past decade. There had been the guy who told her that he was breaking up with her because she simply didn’t meet his intellectual standards; the guy who told her that she was boring; the guy who had told her that she was simply too wonderful for him and deserved better. He was the worst lying asshole of the bunch. It might be refreshing to admit up front that she was going to be nothing but a sex toy for a man. Then she would have no concern about rising to any social or intellectual standard. And if that gave her more power than she had had in the past, then she would be far ahead of where she was now.

She pressed the “Send” button.

This time she had to wait for almost a week before getting a reply. “Congratulations! Your application for admission to Master William Exeter’s Training Course in Sexual Submission has been accepted. I have tentatively scheduled your on-line interview for 4:00 PM on Sunday, 17 May. At that time, go to http://www.adultadventuresunlimited.com/interview.html using any Web browser and follow the on-screen instructions. If you are not available at that time, please respond to this email with a suggestion for an alternate time. Otherwise, I look forward to your interview.”

So her application had been accepted. Big surprise. She suspected that almost any young, healthy woman would get into the course with no problem. Which made her recall Groucho Marx’s words, “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” The fact that her applications had been accepted made her certain that she should forget about the Master Exeter and his slave training for good.

But, once again, Master Exeter’s email was the only interesting thing that happened to her all week. The male teachers at school had learned long ago that she would not date anyone she saw at work on a daily basis. Her girl friends had introduced her to the few single men that they knew years ago and none of them had been especially attractive to her. It had been months since she had met an interesting and interested man. Having been dateless once again on Saturday night and having spent the evening in front of the television set, watching sitcom after sitcom, she was dying to have something different happen. At 4:00 on Sunday she went to the Web site as instructed. It displayed a form that said, “Welcome, Celine. Master Exeter is on-line. Please press the button to begin.”

She pressed the button that was labeled “Begin Interview” and found herself using a kind of simple chat system. She saw Exeter typing question and answers and she typed questions and answers in reply. Basically she said that she did not mind any sexual activities as long as they were safe. She would expect the man to use a condom and did not want to have relations with anyone who had herpes or any viral disease. She would allow herself to be bound for reasonable periods of time in positions that were not painful. When Exeter asked about spanking, she had to think about that. He waited online. After some thought, she said that she would accept spanking as long as it did not leave bruises. She was emphatic that she did not want to engage in any sexual activities with other women. She thought that covered everything. Exeter asked if she would prefer to be trained in her house or at some other location. She had already thought about this. She hated to spend the money on a hotel room for two weeks, but decided that it would be worth the cost to ensure that Master Exeter did not know where she lived. She suggested that they take a room at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. That was sin city, after all, and it was only a short drive from her home in Los Angeles. He replied that he would be happy to meet her there. Then he asked when she might be available for a two-week period. She said that she would be on vacation in the first two weeks of June and he said that he would be free during that period. She did not tell him that, as a teacher, she was free all summer long; she thought it better to make him comply with an arbitrary demand. As a sexual slave, she was supposed to have the upper hand in their relationship. After a half hour of interviewing, Exeter thanked her for her assistance and said that he would email a contract to her.

When she left the site, she contemplated that she had told him an awful lot of personal information about herself, but she did not know a thing about him, apart from his original ad that said that he was “an experienced dominant male” and the inference from his emails that he was well-trained in standard English grammar and spelling.

When she saw the contract in her email inbox the next day, she was dazed. How had she ever let things progress this far? She had sent her first email as a lark with no intention of going any further and now she was being asked to commit herself to a period of two weeks of sexual servitude to a total stranger.

And she was seriously considering doing it.

She read the contract carefully. She certainly wouldn't enter into any agreement that would allow her to be raped, injured, or degraded. The contract essentially promised that none of these things would happen. Well, maybe the ‘degraded’ part would happen a little, but the rape and injury parts were definitely prohibited by the contract.

It said:

Master William Exeter agrees to train Celine Oxley in a variety of techniques to satisfy a man. This training will take place at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada from Monday, 1 June 2009 to Friday, 12 June 2009.

During this period, Oxley consents to engage in a variety of sexual activities with Exeter, subject to the proviso that Exeter will wear a latex condom during any genital-genital or genital-anal contact. As well, Oxley consents to light bondage with rope or chain. At no time will Oxley be gagged or have any ligature about her neck. Oxley also consents to moderate spanking with a hand or suitably designed instrument, subject to the proviso that no stroke will be so hard that it will leave any bruise or long-lasting mark.

All activities will be subject to on-going consent by Oxley. If at any time, she utters the words, “red light,” Exeter will consider her to have withdrawn her consent; he will immediately stop what he is doing, release her from any bondage, and leave her presence. Any other combination of words and actions will be considered play within the context of a sexual game and will not be considered a withdrawal of consent.

In consideration of Exeter’s sincere efforts to ensure that all activities are as safe as possible and are entirely consensual, Oxley waives any right to redress for real or imagined wrongs to her person or dignity. Both parties understand that this waiver does not extend to obvious negligence or malicious acts.

There was a space for her signature and a mail address in Phoenix. Celine printed it out and left it on her kitchen table. Every morning and evening, she read it over and her imagination began filling in more details about what might happen to her if she were brave enough to sign it. Three days after receiving it, she addressed and stamped an envelope and put it beside the contract. Five days after receiving it, she signed it. Every time she saw the contract laying on the table with her signature affixed, her heart began to beat fast and her juices began to flow. She was acutely aware that she had not been laid in almost six months.

Two day later, the suspense was too much. She told herself that this was nothing more than another training course, that would give her a new skill, just like any other course that she had taken. She folded the signed contract and stuffed it into the envelope. But that morning on the way to work, when she dropped the contract into the mailbox, she felt more excited than she had ever felt before. This was not just another training course.

Six days later she received a letter back from Master Exeter. The envelope contained nothing but a copy of the contract with his signature added next to hers. He had a fine cursive hand. She felt unreasonably disappointed. He could have given her some indication of who he was or what he looked like. So far, all she had was her fantasies about him.

She stared at the contract with his signature and asked herself if she really intended to go through with this foolishness. She again surprised herself by realizing that she did. That afternoon, she made a reservation for a room with two double beds at the Flamingo Hotel. If the training were to start on Monday, she reasoned that she should arrive on Sunday night. As well, she made the reservation include the following Friday night so that she would not have to check out until Saturday morning.

She examined the contract once again. If she didn’t like the way Exeter looked when she met him, then she’d withdraw her consent immediately and spend two weeks having a nice vacation alone in Las Vegas. Maybe she’d meet some other nice guy there.

She heard no more until she received an email from Exeter on the twentieth of May. He simply asked if she had made hotel reservations. She replied that she had reserved a room in her name for both of them for the first two weeks of June. Within an hour she received a response: “This is my first command. At exactly ten o’clock in the morning of 1 June, walk to the center of the lobby of the Flamingo Hotel wearing a tight black above-the-knee sheath dress and black high-heeled shoes. Have a red silk scarf draped around your neck. Wear no jewelry and carry no purse. Have your key card in your hand. Stand there and wait for me. I promise that you will never regret obeying my commands. We will not communicate again until we meet.”

Her heart pounded as she read the email again and again. It told her one new fact about Exeter. He knew what a “sheath dress” was. Few men did. He was experienced.

A week and a half later, at ten o’clock exactly, her pulse visible at her jaw line above the scarlet scarf, Celine rose from the chair where she had been waiting and walked to the center of the Flamingo Hotel lobby in Las Vegas. It was a huge room with different parts. She chose the biggest part where the reception counter was. She stood and waited while conference-goers, families with children, and assorted tourists milled around her. Ten minutes later, she was still standing there, still waiting. Her heart was no longer pounding; she was annoyed. She’d been stood up.

She walked back through the slot machines toward the elevators. She was only halfway there when a voice near her ear whispered, “Stop. Don’t turn around. Just listen. You did not do what I told you to do.”

“Yes, I did,” she replied, resisting the temptation to turn around.

“What did I tell you to do?”

“You told me to wear a black sheath dress and shoes and a red scarf and stand in the middle of the lobby at ten o’clock. I did that.”

“What are you wearing?”

“A black sheath dress and shoes and scarf.” She was getting annoyed.

“What else?”

“What do you mean, ‘what else?’”

“I mean, what else are you wearing?”

“Nothing.” She looked down at herself. “Except for my underwear.”

“Did my instructions tell you to wear underwear?”

“That was implied.”

“No, it wasn’t. Let’s try again. At exactly ten thirty, you are to walk to the middle of the lobby wearing a black sheath dress and shoes and a red scarf. You are to have your room key in your hand. Wear nothing else, hold nothing else. Stand and wait for me.”

“I don’t know if I want to do that,” she said.

There was no answer. After a moment, she turned around, but only saw a horde of tourists. She had no idea which man had been talking to her.

In for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself. She went to her room, slipped off her bra, pantyhose and panties, left them on the bed, and returned to the lobby. This time she didn’t even wear her watch. There was nothing on her body but the black dress and shoes and red scarf. She felt floppy as she walked; stray breezes blew up the skirt.

As she stood in the lobby, waiting, she was conscious of men looking at her. Could they see her nipples pressing against the light fabric? The dress was tight across her ass. Did they notice that she had no pantyline. Did the men think that she was wearing a thong? She was naked under her dress and she felt like it. She was naked in a crowd.

She did not know how much time passed before a man walked toward her, looking directly into her eyes. Was this the owner of the whispery voice? He did not meet her expectations. For some reason, she expected a British man in his forties who looked older and distinguished. A barrister, perhaps. This kid was maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, with long, straggly blond hair, blue jeans torn at the knees, and a black teeshirt. He was dumpy and shorter than her.

If this was Master William Exeter, then it was already “red light” time.

“Give me your room key,” the young man said.

It sounded like the same voice that she had heard a half hour earlier telling her to leave her underwear in her room. “Who are you?” She did not try to hide the disdain in her voice.

The man rocked back on his heels as though he had been slapped. “You’re Celine,” he said without inflection. A simple statement of fact.

“Yes. And you better not be William Exeter,” she replied, clutching her key tightly in her hand.

The man looked at her for a long moment, then said, quietly, “You’re not ready for Master Exeter. I’m Paul, his valet. It’s my job to prepare you. Give me your key card, now, or I will report your reluctance to the Master.”

Celine decided that the key card was no big deal. She could get another one from the front desk any time she wanted; and get the door code changed so that this card would no longer work. She handed the brightly-colored card to Paul, turned and led him back through the game floor to the elevators that were elegantly decorated with bas relief art deco flamingos.

When they were alone inside, Celine looked down at Paul and cringed. “Have you been working for him for long?”

“For longer than you would imagine. I am intimately familiar with his requirements.” Paul spoke slowly and carefully, as though considering each word before giving voice to it. A conversation with him would be a long, drawn-out business.

They said no more until she led him into her room. Once he closed the door, he said, “It will require considerable work to prepare you. I’ve never met a woman so ill-equipped for servitude.”

It was Celine's turn to rock back on her heels. “What do you mean by that? You mean that I’m not submissive enough?”

“You will learn to be submissive quickly enough. That’s the easy part. I mean that you’re not pretty enough. You’ve got no sense of style. Your voice grates on the ear. I’m not surprised that men dump you as soon as they’ve taken what they want from you.”

“I think you better get out of here.”

“I think you better beg me to stay and prepare you for Master Exeter’s training because you’re going to spend the rest of your life being used and dumped by one loser after another unless you let him fix your problems.” His voice turned hard. “You get only one decision for the next two weeks. Do you want me to stay and show you how to get what you want out of life or do you want me to leave so that you can keep going in the same direction as you have up to this point? So what is it? Do I stay or go? Because, if I go, I’m not coming back.” He fell silent and stared at her.

She stared back.

After a minute, he said, “Silence is not an answer. Either you tell me that you want me to stay or I’m out of here right now.”

He turned toward the door.

“Wait.” She had driven all the way out here from Los Angeles to be a sexual slave. She should at least give it an honest try.

He turned back. “That’s not an answer either. Tell me that you want me to stay and help you.”

“I want you to stay and help me.”

“Tell me that you will obey me as you would obey Master Exeter.”

“I’ll obey you.”

“This place is a mess. Make the bed and hang up your clothes, then sit on this chair and wait for me to return.” He pulled the chair away from the desk and left if in the middle of the room facing the window.

She picked her underwear off her bed. “The maid will be around to make the bed soon.”

“You’re a slave now. The maid outranks you. In this room, you’ll do her work for her. Make the bed and clean up the room like you were told.”

“How long will you be?”

“You will ask no more questions because I will provide no more answers. For the next two weeks, you have to accept what happens to you without asking why.” He walked out of the room, leaving her alone.

She made the bed, hung up her clothes, and then sat on the chair and waited. Some time later, she heard the door open but could not see who entered – she was facing the window. She hoped that it was Master Exeter. Instead, Paul walked into her field of view, carrying a small bag. He took a spiral-bound exercise book and a pen from the bag and set them on the desk.

Then he said, “That bed is a mess. Who taught you how to make a bed?”

“My mother.”

“Either you did not learn what she had to teach or she did not know how to make a bed, either. I suspect the latter. Very few mothers know the first thing about housework or cooking. It doesn’t come instinctively and most of them are either too proud to admit that they don’t know what they are doing or too lazy to make the effort to learn.” He pulled the sheet and blankets off and dumped them on the floor. Then he tossed the pillows aside. “First, make sure that the fitted sheet is properly set. No wrinkles at the corners.”

She looked at it.

“Well,” he snapped. “Get up and take care of it.

She complied.

“Now the top sheet tucks into the bottom of the bed under the mattress. No. Not like that. You’ve got it upside down. No. Not that way. Look at the sheet. There’s a right side and a wrong side. You can tell which is the right side by looking at the seam on the upper hem. The top sheet goes wrong side up. Don’t question me. Just do as I say. That’s right. Pull the sheet up so that the top edge is three inches from the top edge of the mattress. Now the bottom corners have to be folded properly. Lay the edge of the sheet along the bed. See how you get a triangle forming at the bottom? Fold that triangle down. Use your hand to keep it in place. Tuck the sheet in along the full length of the bed. Top and bottom together. That’s right. Make sure that the sheet is flat as a board and tight as a drum when you tuck it in, not a wrinkle anywhere. Don’t tuck in the top foot yet. Now do the same to the other side. Now the blanket goes on. It goes the other way from the sheet, right side up. No, it doesn’t go all the way to the top of the bed, either. Pull it down so that it ends two inches below the lower edge of the hem of the sheet. That’s right. Tuck in the bottom edge to hold it in place. Make sure that it’s smooth and flat. Right. Now you fold the top edge of the sheet down over the top edge of the blanket. See why you put the top sheet wrong side up? So that when it’s folded over, the hem is right side up. Now tuck in the blanket just like you did with the sheet. Same hospital corners at the bottom. Now you tuck the sheet and blanket in together at the top end. Pillows in place. Fluff them up; you don’t leave last night’s head dents in the middle of your pillows. Tuck the ends of the pillow cases under neatly. And finally, the quilt goes on, not tucked in, draped nicely all around. Right. Now you’re going to make your bed just like that before you leave your bedroom every morning for the rest of your life. Why are you going to do that?”

Celine looked at Paul with annoyance. “Because you told me to?” She had no intention of making her bed when she go back to her own house.

He smiled. “Good answer, but not correct. Your bed will always be made beautiful because you never know when your man will want to take you back to it and make love to you. Every morning when you make your bed, you’ll know that you are preparing it for love making. When your man slips into your bed, you will never have to feel shame that you gave him anything less than perfection and you’ll be eager to join him. And if your man tears the covers from it and tosses them aside, you’ll delight in having given him a perfectly made bed to throw into disarray. From this day forward, sleeping will be the secondary purpose of your bed. Its primary use will be sex. Every time you look at any bed, you will imagine someone making love to someone in that bed. Every time you look at your own bed, you will imagine yourself making love in that bed. Look at it now and tell me what you imagine.”

“I imagine making love in that bed,” she said, and she did.

“Tell me exactly what you see.”

“I imagine myself lying on my back with my legs spread wide, a handsome man lying between my thighs, his sex buried deep inside me, slowly pushing against me, moaning with pleasure.”

“Imagine me inside you.”

She said nothing.

“Hey, it’s just imaginary.” He sounded hurt.

“Okay. I imagine you on top of me.”

“Imagine that you are feeling ecstatic.”

“That would take a lot of imagination.”

“I’ll remember that you said that.” He looked at her for a long time. She began to feel uncomfortable. “Are you imagining feeling ecstasy when you are making love to me?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“Why do I demand that you imagine that?”

“To make yourself feel good?”

“Wrong answer. Totally wrong answer. This is important. Try again.”

She thought more carefully. “Because I have to be able to enjoy any man before I can be a sexual slave.”

“Much better. You’ve had three lessons, so far. What was the first one?”

“That I have to do what you say?”

Paul reached out, pushed up under her chin with his left hand to raise her face to his, then slapped her lightly but briskly with his right hand.

She froze in shock. Her face stung but the real pain was the indignity of being slapped.

“You will pay much closer attention. You were told explicitly in your email two months ago that the first lesson was that simply agreeing to be a slave gave you power. You were told that you had complete power to choose when and where you would undertake this training. Remember now?”

“Yes,” she replied. He was right. She had been told that that was her first lesson.

“That was not a gift from Master Exeter to you. That was an inalienable consequence of your agreement to serve as a slave. You must recognize the power that you have because your power is considerable but will only be useful to you if you recognize that you have that power. You must understand that you have more power in this situation than me or Master Exeter. That’s why you are obeying my orders. That’s why you will allow yourself to be slapped across the face. You have the power but it is dormant unless you understand how to exercise it. For the next two weeks, you will learn how to build your power and how to wield it.”

“Then you’ll be the slave and I’ll be the master.”

He slapped her again, no harder, but her face stung more because it was tender from the first slap. “Never, ever think like that. You have the power because you are a voluntary slave. As soon as you think of yourself as a master, you lose the power of the slave.”

“Stop slapping me.”

He slapped her a third time, noticeably harder. “Stop being stupid. I will leave any time you give me the red light. And I will not come back. But that is your only choice. That is the first lesson. All your power exists in that single choice: to be a sexual object or not. You have no power anywhere else.”

She wisely chose to say nothing further. Her face was stinging.

“Your second lesson was in the lobby. You stood in the center of the crowd twice for ten minutes each time. Did you find yourself treated the same both times?”

“No. Men were looking at me more lasciviously when I was not wearing any underwear. It was embarrassing.”

“That’s right. Why?”

“Because they could tell that I was naked under my dress.”

“Wrong. I examined you closely. You looked the same both times. You’re not as well-endowed as you like to think. For all anyone could see, you might have been wearing a sexless sports bra and granny panties under that dress. The only person in that room who knew that you were naked under your dress was you. And, more important, you knew that the only reason that you were naked under your dress was because you were obeying orders from a strange man. The only reason that men looked at you differently was because your attitude was different. You stood differently, you held your head differently, you returned men’s eye contact differently and they responded to that. That is Lesson Two. Attitude is everything and the attitude of the slave is compelling to men.”

She said nothing. Suddenly she had a lot to think about.

“Lesson Three is the lesson of the made bed. I’ve already explained that. I hope for your sake that you were listening and learning. Now, you will pack everything except for your hairbrush, toothbrush, and toothpaste into your suitcase. Then sit back in the chair and wait for me.” He left the room.

After re-packing her bag, she had only been sitting in the chair for a couple of minutes when she heard the door open again. Paul’s voice said, “Stand up, walk around behind the chair and bend over the back.”

As she walked around the chair, she saw that he was carrying another plastic bag. He pulled a black leather paddle from the bag. “What do you think you’re going to do with that?” she asked.

“What did I tell you to do before I left?”

“Pack my stuff in my suitcase. I did that.”

“Do you believe that I’m going to help you forge better relationships with men?”

She thought for a minute. The lessons that he had given her so far seemed to make sense. “Yes.”

“I promised you that you would never regret obeying my commands but I can also promise you that you will regret failing to obey my commands. Bend over the back of the chair.”

“Master Exeter made that promise, not you.”

“I obey Master Exeter and honor his promises on his behalf. Your contract with him includes me as well.” His voice turned hard. “Now do as I say before you earn any additional punishment. Bend over the chair.”

She bent over the chair, offering her backside to him. This was the kind of humiliation that she had expected when she had signed the contract two months ago. She had told herself that she would obey but actually doing it was worse than she expected. She had imagined bending over for an older, far more handsome man.

“Raise your dress to your waist.”

She told herself again, In for a penny, in for a pound, and lifted her skirt to bare her buttocks.

The paddle hit with a loud smack and she twitched. “What instruction did I give to you before I left?”

“Pack my stuff in my suitcase.”

The second smack stung worse. Her buttocks twitched again.

“Exactly what did I say?”

“To pack everything but my brushes and toothpaste.”

Smack. She yelped and her reddened buttocks jerked a third time.

“Did you do that?” Paul asked.

“Yes.”

Smack. She yelped again. “That hurts.”

“It’s supposed to hurt. What are you holding in your hands?”

She looked at her hands. “The hem of my dress.”

Smack. Another yelp. She shuffled her foot against the carpet.

“Is that a toothbrush or toothpaste?”

“No.”

Smack. She twitched and whimpered.

“Where should your dress be?”

She got it  now. “In my suitcase.”

Smack. She yelped and her feet danced against the carpet.

“Stand up and correct your error.”

She stood up and slipped the dress off over her head. “I didn’t understand that you wanted me to be naked.”

“I want you to do exactly what I tell you to do, including whatever is implied by my instructions, whatever the consequences.”

She folded the dress and put it into her suitcase.

“Now take the chair to the desk, sit down, and write out the three lessons that you have learned so far. Describe what you have learned in detail. You will be using your notes for future reference. I will check them for accuracy and quality. Shortcomings will be punished with the paddle on your ass.”

She sat down on her burning buttocks and began writing. After a minute, she heard the door closing, leaving her alone again. She looked up and saw that her suitcase was gone. She had been left nude without a stitch of clothing in the room.

She had never felt so vulnerable.

She had never felt less bored.

“When will I meet Master Exeter?”

“Buckle this collar about your neck,” Paul removed a black dog collar from a plastic bag and handed it to Celine. There was a small key attached to the collar by a split ring.

After she had the collar buckled, he handed her a pair of handcuffs. “Cuff your hands behind your back.”

She had to fumble for a minute to get them locked in place.

“The key for the handcuffs is on your collar, out of your reach. You cannot release yourself. Anyone else who comes into this room has the power to release you. You put yourself in this position when you fastened the collar about your neck and cuffed your hands behind your back. You may not have realized the implications of what you were doing this time, but next time, you will understand exactly what you are doing to yourself. You are taking control over your own body away from yourself and giving it to someone else, possibly a stranger. That is the fundamental operation of voluntary sexual slavery: to take control over your body away from yourself and give it to someone else. You did that when you signed your contract with Master Exeter, you did it again when you resolved to obey my commands, and you did it just now when you bound yourself in my presence.”

Paul unbuckled the collar from her neck and used the key to release the handcuffs. He placed all of these objects on the small table by the window. He added an additional leather item to them. “This is a blackout blindfold. It buckles around your head tightly enough that it cannot be removed. The blindfold is lined with foam that compresses around your eyes and blocks out all light. Once in place, you will not be able to see anything until it is removed.”

Celine looked at the blindfold. It certainly looked effective.

Paul continued talking. “Incidentally, all these objects are yours. I used money from your purse to buy them. I put the receipt in your purse. You will be buying other items during the week. I would estimate that you will have to purchase two or three hundred dollars worth of equipment. As well, you will be purchasing some clothing. You can spend as much or as little on that as you want.”

Celine knew that she should object to Paul having raided her purse but she would worry about that later. Right now, she was staring at the three objects on the table like a rabbit staring at a cobra. This is it. This is the stuff of sexual bondage.

“I’m going to leave. You will prepare yourself to be fucked. You will buckle the collar about your neck and then you will blindfold yourself and cuff your hands behind your back. Leave the key clipped to the collar, out of your reach. Sometime this afternoon, someone will come into this room and use your body. With your hands locked behind your back, you will be helpless to stop them and, with the blindfold buckled about your eyes, you will never know who has done it to you. I will return late in the afternoon to take you to dinner.”

Celine did not speak, did not look up from the table. She continued to stare at the objects long after Paul was gone. Eventually, she picked up the blindfold and turned it around in her hands, first examining the straps and buckles, then holding it to her eyes, letting the straps and buckles dangle beside her cheeks. The foam lining ensured that no light would pass her nose or reach the outer corners of her eyes. When wearing it, she would be completely blind.

She fastened the buckle behind her head, tight but not uncomfortable. She could see nothing whatsoever. With trembling hands, she felt around the table until she had the dog collar in her hands. She could feel the handcuff key still clipped to the D ring. She buckled it around her neck.

Her hands were still free. She could still unbuckle the collar and blindfold. She clicked the handcuff closed around her left wrist. With only one wrist cuffed, she wasn’t committed yet; she could still reach up and get the key to unlock it.

Did she really want to do this?

She put her hands behind her back and took a deep breath. If she clicked the other cuff closed about her right wrist, then she would be committing herself to being fucked by a stranger. She would have no way to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to do to her. She still had the “red light” phrase, but, if he ignored that, she wouldn't be able to fight him off. Did she really believe that a horny man would respect that phrase when she had voluntarily stripped naked, given a stranger a key to her room, and then blindfolded and handcuffed herself? She couldn’t tell the police that she had been raped. They wouldn’t even write a report. No matter what lie she tried to tell, they’d look at the evidence, laugh at her naiveté, and escort her out of the station.

She clicked the handcuff closed about her second wrist. It was done. She had now sealed her consent to allow anyone who came into this room to do whatever they wanted to do to her.

She stumbled around the room until she felt the bed against her shins, then lay down upon it to wait for the inevitable.

Who was coming to use her? Paul himself? Or had he merely been preparing her for his master, like he said. Or was he, right now, down in the hotel bar selling her services to anyone with a few hundred bucks in their pocket and lust in their eye? Maybe he was nothing but a pimp and this was his tricky way of breaking in new talent for his stable. Maybe she’d end up servicing a dozen men this afternoon. Maybe Paul would never bother coming back to free her. Maybe he’d pocket the money and drive straight back to wherever he lived, a couple thousand dollars richer, leaving strangers to pass her room key around to anyone who wanted to use her for the rest of the night. In her mind, she could hear him talking to a man in a bar down the street, saying, She’s into it. She’ll take you any way you want, oral, anal, whatever. Mix and match. Do her asshole for a while, then let her suck you clean before you dump your load in her cunt. She wants you to treat her rough. Three hundred bucks and you can have her any way you want for an hour. It’s a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ game up there. You don’t say a word and neither will she. Just push her into any position you want and have a ball with her. What had ever possessed her to trust herself to a stranger like this?

She tugged on the hand        cuffs but they held tight. She pushed and pulled but she could not move her wrists down past her hips to get her hands in front of her; or raise them up high enough in her back to reach the collar about her neck. She squirmed and struggled to scrape the blindfold against the bed but it would not budge. She was well and truly trapped and, before the afternoon was over, she would be well and truly fucked.

As time passed, her mind wandered further and further afield. Maybe Paul was going to bring a camera and broadcast her rape over the Internet. Maybe she would be tomorrow’s most notorious Internet celebrity. Maybe anything might happen.

If Paul were going to betray her, there was nothing that she could do about it now. She squeezed her thighs together and felt moisture around her crotch. Her mind might be in turmoil, but her cunt was ready for action. She thought about how long it had been since a man had fucked her. She never used the word “fucked”, even in her thoughts, it was always “sleeping with a man” or “making love”, but, lying here, bound, blindfolded and helpless, she felt free to think of herself in crude, earthy, unfamiliar ways. She knew that a man was going to fuck her cunt but good before the afternoon was over and she could hardly wait.

The door clicked. She froze and listened to it brush over the carpet and then click closed again. She waited. Nothing happened. Was someone in the room? “Hello?” There was no answer. “Hello!” she called more loudly. She paused and listened. Still no answer. She listened hard as she could for a long time but could hear no sound above her own deep, ragged breathing.

How much more time passed? Minutes? An hour? She guessed that Paul had opened the door, looked in to see if she had secured herself as instructed and then left again. That meant that he was not going to use her himself. Instead, he had gone out to tell someone else that she had made herself ready to serve their pleasure.

She had not idea how long she had spent lying on the bed with her hands cuffed behind her back. Had it been as little as a quarter hour or as long as three? She couldn’t see a clock, couldn’t even see if the sun was setting over the distant mountains. She had no sense of time.

Suddenly, she heard the door latch click and the door brush open again. This time there was lots of noise. Footsteps across the carpet and around the bed. It sounded like only one man but how would she know for sure? The whisper of clothing brushed against the chair. The sound of a zipper being pulled. Celine guessed that a heavy-set man was getting undressed. There was a creak and the bed shifted. She had been laying on her side; now a heavy hand pushed on her shoulder and rolled her onto her back. She did not resist. The handcuffs were digging into her lower back so she moved her arms to one side so that her wrists were sticking out. It was an uncomfortable position because it stretched one of her shoulders, but not as bad as trying to lie on the handcuffs.

A hand cupped her chin and mint-flavored lips gently brushed against hers. Her mouth was peppered with small kisses, then they stopped and soft, relaxed lips covered hers. She obediently parted her teeth but no tongue penetrated her mouth. Instead the soft strange mouth worked slowly against hers, lips parted halfway, promising paradise to come.

Celine decided that she had not been pimped out. As nearly as she knew, hookers’ clients didn’t waste a whole lot of time in romantic kissing. The strange mouth left hers and she felt a strong knee force itself between her thighs. Obediently, she parted her legs and let the man settle against her crotch. She could feel his erection against her mons but he did not penetrate her right away. Rather, he reached between her legs and grabbed himself to tease her nether lips by rubbing the head of his cock along her slit, lubricating himself with the fluid that was flowing freely from her sex. Was she feeling skin or latex against her cunt lips? She could not tell. Right now, she did not care. She arched her back and spread her legs as wide as she could to open herself and make herself available to him. She could not use her hands to grab his hips and pull him into her. Maybe for that reason, she felt more impatient to get the man inside her than she had ever felt before. She did not feel the slightest reluctance or hesitation about being penetrated to her core but she could do nothing but entice him with her availability and wait until he chose to move into her.

When he finally penetrated her, she began grinding her hips against him as vigorously as she could manage with her arm pulled across her back and her wrists locked beside her waist. She squeezed every bit of stimulation from him as she could get and, within a couple of minutes, came long and hard. She screamed with delight. The stranger kept working at her for another minute as she slowly sank into post-orgasmic oblivion. She was barely aware when he came, too. He lay on top of her, motionless for some minutes, waiting until his last pulses died away and his breathing slowly returned to normal.

Then, without warning, he climbed off the bed and began moving about the room. She listened to him dressing himself and, sooner than she expected, heard the door click open and closed. Her new lover was gone and she was alone again, still blindfolded, still handcuffed. Neither of them had spoken a single word. She had no idea who he was, what he looked like, not even how old he was.

She rolled back on her side and waited for Paul to return.

Maybe she napped, or maybe she was merely drifting in post-coital bliss, but not much time seemed to pass before the door opened again.

Again she heard the sounds of a man undressing. The same man or a different one? He sounded the same but all men probably sound alike when they are undressing. This man was faster and rougher; or maybe it was the same man who was choosing to treat her differently this time. He grabbed her ankles, one hand on each, flipped her onto her stomach, and dragged her half off the bed. Her nipples hurt when they were dragged over the rough embroidered quilt and she whimpered in protest.

The unknown man positioned her with her feet on the floor and her torso pressed against the bed. The bed was high, so her knees were slightly bent, pressing against the edge of the mattress. He raised her ass up and kicked her feet apart. She thought that this man was going to take her anally and prepared herself for the pain of an unlubricated penetration, but he ignored her virgin asshole and pushed roughly into her already-well-lubricated cunt. He humped her doggy-style for a long time before he came. Though he lasted longer than the first man, he gave her no pleasure. The first man had made love to her. This man merely used her and then left as soon as he was sated.

The difference between the two experiences was great enough that she chose to believe that she had been penetrated by two different men. It was possible that the men were random strangers, but she thought it more likely that the first man, the sensuous one, was the mysterious Master Exeter and the second man, the insensitive one, was his stumpy, practical valet. The reverse could not be true. The master would not take sloppy seconds. Possibly Paul did not have permission to use her. Maybe she was only supposed to be used once this afternoon but the servant had stolen her service from his master without his knowledge. Maybe that was why she had not been taken anally: because her virgin asshole would have shown evidence of the unauthorized penetration but her well-used cunt would not.

The test would be whether a third man came to the room to use her. If there was a third man then she was probably being used by strangers but if she was only used by two, then they were probably Exeter and Paul.

She did not know which option excited her more; she only knew that she was enjoying a unique experience and, though having been beaten lightly and quasi-raped, she did not yet regret having answered Exeter’s Internet advertisement. Humiliation at the hands of strangers was an interesting experience. She wondered if she would experience regret before her period of slavery was over. Maybe she would only regret that her slavery had to end.

She rested, maybe napped again, maybe not, for another indeterminate period of time until she heard the door open for the fourth time. Was she to be used again? Penetrated a third time by a third man?

No. She was pulled to a sitting position and efficient fingers unbuckled the collar from her neck. The cuff on her left wrist was unlocked and then Paul’s voice said, “Clean yourself and get dressed. Go downstairs and stand in the center of the lobby at exactly five o’clock.”

By the time she had removed the blindfold, he had already left the room. Familiar clothes from her suitcase – her navy blue skirt, pale blue blouse, pantyhose, and panties – were draped over the back of the chair.

She showered, washed her hair, and brushed her teeth, but had no makeup in the room, not even lipstick, so looked pale and wan in the mirror.

Only when she began to dress did she realize that no bra had been included with the clothes that Paul had left for her. And, worse, when she put the blouse on, she realized that all the buttons had been removed from the top half. The highest button that she could close was below the bottom of her unrestrained breasts. Every time she moved, the top half of the blouse gaped open and flashed glimpses of the inner curves of her breasts, all the way down to the crease at the bottom. She experimented a little in front of the mirror and found that, if she leaned forward far enough to let her breasts hang, the front of the blouse would gape wide and someone could look inside and see her nipples clearly; if she then twisted to the side, her breast would fall into the gap and more than half would be exposed, including her entire nipple. She would have to move carefully to maintain her modesty. She wouldn’t be riding any mechanical bulls in this outfit. She hoped.

When she stepped into the hallway and let the door close behind her, she was aware that she was locked out of her room. She had no key card, no money, and no identification. Though now fully clothed, but for the lack of bra and buttons on half the front of her blouse, she felt more vulnerable than when she had been when she had been locked inside, naked with no access to clothing.

Celine was a naturally shy person. For her, being put on display in public was far more difficult than making herself available for anonymous sex in private.

This time she was not surprised to be kept standing in the middle of the lobby for ten minutes – she had no watch to time herself, but there was a clock behind the reception counter.

Even without makeup, she was conscious that men were looking at her with naked interest. She agreed with Paul’s assessment: it wasn’t the clothes. The white blouse and navy skirt looked modest and professional. She could not resist glancing down at her chest frequently to ensure that the front of the blouse remained closed. Even lacking a bra and buttons on the top half, the blouse looked normal. As long as she did not move much, it stayed closed over her cleavage just as well as if she were able to button it up to the penultimate hole. The fabric was reasonably opaque and her nipples and aureoles light pink so there was no way for anyone to see them through the fabric. Yet men still stared at her. She could only conclude that, despite her conservative clothing, she looked available. Did men have some instinct that told them that she had let herself be used by unknown strangers twice already this afternoon and would submit again on command? Was there something in her posture or did she reek of some mysterious pheromone that told men that, of all the women in the lobby, she was the one most easily available for their use?

As she stood there, she looked at all the men walking past. Surely one of them was the mysterious Exeter, watching her, appraising her from a distance, signaling to Paul how she should be prepared for further use. Was it the distinguished gentleman with the salt and pepper goatee standing in the line waiting to check in? He had no luggage. Maybe he would step out of line as soon as she left. Maybe Paul would take her away before he reached the front and had to expose his deception. 

Or maybe Exeter was the large, athletic man who looked like a linebacker. That one already had two young women standing beside him, fawning over him, but that meant nothing. When he traveled, Master Exeter would likely bring other sex slaves with him to keep him amused. Or maybe those young women were slaves-in-training just like her and tomorrow, she would be standing at his side with them, prepared to obey any command, to satisfy his slightest whim.

Or maybe Exeter was one of the two middle-aged businessmen in gray suits who were lounging by the door. Maybe the second man was another slave master. Maybe slavery was their business and they were comparing techniques, devising more efficient ways to degrade and dominate their women. For the third time in the last few minutes, one of those men glanced at her, examining her from toe to head as though she were a product on a shelf, waiting to be purchased. She met his eyes and smiled tentatively. He smiled back, confidently, then turned to his partner and made some comment that elicited an enthusiastic nod. Maybe Paul had not been the second man who had penetrated her this afternoon. Maybe these two masters were comparing their experiences and judging the quality of her flesh.

She turned to look at the man with the goatee and saw that he was looking back at her, too.

A voice, Paul’s voice, whispered in her ear, “Clasp your hands behind your back.”

She obeyed without looking around. As soon as her shoulders were pulled back, the blouse that she had been so carefully managing gaped wide, each side pulling half-way to the edge of her aureoles, exposing the center of her chest half-way to her navel. The goatee man’s eyes widened with interest when presented with indisputable evidence that she could not possibly be wearing a bra.

She dropped her gaze to the floor in front of her.

“You can let your hands fall back to your sides, but do not touch your blouse again for the rest of the evening.”

She unclasped her hands and let them dangle by her sides. Glancing down, she saw that her blouse continued to gape open – the soft polyester did not have enough body to drape back together when her shoulders relaxed.

She resisted the urge to reach up and pull the front closed again. If Paul wanted her to look like this for the rest of the night, then she would do it. Just call her “Miss Ready Tits.” She should get business cards printed with her new slogan: “Come play with my mounds. All oglers welcome.”

She was starving, not having eaten since breakfast, but Paul did not take her directly to a restaurant. Rather, he escorted her over a pedestrian overpass to a Victoria’s Secret store at the Caesar's Forum Shops. Though Caesar’s Casino is directly across the Strip from the Flamingo, but Celine found it to be a long walk. Everything is big in Las Vegas. It is one of the few places on earth where stretch Hummers fit the scale of the city.

Paul put her own credit card in her hand along with a shopping list: “corset, seamed stockings, garter belt, boots with high heels, shoes with higher heels.” There were no bras or panties on the list; not even a thong. There was a notation at the bottom: “Choose sexy. Return with anything that is not sexy enough and you’ll have go back and buy it again. Really high heels are sexy. Imagine the costume that a street walker would wear on a television program and then look for something sluttier.”

Celine understood exactly what Paul had in mind. What the hell? This was Vegas. No one  knew her from Eve. She could force herself to do this. But she was at a loss to know what clothing would look the sluttiest. She handed the note directly to the nearest clerk, a pretty girl in her mid-twenties, and said, “This is what my boyfriend wants me to buy. I’m sure you have a better idea what he’s looking for than I do.”

The young woman looked at the front of Celine's blouse gaping open to reveal half her naked chest and raised an eyebrow.

Celine laughed. “I mean because you know what you stock in this store.”

The girl smiled. It was not a friendly smile. “I know exactly what your boyfriend would like to see you wearing.”

She fitted Celine to an open-side black patent anklestrap pump with a three and three-quarter inch heel that put her right up on her toes. Then she added a black leather knee-high boot with a four and a quarter inch heel. Contrary to the instructions on the shopping list, the boot had a higher heel than the shoe, but Celine hoped that Paul would forgive that technicality. They were the highest heels that the store stocked in both shoes and boots and both were equally uncomfortable.

The garter belt and stockings were easy. Paul had not specified a color so Celine decided to get two sets, one black and the other red. He could decide which was sluttier. That was his area of expertise.

The corset was another matter. “We don’t really have a corset,” the clerk explained. “We stock bustiers. They look something like corsets and have some support, but they don’t have the kind of boning that would be needed to give you a waist.” She looked at Celine's midriff with a sneer. “You’ll need to go to a specialty shop for something that could accomplish that.”

Celine was stung by the insult. Maybe she was a few pounds overweight, but she still had a waist. She looked good enough naked for two men to want to fuck her this afternoon. “Show me the bustiers.”

Again she bought two – one in red satin and one in black lace – not so much to please Paul but to show the clerk that bustiers were just fine for her. She didn’t need a corset to look good for her man.

The clerk disagreed. After ringing up her purchases, she told Celine, “You can get corsets at Fredrick’s of Hollywood another mile down the street but they don’t have anything serious. If your boyfriend wants you to do something about that tummy, you should go to the Bad Attitude Boutique downtown. They know how to bone you properly.”

Celine did not reply. As far as she was concerned, she’d already been boned pretty damn well today, twice, and thought it likely that she’d get boned at least once more after dinner.

Paul disagreed. When Celine explained that she had had to buy bustiers instead of corsets, he instructed her to go back and ask the clerk for the address of the boutique that she had recommended.

The clerk smirked something awful as she scrawled an address on a piece of paper. “You’ll like them. They have plus sizes in stock. Make sure that you tell them that you need serious waist training.” She laughed as she gave the paper to Celine.

Great, Celine thought as she walked back out of the store. A total stranger thinks that even my waist needs slave training. Slutty little bitch. Then she looked down at her gaping braless cleavage and thought about the contents of her bag and laughed at herself. Who was she to talk when Victoria’s Secret wasn’t slutty enough for her shopping needs? Still, she was annoyed at the gratuitous slam about plus sizes just because she wasn’t anorexic. She was a normal-sized twenty-eight year old. She’d never needed a plus size in her life.

She was hardly surprised when Paul sent her up to her room to change into her new shoes, garter belt and stockings with seams up the back. He told her to put her panties and pantyhose into the bag and bring it back down to the lobby. She spent another ten minutes standing there displaying herself before Paul returned carrying his own bag with her purse inside. “You’ll drive us down to Bad Attitude.”

She obeyed.

It took almost an hour and three hundred dollars to fit her in a black leather “Maiden” style corset. The clerk there made no snarky comments and didn’t blink an eye when Celine removed her blouse, leaving herself naked from the waist up for the fitting. The corset fit under her breasts, leaving them free, and reduced her waist noticeably. She had to breathe by expanding her chest more and her diaphragm less. Paul had come into the shop with her and instructed her to wear it under her blouse. A glimpse of black leather was visible at the bottom of the gap created by the missing buttons. With the corset in place, the waistband of her skirt was noticeably looser. She could feel her nipples rubbing lightly against the fabric of the blouse every time she took a breath.

It was slightly uncomfortable but Celine expected that she would get used to it soon enough. It was not as uncomfortable as the high-heeled shoes that thrust her feet up onto her toes.

It made her voice more breathy.

As they walked back to her car, Paul commented, “If any men proposition you, don’t refuse them. Just tell them that they have to make arrangements through me.”

His tone was casual, but serious. Celine’s stomach knotted at his words. If she followed his orders then she was allowed to refuse no one; Paul would make her available to anyone in any way that he wished. She wondered if his ‘arrangements’ would include cash payments for her services or simply an appointment for a specific time and place when she would be available to them.

Not for the first time, she wondered if the two men who had fucked her this afternoon were simply random men who had paid Paul for her services. For all she knew, she was not a slave at all, merely a common prostitute. Not just a common hooker but the most pathetic of prostitutes, a woman who was deluding herself that she was something else entirely.

She felt her nipples rubbing against the fabric of her blouse as she walked along a Las Vegas street, felt the warm desert air blowing up her skirt against her naked cunt, still filled with strange men’s semen, felt her toes crushed into her brand new fuck-me shoes, and felt utterly degraded. In less than twenty-four hours she had been reduced from a middle-school English teacher to a sin city hooker.

She could not understand why she felt so happy about it.

Maybe it was because every man who walked past her on the sidewalk, young, old, handsome or ugly, looked like he would do almost anything to have her.

Maybe it was because she knew that all these men had to do was ask and her body was available for their pleasure.

Or maybe it was because, unlike real hookers, she could say “red light” and walk away any time she wanted. Or maybe not. She had promised herself when she first checked into the hotel that she would not call “red light” unless she felt like she was in real, immediate danger or suffering intolerable pain. She had decided to give the sex slave lifestyle her best effort and now intended to pursue the adventure to the end because, as a helpless sex slave, she was feeling more free and more powerful than she had ever imagined anyone could. If that meant allowing herself to be sold to half the men in Las Vegas for the next two weeks, then so be it.

She had not yet seen Master Exeter but he was fulfilling his promise to her complete satisfaction.

Paul told her to drive back to the Flamingo Hotel. After she parked, he took her car keys and purse away from her and put them in a plastic bag. She laughed because she realized that he was embarrassed to be seen walking around carrying her purse. He ignored her chuckles and said, “Wait for me in the lobby,” with a note of annoyance.

She spent another ten minutes on display in the center of the lobby. Every time she did this, she felt like more men were noticing her than the last time. Having seams running up the backs of her legs practically shouted, “This woman is wearing kinky underwear!” and men stared at her tits and ass as though they thought that looking hard enough would give them X-ray vision. At this rate, by the end of next week, all activity in the lobby would come to a screeching halt every time she got off the elevator. Partly because, the way things were going, Paul would likely be sending her to wait for him in the nude. Then every man in the hotel really would stop and stare.

Once again, she wondered if one of the men watching her was the elusive Master Exeter. Was he watching her every time she was forced to stand on display in the lobby? Though she looked carefully at each male face in the crowd, none looked more familiar than any other.

Paul again spoke to her from behind. “Follow me.” How did he manage to always approach her from behind, no matter which way she was looking?

She obeyed and, within a few minutes, was being seated across from him in one of the hotel restaurants. The name, “Steakhouse46”, implied the she would find steak on the menu. She guessed that the “46” was appended because that was the year that Bugsy Siegel built the Flamingo, the first hotel on the Strip. She did not see steak or anything else on the menu because the waiter brought only one and gave it to Paul. As well he set a basket of rolls on the table between them.

Paul moved the basket next to his plate, out of her reach, and then ordered for both of them. Apparently she was going to get a strip loin steak and house salad with no dressing whether she wanted it or not. It was good that she was not a vegetarian because she was too hungry to eat only salad. Paul ordered a rib eye steak for himself with a baked potato on the side.

While they were waiting for the food, Paul asked, “How many women in this room do you think are sexual slaves?”

Celine was taken aback. She thought that she was unique. Maybe it was a trick question. “All of them?” she asked tentatively.

“Are you stupid?” Paul asked.

“No,” she replied with a note of defiance in her voice.

“Were you a sexual slave yesterday?”

“No,” she admitted more contritely. Her answer had been stupid. Of course most women were not sexual slaves.

“So it they are not all sexual slaves then what percentage of them are?”

“I don’t know,” seemed to be the safest answer.

“Correct. You don’t know. Most women are not sexual slaves, but more than you realize are. Hookers under the control of their pimps, motorcycle chicks with ‘Property of the Hell’s Angels’ tattooed across their rumps, wives of immigrants from some foreign cultures, women raised in some fundamentalist religious cults all spring to mind as examples of women who could be sexual slaves. And then there are the bondage enthusiasts who get so far into their fetish that they give themselves over to their tops. And there are women without education or resources who are simply beaten into submission by their husbands and have no way to leave or fight back. There’s what? Maybe thirty or forty women in this room? Let’s define a sexual slave as a woman who is obligated to service a man at any time in any way he wishes whether she wants to or not. Furthermore, let’s say that a woman is only a sexual slave if she knows that she is obligated to service a man regardless of her own desires and has accepted it, even if reluctantly. By that definition, even a trophy wife who has signed a prenuptial agreement and is willing to accommodate her husband’s every desire in order to maintain access to his credit cards may be a sexual slave. It is reasonable to expect that at least ten percent of the women in this room are sexual slaves. It could be as high as twenty-five percent. Look around. Make an educated guess about which women are sexual slaves and then see if they look unhappy compared to the others.”

Celine looked around as instructed. She saw the women in the room from a new perspective. Now she knew that some of them would be going back to their home or motel room tonight and providing sex to the man sitting across the table from them, whether they were in the mood or not. Most of the ones that looked like they would be doing that looked happy enough. Her eye fell on one woman, a thin, middle-aged harpy who was quietly berating her husband about some shortcoming. She was no sexual slave. He already knew that he wasn’t getting lucky tonight. And his wife looked like she was the unhappiest woman in the room.

She looked at another couple, an elderly man and a young woman with brassy hair and too heavy makeup. The woman was stroking the man’s hand gently, cooing something at him. She was wearing no wedding ring. A paid escort? His mistress? A gold digger? She looked happy and so did he. He would get lucky tonight and didn’t care what it cost. It was obvious that her situation made her happy, too.

She watched a third couple for a few minutes. He was in his late thirties and looked like Elvis, even down to the sideburns and sunglasses. She was at least fifteen years older than him and dressed like a business executive. They wore matching wedding rings. How did she keep a handsome young man coming home every night? Not by being an executive and writing memos to him. And not by telling him that she wasn’t in the mood so he was going to have to take a cold shower. She would act the cougar for him. Did that make her a sexual slave or a good wife?

The waiter set her steak and dry salad in front of her and set the other steak and potato in front of Paul. As soon as she left, Paul asked, politely, “Pass me your food and your silverware, please.”

Puzzled, Celine obeyed.

Paul pushed his own plate to one side and put her plate in front of him. Carefully, he used her steak knife and fork to trim every bit of fat from her steak – easy because, unlike his own rib eye, the bulk of the fat on a strip loin is on one side – and moved it to his bread plate. Then cut the remaining lean meat into small pieces. When he was finished, he passed her plate back to her, sans cutlery.

“No fork?” she asked.

“When your food is properly prepared and served, you can eat with elegance and grace without implements.”

She delicately picked a piece of dry lettuce from the plate, put it in her mouth, and chewed slowly. With no dressing on the salad and no fat on the meat, her fingers would stay relatively dry and clean; and she had her napkin to wipe them as necessary. As subtly as she could, she slid a small cube of meat between her teeth with her naked fingers and chewed it as well. Having not eaten since breakfast and having spent a busy day, she savored the morsels of nourishment. But the lean meal would hardly sate her appetite. She would be hungry for the rest of the night.

Paul, on the other hand, had no compunction about sawing into his own marbled steak and sour-cream-laden potato with a knife and fork. Celine got the point: the rules for the slave did not apply to the master.

The meal ended when Paul got chocolate cake for dessert and Celine got the bill.

When Paul returned her to her room, he packed all her clothing into the Victoria’s Secret bag and took it away, once again leaving her nude without access to a single stitch of clothing. She would not be going down to the casino to play any slots tonight. In the slave’s Vegas, only one slot mattered: the one between her legs.

Paul told her that she could rest for an hour, but that she had to prepare herself with blindfold and handcuffs for Master Exeter’s pleasure by nine o’clock. It was the first time that Paul had admitted that Exeter was here and was the one making love to her. Now she was certain that it must have been Master Exeter between her legs this afternoon.

Sometime late in the evening, after blindfolding and cuffing herself, she was pushed to her knees to service an unseen man with her mouth, her hands being unavailable to assist. The room was silent but for her slurping and the man’s heavy breathing. She told herself, In for a penny, in for a pound. I should get as much out of this experience as I can. With that mindset, she tried to imagine how a slave would enjoy servicing her master. She forced herself to explore every curve and bulge of the man’s cock and balls. She tasted every part of him, smelled every part of him, and did her best to learn how he reacted to each different kind of oral touch and caress. Being blindfolded and having her hands restrained behind her back, she was limited to judging his reaction by listening to his breathing and whimpering; and feeling him stiffen and pulse in her mouth. The experience was more educational than she expected. She always told her young students that they would get as much out of their education as they put into it. Now that she was the student, she was taking her own advice and putting as much into this fellatio lesson as she could; and she was learning the truth of her own aphorism. When the man finally came, she had no choice but to swallow; with the blindfold and handcuffs, she would look foolish stumbling about the room, bumping into things, trying to find the bathroom to spit in the sink. She was sure that she had Master Exeter’s cum in her mouth and she was loathe to insult him by rejecting his jism. As the thick wad slid down her throat like a raw oyster fresh off the half shell, she suppressed her gag reflex and told herself that she wanted to please Master Exeter. If she pleased him enough, he might let her see his face.

But not tonight. He left without removing her blindfold.

Paul returned before midnight to unbuckle her collar and unlock her handcuffs for her. He told her that she did not have to set an alarm, if she were still asleep in the morning, he would wake her up when he came to her room.

He said one strange thing before he left. “If you can learn to be happy serving as a slave to strangers, you will find true joy when you are enslaved to a man you love.” She found it strange that he felt a need to speak the words because the idea was so obviously true. That was the whole point of this training session.

She spent her remaining hour before going to bed writing her latest lessons in her workbook.

“Today you will enjoy an intensely humiliating experience,” Paul said when he entered Celine’s room in the morning. “Evacuate your bowels as best you can because we have arranged for an expert to prepare you for anal service. To keep your bowel as clear as we can, you will not be permitted to eat until after you have serviced at least one man anally. Clean yourself up, then blindfold and cuff yourself as usual. Be ready by eleven o’clock.”

She wanted to complain about her hunger but instead, asked, “Why do I have to be blindfolded?”

He walked over to the bed, gently raised her to a sitting position, then slapped her face sharply. “Haven’t you learned not to ask stupid questions yet? You are a slow learner.” He slapped her face a second time. “Try to be a better student this morning because you’ve got a lot to learn about your own asshole.”

She contemplated that she was learning about more assholes than her own, but was tired of getting her face slapped – it was both painful and humiliating – so she kept her thought to herself.

He slapped her face a third time then left without saying another word.

She resolved to ask no more questions and save herself at least a little unnecessary humiliation.

Sometime after eleven o’clock, she heard her door open and someone enter. She could see nothing through her blindfold so she compensated by listening as hard as she could. She heard footsteps and the rustle of plastic. The rustling of a lot of plastic.

Then a voice spoke. This was a deep voice that spoke with a clipped accent, not quite British, but not quite American, either. Something in between. “Cheerio, dear. They didn’t tell me your name and I have to call you something, so I’m going to call you Slut for the sake of convenience. Now, Slut, stand up and step over here.” A hand grabbed her arm firmly and guided her across the room. She felt her bare feet stepping from carpet onto a heavy sheet of plastic. “They told me that you have never experienced anal penetration before. Because this will be your first time, we will proceed slowly and carefully to make sure that it is done right. It will take considerable effort on your part but it will be worth it. Do not expect to enjoy the physical sensations at first. If you continue to receive men in your asshole, you will learn to enjoy it more. I recommend that you arrange to get your asshole fucked at least twice a week to keep yourself open and maximize your enjoyment. Some women learn to experience orgasms while getting fucked in their ass and a rare few learn to prefer ass fucking to getting fucked their cunts. You may not be lucky enough to attain that lofty goal but you should reach for it. Kneel down, please.” He helped Celine to her knees. “Now spread your knees apart and push your face down against the floor. That’s right. Get that ass up in the air as high as you can and open yourself right up. Good. Very good. Just stay like that and relax.”

It was hard to relax with her face down and her hands cuffed behind her back because her neck was bent at a sharp angle. The anal expert noticed because he said, “I don’t know why they cuffed your hands. You’re not going to resist me, are you?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I won’t do this if you are reluctant. Anal rape can do a lot of damage. If I don’t have your complete cooperation, then I’m out of here right now. Are you going to cooperate completely?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. In that case, I’d like to get those handcuffs off. Do you know where the key is?”

“It’s attached to my collar.”

“Ah, yes. So it is. How thoughtful of them.” She felt fingers fumbling with the buckle at her neck and, a minute later, her hands were free.

“Now,” the expert said, “You just tuck those hands under your face and give yourself a little support. That’s right. Just be sure that you don’t dislodge that blindfold. You want to keep that in place.”

“Why?”

“Because they told me that you have to be blindfolded for sex. It has something to do with focusing your senses, I think. Eliminating visual distractions. Master Exeter is an expert in psychology. He is a professor at a prestigious university. I don’t question his methods.”

Celine remained silent. She was listening hard and heard a soft snapping. The anal expert was putting rubber gloves on his hands. He was serious about his work. Her gut twitched in anticipation of imminent violation. A few moments later, she felt a cold slimy finger rubbing around her rectum.

“Always use lots of lubricant. Your cunt can make it’s own slime. When you’re excited, your cunt can literally be dripping inside. But your asshole has no way to lubricate itself, so you have to do to job manually. Water-based lubricants like K-Y jelly have to be used right away because they dry out after a few minutes. Petroleum-based lubricants can last all afternoon but they can damage latex and render condoms useless. You want to make sure that strangers use the love gloves in your back door because you can get diseases there more easily that way than from any other kind of sex. There’s always a little abrasion with anal penetration that lets the viruses right in. If you know that your lover is clean, though, then sexual etiquette dictates that using a condom is his option. You can’t get pregnant back here. Personally, I always use a condom because I hate getting urinary tract infections.”

All the time that he was talking, Celine felt him working more lube deeper into her. After a minute, he added his middle finger to his index so that he was using two fingers inside her; she felt herself being stretched open. It was not comfortable, but did not exactly hurt, either. “The other advantage of a condom is that the man can strip it off if he wants to switch to your cunt. Don’t let a man ride your asshole bareback and then switch to your cunt without washing himself off first. You don’t need the bacteria in your vagina. You have a duty to keep yourself as healthy as possible for your master’s enjoyment. There we go,” he said, “I’ve worked a goodly amount of Astroglide into you. Now we’re going to try a little real penetration.”

She heard a case snap open. “This is a small anal plug. It’s not much bigger than my two fingers and softer, so it should slide right in.” She felt the pressure of an object against her anus. “You’re still a little open from my digital stimulation, the anus doesn’t close all the way immediately after being forced open and you can use that fact to ease the penetration of larger objects. Oops. There it goes. How does that feel?”

Having an alien object stuck in her anus felt strange. “It feels odd.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Not at all. It just feels strange.”

“That’s to be expected. You have bigger things than that passing out every day. But they move along, they don’t stick halfway and keep holding your asshole open.”

Celine felt her sphincter muscles twitch and the object popped out of her. It hit the plastic between her knees with a quiet thud.

“Ha. See. That’s your natural reflex. You’d be surprised how hard it is to keep even a big dildo stuck in your ass unless it’s strapped in place. There are women who could keep this little one inside them indefinitely, but that’s a skill that requires an awful lot of practice. Rather than putting this little thing back in, let’s move on to something bigger.”

She felt his fingers smearing more lubricant around her anus. “More lube never hurts and too little can be a problem, so take every opportunity you can to grease your ass. Now, let’s see if you can take this.” She felt another cold object pressing against her outer sphincter. “I’m not going to push it in. I’m going to hold it steady and I want you to rock back and forth and do the work. That’s right. You’re going to have to force it a little, but not to the point of pain. Push on it and then move away and come back to push again. Try to get it a little deeper each time. It’ll happen naturally if you just keep pushing to the threshold of pain and then backing off. There’s a trick that you will learn to use here. As your pushing against it, try to expel it like you’re taking a shit. See, when you defecate, you tighten your bowel but, at the same time, you automatically relax your sphincters to let the bolus out. If you do that now, you feel like you are trying to expel the dildo, but you are actually relaxing the gate and letting the intruder in. There you go. Exactly. It’s in right up to the base. How does that feel?”

“It’s a kind of relief to have it in finally.”

“Sure it is. Think of it this way. It feels great to take a big dump, right?”

“Right.”

“Well this gives you that great feeling of taking a big dump, but it doesn’t end. It just goes on and on.”

“It kind of hurts.”

“Sure it does. Your sphincter doesn’t like being held wide open like this and it’s going to complain about it. But it’s not the kind of pain that means that you are being damaged. It’s the kind of pain that means that you are experiencing something out of the ordinary. Now I want you to just stay as relaxed as you can and see how long you can keep this dildo stuck up your ass. If you feel it slipping out, then you can reach back and push it back in. But try to keep it in without holding it all the time. You want to teach your muscles to relax and not work against you all the time.”

She heard more rustling of plastic. The dildo kept threatening to slip out. She had to reach back and push it back in deeper almost constantly.

“Okay,” the bass, clipped voice came back to her. “Now you just hold that in place while you stand up and waddle over here.”

She reached between her legs, pushed against the base of the dildo and stumbled to her feet. The man’s strong hand around her upper arm helped her keep her balance while she was standing up. As he suggested, she could only waddle when she was hunched over keeping her hand between her legs while being guided across the room.

“Now keep that dildo in and sit down.”

She felt the desk chair against the back of her knees and lowered herself down. She moved her fingers out of the way to allow the seat of the chair to push against the end of the dildo. The same stiff plastic that had covered the patch of carpet also covered the seat of the chair. The anal expert came well-equipped with rubber and plastic.

“We’re going to let your asshole stretch out for a while. I guess I ought to keep temptation away from you. Put your hands behind your back, please.”

She meekly put her hands together behind the back of the chair and let him snap the cuffs around her wrists.

“And we better make sure you stay in place.”

She felt soft rope wrap around her waist and upper thighs tying her firmly to the chair. When he was finished, she could not raise herself from the chair or expel the dildo no matter how she tried.

“I think an hour is what the doctor will prescribe. That will give your asshole time to adapt nicely to the penetration. Think happy thoughts, Slut.”

She heard more rustling of plastic, then water running in the bathroom, and, finally, the door open and shut. She had been left alone in her room, naked, blindfolded, tied to a chair, a dildo forced up her butt. She hoped that the anal expert had hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob. She’d hate to have the maid come in to make up her room.

Not that it required making up, she’d made her bed herself as soon as she had got up this morning. She didn’t want to have to endure another paddling. Unlike public school, Master Exeter’s private lessons permitted corporal punishment and she had no desire to feel the paddle again.

She had nothing to occupy her time for the hour but to think. Her thoughts were unexpectedly happy. The sobriquet bestowed on her by the anal expert was apt. She let strange men fuck her in every orifice. She didn’t know their names or anything about them. Master Exeter could send a constant stream of men to her room and she would allow them to use her for any sexual purpose they wished. She was happy about it. How could she be considered anything but a slut?

The longer the dildo remained in her ass, the more strenuously her sphincter muscles protested. Discomfort was growing into pain. She didn’t care. She aspired to be the sluttiest middle school teacher in all Los Angeles and that was worth a little pain in the ass. If only her principal could see her now. He’d be disgusted. And he’d fall to his knees and beg to be permitted to join the line of men who were waiting to use her. Celine had seen the spark of interest in his eye before and knew that she could fan that spark into an inferno of lust any time she wanted. There’s no way on earth his prissy wife would let herself be used like this. No way she would ever spend an hour with a dildo up her ass for the sole purpose of making it more accommodating for her husband’s use. Celine could break up her marriage, wreck her home, devastate her just by leaning close to her husband, looking him in the eye, and whispering, “I’ll let you fuck me any way you want, any time you want.” If she said it, she would mean it. Literally. Any way he wanted, as often as he wanted. Two days ago, her sex life was mostly fantasy. Today, total promiscuity was her reality. She knew that she would do anything to please a man and that knowledge was power. The superpower of Superslut. She would buy a teeshirt with an S in a triangle on the chest. Any man who saw her would know instinctively what her superpower was and would prostrate himself in awe before her.

The door opened.

Celine felt hands untie the knots at her knees and unwrap the ropes from her legs. “Okay. Let’s get you out of that chair and get that dildo out of your ass. It’s time you got ready for the real thing.”

Celine was reminded that, though this man had been working on her asshole all morning, she was still technically an anal virgin. She had not yet done it all.

The man left her hands cuffed behind her back. “They want me to secure you for penetration. I don’t recommend it but Master Exeter gets what Master Exeter wants. You’re loose enough now that he can do almost anything he wants and you won’t be injured. Stand up, Slut.”

As Celine stood up, the dildo slipped out of her lose anus and stayed on the seat of the chair.

“That’s right. Now you come with me.” His now-familiar grip on her upper arm guided her to the bathroom. “You sit there and evacuate your bowels as best as you can. You probably feel like your bowel is full, but that’s just the residual stimulation from the dildo. I doubt that you’ll actually be able to expel much except for the little stool that was loosened by the lubricant. Stay there until I get back.”

Celine sat blindfolded on the toilet for a few minutes while she listened to the man rummaging around the hotel room. She guessed that he was cleaning up the plastic and putting his supplies away. Or getting out more supplies for the next phase of her training. She could not guess what was coming next. He had implied that it would be a real man, but he had also talked about getting her ready.

When he came back, he said, “All ready now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Stand up. Turn around. Bend over nice, now.”

She felt a wad of toilet paper wiping her ass clean. Having someone else wipe her ass was the most humiliating experience of the morning. Paul had said that she would experience intense humiliation, but, up to this point, she had not felt particularly humiliated. The anal expert was so professional and matter-of-a-fact about everything that she felt more like a doctor’s patient than a sexual slave.

That aspect had been somewhat disappointing.

The man flushed the toilet and then led her back out of the bathroom. “Stand here and bend over as far as you can.”

Celine felt herself bending over the back of the wooden chair, her head nearing the seat where she had recently spent an hour sitting on a dildo.

“Move your foot forward, past the leg of the chair. That’s right, Now the other one. That’s right. Lean forward, keep your balance. Good.” Straddling the back of the chair with her knees pressed into the sides and her head bent as far forward as she could, her ass was stuck high and opened wide. The soft rope was wrapped quickly around her right ankle, threaded through the chair legs, up the front of the chair, under her arms and across her back and then down and through to wrap around her other ankle. She was left tied to the chair with no way to move, no way to raise her head or close her legs. She was already feeling discomfort at the pressure points on the sides of her knees and against her stomach.

“We’ll get you lubed up again.”

Celine heard the snap of a rubber glove again, then the cold smear of more jelly into her exposed anus. “There you go. I hope you enjoy your second deflowering.” A minute later, she heard the door close and she was left alone to anticipate her imminent sodomization. She felt like she had been prepared as well as was humanly possible, but still hoped that Master Exeter would be gentle.

She did not have to wait for long, which was merciful because her back was beginning to ache something terrible after only a couple of minutes.

The door opened, someone entered and unzipped their pants. There was a long pause and Celine wondered if something was wrong. Then a cock was unceremoniously shoved into her asshole. It felt bigger than the dildo but that might be only because she had had time to work the dildo in slowly and had not had to take the whole length in a single stroke. She was glad that she had been well-preped for this because she would have been torn wide open if she had not already been properly stretched. She could not tell if the man was wearing a rubber or not. Maybe an experienced anal slut would be able to feel the difference between latex and skin inside her asshole, but she had not yet acquired that degree of expertise.

The man pumped into her only a few times before she felt his cock pulsing in orgasm. The man was silent when he came. It felt like an entirely different experience than when Master Exeter had made love to her on the bed the day before. She began to doubt that this was the same man and wondered who was fucking her in the ass. Not the anal expert, he would have taken far more care with her deflowering. Was this Paul, the valet? Either it was him or it was a total stranger. She preferred to think that it was a handsome, heartless stranger rather than the homely, stumpy young valet.

The man left the room without releasing her. Now her lower back was in agony. She began to whimper in pain. This was worse than being spanked with the leather strap.

It may have been only minutes, but felt like hours before the door opened again. She squealed, “My back is breaking. Please let me stand up. I can’t take any more of this.”

The man who had entered – Paul? Exeter? Anal Expert? A stranger? – said nothing but he knelt down and immediately untied her ankles. The knots must have been pulled tight because it took him a minute to get the first one loose. He left the other one tied while her move her to the bed and and pushed her face down. She lay limp and unresisting as he stretched her legs apart and re-tied her ankle. He had passed the rope under the bed so that she could not close her legs, turn over, or move off the bed.

She was so relieved that her back was no longer bent over the chair that she didn’t mind having her legs tied wide open.

Fingers rubbed more lubricant into her asshole, and then the second man penetrated her. This one was slower, more considerate than the first man. He worked his cock in deeper and deeper with each stroke until the weight of his hips was resting on her buttocks and his cock was buried as deeply in her bowel as it could reach. This man spent a long time, many minutes, working himself around inside her, not only in and out, but side to side. When he finally came, she felt like her sewer pipe had been royally rotorootered. She felt sore from the stretching but it was not as bad as she would have expected.

This man left without untying her. After a time, being unable to close her legs gave her an oppressive feeling.

She was left like that for a long time, long enough that her hunger became her most salient sensation. She had not eaten since nibbling the lean steak and dry salad last night, almost twenty hours earlier by her best guess. Was Master Exeter forcing her onto a starvation diet? She would admit to being somewhat plumper than the racks-of-bones that strutted down the fashion show catwalks, but she was far from obese. Her doctor considered her weight to be within the healthy range. Maybe he liked the famine chic look and starved his slaves to the edge of anorexia. If he tried that with her, he’d be getting the red light before long.

“Untie yourself.”

Had she been napping? Paul’s voice caught her unawares. She processed his words slowly. Untie herself? How could she do that when she was lying face down, blindfolded, with her hands cuffed behind her back? She thought about the geometry of her body for a minute, then the penny dropped. She hadn’t had to lie here, face down on the bed for hours. All she had to do was raise herself up on her knees and her hands would easily reach the knots on her ankles. She bunched up her body, got the weight of her hips over her feet, and then raised herself upright. She fumbled blindly with the knot on her right ankle for a long time. It was too tight. She must have been napping because her brain was foggy. She switched to her left ankle and managed to untie that knot. It was much looser. She was free to get off the bed. Her shoulders were aching from having her hands cuffed behind her back for so many hours. If only she could unlock her handcuffs. Another penny dropped. She was no rocket scientist toady. There was no collar around her neck, had not been since the anal expert had unbuckled it. It had to be lying somewhere in the room. She had been blindfolded since morning so she had not seen where he had left it. Think, Celine. Think hard. He had unlocked her handcuffs when she had been kneeling on the plastic in the middle of the floor. Where would he have put the collar? The desk was the closest surface so she tried that first, walking carefully until she bumped the wall, then following it until her thigh struck the edge. She turned around to press her butt against it and fumbled across the surface with her fingers. She soon felt the thick leather strap. Grabbing the key firmly with her right fingers, she bent her wrist and fumbled around until she managed to get the key inserted in the left cuff. Twist, click, and the ratchet released. She reached up behind her head and unbuckled the blindfold. Glare from the setting sun blinded her dark-adapted eyes. She squeezed them tight, turned away, and began slowly opening them again, this time a mere crack at a time, forcing them to adapt to the light. It seemed to take forever before she could see properly. Finally, she could see Paul sitting in one of the easy chairs by the window.

“Aren’t you hungry? I expected that you would have been cleaned up and waiting to go out to dinner by now. You must like being tied down on the bed because you left yourself there for so long. I’m going to have to tell Master Exeter how much you’d rather be tied up than eat. I’m sure that he’ll accommodate you with a lot more of the same.” He was laughing.

“No thank you,” she replied formally.

“No need to thank me. Get yourself showered and dressed for dinner. I don’t know about you, but  I’m starving.”

Celine unlocked the cuff from her other wrist, then untied the remaining rope from her right ankle. She piled all the bondage equipment on the desk and then showered. In the shower, she fingered her asshole gingerly. It felt loose and slippery. She cleaned it well, inside and out.

She took the time to blow dry her hair before coming back to find clothes laid out on the bed. It seemed that she was to be permitted panties and a bra underneath her skirt and blouse. Her feet would be comfortable in her Rockport walking shoes. She cocked an eyebrow in surprise.

“You’ve had difficult sessions yesterday and today. Tonight you relax. Nothing bad will be done to you. The life of a sex slave should not be a life of endless suffering. It should be a life that you want to embrace.”

Paul let her treat him to a dinner in an Italian restaurant across the strip at the Bellagio’s casino. Then they went to Cirque du Soleil’s “Zumanity” show. He told her that he’d purchased the tickets on her credit card yesterday. “Hope you don’t mind me signing for you.” He gave her a credit card receipt for three hundred dollars for the two tickets.

She minded him stealing the money from her but told herself that if she were spending her vacation in Las Vegas, she should see at least one high-end show and you couldn’t do better than Cirque du Soleil; they always staged a terrific performance.

Of all the Cirque’s Las Vegas shows, “Zumanity” was the only one that was frankly erotic, featuring fetish costumes, a fair amount of nudity, and assorted stylized simulations of sexual acts.

Celine tried to imagine herself as a lithe, limber women in a costume that simulated lingerie, dancing gracefully across the stage and ascending into the air on a trapeze. It was a silly exercise. That was not the way a sex slave entertained a man. She entertained her men by allowing herself to be stripped naked and tied bent over a chair and letting her asshole be fucked by a strangers.

There was nothing pretend about her performance. No fake sex. No stylized simulations. A sex slave gave her men the real thing.

She looked at the handsome, muscular, nearly naked man carrying a half-dressed woman across the stage on one upstretched arm and knew in the pit of her stomach that she would rather be sucking his cock than dancing with him.

Then she looked at the dumpy, paunchy, young man sitting next to her and decided that she wanted to be used again, tonight. She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Tonight, I need to fall asleep with the taste of a man’s cum in my mouth. Tie me to the bed, send a man to my room to fuck my mouth, and leave me there until morning. Don’t let me go to the bathroom to spit out the cum, brush my teeth, or wash out my mouth.”

She leaned back and looked down at Paul’s crotch. His pants were bulging, an enormous erection straining underneath his zipper. She looked at his face. He was grimacing in discomfort. She watched him squirm in his seat, trying unsuccessfully to jostle his cock into a less-painful position.

She giggled in delight.

A few minutes later, when Paul’s breathing returned to normal, she glanced down and saw that the bulge in his pants was shrinking so she leaned over again and said, “I want the man to be sure that he comes all over my tongue, not just in the back of my throat, but in the front, down the middle and over both sides so that I cannot escape the taste. He has to make me lick up every drop that comes out of him.”

Paul’s cock sprang back upright as though it were connected to strings being jerked hard by an invisible puppeteer. He began squirming around in his seat again.

Celine had not had such fun in ages.

She watched his crotch and, a few minutes later when he again began to subside, leaned over and whispered, “After he comes in my mouth, I want the man to force me to open my mouth to show him the cum in there and then swish it around like a wine connoisseur, appreciating the fine subtleties of the vintage. If he doesn’t think that I’ve tasted the his cum thoroughly enough, then he can punish my ass with the leather paddle and make me suck him off all over again.”

She could see a small damp patch appearing on the front of Paul’s pants where the tip of his cock was straining against the fabric. She laughed out loud.

And, a few minutes after that, she leaned over and said, “Tell him that he has my permission punish me with a long hard spanking if my blow job doesn’t absolutely delight him. Tell him that if he does not receive the best blow job of his life tonight, he has a duty to make me deeply regret not trying hard enough.”

Paul’s face shone bright red in the light reflected from the stage. He looked like he was on the verge of tears.

A few minutes later, she whispered, “I’m going to hate what happens to me tonight. You know that, don’t you? I’m going to absolutely hate it. But some man is going to love it just as much as I’m going to hate it.”

Tears began to slide down Paul’s face. The erotic circus on stage was approaching its finale, but it was not the most sexual thing that Paul was experiencing tonight. Not by a long shot.

Celine felt her superpower over men growing and her own seat was getting wet under her crotch. She was going to hate having to spend the night tied to the bed with a man’s cum coating her tongue, probably with a bruised and aching butt as well, but the idea also excited her more than anything in Los Angeles had excited her in a long time. Making Paul suffer through half the show was deeply satisfying, but anticipating being forced to give him a blow job held its own charm.

As the stars of the show took their bows, Celine mentally took her own bow. They had staged a marvelous performance but she had been able to drive one of the men in the room to heights of horniness that they could barely imagine. She delighted herself with her new-found power.

Paul rushed her back to her room so quickly that he as almost jogging.

She had to suppress her laughter all the way back.

As soon as they were inside, he ordered her to strip off her clothes and prepare for bed. When she came out of the bathroom, she found him waiting with the length of rope that had been left by the ass expert. “Hold out your hands in front of you.”

She complied and he wound the middle of the rope once around each wrist in loose knots that left her hands slightly parted but not far enough for her fingers to reach down and untie them. Her circulation was unimpeded but her hands were trapped. He knelt down and tied one end of the rope to the frame on one side of the bed, then walked around and tied off the other end to the other side. She could move about the bed but not far enough to reach the knots that held her there.

Finally he buckled the blindfold over her eyes. “I know that you can reach the buckle, but you are not to remove the blindfold until after your mouth has been filled and the man who filled it has left the room. Do everything he says, work hard, and you may escape a beating. I hope you can satisfy him because he’s known to be the most brutal man in Las Vegas. I doubt that he’ll bother with a paddle. If you fail to impress him, he’ll take it out on your ass with his belt.”

Celine was certain that Paul was exaggerating, but she felt a sharp stab of fear. Maybe she had offered too much. She had given few blow jobs in her entire life and now she had promised that a stranger would receive the best one ever. Was she a fool? Or did she want to get her ass beaten black and blue?

At least, tied like this, she would be able to use her hands, one at a time, as well as her lips and tongue. That was a small mercy.

It seemed like the door had barely shut before it opened again. Was Paul back already or had Master Exeter been waiting in the lobby?

The ropes were long enough to let her kneel on the bed with her feet pressed against the headboard. She felt the bed shift with the weight of a second person and then a hand on the back of her neck forced her mouth down onto a rigid cock. She grabbed it at the base with her right hand and began to lick around the head. It was already wet and slimy and tasted a bit funky. She did not need to see to know that she was licking the precum from Paul’s dick – she had made him produce copious amounts during the cirque so it was only fair that she now give him relief. She’d called the tune, offered to be the piper, and now she had an obligation to play his flute.

She worked hard, licking his head, then plunging down his shaft until he was banging against the back of her throat, making her gag, then pulling back and licking him again. Around and around and up and down until her jaw was aching and her knees protesting being cramped. But she dared not quit until she had cum in her mouth.

She knew that she had pushed him to a high state of excitement so she was surprised by the amount of time and effort that it took for her to make him cum. But eventually he had to succumb to her ministrations. When she felt him pulsing in her mouth, she pulled him almost out and, as promised, took his wad on her tongue. She resisted the urge to gag or swallow and kept licking until his pulsing faded away. It took longer than she had expected. When he finally stopped, she leaned her head back and thrust out her tongue, showing him the white gob on it. She pressed it against her lips and then worked her tongue around to make certain that he could see that she was spreading the goo everywhere. Finally, she mostly closed her mouth and swished and slurped it around everywhere. There was little left to swallow. No matter what she did now, she’d definitely have the taste of his cum in her mouth for the rest of the night.

He said, using his deep, clipped voice, “You were good but not the best that I ever had. Your bragging deserves acknowledgement. Ten strokes of my belt will remind you to be  more humble about your mediocre skills next time. Turn around and present your ass to me.”

She was not surprised that Paul sounded like the anal expert from earlier. If he were going to disguise his voice effectively, he had to learn a lot more accents. She presented her ass as instructed and counted out ten strokes of the belt. They hurt and she squealed pathetically after each stroke.

She spent the rest of the night lying naked on the bed with no way to cover herself. As she had wished, her mouth still tasted like cum when she finally fell asleep.

She might be the slave, but she had called this shot all on her own. She fell asleep satisfied.

“Good morning,” Paul said cheerfully.

Celine’s mouth tasted like a swamp. “Untie my hands so that I can get myself cleaned up and then we can have a little fun. I need some regular style love so that I can get off, too.”

As he untied her, he said, “You don’t have Master Exeter’s permission to have an orgasm. As his slave, you are only permitted to have an orgasm when he gives you the gift of relief. You are not to touch yourself sexually without asking first. I will tell him about your need the next time I see him.”

“What are we going to do today?”

“We’re just going to relax. I told you yesterday that a sex slave should have some time to enjoy life, too.”

“You’re not going to send a man up here to use me?”

“Not today. If Master Exeter gives you permission to have an orgasm then you’ll have to use your own hands to do it.”

Celine sighed. If she wanted to masturbate herself, she could have stayed at home. Now that Paul had thought about masturbation, he was almost certainly going to pretend to go consult Master Exeter and then come back and demand that she let him watch her play with herself.

She had no intention of giving him that kind of show. She came to Vega to get fucked royally by an experienced dominant man, not to amuse this little pervert.

His words told her the truth. Yesterday she had been uncertain, had thought that she might have actually have a parade of strangers and ‘experts’ trooping through her hotel room, including the mysterious “Master Exeter” but today she had to accept that there was only Paul. He had been a horny young man, able to get it up three times a day for two days, but she had worn him out. He wasn’t going to give her an orgasm right now because he didn’t have enough left in him to do the job. Who did he think he was? She didn’t owe him anything. She was in this for her own amusement, not to make this dumpy kid happy.

He had lied to her about who he was and she had been foolish enough to believe him. Well, she had been attentive to his lessons and now she was going to teach him a lesson in return.

Teaching him a lesson was going to be a little difficult considering that she didn’t have a stitch of clothing within reach, had not seen her purse with her identification and credit cards for days, and did not know Paul’s last name. For that matter, she didn’t even know if ‘Paul’ was his real first name. If he turned nasty, he could walk out of here and never return. She would have to phone the front desk and do a lot of explaining. She would claim that she had been raped and robbed, but it would be hard to make that story sound believable. How many hotel burglars stole a woman’s clothes and makeup and left her naked in her hotel room? Especially when they had seen her standing around the hotel lobby in various states of semi-dress waiting for a man who was now nowhere to be found now. She recalled reading that there were more security cameras per person in Las Vegas than anywhere else on earth. Trying to explain her comings and goings over the last couple of days while convincing anyone that she had been a victim of a rapist/burglar would be nearly impossible.

Besides, letting Paul just walk away would be no fun. She had come to Vegas to have some fun, he had a duty to give it to her, and, by God, she was going to get it from him.

She began to formulate a plan.

When she finished drying her hair, she spoke to Paul in a low voice, “I’ve been here for two days and I haven’t even used the hotel pool yet. I bet you’d like to take your slave shopping and make her buy the smallest bikini in Las Vegas. When you made her parade around the hotel pool wearing such an immodest suit and all the other men stared at her and admired her almost naked, barely legal body, she’d blush as red as a beet. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Paul’s eyes glittered. There was even a little bulge forming in his trousers, not enough to penetrate her, but enough to tell her that she had grabbed his interest.

“I’m a naturally modest person. I’d hate to have to have to display my body in public like one of those cirque performers last night.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to take you shopping.” He could barely enunciate the words; he was already trembling in anticipation of a good show.

“I’ll need underwear,” she said as he was rushing out the door. “I can’t try on bikini bottoms without underwear.”

“Okay.” The door slammed.

Suddenly, Paul sounded very young to her. It was easy to forget that he was barely in his twenties when he was lecturing her about being a sexual slave. At those times, he managed to sound confident and authoritative, but when she had made suggestions on her own, like at the Cirque last night and again this morning, he sounded like a teenage boy. She began to suspect that he had no real experience at all. When he was being “Master Exeter,” he was acting out some story that he had read on the Internet. But when she made suggestions that fell outside his prepared script, things were different. He had almost fallen apart at the cirque last night and now he was panting at the thought of seeing her in a bikini. Men were such odd creatures; he had seen her entirely naked and knew that he could see her naked in her room again any time he wanted but the idea of seeing her in a skimpy bikini in public was a bigger turn on for him. Suddenly she realized how unsophisticated he really was. And how unsophisticated she had been in return, believing that he was acting on behalf of an much more experienced man when she had been little more than a prop in some bit of Internet porn fantasy.

Well she had a plan now and he was going to get a rude awakening about how the real world worked.

On the other hand, her plan would be no treat for her, either. She had been telling the truth about being modest. She would hate parading around in one of the tiny bikinis that she had seen other women wearing at the pool when she had first checked out the hotel. But it would be worth some embarrassment if it delivered Paul into her hands.

She thought about the aesthetics of wearing a micro bikini in public and phoned the front desk. A few minutes later, she had an appointment for a bikini wax at the salon at the Bellagio Hotel across the strip.

When Paul returned carrying her black dress, underwear and walking shoes, she informed him that she had to be at the Bellagio at twelve thirty to get her bush waxed. There was no way she was going out in public with hair hanging out the sides of her bathing suit. She added that she was sure that the suit that he would make her buy would require a severe waxing.

He nodded like it was his idea.

At the Bikini Bay boutique, she found a scarlet suit that was revealing enough to shock her and might be scant enough to impress Paul but did not actually show any part of her body that would get her thrown out of the pool. The back was not a thong, but was cut high and narrow enough to expose half of her cheeks. The small triangles that covered her nipples and half of her breasts were held in place with thin spaghetti straps. Large silver rings linked the sides of the bottom at the hips and linked the halter together at the front. She did not model the suit in the store for Paul, but came out of the change room fully dressed and whispered in his ear, “I think that you’ll like this suit a lot. It’s a lot smaller than anything that I’ve ever worn before. I don’t really want to wear it in public this afternoon but I’m afraid of disappointing you and earning another spanking so I’ve going to force myself to do it regardless.”

He nodded and tried to look severe, but she was getting wise to him. She caught a hint of blush in his ears.

She picked out a matching cover up and a pair of waterproof scarlet sandals. They were basically flip-flops but were not too chunky; they had at a little style to them. They even had a bit of heel.

Then she told Paul, “If you’re taking me to the pool, you’ll need a bathing suit, too. My treat.” He sputtered for a minute, but she quietly handed him a modest pair of jams and a tee shirt, both size large. “Try these on.”

He came out of the dressing room a few minutes later with the swimsuit in hand. “They fit.”

“Great. Pick out pair of sandals  for yourself and we’ll be set to go. I have barely enough time to get to my appointment at the salon.” She kept her credit card after making the purchase because she would need it to pay for the waxing. As they were walking out of the store, she said, casually, “I’ll meet you back at my room in about an hour. While I’m getting most of the hair ripped out of my crotch and screaming in agony, I’d appreciate it if you’d ask Master Exeter that some man be allowed to give me an orgasm after our pool party. I deserve to scream in ecstasy a little, too. Tell him that I’m begging you. I’ll get down on my knees to beg for relief if I have to.”

“You’ll have to,” Paul said, tossed his head, and walked away.

She laughed quietly. She’d seen the bulge that she’d raised in his pants again. She’d bet even money that he wouldn’t have the self-discipline to wait for her. While she got her bush waxed, he was going to wax his own knob.

When she returned to the room an hour later, Paul’s face was flushed and then ends of his long hair wet with sweat. She knew what he had been doing, but said nothing about it. Now she was truly angry. He knew that she wanted him to get her off but he had selfishly wasted what was probably going to be his only decent hard on of the day. “Put on your new bathing suit,” she said, “and I’ll be with you in a minute.” She carried her Bikini Bay bag into the bathroom and changed, covering herself with the wrap before emerging. Paul was wearing his new suit, tee shirt, and sandals as well. He looked uncomfortable. Size Large was a little tight on him.

“Show me your bikini,” he demanded.

“I will do it now if you order me to, but you might not want to. I’d been hoping that you won’t want to inspect it in public,” she replied. “because that will be more humiliating for me. Especially if you find it unsatisfactory and order me to come back up her and submit to a paddling for failing to please you. I thought it only fair to warn you that making me show you now gives me the easy way out.” She reached for the tie that held the wrap closed. “If you see it now, then I’m sure that you’ll like it so much that we’ll never make it down to the pool. It’ll excite you so much that you’ll give me the good long fucking that I need so desperately instead of making me beg for it later.”

“Wait.” Paul stopped her from untying the wrap. She’d nailed him good. He didn’t dare let her know that he was in no state to get it up right now. “If you’re that confident that your bikini will please me, then we’ll put it to the test. We’ll go down to the pool and see how well you can attract other men’s attention. If enough men stare at you when you walk around the pool, then I’ll bring you back up here and fuck you. If it turns out that you’re no more adventuresome than any of the other women down there, then I’ll bring you up here and beat your ass with my belt until you regret your timidity with all your heart. I only hope for your sake that you picked out the hottest bikini ever seen at the Flamingo pool.”

Celine hoped so, too. Looking delectable was essential to her plan, but not for the reason that Paul thought.

Poolside, she waited until Paul was sitting on one of the lounge chairs, then stood in front of him and slowly untied the cover up. She watched his eyes when it slid from her shoulders. He stared at her, his gaze traveling from her half-naked tits to the hip-hugging bottom that plunged half-way to her barely-concealed crotch. He liked what he saw, but she expected that he would beat her anyway, just because, in his present state of exhaustion, he could give her a beating more easily than a fucking. Slowly she turned around to show him her half-naked ass. As she looked around, she saw that a few other men were looking her way as well. She was not the prettiest or youngest woman at the pool, and some of the other bikinis were just as small as hers – competition between babes is tough in Vegas – but she was hot enough to attract her share of testosterone-fueled ogling, especially from the middle-aged, paunchy men with wedding rings on their fingers and kid’s toys piled at their sides. Those were not the men she needed to impress.

She began slowly strolling around the pool. At the Flamingo Hotel, the largest of the four pools is irregularly shaped. Circumnavigating it requires a long walk. She walked alone; Paul stayed in his chair and watched her wander away on her own.

She attracted her share of stares but did not feel as self-conscious as she was pretending. That was an act for Paul’s sake. Standing in a lobby in a dress with no underwear felt whorish, but simply wearing a bikini by the pool felt natural. And this skimpy bikini was not as shocking here as it might be in Oklahoma or Ohio or even in Glendale.

She found her mark at the far end of the pool near by the waterfall. An athletic-looking man was openly eying her body. He was older than her, probably nearing forty, and quite bald. He was not handsome – his head was over large – but he had an air of self-assurance about him that suggested middle management. He was not wearing a wedding ring. That did not mean he was single but it did mean that he wasn’t planning to send women away without considering his options.

She smiled at him and he smiled back. Encouraged, she sauntered over and sat beside him, “Care for some company?”

“Sure.” He raised an eyebrow.

“My name’s Celine.”

“I’m Pete Crofter.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Pete. Are you here on vacation?”

“I’m just here until the weekend. I’m attending a conference on computer security.”

“Oh. That must be interesting.”

“I think so.” He smiled. “Not everyone agrees.”

“Are you a computer programmer?”

“No.” He laughed. “I’m a lieutenant colonel in the Canadian army.”

“Oh.” She laughed back. “I guess that’s better than being a computer hacker.”

“I think so.” He looked at her bikini. “How about you? Do you live in Las Vegas?”

“No. I’m just here on vacation. I’m a middle school teacher from Los Angeles.”

He looked more interested at this news. It was obvious that he was pleased to hear that she wasn’t a hooker looking for a client.

“I was wondering if you’d mind helping me out. I’ve got myself into a bit of a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” He looked instantly suspicious.

“It’s kind of embarrassing. I met a guy here a couple of days ago and I’d like to get rid of him. I was wondering if you’d mind escorting me up to my room.”

“Is he stalking you?”

“No. He’s not dangerous or anything. It’s more a matter of making him understand that my circumstances have changed and I’m interested in something else now.”

“I guess that wouldn’t be a problem. Where is he?” Pete stood up. He was tall.

“He’s back this way. You don’t have to do anything. I can handle him myself.”

Pete smiled. “So I’m just a prop?”

“Kind of. So you’re Canadian?”

“That’s right. I’m stationed in Ottawa currently, though I’m going to be posted to Afghanistan for most of the winter.”

They chatted a little about the Canadian effort in Afghanistan while she led him back to Paul. She had not realized that the Canadians were doing more of the fighting than the Americans there. Somehow the Canadian war effort was never discussed in the Los Angeles Times.

Paul’s eyes grew wide when he saw his slave walking back toward him in the company of a tall, athletic-looking man who was old enough to be his father.

She stopped out of earshot and told Pete, “If you don’t mind waiting here for a minute, I’d like to talk to Paul alone. I’ll be right back.”

“No problem.”

“And one other thing, if you don’t mind?”

“What’s that?”

“A kiss.” Without waiting for an answer, she stood on her toes, reached up to hold his face gently, and gave him a soft, dry kiss on the lips. When she released him, she smiled and said, “I’ll be right back.”

She put a little extra swish into her hips as she approached Paul. She almost felt sorry for the poor guy sitting, watching his slave slip away from him. “Look, Paul, I found Master Exeter all on my own.”

Paul’s eyes sprang wide open as they snapped back to look at the interloper standing alone watching him. “What?”

“That’s right. I saw the way he was looking at me, like he owned me and I thought to myself that I’ll bet that’s Master Exeter so I walked up to him and asked him if he was Master Exeter and he said that he would be if I wanted him to be. So I asked him if he would give me an orgasm and he said that he would. I didn’t even have to get down on my knees and beg or anything. So if you’ll just give me my room key, I’m going to take him right up there and fuck the bejesus out of him every way you taught me.”

“But...but...” Paul stuttered.

“Hurry up. You’re his valet, aren’t you? You know better than to keep Master Exeter waiting. He’s not a patient man. Give me my room key, right now.”

Paul handed her the key card.

She tied her coverup over her bikini and practically skipped back to Pete. She had Paul by the short and curlies now but he hadn’t figured that out yet. Right now he was too confused to understand his own predicament.

When she and Pete were alone in the elevator, he said, “That other guy looked pretty surprised by whatever you told him.”

“He sure was.” She looked at Pete with a wicked gleam in her eye. “I told him that I had asked you to give me an orgasm.”

“Oh.” The man flushed.

“I was just saying that to shock him.”

“Oh.” He looked a little relieved.

She reached out to hold his hand and looked him in the eye. “But I’m grateful for the help that you’ve given me so far and, if you want to do me that extra favor when we get to my room, I’d be ever so much more grateful.”

“I think that I’d like that, too.”

She hugged him tightly. “I’m just a school teacher from Glendale. I’ve never tried anything like this before in my life, but it’s time I went a little wild, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” He nodded vigorously to show his whole-hearted agreement.

“We’re going to have some fun, you and me.” She could feel a bulge pressing against her mons through his pants. “As much fun as we can.”

When they got to her room door, she said, “It’s a little messy in there right now. Would you mind waiting her for just a minute while I straighten things out a bit?” Without waiting for an answer, she dashed inside, threw the handcuffs, collar, and rope into a drawer, then threw Paul’s clothes into another drawer. When she handled his pants, she could feel his wallet in the pocket and hear his car keys jingling. She expected that, about now, Paul was beginning to realize what he was missing.

She was back in the hallway in a jiffy, “All ready. Come on in and let me show you a good time.”

And she did. She had a very good time twice in the next three hours with a nap in between. Pete seemed to enjoy himself, too.

While Pete had been napping, she had retrieved Paul’s wallet from his pocket and searched through his identification. His real name was Paul Jacobs and he lived in Tucson, Arizona. His student ID identified him as a first-year graduate student at the University of Arizona.

It was almost supper time when Paul knocked timidly on the door. She went out into the hallway wearing only her bikini cover up and told him that he could have his clothes and wallet back when he returned her purse and suitcase. He quietly informed her that he needed his car keys to retrieve her things from the trunk of his car. She disappeared into the room, took the car key off his ring, and brought it out to him. Fifteen minutes later, there was another knock on the door and she had her possessions back. As soon as she had accounted for everything, she returned his clothes and wallet. “I think I’ve learned my lessons well enough, Paul. Pete, that’s the man napping on my bed, agrees. I won’t need any more education from you.”

He turned to go, but before he took a step, she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s not a bad thing. I had fun with you and I think you had some fun with me, too, right? It just wasn’t meant to last as long as you thought.”

He smiled sadly. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble to get rid of me. I would have honored the ‘red light’ safe word you know.”

“I know. But I thought that it was a lot more fun this way. I’m still playing your game, you know. I’m using what you taught me and exercising the power that you said that I would have. I’m still playing by your rules, I’ve merely changed partners.”

“You know that he’s not the real Master Exeter.”

“I know that I can make any man ‘Master Exeter’ any time I want.”

“I guess this is goodbye.”

“It is. But don’t look sad. You had some pretty good fun for a while, didn’t you?”

He laughed. “I did.”

“So did I. Thank-you.” After she closed the door, she returned to Pete, lay down beside him and said, shyly, “Have you ever had a women tied to the bed with her legs stretched wide open, unable to stop him from using her for as long as he wants?”

He smiled back and said, “Not yet.”

“Then I think I’m going to give you a thrill before I send you back to Canada, Colonel.”