The Mansion

Title:  The Mansion
      Chapter 1:  The Capture
      Chapter 2:  The Training
      Chapter 3:  The Tradition Continues
      Chapter 4:  The Homecoming

Introduction:  A Slave Training Center where family traditions don't come
without a price.

Word Count:  30,540


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Chapter 1 - The Capture
+++++++++++++++++++++++++

She sat on the long leather couch watching him across the room. His  breathing
was deep and even, sleeping off the effects of the drug she'd used on him
earlier in the night.

She smiled slowly with the memory of that time, some hours before, when she'd
set out for the club. She'd dressed perfectly, the short skirt of her dress
tasteful, meant to draw attention to her long tanned legs. Her bodice, a corset
actually, just peeking out from the hem and molding to her flat stomach and size
36 chest.

Her long legs were enhanced by the almost 'stiletto style heel of her shoes,
causing her muscles to ripple and flex with each step. She'd braided her long
hair, the plait swinging almost with a mind of it's own well beneath her
buttocks, drawing the warranted attention to the smooth round globes.

She walked into the club knowing full well that every eye drew to her as she did
so, but she only had eyes for one. She'd watched him for weeks, each Friday and
Saturday, dancing with various women to the modern pop/rock beats of the DJ.

His body rippled, contorting with sleek muscles as he moved. His slightly long
hair whipping this way and that as he contorted himself to the beat.  His legs,
nearly as long as hers moved him about the floor with confidence and grace.

As she'd watched and planned, she'd known that he would be perfect. Each night
that she'd 'eyed' him he'd left with a different woman, but she knew he lived
alone having followed him one night weeks before. The women never stayed more
than a few hours and always left with a smile.

She'd taken the time to find out exactly who he was from the license plate on
his jeep through her connections. Dillon....Dillon Ryder was his name she'd
found out shortly after first having seen him at the club. 

He had his own shipping business, though he was only 28, having inherited it
from his grandfather a few years before. The business was doing relatively well,
though it could do better. She knew Dillion wasn't 'struggling' financially, nor
was the business, but he didn't dedicate his time to it as his grandfather had
and it would soon fall to the wayside. Unless it was bailed out.

Which is where she came in, she mused with a soft smile as she stared at him
from across the room again. She rose off the couch then and walked across the
room to where he was bound tightly in a large chair. Her slim fingered hand
reached out and caressed his bent head lightly and she smiled softly again.

She stood over him, her hand lightly caressing the back of his bent head, as she
mused over how 'easy' it had been to capture his attention at the club that
night. Dressed as many of the other women to share his bed before her had been,
Dillon almost 'immediately' narrowed in on her.

It had been an easy, casual night of dancing for them both with Dillon staying
close to her all through the night, as she knew he would. He was an easy 'mark',
as she'd studied him extensively in the weeks previous. She knew 'how' he liked
his women to act, what 'body signals' set him off and turned him on.

It had been 'so' simple to cajole him into to taking her back to his place. Even
easier to slip the harmless sleeping pill into his soda once they were there.

Within moments of his first sip, he was out like a light, and she was on the
phone. The pill she'd given him was entirely harmless with only the mildest of
headaches as an after effect, but it was enough to ensure that his transport to
'her' home went off without a hitch.

She snapped her fingers then and a soft rustling came to her out of the shadows,
along with a slight clink of chain as her first slave shuffled forward on his
knees. He came to rest before her, head bent to his chest and awaited her
command silently.

She reached out and touched his head gently, smiling as she did so pleased with
his training thus far. "You do well Jarron." she said softly, stroking his head.
"You'll be ready for sale soon." she added.

His head whipped up at that, and his wide eyes stared at her pleadingly. Her
smile widened slightly and she stroked his cheek around the heavy leather strap
of the large ball gag in his mouth. "Yes, that's right.....sale."

He grunted slightly, the noise muffled by the ball, and a single tear escaped
him. "You knew the contract wasn't permanent with me Jarron." she said, turning
away from his pleading eyes as she said it.

She reached out and stroked Dillon's long hair then, her smile bright and
luminous with expectation at the coming months he would be in her 'care'.

Just as she'd broken Jarron, who now lowered his head again at her feet, she
would break Dillon in time. They always broke. They always had and they always
would.

"Prepare him...." she said by way of soft command as she turned and left the
room locking the single door behind her with a heavy click of finality. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dillon was jarred awake by a rush of cold water on his face. He jerked in
reaction, his brain fuzzy for a moment, then slowly clearing. At first his
sluggish body took a moment to catch up to his mind and he gulped heavily, his
jaw aching.

~Had he been in a fight?~ he wondered. He remembered going to the club,
remembered dancing with a nameless woman. Remembered going back to his place as
he had so many nights. Remembered her offer of a drink...then blackness.

He lifted his pounding head from where it had slumped forward and blinked open
his eyes. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the
room and he wondered again if maybe he'd fallen asleep on the poor woman and
rolled off the couch. It would certainly account for his aching jaw...and mild
headache. He must have bumped his head on the coffee table when he rolled off he
concluded as he started to rise.

But his arms and legs wouldn't respond and he shifted his dazed eyes down the
length of his body to try and figure out why. It took another moment for his
brain to register that he was sitting up, his legs held firmly to a chair by
five, heavy leather straps that buckled over his naked thighs.

He shifted again and felt another wide belt around his waist and yet another
around his wide, muscular chest. He tried to lift his arm then and found five
more leather straps holding them immobile against the hard wood beneath them. He
could only move his hands and head he suddenly realized as he came into full
awareness.

He began to struggle then, flexing his muscles against the bonds. He mumbled to
himself, or tried too until he realized 'why' his jaw was aching so. It was
being held wide by something hard and round, pushed back behind his teeth and
strapped behind his head.

"MMMMMPHHHPPPPHHHHTTTTTT....." he screamed out in that moment, the sound barely
reaching his own ears as he struggled futilely against the heavy leather.

"Shhhhhh......" whispered a soft voice next to his ear, as a hand reached out
and stroked the back of his head. "There's no need to be afraid......." it
continued gently. "I won't hurt you.......much......."

He whipped his head around and his eyes grew wide at the sight beside him. The
nameless woman he remembered dancing with that night stood tall and proud next
to the heavy wood of the chair. But she'd changed from what he vaguely
remembered. Instead of the short skirt, tight fitting top, and high heels she'd
worn at the club, she now wore something that looked like medieval armor of some
sort. Or something off that TV show Xena.

She even 'vaguely' looked like the actress that played the character. Long legs
were now encased in high leather looking boots. Flat stomach, high breasts, and
wide shoulders were now held erect by a heavy looking leather corset of bright
red. Her long midnight black hair, which he 'vaguely' remembered being braided,
was now flowing freely all about her as if it had a mind of it's own.

She smiled, though it didn't 'quite' reach her eyes and reached out again to
stroke his head like a child. She bent close then, her face inches from his as
she whispered. "Please don't struggle so Dillon." she said, her tone calm and
even. "It's useless and I don't want you hurt......anymore than I deem
necessary....." she added as her brilliant green eyes lit with something almost
akin to passion.

"MMMMMMMPPPPPHHHHHHHTTTTTTTTT....." he cried against the hard rubber in his
mouth, his eyes pleading for understanding as to what was happening to him. 

"Shhhhhh....." she said again, her long nailed fingers reaching out to caress
his chest like a lover. "All will become clear in time...." she added as she
turned and walked a short distance from him.

"MMMMMMMPPPPHHHHHTTTTTTTTT....." he cried out again as she left him to seat
herself on a wide leather couch he could just make out on the other side of the
room. He began to struggle against the bonds holding him to the chair,
unsuccessfully trying to throw his considerable weight against the hard wood to
move it.

He realized as she sat calmly and snapped her fingers once, that the heavy chair
was bolted to the floor and indeed his struggles were futile until 'she' decided
to unbuckle him. He felt a 'faint' glimmer of hope that that was going to happen
as he heard someone else in the room shuffling toward her seated position. He
tilted his head to see behind him for a moment as the shuffling noise grew
louder and his eyes widened with something close to fear as another handsome
male moved forward from the shadows.

His wrists were cuffed by two heavy rings of leather and held to his waist by a
single, sturdy looking padlock. A weight lifters belt encircled his trim waist
and Dillon saw it was locked too at the small of his back as he passed. A thin
chain ran from the back to his feet, locked with similar padlocks to the heavy
looking cuffs at his ankles. A short length of chain kept the poor man hobbled,
accounting for his shuffling gait as he passed by Dillon's seated position.

He wore a hard rubber ball in his mouth of bright blue, the leather holding it
there locked behind his head. He made no struggling moves, as if he were
resisting his bondage, but instead shuffled over to the nameless woman a manila
envelope clutched in his bound hands. He came to a stop in front of her seated
position and bent his knees gracefully. Without error, he ended his descent in
front of her, head bowed to his chest in reverence.

She leaned off the couch slightly and took the envelope from his hands, patting
his head much as one would a child that had done a good deed. She sat back
again, lifting one long leg over the arm of the couch next to her.

A graceful hand snaked out and turned on the light on the table next to the end
of the couch and she smiled slightly as she flipped open the envelope in her
hands.

Dillon realized belatedly that the corset she wore didn't cover her private
areas and she was now fully exposed to his wide eyed view. He struggled again,
futilely pulling at the heavy leather encasing his body, his hands clenching and
unclenching tightly as he did so.

"MMMMMPPPPHHHHHTTTTTT....." he screamed out again, though the sound barely
traveled across the large room. With the secondary light on now, he could make
out more of the room he was being held in and realized with a start of fear that
it was a dungeon. Or a basement, though he couldn't tell which.

Numerous pieces of equipment, some heavy looking wood, some leather, loomed in
the shadows, their straps hanging loosely toward the floor. Behind the couch on
which she sat was another one, their backs facing one another and beyond that
was a massive entertainment center complete with TV, videos, VCR and what he
'thought' might be a DVD player or satellite system.

She smiled as she flipped one of the pages in her hand, scooting a bit further
down on the couch in open invitation to the male at her feet. The male groaned
heavily behind the rubber in his mouth, shaking with anticipation in his bonds,
but he didn't move toward her yet. It was then that a spark of silver at his
waist captured Dillions attention and he noted the heavy looking bikini style
underwear the man seemed to be wearing.

He saw the poor fellows hands clenching and unclenching at his waist, as if
stretching out to touch himself. He saw the poor fellow discretely scratch at
the metal encasing his genitals, shifting forward slightly, his breathing heavy
and ragged as it expanded his wide muscular chest.

The woman's eyes rose from the pages in her hands and she looked directly at the
muscle bound man at her feet. She nodded once, crisply, before her eyes dropped
again to the pristine white pages.

Fascinated, Dillon could only watch in disbelief and utter perversion as the
male scooted forward deftly and dipped his head between her thighs with a soft
moaning sound. One of the woman's hands rose from the folder she held and almost
absently stroked his head as he 'rooted' around her vagina.

She sighed softly as the male was set to the task of pleasuring her, though
bound as he was he could use no more than his nose to bring her pleasure.

He saw the man shift closer, pulling in futility at his bound wrists and trying
to grasp himself in that moment. The woman seeming to sense this, lifted her
hand from his head to the back of the couch. When it came back into his view she
held a long horseriders crop. She flicked it once, and Dillon jerked in reaction
to the stinging sound of leather on flesh even from across the room.

The male grunted loudly, though he knew it was a scream of pain as the leather
was laid across his back. His hands stilled their grasping motions at his
genitals and he settled back on his thighs, head still between her legs,
thoroughly chastised it seemed for his misdeed.

She turned then, back to the folder in her hands and began to read aloud.
"Dillon Ryder.....28.....6'2".....210 lb......black hair, worn slightly long
despite current business standards......blue green eyes....."

Her own eyes rose to lock with his across the room and she smiled softly. "I
think they are more gray....." she stated with soft conviction, "But it may just
be the lighting here...we'll see...."

The same twinkling smile that didn't quite reach her eyes came at him and he
visibly flinched at the passion held within their depths. She continued to read.
"Owns Ryder Shipping...." she stated softly, her tone even and calm. "Born in
Los Angeles California....mother deceased...father left when you were just a
babe......"

Again her eyes rose from the file in her hands and she tisked at him. "I wonder
if he's as good looking as you...." she queried with a thoughtful nod. "It bears
investigating..." she stated before going to the file once more. "Worked hard
through high school to support your ailing mother at the time until your
Grandfather died, leaving you the business. Graduated Cal-State with honors in
the top 2% as part of his will to own the company......"

She flipped a page and continued after a moment. "No girlfriend...no brothers or
sisters......Business in a 'bit' of trouble......"

Her eyes rose to his again, twinkling in the space between them as she spoke her
next words. "Nothing that couldn't be solved with an influx of new contracts
though......" she said with a knowing smile.

She rose from the couch then, pushing the struggling man at her feet away gently
and came across the room. The heels of her boots rang out in the room with
confidence and pride as she stalked across the room, the smile that didn't quite
reach her eyes large and prominent. She bent forward as the reached the chair
and pulled something loose from it's arm.

As she did so, his arm snapped upwards and out to his side, like half of a "T"
and remained there despite his attempts to pull it back down toward him.
Whatever the chair was made of, it locked him there sturdily. She bent the other
way and did the same, having the same reaction with his other arm after the
briefest of pauses.

Dillon moaned in pain against the hard rubber in his mouth and bucked against
the restraints again. Despite himself, as she read off his life's history in
short order, he'd felt himself reacting to her voice, her tone, and the man
rooting around between her legs. She'd paid him no attention until she'd moved
him away from her to rise, as if the whole thing was common place to her.

He was semi-hard now, his long penis stretching out against his muscular thigh.
He heaved his hips at the belt across his waist for a moment, then settled back
with wide eyes as she swung one long leg over his and seated herself there.

Almost immediately he could feel the warm heat emanating from her nether regions
against the skin of his thigh. His genitals leaped into painful awareness as she
rubbed the length of his long thighs, leaving a sweet smelling trail of her
woman's juices as she did so.

Her long nailed hand reached between them and touched him gently for a moment,
before clasping lightly around his growing shaft and dancing along it's length.
Dillon moaned despite himself and his mind cried out in denial as she brought
him to a full erection within seconds of her first touch.

~How could this be happening.....~ he wanted to scream as he bucked and heaved
at the restraints holding him to the hard chair. ~Why was she doing this.....~
His eyes rose to hers above him and pleaded with her, mumbling against the hard
rubber in his mouth as he did so and straining forward at the same time.

~Please.....~ he wanted to beg, feeling utterly helpless for the first time in
his young life. ~Oh gods above...please...let this all be some horrific
nightmare......~ he begged silently, his tortured eyes roaming over her smooth
features.

His head strained forward as it was the only thing that could move in that
moment, trying to...no 'needing' to touch her then despite his minds denial that
he was bound, gagged and about to be raped by this deliciously gorgeous woman.

She grinned above him, watching the emotions flicker across his expressive face
and through his eyes in those first moments. The denial...the anger...the
incomprehension......and finally the desire. Desire for her.  His expressive
face was one of the reasons she'd chosen him in those first weeks. It was one of
the things she looked for when scouting for a new slave to train. An expressive
face and eyes. In those first weeks she'd seen his flicker with laughter, smile
with passion, brighten with joy and pleasure. All of the things that made for a
good slave. So many had learned to 'hide' their emotions from the outside world,
but not Dillon...not Jarron...and so many others that she'd lost count over the
years.

She moved again, sliding up the length of his thighs until she poised herself
just above his long, rock hard shaft. "Is this what you want?" she asked softly.

Dillon nodded helplessly, gulping against the ball, his eyes pleading and full
of desire despite where he was in that moment.

She slid slowly down his length and he groaned softly behind the gag, straining
forward against the restraints with considerable effort to reach her. To touch
her...to be allowed to react to what she was doing to him. 

He gulped against the ball again, loudly, and groaned as she rose off him
slightly before sliding back again, sheathing him fully despite the chair in
which he was bound.

She smiled, as he pleaded with her, using a combination of soft whimpering
sounds, moans and sighs through the gag. She took both cheeks in her long nailed
hands and rubbed the pads of her thumbs over his high cheekbones.  Tears pooled
in his expressive eyes at his helplessness as she rose and fell along his length
for a long time.

She brought him to the brink of an orgasm several times in the next moments,
holding him tightly with nothing more than her wet womanhood until finally he
thought his heart would burst with the pain and agony of it all. The
helplessness....the wanting....the desire. Even her smell began to become
intoxicating to his senses. It was like flowers, with just a hint of musk, one
thing he'd always loved. That sweet smell of a woman's vagina just when it was
on the verge of her own pleasure.

He rolled, bucking and heaving against his bonds in his effort to be free and
enjoy this moment himself. He tried to plead with her through the gag, the
sounds he made incomprehensible to even him.

She rode him like no one else ever had before, her body teasing and cajoling his
manhood with just a tickle of her hair each time she rose and fell. His
breathing became ragged against the ball in his mouth and he gulped several
times trying unsuccessfully to stop the desire she was causing him to feel.

~Oh gods above...make this stop....~ he mentally begged, whimpering behind the
gag. ~Don't stop.....no.....~ he added to himself, leaning his head back with
another moan as she rose again off him. The air touched his slick manhood and he
groaned again, needing her to finish this before he mentally snapped.

The torture was existiqutely painful and totally controlled by her no matter how
much he bucked and strained to be free in those moments. Finally, she pulled his
head back and locked her eyes with his. "Do you want me?" she asked by way of
soft command.

Again, Dillon could only nod helplessly, his eyes tearing with emotion as he
gulped loudly. ~Oh yes....gods yes.....~ his mind screamed. ~Please...yes....~
his eyes seemed to beg her.

"Then you'll have to earn it....." she said, her voice turning almost cold and
wicked as she rose from the chair and moved away leaving him dangling just on
the edge of relief.

He screamed out then, the sound muffled, and strained with renewed effort to be
free. The cold blast of air on his manhood brought a shock to his system that
threatened to stop his heart in that moment. He whimpered against the ball,
lifting his head and straining forward again, his eyes begging and pleading with
her as she turned away from him.

She snapped her fingers and the other male rose from his unmoved position at the
couch and shuffled forward on chained feet again. "He's ready...." she said,
though Dillon knew that he'd undoubtedly heard her riding him. 

The male nodded, his nose still holding a fine coating of her juices and came
around behind the chair. Dillon heard a soft his, then felt the chair begin to
rise pulling him into a standing position after a moment by way of hidden
hydraulics.

He gulped as his rock hard erection stood out from his loins, still dripping her
juices and some of his own. He strained against his bonds again, knowing that if
he could just 'touch' himself to something he'd go over the edge, but the design
of the chair and his bonds prevented that from happening.

He felt a rush of cold air on his ass and realized with dread that the other
male had dropped the seat away from him. Another soft hiss of hydraulics and his
feet were pulled slowly in opposite directions until he was standing in a "X"
type position.

The woman, his torturer disappeared into the shadows for a moment and he heard a
cabinet open somewhere on the far side of the room. It closed and she reappeared
in the ring of light cast from the lamp on the table, something silver in her
slim hands.

She strode toward him, confidently, and began fitting the device around his
raging erection, crushing it into the small, shadowed pocket he could just make
out in the front of it. Once she had him fully encased in the medieval looking
metal underwear, she bent the back around the cheeks of his ass and momentarily
unbuckled the belt at his waist.

Pulling him forward slightly, she fitted the device tightly around him, then
pushed him back against the board with only a finger. She folded the front of it
to his flat hips and within moments locked the two halves together at his waist
with two small, golden padlocks.

Her eyes rose from her work to lock with his again and this time the smile she
gave him 'did' reach her glowing blue orbs. "You belong to me now...." she
whispered confidently as his own eyes narrowed with hatred for a moment. 

He bucked against her hands, his waist free of the restraints and felt his
erection grow painfully hard in the cold metal that now encased him at her
words.

"You'll be allowed to relieve yourself in the bathroom once a day." she stated
as she moved away again and into the shadows of the room. She returned a moment
later with a heavy looking piece of leather in her hands.

Dillon felt the chair being lowered slightly as she stepped forward and slipped
the piece over and behind his head. She fitted it tightly around his neck and
locked the piece around his muscular neck.

He realized belatedly that it was a collar, much as a dog would wear...much as
the other man wore....and too late he tried to duck away. She reached out and
smacked him across the chest hard, the sound ringing out in the silence of the
room like an echo of thunder. "Don't move away from me...." she hissed softly as
he screamed out behind the gag, gulping heavily to catch his breath at the
unexpected and painful slap.

He nodded then, helpless to do more, and his eyes narrowed again with hatred.
But it was more at himself, for the slap had caused his painful erection to pump
against the cold metal between his legs. He bucked once more at the restraints
in self loathing for his reactions then quieted back in seeming defeat, his
breath ragged and choppy as he pulled at the air through his nose.

She moved away again, into the shadows and returned after a moment of rustling
sounds with four long pieces of leather. They looked like leggings to him and a
moment later he found out their intent.

She fitted two of the pieces over his arms, further pinning them to the boards
that held him aloft, and completely immobilizing his hands now. She laced them
tightly against the boards and his arms until he couldn't move a muscle against
the heavy leather. He tried flexing his fingers inside the encasing leather and
found they wouldn't budge in the slightest.

She moved to his long legs then, deftly working the leather up and over his
foot. "These are a special design...." she said as she worked. "The metal in the
top will keep your feet pointed and useless." she said confidently as she worked
the stocking type leather over his heel and up his calf. He felt the metal she
spoke of pushing his foot downward and locking it there, much like a ballerina
in toe shoes. The arch of his foot cramped painfully at the unbending position
then settled in to the position.

Like his arms, she laced the legging around his muscular leg tightly, though
without the board beneath, then strapped him down again. He hadn't 'thought' to
resist as she'd freed his leg that first time, but it occurred to him the second
time. As she undid the straps holding his leg flat, he kicked up and out in
fury, pushing her away from him. His leg free now, he flailed useless with it,
trying to gain purchase on the smooth board to push himself off it.

The woman staggered upright with a dark looking smile and strode away for a
moment as he continued to struggle to push himself toward the board at his arms.
She reappeared with the crop in her hands and he felt the rush of air a moment
before the first blow landed on his wide chest.

He paused in his struggles, his wide eyes turning back to her then looking down
at the rising welt on his chest. She rained four more painful blows across him,
each stronger and harder than the first until he was whimpering with pain and
tears flowed freely from his eyes.

She hadn't said a word as she rained the blows on him, but her eyes spoke of a
calm anger at his actions. "Never touch me without permission...." she said in a
calm tone, dropping the crop on it's cord to hang from her wrist as she worked.

Dillon gulped loudly, staying completely still as she worked the second legging
over his leg and laced it up as tight as the first. He noted somewhere in the
back of his pain filled mind that not once during that beating had she broken
the skin of his chest, nor marked him in a way that wouldn't disappear in a
couple of days.

Still, those blows had hurt.....and a fire burned in their aftermath the likes
of which Dillon had never felt before that moment. It wasn't so much 'painful'
as humiliating....as if he'd been spanked and sent to his room without supper as
a child.

He knew the other man was still standing behind him and he strained to the side,
turning his pleading eyes to him, begging for his help. ~Save me.....~ his
expressive blue eyes pleaded, but the man stood rock still, awaiting the woman's
command.

Which she gave a few moments later. He hadn't felt her do it,  but she'd
released his other leg again, though it was held pointed and rigid by the
legging of leather. Both legs free now, he strained upward, kicking out at
something...anything in frustration at his helplessness and the situation.

Another flurry of blows came across his chest then, and he cried out, this time
in pain, for she hit spots just to the side of the first ones. Fire burned in
his chest when she was finished and he dragged at the air in great gulping gasps
through his nose and around the ball in his mouth.

She nodded to the man behind him and Dillon felt the arms of what had been the
chair released, dropping him heavily to the ground unexpectedly. He sagged there
for a moment, then tried to push himself upwards. The pointed metal of the
leggings feet prevented it and he got as far as his knees before realizing the
futility of it. With his arms fully encased in the hard leather, strapped to the
long board beneath, he couldn't bend them, and could only crawl forward on all
fours like an animal.

Which he did, furiously, looking for a means to escape this awful nightmare into
which he'd fallen. As he struggled across the room, he felt her eyes calmly
watching him as he reached the door. He sat back on his calves then, looking at
the knob set higher than normal. He reached out awkwardly with his 'wooden' arms
and tried to gain a purchase on the knob. It was impossible and his 'hands'
slipped away despite his repeated efforts to open it.

He sat back after awhile with a heavy moan of despair and then rose up to bang
his considerable shoulder against the heavy wood. After several tries, he
realized the 'stoutness' of the offensive door and sagged back again onto his
haunches.

"Satisfied?" her voice rang out from behind him.

With a crying whimper, he could only nod in that moment. Bound as he was, he
knew there was no escape in that moment. At least until she gave him some more
freedom in some way.

She stepped around him then, and he felt something click to the front of his
neck. A moment later he felt a gentle tug on the collar of a leash. He had no
choice but to follow on his stilted arms and bent knees.

She pulled him across the room, allowing him to become used to maneuvering in
the strange position without the use of his feet and hands. His shoulder ached,
his jaw ached even more, and he cried silent tears of hopelessness in those
moments. He vowed silently that he 'would' find a way to escape. He would get
free and tell 'everyone' what this woman was doing to him. Had done to him. That
she'd kidnapped him, beaten him, almost raped him, and held him prisoner.

He downcast his eyes, bending his head in seeming submission as she pulled him
gently across the room by the lead at his neck. He whimpered softly, his tears
suddenly drying up in his fury and his frustration. His erection chose that
moment to remind him of it's presence and he stopped crawling, sitting back on
his haunches to try and relieve himself of it.

Hard metal met with leather encased wood and it took him only a heartbeat to
realize why she'd given him the freedom to move, yet not move all in the same
moment. She jerked on the lead again, and once more he followed her haltingly
across the room toward the shadows beyond the light.

He heard the clink of something ominous, a key in a lock, and jerked back in
fear as a metal door swung open. She held tightly to the jerking lead and pulled
him into the room beyond. It couldn't have been more than 10 feet by 10 feet,
made of stone with heavy plush carpet on the floor. There were no windows, and a
single, stark bulb illuminated the room harshly with the flip of a switch on the
outside of the door. A stack of warm looking blankets had been folded in one
corner, as if awaiting his arrival, and a small pot in the other corner would
undoubtedly serve as his 'facilities', he realized with fear.

He gulped around the gag and turned pleading eyes up at her, begging for
something, but he couldn't honestly say what it was.

She pulled him forward again with a jerk on the leather lead and into the room,
pushing him back onto his bent legs, his toes pointed out behind him painfully.
She squatted, the creaking leather of her boots loud in the silence of the room,
until their eyes were level.

"Sleep well Dillon...." she said softly, bending forward to kiss each of his
cheeks and rubbing a hand softly over the line of his jaw.

~Nooooooo......~ his mind screamed as he realized her intent as she rose.  She
stepped out of the small room, closing the heavy door behind her with a thud of
finality. Dillon lurched forward, banging heavily against the door in
desperation and frustration. ~NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO.......~ his mind screamed out
again. ~Please...no....don't leave me alone.....~

His stilted arms clawed upwards at the door, scraping along the metal as the
light was turned off from outside, plunging him into darkness.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter Two - The Training
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

At first he sat back in disbelief against his calves as he was plunged into the
pitch blackness of the room.  Then his fury reared it's ugly head and he began
to struggle in earnest against the bonds into which she'd placed him. He lifted
his stilted arms, encased in the hard leather and bound to the two long boards
of the chair, and tried to push the leather off with his chin.

He struggled with the action, quickly realizing with dread how useless his arms
had become held straight by the heavy boards away from his body. Even with his
considerable strength, he failed at bending his hands toward him.  Not that it
would have mattered, he realized with a groan of dismay. Even if he 'could' get
his hands to his face, the heavy leather over the boards held his hands
completely immobile.

He focused then, in the pitch blackness, at getting the offensive, hard rubber
ball out of his mouth. Or at least attempting too. He lifted both arms as far as
he could to his face, and began to pull, push, or somehow grab the leather
holding it in his mouth and free it from his head.

But she'd been ingenious in her bondage of him, and he quickly realized it was
useless. He gave up without even 'starting' on his legs. The long, semi-flexible
leather of the leggings was laced tightly to his skin, zippered over the lacing
and locked into place about three quarters of the way up his muscular thigh.

The metal in the bottom part of the long piece, kept his feet painfully pointed
and completely useless as his arms. He couldn't stand, rise, walk, or even get
higher than his knees, which would constantly keep him on a lower level than the
surprisingly 'tall' woman whom had abducted him that night.

Sometime later, he sat back in the absolute darkness, his whimper of despair
echoing in the maddening silence of the rooms stone interior. He could tell that
any sound he 'happened' to make would be caught and held by the heavy stone
around him, it's thickness absorbing the noise.

His raging erection, still present, though it had dimmed in his struggles rose
to the forefront of his mind, picked the moment that he stilled to remind him of
it's hard presence in the metal underwear in which 'she' had encased it. As he
had when she led him across the room like an animal on all fours by a leash, he
sat back and tried to touch himself.

And as before hard leather and wood met with even harder metal, ceasing 'any'
type of relief he might of gained if his genitals were free. His erection turned
painfully engorged in that moment, filling the small shadowed area in the front
of the device almost completely.

He flopped onto his side then, in the darkness, and after several attempts
managed to roll over on his flat, washboard stomach. Stretching his long legs
out behind him in an effort to gain some relief and get comfortable in some
form, he lifted his hips slightly then pressed them back against the thick
carpet of the floor.

For just a brief moment, he felt the metal encasing him shift slightly, rubbing
ever so briefly against his filling erection. The soft groan that escaped around
the hard rubber ball in his mouth was short lived though as the metal settled
once more, not touching him in the slightest.

He tried to repeat the action, but the tight fitting metal wasn't budging and
all he could do was lay there in torment, agony and frustration. He groaned
again, rubbing his face against the heavy, plush carpet to try and get the gag
out.

What this would accomplish he knew not, but he had to try. He couldn't lay there
helplessly until she came back to free him. His mind turned inward then, trying
to piece together her intent in this nightmare.  She was 'obviously' some sick
pervert that got her jollies by kidnapping men and torturing them sexually. Or
worse, if the diminishing fire from her blows
were any indication.

But the other man with her that night, the man bound hand and foot, wearing
similar 'underwear' as he, had seemed perfectly healthy. Besides being chained
like an animal, a bright blue ball in his mouth similar to the one Dillon now
wore.

The image of him rooting around in her vagina as she'd read his 'history' from
the couch came to his mind, and he gulped heavily in the darkness, remembering
well his own reactions to the scene. He'd always 'loved' to eat out women. He
couldn't explain it, or the intense sexual reaction it always brought him, but
it was there.

Each of the nameless, faceless women he'd slept with in the last years of his
young life, had always complimented him on the skill of his tongue and fingers.
He rolled to his side then, his heavily bound arms stretching out from his body
and whimpered softly in the darkness.

It 'couldn't' be as simple as that 'could' it? his mind wondered as he lay
there. Could 'that' be all she wanted? A sexual partner to eat her out? he
wondered crudely. If 'that' was the case, he'd be 'happy' to oblige, without all
the need for the restraints in which he now lay.

But that was 'not' it, otherwise she would have merely stayed at his apartment
earlier that night, letting him have his way with her...then leaving like all
the others.

He sighed softly, gulping around the hard ball in his mouth, and merely waited
for her return. After all, what else could he do in that moment? his mind
queried as his eyes drooped slowly closed.

The last thoughts before sleep claimed him were of his life. No one would even
'begin' to look for him for at least several weeks and he cursed himself for
taking all those 'unexpected' business trips in the years since he'd inherited
the business. It was not uncommon for him to just 'take off' then reappear
several weeks later, happy, tanned, and none the worse for wear.

His business manager, Marcus, wouldn't worry if he didn't hear from him for a
few days, he sighed regretfully, and even then he may not become 'seriously'
concerned for at least a month.

As he lay there, he wondered what was in store for him. Would she 'kill' him?
Mutilate his body beyond recognition and dump him somewhere when she was
finished? Would she rape, torture, and abuse him, then let him go?  He knew full
well there were 'male' serial killers that kidnapped women, raped and mutilated
them from some sick perversion, but he'd never heard of a female one. Though he
was sure they quite possible existed.

But again, his thoughts came back to the other man that had been with and helped
her. Was he her 'husband'? he wondered there in the dark. Were they some 'sick'
couple that kidnapped younger men to rape and abuse then dumped them somewhere
left for dead?

As all the possibilities ran threw his mind they brought a violent shiver of
fear to his long, bound body and he sat up again in the dark, renewing his
efforts to free himself out of sheer fear and adrenaline.

__________________________________________________________

She sat at the bank of monitors, watching him in the green light of the infrared
camera. A smile lit her face in those moments as he went threw the invariable
emotions of his captivity. It was 'mostly' the same with each one.

First came the effort to free themselves. Then the quite introspection in the
pitch blackness of the room, then another effort of fear and adrenaline to gain
their freedom again. Eventually, they fell into an exhausted stupor, which is
where she would re-enter the picture.

Easing their fears, gently explaining what was going to happen from that point
forward. Giving them reassurances...setting in motion that final piece of her
trap.  

Some took a long time to wind down. Others shorter. She turned slightly in the
high backed chair and looked at Jarron at her feet. He had taken weeks to accept
his fate, his mind and will extremely strong, and she reached out now to gently
caress his leather clad cheek.

She'd seen the pleading in his eyes when she'd mentioned his sale earlier. She
couldn't miss it, and feared for a moment that the poor man was in love with
her. She sighed softly and asked quietly. "You love me don't you?"

He lifted his head, per his training, meeting her eyes with his own soft gray
ones, nodding vigorously and grunting behind the bright blue gag in his mouth.
He jutted his chin forward twice, his signal that he wished to speak as per his
training of the last year, and she nodded feeling generous tonight. Reaching
out, she unlocked the gag from behind his head and he dropped it into her
outstretched hand.

"May I speak Mistress?" he asked softly, his eyes downcast once more.

"You may Jarron." she said softly, caressing her long nailed fingers through his
hair.

His eyes rose, locking with hers, pleadingly as he spoke. "Please Mistress....do
not sell me....." he begged softly, his expressive gray eyes tearing at the
prospect. "i....i...know that you sell the others soon...but please
Mistress...not me...." he begged again on a soft whimper. "i...i couldn't stand
to be without you...." he said dropping his eyes again, his hands clenching and
unclenching at his waist where they were still bound as if aching for her.
"Please Mistress....." he whispered tearfully, not daring to look at her.
"Please Mistress....i love you....."

She sat back for a moment, her hand dropping to the chair arm to hang loosely
over it's padding. Jarron scooted forward on his knees, his chains rattling
softly with his movement, and pushed his bent head beneath her loose, limp
fingers with a soft whimpering sound deep in the back of his throat. He managed
to turn her hand over, and laid his cheek there, his gray, tearful eyes rising
slowly to hers and she saw the truth of it there as he whimpered softly.

"Please...." he begged out the one word on a choking sob. She rose then, pulling
back from him, the ball hanging loosely from her hand for a moment. She
shuttered off her own eyes, bending slightly to replace the ball in his mouth.
He accepted it readily, opening his mouth wide to accommodate her as always,
having said his peace turning hopeful eyes up at her as he sat back on his
calves.

She lifted him then, pulling his considerable weight upwards easily and against
her flat belly, still in it's corset from earlier. He rubbed his face longingly
against her, a whimper bubbling up from deep within his wide chest as she
stroked his head in a hug.

His hands, of their own violation, reached out as far as his bonds would allow
to gently caress her inner thigh for a moment. Realizing his mistake almost
immediately, he dropped them away until she gave consent to touch her.

She smiled softly, pulling him back slightly to stare down into his eyes for a
moment. One long nail came up to caress his strong cheek and she smiled slowly.
"I'll let that slide." she said by way of soft command and she immediately saw
the relief in his eyes. "But not again." she added with a slightly dark grin.

He nodded vigorously, gulping around the gag in his relief that she wouldn't
punish him for the one, slight oversight about her touching rule.

"Now...off to bed with you...." she stated softly. "There's much to do
tomorrow...." she added as she turned away leaving him in the room alone.  

He waited a moment, hearing her footsteps click away down the hall of stone,
then rose gracefully to his feet to shuffle away to his own room. He'd become so
used to the position that he was now bound in, that he had no trouble
maneuvering through the great halls of her mansion and back down into the cellar
where the newest slave was being kept, and into his own room of stone.

He'd earned the right to sleep on at cot now, after many months of work and
training, and he sat slowly in the dark. The only light spilling into the room
was that from the hallway and he sat waiting for her to come to him.  As always,
the Mistress personally tucked each of her slaves into bed at night, no matter
the hour or the 'play' that had gone on that night. Only Jarron was awake now,
out of the ten that she currently had in residence, the others having been put
to bed in the hours before she'd gone 'clubbing' as she called it.

Only Jarron had been allowed to stay awake, patiently waiting for her call that
she'd acquired a new trainee. Which had come around 4am he figured.  He was one
of the few that was allowed the luxury of self release from bondage, as he'd
become her 'helper' when bringing in newbies, as 'he' called them.

This night though, as he'd helped her carry the young man from his home he'd
felt an overwhelming pang of jealously as he placed the man over his own wide
shoulder. He couldn't 'miss' the look of appraisal she'd given the one called
Dillon, and he feared for a moment that his place in her world was rapidly
diminishing.

He sat back against the rough stone of the wall, and his gray eyes burned in the
darkness with a jealousy he'd never felt before. For just one brief moment, he
felt dark thoughts consume his mind at what he'd like to 'do' to the newbie. But
he was no longer that man. No longer the jealous, almost maniacal lunatic she'd
captured in the year before.

Had it 'only' been a year since she'd brought him here, he wondered for a
moment. Yes, it had. In that time, she'd completely turned his life around. He
was no longer the raving, jealous, lunatic he'd been before. A man who beat
women because of his uncontrolled anger. A man who used women....a bad
man......he mused to himself.

"She" had shown him how to be a better man. A kind man. A loving man. And he
loved her with every fiber of his being. He gulped heavily as the truth of it
hit him square in the eyes.

At first he'd viewed her as some sick pervert. Some evilly twisted woman that
got her jollies off on beating men, much as he had on women. But the time he'd
spent in her care had proven him completely wrong about her.  Utterly wrong, he
realized with a deep pang of longing.

His eyes rose to the door, as he waited in his cell. Where was she? he wondered
to himself. She should have been here by now to 'tuck him in' as she did every
night.

Then he heard it. A soft padding of feet coming down the stone of the hallway
beyond his room. That was odd, had one of the others tried to escape? his mind
wondered. But he heard no tell tale clinking of chain as they all wore. Just as
he was about to rise from his cot to check, she appeared in the doorway.

She was backlit by the lights there, and he saw with a start that she was
gloriously naked in that moment. Her wide shoulders cast a long shadow as she
slowly pushed open the door. Her high, firm breasts jutted out at him proudly
and he felt himself clench his hands together tightly with a need to hold them,
to touch them.

Her trim waist, well formed hips, and long legs were only accented by the light
falling over them from the hall behind her and her long hair rustled softly as
she stepped further into the room.

She'd never come to him naked before. He'd never even 'seen' her fully naked
come to think of it. She preferred to present herself as the Mistress that she
was to everyone, him included, all leather and hardness. He gulped heavily
behind the gag in his mouth, a soft whimper escaping him at the picture she
presented.

His eyes blatantly roved over her in the darkness and he clenched his hands
again, wanting...no needing to be free of the bondage she kept him in to go to
her. To touch her....to love her.  

But he couldn't, he realized in frustration as his manhood slammed painfully
into the chastity device he wore. He groaned softly, his eyes pleading with her
as she came toward the cot on which he sat.

~Please.....~ his eyes begged in the light now cast from the opened door.
~Please...let me love you......~

She didn't speak as she came to his side in the darkness, instead reaching out a
gentle hand to caress his cheek softly as she had in the computer room above
stairs. He moaned softly at her touch, almost leaning forward to touch her in
return, but remembering the hard learned lessons of the months before and
remaining still as a statue.

He shook visibly in his bonds as she touched his shoulders with her long nails,
caressing them as she never had before. The erection between his legs,
underneath the hard metal of the chastity belt, grew in size and girth as she
touched him like a lover...not the slave he'd become.

Until now, their contact had been 'strictly' restricted. Limited to only what
'she' allowed, and 'that' didn't include physical sex...touching...or even
kissing. She'd said he was here for training and eventual sale to another
Mistress. That was her business, and how she had afforded all the luxuries she
had gained over the years.

She wasn't in it for the sex. She could have that anytime, she'd told him once.
She 'was' in it however, to make the world a better place in her own simplified
way. By training men to appreciate women, to learn from them, to gain insight
into how they thought, acted, loved and hated. But never for sex......

Sex for her, she'd added, was a man's head between her legs, his tongue deeply
imbedded inside, bringing her pleasure. But that was as 'far' as it went. She'd
never allowed 'any' of the slaves he'd seen since coming here to have 'physical'
sex with her, saying it was degrading and meaningless for a man. And even worse
for a woman.

Sex for women was so much more detailed. More than just having a pumping,
grunting man over top of them. There were touches, kisses, hugs, cuddles,
everything involved, and Jarron was going to learn them all for his 'new'
Mistress. He was going to learn how to completely please a woman in every way.
Even down to cleaning, cooking, laundry, and caring for her personal needs
beyond just the sexual.

And he had. He could now cook a seven course meal in short order. Do laundry
without blinking an eye, sew like his mother had years ago, iron all day long
and never miss a beat, or singe a precious garmet.

Her lessons were harsh...her demands even harsher, but he'd adapted well, once
he'd accepted his fate at her hands...and the inescapable bondage in which she
kept him. And all the others.

He gulped heavily now as her hands fell to his chest to caress him slowly,
softly, almost shyly, and he shook violently with need. With desire. In the year
he'd been with her, he'd never seen her caress a trainee as she was now doing to
him. Her touches were gentle, or harsh, depending on the need and the situation,
but she'd never caressed one. Never touched one as she was now.

He felt pride swell his heart until it threatened to burst with it. That she'd
come to him this night, naked in all her glory, and was touching him so, may
bode well for his heartfelt confession. Maybe she 'did' mean to keep him...maybe
she wouldn't sell him in the auction that was coming soon. 

Maybe....just maybe...she'd fallen in love with him too in the last year. 

As her simple caress roved down toward his waist and bound hands, he clenched
them so hard his nails dug into his palms. He jerked once on the padlock at his
waist, whimpering softly in the light cast from the door with his need to be
free in that moment.

But she was having none of it and gently pushed him back on the cot beneath him.
Stretching him out on it's length, she moved away and picked up the heavy straps
that would secure him while he slept so he wouldn't harm himself in his bondage
if he should roll off to the floor.

She'd always been careful 'never' to harm him, or have him harmed in any
permanent way. She'd beat him relentlessly in the first months he'd been with
her, using whips, paddles, her bare hand, until he'd begun to accept his
training and her position in his life. That of Mistress....but even then, she'd
never caused any permanent damage to his large, well muscled body.

And she'd never beaten him in outright anger. He'd pushed her once, over that
edge, and she merely walked away, her blue eyes flashing dangerously and left
him hanging by his wrists in the dungeon for hours. She'd gagged him of course,
then returned when she was calm again, and inflicted upon him one of his 'worst'
lessons. It would have been better if she'd beaten him in anger, he'd mused
later, over the pain in his body. Not the cold, calculated punishment she'd
devised for him.

He couldn't even remember now, as she strapped him down to the cot with the wide
leather, what he'd said to push her so far, but he remembered well the lesson
she'd taught him about speaking out of turn, or out of anger, as he'd worn the
heavy harness gag for almost a month straight, released only to eat food. That
was also when he'd learned to use his nose to bring her pleasure because she
wouldn't allow him to remove it to use his tongue, or his hands.

She leaned over him now, as she finished strapping him tightly to the cot.
Unable to do more than lift his head, he clenched his free fingers against the
metal of the chastity belt at his waist, his rock hard manhood coming to the
forefront of his thoughts.

He whimpered again, lifting his head from the softness of the cot and jutting
his chin toward her twice in the darkness. She smiled softly, squatting beside
the head of the cot for a moment and lifting the gag out of his mouth after a
brief second. He gulped, licking his dry lips and speaking softly, his eyes
still pleading with her. "Mistress?" he begged, glad that he'd earned the right
to speak with her, as so many hadn't yet.

"Yes Jarron...." she asked, folding her arms against the cot as she leaned close
in the darkness. So close that he could smell her intoxicating scent. 
"Please...let me stay...." he tried one more time to gain her acceptance of him.
"Please let me love you....." he whispered as the tears pooled in his eyes
again. "Don't....don't....." he choked softly, gulping to bring some control to
his voice. "Don't keep Dillon...please let me stay.....i want too....." he
begged softly, his voice threatening to crack in the darkness with the pain in
his heart.

But she replaced the gag without another word, opening his mouth with a slight
push of it against his lips. He accommodated her, as per his training, and
lifted his head slightly so she could buckle behind his neck. 

She rose then, the tip of her breast grazing his upper arm as she did so, and he
groaned behind the gag, his erection revived full bore with just the simple
contact. He lifted his head, raising pleading eyes toward her as she stepped out
into the bright hallway, her hand on the door.  She turned slightly and looked
back over her shoulder at him laying on the cot in the semi-darkness of the
room. Something flashed in her eyes, causing them to glow eerily for a brief
moment, then she was gone with a soft click of the door to mark her passing.

_________________________________________________________

She stood at the door for a long while, knowing that he couldn't hear her on the
other side, and gently raised a hand to it's cold steel surface. Laying it palm
down against the coldness she sighed softly once before turning away.

Picking the robe she'd left off the hook by the door, she pulled it on as she
moved down the hall on silent feet. Her heart was breaking at his soft plea to
stay with her.

She 'thought' she'd hardened herself against their pleas long ago, but this
slave...no, this 'man' had gotten through to the cold, dead blackness inside.

And she didn't like it...not one bit.....she fumed suddenly with barely
controlled rage. Her pace quickened, carrying her through the dungeon, past a
security door, and up a long flight of stairs to emerge in the 'private' parts
of the mansion.

In reality, if anyone was to ever 'look' at the plans to the home they'd be
surprised that there were actually 'three' parts too it's vast splendor. 

The first was the original mansion. A large 20 room affair that had been popular
in the area in the early turn of the century. It had been owned by a great
grandfather and passed down through the generations, being added to as time went
by.

The rooms were vast, yet turned homely by some of the family as time passed.
Now, it was barely discernible from the rest of the vast home. 

She passed through the original part, coming from the dungeons, an addition
during American slave times and modernized by several of her women ancestors to
mark the passage of time to her generation.

She walked slowly, thoughtfully through the sitting rooms, parlor, massive ball
room and into the third part of the additions. The private living area. This too
had been added during her generation, by her mother, as a place to separate from
her work.

Her work with slaves. Since the time of the American slaves, brought over the
ocean generations ago, the women of her family had been involved with them.
Their sale at first, when the men abandoned them, to make ends meet during the
war torn era of the Americas. Then nothing for several years as it was 'taboo'
to own or house slaves per se.

Finally, her great grandmother had burgeoned on an idea that had carried over to
this day. Why not use the dungeons again, to keep her family in the style they'd
become accustomed. This time though, instead of just the outright sale of
slaves, these came with extensive training to serve.

It wasn't until her mother came along, and grew of age, that extended bondage of
their slaves had come into the picture. She still kept with the training of the
slaves, but focused primarily on men, instead of men and women as they had in
the past. Her mother had found a niche, training a modern man to please a woman,
both sexually and domestically, as it seemed so many had forgotten how to do
that in modern times.

She'd grown up in these halls, she mused as she passed through their opulence,
never knowing what her mother was about, but enjoying the fruits of her labors
none the less. She'd gone to the best schools, the best college that money could
buy, never knowing where it all came from, and believing the story of a vast
inheritance.

It wasn't until she'd graduated that she'd learned the truth. Her mother, now
aging, had sat her down and explained the family 'secret' in great detail. She'd
thought until that point, that her father had died when she was barely a babe,
but she found out then, that was not the case.

In reality, her father had been one of the slaves her mother had trained some
years before. A nameless man from his former life and sold in an auction she'd
never known about. That was fine with her, however, for she'd never missed him.
She'd never had a yearning as some girls did for their fathers presence. Her
mother had raised her just fine.

It had taken her awhile to realize that, having felt betrayed by being kept in
the dark. Finally, some months of brooding later, she'd forgiven the loving
woman she'd known as her mother.

She'd taken her offer to 'learn' the family business and spent her next, young
years learning all she could from the Mistress of the house. And she'd excelled,
her mother praised, better than any she'd ever trained as a Mistress before.

She'd found out that her mother had trained quite a few women on how to handle
their men, or men they would buy from her. They came from all walks of life,
some learning easily the fine art of controlling a man, others having a more
difficult time of it, but coming round under her mother's carefully watchful
eye.

Except for her. She'd taken to being a Dominant like a duck takes to water,
feeling as if she'd finally found her 'own' niche in this crazy world. She'd
felt lost and restless as a child, even more so as a teen, but had covered it
well by being the 'popular' student. A cheerleading captain, captain of the
volleyball and soccer teams and so on. But still, underneath all the smiles and
cheers, she felt lost and alone.

Until the day she'd returned from college and was told who and what her mother
was. In truth, she'd never left again, preferring to stay in the mansion, run
the business, train the men, and the women as her mother had, hold her auctions
of sale to the high society women that ran in blue blooded money circles.

She broke herself out of her musing thoughts and walked into her massive
bedchamber. She moved immediately to the small fringe set into the wall and
pulled a soda out, moving off onto the balcony and staring out at the vast
forest below.

She sipped thoughtfully on the can in her hand for a long while, lost to her
private thoughts until a familiar voice rang out behind her. "Well?" it asked
softly.

"Well what?" she asked without turning in a cool voice.

"Are you keeping him?"

She shrugged gently, rustling the shoulders of her robe. "I haven't decided."
she finally conceded softly.

"He loves you......you know that." the voice said softly. "What harm could there
be in keeping him around. You can always sell him later."

She spun then, her long black hair spinning out wildly behind her. "I 'know'
that." she gritted out softly at the familiar figure behind her. "But you know
mother's advice. "Never...'never'....fall for one...they'll only break your
heart." she mocked in a familiar singsong they'd both heard before.

The figure behind her sighed heavily, her own robe rustling as she did so. Why
wouldn't her twin ever realize that she 'could' be happy with a man. Even a
slave, she mused with a thoughtful frown, before speaking again at her mirror
image.

"Sister...." she said softly, stepping out onto the balcony. "Not all men are
like that." she reminded her, coming to a stop and facing the 'mirror' of
herself. "Jarron is different. He loves you, with all his heart. I've seen the
way he looks at you. At me even when I'm training." she said gently.

Though they were twins, exact in every detail right down to the birthmarks they
both bore on their shoulders, they had 'far' different personalities as most
twins were prone to do.

One sister had grown under their Mother's careful and watchful tutelage, while
the other had gone to normal school. Normal places like college.

Where one twin had become a Mistress right from the start, the other had joined
in later years. But still they kept their secret of being twins.  Only their
mother had known, and even to this day, they didn't make it public knowledge
they both existed.

Only one was 'ever' seen, and they took great pains to ensure they didn't trip
over one another, even when training slaves.

The first twin spoke now, changing the subject. "I brought you home Dillon." she
said, her voice soft and calm despite the earlier flash of anger.

"I know." the second, Jordaine or Rain for short, stated. "I just came from
seeing him."

Mira, the first twin, smiled, relaxing a bit from being with Jarron. She hadn't
realized she 'was' tense until that moment. But his soft confession had unnerved
her considerably. She didn't 'want' him to 'love' her. She was the Mistress, the
leader, and should be looked upon with reverence and devotion certainly, but
never love. It was too  unpredictable......too unsettling.

Love made people do strange things....her mother had quoted once, and she'd
heeded the words since. Sure, she'd had her share of high school crushes in her
life, puppy love, but never the all consuming love her mother had shied them
'both' away from.

Neither twin had questioned her adamant refusal to speak more on the subject,
and both were happy with that. They had always figured their mother would tell
them in her own time, when it was right, but she'd taken it to the grave some
years before.

Mira sighed now, pushing past her mirror image as she walked back into the room
from the balcony. "When will you start training him?" she asked as she passed.

"Tomorrow I think." Rain stated softly, stopping to lean in the doorway to the
balcony. "Maybe the next." she added with a casual, characteristic shrug. "We've
got time. He won't be ready for at least a day to start. He's not accepting it
just yet. But he will....." she stated with soft conviction as she moved past
her twin with confidence and back out the door.

_________________________________________________________

Dillon woke slowly, struggling out of the last vestiges of sleep. His entire
body ached painfully, and it took his brain a moment to remember why. ~Thank the
fates it was just a nightmare.....~ he said as he tried to sit up. He was at
home, safe in his bed with some nameless beauty beside him as always.

When his body refused to cooperate with his commands of trying to rise, the
entire events of the night came rushing back to his mind and he screamed out,
the sound still muffled by the hard rubber in his mouth.

He gulped, struggling up and pushing the last of his sleep from his brain. He
groaned aloud as he realized things hadn't changed for him. Things hadn't
returned to normal. He wasn't in his large bed, safe and warm, with a nameless
beauty beside him after a passionate night of lovemaking.

He was still in his pitch black cell. Still bound arm and leg in the
constrictive bondage the witch had put him in. Still encased in the metal of the
chastity device....and still had a raging erection, which only intensified as
the rest of his body woke painfully.

He was unaccustomed to sleeping as he had, on his side, toes pointed painfully
downward, arms held rigidly away from him. His shoulder ached considerably, and
he remembered slamming it into both doors in his efforts to escape. The one in
the dungeon, and the one in this cell through the night on and off.

He screamed out again, and began to weep in earnest. He'd never felt so alone in
his entire life. Even after his mother and grandfather had died. Looking back on
it now, in the silence of his cell, he realized it was probably why he'd been
with a different woman each night. Why he never 'connected' with just one and
stayed with her.

Sure, he'd 'tried' it, but he always feared being abandoned again, heartbroken
and alone. He'd had a relationship or two, but they never lasted more than a few
months before he broke it off.....leaving them before they could leave him, he
mused wirily.

Now, look where that attitude had gotten him. In a cold, dark cell, alone and
bound. He sighed around the ball in his mouth. It was his own fault...if he'd
'attached' himself to someone...anyone in his young life, they may just 'now' be
worried for him and looking into his disappearance.

But there was no one. Not even his neighbors would be concerned for him because
of his characteristic disappearances for weeks at a time. His rent was always
paid by his company accountant, whether he was there or not. So were the
utilities, phone, cable and so on. Even his mail went to the office and was set
aside, personal bills separated for payment, and private mail left on his desk
for perusal when he felt like it.

He mentally cursed himself for having taken the easy road in life once he'd
inherited the company from his grandfather. If only....he chided himself. 

If only what? his brain returned.

~If only I'd...I'd.....been thinking.....~ he sighed out to his inner voice in
dejection. He probably wouldn't be in this mess if he had thought more of
himself.

He shifted in his bondage then, pushing himself upright with difficulty and
stretching his long legs out in front of him. The only position he could adopt
with his legs bound as they were.

His head shot up as a key scraped in the lock to his cell. It opened outward,
and a figure was silouhetted against the softly lit room beyond. He blinked
rapidly for a moment against even the small amount of light spilling into the
room, cringing away from it slightly as if it might burn him.

When he could, he turned back and recognized the figure of the woman who'd
kidnapped him. All the fury of the night before came rushing back and he
squirmed in his bonds, finally coming to his knees. He lunged forward at her,
swinging his heavy stilted arms in the process trying to fight back as best he
could.

He realized, a moment later, his failure as she easily sidestepped his
telegraphed move. He landed hard on his chest, half in and half out of the door
to his tiny cell with a hard whoosh of air.

He dragged at the air around him through his nose rolling on his back as fast as
he could, trying valiantly to swing his arms upwards and hit her. But again she
sidestepped the act, leaving him flailing on his back.

She moved closer then, placing a booted foot dead center in his wide chest and
balancing on the other calmly. "You'd best hold still if you wish to eat....."
she said calmly.

That comment stilled him as his stomach grumbled loudly in protest as thoughts
of food filled his mind. He had no idea how long he'd been in the dark cell, but
his empty stomach said it 'must' have been some time. 24 hours at least.

"Good boy...." she said with a soft tap of her boot in his chest, speaking as
one might to an animal.  She bent then, attaching a lead to his collar and
pulling up on it gently.

It took him a bit to roll back over and get himself to his knees without her
aid, but he managed finally.

"Come along...." she said by way of gentle command, pulling on the lead at his
neck.

As with the time before, he moved haltingly across the floor of the room on all
fours, the pits of his arms crying out in protest at the poking of the boards
that held his arms immobile from the shoulders down to his hands.  After awhile
though, he realized it was a bit like using a set of crutches.  Rolling his
shoulders slightly to place one in front of the other as he moved he made slow
progress to the other side of the large room.

She patiently moved ahead of him, leading him with gentle tugs of the collar at
his neck. He still fumed in anger, but his almost overwhelming need for food
outweighed that for the moment.

Until he realized how she intended him to eat. She led him to a corner, where a
bowl, looking much like a dog's, sat next to the wall. Next to it was another,
filled with water. She reached up, lead in hand, and calmly hooked it to a ring
set in the wall above both bowls then turned back to him.

"This is how you will be fed...until you prove worthy to eat otherwise." she
said as she bent his head forward to unlock the gag.

As soon as the ball popped free of his jaw, he immediately began to curse her.
Her mother...and her mother's mother in fuming anger, forgetting for a moment
she was offering him food.

She stood calmly until his tirade was finished, then pinched his nose closed
until he opened his mouth to breath again. She shoved something she'd picked up
off the shelf above the bowls into his mouth then, pushing his aching jaw wide
again without comment. The 'O' ring held his jaw just as wide as the ball had,
but at least he could breath better through it's opening.

And he could just push his tongue through the opening now between his lips. But
his protests were still unintelligible, coming out as nothing more than grunts
and groans since he couldn't close his jaw to form words. 

After she'd secured it, despite his trying to duck away, he  realized what his
foolish tongue had just cost him.

Dinner.

She turned away from him then, picked up a can of something off the shelf above
the area, and bent to dump the steaming contents into the bowl. A heavenly aroma
of stew wafted to his nose a few minutes later, and his stomach growled loudly
in protest.

He lifted pleading, yet still flashing eyes at her, but she merely smiled. "When
you learn manners I might decide you can eat." she said, reaching out to stroke
his head casually before walking away.

He turned his head for a moment watching her walk away to a cabinet set into the
wall near by, open it, then return a moment later with something decidedly evil
looking clasped in her slim fingered hands.

It was round, silver steel, about two inches high with spikes sticking inward
around it's circumference.

He realized too late what the contraption was, as she bent forward slightly to
fit it over his neck, and over the existing collar he wore that was now chained
to the wall.

The spikes pressed inward against the skin of his neck, and though dull so not
to pierce him, they would prove decidedly uncomfortable if pressure was applied
to any one side. As long as he sat there on his knees they wouldn't press
against him. But the moment he tried to lay down, or shift his head forward, or
backward or to the side, they would.

He found out as she walked away from him, just 'how' uncomfortable they were as
he lunged forward toward the bowl. He landed on his chest again, knowing that
with his stilted arms he'd never be able to bend to the bowl with it's heavenly
aroma.

That was when he found out the purpose of the second collar. He struggled
forward on his chest, much like a worm would, and eventually came within reach
of the bowl on the floor. The spikes pressed into his neck as he leaned over to
get his lips to the delicious smelling stew it contained.  He realized then,
that even 'if' he could have reached the beefy looking stew, the "O" ring would
keep him from more than lapping at it slowly. But more than that, as the spikes
pressed into his neck in front they cut off his throat and his ability to
swallow, but didn't cut off his air.

Two of them pressed in at just the right angle to close his throat against
swallowing, but kept his air tube wide open. He groaned loudly around the "O" in
his mouth and rolled away from the bowl itself. Laying on his back, the spikes
pressed into his spine, causing a tingle to erupt down the length of his body as
if it had gone to sleep suddenly from the neck down.

He tried to lift his arms, but they wouldn't respond, the nerve endings cut off.
He lay there temporarily paralyzed, then realized that by lifting his head away
from the spikes, movement was restored to the rest of him again. 

With a heavy sigh, he lifted his head, waited until he could move, then bunched
his stomach muscles to sit up. Getting to his knees again, he sank back on his
calves to wait, his eyes going longingly to the bowl before him as a soft
whimper of pleading bubbled up from his chest.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter 3 - The Family Tradition
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jordaine watched him casually from across the room as all the inevitable
thoughts went through his head. Mira would be pleased to train this one, as
would she, but then again Mira was 'always' pleased at the prospect of training
a new slave.

She'd told her once that it was the 'newness' of the  experience. The new
expressions, the new sounds they would make, the new passions they brought with
them into the training.

Not 'all' their slaves were 'unwilling' victims as Dillon was, and Jarron had
been. Some of them came to them voluntarily, or were 'sent' by their present
Mistress for retraining.

Mira and herself had gained quite the reputation in 'certain' circles of being
'excellent' Mistresses. Calm and even, with a safety record that went 'well'
beyond anyone else's. They were both 'proud' to boast that neither of them had
ever caused any 'permanent' damage to a slave, unwilling or not.

For the most part, their training consisted of those skills that a man needed to
please a woman. Both domestically, physically, and sexually. They taught the men
under their care how to become consummate lovers, as well as house husbands.

Their business was 'very' tight lipped, as some would consider what they did as
evil, or sado-masochistic, but it was far from either. They both prided
themselves on their gentleness, or harshness when the need arose for it, but
neither of them caused pain just for the sake of causing pain.

The punishments they devised were suited to the crime at hand, and never
harmful. Humiliating, yes, decidedly that, but never harmful. Mentally or
physically. Meant to bend the will to their wishes, not crush it.

She watched now, as Dillon struggled with himself. His indecision clearly
written on his features. She could hear his stomach rumbling loudly, even from
across the wide room in the silence.

She rose gracefully, her long, leather clad legs moving her across the room in a
few steps. She squatted next to him then, staring into his pleading eyes for a
moment before speaking. "Hungry are we?" she asked softly, her smile gentle in
that moment, though it didn't reach her cool blue eyes.

Dillon nodded, his eyes uncontrollably going toward the bowl of stew on the
floor. "Your going to be quiet when I remove that gag." she stated softly,
reaching behind him to undo it, her tone brooking no argument as she did so.

When the ring was free of his mouth, Dillon popped his jaw back into place and
opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, she was dangling the ring before him
on a long finger, merely waiting. He thought better of what he'd been about to
say, and snapped his mouth shut tightly, afraid she'd put it back in anyway.

"Good boy." she said, rising slightly to undo the spiked collar as well.  "You
may eat now." she added as the offensive steel popped free from around his neck.

Dillon lurched forward again and dove toward the bowl, his stomach rumbling
loudly as the first bits of the cooling stew hit his system moments later.  He
felt degraded and humiliated, eating as he was, but the thought slipped from his
mind as he continued to do so out of need more than anything else.

His hair slipped forward and into the stew in the bowl, but he was uncaring in
that moment. He felt her gentle hands then, at his neck, pulling it out of the
bowl, and a moment later felt a gentle tug as she cleaned it as well.

It seemed like an eternity before he finished, but in reality it was only
minutes before he rolled heavily to his side and let out a manly like belch of
sound.

She tisked from above him, as he leered crudely at her from his position on the
floor. "That will never do. You will learn to control your bodily functions."
she stated as she removed his leash from it's ring in the wall, and gave it a
gentle tug for him to rise.

He struggled upward, finally finding his voice as he did so. "Look lady...I
don't know what your trip is, but release me now.....and I won't tell anyone
about this." he said, his anger rushing over him in waves again as he haltingly
got to his knees, jutting his chin out in defiance.

He never saw it coming, but the backhanded slap that landed across his jaw,
startled him more than it hurt. "You do not speak to me thus." she said, her
voice 'soft' despite the violence of her action the moment before.

She grabbed the back of his head and pulled it backwards, her hand intertwined
in his long hair. Pinching his nose again, she waited for him to breath, ring at
the ready. He held out a bit longer this time, knowing that as soon as he opened
his mouth to breath she would gag him in some way again. Finally, his lungs
craving air, his mouth burst open with a whoosh.

Sure enough, she shoved the heavy rubber ring back in his mouth, behind his
teeth and buckled it behind his neck in short order.

"MMMPPHHHTTTTTTT....." he growled, his eyes flashing darkly as he shook his head
from side to side to try and dislodge it once it was buckled.

She merely stood over him and smiled slowly as he struggled to raise his arms
and get it out of his mouth. "Don't struggle so." she commented as she gave his
leash a tug, forcing him down to all fours again. "Your training will be much
easier for you if you don't fight me." she added as she started across the room
again.

But he decided to fight anyway. Fighting was the only way he would free himself
from this nightmare. Resistance....his mind screamed out, as he stayed where he
was, jerking back on the collar wildly.

"Mmmmmphhhhtttttthhhhhh....." he cursed again around the ring, fighting with
wild abandon to get away from her in that moment.

But she merely sighed softly, dropping the lead and snapping her fingers.  Two
shadows disengaged themselves and moved forward, the tell tale clink of chain
he'd heard before coming to his senses.

Two heavily muscled men appeared next to her and she nodded in his direction
silently. One of them, Dillon recognized belatedly as the guy from the night
before. They came to him, bent their knees slightly to get their bound hands
around his wooden arms, then rose, lifting him bodily off the floor and dragging
him in the direction of the shadows where his cell was.

He shook his head violently from side to side in that moment, fear clearly
present in his blue-green eyes as they dragged him along. He didn't want to go
back in the dark cell alone. He didn't want to be left again, and he kicked out
violently with his useless legs at his two captors.

Neither seemed mindful of his struggles and held him with ease, despite his
straightened arms. But instead of going to his cell again, they dragged him
further into the dark shadows of the room.

He didn't see the large, steel looking device until they were almost on top of
it. It looked like a medieval birthing chair of some sort. A soft light came on
then, set into the wall just above the steel contraption and he got a good look
at it just before they began to strap him too it.

It was a padded affair, and steel as he'd first surmised. Heavy duty steel from
the looks of it. It's seat reminded him of a work out machine now that he could
fully see it, with it's high, sloped back and padded bottom. Two metal pieces
shot out from the top of the bench, and two more came out of the area from
behind the seat itself.

His two captors moved him easily onto the seat, still holding his bound arms
aloft as they did so. They lifted the wooden planks on which his arms lay and he
saw 'her' come into his line of sight to begin buckling large straps around his
arms pulling them tightly to the rods and pressing him against the high back of
the seat.

She moved to his other arm and did the same, the male stepping out of her way
without being told too as she worked. It was then that both males bent and
maneuvered his leather clad legs over the steel rods at the seat area, in
between the wall and the rod. Each attached an ankle cuff to his leg, then moved
away slightly to allow her in.

She reached down and attached a length of chain to the ring in the ankle cuff on
each foot before rising and moving away again. He heard her moving around behind
him for a moment and tried to lift his head to see what she was about but failed
in his current position.

He felt the pull on his ankles, and heard the turn of a crank as his lower body
was pulled forward against the high back of the bench as she shortened the chain
holding his feet down. When she finished turning the crank, he was completely
immobile against the high, padded back and could do no more than lift his head
slightly from where his cheek was pressed into the padding.

But she solved that problem a moment later as he felt a wide strip of leather
being placed around the back of his head and buckled just to the side. This
piece caused him now to be completely immobile despite his desperate struggles
against it.

He could neither see her, nor move his head to do so unless she came into his
small line of vision, which she did a moment later. She still said not a word as
she loosened the leather on his leg and began to move it down his muscular thigh
much like pantyhose. She moved and he felt her doing the same to his other leg a
moment later, though he couldn't turn his head to see her.

Once the leather was pooled around his ankle she stepped into his line of sight
again. "I'm going to give you 5 lashes now for your defiance slave."  she said
softly, "And maybe you'll learn not to do such things in the future."

She stepped out of his line of sight again and it seemed an eternity before the
first lash fell across his back. He 'jerked' in reaction, more out of
astonishment than anything else that she'd actually laid a whip to his skin.

He felt the welt rising almost immediately and it took a moment for the actual
'pain' of it to register in his mind. When it did, he screamed loudly against
the ring in his mouth, struggling against the bonds that held him to the bench.

The second lash fell and he screamed loudly again, pushing backwards in an
effort to move from the singing swish he knew would come now. Tears pooled in
his eyes and he whimpered just a scant second before the third raised a fire
across his skin.

The fourth and the fifth followed in short order, and if he could have seen his
back, he would have been astonished at the perfect pattern she'd laid in red
there. Five equally long, and equally spaced welts rose in stark prominence to
his lightly tanned skin testifying to her expertise with the implement that
dangled loosely from her hand.

He heard her stride forward and she came into his blurred line of sight again.
"A slave must learn from his mistakes, and your open defiance brought this on.
Nothing more, nothing less." she stated reaching out to softly caress the top of
his head.

A moment later, she unbuckled the strap that held his head immobile and wiped
away his tears with a gentle touch that belied the beating she'd just given him.
His breathing came in ragged gulps for air through the ring and she bent toward
the floor, coming back up with a bottle of water he hadn't noticed before.

She opened it, lifted it to his lips and allowed him to drink, holding her hand
gently beneath his chin to tilt his head upwards and let the water run down his
throat through the ring. When he finished, she poured some on a white linen
scrap she'd picked up as well, and dabbed softly at the welts of fire on his
back.

Her gentle care of him surprised him through his haze of pain. She'd just beat
him, now she was caring for the marks, leaning close to inspect them and make
sure she hadn't broken the skin. She leaned up with a pleased smile after a
moment and continued to gently dab water on the welts for a bit, cooling the
fire somewhat.

"You will stay here for the rest of the night." she stated after she'd finished,
"And tomorrow we will discuss your  situation." she added softly, reaching out
once more to stroke his head in a casual caress as her other hand reached up and
turned off the light above them plunging him once again into darkness.

___________________________________________________________

She turned and walked away from Dillon's immobile form on the bench, Jarron and
Selik following without command. Both had been in training long enough to know
what to do. Her thighs were wet from the beating she'd just given, brief as it
was, and she herself ached for relief, remembering Dillon's mewling whimpers as
she'd laid the whip to his bare back.

"Jarron. Off to bed." she stated softly, eyeing Selik up and down with a knowing
smile as they stepped into the circle of light cast by lamp beside the couch.
Jarron hung his head in shame as he moved away and Jordaine's own heart ached
for a moment as she watched him go.

It wasn't out of love, though, but his own sense of shame that he'd done
'something' to displease her, thinking she was Mira. She liked Jarron well
enough, he'd certainly done 'very' well in his year of training, adapting faster
than most once he'd accepted his fate at their hands, but he wasn't a favorite
for her.

It had been awhile since she'd trained a slave, preferring lately to stay above
stairs, running their more 'legitimate businesses. She knew that Mira favored
Jarron when she was training the others, allowing him more leeway than most
because in truth she was probably 'just' as much in love with him as well,
whether she'd admit it or not.

But he wasn't Jordaine's type. Slaves like Selik, with his long, flowing blond
hair, wide shoulders, trim waist and stoutly muscled legs....were. Slaves like
Dillon was 'going' to be with his youthful looks, expressive blue green eyes,
and well muscled limbs.

Jarron was however, just as heavily muscled as the others, but in a 'brutish'
sort of way. The term 'brick shithouse' came to mind with his rock hard abdomen,
tree trunk like legs, strong jaw and wide muscled chest and back.

He'd been a former 'bad boy' before being captured by them, and his long
defiance of the twins had been a pleasure for them both to bend to their will.

But it was Selik that folded himself gracefully at her feet as she lounged on
the couch in front of the entertainment center in the dungeon. Selik, with his
long golden hair, brightly intelligent hazel eyes, and easy smile would pleasure
her tonight. And it was Dillon that would pleasure her in the future, she mused
with a soft smile as she spread her legs wide for him, sighing in outright
pleasure as he dipped his head there without command.

Selik spent an hour or more pleasuring her with simple strokes of his nose as
she hadn't removed the ball gag from his mouth yet and she saw his hands
clenching and unclenching at his waist as he inhaled deeply of her intoxicating
juices. Juices that now flowed freely over his face at his insistent stroking.
She sat forward slightly, lifting his head and removing the ball gag from
between his lips.

"Thank you Mistress." he said softly before dipping his head again and
pleasuring her this time with his lips, tongue and teeth as he'd been taught.

And he'd learned well, she mused as a long time later she laid her sweat soaked
head against the back of the couch, panting heavily to catch her own breath.
Selik shifted upwards with his own, easy satisfied smile and laid against her
flat stomach awaiting her next command patiently and without a word.

She lifted his head from her stomach sometime later, and soft softly. "I think
I'm in need of a bath." she stated by way of soft command.

"Yes Mistress." he stated softly as he rose gracefully to hobble off in his
chains.

She watched him go with an appreciative eye and smiled. Rising herself, she
wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead and moved across the room to the bench
where she'd left Dillon some hours before.

Laying a gentle hand to his head in the dark she smiled as she felt him shaking
slightly. "Enjoyed that did you?" she queried softly.

~Gods help him......~ He had enjoyed listening to the other man bring outright
screams of pleasure from this woman's lips. This 'evil' woman that had kidnapped
him, tied him up, and was now gently caressing his head and shoulders with a
lover's touch.

He shuddered again in his bonds, but whether it was from her touch or from the
images that were still burned into his mind at what he'd just seen, he wasn't
sure. He'd watched, like some sick voyeur, and felt his own cock and balls,
though encased in the cold metal, respond. He'd been rock hard from the moment
the man had dipped his head between her thighs and he whimpered now in the
darkness, the sound pleading as he gulped loudly.

She sat slowly behind him on the bench, the tips of her breasts above the line
of the corset she wore grazing him just below the welts she'd created earlier.
Her hands snaked across his wide, stretched shoulders and around the front of
him to his wide chest.

She grazed her hands over his erect male nipples and laughed delightedly as he
tried to jerk away from her. She pinched the tiny buds between her fingers,
hard, and laughed again when he gasped at the unexpected reaction of his
erection. It jumped painfully within it's metal confines and he was 'sure' she
could hear it slam painfully against the metal itself.

She bit the back of his neck then, gently and again he shuddered in reaction to
the sweet torture she was now inflicting upon him. She laughed delightedly again
from behind him as he turned his head toward her to whimper in soft agony.

He'd never been 'this' hard in his life, he thought to himself, at least not for
this long he realized with a jerking start. He gulped again, dragging at the air
around him through the ring in his mouth and shifted forward slightly against
the padding of the bench to try and gain some relief from the sweet agony.

But none was forthcoming, he realized as he heard her rise from behind him.
~NO.....~ his mind screamed out. ~Please...don't go....~ he wanted to beg her.
~Don't leave me like this......not now.....~

He shifted again, trying to 'rut' himself against the padding of the bench to no
avail as he heard her walk away from him and across the room. A moment later,
the light by the couch was flipped off and he was again alone in the vast 
darkness....alone and whimpering out to her as he struggled against the bonds
that held him tightly to the bench.

The last sound he heard before the shutting of a door was her soft chuckle. He
groaned as the door shut softly behind her departing laughter the sound ringing
in his ears for many hours later.

_________________________________________________________

Jarron had returned to his room alone, as she'd ordered, his massive heart
threatening to break with shame and despair. He'd seen the appreciative look
she'd given the newbie. The twinkle in her eyes in anticipation of his
punishment. The wetness of her thighs when she'd finished.

Something he'd done had displeased her, he realized as he sat on his cot waiting
for her to tuck him in again. His day had been long, filled with many chores
she'd set for him. He'd done her laundry, ironing her clothes lovingly with his
bound hands and folding them just the way she'd taught him.

He'd cleaned the dungeon until it practically 'shone' in it's cleanliness.  He'd
vacuumed the open cells, taking extra time to make sure each was spotless. He'd
dusted each piece of play furniture to perfection, making extra sure to get into
the creases of the large variety of equipment where dust tended to harbor
itself.

He'd even cleaned the two bathrooms in the dungeon, a chore he 'detested', but
had done out of love anyway. He leaned back against the cold stone of his cell
now, letting out a dejected sigh around the ball in his mouth.

So why had she sent him away? he wondered with a puzzled frown. It was customary
after a punishment of one of the 'younger' slaves, or newbies, that 'he' was the
one to pleasure her. It had been that way for the past months now, and he was
heartbroken that she'd chosen Selik.

It had to do with his confession of the day before surely, he realized with a
sudden pang and a jerk of anger at his bound wrists. He never should have spoken
so. Not to her. Not about him. It wasn't a slave's place to say such things to
his Mistress he'd learned. Not freely leastwise. If questioned, certainly, but
he'd felt the need to speak his mind last night.

Something had compelled him to do so, but he knew not what that something was.
It dawned on him then, it was her announcing her plans to sell him soon. It had
to have been. Nothing in the last days had given him any indication that she was
going to include him in the coming auction. One he'd help her prepare for in the
last weeks.

Mailing the invites, doing the background checks at her computer when he was
allowed, reserving the caterer for the affair, preparing the 'bio's' that went
along with each slave to be sold, along with a set of 'ownership' papers, and
the contracts for each of them. But never one for himself.

No indication that 'he' was to be 'on the block' this time. In his 'former'
life, he'd been a construction worker, not 'very' bright, but not completely
dumb either. He'd graduated high school, but never made it to college due to
alcohol. As with most in his field, he'd merely worked his way up the ranks. But
not very far, he mused to himself in that moment.

The alcohol and abuse had 'always' held him back. Always kept him at the
'bottom' of the food chain instead of rising to the 'top'. He sighed again his
lips pushing out around the gag in his mouth.

He didn't care much to remember the man he'd been, preferring to think on the
man he'd become instead. And become under 'her' careful, watchful eye and firm
hand.

His captivity had been outright torture at first, being as used as he was to the
outside world. But he'd adapted, slowly at first, then gaining speed until one
day she'd seemed to recognize his worth to her as a helper. She'd taught him how
to read better, how to work with numbers, and eventually how to communicate
better with people beyond just her.

And atop 'all' of that, was the pleasure. Both physical, when he was allowed it,
and her sexual pleasure. He groaned again at the thought of Selik pleasuring her
that night, but it wasn't out of jealousy, more out of pain that he'd
disappointed her.

He leaned back and slowly closed his eyes, trying to hold the tears at bay.  He
failed. A year ago, if someone had told him that he'd been sitting in a cold,
dark cell, bound hand and foot with an enormous ball gag in his mouth and crying
like a baby, he'd have laughed at them a moment before punching them dead in the
face.

But not now.

He leaned to the side, burying his face against the cot blankets to wipe his
tears as his hands were useless at the moment, bound as they were to his waist.
He'd learned to do many things from this position, adapting to it almost
naturally despite it's initial discomforts. He'd come to realize that one didn't
'always' need ones hands to do things, and now used the majority of his massive
body to accomplish things when he needed too.

That was how she found him. Jordaine had caught up to her after her bath at
Selik's hands and updated her as to the nights events in the dungeon. It was one
of the 'safety' measures to ensure they didn't trip up each other, constantly
keeping each other appraised of the happenings below stairs so things didn't get
repeated in the course of a slave's training.

Both twins had been blessed with almost 'perfect' photographic memories which
came in handy when dealing with 10 different men at any given time below stairs,
each on a different level in their training.

She sighed as she leaned there for a moment, watching him in his depression as
he wiped away his tears once more with his face against the cot blankets.
"Jarron..." she whispered softly despite her steely resolve not to feel anything
for this slave.

She'd trained many in her work over the years, but none had ever 'affected' her.
They'd come and gone, sold and bought, each trained well to serve their new
Mistresses, or continue to serve their present ones. But 'none' had ever held a
place in her mind after they were gone.

Certainly she kept 'tabs' on her slaves, ensuring their safety 'well' after they
were sold away. One of the things the twins prided themselves on, was
responsibility and safety, and 'that' included a system of checks and balances
for each before they left.

At first with weekly updates, to ensure the slave was safe and happy. Then
bi-weekly, and eventually monthly for the first year after they'd been sold.
After that were bi-yearly calls, then finally yearly after the first three with
a new owner. If at 'any' point during the first five years, the slave expressed
unhappiness, they were immediately retrieved from their present owner, and a
partial refund was given. Allowing of course for substantial fees and fines
should that be the case.

Thus far, however, only a 'few' had had to be retrieved and sold away again
after some mental retraining. And only 'one' had been an extreme case, but
neither twin could have seen the woman's 'darker' tendencies as she'd covered
them 'well'.

"But", that one incident had been enough for them to 'up' their background
checks more extensively, delving more deeply into a potential Mistresses past
and present before they were even given an 'invite' to an auction, much less the
privilege to bid on a slave.

Nowadays, each Mistress that bid on their property were insured to be safe and
sane, of sound mind, and could well afford the exorbitant price these slaves
fetched. And she could admit with pride that her slaves fetched a 'very' high
price once they'd been fully trained as such and came with certification papers
to that affect.

She stepped forward now, her private musing interrupted by Jarron's soft sobbing
again. She'd changed her clothing before coming to him, gone were the tailored
slacks and blouse she'd had on earlier for a business meeting in town. In it's
place was the typical garb she wore when dealing with her slaves. Her fitted
bodice held to her body firmly, rustling softly as she stepped forward on bare
feet. She hadn't felt like wearing the boots as normal and adopted instead a
pair of silken and lace 'boxer' looking shorts to compliment the satiny bodice.

Jarron raised his head then, staring at her silouhetted in the doorway and his
eyes brightened through his tears. He pushed himself upwards with ease, re
adjusting his position as he'd been taught to wait for her, head bowed awaiting
her command.

She stepped forward and squatted between his massive thighs, pushing them gently
outwards as she did so. Lifting his head, she wiped away his tears with the pads
of her thumbs as she held his cheeks gently. "Why do you cry?" she asked softly.

He groaned in the darkness, his hands clenching involuntarily at her soft
question. Jutting his chin forward twice then waited for her to remove the gag.
When she had, he dropped his eyes, asking for permission to speak in his soft,
rumbling timber. She gave her consent, and he raised his eyes again to hers,
locking there, her outline fuzzy from fresh tears.

"I.....I cry because I shamed you yesterday.....Mistress...." he whispered
chokingly.

Mira smiled softly, wiping away the tears that coursed over his smooth cheeks.
"Shhhhhh....." she whispered, rising from the squat in front of him to wrap her
arms around his head and shoulders. "It's alright. You merely spoke your mind as
you'd been taught." she admonished softly.

Jarron sighed against the silken material next to his cheek. She'd never held
him this way before, her arms wrapped around him gently, stroking his head like
a lover. He jerked once at the bonds at his waist, feeling an overwhelming need
to return the gentle embrace.

He lifted his head from her flat stomach, his eyes glittering softly with his
unshead tears. "Please Mistress......" he begged. "Let me love you?" he added
softly as his eyes roamed over her face. "Let me touch you......"

Something inside Mira broke at his soft entreaty and she nodded once, the action
a mere soft movement of her head before she stepped away from him. She would let
him love her this night....this once.......

Reaching between their bodies she released the padlock at his waist, then ducked
under his massive arms and into his embrace. Jarron groaned like a dying man as
her silken bodice rubbed over his wide, muscular, shaven chest. He'd never felt
something so wonderful in all his years, he thought as she leaned her head
toward his ever so slowly.

He jerked with a start as their lips touched for the first time since he'd been
brought to her, then sighed out into her mouth as she parted his with her
tongue.

He groaned again, returning the kiss with everything in his being. She roamed
softly along his, pushing her tongue into his mouth like he'd done to her nether
regions so many times over the last year. He'd never felt something so glorious
as that simple contact and his heart pounded so hard in his chest he was sure it
was going to burst.

Finally he pulled away, needing air, and buried his face in the crook of her
neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. He couldn't believe she was here
now, in his arms, touching him as he'd dreamed of for so long.

She was perfect, he thought to himself, as he worked his bound hands back around
to the front of her body to softly grasp each globe of her breasts. The short
length of chain between his wrists set his hands in the perfect position to lift
each to his questing lips, and he spent the next several minutes paying them due
homage with his tongue, teeth and lips.

She sat astride his lap, rocking slowly back and forth with her own questing
need, and for just the briefest of moments, she 'forgot' that she was the
Mistress. The cold, calm, leader and remembered to be 'all' woman as he suckled
and nipped gently at her well endowed breasts.

She arched against his hands, smiling in the dimly lit room with pure joy, her
own hands roaming over his wide chest and shoulders in response to his sensual
caress of her chest. She'd never been 'loved' like this before, and she knew
after this night, she never would be again.

Her long hair tickled the tops of his thighs as she leaned her head back with a
loud growling moan of pleasure and her hips arched forward against the metal of
his chastity belt. ~That will never do.....~ she mused through the haze of
passion he was creating.

She leaned forward, freeing him fully with a simple twist of the locks at his
waist, a safety feature they had decided on long ago and had all their locks
specially made with this in mind. Should one of their slaves need to be freed
quickly because of some danger, a certain twist this way, a tug, and a twist
that way and the padlock would disengage itself automatically.

It was a secret only the twins knew, but it was coming in handy now, she thought
with a soft chuckle as his manhood sprang free of the inner pocket. He lifted
his hips without being told and she slid the metal away from him, letting it
drop gently to the floor behind her.

She lifted his head from her breasts then, kissing him again with all the
passion he had awakened in the moments before. Sighing deeply, she pushed at his
shoulders, guiding him gently back to the cot beneath.

He lay willingly, his eyes glimmering up at her with unspoken need, and love, as
she broke the kiss and settled back onto his long shaft. And he 'did' have a
long shaft, she'd noted more than once in the year he'd been under her care. A
long,  gloriously 'rock hard' shaft. He groaned softly, tossing his head back,
as he slid home deep inside her.

Her own groan joined his a moment later as he dropped his hands to her cliortis
and began to gently rub the bud with the pads of his thumbs. Parting the folds
of her womanhood softly, he found the one spot he knew to drive her mad with
pleasure, quickly sending her over the edge of her first orgasm.

Her scream echoed off the room around them moments later and she bent forward
placing both hands to the cot on either side of his head. Her long hair slid
forward,  creating a cacoon of intimacy the likes of which he'd never known,
making him feel in that moment that they were the only two people in the world.

He wasn't a slave......she wasn't a Mistress....they were simply two people that
had come together this night to share in the oldest dance known to man or woman.
That of love........

___________________________________________________

It was some time later, long after their lovemaking had ceased that they lay
with one another. She was curled atop his chest, her hand lazily stroking it's
muscled plane. His bound hands lay at her waist, his fingers slowly stroking
tiny circles  against her hip.

Neither had said a word in the hours previous and it was now that Jarron spoke
softly in the darkness around them, trying one more time to gain her acceptance
of him.

"Please Mistress......" he begged, not needing to say more, as he lifted his
head to rub his cheek against the top of hers.

She raised her head and her eyes glittered at him from the shadows. She rose
slowly, almost regretfully, from the circle of his arms, and once again began to
strap him to the cot for the rest of the night.

The action returned with shocking clarity his position to the forefront of his
mind and he groaned softly against the ball gag she'd replaced, great tears
pooling in his eyes.

She rose then, standing bedside the bed to stare at him for a long moment before
turning away to the door. His eyes begged her as she walked away. Begged her to
let him stay forever...to let him love her as she deserved to be loved, but she
didn't see and he grunted behind the hard rubber in his mouth to gain her
attention.

Without turning, she pulled the door shut on him, leaving him alone with a soft
click of metal finality. She stood for a long time on the otherside, waiting for
something but not knowing what. Finally, she raised a single hand, palm flat to
the door and whispered five soft words. "I love you too Jarron......"

_________________________________________________________

Several Months Later.......

"Well...that's the last of the bunch...." came a familiar voice from behind her.

Mira nodded slowly, not turning from her position on the wide balcony as she
stared off into the night watching the departing taillights of a vehicle drive
away from the mansion in the darkness. "How'd it go?" she finally asked softly.

"Good. We should net about $500,000 for this bunch." returned her own voice from
behind her. Jordaine stepped forward slowly, coming to stand beside her twin at
the rail of the balcony. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly, though she
already knew in her heart, as twins were prone to do, sharing a deep connection
even 'they' didn't understand.

"I'm good. A bit tired tonight." Mira whispered softly, stretching the arch of
her back slowly with a loud pop.

"How are they?" Jordaine asked softly, her blue orbs dropping in indication to
Mira's 'very' large, protruding stomach.

Her hand dropped instinctively to her wide waist and she smiled lovingly before
she answered. "The twins are fine Auntie." she teased softly, rubbing her
fingers along the skin beneath her long maternity dress.

One of the pair kicked viciously and Mira smiled in remembrance of their own
childhood before she spoke softly again. "Looks like family traditions will
continue....." she said turning to go back inside and away from the rapidly
chilling night air.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Chapter Four - The Homecoming
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The years passed by slowly.  Mira, after the birth of the children, had decided
that her life of training slaves was done for a while.  She focused instead on
raising her children lovingly and running the families more 'legitimate'
businesses.

Jordaine, however, decided that 'her' life of training slaves was 'not' finished
and continued for many more years doing just that.  Now that the family heirs
had been born, she felt no need to worry over such matters, and contented
herself on being a true aunt, spoiling the children endlessly, much to the
chagrin of Mira.

The children often confused Aunt and Mother until they grew older and could
easily tell them apart.  The same could be said for Aunt and Mother, who for the
first several years would confuse the children.  Mira seemed to have a better
handle on it, however, unless she was angry for some reason, such as a broken
vase, or spilled food, but that was an uncommon occurrence.

The children were well-behaved little things, seeming to have picked up a strong
sense of discipline from Mother and Aunt as the years went by.  It was a few
days before their 5th birthday that found Mira seated on the balcony of the vast
mansion.

The night's cacophony of creatures was the only sounds aside from her light
breathing and occasional hiccup.  She heard the padding of small feet behind
her, but did not turn.  "What is it Jaron?" she queried softly.

The small child didn't answer at first, preferring to come further out into her
private sanctuary of the night.  He came slowly around the deck chair and
crawled into her lap without a word.  "Why are you sad mommy?" he asked softly
as he curled against her chest.

She chuckled slightly, hugging the already well-built child against her for a
moment before speaking with a long sigh.  "Mommy is sad because she misses
someone." she said honestly.

She had decided when the children were born that she'd be as honest as she could
be with them until they were old enough to understand what really happened in
The Mansion. 

"Who?" he asked lifting eyes so like his fathers in her direction.

She let out a choked sob, cutting it off as fresh tears pooled in her eyes,
speaking after she'd gained some control.  "Someone very special to mommy,
honey." she said on a soft whisper.

"What happened?" the child asked with a child's natural curiosity.

"He went away." was all she could manage to get out before the tears choked off
her throat and her speech.  She sighed again, deeply, and curled his stout
little body against her.  "Now, don't you worry my love.  Mommy will be fine."
she admonished him with a gentle hug, and a tender kiss to his small brow.

She picked him up then, easily, and set him back on his feet saying, "Why don't
you go find your sisters lovey." before turning away again to stare off into the
night.

Again, she heard him pad away slowly, torn between playing with his sisters, and
consoling his obviously sad mother.  As he paused in the doorway between the
balcony and her room, she spoke on a soft whisper.  "Go on love.  Mommy will be
fine..."

A moment later she heard him scamper off, leaving her alone once more.  She
sighed softly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a vicious swipe of her
hand, angry that she'd given in to them in the first place.

She'd done well though to hold them at bay this long after the day she'd had. 
It had started out innocently enough this morning until she'd looked at the
schedule for the day.  It was the last call they would make for Jarron.  The
final checkup with his new owner...and him.

For the last five years Jordaine had been making those particular check calls,
but today, feeling a sense of foreboding she'd taken the task and done it
herself.  She felt she had to know if she was over him, if she was ready to step
back into the boots as a Mistress. She knew the moment she'd heard his voice
that she wasn't ready and she never would be again.  His soft timber, full of
respect, had spoken to her, answering her questions promptly and efficiently
without hesitation.

She'd done well though, keeping her tone professional and calm, giving him no
indication that anything was amiss in her life at all.  It was nothing more than
part of the contract with his new Mistress.

He'd seemed happy enough, his voice calm and even, giving her no indication that
anything was amiss with him either.  But just the sound of it, after so long,
was enough to make her want him again.

After their one night together, she hadn't taken another slave in the slightest. 
Not even to train.  She couldn't do it.  And she never would again.  Jarron was
happy, healthy and safe with his Mistress and that was all that mattered.

She had carried on the family tradition, birthing heirs to the fortune and the
secret that came with it.  Jordaine was the Mistress now...happy to train slaves
at her leisure, and would soon take the twin girls that had come with a brother
under her wing as the next generation.

They'd discussed it at length some years before as to how to handle the triplets
and when to start 'discussing' things with them as well.  They had decided
mutually, that they were not going to keep them in the dark, but at the age of
16 they would introduce the girls to the family tradition. 

Jaron, aptly named for his father, who was looking more like him with each day
that passed, and acting more like him would take a different role in the family. 
He would be raised to run the legitimate business interests, becoming the next
heir to that particular side of their vast fortune.

____________________________________________________

Dillon sat in the shadows of the Dungeon, gazing at her with adoration clearly
written on his face and in his expressive blue green eyes.  He gulped around the
heavy gag in his mouth and dropped his eyes waiting for her next command. 

His life had taken a definate change for the better in the last five years.  He
was head of the Dungeon now, as testified by the golden collar he wore around
his muscular neck.  He'd bulked up a bit, developing muscles over the years in
places he didn't know he had muscles to begin with from her training.

He waited, flinching slightly, as the Mistress laid the whip to a newbie they'd
just acquired for training.  There were five slaves in residence now, this one
being number six, and they were on the lookout for four more to add to the
current stable for sale.  His four underlings were about 7 months along and
learning well, but the new one they'd just brought in looked like he would prove
to be difficult.

He thought back over his first year in this dungeon and remembered his former
life with a slight shiver.  He'd been nothing before coming into her life.  A
man without purpose.  She'd shown him that his purpose was pleasing her, and her
alone.

He shifted slightly, rattling the chains at his feet softly as he did so.  She
turned at that, pausing in her strikes with the whip to look into the shadows
quizzically before returning to the task at hand.

Shortly after his arrival, he'd accepted his fate at her hands, willingly
pledging himself to her within a few weeks of his capture.  Shortly after that
he'd made the call to his business manager of his own free will, telling him he
was taking an extended vacation and to handle things.  He'd check in with him in
a few months to let him know he was ok.

From that point on, he'd dedicated himself to being the best slave he could for
Jordaine, eventually winning her eye and her heart within the year.  Since then,
he'd been in the Dungeon, signing over his business interest to be incorporated
into their 'empire', though everything within it stayed the same.  Marcus still
ran the company and probably would for at least another 5 years or so.

Jordaine continued to train him, each day bringing new experiences as he became
more and more in tune with her.   And he was happy with that arrangement.  For
the most part anyway, he mused thoughtfully as the last lash fell across the
skin of the newbie.  He smiled around the ball in his mouth, rising on his stout
legs, ready to come forward when she commanded.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------

Jarron's situation had 'not' improved however.  Instead it had gotten much, much
worse, despite what he'd said on the phone that same day.  The Mistress to which
he'd been sold was cruel.  Far crueler than he would have expected her to be,
and he'd quite 'literally' endured five years of hell.

He sighed deeply now, stretching his cramped muscles as far as the bonds he was
kept in would allow.  His back was still on fire from the beating she'd given
him the night before and he groaned as his shifting in the chair reawakened it.

After the phone call, when he'd told the Mistress that he was safe and happy,
keeping his tone calm and even as his new Mistress had stood over him, she'd
dragged him to the basement and hung him by his wrists beating him until he'd
passed out.

When he'd awakened, he was in his customary position when she wasn't around. 
Seated upright in an old wooden chair in the cold basement.   The chair had been
designed specifically for his height recently and he sighed heavily as he tried
to stretch again and gain some relief from the cramps assailing him.

She hadn't put him in his customary straight jacket as she did when she left for
work.  Instead she'd tied his hands behind the chair this time, the tops of his
wrists facing one another so he couldn't get at the ropes that held him
immobile.  Over just about every conceivable inch of his body were ropes, course
things that scraped at his skin when he moved, ensuring he'd stay still and not
struggle while she was out of the house.

In his mouth was a heavy metal bit, pulling at the corners tightly and wrapped
around a long piece of board that had been bolted to the top of the chair.  A
wide strap of leather went across his forehead and around the same board,
pulling his head backwards hard and flat against the wood.

A high posture collar had been put around his neck, ensuring that even 'if' he
could move his upper body he couldn't turn his head one way or another.  His
knees were held together by the same course rope that crisscrossed his body
tightly as well as his ankles.

Another piece of rope pulled his bound ankles toward the back of the chair and
was connected to his wrists, pulling at both so he couldn't move his hands or
his feet in the slightest.

He was thirsty, tired, hungry and cold because she hadn't fed him before leaving
for work, preferring to let him suffer through the rest of the day alone and
immobile.

He'd truly brought this one himself, however, over the years, awakening her
darker side with a one time, stupid confession.  She'd never forgiven him, and
he knew his only chance at sanity was escape.

Normally she left him bound to the chair with a straightjacket on, but today
she'd given him a chance to get away.  A single chance that he knew if he didn't
take it, he'd be lost forever.

The only chance he had was to free his wrists and thus his hands.  He was
fortunate that while she excellent at actually tying the knots, she wasn't very
strong, and thus the ropes around his wrists were not so tight that some
movement wasn't possible.

He began to twist his wrists, gasping out in pain as they burned his skin, but
uncaring in that moment, this being the first glimmer of hope he'd had in years. 
He shifted his eyes as he worked, toward the high, small window of the basement
to see the sun streaming in.  As close as he could figure it was about 10am. 
She came home at about 6 pm, which left him roughly 8 hours to free himself and
get away.

His struggles to turn his wrists increased with a sense of urgency and about an
hour later he started to make some headway.  Finally sometime around 1pm or so,
his right wrist twisted just perfectly and popped around until it faced the back
of his other hand.

He felt around with questing fingers until he finally managed to grasp the knot
that held his hands together.  It took him another couple of hours to untie the
knot itself though and around 4pm his hands sprang forward, his shoulders
pinching heavily in pain.

He groaned loudly, unable for the first few minutes to do more than let his free
arms hang at his sides.  Finally, he shook them slightly to rid himself of the
pain and began to undo the rest of his bonds to the chair itself.

Just after 5pm he rose from the chair and walked freely around the room for the
first time in too many years to count.  He rubbed his arms and shivered for a
moment in the cold before springing himself into action.  In that one moment he
showed more initiative than he had in five years.

That initiative was freedom. 

And Her.  Getting to Her.  Seeing Her again.  Knowing that she was well jarred
him into action.

Pounding his way up the stairs from the basement he didn't pause in his upward
flight as he burst through the weak wooden door with a bent shoulder, crashing
into the kitchen as he did so and skidding to a halt to think for a moment.

He hadn't planned this far ahead and he knew he needed to take a moment and work
things out to fully escape.  Swiveling his head this way and that he gazed
through the upper part of the house, reveling in his freedom at long last. 
Blood ran from his wrists, back and the long jagged cuts down the backs of his
thighs where she'd whipped him the night before.

He needed clothes, money, and a ride...and fast if the clock was any indication
he noted.  The time was just a bit before six.  He'd miscalculated he realized
with a pounding heart as he headed for the bedroom of the small house in which
he'd been kept for the last five years.

The place was immaculate though, thanks to his hard work and he knew exactly
where everything was.  Moving to the dresser he pulled out a pair of sweats, and
pulled them over his painful injuries, grimacing darkly as he did.

Grabbing a wad of bills from her private stash beneath a floor board in the
bedroom, he stuffed the money in his pocket without looking, grabbed a pair of
tennis shoes and headed out the back door just at the moment the front door was
opening.

As he ran down the street, the cold wind buffeting him in the dead of winter, he
thought he could just hear her scream of outrage at finding him gone.  But it
could have been the wind too.  He just wasn't sure, nor did he care in that
moment.

He only had one thought.  Her.  When he'd heard her voice on the phone he'd
known something was wrong.  Something dreadful, and he had to know.  He was
going against all the training she'd instilled in him.  Training that his new
Mistress had beaten out of him in the years since he'd been sold.

A shiver wracked his large frame as the wind lifted beneath the thin material of
the sweatshirt, but he kept running, unmindful of the screaming pain in his
legs, back and lungs as he gulped at the cold winter air around him.

He knew if he was caught he was dead.  Maybe not right away, she was just dark
enough to prolong the torture until he did die.  She'd boasted that she'd done
it before and had no compunctions about doing it again if he misbehaved badly
enough.

This was badly enough in her book, he knew as he tripped on a raised sidewalk,
almost falling.  He managed to regain his balance, his legs still weak from his
prolonged bondage and the new injuries he'd recently suffered. 

Some part of his mind realized he should have waited until this last beating
healed up a bit, but he also knew he wouldn't have had another chance at freedom
beyond today.

So he ran...and ran...then ran some more through the darkening city streets.  He
had to get to transportation and soon or she surely would find him.  That meant
the bus station, but he wasn't sure quite where it was.

He hadn't been outside in almost five years now, and the town he'd been brought
too had changed greatly.  He finally rounded a corner, many blocks from the one
bedroom home in which he'd lived and saw the cabs bustling to and fro.

Raising a hand with a painful grimace, one finally stopped and he slumped into
the backseat just as her car rounded the corner behind him.  Flopping into the
backseat he peeked up just as she went by, her foot to the floor and a look of
murderous rage on her face.

She weaved dangerously in and out of traffic as he sat up in the cab and told
the driver where to take him.  Calmly the man pulled out, cursing under his
breath at her flashing tail lights ahead and calling her a reckless driver.

The driver was an older man and when his eyes rose to the mirror to look at his
passenger, his face marred with a look of concern.  "You ok son?" he asked after
a moment.

Jarron could only nod, crossing his arms to keep his shivering as unseen as
possible.  His back felt like someone had poured molten lava into the open
wounds, and his legs shook violently with the pain from the beating he'd
suffered.

He knew he must look a fright with his hair wind blown from his run through the
streets, the corners of his mouth cracked and bleeding from the bit she'd used
on him and the scrapes from the hard leather of the posture collar around his
neck.

"I.....'m.....fin...e...."  he managed to get out through the uncontrollable
chatter of his teeth.  "Bu....s.......st...at...ion...."  he muttered, closing
his eyes against the pain that racked his large body.  "Plllll....eease....."

The driver nodded, accelerating a bit in his hurry to discharge his passenger
now.  The traffic came to a sudden halt ahead and it took them another fifteen
minutes to find out why.  Slowly they crept forward and Jarron opened his dazed
and pain filled eyes as the driver spoke.  "Wow...looks like a nasty accident up
ahead..." he whispered with a low whistle.

Jarrod turned his head slowly, his neck aching miserably with the motion and his
eyes grew wide as he recognized the mangled remains of the car that had been
crushed by the front end of an 18-wheeler.

It was easy enough to discern what had happened as they slowly wended their way
past the mangled remains.  She'd obviously run the light in her effort to
retrieve him just as the 18-wheeler was coming from the other direction.

All that was left of her bright blue camaro was the back end, which sat almost
in the exact center of the intersection.  Its front end was crushed beyond
recognition beneath the mammoth tires of the rig about 100 yards further down
the street.

He hoped that she survived the accident, but somehow he didn't think she did. 
He slumped over, tears of relief pooling in his eyes for a moment before he
lifted a shaking hand to wipe them away.  There was a justice in the world, he
thought with an almost violent shudder racking over his frame.

It was several days later that Jarron staggered off the bus just outside
Billings, Montana and started walking.  His brain was consumed by fever, his
large body shivered now almost continuously from it, and his limbs felt heavy
and lethargic.  But one thought managed to control his brain.

One image took presidence in his mind's eye.  Her.

Her gentle hands, her loving eyes, her soft voice.  The same voice he remembered
from their time together.  He had to get to her.

The money he'd taken had just been enough to get the ticket to Billings, leaving
him only pennies to eat on, which had run out days ago.  The bus ride had taken
him almost three days and he knew he looked a fright.  He was just thankful that
the sweats he'd taken were a dark blue.

They covered up the blood.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------

Jordaine was just passing the front door when the doorbell ringing startled her,
causing her to jump and scream in an uncharacteristic ladylike squeal.  She'd
been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noted where she was in the mansion,
which was silent at that time of night.

Catching her breath, she reached out and opened the door just as a large body
fell inwards almost toppling her over.

She barely caught him, having to use all of her strength to hold them both
upright until she herself caught her balance again.  The person she was holding
stank to high heaven and she was just on the verge of dropping him to the floor
and calling for one of the servants to come and remove him when he whispered out
a soft word.

"Mi....sttt.....resss......"  on a soft breath of pungent air.

Fighting back her gag reflex in that moment, she shifted him to get a look at
his face and her eyes widened in absolute horror a moment later.

"MMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAA..........." 


Her sister's bellow woke her from a dead sleep and she shot upright in bed a
startled scream stuck in her lungs.  She'd been having a nightmare.  She was
running...hard and fast...and she was scared but she didn't know why.  She
couldn't place it, but something or someone was after her in the dream. 
Something dark and terrifying.

"MMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAA..." her sisters bellow came again,
growing closer by the second just a moment before she burst through the door,
breathing heavily.  "It's Jarron..." she panted out heaving at the air in great
gulps from her long trek through the mansion.

Mira needed no further encouragement but was out of bed like a shot, pulling on
a robe as she followed her mirror image down the long stairs to the front door.

She skidded to a halt, falling to her knees at the horror laying half in and
half out of the doorway to their home.  It was Jarron, but not the man she
remembered.  His hair was long and scruffy and the beginnings of a dark beard
shadowed his jaw.  His breathing was ragged and racked with pain, and even from
her kneeling position she could smell the stench that wafted off of him. 
Blood...

She knew the smell well, the sickly, coppery odor of blood.  And filth.  The man
was absolutely filthy.  His clothes were ragged, torn in several places as if
he'd been assaulted.  He was missing his shoes and his feet were cracked and
bleeding as if he'd walked a long distance.

The twins exchanged glances and in the same moment bellowed again. 
"JJJJJJJOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH..." calling for one of their house
servants as Mira flew into action.

By the time a very sleepy and widely yawning Josh appeared in the foyer, Mira
had Jarron beneath the arms and was attempting to drag him bodily up the stairs. 
He appraised the scene quickly and moved to help, physically lifting the man
over his shoulder and heading up the stairs without a word.

Whomever this was, he knew a look of terror when he saw one, and he'd definately
seen one on the young Mira's face.  She turned halfway up the stairs and barked
at Rain.  "Call Dr. Phillips..." she said, hurrying after Josh and his heavy
bundle, but Rain was already on the phone waving absently in her direction.

By the time she was done and headed upstairs after waking Dr. Phillips and
gaining his promise to come as quickly as possible, Mira had Jarron laid out on
his stomach and was cutting away his sweatshirt and sweatpants with a pair of
scissors.

Both twins gasped in horror at the sight of Jarron's mangled back and legs when
they were exposed, and Mira began to weep silent tears.  Josh reappeared
carrying the medical kit they kept on hand along with a load of towels and a
pitcher of water.

Jordaine gulped, speaking softly in the silence as Josh pushed past her with
full arms.  "Dr...Dr Phillips is on the way..." she whispered around a gulp. 
"My god Mira...what do you think happened?" she asked.

Mira turned terror filled eyes toward her for a moment, filled with her tears,
then bent back to her work without answering for a long time.  With Josh's help
the two of them had the majority of Jarron's wounds cleaned by the time Dr.
Phillips was walking through the door, bag in hand.

A quick examination told the older, white haired doctor what he needed to know
and what he needed to do.  Without preamble, or a word to either twin, he set
about properly cleaning, disinfecting, and sewing up the worst of the gashes
that marred the man's back and legs.

It was several hours later that the three of them stood outside the guest
bedroom into which he'd been placed that Dr. Phillips spoke for the first time. 
"Did either of you have anything to do with this?" he asked softly, his tone
calm and even.  He knew very well what the twins were about, what went on below
stairs, but he also knew that neither of them was as violent as what he'd just
seen across that poor man's back and legs.

As he suspected, both twins shook their heads solemnly in response.  "I didn't
think so, but ethically I had to ask." he said before going on, the subject
dropped.  "There shouldn't be in permanent damage, but he's racked with fever
now.  That's our big concern." he stated softly.  "This was done days ago, and
he's lucky to have survived this long." he added, wiping his bloody hands on a
towel.  "I've given him antibiotics for it, and injected some directly into the
cuts, but..." he shrugged softly.  "Another day untreated and he might not be
here now."

Mira choked off a sob, pushing past both of them and into the room, shutting the
door with a soft click.  Dr. Phillips reached into his pocket and produced a
couple of bottles.  "Give him two of these..." he said handing Rain one,  "And
three of these a day for the first five days.  The first is a painkiller, the
second the antibiotic.  If he survives the night he'll be lucky, but that fever
needs to come down and soon.  Bath him with cool water and change the bandages
in the morning."

He turned to leave with a gentle smile and a nod at the closed door.  "That's
the children's father...isn't it?" he asked softly.

Jordaine could only nod slowly.  "Yes Dr. Phillips...yes it is." she stated to
his retreating back.  Dr. Phillips had been the family physician for too many
years to count.  Not only had he delivered Rain and Mira, but Mira's children as
well.  He knew the family well, very well.  And knew all their secrets.  They
often called on him to do physicals for the slaves in residence just before an
auction to certify they were fit and healthy.  He also tended to the children
now, giving them their checkups and taking care of them when they caught cold.

He wouldn't say anything about Jarron's sudden appearance, or his condition
thankfully, but not because the twins paid him too.  But more out of loyalty to
the family.  He paused now at the top of the stairs.  "Make sure she tells him
she loves him if he survives..." he stated with an age-old wisdom.

"I will Dad...I will..." she added to his retreating back a moment later as he
disappeared down the stairs.


Mira sat beside him, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.  "She" had caused
this to happen to him.  She had put him in the care of his new owner.  "She" had
put him in the situation where he'd been beaten ruthlessly.

And he had been.  The scars that crisscrossed the length of him from neck to
ankle told her all she needed to know in that moment.   She choked off a sob
then, reaching out to stroke his shaggy hair gently.  "Oh gods...I'm so
sorry..." she whispered softly.  "I...I didn't...know..." she managed to choke
out as his form was blurred by her tears.

She pulled herself together in that moment, brushing angrily at the tears that
coursed down her cheeks.  Someone would pay...and pay dearly for this, she vowed
in that moment.  But first he had to survive.

She bent then, retrieving a clean towel that Josh had brought and dipped it in
the cold water of the pitcher.  Ringing it out she began to speak softly, her
tone stern and strong as she did so.  "Don't you dare die on me Jarron.  I've
not given you permission for that." she told him in her best Mistress tone.

At her stern voice, he stirred, blinking open his slate gray, fever filled eyes
to stare at her.  A half smile graced his cracked and bleeding lips then, and he
weakly slid a hand toward her across the bedcovers.  "I...I..won..'t..." he
managed to choke out.  "Misss.....tttreesssss......"  he dragged out before his
eyes drooped closed once more.

Mira clasped his weak hand tightly, intertwining their fingers as she wiped at
his fevered brow with the cool cloth.  Her tears had begun again, coursing
silently down her cheeks, but there was no evidence of them in her voice when
she spoke a moment later.  "Damn right you won't." 


The days that followed were harrowing at best.  Jarron alternated between
moments of seeming clarity and dark, fever ridden moments of violence.  He'd
suddenly sit up in bed, lashing out at anything that happened to be nearby with
almost animalistic growls of rage and fury.

The first day, he was so violent that he opened the stitches on his back with a
sickening rip of flesh, and it was decided that he would need to be restrained
until the fever passed.  It was one of the hardest moments of Mira's life,
making the decision to forcibly restrain him when he'd obviously endured so very
much in the last years.

But she did it, never the less, for his own safety and hers.  She still sported
a dark bruise on one cheek and a slowly healing black eye from one of his
violent outbursts on the first day.  She stayed by his bedside in those first
days, never leaving him for even a moment. 

Everything was put aside, and it was soon known not to disturb her in the
slightest as she kept a watchful vigil over him.  Only Dr. Phillips was allowed
in the room in those first days to clean and re-bandage his wounds.

A very long four days later, his fever finally broke and he slept peacefully for
another two before finally opening clear, slate gray eyes.  Mira, ever present
by the bed, sat forward as he did so and reached out a trembling hand to lay it
on his forearm, one of the few places that did not sport a bandage of some sort,
or a restraint.

"Shhhhhh...now...don't try and talk." she said as she reached behind his head
and quickly removing the gag they'd had to use to keep him from swallowing or
biting his tongue in his thrashings.  She knelt by the bed, tossing the gag away
from her.  Running her hands through his dirty, sweat soaked hair, she smiled
softly, touching his face.  "Jarron..." was all she managed to get out before
the tears in her eyes spilled over.

She wiped at them with her free hand and smiled softly again as she stared into
his eyes looking for signs of the fever.  There was none now and her shaky hand
softly caressed his strong, if a bit hollow cheek as she spoke.  "Don't move."
she commanded softly.  "You've been hurt...very badly...but you're healing
now..."

He pulled weakly at the restraint on his wrist, clenching his fingers in the
effort and she undid the restraint without question.  His hand slid slowly
across the sweat soaked bedcovers and touched her face with shaking fingers. 
"I...I...was...bad..." he croaked out softly.

A choked sob escaped her and the tears came anew, uncontrollably coursing over
her cheeks.  "No love...you weren't bad...she was..." she whispered out, her
blue eyes locking with his.

He closed his eyes then and shook his head slowly against the bed. 
"nnnoo...I...I...was...bad..." he choked out again. 
"beee...cause...I....lov...ed..."  he pushed out through his dry lips. 
"you...and...to..ld...her..." 

He gulped then, dryly, and she lifted the end of a bottle of water to his lips
raising his head gently off the bed to help him drink.  He swallowed heavily,
then laid his head back on the bed.  When he spoke again, his voice was slightly
stronger.  "I...was...bad...because...I never...stopped lov...ing...you..." he
whispered out softly.  "And....and....I told her..."

"Years...ago..." he added as his eyes began to droop shut again. 

"Rest now Jarron." she said softly, tears still flowing freely down her cheeks
unchecked.   "We'll talk about it later." she commanded him gently, using her
best Mistress voice.

He nodded jerkily, falling away into the pitch blackness of sleep a moment
later.  Mira knelt there for a moment more before leaning forward to softly kiss
his parted lips.  When she stood upright, her eyes blazed with anger and she
left the room without a word.

It was several days later that Jarron came fully to himself.  She was sitting by
the bed, calmly reading a book when he woke.  He stretched automatically,
immediately groaning in reaction to the pain that was still with him.  The
restraints he remembered were gone now and the bed had been changed.  Someone
had washed his hair too, if the clean smell of lilacs coming from it was any
indication.

His clear eyes shifted to her then and he spoke softly.  "Mistress?"

She looked up from the book then set it on the table beside the bed.  She smiled
gently as she leaned forward coming to kneel beside the bed.  "Not technically."
she said with another soft smile.  "Feeling better?" she asked a moment later.

He nodded slowly then, confused at her words, but too tired to think much on it. 
"Hungry." he croaked out weakly.  "Thirsty." he added after he'd thought about
it for a moment.

"Both of those I can solve." she said gently, reaching out for the phone by the
bed.  She picked it up and spoke into the receiver after a brief pause.  "Josh,
could you bring up some soup and another bottle of water." then hung it back in
its cradle with a soft click.

He heard a door open after a moment and a male appeared beside the bed, tray in
hand.  She took it and set it aside.  "Do you feel like rolling over to eat?"
she asked.  "Your backs much better, but it's still going to be painful mind
you." she informed him.

His stomach growled loudly in response to the wafting aroma coming from the bowl
and he couldn't help but nod.  Between the two of them, with some weak help from
Jarron they managed to roll him onto his back after only two tries.

She'd been right in her assessment that it was going to be painful for him to do
so.  His back burned with fire for a moment at the unexpected pressure from his
body and he groaned, closing his eyes to catch the tears of pain that
accompanied the sound.  His breathing was short for a moment, then calmed as the
pain settled in like a familiar friend. 

Josh helped her prop him up a bit so he could eat, and she sat on the bed
spooning mouthfuls of the stew into his mouth.  As soon as the beefy broth began
to fill his system he almost instantly began to feel better. 

She hadn't spoken to him beyond the initial moments of his waking and he frowned
deeply as she set the bowl aside and helped him drink from the bottle of water. 
When he'd had his fill, she set that aside too and smiled at him.

He weakly raised his hand then, reaching out for her, needing to know that she
was real and not a figment of some ghoulish taunting nightmare.  His brain was
still a bit fuzzy on the events that had brought him here, but there was no
doubt that he remembered the pain he'd endured.  He needed to make sure it
wasn't a dream.  That he was really safe now. 

She clasped his hand, squeezing his fingers gently, then spoke. 
"Jarron...there's something that you need to know." she said, having seen the
look in his eyes as he reached for her.  There were going to be no
misconceptions this time around.  No omissions...no lies.  "My name is Jordaine. 
Jordaine Ryder." she began softly.  "I am half of your Mistress." she explained. 
"I'm the twin to Mira.  Mira Ryder." she said.

"Twins?" he croaked out weakly, not fully understanding what she was saying.

Jordaine sighed softly, holding his hand while she spent the next hour
explaining everything to him.  Every last detail of their lives...and their
lies.  When it finally hit him, square between the eyes, he gulped loudly in
dawning realization.  "It was you..." he stated, his voice shaking.  "You that
night...you that sent me away..."

Jordaine took a moment, and a frown marred her face as she thought, then she
smiled and nodded in understanding.  "Yes Jarron, that was me.  Not Mira." she
said calmly, stroking his forehead gently.  "It 'was' Mira that came to you
later that night though."

He nodded, gulping loudly again and closing his eyes as he tried to process
everything she'd told him for a long while.  She sat calmly and quietly, holding
his hand, while he worked it all out for himself.  When he had, he opened his
eyes and turned them too her.  "Where is she?" he asked softly.

A pained look crossed her face for a moment, then she wiped it away before
speaking.  "She had something to do." she stated softly, but would say no more
than that, changing the subject back around to him after only the slightest of
pauses.  "Sleep now.  We'll talk again when you're rested."

She rose from the bed, taking the tray with her and left him alone to sleep with
a soft click of the door behind her.  But sleep was hard in coming as everything
she'd told him worked it's way through his tired brain.

Twins was his foremost thought.  And both of them were Mistresses.  Training
Mistresses.  He thought back to the year he'd spent with them.  The year that
had changed his life.  It was then, only when looking back and knowing the truth
of it, that the subtle differences became apparent.  Jordaine kept her nails
shorter than Mira, whose nails were very long.  He shivered slightly in
rememberance of those nails caressing his skin on the one night they'd been
together.

Jordaine's tone of voice was just slightly different from Mira's, but only
someone that listened for it could tell.  Mira's eyes were quick to flash with
anger, where Jordaine's were not so prone to do, even though Mira had never
dealt with him or any other slave in her anger.  Both of them were masters at
shuttering their emotions however, but Mira's eyes were just a bit more
expressive at times.

Jordaine tended to moan when she was being pleased by a slave, where Mira would
pant and moan, before either of them would release an orgasm with a scream if
done properly.  Mira's strokes of praise tended toward the head and cheeks,
where Jordaine preferred the shoulders and back.

All of these things came rushing back at him as he lay there just on the verge
of sleep.  He mentally kicked himself for not having noticed before, but these
things were such small things that, conceivably, it all could have been one
woman.

He raised a tired arm and flopped it over his eyes with a soft groan.  There
were two of them, and it was obvious from the conversation he'd just had with
one of them that she didn't feel the same way about him that he did them.

But what did the other one feel?  He was vaguely aware of her having been there
in the room before now and something was nagging at his brain to be remembered,
but he couldn't quite place it and he was too tired now to try and harp on it.

Sleep finally claimed him again and he welcomed it with open arms.  When he woke
again he realized quickly that he wasn't alone anymore.  He turned his head
slowly and stared at the male that sat in the chair.  He was a younger man,
somewhere in his mid 30's or so, and looked vaguely familiar.

He wore a pair of sweats but his chest was naked above the waistband and he wore
a golden collar around his neck.  His hair was a long flowing blond, shining
brightly in the lamplight coming from bedside the bed.  For just a brief moment
he thought it might be Selik, but the blue green eyes that regarded him weren't
from the man he remembered being in the Dungeon with him.

It suddenly dawned on him and his eyes widened in shock at the man for a moment. 
"Dillon?" he croaked out weakly.

The man smiled, showing brilliant white teeth in his tanned face.  "I'm
surprised you remember." he stated softly.  "You were sold shortly after I came
here." he added bluntly, though there was no condemnation in his voice, merely
fact.

A shudder raced across Jarron's body at his words and he closed his eyes against
the memory it brought along, blocking it away to be dealt with later.

"How are you feeling?"  Dillon asked softly.

"Better.  Thirsty again." he said on a whisper.

"Can you drink this yourself, or do you want some help?"  Dillon's voice came to
him behind his closed eyes.

Jarron opened his eyes then, reaching out shakily for the bottle of water Dillon
was holding in his direction.  He took a long swig from the plastic, keeping a
hold of it and propping it on his stomach.  He turned slowly, eyeing the
blue-eyed blond beside the bed for a moment.  "Why are you here?" he asked, his
voice sounding stronger, more confident after the water.

"Jordaine asked me to stay with you for awhile." he said with a casual shrug of
his wide shoulders.  "Just in case you woke up and needed something."

"Where's Mira?" he questioned softly, after taking another sip of the cool
water.

Dillon remained strangely silent for a moment then spoke.  "I can't say in all
honesty.  But more because I've been ordered not too." he added when Jarron
turned his eyes to him.

"Why?"

"Mistress commands, I obey." he stated simply, but with a wide smile.

"Then you know?"  Jarron found himself asking after another sip of the bottle.

Dillon nodded.  "Sure.  Have for a couple of years now." he added in a calm
tone.  "I've had too.  I'm the head slave now." he said softly, lifting a finger
to caress the golden collar at his neck.  He shrugged again, his hand dropping
away after a moment.  "They kinda had to tell me when Jordaine and I
married...Officially married that is."

Jarron's eyes shot over to lock with Dillon's for a moment.  "Married?" he
managed to croak out around the lump in his throat and the pounding of his
heart.  "No wonder she told me everything when I woke up..." he whispered out,
not expecting a response and gaining none.  "How long?" he asked after a
moment's pause.

"About four years now."  Dillon supplied with another soft shrug of his wide
shoulders and a wide smile.  "After you were sold, and my training was nearing
completion, I begged to stay too because I'd fallen in love with Jordaine." he
said with a look of adoration on his face as he spoke.  Not only for his
Mistress, but for his wife as well.  "She's wonderful...loving, kind,
caring..and absolutely 'wicked' with a flogger..." he added a sparkle in his
eyes as he said it.  He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his bent knees as
he spoke frankly, filling in the gaps for Jarron as he did so.  "When I begged
her to stay she said yes and shortly after we were married." he said touching
the golden collar again with reverent fingers.

"It was then that I found out about Mira.  She brought me above stairs for the
first time and Mira came in to join us for dinner." he chuckled as he said it. 
"Imagine the look on my face when I saw them together for the first time..." he
added with another soft chuckle.  "I think my mouth was hanging open for days
afterward as everything was explained to me and what role I would play now that
we were going to get married."

A thought occurred to him then and he dreaded the answer even as he asked the
question.  "Have you...ever..." he gulped, his eyes indiscernable in the soft
lighting of the room.  "Have you..."

"Ever serviced Mira?"  Dillon filled in for him.  He shook his head slowly. 
"No.  After you were sold she remained above stairs and hasn't set foot in the
Dungeon in well over five years now." he stated with soft conviction.

Jarron's heart stopped for just a moment in time, then pounded almost painfully
against his ribs when it started again.  There was hope...Dillon's words
confirmed it.  Painfully, but it was there.  "Does...does she love me?" he
couldn't help but ask in that moment, fearing the answer to 'this' question even
more than he'd feared the first.

Dillon shrugged softly.  "I honestly don't know the answer to that question my
friend.  I honestly don't know.  I don't see much of Mira as I'm only allowed
above stairs when there are no slaves in residence." he stated softly. 
"Jordaine seems to think she does, but I don't know if that's wishful thinking
on her part or not for her twins happiness."

Jarron let out a shuddering sigh of air, his heart deflating almost as instantly
as it had been filled with hope.  "So...what happens to me now?" he found
himself asking.

"That you'd better ask the Mistress."  Dillon supplied softly as he rose from
the chair leaving him alone once more.


It was several weeks later that found the three of them seated on the back patio
of the vast mansion staring out over the grass watching the three children play
in the opened field that stretched out behind the house.

Jarron had made a remarkable recovery in the weeks previous and was now able to
move about the mansion itself unaided by even so much as a cane.  His legs were
beginning to bulk up again, he'd gained back much of the weight he'd lost and
was eating a regular diet again.  He'd even begun to work out again as he had
when he'd first been in their care, making use of the gym the main mansion
contained instead of the one below stairs.

Dillon sat on one side of him and Jordaine just beyond him as the children
executed a vicious game of tag in the grass.  The sun shone brightly high above
them and Jarron leaned his head back against the chaise lounge and closed his
eyes, basking in the feel of it on his face.

"You two have three beautiful children." he stated breaking the companionable
silence they'd adopted in the moments before. 

He missed the look that they shared with his eyes closed, but not the silence. 
Dillon rose off his lounge chair, heading into the yard to gather up the three
rambunctious youths and herd them inside leaving the two of them alone.

Jarron hadn't seen much of the children before today in all reality, but when he
had happened to gaze upon them, it didn't occur to him to think it would be
otherwise.  They looked like Jordaine, even the boy with his dark hair that was
already reaching his collar.  But by the wide cut of his shoulders, even for a
boy his age, one could tell that he was going to be a big boy.

"They're not 'our' children Jarron."  Jordaine's voice floated to him after a
moment, breaking across the thoughtful silence that had fallen.  "There Mira's."
she added.

Lifting his head up sharply he stared at her for a long moment before another
dawning and shocking realization hit him square between the eyes.

Like the fact that there were two Mistresses, the fact that the three children
looked more like him, especially the boy, than Dillon should have been a clue. 
But he hadn't spent much time with them since Dr. Phillips had cleared him from
the bedrest he'd imposed, concentrating more on his recovery.

"And yours..." she confirmed calmly a moment later.

His mouth dropped open at her softly spoken confirmation, and he knew he must
have looked like a fish out of water, laying there with his mouth working but no
sound coming out.  Finally, he managed to croak out a very weak,  "Mine?" with
his eyebrows raised high in the air.

Jordaine only nodded, waiting for a long moment to speak and explain.  "When we
were children, I was stricken with a form of lukiemia." she began softly.  "Mira
was lucky and didn't have it, but I was bedridden for years with the chemo and
the drugs and so on.  Mira was the normal child, but as I grew and eventually
conquered the disease it also came with a price.  I was forever barren, having a
hystarechtomy by the time I was 13."

She sighed, her eyes going distant in that moment.  "For a long time I was
bitter about it, very bitter about the fact that I would never have children. 
But Mira wasn't.  She assured me that she would do it.  She'd give our family
the heir it needed to continue what we do...continue our bloodline.  But time
passed and she never did.  She kept putting it off and putting it off...saying
she never had the time with everything that we do.  As you know we do much more
beyond the training of slaves..." she shrugged casually, almost non-chalantly
then continued a moment later.

"She was a virgin until the night she made love with you Jarron." she stated
after a moments pause and another shrug of her shoulders adding in a soft voice, 
"And she's never made love with a man since."

"It was about four months after you'd been sold before we even knew she was
pregnant." she confirmed softly, her eyes coming back to him and locking with
his. 

"But..but..I saw her...with Dillon...the night we brought him here.  Having sex
with him...riding him...with him in her."  Jarron managed to sputter.

Rain threw back her head and laughed loudly.  "No, Jarron, that was me."  she
said softly.  "I had no such compunctions about the physical side of sex with
slaves and we'd often change places when a new one was brought in."  she laughed
softly.  "Remember when "I" left while you prepared Dillon?"

When he nodded, she went on.  "Mira had gone to the club that night.  She had
drugged him, but it was me that came back after that and me you brought his bio
too." she said softly.  "And me that rode him that first time." she said with a
twinkle in her eyes as she said.  "In all truth I think that was the moment I
fell in love with him..." she laughed, a shiver running the length of her at the
thought.

It was just all too much to comprehend, frazzled mind begged. Where did it all
stop? he wondered, dropping his head back on the lounge with a dejected sigh. 
"Why...why didn't she...she tell me.....come for me?" he begged out softly. 

He heard more than saw Rain's shrug.  "I don't know." she answered honestly. 
"She would never discuss you with me." she added after a moment's silence.  "I
tried to get her to talk about you, but...but she just wouldn't do it."

"I'd give her your reports about your new owner...and I...I guess she felt you
had moved on and were safe and happy there." she added softly.

She sat up then, gaining his attention with a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "Why
didn't you say something when I called?" she asked calmly.  "Why didn't you give
us an indication that things were so bad for you?"

Jarron looked into her eyes for a long time, the same eyes that he'd loved for
so long, before he spoke haltingly.  "At first things weren't so bad." he said
softly, staring up at her as he continued.  "The calls would come and I'd hear
your..." he paused, frowning,  "what I thought was her voice and I was ok.  She
wasn't so bad at first.  Sure...she flogged me...spanked me.....and I got some
pleasure out of it, but it wasn't like it was with you...I....I mean Mira." 

He paused, drawing in a deep lungful of air before he could continue.  "And then
you'd call...and...and....I was ok again.  Happy that I...I was serving my new
Mistress well...pleasing her......then it would get bad again, until all I could
think about was her.  All I could see was her.  I saw her everywhere....it...it
was her face that was staring down at me when I serviced my other Mistress...her
touch....her voice that I was hearing on...on....."

He took another shaky breath, tears pooling in his eyes as he went on.  "Then
one night..." he gulped, but pressed on past the lump in his throat.  "One night
I....I called her by 'your' name....her name.  Mira." he said softly.  "And
'that's' when it all changed..."

"It gets kinda fuzzy after that...hazy...like a dream.  There was pain...lots of
pain...and when there wasn't pain...there was work...the never ending work. 
She...she always had me doing something hard.  Building something, fixing
something..." he whispered with distant eyes.  "When I wasn't working she was
beating me...beating me badly..." 

His voice choked off then, and the tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked by
his hand.  "When there wasn't pain, and no work to be done.....I was bound so
constrictively that I could hardly move..." he whispered softly.  "I could
hardly breath sometimes and I thought several times she was just going to let me
die..."

A massive shudder racked his body then, coursing the length of his large frame. 
"Then a call would come.....and I...I knew that I could suffer through
it......that I could endure whatever it was she did to me....I....'had' to stay
alive....I had to endure...to see you....again.....her.....Mira...."

Rain's hand tightened softly on his shoulder then in reaction to his tale of
misery and he lifted his tear filled eyes to hers, pleading with her in that
moment to answer his next question.  "Why won't she come to me Rain?  Why has
she left me again?" he begged out on a choking whisper.

But it wasn't Rain who answered him, it wasn't Rain's voice that rang out in the
air at his soft entreaty.  It was Mira's, and it was coming from directly behind
him.

"I didn't leave you..." she cried out, coming slowly around to face him as he
sat in the chair unmoving.  "I've been back for weeks..." she said softly,
standing before him with her head dropped as she spoke.  "I....I just couldn't
face you Jarron...knowing what I'd done to you...what you'd endured....." 

"Because of me..." she added, finally raising her eyes to his.

Neither of them heard Rain rise softly and depart as they stared at one another. 
It was then that Jarron noticed her own tears as they coursed down her cheeks. 
Gone was the Mistress...gone was the cold, hard woman that had trained him all
those years ago.  Jarron's breath physically caught in his throat at the sight
of her standing before him, showing him her own emotions.  He'd never seen her
cry before, never seen anything other than the Mistress within.  Never the
woman.

He rose then, steadily off the lounge chair and came to stand before her for a
moment.  Slowly, he knelt on the hard concrete of the patio, bowing his head
before her in his own shame.

"Oh gods Jarron..." she whispered out chokingly.  "If I'd known.....how....bad
it was for you.....I would have come....." she stated softly, reaching out a
hand and placing it on his head.

Slowly, she lifted his face with a finger beneath his chin, and stared down into
his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the tears out of hers.  "Can you forgive
me?" she begged him softly, reaching out to caress his cheek with her long
fingers.  "Can you ever love me again?" she asked after a moment.

He moved then, rising off his knees and wrapping his arms around her waist to
bury his face against her.  "I never stopped..." he whispered out, holding onto
her as if he were dying in that moment and she was his lifeline.

She slid down then, onto her knees in front of him, parting his arms as she did
so until they were eye level with one another.  She wiped at his tears, then her
own, saying with a sobbing chuckle,  "And I never began..." a moment before
pressing her lips to his in a kiss that stole both their breaths away.

When they parted, Mira knelt there staring up at him for a long time, smiling
softly, touching his face with reverent fingers.  "I'm so sorry..." she
whispered softly, tears pooling in her eyes again.

Jarron raised his own hands and laid both of them to her cheeks.  At her hiss of
pain, he turned her head slowly, lifting her hair to see what had brought forth
the sound.  His eyes widened in horror, which was closely followed by anger at
the sight that greeted him.  A long jagged, but healing gash ran the length of
her neck, it's ends neatly sewn together with straight even stitches.  Again his
mouth opened and closed wordlessly at the sight and she moved his hands slightly
away from it as he finally managed to croak out.  "Who?  How?  What?"

Mira grinned crookedly up at him as their lips met once more.  "Just call it a
battle scar..." she whispered softly against his lips before kissing him once
more.

Jarron let the matter drop.

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