A Slave's Story By Snyder
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Chapter 1
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The harsh sound of the alarm awakens me from a peaceful dream. In the
dream, I was once again free; once again my own person; running
through an open field and enjoying the sun on my face. Unfortunately,
it was only a dream. Not so long ago, my life was like that dream, and
waking up meant getting ready for work during the week, or for play on
the weekends, or doing any of those things FREE people take for
granted. But now, awakening only reminds me of the soft leather cuffs
locked onto my wrists and ankles, the loose chains connecting them,
the collar around my neck, and the small cell which has been my "home"
for the past several months. At least I THINK it's been months, not
having any way to keep track of time. I muse that, unlike similar
kidnappings I've read about, I'm at least allowed to haveclothing
most of the time. Right now I have on a simple white slip with
white panties underneath.
Quickly, I rouse myself from these pointless musings and make myself
presentable. I only have a few minutes to wash the sleep from my face,
brush my hair and assume the "slave" position before the madman who
calls himself "master" enters the room. I kneel in the center of the
cell with my buttocks resting on my heels, hands at my side (if
they're not loosely chained, as they are now, they would of course
stay wherever they're fastened) and cast my eyes downward. When I hear
him enter, I wait for him to speak first, then respond in the
respectful manner he has trained me to use.
"Good morning, Slave."
"Good morning, Master. Your slave awaits your command."
"Excellent. I have your breakfast here. You may arise and get it."
"Thank you, Master."
With that, I retrieve the breakfast tray through a special opening in
the bars of the cell, and proceed to eat one of the two meals I
receive every day. He watches me eat for a few minutes, and then,
without another word, he leaves, presumably for work. Of course, I
remain alone in the cell for the day. I have no TV or radio or other
means of amusing myself, just a ten by twelve cell with sink, toilet
and cot. I won't see him again for many hours, when he returns to
"play" with me. This daily routine has been my life since the day I
let down my guard in a dark parking lot.
That day, I had just left a late meeting at the department store where
I worked. I was stressed and harried, and just wanted to get home as
soon as possible. (Now I know he'd been watching and waiting for just
such a time, when I was preoccupied with other matters, to make his
move.) He approached me looking agitated and worried. He said his car
had been stolen, and asked if I had a cell phone he could use to call
the police. What I saw was a "normal" looking middle- aged gentleman,
well- dressed, apparently in trouble, and needing my help.
But as I searched my purse for the phone, I suddenly was aware of the
pressure of a gun barrel against my head and his quiet voice assuring
me that I'd be all right if I didn't make any noise and did what he
said. (He would later taunt me by telling me that the gun was a fake,
and if I'd only raised a commotion, I'd probably be free today.)
He quickly snapped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists behind my back and
had me get into his car, which turned out to be right next to mine. He
drove a short distance to a deserted ally, the whole time speaking
quietly, assuring me that he wasn't going to hurt me, that he just
needed to "borrow" me for a short time. In the ally he had me get into
the trunk of the car, which was conveniently equipped with straps
which he used to hold me firmly in place. He forced a rubber ball into
my mouth, sealed it with tape, and slammed the trunk closed. I was
left with no way to move or shout or otherwise call attention to
myself.
He drove for what seemed like hours. I've never been so frightened,
thinking that I'd surely be dead before the night was through. But by
the time he finally stopped and turned the car off, I was almost
relieved that I'd be freed from the confines of the trunk, even though
I dreaded what I thought was about to follow. When the trunk opened, I
could see that we were in a typical garage much like you might see
anywhere. He unfastened the straps, taped my ankles together, and
carried me into the house.
He sat me in a chair in the den and proceeded to explain that he'd
told a few fibs along the way; he had not just "borrowed" me, but had
effectively stolen me. I was only dimly aware, through my fright, of
everything he said, but slowly the realization came to me that he was
living out some kind of master/slave fantasy. As he talked he
retrieved various lengths of rope from a drawer and proceeded to more
completely tie me to the chair.
First he tied my elbows together, removed the handcuffs, and then tied
my wrists with the rope. He explained that I would never again have
the complete use of my hands and arms for more than seconds at a time;
that they would always be fettered in some way except to put on
clothing or the like. In a similar way he tied my knees together and
replaced the tape at my ankles with rope.
He then proceeded to give me what he called my first "slave lesson."
He told me that he knew my name, but from now on would only address me
as "Slave." He said I did not need to know *his* name, and that I must
always address him as "Master." Furthermore, he told me that I must
never use the words "I" or "me" or "my" - I must always refer to
myself as "your slave." I was not a person anymore and was not
entitled to be an "I."
This first lesson ended with his command that I must never speak
unless spoken to, OR unless I first asked (or rather "begged") for
permission to speak. He then spent hours forcing me to "practice" my
lesson. He removed the gag (having assured me that screams could not
be heard by anyone, and would be severely punished), and began his
drill:
"What are you?"
"Your slave"
"Who am I?"
"You are the Master."
"How do you ask to speak?"
"Master, your slave begs for permission to speak."
"What are you?"
"Your slave."
...
Over and over, he repeated these and similar questions as my initial
indoctrination. When he was finally through, he untied my ankles and
forced me to hobble through the house, carried me down the steps to
the basement, and introduced me to my new "home." He then proceeded to
rip the clothing I wore from my body using a knife where necessary.
One of my best business suits lay shredded on the floor, as he
carefully slid new panties up over my ankles, locked cuffs and a short
connecting chain onto my ankles, then cut the ropes at my knees, and
slid the panties up the rest of the way.
Then he cut the ropes from my wrists, replaced these with cuffs also,
and removed the ropes at my elbows. He told me that most of my time
would be spent in relatively loose bindings such as these, but I would
soon come to know a great many strict bondage positions, as this was
the way he liked to play with his slave. The last thing he did before
leaving me alone that first day was lock a collar around my neck!
, to which a small tag was affixed, reading simply "Slave." Thus my
first night as a slave to a madman was spent with ankle and wrist
cuffs, collar, and panties as my only "clothing."
