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Maid
It took less than a day for Ivy to locate a suitable slave trainer for finding my maid. I got the impression that she already knew which one she wanted. Not that I minded. But, once she called them it took nearly a week before the meeting could be scheduled. Ivy said this was unusual, but she felt certain that it was because of who I was. They knew my family, and the kind of money they were dealing with. They knew that if I wanted I could buy their most expensive slave every month for the next thousand years and not even have it put a dent in my regular savings, to say nothing of my investments. For such a small trainer, I could be hugely important. Ivy was certain that they had spent every second of the last week putting their slaves through hell to make sure they were in perfect condition for my inspection. “Probably beating the soles of their feet when they mess up, though. With the amount of punishment they’ll have been doing, it’s the only way to make sure there aren’t any unhealed marks.”
She felt that since we were going with a baseline-trained slave rather than a specially-trained maid, it would be best to buy from a small trainer like this. She felt the bigger trainers who did specialties put all their focus into that, and ignored basic discipline. I was excited about the prospect of my first slave, and already I had aspirations far beyond the four Ivy suggested. While my parents, Ivy, and myself had been the only ones to live in our family’s mansion for some time, we did employ a fair number of people. A chauffeur who was on call 24/7, and about half a dozen groundskeepers who worked part-time for us, and moonlighted elsewhere. It was cheaper than buying slaves by far, but what was money to me? I wanted an estate full of naked women, eager to serve me. Not that I wanted to hurt any of the employees. I’d give them all enough to retire happily on, the same as Ivy had when she sold my father’s horses after he died.
“We’re close,” Ivy half said, half gasped. Today I had chosen to put her in a shoulderless, legless, sleeveless black catsuit, with a corset so tight she could only halfway breath, and stilettos. She was not enjoying this trip, but now that she had her first chance in twenty years to wear clothes in summer, she was not taking it off.
I was sitting in the very back seat, with Ivy sitting across from me, gazing through the window excitedly. As if us getting there would somehow provide her with a change of clothes. Next to me was Tom, who was busily groping Sarah’s breasts. He had decided to bring her handcuffed today, so she merely tried to look impassive and stay still. I didn’t really understand what he saw in passive slaves, but to each his own.
Beside Ivy was our friend Arnold. Arnold was the same type of blue-blood wealth as us, but his father had made enough money as a slave dealer focusing on pony slaves to send him to the same privates schools. Despite being gay, Arnold had picked up a pretty good knowledge of female slaves from his father, so I was hoping to get a second opinion from him. In his lap was his slave, who he had affectionately decided to name “Hot Cheeks,” trying to cuddle with him convincingly. We were pretty much all sure that Hot Cheeks wasn’t actually gay, or even bi. He had that lean muscular look that women seemed to go for, so he had almost certainly expected a woman to buy him, not the son of the slave trainer he sold himself to. Didn’t really matter, though, he signed the contract and that was that. I even suspected that Arnold preferred it that way, just so he could make someone suffer.
Finally, we pulled up to what looked like a warehouse made of blue tin with peeling paint, and a fence with an electronic gate out front. Our driver punched in the code we had been given, and the gate slid open. We drove through and parked, and a small door in the side of the building opened. Out walked a woman in her early fourties, dressed in red leather from head to toe and carrying a crop. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled tightly in a bun, but she seemed to have put on a pleasant face for us. Or for me anyway. We stepped out.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Mistress Caroline, I’m the head instructor here. Welcome to the Dahlia Training School.” She shook all our hands, one at the time, but seemed to linger on mine.
“It’s a pleasure to be here,” I said.
“Wasn’t Ms. Dahlia supposed to meet us here personally?” asked Ivy. I got the impression that “Ms. Dahlia” would never in a million years meet with normal clients, but Mistress Caroline’s face immediately went white. We had caught them in a screw-up they were hoping to avoid acknowledging.
After a moment of awkward silence, she apparently decided it was better to fess up. “Her flight was delayed, we’re terribly sorry. She’ll still be here soon, probably by the time you sign the contract. I can go ahead and show you the line-up, though.”
“Fine with me,” I said smirking. I got the impression that she was nervous now, and intimidating her could only help me.
We followed her into the building, and walked past a short hallway with offices on either side. For a company that almost certainly brought in billions, the offices were certainly quite small. Then again, in the slave business billions meant little. She opened the door at the end of the hall, to reveal another room that looked like it belonged in another building. In contrast with the tin walls and stone floor of the hall and the outside, the entire room was an oval carved out of mahagony wood, and above us bright lights covered the cealing. In front of me, a row of roughly two dozen women stood, stretched out from my far left to my far right. Each of them stood at perfect attention, eyes pointed downward, arms at their sides. On each of their stomachs a price was written in sharpie. They all had hair that went down to well below their shoulders, having been allowed to grow since they were first brought here so that the buyer could cut it to whatever length he preferred. They were lined up according to price, with the cheapest on my far right, and the most expensive on my far left. They had certainly been standing under the lights waiting for me for a long time. They were all covered in sweat, and several seemed to be breathing hard, although they kept their mouths firmly clamped shut and seemed to gasp through their noses. Their legs were spread slightly, showing off their hairless pussies. Their postures made him feel powerful, knowing that they had all been assembled like this only to wait for his inspection, and hope for his approval. He felt himself stiffen.
“This is our display room. Take all the time you like,” said Mistress Caroline, smiling. “When you find one that catches your eye, we can inspect it in more detail.
I headed towards the cheapest slave. She was a chubby slave,although with boobs that would have been reasonable on a thinner girl, and despite the intense look she forced on her face, a bored look in her eyes. I began to walk down the row, and the variations started to mix. Girls got skinner, chubbier, bigger tits, smaller tits, less intense, more intense, etc. Overall, though, the pattern seemed to be towards skinner, bigger titted, and more intense girls. He knew that what was written on them were just the asking prices. It was assumed both that he would haggle over that, as well as buy some accessories and toys to use on them, likely expensive accessories to further the sign of status that buying a slave represented.
Then, as I passed the halfway point something caught my eye. A slave, almost exactly halfway down the pack, momentarily showed a flicker of a smile. He turned his head towards her. She was a short, and very skinny girl, with curly light brown hair and a somewhat long face. Her boobs were not huge, but they were perfect for her size. Her smile was not the type he had seen in a slave before. Not like the mocking of Ivy, or the smiles of Sarah which came either when she thought her master wasn’t looking in protest, or when she thought they were expected of her, or when she saw something outright funny and couldn’t hold it in. This was a smile that was being fought against constantly. An actual, happy slave, trying to appear serene.
The girl’s face immediately adjusted back to a serious expression, but he saw Mistress Caroline shoot her a look. I got the feeling that if I didn’t pick her, she would be in for the beating of a lifetime after he left. Finally, I reached the last and most expensive slave. An asian girl as skinny as a toothpick, with boobs as large as watermelons, and the eyes of an automaton. Then, I walked back to Mistress Caroline and his companions.
“See anything you liked” she asked, nervously.
“Yes, I believe I did,” I motioned for her and the others to follow me, and walked back to the girl in the center of the room. All the other slaves rushed backwards and crouched on the back wall, poised to run back to the center of the room if I should decide against this girl. The girl herself seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes down, and a serene expression on her face.
“This girl” I pointed. “What’s her name?”
“That’s Jill,” replied Mistress Caroline. “Do you like her?”
“Possibly. She interests me.”
“Jill!” yelled Mistress Caroline. “Body inspection, now!”
Jill leaped to attention, spreading her legs wider, and placing her arms behind her head. I began to circle her with Mistress Caroline, who used her crop to push apart Jill’s ass cheeks to give him a better view. I saw Jill bite her lower lip, but luckily for her Mistress Caroline missed it this time.
“By all means, examine her pussy,” said Mistress Caroline. I did, and found it to be very tight and soaking wet.
“May I question her?” I asked.
“Certainly,” said Mistress Caroline. “She knows better than to lie.”
“Jill, when I walked by you smiled. Why?” I could tell she was suppressing a look of utter panic now. She knew she had to answer, though.
“Because, I was happy, sir.”
“Why were you happy?”
“I-I don’t know sir, I just always am.” Mistress Caroline stroked her crop gently across Jill’s leg with the stutter, apparently thinking that I wouldn’t notice, and threatening of beatings to come if she failed at this.
“You’re happy being a slave?”
“Yes sir.”
“Were you happy before you were a slave?”
“Yes sir.”
“Can you ever remember a time when you weren’t happy?”
“A few times sir, but never for very long.”
“What if I decided I wanted to break your spirit. What if I bought you so that I could throw you naked into a dark, cold room, and not give you enough to eat, so I could watch you waste away. Would you be happy then?”
“No sir. I don’t think so.” She wasn’t saying what she thought I wanted to hear, she was being honest, if nervous.
“I could use a happy slave, though. I’m looking for a caretaker for my home, do you think you could manage that?”
“Yes sir,” she said.
I turned to Mistress Caroline. "I think I’ve made my choice.”
I could see by the look on her face that she didn’t like my choice, but wasn’t going to argue. I turned back to look at Jill again, as I circled her.
Mistress Caroline looked at me, curiously. “By the way, Mr. Dalbloom, have you ever whipped a woman before?”
He raised his head to her, and thought. “No…no, I don’t believe I have.”
“Would you like to whip Jill? Right now?” She extended the handle of her crop
I took the crop, and pretended to consider for a moment, while Jill braced for the inevitable. “I’ll have plenty of chances to whip Jill in the future, if she’s going to be mine. I’d rather whip someone I won’t get another chance with.”
Mistress Caroline smilled, and motioned to the remaining slaves along the back wall. “Take your pick,” she said, gleefully.
I extended my finger, and pointed it directly between Mistress Caroline’s breasts. She looked down at my hand, horrified.
“Stop joking!” she said. “I don’t take lashes, I give them.”
“Tell that to Ms. Dahlia when she finds out that Ryan Dalbloom, prepared to pay twenty-five percent over the asking price of a slave, and was planning on buying solid gold, jewel encrusted correctional impliments for that slave, walked away from your business because you wouldn’t strip down and expose your back to ten lashes of your own medicine.
After a moment of pure horror washing across her face, Mistress Caroline reached for her zipper and removed her leather outfit. Underneath it, she was totally hairless. I couldn’t tell if it was from Lynodon or just a very good shave job.
“Now, on your knees, and hands behind your head.” She quickly complied, looking disgusted but determined to bear the humiliation. I wound up, and unleashed a fury of force at her lower back. “One!” I yelled. Then “Two! Three! Four! Five!”
I stopped. “Jill.” I said sarcastically. “I’m afraid that my arm has gotten tired. Could you please give Mistress Caroline her other five strokes.”
Mistress Caroline’s face was nothing but pure horror at the idea. Jill’s face, broken from her posture and turned to me now, was the same. Nonetheless, she took the crop and, as Mistress Caroline struggled to remain still, Jill delivered another wallop. “Six!” she yelled. Then “Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!” Despite her best efforts to control herself, the final blow carried so much force that Mistress Caroline couldn’t help but call out in agony. For a moment following that, there was nothing but silence., and I placed my arm around my slave.
Whatever happened next happened very quickly. I had accepted Jill so quickly that Ivy and Arnold hadn’t even gotten a chance to check her out. So, they were both allowed to inspect her, while Mistress Caroline re dressed. Both their findings were very good. Ivy gave Jill a few simple commands, and found that she had no problems with rapid comprehension. Then, Ivy produced a lighter from somewhere (I couldn’t tell), and had me order Jill to hold her elbow over the flame for about thirty seconds, concluding that she had no problem with obedience either, even in the face of pain. Arnold examined and felt every nook and cranny on Jill’s body, finding that her teeth and skeletal structure were excellent, and it would be a simple matter to arrange a diet and exercise regime that would keep her fit and fuckable for all twenty years of her contract.
Then, Ms. Dahlia was there. She was a plump older woman, in the kind of dark business suit you expect on a CEO, not a slaver. We were quickly in her office, and Jill’s contract was on the table in front of me, with a pen in my hand.
“There, you see. Here’s her signature, turning herself over to us, and my signature accepting her as a slave after the inspection proved favorable,” said Ms. Dagny, pointing to Jill’s signature and a rubber stamp of her own. “We filled in the amount you agreed to, and all we need is your signature to take her off our hands.”
Then my signature was on the paper, and all that was left was to make a few decisions. “How do you want her hair?” Cut shoulder length, same color as it is now. “Do you want to buy any clothes for her, if so we’ll measure for them and send them out to you.” Just a short apron for when she cooks, I’ll get her clothes in the winter. I want the apron to have two holes for her breasts, and stop just short of her pussy, leaving it exposed. “What accessories do you want, we’ll ship them out to?” I requested a variety of whips with gold, jewel-encrusted handles, a miniature cattle prod with platinum prongs, and a pair of golden handcuffs with a third cuff to attack to something else and hold the slave in place during punishment. “Do you want any specific piercings, brands, or tattoos to mark her as yours?”
Somehow this question caught me off guard. I knew it was coming, and I had planned to say “no” since my family didn’t have a crest or specific marker, but now looking at Jill from behind, something about her left ass checked begged to not be left bare, but I couldn’t think of anything. Finally, after a period of awkward silence, I said “Yes, put a roman numeral one on her left ass cheek, in bright red, with a dark blue outline.”
Jill didn’t seem particularly surprised by this, and promptly bent over Ms. Dahlia’s desk to receive the tattoo from one of her workers. Soon her ass was marked “I,” and then a bandage was placed over it to let it heal. She was marked as my first slave.
With that Ms. Dahlia began to put up the paper. I suddenly felt awkward again.
“So, um, is that it?”
She looked up. “Yes, that’s it.”
“So…umm…do you ship Jill out to us, or what?”
She looked confused. “…we can if you want to. Why, are you not going to be at your home for a while, and want us to hang on to her for now?’
“N-no, I…I just wasn’t sure if it was ok to go ahead and take her with us.”
Ms. Dahlia laughed. “Oh, it’s fine. Oftentimes specialty slaves require a bit of final preparation to meet their owner’s expectations, but Jill is just a baseline slave, nothing to fine-tune.”
“Um, and so when we get home I can go ahead and…um…” I stammered.
Ms. Dahlia laughed out loud. “However you were going to finish that sentence: fuck, torture, make do my tax returns, the answer is yes. The instant your signature went on that page, she became your legal property. If we didn’t receive payment we could repossess her after thirty days, but that’s all. And I’m pretty sure that with you we can count on payment.”
I looked at Jill, who was trying and failing to suppress a smile. I had to re-establish dominance. I put on a stern look, and smacked her across the face. She looked shocked.
“Why were you suppressing your smile. I bought you to be a happy slave. Now be happy!”
Jill let her face turn to a smile, but she now seemed more wary of me. And, I felt, suddenly more loyal.
Interlude 1
When we arrived back at the mansion I showed Jill around quickly. All the rooms she would be cleaning, and which ones I never use. I gave her clear instructions to keep the doors to the latter closed at all times, and just let them be. Finally, I showed her to the walk-in hall closet with the cot and the alarm clock that had served as Ivy’s old room (Ivy having been given permission to live in the guest room, until her services were no longer required), pointed her to the nearest bathroom, and told her to be up by six-thirty, have breakfast ready by eight, and sit patiently waiting for me until I arrive, be it at eight fifteen or noon.
As I turned to go, I heard her say, almost a frightened whisper, “Master.”
I turned back to her, trying not to look too frightened myself. She was standing there, staring at me. It was clear some part of her wanted to do as she was told and retire to her cot, while another part wanted to say something. I somehow got the impression the later was the more loyal of the two. Either way, she was clearly not going to come a step closer to me until she had permission.
“Yes, slave,” I said, trying to be menacing.
“We-well, M-M-Master…b-back at the training center you were asking if to-night you c-c-c…”
“Spit it out!” I yelled.
“If you could…do…something to me!” She yelled, and then immediately covered her mouth as if fearing what I would do to her for yelling.
I tried to grin at her knowingly…I know I failed. I pointed at her, and wiggled my finger. “Come with me.” I turned, and walked towards my bedroom.
I walked her quickly to my bedroom. It was gargantuan, and decorated in crimson and gold, with one of those enormous old-fashioned beds with the drapes. I rarely used them, but now as I motioned for Jill to get in, I said “close the drapes.” She dutifully obeyed, as I ripped off my clothes, and climbed in after her.
Now, finally sure of what I really wanted, she no longer looked nervous. Only excited…but willing to let me make the first move. I decided not to waste time with foreplay, I grabbed her waste, and maneuvered her so that her pussy was directly above my throbbing cock. She spread her legs over me, and placed an arm on either side of my head to support herself. And I lowered her wet pussy onto me.
At first I moved her up and down, but then as she started to get into the rhythm I fell back and let her do the work. I wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but I doubted it was very long, before I climaxed, sending what I perceived to be a huge load of cum into her, instantly causing her to climax as well, and collapse onto my chest, gasping for air. I felt a sense of accomplishment for a moment, then something occurred to me. I grabbed Jill’s chin, and yanked her face around to face mine.
“They trained you to do that, didn’t they? You would have cum immediately after me no matter how long I lasted.”
“As long as you…huh…last longer than thirty seconds, but less…huh…than forty minutes, and I don’t have…huh…orders from you to cum at some other time, or…huh…not to cum at all.”
I noticed that she wasn’t sweaty. “You’re not even out of breath, are you?”
Her heavy breathing stopped, and she nodded her head downward in as much of a bow as she could manage lying in bed, with me holding her chin. “I’m sorry for my deception master, I was taught that it would make those I pleasured feel more adequate.
I let go of her, and collapsed, not sure if I should laugh or cry.
To be continued…
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