Part 1. James

"Can I ask a favour of you?" Steve rolled on his side and looked up at me. I leaned down to give him a lingering kiss. "Anything". "I'm serious". "So am I, but shouldn't we get you untied first?" His body was forced into a ball, hands between his legs and lashed to his ankles. He shook no and ambled closer to plant a kiss on my dripping cock. "Please!" "OK, but it'll cost you". "Anything". He grinned and got back on his knees, flaming red arse raised high. I laughed and aimed a light slap at his burning hide. "I don't think you can take much more, if you want to sit down for work tomorrow". The thirty evenly spaced welts left by the kiss of my crop were signal red and clearly raised. "You could whip my feet". "You hate that". "Yeah, but…". I shook my head and loosened the tight ropes. "Let's have a shower. You need one". Long streams of sperm stained his arse and the back of his thighs.

We'd known each other for almost three years and been lovers for the last two. Steve joined the company at about the time when I was sent to the main office as a special advisor on the development of a new product package. Two years younger than me, he was now twenty-two. A six feet four blond stud with a muscular, tanned body, who had all of the girls at the office grovelling at his feet. I'd been watching him at a distance, amused to see him trying to fight off the flirts and just thought him a shy college boy, until he got himself thoroughly drunk one night at a party and our project manager asked me to take care of him. He was still living with his parents, a sombre Presbyterian minister and his dour wife, who'd be very far from amused to see their eldest as he was at that time, so I took him to the small, but pleasant bungalow the company had provided for the duration of my assignment. He was barely conscious, but I managed to get him to the spare bedroom, undressed him and tucked him in, then went to bed in my own room. He was still sleeping soundly when I got up the next morning, a Saturday, and slept on while I went for my usual jogging tour around the neighbourhood, came back to shower and dress, and make breakfast. When it was on the table, I went in to shake him awake, with some difficulty, and offer him a large glass of milk.

Ten minutes later he joined me on the terrace, still damp from a shower and dressed in the pair of shorts and a t-shirt I'd left in his room. "Toast and jam, I think, or can you stomach a helping of bacon and eggs?" He shook no and sank down on a chair, looking sheepishly at me. "Thanks, James. I, eh, I guess I got bit too much last night". "The understatement of the year, my boy. Have a couple of aspirins and drink your tea". I nodded benevolently and returned to my newspaper. He downed the tablets with a glass of orange juice and reluctantly bit into his toast. "I've phoned your parents to tell them that we had to work most of the night to solve some problems about bugs and that you were still sleeping. They thanked me for taking care of you". I'd met them at a garden party a few months before and knew that they regarded me a very respectable and hard working young man. After all I come from a clerical family, even if it's High Church and my father is a bishop. "Thanks". Steve looked away. "And don't be ashamed. I've been in a worse state than you were last night, more than a few times".

After breakfast I encouraged him to join me in the pool and we spent a refreshing hour in the cool water, then reclined on sun-beds until lunch. His appetite had returned and we tucked into the food he'd helped me prepare. At last he sat back, downing the remainder of his coke and sent me a shy look. "I, eh, I don't know…". "Then don't". "Don't what?" "Thank me. There's no reason to do that. I'm happy to help a friend in need". "Yeah, guess you think me pretty stupid". "Not at all, Steve. I'm not your dad, and I'm just as young as you". "Yeah". He looked down at his bare feet. "Yeah, thanks, but that wasn't what I was trying to say". "No?" I raised my eyebrows questioningly and took a sip of my wine. "No, I, eh, I…". He looked pleadingly at me. "You'll think me crazy, but… Will you give me a spanking?" "Will I what?" "Please, James! You know my parents. They're great, love their kids, but they're strict. Not demanding, but firm with us. We've learned how to behave and if not, well, they believe in corporal punishment". "Sure, nothing wrong with that. My father has striped my backside often enough, not to mention the teachers and prefects at my school". "Yeah, but…". He looked down again. "But you see, we, I've got so used to it that I need a spanking when I've done something wrong. It makes me feel better, stop brooding over my stupidity, get it over with". He gave me a pleading look. "Usually I tell my dad about it and he gives me what I deserve". "Even at your age?" I stared at him and he nodded. "Yeah, maybe it's crazy, but I really need it. The problem is that I can't go to him now, because of what you've told him, the two us working and such. He'd never understand that you lied for my sake". "Oh! It's my fault". "No, you did only what you thought best and that's fine, but…". "I've deprived you of what you need?" "Yeah".

I leaned back and took another sip, studying him. "I won't mind spanking you, not at all, but I'm not so sure that you'll like it". "Of course I won't like it, but…". "Need it, sure, but not from me". "Why not? You're my friend, you've just proved that". "I am, Steve, and I'm happy that you consider yourself mine, but what do you actually know about me?" "That you're a great guy, one of the best, as a friend and as a professional". "Thanks, but what you don't know is that I'm gay, and not only that, but a gay sadist". He stared. "I know nothing better than to strip a handsome stud like you naked, tie him up, whip his arse and then fuck him silly". His eyes widened and his lower jaw dropped almost to his chest. "So, no Steve, I don't think it a very good idea if I gave you a spanking". He looked away. "There you are, friend, the secret is out, so let's forget about this, shall we?" "Do you…have you spanked someone over here?" "No". Still averting his eyes he seemed to contemplate the news, then rose abruptly and went in. 'Shit! There goes that friendship', I thought gloomily and half rose to follow, but sank back. 'What's the use?' Thoughts about what would happen when he told about my fetish at the office flashed through my mind and I was pouring myself another glass of wine, when Steve reappeared. He'd shed his shirt and wordlessly dumped a leather belt and four lengths of clothesline in my lap, then turned to a sun-bed, hauled off his shorts and lay down on his stomach, spreading his arms and legs towards the four corners.

"Steve!". I put down the bottle. "Steve, don't!" He didn't answer and I took a sip before rising to stand beside his prone from, clutching the belt and ropes. "Do you honestly want this?" He nodded mutely. "You want me to tie you down and belt you?" He nodded again. "And fuck your arse?" A new nod. "Have you done this before?" He shook no. "It'll hurt, a lot". A nod. "Are you sure?" "Yes, James, I am". His voice didn't rise above a whisper. "OK, then, but if you tell me to stop, I will". He nodded again and I lashed his wrists and ankles to the legs of the bed, stretching him. "Last chance. Are you absolutely certain?" "Yes". I shook my head, but my cock was straining against the fabric of my jeans and I doubled the belt before aiming a hard stroke at the tempting white globes. A signal red stripe sprang up, but the bound boy neither moved, nor uttered a sound. I laid on another stripe, and another. After the tenth he began straining against his bonds and the seventeenth forced a grunt from him. I lowered the belt. "Enough?" He shook no and I resumed the slow lashing until my count reached twenty-five. Steve still hadn't cried out, but was breathing heavily and clearly raised welts covered his arse. "Hang tight". I dropped the belt and went in to undress. When I came back, my dick was waving stiffly, covered by a lubricated condom. He raised his head, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Are you still sure?" "Yes". His head dropped back and he tried wriggling his red arse.

He took it well, moaning and grunting when I mauled his virgin hole, unable to restrain myself after more than a year of celibacy, but never uttered a word of protest. After I was done, I extricated myself with a soft plop and quickly untied his bonds. He stayed as he was, still spread-eagle, and I stood for a moment looking down at his tormented body, the ropes burns on his wrists and ankles and his slightly gaping hole, then went in to dispose of the filled condom and start the shower. I was soaking myself when he came in and wordlessly grabbed a bar of soap, dropped to his knees in front of me and began lathering up my crotch and flaccid cock. Finished, he planted a kiss on it and rose to embrace me. "Thanks, John".

That started of a new life for both of us. We rested in mutual silence, naked on the beds in the sun, until Steve after a couple of hours knelt beside me and grabbed my cock to stroke it hard again, then took it in his mouth and, clumsily at first, but with growing confidence blew me to a shuddering climax, swallowing every drop. We made quiet love once more before he went home, only to come back the next day, now ready to talk about the experience. He admitted that he'd been wondering about his sexual preferences for a long time, had tried courting some girls, but never went further than a few kisses and a bit of petting. Spanking had aroused him, even before he knew what was happening. Luckily his father had always spanked his kids on top of their briefs and nowadays he kept his jeans on to hide his erection until it was over and he could get away to masturbate in his room. Other boys attracted him, but his upbringing and natural shyness had never allowed him to admit it, even to himself. Until now. It was as if he couldn't get enough, wanted to catch up with the years he'd wasted. I fucked him, he sucked me off, begged me to tie him up, to punish him. He bought a riding crop and demanded that I whipped his arse, his back, his thighs, the soles of his feet, anything to help him discover what he really liked. I was in heaven, but knew it couldn't last. Steve didn't, couldn't realise, but I was sure that he wasn't truly gay, perhaps bisexual, and that what we did would help him overcome his shyness. Some lucky girl would catch him one day and hopefully understand that he was a natural submissive, not a slaveboy type, but in need of some rough handling in bed.

We were already working close on the project and the manager suggested that we did it at my house to avoid the constant disturbances at the office. So we spent almost every day together and often the nights as well. His parents not only approved, but thanked me for my good influence on their son and from time to time invited me to spend an evening at their house. Steve's younger sister was away at college, but his seventeen year old brother, Nick, was at his last year in high school. Almost as tall as his brother and just as handsome, he was much more easygoing and obviously very popular, always hanging out with friends and girlfriends, on the sports grounds, driving around, at parties. According to Steve, he was allowed much more freedom than his older siblings and punished much less than they, but still got a spanking every now and then. I didn't see much of him, but liked what I saw. The evenings at the reverend household were not exactly exiting, but pleasant enough, with good dinners and quiet conversation. Like most people they kept slaves, two rather plain maids and a gardener/chauffeur in his thirties.

I'd been offered a couple to keep house for me, but begged off. Enslavement is not used as a punishment in my country and I felt uneasy about handling slaves. A service company took care of my house and garden, of course using slave labour, but I didn't have anything to do with them. A van drove up every morning at about ten and an overseer came in to ask if I wanted some special service and estimate the routine jobs for that day. Sometimes I asked for lunch, but I like cooking and usually managed on my own. He fetched two or three teenage girls and boys, gave them their orders and left to come back in the middle of the afternoon to bring them away again. They went quietly around, careful not to disturb me, working quickly and efficiently. I hardly ever spoke to them and if they talked among themselves it was in a whisper. Both girls and boys were dressed in denim shorts and a t-shirt, their bare feet hobbled by a two foot steel chain and a steel collar locked around their necks. Steve told me that they probably were ordinary high school kids with minimum sentences, five years, for smaller crimes, and likely happy to have been bought by a service company. They worked hard, but with regular hours, and were treated well, housed in dorms and allowed TV and other entertainment after work. First of all they were not subjected to a private owner's whims, especially not his or hers sexual demands.

That was more or less my experience with slaves. Of course I'd seen them around, running errands, walking two steps behind their owners, washing cars or gardening in the neighbourhood, or in public service, sweeping roads, working the parks, but never been in closer contact with any of their kind, and certainly never even thought about acquiring one. And now Steve asked me to do exactly that. "You what?" I looked incredulously at him. "You can't be serious!" "I am, very serious". I shook my head. "I can't do that, Steve". "Why not?" "Firstly because I don't want slaves. I don't approve of the system, as you very well know. Secondly because I'm off from here in less than a month, as you very well know as well, and back home we don't have slaves. And thirdly, and most important, I don't want to lose your friendship". "You wouldn't". "Don't give me that crap, Steve. If I had a slaveboy, I'd use him, just as I use you". "Of course". "Steve! I'm a sadistic faggot and you a masochist, perfect for both of us, because we like what we're doing and we do it because we like it, but Nick's not like you. He won't like it one little bit". "Of course he won't and he's not supposed to. He's serving a sentence, not on holiday". "You approve of that?" "Basically, yes. The slave system is a good thing. It has brought the crime rate down, taught foolish youths to behave".

Disaster had struck his family. Nick as usual were out on a Friday night, partying. Normally he never touched alcohol, his parents were teetotallers, and swore that someone had spiced his cokes when stopped by the police and tested over the limit, and what was worse, drugs were found in his car. Just a couple of reefers, but enough to land him and the two friends, a girl and another boy, he was taking home, with enslavement sentences. The other two got ten years for possession of drugs, he an extra five for drunken driving. They were just now up at the slave processing centre for the initial three months training. His parents refused to see him, had openly washed their hands of him and would never do anything to help him, had that been possible, slaves couldn't be bought by members of their family. Only Steve had tried to support the boy and been with him at the trial, but could of course do nothing with the apparently clear-cut case.

"James, please! I am serious. It's bad enough for Nick as it is, but I'm afraid that it'll be worse, much, much worse, unless you're willing to help". "Why?" "I've always thought that there was something fishy going on. Nick's a good boy and I don't believe for a second that he knew about the booze. OK, he has tried it, actually with me, but he'd never behave so stupidly and never, ever come near any sort of drugs, nor keep friends who did". "But…". "Sure, he was drunk and there were drugs in his car, but I'm sure it was a hoax, a trap". "A trap, but why?" "You know how popular he is, all the girls at his school are dying to make him date them, not least because he really is a nice guy, who'd never try to go to far with them. That makes some of the other boys envious and some girls too. I've been asking around and this is what I think happened. There's one girl in particular, very pretty and out of a wealthy family, but a nasty type. She's been chasing Nick for a long time, but he didn't want anything to do with her. Other boys are not so particular and she has a gang of followers, mostly blockhead football types. They were at the party and I'm sure that they set a trap for Nick". "Nasty". "Very and I believe it's even worse. This girl's been bragging how she's going to buy Nick and the girl who was with him that night, and make life hell for them. Please, John, please buy my brother. Please save him!" "But he'll be a slave whatever happens. It can't be much worse than that". "Yes it can. You've only seen how we treat our slaves at home, and the company slaves, and that's not too bad, they are after all convicted felons, but an owner can do almost anything to his slaves, short of actually killing or maiming them seriously, and some of them are real sadists. If Nick's delivered into the hands of that bitch, she'll break him. After fifteen years he'll be reduced to nothing more than a slave for the rest of his life, no education, no skills, no initiative, unable to manage anything but the most menial jobs". "And if I bought him?" "As his master you'd be bound by law to treat him as the slave he is". "So what's the difference?" "That even if you will be strict, you won't hate him and won't be unnecessarily cruel".

I leaned back and closed my eyes. 'What a predicament! Of course I'd to help Steve and his brother, but buying a slave!' "I can't, I'm going home within a month and I can't bring a slave with me". "Yes you can. I've asked the court about it and it's been done before, not often, but a slave owner can take his property with him, even to countries where slavery is unknown. All slaves have an implant which shows exactly where they are anywhere in the world, and another which can kill them if necessary. If a slave runs away and can't be caught again, he'll be destroyed". "You've been planning this for some time, haven't you?" "Please, John, please don't be angry. I…". "I'll never be angry with you, but I wasn't expecting this. How do I actually buy a slave?" "At public auction. There's one every Monday. Nick's up for sale at the next". "That's in three days!" "Yes". "Yoy leave me very little time to decide". The tall boy dropped to his knees in front of me. "If you buy him, you'll get two slaves for the price of one". "Are you offering yourself as a slave?" "I am". I caught his face between my hands and gave him a kiss. "No way, buddy. You're my friend and I, we like it when you're tied up and get some stripes, but my slave, never!" He looked pleadingly at me. "Never, I said! What do I have to do to become a slave owner?"

We spent most of the weekend discussing what to do and how to do it. I had my credentials and financial status vetted and was registered at the slave court, where it was confirmed that I could bring any slaves, I might buy, out of the country, provided that I could be trusted to treat them according to the law. I had no trouble raising the necessary funds to buy a slave, or even three or four. My favourite aunt had died the previous year and left me her house as well as a quite substantial fortune. Steve went through slave manuals and the few rules for owners with me. Basically I could do what I liked, as long as I made sure that their sentences were carried out, that they were treated as slaves, worked hard and punished for even the smallest infractions. I can't deny that I began feeling confident about my future role, even looking forward to it. I made him tell me in detail about the incident which had enslaved his brother, including the names of the girl and the other boy.

On Monday morning Steve drove me to the auction house while giving me the last instructions about the procedures. We arrived just as an open sports car drove up and a blonde girl and two broad shouldered teenage boys got out. "That's her, the bitch". Steve ducked behind the wheel. "OK, stay here and wait for me". I jumped out and followed them to a reception hall. "Thank you, Sir". One of the girls behind the counter accepted my ID and looked at her screen. "I hope you'll find what you're looking for, Sir. Male or female?" "I haven't decided yet". "Please find today's offers over there, Sir". She indicated three doors. "Males to the right, females to the left. Auction room in the middle. Selling starts in one hour, males first". She handed me a glossy catalogue and I took a step back, scanning it idly. The blonde was talking to another receptionist. "No. 63, how much do you think he'll cost?" "Male, 17, new, 15 years, no special skills. $1.000 per year I'd think, $20.000 at most, but probably less". "And no. 124?" "Ah, let me see". The receptionist looked at her screen. "Female, 17, new, 10 years, no special skills. About $30.000 I shouldn't wonder". "That much!" "Well, she's rather pretty". "You think so? OK, thanks". The girl turned to her companions. "Shit! My dad wouldn't let me spend more than 30 grand". "Maybe Nick won't fetch more than 10 and you might get Christine for 20". "Yeah. Lucky that it's males first. At least I'm sure to get that arsehole. Let's inspect the merchandise". They went laughing towards the door to the right.

'We'll see about that, won't we, bitch?', I thought and followed them. I knew from the catalogue that there were 73 boys on offer that day. They were lined up along the middle of the long room, back to back on little podiums, arms raised over their heads, cuffed hands clipped to chains hanging from the ceiling and right ankles chained to the podium. They were of course completely naked. The hair on their heads was cropped to mere stubble and their pubes clean-shaven. A number of prospective buyers were strolling along the rows, flicking through their catalogues and stopping every now and then to inspect a boy more closely. Muscles were felt, cocks stroked, and balls hefted. I went along the lower numbers while the girl and her cronies headed down the other side. "Hi, Nick, how's things?" Looking between the naked bodies I saw her leering at a boy who had his back to me. "Enjoyed your training?" He didn't answer and she took a step forward to grab his scrotum. "Hope you did, slaveboy, because you won't have much fun for the next fifteen years, but, boy, you bet I will". I heard him whimper when she apparently squeezed his balls. "I'm buying you, loser, and believe me, you'll not enjoy being my slave". She let go and stepped back. "I'll make your life one long torment. You'll serve me on your knees all day long, you'll lick my feet, you'll be my footstool, you'll lick me clean when one of my lovers has fucked me, and him too. I'll whip you every day. I'll make you wear clamps on your nipples and on your cock. You'll be the most lousy, humiliated, dirty, snivelling slaveboy in this country. And you know what? I'll buy that snotty bitch, Christine, as well. God, how I'm looking forward to seeing you two crawling on the floor, to hear you scream when you whip each other, to watch you raping her dirty arsehole and she sucking her own shit off your dick after you've been up her, without coming, of course. I've bought a dildo for you, pretty boy, big, big one, and I'll make her fuck you too. Fifteen years! Just imagine what I can do to you for fifteen years, and then imagine the life you could have had if you'd had the brains not to piss me off". She laughed nastily. "Just one hour and you'll be mine!" She sent him a last venomous glance before turning on her heel to walk away.

I heard him sobbing quietly when I went back up the row to stop in front of No. 24. Pete, the third party at the fateful car ride. Not as tall as Nick or Steve, but with a muscular black swimmer's body and a very long cock hanging over a heavy sack. He looked calmly at me when I touched his broad chest, reached for his ballsack and let my hand slide down his sturdy leg, but of course didn't say anything. 'Already well trained', I thought and nodded amiably to him. His face split in an enchanting grin and he actually winked at me. I nodded again and went round to the other side to reach Nick, who'd composed himself a bit, but was still looking thoroughly dejected. "Hi!" He raised his head and recognised me. "Cheer up! She won't get you. I will". His eyes showed a glimmer of hope. "Promise". I sent him a smile and sauntered towards the exit, but turned back for moment. "Christine too". In the next room 51 naked girls were chained up like the boys. A pretty spectacle, if that's what you prefer, and the throng of men and boys pawing them proved that I'm part of a minority. No. 124 was crying silently, obviously after a visit from the little bitch. A brunette, the slavegirls had been allowed to keep most of their hair, but her sex was of course clean-shaven. Medium height, smallish, but well shaped breasts, adorned with large brown nipples. I was looking her over when a grotesquely fat man in his late forties waddled up to pinch her nipples and part her pink cunt lips. He checked his catalogue and worked a finger up her tunnel. "Hmm, it's true. A virgin".

Turning away in disgust I left in search of something to calm my rising fury. 'What sort of people tolerate that kind of treatment of a bunch of teenagers, even if they did commit petty crime!' I went out to the bar and ordered a beer from the barefoot young girl. Other people were leaving the display rooms to have a refreshment or to go directly to the auction room. Two men, whose uniforms showed that they were employed by the service-company, I used, sat down at the next table, ordering coffee and comparing notes. A bell sounded just as I was draining my glass and everybody moved towards the open door to the auction room. I saw the bitch and her companions rise and followed slowly to find a seat. An attendant checked my ID at the entrance, punched a number into a sort of remote control and handed it to me with a smile. The room was filled to the brim, all of the about three hundred chairs arranged in a semicircle were occupied by prospective buyers and, I suppose, a fair number of spectators. A group of high school kids, accompanied by their teacher, was seated at the back and I sat down beside her. "Gee, Miss Jones! It's so exciting". The girl on her other side could hardly contain herself. "Not for the slaves, Julie, so remember…". "Yeah, yeah, it could be me, but I never do anything wrong". "I hope not". "Never! I wouldn't risk ending up as slave of some dirty old man" "It's not always that bad". The boy on her other side leaned forward. "We treat our slaves well and so does your family". "Yeah, but they're whipped and always working so hard, never have any fun at all. And I wouldn't want to end up sucking your dick, Freddy, like that poor slavegirl of yours, what's her name?" "Pam, and it's just her duty. You're envious because your mum won't let you use that boy of hers". "Hush!" The teacher cut short their quarrel and they turned towards the stage, where the first of that day's offers was brought in.

The boy was still naked, now with his hands cuffed behind his back and his ankles hobbled. A guard made him walk around the stage, then led him to the centre to have him stand stiffly at attention, head held high and legs spread. His eyes were fixed at a point over the heads of the audience and he was nervously biting his lower lip. A screen lit up to show his name, age, height and weight. He was sentenced to five years of slavery for attempting to steal a CD, had just finished high school and was without special skills. The auctioneer switched on his microphone. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Bidding for item no. 1 starts at $1.000". The amount flashed on the screen, but was soon replaced by $1.500. No. 266 flashed beside it. I looked at my remote and saw that my own number was 287. The screen flashed again and again, the amount rising with $200 or $300 until it reached $4.300, then stopped. The auctioneer looked at his own screen, searched the audience for signs of further bidding and announced: "Sold for $4.300 to No. 6". I saw one of the men from the service-company make a note in his catalogue, while the boy was led away and another put on display. The auction went on, quickly and smoothly, with brisk bidding. As the girl at reception had predicted, most of the boys fetched about $1.000 per year of slavery, although those with special skills could go higher. A college boy of nineteen, who was well into a degree in computer studies, went for $20.000, even if his slavery was for only six years. Most of them were newly enslaved, but some were being resold and they often went for higher amounts, probably because they were well trained. A couple of particularly handsome studs went even higher, $24.000 and $32.000, with sentences of just five years. A rather flashily dressed man in his thirties two rows in front of me nodded satisfied to himself when the first of them was sold. 'Good luck, kid. He doesn't look that nasty', I thought. After the sale of the second, a teenage girl in the front row jumped up. "Got you, Jimmy!" He smiled broadly and blew her a kiss before being led away. "Argh, that slut! He's been doing her since seventh grade, but her dad's always spoiling her", the girl on the other side of the teacher hissed.

When No. 24 was led on stage his eyes quickly roamed the audience, locking with mine for a second, before settling on a spot over my head. The bidding rose to $9.300, then stopped and the auctioneer was opening his mouth when I pressed a button and flashed $9.400 to the screen, was bid over with $200, thought, 'What the hell!' and flashed $10.500. That stopped the bidding and the auctioneer announced that Pete was sold to No. 287. I'd bought my first slave. He glanced briefly at me, but I kept my face expressionless. The auction went on and I lost interest until No. 63 was brought forward. The bitch girl was in the front row and I saw her nudging her companions. Bidding started at $2.000 and rose slowly to $7.200. The girl fumbled with her remote and the price went up to $7.500. 'Impatient, are we?' I thought and bid $10.000. She raised me with $500 and I bid $15.000. The boy on her left rose to let his eyes roam the audience, but I slumped in my seat, looking bored. The auctioneer seemed ready to close the sale and the girl pressed the buttons frantically. $16.000. I yawned and changed it to $20.000. She hissed something to the other boy and bid $21.000. 'Lost your slavegirl, did you?' The auctioneer made ready to close the sale once again and the girl leaned back, apparently sighing with relief when I bid $31.000. "No!" She jumped up and stamped her foot. "No!" "Sold to No. 287 for $31.000". The auctioneer gestured to have Nick brought off. "No, no! He's mine". The girl was frantic. "Do you have No. 287, young lady?" The auctioneer looked questioningly at her. "No, but it must be a mistake!" "I don't think so". "Yes, it must. That wretched slave isn't worth $31.000!" "He is to one of our customers". "No!" She was stamping her foot again. "Will you please sit down, young lady, or leave the room". "No! I demand a new auction". The screen had gone blank and I pressed my remote again. $31.000. "No. 287 has just confirmed the bid. Sit down and keep quiet, right now, or I'll have you removed". "I bid $35.000!" "Too late". "No!" I chuckled inwardly and the screen flashed $40.000. "I don't think you can outbid the other customer, young lady, and the price stands at $31.000". The guard led Nick away and the bitch sank down on her chair, sobbing loudly. One of the boys was still staring angrily, trying to determine who No. 287 could be, while the other whispered to her. I stayed for the next three sales, then left for the bar.

Fifteen minutes later the audience began to leave, apparently for a pause before the sale of female slaves. The girl pushed her way through the throng of people, her face a mask of fury, with the two boys one step behind her. They chose the table next to mine. "I can't believe it!", she hissed, "What''s going on?" "Maybe it's one of his friends?" "None of them have that kind of money. $40.000!" "I'll find out". One of the boys went to the reception counter, but the girl there just shook her head at his question. "Not allowed to tell". He came back. "At least you can buy Christine. Just think of what you can do to her, or let us do to her". The other boy leered at his friend. "No". "Why not? We'll make sure that Nick learns about it. That'll make him just as miserable to imagine his girlfriend whipped and arsefucked every day". "Yeah, and we can look out for him, every time he leaves his master's house. You can do a lot to a slave, if you meet him in the street. Trip him, accuse him of touching you, stamp on his toes, kick his arse". "Not the same, but OK". The girl's face turned grim. "OK, I'll buy Christine".

The audience trickled back to the auction, but I remained where I was for another half hour, then returned to my seat just as No. 119, a strikingly beautiful, long legged blonde was brought on stage. The bidding for her was fierce, jumping quickly from $10.000 to $50.000 and finally settling at $64.000, when a man in his late fifties raised his arms in triumph. 'Take care that you don't overdo it, grandpa', I thought, 'And end up with a coronary'. The sale of the next three girls disgusted me, all of them going to men well past middle age and unable to conceal their glee, so when No. 124 was led in, I rose and sauntered towards the exit, making the screen flash with $35.000 on the way. "No, no, no!" The bitch screamed again and I half turned in the door to see the screen showing $40.000. 'You don't have that much, girlie', I thought and changed it to $50.000. "Sold to No. 287", I heard on my way out. Stopping at reception I handed in my remote, signed the printout of my purchases and gave a few instructions about my new slaves. "Certainly, Sir. They'll be delivered the day after tomorrow, just after lunch". I nodded amiably and went out to find Steve.

He was on the verge of tears when told about the events about the auction and repeatedly stammered his thanks and promises to stay my slave forever. "Will you stop that, Steve and take me home. I may have done you a small favour, but given myself a much greater gift. Two delicious boys at my mercy!" He grinned and composed himself. "Three, I hope". I grinned back and he drove past the entrance of the auction house just as the three disappointed teenagers came out. One of the boys caught sight of us and grabbed his fellow's arm, pointing. They ran towards their car and I asked Steve to go slow until I spotted them two cars behind us, then to take a roundabout route home, while I made a call on my mobile. Back at my house, I told him to drive off at once and come back two hours later. The open car was parked a few hundred yards down the road when I went in and through the house to greet the guests who were waiting for me on the garden side.

"Hey, you!" I was relaxing in a deck chair on the terrace with a drink when five boys came around the corner. "What are you doing here?" I half rose from my chair, looking angered and frightened, but was pushed back. "Coming to claim what's mine". The girl appeared behind her burly friends. "Yours? I have nothing of yours". "Yes you have, but not for long, Mr. 287. I want the slaves you just bought". "You what?" "I'll even pay you for them, $25.000". "But I bought them for more than $90.000, and I won't sell them". "So you'll lose a lot of money, tough luck". "No I won't!" "Yes you will, shithead!" One of the boys grabbed my shirt to haul me out of the chair. "Or we'll beat the shit out of you!" "But that's assault!" "Yeah, tough, what's you gonna do about it?" "You can't do this?" "Why not? Five big boys against one wimp? No sweat". "And a tough girl to kick his balls". The bitch spat at my feet. "Either you write those slaves over to me or you'll be very, very sorry". "I'll
tell the police": "Tell what? You don't know us, and we don't know you. No one will believe you". "Oh yes, they will, but won't have to. You're under arrest for blackmail and attempted assault". The town's chief of police emerged from the door to the terrace and two of his men came round the other corner, guns drawn.

"Thank you, chief". I handed him a drink and sat down beside him. The now hysterically weeping girl and her five frightened and subdued cronies had been handcuffed and led away. "Not at all, we've been watching that gang for a long time, but until now never been able to catch them doing something seriously wrong. This'll earn them at least ten years each, maybe fifteen". I'd met him at a garden party and when told about the trouble he had with a new computer system, offered to take a look and was able to solve the problems. So when I phoned to ask for his help without further explanations, he was more than willing to come at once. "Slavery sentences?" "Of course". "Serve them damn right!" I toasted him and told of Steve's suspicions about the trap they might have set for his brother. "Shouldn't surprise me if it's true, but we'll wring it out of them". He left before Steve came back, excited and grateful. He'd told his parents that I'd bought Nick. They were still very disappointed and angry about his 'crime' and didn't want to see him, but nevertheless relieved that he'd passed into the hands of a man they knew and respected. His father 'hoped that I could bring the errant boy back to the straight and narrow track'. 'Some chance', I thought, 'But perhaps I can make a normal boy out of him, what I consider normal, that is'. Steve begged me to allow him to show his gratitude and fetched the crop, offering it to me on his knees, but I refused. "I'll have two delicious boy to play with tomorrow and don't want you to exhaust me". He looked crestfallen and I knelt beside him for a deep kiss. We made quiet love and spent the rest of the day discussing how to treat my three slaves. Steve reluctantly agreed that we stopped our love games until the three teens had come to terms with their new life. It would be too much for them, even if Steve suspected that Nick wasn't completely unaware of our relationship.

The chief phoned next morning, asking me to come down the slave court as soon as possible. Three of the boys had soon told that the girl and her closest buddies had spiced Nick's drink as part of the now failed plot. The boys had confessed to a judge, but stubbornly denied any knowledge about the drugs found in Nick's car. The bitch's wealthy father and his lawyers tried pleading that the poor innocent girl had been coaxed into her crimes by the boys, but all five of them protested that it was the other way around. She'd already been sentenced to twenty years of slavery, two of the boys to fifteen and the remaining three to ten years. Justice was swift in juvenile cases and they were off to the training facility in preparation for their sale in three months time. The girl would be sold in another town, not disclosed to her parents, to prevent that they made their friends buy her. Released at the age of thirty-eight after twenty years of hard labour and sexual abuse, there would be little left of her, even if she returned to a life in wealth.

The judge received me in his private chambers. He'd changed the previous sentences of Nick, Christine and Pete, to seven and five years of enslavement. I expressed my surprise that they were not set free, now it had been revealed that the whole thing was a hoax, but he explained that Nick had still been over the limit when driving home that night. Admittedly he'd been trapped, but should have known better than to take his car and there was the question of drugs as well. They were most likely planted, but it couldn't be proved and the law had to be upheld. The judge had actually reduced the sentences to an absolute minimum. In such cases the slaves would normally go for a new auction, but because of my services to society he had decided to reimburse my money and offer me the three of them for free.

Part 2. Nick

My nipples still hurt like hell when they let us out of the small holding cells, where we'd spent the night, those of us newly sold slaves who'd been specially equipped according to our owners' wishes. Pete was there too, further down the line, but we hadn't been able to exchange a word, so I didn't know who'd bought him. We were facing the wall, hands clasped behind our heads, but I stole a glance at my neighbours. The boy on my right was crying silently. 'Poor guy', I thought, 'You really got the full treatment!'

I was waiting my turn to be 'equipped' when he was strapped on a table and I'd watched in horror while they stuck a curved needle through his nipples. There was no kind of anaesthetics and the guy was howling in pain. God, I didn't know it was like that. I mean, I've seen lots of ringed slaves, that's more common than not, but never wondered how they got them. Now I knew. A bare room, covered in white tiles, six strapping tables and about fifty naked boys chained to the walls while slave handlers very efficiently went about their business, completely without mercy. Moans and screams from tormented slaves rebounded in my head and my body went rigid with fear of what would happen to me. Of course no one had bothered telling us what kind of 'decorations' our owners had ordered. For the first time it really struck home that I was a slave, not a person, but a piece of livestock, subject to another person's whims. Not even the rigorous training they'd put us through had made me feel like a slave. It wasn't exactly fun, but not too bad either, a new experience. Stupid of me of course, but I felt ripe for a change in life. Manual labour wasn't new to me, Dad believed that it was good for us, so even if we kept slaves, Steve and I'd always done our share of gardening, washing cars and such. Thanks to his firm belief in corporal punishment, the prospect of getting my bum striped didn't scare me either.

But now, when the guy on the table was howling again as the needle penetrated his septum, I realised that I knew very little about my owner. When visiting my parents he was polite and generally seemed a very nice guy. Steve, of course, was completely besotted with him, so much that I've begun suspecting that they were more than just good friends, but you don't really imagine your big brother a faggot, do you? At least I didn't, but if they really were making out with each other what about me, then? Even after our training, the prospect of sucking another guy's cock, not to mention worse things, was nauseating, but the horror scene soon distracted me. They'd finished fitting rings in the poor guy's nipples and nose, and I thought he was through, but he didn't escape that easy. The handlers moved to his crotch and one of them grabbed his cock, while the other aimed the needle. The guy was begging and pleading incoherently, when he realised what they were going to do, but to no avail. In the needle went, down his piss slit and through one side of his dick, quickly followed by a large ring. And even that wasn't enough. His legs were unstrapped and the whimpering slave must have thought that it was finally over, but handlers from the neighbouring tables turned to grab his feet, forcing his legs high in the air and spreading them. His torturers pressed his bleeding cock over his sack, down towards his arsehole and the needle penetrated his tender skin a fifth time. A ring was inserted and welded shut before the boy unceremoniously was released and pushed off the table. His legs gave way and he sank to his knees, crying uncontrollably. The rest of us could only stare at the rings in his bleeding nipples and nose and imagine the agony he was suffering after they'd locked his newly pierced cock to the ring between his legs.

"Next!" One of the handlers released me and I nearly pissed myself, like the boy beside me had already done, but managed to stumble to the table. They restrained me, but with just two straps across my chest, and I breathed a sigh of relief. 'My nipples only', I thought, and was right. It hurt, but I managed to keep my mouth shut until it was over and I was back at the wall again. Steve got up from another table, ringed like me, and sent me a strained grin. My chest felt as if on fire, but that bit of pain was nothing compared to what Eileen would already have done to me if Steve's friend hadn't bought me. 'God! I owe that guy my life. He'll have the best slave ever seen', I thought, 'Even if he seems to have a cruel streak. What does he want those rings for?'

A young woman in a doctor's coat, followed by two handlers, came down the line, making a close inspection of our 'equipment'. When reaching my crying neighbour she shook her head sadly. "I'll never understand why the boys can't be anaesthetised like the girls". "It'd be a waste, Miss. They're stronger and they can just as well get used to a bit of pain". "Perhaps, but why risk traumatic shocks. It could easily happen, especially if they're pierced repeatedly". She crouched down to examine the guy' cock-ring. "Nasty!" She looked up. "How are you feeling? Dizzy?" "No, Miss, but it hurts so much", he hiccuped. "Have you vomited?" "No, Miss". She rose again and turned to me. "Unnecessarily cruel, but he'll mend". Even after my three months spent totally naked at the slave training camp, I hadn't got used to it and was blushing all over when her cool hands slid over my chest, testing the rings. They were apparently fine, because she just nodded and went on, while the handlers sent me on to the communal shower. I washed thoroughly, didn't want to show up scruffy on my first day as an owned slave, and, as learned from experience, used the opportunity to squat and dump a load down the drain. We stood shivering while our bodies dried, no towels for slaves, and were then hobbled with a two foot chain and handcuffed behind our backs.

As usual we knelt upright in the transport van in four rows, hobbles fastened to rings in the floor. Don't know why they do that. How could we escape? Just to humiliate us, make us feel what we were now, lousy slaves. Pete was in the row behind me and I caught a faint whisper: "287". 'Gosh, man, he'd bought Pete. Greatest guy ever! And he'd promised to buy Chris as well'. A warm feeling of relief ran through me. 'To be a slave along with two of my friends wouldn't be that bad. At least we could support each other'. But then they brought out the girls and placed Chris right in front of me. Her nipples were ringed like mine, but she had four rings in her pussy lips as well, locked together with two small padlocks. I dared not speak, but tried to give her my best encouraging smile. Her glum face didn't light up, on the contrary her eyes bored into mine with an expression of loathing. I tried another smile and a nod, but she turned her head away. 'Shit! She's blaming me', I thought. No wonder, really, but bad news, very bad. The prospects suddenly didn't seem that bright. I mean, she wasn't my girlfriend or anything, but I'd always liked Chris a lot, she's such a fun girl. 'Hope we can straighten things out later'.

The van drove around for hours, and after many stops to unload a slave or two it was finally our turn. A handler brought us to the hall of our master's bungalow. They completed the paperwork while the three of us were kneeling silently on the floor, still chained and cuffed, heads bowed like good slaves. The handler took off our chains and left, and the master's loafers appeared in front of me. "I've bought you as a favour to a friend, but that doesn't change the fact that you're convicted felons or that I'm obliged by law to treat you as such. I'll try to be fair, but don't mistake me. If you work hard, serve me well, you'll have a tolerable life, if not, you'll be punished. Can you cook, girl?" "Yes, Sir". Chris didn't raise her head. "Don't lie to me. I'm used to eating well". "I've taken courses in French cooking at summer school for the last two years, Sir". "Hmm. Dinner at eight. Which one of you boys know about gardening?" "I do, Sir. My parents have a large garden, no slaves, but four sons, Sir". Pete seemed quite cheerful. "Good, you do the outside work and take care of my car". "Yes, Sir". "Nick is my bodyslave and shares the housework with Christine". "Yes, Sir", we answered in unison "You may rise". We got up to display ourselves, hands behind heads and feet spread.

Our master gave us a thorough inspection. Walked around us, squeezed Chris' tits and rotated her nipple rings. She whimpered and bit down on her lower lip. He crouched to look closely at her locked pussy, but didn't touch. "Show me your other hole". Still biting her lip hard she turned her back to him and bent over, reaching back to spread her arsecheeks. Something like a sob escaped her when he slowly pressed a finger up her back passage, but she kept the humiliating position until he withdrew it and told her to rise again. His soiled finger was waving in front of me. I stared from it to his face. His eyes were expressionless, but the finger touched my lips and I opened up to suck it clean, fighting not to retch. "Hmm". He twisted my rings and I couldn't suppress a moan. "Hmm. Arsehole". I turned and he repeated his inspection, while I tried keeping still when the finger touched my prostate. "Up again!" I turned to see Pete sucking the finger. The master's hands roamed his muscular body, felt up his arms and thighs and caressed his tight arse. When he took a step back Peter began turning his back. "Did I tell you to do that, slave?" "No, Sir". "Don't try anticipating my wishes". "No, Sir. Sorry, Sir". "You will be". "Yes, Sir". "Later. Now get to work, but hobble your feet first. Chains in the slaveroom".

He left and we hesitated for a moment. "Better find it, then. No lunch today, it seems". Pete led the way through the house. Just a master bedroom, a spare room, the study, where we could see the master working at his computer, a large bright sitting room with French doors to the terrace and a well-equipped kitchen and scullery. The slaveroom was standard. Bare cement floor, raw brick walls, a rickety table with three stools under a barred window at one end and the usual punishment instruments, hanging shackles and a sawhorse at the other. There was a small bathroom with shower and sink, no toilet or door of course, and two narrow cells, one of them with two bunks on top of each other, and closed with steel grilles. "Yeah". Pete sighed and fetched the three pairs of ankle cuffs and chains from the wall. I knelt to lock a set around Chris' slim ankles and looked up at her grim face. "I'm so terribly sorry, but…". "Sure, for yourself", she spat, "I don't need your excuses. What you've caused us cannot be excused, ever!" "Chris, please!" "I don't want to talk about it and I don't want to have anything to do with you, is that clear?" I stared at her and was about to try again, when Pete interrupted. "No time for that now, better get working". I rose, shoulders sagging. "Are you mad at me as well?" "Later, but I'm not, mate". At least I still had one friend.

We shuffled out and I took a bucket and a brush while Pete went to the garage and Chris to the kitchen. I was washing the floor of the hall when she joined me. "I'll do that. You've better take his bed and bathroom and have a look at his clothes". Her voice was cold. Everything was very tidy and I quickly changed the sheets, vacuumed and dusted, and cleaned the bathroom. I could see Pete trimming flowerbeds along the border of the lawn. "Nick!" My master called from the study and I hobbled along as fast as my ankle chain allowed. "Yes, Sir?" "I need to piss". "Yes, Sir". One of the tasks I dreaded most. It wasn't uncommon, but decent people tended to frown upon owners who degraded their slaves like that. None of the people I knew, did it, and certainly not at my home. I'd hoped that my master wasn't one of those, but he did seem to have a cruel streak, more than cruel. 'Come on, slaveboy', I thought, 'One time has to be the first'. So down I got on my knees between his legs, opened his fly and drew out a long, slender cock. 'Nice one', I thought, 'Won't hurt that much if it goes up my arse'. I took a deep breath and swallowed when he let loose a steady stream. It wasn't too bad and I managed to drink all of it down, then licked the member clean and put back. He didn't say anything, just turned back to his computer, so I got up and trundled back to his bedroom. His clothes were neat enough, but there was some freshly laundered shirts hanging in the scullery. I was ironing them when Chris came back. "You've met him before. Have you any idea of what he likes to eat?" She spoke harshly, avoiding my eyes. "I'm sorry, but no. You'll have to ask him". "I don't want to risk disturbing him". "Take a look at the fridge and whip up something nice". "Thanks", she sneered and left. About an hour later I heard the master: "What'll I have for dinner?" "Shrimp salad, filet of beef and strawberry pie, Sir". He grunted something I didn't catch and then raised his voice. "Nick! Change". "Yessir". I hurried to the bedroom.

He was sitting in an armchair, eyes closed and looking pretty worn out. I hesitated for a moment, dropped to my knees and removed his shoes gently, then his socks. When tired, especially after working on his sermon, my dad likes if a slave licks and rubs his feet, cheers him up no end, so I guessed my master might like the same, got down on my stomach and began licking the top of his left foot. No reaction. 'OK, so far', I thought, and changed to the other foot, let my tongue slide across the toes, along the edge of the foot to reach the heel. A deep sigh from above and the foot moved forward until it was resting on the heel. 'OK'. I closed my mouth around the big toe, sucking gently, changed to the next toe and the remaining three, went back, stabbing between them and finally took a gentle hold to raise the foot and lick the sole thoroughly. "Hmm", came from above. 'OK, OK', I thought, 'Doing fine, aren't you, slaveboy?' The other foot got the same treatment and after that I rubbed and massaged them. At last my master rose. "Undress me and run a bath". "Yes, Sir". I filled the tub, soaped him up and, when he'd soaked himself for a while, washed his hair and rubbed his shoulders gently. He seemed to enjoy it, but didn't say a word of praise or even to acknowledge my efforts, neither in the bath nor when I dried and dressed him again.

"A vodka Martini on the terrace in five minutes". He nodded curtly and strolled out. 'Shit!', I thought, 'Don't know how to make one'. I hurried to the kitchen, where Chris was just about to put the pie in the oven. The delicious smell of cooking was overpowering and my stomach grumbled. God, I was so hungry! She looked up, frowning. "What do you want?" "I, eh, do you know how to make a vodka martini?" "You're the drunkard around here". "Please, Chris! You know that I don't drink". "Funny that they tested you over the limit, then". "Can't we talk about that later? I have to serve the master and I've never in my life mixed a drink". She looked surly at me, but found bottles and glass. "Get some ice". She made the drink and put it on a tray with a little bowl of olives. "Thanks a lot, Chris, you're a real friend". "Not any longer, but I don't want an angry master". She turned her back and I shuffled out.

"What took you so long?" Master James was sitting in a deck chair. I knelt to offer the tray. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't know how to mix drinks". "Hmm". He took a sip. "But managed anyway". "Chris made it, Sir". "Tell her to teach you". "Yes, Sir". Dusk was creeping up, but Pete was still weeding at the far end of the lawn. "Fetch your fellow, and a cane". "Yessir". I stumbled across, cursing the hobble. Pete was sweaty, his hide marked by thorns, and he looked up with a weary grin. "Dinner time?" "Don't know, haven't said, but he wants you and a cane. Sorry". "Yeah, me own fault". He rose and squeezed my shoulder. "Don't fret, mate". "But Chris is still so angry". "She'll cool off". He hurried towards the terrace and I to the door to the scullery. When I came back Pete stood bent over, grabbing his ankles. The master took the cane and without a word swung down to cut a line across the black butt. "One, Sir. Thanks, Sir". He swung again and again, laying on the stripes neatly side by side. Pete continued his calm counting, but his voice was strained when he announced: "Ten, Sir. Thanks, Sir". The cane fell to the ground and our master dropped back into his chair. "Get cleaned up and take a break for dinner". "Yes, Sir. Thanks, Sir". He looked at me. "Lay the table for me out here and open a bottle of Rioja". "Yes, Sir".

I served dinner, changed the dishes, poured the wine and otherwise stayed behind the master's chair. Chris reminded me to lay the table with candles and flowers, and I thought it looked very nice, but still got no word from Master James, who ate in silence, apparently enjoying the meal and the view over the garden. Only when he'd finished dessert did he look up. "Fetch the girl". "Yes, Sir" I turned to go. "You may grab something to eat, but don't take too long" "Thank you, Sir". Chris had cooked a generous helping of the usual slave porridge and she and Pete were eating in the kitchen when I paid hurried visits to fetch a new dish for the master. My stomach was screaming for food, anything, but I hadn't dared stop even for a second to snatch a spoonful. Now I hurried to tell Chris her orders and grab a spoon, stuffing myself directly from the pot. "Hey, mate, slowly does it or you'll get stomach cramps". Pete handed me a glass. "Got to hurry, he told me so". But I forced myself to slow down and wash it down with water. It was bland, but to me it tasted better than any meal I remembered. "Gosh, I was hungry". "Yeah", Pete sighed wearily, "and tired". "That too. Listen, I'm sorry, it's my fault. I don't know what to do". "Be a good slave, and it isn't". He put his hands on my shoulders. "First of all, don't despair, Nick. We'll get used to this and so will our master. It'll be OK after a while and don't ever doubt that I'm still your friend". "Thanks, mate". "Buddies?" "Buddies!", I confirmed and suddenly felt much better

That didn't last for long. When I came back to the terrace, the master had moved to a comfortable chair and was nursing the last of his wine. Chris was on her hands and knees, feet spread as far as her hobble allowed and arse towards him, leaving a very clear view of her female charms. The master looked up when he heard my chain rattling. "Tell the other slave to clear away and then rub my feet again". 'Please, not right there', I thought. He had planted his loafers on Chris' bare buttocks. "Yes, Sir". I turned back to call Pete and knelt beside the nude girl, looking pleadingly at my master, but got only a passive stare back. With a sigh I eased off his right shoe and began sucking on his toes. My nose was barely an inch from Chris' hide and she must have felt my breath. This was so humiliating and she'd be even madder at me, but what could I do? Finished with the first foot I crawled around her, catching a whispered, "I hate you", on the way. While I was taking care of the left foot, Master James suddenly ducked the right, still bare, between Chris' legs, rubbing against her labia rings. I could see a tremor running up her back, but she managed to stay calm, at least until the big toe apparently found her clit. That made her jump, but she regained control and only heavy breathing revealed her arousal. A moment later a waft of musky smell reached my nostrils. 'Makes you hot, does it?' I grinned to myself, but sobered when it hit me how angry she must be.

I finished licking and rubbing and sank back on my heels, only to be presented with the other foot and ordered to lick it clean. It was covered in sticky juices, but didn't taste too bad. Master James kicked the bare arse in front of him and told Chris to serve coffee in the sitting room, then dismissed her and Pete. I stayed with him, it was my turn to serve as a footstool while he drank his coffee and watched the news. He switched to a film and settled down comfortably to enjoy it. A western, judging from the soundtrack. Shit, but it was boring to lie like that and after some time I got the cramps in my legs, tried to remain still, but it was hard and when my left leg twitched he kicked my arse hard, without saying anything. At last the film reached its end and he rose. "Fetch the other slaveboy to my bedroom, bring some rope and a paddle. Tell the girl to go to bed". "Yes, Sir". I could hardly move, but managed to stumble to the slaveroom, where Chris and Pete were slumped on the stools, looking bored. "A paddle! You did anything wrong, mate?" "Don't think so, but who knows?" "Nah, OK, better hurry. Night, Chris". He gave her a peck on the cheek. I got only a surly look from her.

"You'll learn to stay still, but I've better tie you up tonight. Kneel on the edge of the bed, arses high and hands between your legs". We exchanged troubled looks and got into position. Our wrists were lashed to our ankles and I felt the master's hand slide over my buttocks. "Ever been arsefucked?" "No, Sir", I mumbled. "And you?" He smacked Pete's bottom. "No, Sir". "Better prepare you, then". A split second later pain exploded all over my arse when the paddle hit me squarely and I couldn't suppress a scream. The paddle hit again and Pete yelped. "Great! Two virgin arses". He returned to me, went back to Pete, me again and so on. The paddle fell rapidly, without a pause, and I was soon crying and babbling for him to stop. Pete was crying too, but managed not to scream, just moaned loudly, rocking with the strokes. I lost count, but think we got at least twenty each before I suddenly felt his hands parting my burning globes. 'Here goes my virginity', flashed through my mind and a moment later I felt his cock pressing against my arsehole. "Relax, boy, or it'll hurt more than necessary". I tried, but it hurt like hell anyway when he slowly moved past my sphincter. It was as if a red-hot poker was rammed up my guts and I screamed and fought against the bondage. "Relax, slaveboy, and stop that noise". His nuts banged against my crack and I clenched my jaws. He pumped me slowly a couple of times, mumbling how fantastic tight I was, then slipped out again. 'God', I thought, 'I'm split in two'. My hole felt like an open barn door. Steve moaned beside me and I turned my head to see his face contorted in pain. 'And it's my fault!' I felt tears of pain and shame wetting the sheet under me.

It seemed as if it'd never end. He withdrew from Pete, rammed into me again, making me scream, changed to Pete and went on alternating between us, until both of us were reduced to hunks of sweaty flesh, crying and pleading for mercy. At last I felt a stream of scalding lava shoot deep into my bowels and let out a last piercing scream, while he collapsed on my back. He stayed there, breathing heavily for a while, then extricated himself. "Stop bawling, boy, and clean me". His body was stretched out beside me and I stared at the slimy piece of meat, covered in a mixture of Pete's and my own shit, the master's sperm and some blood too. 'He can't be serious!', flashed through my mind, but of course he was and I ambled closer to engulf it, fighting not to retch. When he a couple of minutes later apparently was satisfied, he withdrew and a moment later we heard the shower starting. "Could've spared you that, buddy, couldn't he? Sorry", Pete whispered. "God, but it hurts", I moaned. "Yeah. We'll get used to it, I guess. Lots of guys do and not just slaves". Pain and nausea overwhelmed me and I lay sobbing quietly until Master James came back to untie us. "Lock yourselves up and get some sleep. Grilles open at six, wake me up at seven, breakfast half an hour later". "Yes, Sir", Pete answered, gathered the rope and paddle and dragged me away with an arm around my shoulders.

He more carried than supported me to the slaveroom, where Chris was locked up in her cell, already asleep. "Quiet, mate, let's get you in here". We stumbled to the bathroom and he started the shower, cold of course, but it helped me to regain my senses. "I don't think I can stand this". "Lower your voice, and of course you can". He grabbed a bar of the coarse soap and began washing me as gently as he could. "No", I sobbed. "Shh, wait 'til we get to bed". Washed and dried I slumped against the wall while Pete took a quick shower, then dragged me to our cell. On the bunks were a thin mattress and a threadbare blanket for each of us. Pete pushed me on the lower, turned me on my side and got in behind me, spooning up to my shivering body and covering us with the two blankets. His arms came around to hold me. "Shh, buddy, don't you cry, 'tis going to be OK". But I cried on, helplessly, for a long time. When my tears at last dried up, he whispered: "Sleep now, buddy. It'll be better tomorrow". "No, it won't, and all of it is my fault". "Don't you say that and don't you fear that I believe it". "Thanks, but Chris does. She's so mad at me". "Yeah, she is. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn't listen. Sorry, but she'll come round eventually". "No, she won't". "Course she will, we've got to stay friends or it'll be much worse". "I can't take fifteen years of this". "You must, buddy, and I'll help you all I can, just like you'll help me, and Chris". He pressed me closer against his warm body and I fell into an exhausted sleep.

A Favour for a Friend

Part 3. Chris

'Oh, my God!' I almost cried out in surprise, but caught myself in time and stayed motionless and silent on my knees, hands clasped behind my back and eyes fixed on the floor. Master James' voice droned on, but I couldn't listen. Thoughts were racing through my brain, blocking out everything. 'Oh, God! It wasn't his fault, he's completely innocent. God, what a bitch I've been. What shall I do, what shall I do!' I stole a glance at the boy on my left, but Nick was as usual staring emptily at the floor, barely keeping his submissive position, shoulders sagging, a picture of complete despair.

I'd been so angry. There I was, one minute a happy teenager from a wealthy family, popular at school, loved at home, and the next a miserable slavegirl with no future but ten years of hard work and sexual abuse. And only because that lousy creep had been fooling around with drugs. How could he be so stupid, how could anyone? And dragging his friends into it? I hadn't done anything, nothing at all, just accepted a lift from that idiot! It was so bloody unfair and all of it Nick's fault.

My thoughts drifted back through the last fourteen weeks, the longest in my life. God, they felt like years! I knew that it was no bed of roses to be a slave. Just take my own Rosie. Enslaved at sixteen for shoplifting she was a birthday present when I turned fifteen. At least she got a kind mistress, had only been caned three, or was it four, times in two years, but I did slap her face if she made minor mistakes and ordered her across my knees for a handspanking if she made me real angry, or sometimes just because I was in a bad mood. Of course she didn't have much fun, always working with the other family slaves when I was at school or serving me when at home. She had to dress and undress me, wash me, keep my room and clothes tidy, and when I'd friends over she was constantly kept on her toes to make us comfortable. Yet she did watch TV with me or listened to music, surfed the net, played a game. I shared my secrets with her, giggling hysterically, almost like two ordinary teenage girls. Perhaps it wasn't very pleasant to have to kneel beside my chair or sleep on the floor beside my bed, rolled into a blanket. But she wasn't chained, dressed decently, in shorts and t-shirt, my mother insisted on that, and wasn't sexually abused. At least not by Dad, but my creep of a brother never missed an opportunity to get his hands under her shirt or down her shorts whenever he could get away with it.

Altogether not unbearable or so I thought until arriving at the training camp. We'd been locked up in small holding cells after they arrested us late at night, brought before the judge, tried and convicted, stripped and collared before lunch. I had ten minutes to cry goodbye to Mum and Dad before they chained us in transport vans and drove off to the camps, girls and boys separately. One of the other girls whispered that I was lucky to be enslaved on a transport day. New slaves were collected once a month, so some of them had been waiting in the cramped cells for weeks with absolutely nothing to do, only let out to the bathroom twice a day. We drove around for hours, collecting girls from different town jails, until fifty naked bodies were crammed together, side by side on our aching knees. When we finally reached our destination most of us were moaning with pain and the air stifling hot and humid. The doors were opened, but instead of the male guards and drivers, who'd used every opportunity to fondle this awesome selection of bare teenage flesh, a group of female handlers stood ready to unload the cargo. Rather plain girls, who looked about twenty, dressed in crisp khaki shirts, trousers and short boots, probably recruited from farming families, judging from their plump, muscular bodies and weathered complexions. They worked quickly and efficiently, releasing us from the van and prodding us out to line up in a bleak square, surrounded by low buildings, still hobbled and handcuffed.

Still stunned by the quick turn of events I was shivering with fear and cold. Nothing happened, we just stood there, sniffling and whimpering. The slave handlers walked up and down behind the line, slapping viciously looking leather straps against their trousers and occasionally hitting a bare arse, hissing an order to stand straight, stop fidgeting or crying. At last another van drove up and another batch of naked girls stumbled out. When they, too, were lined up, three mature women in black uniforms, long boots and peaked caps marched out from one of the buildings. "Welcome to the State Slave Training Centre". One of them addressed us in a clear and commanding voice. "I'm the chief warden and these are my assistants. You won't see much of us during your stay. If you do, it may be because you've earned a severe punishment. For your sake I hope not". Her cold eyes roamed the line. "Our handlers, of whom you've already met a few, will be in charge of your training. I sincerely advise you to listen attentively, follow orders obediently and learn quickly. They're authorised to speed your training and correct minor deficiencies with their straps. We use those here in order not to damage the goods before sale, but, trust me, a strap hurts just as much as a whip when swung by an expert. You'll presently have a taste. The training programme is carefully planned to lead you through a number of stages towards graduation as perfect slaves, beginning with physical endurance training. After that follows courses in attitude adjustment, serving, cleaning and cooking, body service, and more advanced duties. You'll be kept naked throughout your stay, as part of your training and to save costs. You're not allowed to speak, except when acknowledging an order, asking absolutely necessary questions or as part of your training, and during an R & R period of one hour before bedtime. Handlers are addressed as 'Miss', wardens as 'Ma'am".

She paused to scrutinise our ranks again. "Now a demonstration of the penalties you can expect, followed by shearing and shaving, bath, and medical inspection, during which you'll receive the standard implants for tracking and destroying runaway slaves". She waved a short stick at the end of line. "The first ten, three steps forward". The girls hesitated for a moment, but a few slaps to their bare bottoms sent them on their way. Ten handlers uncuffed their hands and relieved them of the hobbles, wrenched their arms up their backs and frogmarched them across the square to a long horizontal beam from which dangled a number chains with leather cuffs. The slavegirls were expertly restrained and the chains adjusted to force them on tiptoe, facing us. At a nod from the chief warden, the handlers simultaneously slammed their straps across their shoulders. A chorus of pitiful screams rose when the straps fell again across first ten pairs of bare buttocks, then the back of the slaves' thighs. The handlers calmly stepped round to deliver another three slaps, across their breasts, stomachs and upper thighs. All ten girls were screaming and babbling incoherently, but the noise subsided to sobbing when the wardens went along the row, slapping their faces hard, yelling at them to stop. The chief turned to the rest of us, horrified waiting our turn. "You were given a clear order to keep silent. These disobedient slaves will now be punished". She nodded to two handlers, who grabbed the first girl's ankles and heaved her legs up horizontally. She cried out in alarm and pain when her cuffed wrists took her weight. "Shut up!" The warden slapped her face and turned back to us. "As I said, we take care not to mark your hide, at least not where it may be noticed". She raised her stick and brought it down on the sole of the poor girl's left foot. The leg jumped, but the handler kept it straight while the stick hit the tender skin another five times. Amazingly, the slave managed not to cry out again, not even when her other foot got the same treatment.

When the remaining nine offenders had suffered they were let down to stand shifting their undoubtedly aching feet. "Take them away. Next ten", came a curt order. The punished girls stumbled after a handler towards one of the buildings while another ten girls took their place. I was in the fifth batch. The brutal extra punishment had made its mark, none of us uttered a sound during the strapping, apart from muffled whimpers and moans. I'd tried bracing myself for the coming ordeal, but nothing could prepare me for the shock when leather hit my unblemished skin for the first time in my life. Tears welled in my eyes and I bit my lower lip, tasting blood, but managed not to cry out, not even when white hot pain shot through my breasts.

Cradling my flaming mounds I stumbled after the handler to enter a bare room with raw cement floor and walls. The ten girls, who'd been strapped just before us, were under the apparently cold spray in a large shower area. The handler pointed to a wooden bench. "Cut your hair short, nothing below the ears, and shave your mounds. You have ten minutes, help your neighbour". I froze for a moment, looking at the piles of hair littering the floor. It had to happen, no slavegirls were allowed long hair, but to lose my own! I was awakened from my stupor by a hand on my shoulder. With a rueful smile the girl behind me was offering a pair of scissors. 'Quick', she mouthed soundlessly and sat down on the bench, shaking her long blonde mane. It came almost to her slim waist and, even dirty and tangled as it was, it seemed such a shame to ruin it, but she mouthed: 'Hurry', and I began cutting as straight around her head as I could. Two minutes later the pile on the floor had turned blonde and I took a closer look to make sure that it was as short as ordered. She nodded impatiently and spread her legs, pointing at the lavish bush of pubic hair. I knelt to use the scissors again, yelping when a strap slapped across my exposed back. "Faster", one of the handlers urged. I clipped frantically and was handed a safety razor to finish the job, exposing a set of large pussy lips and a long, protruding clit. My new fellow jumped up and showed me on the bench, took the scissors and with a few cuts made half my thick, shoulder length mane of auburn hair drop away. She nudged my legs apart, nodding when the sparse tuft of hair was revealed and quickly scraped it away with the razor.

"Shower, get a move on!", a handler shouted, slapping the nearest bare rump when the next ten frehsly strapped girls came stumbling in. The blonde dragged me away, avoiding the swinging straps. Other slaves were not that lucky, especially not those who hadn't finished clipping and shaving. I shrank back from the freezing spray, but was hauled in and handed a bottle of shampoo while my partner knelt to soap up my feet. Resigned, I began washing her short hair. Her hands slid up my legs, nudging me to part them. It wasn't the first time I'd been intimate with another girl, Rosie had washed me often enough, but this was a complete stranger, not my personal slave. Then it struck home. I was a slave and so was she. Washing a mistress or, God forbid, a master would soon be one of my daily duties, and not always a pleasant one. How many times hadn't I slapped Rosie's face when I got soap in my eyes or found the water too cold or too hot?

My reverie was interrupted by a new shout. "Next room, get a move on". Shivering and dripping, we were driven into a large bare hall. At the far end white-coated persons were working around a number of trestle-tables. Most of the girls, who'd been strapped before us, were kneeling upright on the cement floor, hands on their heads. The handler ordered us to do the same and I felt the blonde girl touching my arm briefly when we sank down beside each other. We seemed to be waiting for hours and I was trembling with cold, fatigue and shock when a handler finally beckoned. I tried to get up, but stumbled on my cramped legs and would have fallen if my neighbour hadn't caught and then supported me to the far end of the hall. Here a bored looking young man told me to stand straight, raise my arms, squat down, bend over, open my mouth while he examined me. Then I was told to hop on the table while he felt my pulse, took my blood pressure, listened to my lungs, stuck a needle into my arm for a couple of blood samples. Finally I was ordered to lie down, raise my feet and grab the back of my thighs to spread them. I complied, blushing, but told myself that he must be a doctor. My pussy lips were parted, my clit pinched and then a finger penetrated my vagina. "Hey, how old is he?" One of the handlers told him. "Really! Well, she's a virgin". The finger was withdrawn, only to be pressed up my arse. "Here as well, if I'm not mistaken". He slapped my buttocks. "Keep those legs open, girl. I'm putting up your tracking devices". I saw him attach something to a long flexible plastic tube which a moment later was worming its way up my arsehole and further into my intestines. It didn't hurt, but I could feel it and was overwhelmed by a deep feeling of hopelessness. I really was a slave! A piece of property, to be destroyed if I dared rebel against my fate. Tears were welling in my eyes and I turned my head to avoid watching, and saw the blonde getting off the next table, smiling encouragingly. I blinked away my tears and sent a weak smile back. The tube was withdrawn and my rump received another slap. "All done. Hop down. Fit and well, excellent specimen, but in need of some physical training". "She'll get that, Sir", the handler answered and told me to stand still while she clipped a metal disk to my collar. "You're no. 243 while here. Now off you go". She pointed to a door at the far end, beside the door to the shower.

The next room was a dormitory with fifty iron bedsteads along the walls. "Find your number, sit down and keep silent". I walked along and saw the blonde girl beckoning from a bed. A closer look revealed two numbers painted on the frame, 243 and 244. The girl smiled, patting the thin mattress beside her and I sank wearily down, apparently we were bedmates. An arm came over my shoulders and I was held tight against another naked body. Once again we waited for a long time, but at least not on our knees. At last all the beds were occupied and a handler called: "Rise and stand at the foot of the bed, feet apart and hands on your head. You assume that position as soon as a warden or handler enters". The nude girls jumped to their feet and the chief warden entered. "We've finished for today. Your training starts tomorrow at six. Dinner's served in the hall. You have thirty minutes to eat and do your things. After that you go back to your beds and stay there. A bell indicates the beginning and end of your R & R period. This dorm is under constant electronic surveillance. If a single word is spoken outside the allowed period, all of you will be severely punished". She nodded curtly, turned on her heel and left. "Get a move on and don't forget to pee. You won't be let out until tomorrow". One of the handlers smacked her strap impatiently against the doorframe.

We filed out to find ten containers lined up on the floor. "Take a spoon and kneel down, ten at each and eat. You can drink some water in the shower-room. Hurry up". We looked hesitatingly at each other and once again the blonde took the initiative, dragged me down beside her, pressed one of the plastic spoons into my hand and bowed over the bowl to scoop up the grey substance. It was slave porridge, lukewarm and almost tasteless. I'd tried it at home, just for fun, but now found myself eating ravenously, realising that I'd had nothing since the fateful party last night. 'Yes, only last night. Less than twentyfour hours ago I was a happy and carefree, and free girl'. Once again I had to take a grip of myself in order not to break down sobbing. Eventually all of us were eating hungrily in spite of the bland food and the humiliation. When I'd had my fill, I looked up to see my bedmate already finished. We rose together and went to the shower. The blonde unceremoniously squatted over one of the drain holes to let loose a stream of piss and, when she saw me hesitating, waved impatiently to make me join her. We washed our hands and faces at a long trough along one wall and used one of the toothbrushes hanging in chains beside the taps.

Back on the bed we watched the other girls come back and a handler close the door. At the sound of a bell, the blonde turned eagerly: "At last! Hi, I'm Danielle, Danny for short". "Chris". "Christine I guess. God, it's been a long day!" "Yes". I couldn't contain myself any longer and began sobbing helplessly, tears flowing freely. Danny caught my head and pressed it to her ample bosom. "Yeah, just you cry, dear, just you cry". She held me while I cried out my heart until there were no tears left and I freed myself. "Sorry that I'm such a chicken, but it's so horrible!" "Do you want to tell me about it?" Danny held my hand and listened patiently to the sad story of my sudden fall from wealth to slavery. "Yeah, pretty tough, but you'll get trough". "But ten years! I'll be a slave for ten years!" "Tough, but you'll still be young and pretty when you're free again. How old are you?" "Seventeen". "I'm two years older, close to forty when I've served my sentence". "Twenty years! You got twenty, for what?" "Attempted manslaughter". I stared. "You tried to kill someone!" "My swine of a stepfather. He was raping my sister, she's fourteen, and I hit him on the head with a baseball bat". "Oh, my God!" "Yeah. He raped me five years ago and he's been doing me ever since". "But how could he? I mean, your mother...". "She's a slut, a drunken slut. As long as he kept her in booze and banged her a couple of times a week, he could do whatever he bloody liked". "Oh!" "Yeah, guess you didn't know about things like that, but that's how it is, for some of us at least". "I'm so sorry". "Don't be, not your fault, dear, and at least he got life, so he won't rape her again". "But why? I mean you were just defending your sister?" "Sure, but it's assault anyway. Had it been her, it'd been self-defence, but she couldn't, could she, poor little darling. I just hope that our next 'stepfather' won't fancy her". I was too stunned to think of an answer, but was saved by the bell. Danny put a finger to her lips and drew me down beside her, covering our naked bodies with the thin blanket. I hesitated for a moment, but then snuggled close and fell asleep in her arms. We were still entwined when the bell called us up the next morning. Me from an exhausted sleep, which left me first bewildered and then panicked when the reality of my new life came back, but Danny's tender hug and a kiss brought me to my senses and I got up, determined to face whatever might come.

The physical endurance training was just that. After a couple of slave biscuits and a cup of tepid tea for breakfast we were chased to the showers, to wash and relieve ourselves, a hundred naked and frightened girls milling around. Once again still dripping and shivering we were ordered to line up four abreast and march around the barren hall to start the process of hardening the tender soles of our feet, preparing for the coming years as barefoot slavegirls. We marched or ran, for days, weeks, first on the concrete floor in the hall, then outside on the rougher ground of the square and then on gravel paths surrounding the training centre. Every two hours for the first weeks we were allowed an hour's rest, but still in training. They were spent it in the customary slave positions, standing straight, hands behind the head and feet apart, kneeling with hands clasped behind the back, forehead to the ground or head raised and toes pressed into the ground. Hour after hour, day after day, walking or forced into strained positions. Pure hell at first, but we did get used to it.

For attitude adjustment we were divided into groups of ten, each with a handler acting as tutor. We learned to read her body language, anticipate her wishes. Repeat after repeat turned us into something like zombies, erased conscious thought from the mind, to be replaced by automatic responses to a future masters' or mistress' will, even if he or she didn't speak out loud what they wanted. After that came endless hours of housecleaning, washing, ironing, basic cooking, serving at table, in a sitting room, accompanying a mistress when shopping, relaxing at a café, meeting friends in the street, going to parties, entertaining at home. We learned to move gracefully, yet as unobtrusively as possible, whether our ankles were chained or unfettered, drop to our knees whenever a free person passed by, prostrate ourselves when acknowledging an order or silently seeking permission to speak. We knelt for hours beside an imagined chair, offering a filled cup, or rolled into a ball with a weight on our backs, simulating a master's feet. For body service we were paired with our bedmates. Simple clothes were issued and we spent days dressing and undressing each other, washing each other, massaging each others' naked bodies, painting each others' toenails, setting each others' hair. We learned how undress a pair of tired feet, lick them clean, suck the toes, and rub them gently.

When we after two months reached the last stages of our training, we were near perfect specimens of the submissive female. Our bodies were toned and hardened, our minds set solely on serving. We had, if not forgotten, then erased our former lives from conscious thought. Families and friends would hardly recognise the naked, collared girl, if she appeared before them now, on her knees, hands clasped rigidly behind her back, breasts thrust out and eyes downcast. We could hardly recognise ourselves as it was.

Throughout the training the handlers were constantly in attendance, instructing, demonstrating, correcting. Competent and professional, they clearly knew what they were doing and how to get results. We were terrified of them in the beginning, but even if they were cold and remote, there were no sadists among them. The straps came down frequently, especially during the first weeks, but only to encourage a slavegirl to do better. None of the handlers seemed to enjoy that part of their work. To them this was a job like any other, demanding, often boring. They worked in shifts, seven days a week, from we were called up at six in the morning until we stumbled to bed at eight at night, and were housed in one of the buildings surrounding the square. Three of them were identical, with training hall, shower room and dormitory for a hundred girls. The fourth housed offices and rooms for the handlers. On our endless barefoot walks around the compound we could see them relaxing on the lawns or frolicking in the great pool, obviously enjoying themselves and their freedom. Sometimes they had boys visiting. As told, we saw very little of the three wardens apart from occasional inspections of our progress, with praise to the handlers for their efforts. None of the girls from my group did anything to warrant a severe punishment, but twice we saw another of the two groups kneeling in the square where one of their number was dangling from her wrists while a cane hit the soles of her feet again and again. The poor girl was left hanging there for the rest of the day.

After spending more than two months in the nude, a hundred girls bathing, urinating and defecating together, sleeping naked with Danny under the same blanket I couldn't imagine anything that would make me embarrassed. Until the last two weeks of the training, that is. Keeping precise track of time was difficult, one nightmarish day seemed to flow into the next, but twice I'd seen the girls from the other slave blocks loaded on transport vans, only to be replaced with a new batch, so I knew that it must be our turn next. Not that I cared much about the future, surviving in the present took all my strength. Especially girls like me, from affluent families, who'd been cherished by their parents and friends, pampered by the house slaves, living a carefree life, had a hard time adjusting. For others, less privileged, used to a life in squalid, overcrowded homes, where harsh words and frequent slaps were the order of the day, had less trouble. It was my luck to be paired with Danny. During the first weeks she listened patiently to my whining, held my sob-wracked body, let me cry out my heart night after night, without making similar demands of her own. Eventually I realised what I'd been doing and apologised for being so selfish, only to be told not to be silly. After that we used the free hour talking about ourselves, our former lives, our interests, could even joke and giggle together, almost forgetting the bleak surroundings. During the endless days a smile and brief touch, the thought of the coming evening kept me going. She saved my sanity. Without Danny's support I'd gone mad or at least suffered more than one severe punishment.

As usual, no one had told us about the next part of the training when we one morning found strange equipment along three sides of the hall. It seemed ominous that the chief warden for once was present. The handlers divided us into four groups to line up at the walls. "You've now reached the final part of your training. So far you've done very well and I have no doubt that you'll enjoy these last two weeks here. Fulfilling her owner's sexual needs is one of the most important tasks for a slavegirl and undoubtedly the most pleasant. Most of you have already enjoyed the pleasures of sex and all of you have at least tried pleasing yourselves, I'm sure. But your owners won't want a clumsy and inexperienced amateur. They expect their slavegirls to perform a perfect oral service and to find a well trained vagina or rectum stimulating their penises. You'll learn that here". She turned to the first group. "Kneel by the sucking benches". The twentyfive girls knew better than to hesitate and jumped to position themselves in front of a row of low sawhorses. On each of them was mounted a very lifelike replica of a penis, complete with ballsack. "First lesson is hand-stimulation, caressing of scrotum and masturbation of the penis. I'm quite sure that all of you have done that before, so you can just begin. The handlers will advise and correct you". Twentyfive pairs of hands shot up to fondle the strange objects and five handlers stepped forward to watch closely. The chief warden looked on for a couple of minutes, then turned to the next group. "Any virgins among you, step forward. We don't want to lower your sale value". None of the girls moved. "Good. First step is simple penetration. Mount the penises". Another row of sawhorses were lined up, these with a medium size replica of an erect cock mounted on top. The girls looked doubtfully at them, but as one swung a leg over the horse, slowly impaling themselves. "Ride them up and down to get used to the feeling. You'll find them a bit different from what you've already had up your vaginas, unless you've tried a dildo". Most of the girls were blushing all over their naked bodies, but dutifully raised and lowered their crotches.

"Next". The chief warden turned again. "Anal penetration". Her eyes roamed the third group. "Those of you who've already experienced that, step forward". Six girls followed orders. "Same procedure as your fellows, but use the lubricant first". The girls dipped their fingers in the jars nailed to yet another row of sawhorses equipped with fake penises. "Spread your arsecheeks and mount them". Six bare legs were swung over the horses, six bare arses were opened and six puckered holes touched the penetrators reluctantly. "That's right, don't hurt yourselves. It takes some training, but you'll soon be able to take a penis there, even if it's rammed up dry and quick". The girls sank slowly down, gasping and moaning. "Good. See how easy it is, now ride. The rest of you, mount up". When all twentyfive girls were hard at work, raising and lowering themselves like so many real horse-riders, the chief warden turned to our group. "I don't have to tell what you'll be training. Twelve of you, down on the floor on your backs, the others begin pleasing your good fellows as you very well know a woman wants to be pleased". Danny and I were as usual standing beside each other and she gave a push to make me lie down. A moment later I felt her hands on my thighs and her tongue parting my vaginal lips. Had it been another of the girls, I'd been deeply embarrassed, but she knew my naked body so well already, having washed it countless times and held it in her arms every night for weeks. I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the sweet caresses, soon squirming and moaning like I dimly heard the girls on either side of me doing. "On this first day you're allowed to reach orgasm, but later you must train to contain yourselves. Good slavegirls never come, unless their owners expressly allow them". The chief warden's words had hardly registered when I exploded in the most nerveshattering orgasm I'd ever experienced.

Not that I had that much experience. My mother always avoided the subject of sex, so what I knew I'd learned from my friends. Most of them were just as shy about it as I, so what we shared was mostly hysterical giggling over sex sites on the net and fantasies about boys, but a Swedish exchange student had a more relaxed attitude. She actually knew what she was talking about, had learnt about it at school back home and could take the subject seriously. From her I learned, in theory at least, how a girl and a boy can enjoy each other, without actual intercourse, and, far from theoretically, how a girl can please herself. Compared to the rest of us she was a fantastic bold and yet very nice girl. So it didn't feel wrong or even odd when she calmly bared first her own and then my breasts to demonstrate how to stimulate the nipples, or when she dropped her jeans and panties to show me her pussy. One thing led to another and we did end up licking each other. Unfortunately that was just before she went back home, so we only did it three or four times, but she had a wonderful tongue. I never got further with a boy than some clumsy petting on the back seat, but I did finger myself. Not often, I didn't want my mother to know and wasn't sure if Rosie wouldn't rat on me, accidentally perhaps, so I only did it when she was asleep and never dared even think of making her lick me.

When I came to my senses again Danny was kissing my breasts. One of the handlers crouched beside us. "Use your lips, nibble her, but don't bite". "Yes, Miss". I felt the nubbins stiffen and her hot breath on my hide, still damp after my sexual high. "OK, change places". And on it went, I licked Danny, she sucked my clit, I kissed her breasts, she licked up my legs from toes to crotch. The handlers were thorough and clinical as always, but the chief warden was right, of course it felt nice and I had another two orgasms before we stopped to eat the two slave biscuits and have the drink of water that was our lunch. After that we were paired with other girls to repeat the routines over and over again. By then I'd become used to it and felt weary rather than aroused, and not embarrassed at all. Not even when we were taught to rim arse. I didn't like licking another girl's brown hole, but I learnt it, even to force my tongue into it too, and had to admit to myself that it felt good when she did me in the same way. So when we at last stumbled to bed that night, just as tired as the previous days, or perhaps even more exhausted, I'd survived, again. It was lucky, though, that I happened to be in the girl/girl group. "I don't think I could've started with the dildo training", I told Danny. The other three groups had been worked just as relentlessly as us, but changing places every now and then, so all those girls spent the entire day with a fake cock in one of their orifices. "Rubbish, dear, of course you could, and at least you'll be spared the fucking, being a virgin". "I don't think I'd mind that as much as getting one of those things up my arse. It must be terrible!" I shuddered. "Not really, weird, but you'll get used to that too". "You've tried it?" "Of course, that swine just loved to take me there". I sighed. "It's so gross. I hope I'll be bought by a woman". "A closet lesbian, are you?" She grinned and hugged me. "If it's with you, so yes. I love you, Danny". She hugged me closer. "And I you, darling, but we'll soon be parted and never see each other again". "Don't say that! It's so horrible. I can't manage without you". "Of course you can. You're a strong girl. It won't be worse than this. One day at a time and before you know it, your ten years are up and you're free again". "I hope so and I promise to find you then, whereever you are, and make my dad buy you". She kissed me. "Thanks, darling, but I don't think that'll be possible". "It will and I'll do it, if it's the last thing I do". She shook her head sadly.

I did survive and I did learn to take it up the arse, even to suck it clean again, and to suck balls and cock. The handlers made sure of that, even went as far as making us suck and fuck their fingers to feel if we did it well. We learned that a virgin can train her cunt muscles on a finger or two, stuck up very carefully. Oh, yes we came out of as well trained sluts, who'd left all inhibitions behind, even accepted the most degrading task of a slave, to drink her mistress' piss. During the last week we did it all over again, but now in various kinds of bondage. We sucked cock on our knees, hands cuffed behind us, wriggled around in tight bondage, pleasing another girl, were hogtied, frogtied, spread, hung up in wrists or ankles and fucked by the handlers with a dildo.

We didn't get any certificates when we graduated, but on the last evening the chief warden told us that we were the best group she'd trained so far. I don't know, but in some weird way I felt proud. We even got a reward, a piece of chocolate and were allowed longer free time to say our goodbyes. I felt terrible parting with Danny, but managed not to cry, only kissed her tenderly when called among the first to go. I did cry, though, in the transport van, cried from loss, from despair and fear of the future.

The next days went by in a blur. We were delivered to the auction house, locked up in cells, but with soft beds and warm blankets, allowed complete rest for three days, not that I got much, missing Danny so terribly, and finally washed and groomed carefully before going for auction. Our hair was cut in better shape, our pubes shaven and plucked, our nails polished, and we were given a light coating of baby oil.

Finally I stood on my little podium, arms raised and ankle chained, naked and vulnerable. I'd been there before, more than once, with my class and when I bought Rosie. I even went once with some friends just for fun, ogling the poor girls, and boys not least. It never occurred to us how humiliating it was for the naked displays. Now I learned that too. All those men, old, fat and ugly, who pawed me, touched my most private parts. It was horrible! And that little creep of a brother I've got and some of his slimy friends showed up. "Hi, Sis". They were suddenly in front of me. "How's things?" The imbecile grinned lewdly, knowing very well that I couldn't answer, only send him a devastating look of pure hatred. "I got your room, you know, and Rosie in my bed. It took only a few slaps to teach her not to go ratting to Mum. Juicy piece of arse that girl's got, and what a mouth! You learned to suck cock, Sis?" He nudged his friends and took a step closer. "You juicy too, Sis?" I almost shouted at him when his dirty paws reached for my pussy, but saw a guard watching us and kept silent. He parted my nether lips and stuck a finger up my tunnel. "Liked that, Sis?" He grinned again and pinched my clit. "She's getting wet, the slut", he told the other creeps. "Yeah, and how's her arse?" One of them reached round to ram a finger up my other hole. "They open them up, you know", a third answered, "Or you'd hurt yourself". "That so?". Another finger joined the first. "Yeah, but not too much. Gonna be great doing her there". My brother stepped back again. "Sure. You see, Sis, your kind and considerate little brother's gonna save you from them nasty old men. Me and me friends' pooled our savings to buy you. Now ain't that nice of us?" I could only stare, hardly believing my ears. 'That deranged creep. No!' "You'll be staying with me buddy". He slapped a fat, pimpled boy on the shoulder. "He's living alone with his dad, who's always away on business, so no one will disrupt our fun. Great, eh, Sis?" Tears of rage were welling in my eyes. "Crying are you? Because of your brother's great kindness. No need, you'll get plenty of opportunity to show your gratitude when we take you three at the time, one in each of your nice little holes". They burst out laughing and went off, making high fives.

I was still crying when that bitch Eileen came up to tell what she'd planned to do to Nick and me. After that I didn't take much notice of what was going on, not even when I was sold, but did register that Eileen went into hysterics because someone overbid her. Not that it cheered me up, I was sure that the creeps had bought me. After the most miserable night of my life it only got worse when they started making holes in us next day. At least we were anaesthetised, but it was horrible anyway and I cried most of the night, of pain and self-pity. Here I was, an ugly, mutilated slavegirl, who'd spend the next ten years of her life being raped by her own brother and a gang of sex-crazy underage boys.

So, when I met Nick in the van next morning, looking so damned cheerful, I got mad. That miserable idiot caused me all this and now he had the nerve to grin! It only got worse when we were delivered to the same house. Not even the fact that my brother didn't get me could make me change my mind. It was still horrible and Nick's fault. I could never forgive him, but I could get my own back, couldn't I?

Master James wasn't cruel on that first day, at least not to me, just cold and demanding, but the boys were used very brutally. Pete was almost too cheerful next morning, chasing me out of bed with cries of "Rise and shine!" and "Ladies first!". The boys gave me as much privacy as possible under the circumstances, keeping away from the bathroom until I'd finished and were careful not to stare openly at my naked body. I cooked some porridge and Pete coaxed Nick to tell what he knew about our master. It didn't sound too bad and at last I realised that he'd saved me from a worse fate. Not that it made me feel much better, but I did listen to Pete's reasoning that we had to stick together and forget the past, so in the end we went to work in a more friendly atmosphere. I still treated Nick coldly, brushing off his pathetic attempts of making excuses, but I did talk to him during the few breaks we had.

But that changed abruptly when he came to the slaveroom where Pete and I were relaxing after another long day, talking quietly about our training. "I'm sorry, Chris, but the master wants you in his bedroom". "But you told us that he's gay!" "I'm sure he is, but…". "But you talked him into trying a girl, didn't you, to spare yourself?" "Chris, I'd never…". "You're a miserable little shit. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!", I spat at him and shuffled out, with his cry of, "Chris, please!", following me to the bedroom, where I found Master James sitting naked in an armchair. He ordered me on my knees to suck him. In spite of all my training I'd actually never touched male genitalia in my life, but I took a deep breath, sank down and went to work, licking up and down the shaft, fondling his ballsack, peeling back the foreskin to use my tongue on the purple head and finally, when the meat had grown hard and throbbing, took it into my mouth. Trying to remember what I'd learned, I swirled my tongue around it, pressed it against the roof of my mouth, bobbed my head up and down as if it was a lollipop and at last tried to take it down my throat. I'd done fine with the training dildo, but the live meat felt very different, gagging me, and I had to withdraw, retching. The master aimed a kick at my chest. "Not much of a cocksucker, are you?", he sneered, "Get on the bed, arse up". "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir", I mumbled and scrambled away, shivering with fear. 'Oh, God, he'll take my virginity!' "Spread those legs". "Yes, Sir". I felt him parting my arsecheeks and press a finger up my other hole. "Hmm, tight". 'Oh, God, not there!' He turned away and a moment later something cold and wet was spread in my crack. He was lubricating me, carefully filling the narrow tunnel. At last I felt him pressing against my sphincter and tried relaxing it to let him in. It wasn't much different from a dildo, but I could feel it throbbing when he slowly slid back and forth, banging his nuts against my locked pussy. He took his time and I used all my skills to massage the member, until it at last convulsed and sent spurt after spurt into my bowels. 'Not as bad as the boys said', I'd time to think, before the staff was withdrawn. "Clean me". I knew, of course, but had hoped to avoid it and stared in horror at the slimy thing, covered in lubricant, sperm and my own shit. Already retching, just at the thought of what I had to taste, I opened my mouth. "On second thought, why bother. You're not worth much, but at least you can cook a decent meal. Get out". Relieved and humiliated I crept away.

"Was it very bad? Please let me help you". Nick was waiting for me when I stumbled in, sperm and shit running down the back of my thighs. That did it! I raved and cursed him, slapped his face and called him all the dirty names I could think of. He didn't even try to defend himself, just stood there like a wet poodle, mumbling how sorry he was, until Pete interfered and dragged me off to the bathroom. After that I refused to speak to him and did my utmost to show contempt. Pete tried arguing with me, but I was adamant and at last he gave up and let my bad mood spread to all three of us. Not that we had much time for talking. The master kept us hard at work, demanding every nook and cranny cleaned until the whole house was sparkling and the garden turned into a showpiece. He didn't use any of us for sex again. Not surprisingly, because on our third day as his slaves Steve turned up, and they made no secret that they were lovers. Bad enough as it was for Nick to have me glaring and sulking whenever we saw each other, his brother made it even worse when he turned a cold shoulder instead of giving him a kind word, and just treated him as a slave. Before our first week was out, the bright and cheerful boy we'd known were walking around as if asleep, never uttering a word, just working mechanically.

"Sentences reduced…That girl and her gang enslaved…Moving abroad…Had to convince the authorities that I'm a hard master…Can't free you, but give you better conditions…Continue your education…Near normal lives". I came out of my reverie to register the master's words and for the first time saw him smiling to us. "As a beginning, you can take off those chains and get dressed". He took three plastic bags and dropped one on the floor in front of each of us. I stared, hardly trusting my ears. 'Clothes, for the first time in more than three months!' "Hey, are you there?" The master snapped his fingers and Pete woke up from his stupor to answer for all of us. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I don't know what to say, Sir. Thank you, Sir, thank you". "That's quite enough. Now buzz off. No work today, apart from a meal or two, and from now on the same for all of us". He threw a key to Pete, who caught it and rose, dragging Nick with him.

I followed slowly to find Pete dressing Nick, who as usual just stood passively, letting it happen. "Nick! I'm sorry". I knelt in front of him, kissing his feet. "Can you forgive me?" He didn't move or seem to understand what was happening. 'Oh God! What shall I do?'

Part 4. Pete

"Anybody home?", I call, slamming the door. "Just me". A clear voice answers from upstairs. "What do you mean by 'Just me'?", I demand, kicking off my shoes before taking the stairs in three strides, "You're the most important person of my life". "Why, thank you, kind Sir". She's standing in the bathroom door, naked and still damp from her shower. "And not just at home, but ready to be eaten". Grinning like a madman I grab and swing her kicking and screaming over my shoulder to carry her to our room, dropping her on the bed. "Help! Rape! Someone help me!", she screams. "But there's just me!" I catch her ankles. "Oh, my God! I'm lost". "Not to me, you aren't". I spread her legs, blowing gently at the moist slit. "Oh! What are you doing?" "Nothing much". My tongue parts the inviting lips. "Ooh! Don't…". "Don't what?", I mumble. "Don't stop, ooh, please don't stop. Aieeh!" I close my lips around the stiff nubbin and she lets out a piercing scream, while a torrent of juice bathes my face. I sink back on my heels, looking wonderingly at the naked beauty. "My God! What a horny slut you are. I hardly touched you!" She rises on her elbows, shaking the long blonde mane out of her face. "What are you doing with all those clothes on?"

Half an hour later I roll off her sweaty body, kissing the ample breasts on the way, and stretch out beside her. "Danny, I love you". "I think I've heard that song before, young man. Shame on you, using dirty tricks to get into the trousers of respectable elderly ladies". "I didn't notice no trousers just now, and it's you who ought to be ashamed, seducing innocent boys". She snorts derisively and seconds later her slow breathing reveals that she's asleep. It's always like that, one minute she's most passionate girl imaginable, the next sleeping like a baby. I fold my hands behind my neck and lie staring up to the ceiling. 'How can a boy be so lucky. What did I ever do to deserve this happiness? Well, endured a spell as a slaveboy, I guess, as if that's something. Just imagine, if we hadn't been enslaved, I'd never met Danny!'.

OK, not all of it is fun. A slave, even a happy slave, is still a slave. Limited freedom, lots of hard and boring work, a sore arse every now and then, but I'd had lots of that from I was just a boy. Not that my parents are cruel or neglecting their kids, far from it. You couldn't find a better home, but if not actually poor, neither are they very well off. With Dad a bus driver and Mum a nurse, working all the overtime they can manage to feed and clothe four teenage sons, those sons aren't allowed just dawdling around, enjoying themselves. We have an old house on the outskirts of town, with a fairly large garden that's not all lawns and swimmingpool, but a place where we grow practically all our vegetables, us boys of course, and we do most of the housework, washing and cooking. We'd preferred paper rounds and odd jobs at a diner's or one of the local stores, even if we had to hand most of our earnings over to Mum, but jobs like that went down the drain when slavery was introduced. I won't say that we resented contributing to the family income, but it was a bore that you always had to run straight home after school when your mates got all the time in the world to play games, surf the net, watch TV or a video. Of course we were envious, especially of those of them who had their own private slaves serving them literally hand and foot. We rarely went to parties, simply didn't have the money, but did spend time training hard to gain a sports scholarships, the only way we could hope to go on to high school.

Dad used to joke that he didn't have to buy slaves, he had his own home products, and in a way he was right. We worked as hard as any slave and looked like one too, changed to worn cutoffs and no shoes as soon as we came home, to save our better clothes for school. Another of his jokes was to tell us how lucky we were, getting free training for our future as real slaves. A joke, yes, but it could well happen. Statistically at least one of us would end up enslaved. We knew, but didn't think much about it, only once when Dad talked it over with us. "As long as you haven't done anything wrong, there's no shame in being a slave. What with the laws as they are, it's much too easy for youngsters like you to get in trouble. You just have to be at the wrong place at the wrong moment and off you go. If that should happen, God forbid, promise me that you'll stay good boys, who do a good job to make your mum and me as proud of you as we are now".

And then exactly that happened to me. I was angry, of course, it was so bloody unfair, and didn't get much sleep that first night in the holding cell. Once I overcame the initial shock, though, and could think my situation over more clearly, I was relieved in a queer way. 'Better me than one of the others'. All of my three brothers were well under way through high school or college. They're much taller than I, great basket players, very much in demand, so their future seems secure. I, on the other hand, did slip in on the high school swimming team, but I'm not good enough for a college scholarship, and, frankly, I was a bit tired of school. I don't say that I was looking forward to becoming a slave or anything, only fairly sure that I could handle it. I mean, five years, that's what I reckoned to get, slaving for a service company with a bunch of other young guys, and some nice chicks too perhaps, well it could be fun, at least some of it. Of course it was something of a blow when that surly old judge handed down ten and not five years, especially because I might be sold to a private owner. Service companies prefer short time slaves. That meant longer hours, more boring work and, almost certainly, sexual abuse. It cheered up me up no end when Dad came to say goodbye, telling that he didn't believe for a second that I'd done anything to justify this, but there was nothing to do but make the best out of it. "Always remember that we love you, son".

The camp was OK, such as it was. Tough training, but plain business run by professionals, not sadistic slave whoppers. I was in pretty good shape, used to go barefoot, and they couldn't teach me anything about household chores. Of course I'd never actually served a master, but that wasn't difficult to learn, just humiliating. Staying nude didn't bother me at all. I mean, four brothers growing up together doesn't leave much room for privacy. I'm pretty disciplined and quick to follow orders, so I didn't get more than a few slaps after the initiation on arrival and that was nothing. Dad's no brute, but he does believe in corporal punishment. Has to, I guess, with four sons who can't help getting into trouble sometimes, quarrelling, shrinking from their duties, things like that. All of us knew how Dad's old leather belt felt on a bare arse. So I more or less sailed through the first ten weeks of training, unlike most of the other boys, especially rich kids like Nick. We didn't share a bed, but he was bunked next to me, so we could talk during the R & R hour in the evening. He was pretty much down and out, not least because his dad washed his hands of him. What kind of person treats his kid like that, and a preacher too! He had no idea what had happened at the party, but was full of remorse, so I told him that it couldn't be his fault and not to be silly, and did what I could to get him back on his feet. We agreed that someone had laid a trap, but he couldn't for the life of him guess who or why. Well, he did find out later.

The sex training was bad. I didn't like sucking another guy's cock, especially not forced to go down on one of the other slaves as we had to, not to mention swallowing his piss, but told myself that I'd better learn to do it well. We were asked if we'd tried taking a cock up the arse and were spared, ha, saved for our future masters, if not. The worst part was learning to please a mistress. I'd actually never dated a girl, had neither the time nor the money for it, and didn't know much about women. They brought on a bunch of older slavegirls, about forty or so, well used and not exactly pretty, and made us practise on them. It was disgusting and humiliating to crawl around on the floor, licking their dirty feet and flabby bodies, their sagging breasts or gaping cunts, or their arseholes. It made me turn from girls for the rest of my life, or so I thought at the time.

Anyway, there was an end to that too, and one day I found myself chained at the auction house, ready for inspection. People were milling in and I braced myself for the ordeal, when I suddenly spotted my brothers heading down the line. "Hi, bro. Bad business, ain't it, but we're gonna try making it a bit easier for you". I wasn't allowed to say anything, could just watch them closing on me, gesturing and apparently discussing the possibilities as if preparing to buy me. 'Gee, man! They're trying to spare me being fondled by those perverts' A deep feeling of gratitude overwhelmed me and I almost burst into tears. They shielded me for almost an hour until a guard, who'd been watching us for some time, came up to ask if they were registered buyers, and, if not, find somewhere else to spend their time. With apologetic smiles to me they shuffled out, and, just after they'd left, a rather nice looking fellow looked me over and felt me up a bit. He seemed friendly enough, so I gave him a smile and a wink. When he strolled off with a nod, three of my former schoolmates took over shielding me, later replaced by another three until it was time for the actual auction. 'Gosh, such friends you've got, Pete', I thought. There wasn't much they could do for me, but they'd done what was possible, preventing anyone humiliating me, apart from the friendly guy.

I wasn't able to determine who'd bought me and lost hope that it might be him when they ringed my nipples the next day. Hurt like hell, it did, and I knew that it couldn't be a service company. They don't waste money on special equipment. 'Shit!', I thought', 'Must be some sadistic pervert'. But then I was unloaded together with Nick and Chris and my spirits rose again. At least I knew my fellow slaves and liked them, although we'd never been close, what with my obligations at home and lack of money to spend on fun, and our owner was that friendly guy. My future suddenly seemed a lot brighter. Not for long, though. The nice guy turned out to be a cold master, who just demanded hard work and caned me for no reason. On top of that Chris began shouting at Nick and Master James reduced him and me to snivelling little boys, beating and fucking us without care or pity, that first night. He didn't do it again, but apart from that, things only got worse. We were worked hard all the time and Chris was so beastly towards Nick, absolutely refusing to say a word to him. I tried arguing with her, but she was too angry to listen and even what little light a friendly chat in the evening could have brought into our bleak lives went down the drain. A couple of days after we'd arrived, Nick's brother, Steve, came over to work with Master James on a project. Not that it made it easier for poor Nick. He treated us just as coldly as our master and the two of them made no secret that they were lovers and not just that. We couldn't avoid hearing Steve screaming under the whip before they made noisy love in the bedroom, see the stripes on his arse and back or rope burns on wrists and ankles. To watch the brother he'd always looked up to allowing himself to be treated like that and obviously loving it, made Nick lose his spirit completely.

When some people from the slave court turned up one day, about two weeks after Master James bought us, they found three very subdued slaves, naked and hobbled, worked to exhaustion and freshly striped by their master's cane, which came down whenever he found anything to criticise, and that was practically every day. They made a thorough inspection of the house and garden, and of us of course. "Are you dissatisfied with your slaves, Sir?", one of them asked Master James. "No, not really". "But you cane them quite often, don't you, Sir?" "Only when they deserve it. Do you suggest that I'm too hard?" "Not at all, Sir, but some masters tend to shrink from chastising lazy slaves". "Not me, I rather like it and they're not lazy, just don't always live up to my standards". "A very commendable attitude for a slaveowner, if I may say so, Sir". One of the others turned from Chris. "You keep her locked up, Sir, a very wise precaution, with two boyslaves around". "Well, I don't really know if they'd dare fiddling with her". He chuckled. "No, the real reason is that she's a virgin. You see, I have a nephew at about her age and I've promised him her cherry, actually sent him the key to her locks at his last birthday". The inspector laughed politely. "Very generous, Sir". "Perhaps, but I don't know. I've used her other hole, so delightfully narrow, much better than that the real thing, if you ask me". "I don't, Sir, but heartily agree with you". "And a boyarse isn't much different". "Definitely not, Sir". The third of the party commented on our nudity and hobbles. "Is that wrong? It does save costs" "Not at all, Sir, not at all, but please remember that they must be dressed when leaving your house, in shorts at least". "Of course, but I see no reason to let them out. There's quite enough to occupy their waking hours around here". "Quite, Sir. It's always a pleasure to meet a slaveowner who truly understands his duties".

It could hardly be worse, but anyway I feared that when Master James the next day called the three of us to his study. At first I hardly registered what he was saying, but eventually it sank in. 'Nick an innocent victim of an evil trap and we with him. The crime exposed and that bitch and her cronies enslaved. Our sentences reduced'. What a guy! 'Taking us with him, which meant that he could treat us better. Get dressed'. Nick had obviously not understood a word and I had to drag him bodily to the slaveroom, carrying the bags and key Master James handed us. Once there he stood passively while I unlocked his ankle chain. "Come on, man, wake up! Bad times are over, it's gonna be better from now on". But he just shook his head, mumbling something unintelligible, while I tried to get him into a pair of shorts. Chris came in, babbling how sorry she was and asking him to forgive her, even dropped to her knees and tried to kiss his feet. "Will you stop that and get dressed! We can't keep the master waiting". I freed her badly chafed ankles. "Come on, Chris!" But she didn't listen, just rose to embrace Nick, pressing her naked body to his. "Please! Please, I'm so sorry. I've been such a bitch. Please say you can forgive me? Please!" She kissed him tenderly on the mouth. That woke him up and he tried to free himself. "Chris, don't. It's my fault". "No it isn't, I was wrong, wronged you!" I gave up, took off my own hobble and got dressed in the crisp white shorts and t-shirt from my bag, and left them to sort out their affairs.

Master James had fetched a bottle of white wine and was pouring himself a glass when I came back and knelt before him. "I'm sorry, Sir, but your other slaves are all upset and I can't make them see reason, Sir". "Get up and let's move to the terrace". He handed me a glass and I followed him through the French doors. "Sit down". He dropped into a chair and I knelt beside it. "I told you to sit". "But my new shorts, Sir!" "On a chair". "Yes, Sir". I balanced myself on the edge of a garden chair. "Cheers then". He saluted me and I took a small sip. "I'm sorry". "What for Sir?" "Treating you so badly that you can't cope". "But it's not that, Sir". I told how angry Chris had been and how much it had hurt Nick. "I see, my fault, I should have told you earlier, but I didn't dare raising your hopes until after the inspection, when I knew for certain that I could take you with me and wouldn't have to sell you again". "Yes, Sir". "But perhaps you'd prefer that?" "No, Sir". "Why not? You'd at least stay here in your own country, perhaps see your family". "Slaves are not allowed that, Sir, and we'll like serving together". "I see. Let's talk it over later when you've had time to digest the news. Can you whip up some lunch?" "Yes, Sir, but not as good as Chris, Sir". "Do what you can, the same for all of us, and take the afternoon off to sort out your problems". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir". I rose. "Don't forget to drink your wine". "No, Sir. Thank you, Sir".

After that things went from better to good. Chris and Nick calmed down. We ate a simple lunch of salad, ham and cheese, the first real food we'd had for almost four months, in the kitchen, making small talk, joking even, almost like we used to at school. Master James repeated that we could spend the afternoon as we liked and retired to his study. Steve came for dinner and had a long talk with his brother before all five of us sat down to eat. Nick was coming back to his old self and Master James and the wine he insisted we had with the meal made us slaves lose our initial shyness and talk freely. The master mostly listened, asking questions about our former lives and what sort of education we'd planned prior to our enslavement. Afterwards, over coffee in the living room, he told that we'd leave in about ten days to stay at his house in his hometown, one of, if not the oldest in his country. "I'm duty bound to treat you according to the rules and customs over here, but slaves are unknown where I come from, so whenever leaving the house, you'll be dressed and behave like all other young people. And you'll spend quite some time getting educated, starting with a crash course to obtain our equivalent of your high school exam". He looked hard at us. "That's one part of your work. Beside that, you'll take care of house and garden and serve me as usual". "Yes, Sir, of course, Sir, and thank you, Sir", Nick answered gravely. "And I'll be a cruel master". "Yes, Sir". "Because I've no intention of punishing you physically, even if you deserve it, just scold you". "Yes, Sir". We looked surprised at him and he grinned. "To make you feel miserable because of your ingratitude. I've saved you from a much worse fate, haven't I". "Yes, Sir". I dared grin back. "Maybe you ought to keep the cane, Sir". "I will, Pete, but not to use on you. I'm thoroughly ashamed as it is, because you're quite innocent and in my opinion wrongly convicted, but I couldn't risk being labelled a slack slaveowner. That might have made it impossible for me to keep you, not to mention bring you out of the country".

Master James allowed us to spend a couple of days with our families before going abroad. Nick's reverend father still refused to see him in his state of disgrace, but his mother went up to stay a few days with his sister at her college and Steve drove him there. Master James took Chris and me in his own car, dropping her at her parent's house on the way, before delivering me to my family. He'd given each of us a cell phone, with orders to call him in any emergency. Dad and Mum had taken half the day off, something I knew they could hardly afford, and greeted Master James very cordially, inviting him in for a cup of tea. He accepted, gladly I think, and spent an hour with us. My parents were more than pleased to hear him praising my skills. Those days were like old times, just as if I wasn't a slave, and it was a bit heavy hearted that I prepared to go, not only back to my duties, but away for the next more than four years. "A great opportunity, son", Dad gravely told me, "Do not disappoint your mother and me by wasting it".

Steve fetched me, telling that Nick's outing had been a mixed blessing. He was glad to see his mother and sister, but felt unjustly rejected by his father. For Chris, though, it had been a disaster from the very beginning. Her mum and dad did appear happy to see her, but insisted that they were bound by law to treat her as the slave she now was. It was already an infringement of the rules that an enslaved relative visited her family. Because she wasn't their own property, only placed in their care, she was hobbled as an extra precaution. She had to sit on the floor in their presence and eat in the kitchen with the family slaves. It dismayed her, but offered an opportunity for a talk with her former slavegirl, Rosie, on equal terms. The girl poured out her heart, telling how beastly Chris' younger brother had behaved since she became his after the enslavement of her mistress. She had to submit to all of his sexual demands, even suck his friends or offer up her arse or cunt for their pleasure. Sometimes she'd been taken simultaneously in all of her three holes. Chris was horrified and tried to comfort the poor girl, but didn't want to spoil what little pleasure she had from the visit by complaining about her brother, even if she expected her mother to be furious if told about the abuse. She didn't even tell how he and his friends had humiliated her at the auction.

The clever little beast played the role of a loving younger brother perfectly as long as their parents were about, telling at length how sorry he was for her, how much he missed her and how unfair he found her enslavement. When she asked to see her former room, he obligingly offered to follow her up, pointing out that she had to be under supervision, and helpfully took her arm in case she should trip over the ankle chain. Once alone, he 'happened' to stomp on her toes and when she cried out in pain and stumbled, grabbed her breasts to support her. "Hey, Sis, you've been ringed!" She suppressed an angry outburst, tersely confirming the fact. "Poor, poor Sis", he cooed and followed her up the stairs. "Down here as well?" His hand went between her legs. "Stop that!" "Just trying to help, Sis". Once in her, now his, room, he flopped down on a chair while she stood looking around at the lost treasures, fighting her tears. "Hey! Slaves don't stand when their master's sitting. On your knees, Sis". Once again she controlled her anger and sank down, looking pleadingly at him "Please! Can't you leave me alone for a while?" "Got to keep an eye on you, haven't I?" "You could wait just outside the door". "What! A master banned to the cold landing while his slave's enjoying herself?" "Please, just a few minutes!" "What's in it for me?" "You can have my Elvis poster" "That's not yours any longer, Sis. Slaves can't own things". He grinned lewdly. "But you could show me those rings". "Why, you little…". She caught herself, thinking: 'He's seen me naked already', and raised the hem of her t-shirt to bare the firm mounds. He leaned forward to have a closer look, eyes gleaming. "Real nice, ought to be standard for slavegirls. Chain her to the headboard by them, on her knees, and she stops squirming around while you fuck her arse. Does he do that, your master?" She looked away and covered herself. "Please leave me alone now. I've done what you asked". "No way. I said rings, didn't I? Show me the others". She jumped up, eyes flashing angrily. "You've seen enough, more than enough , you snot…. And so have I, let's go". "Aw, Sis, not that soon. Don't you want to relax a bit? Let's listen to some music". "No!" "But I say yes. Put on a CD… slave. Now!"

When their mother an hour later came up, followed by a slave with a service of tea and fresh apple pie, she was pleased to find her children apparently enjoying each other's company. Something they never did when Chris was still at home. What she didn't see, was that her dear son denied his sister tea, "That's not for slaves, Sis", and ate all of the cake, smacking his lips and telling how delicious it was. She kept her temper at bay and endured his domination in silence until they were called down for dinner, which for her was slave food in the kitchen. She joined the family for coffee in the living room afterwards, sitting on the floor of course, but the atmosphere was strained and awkward, so she pretended to be tired and asked if she could go to bed early. In one of the spare bedrooms, she naively expected, but that couldn't be allowed. "No, dear, rules are rules. You must be locked up in the slaveroom". With a sigh she kissed her parents good night, while her brother once again jumped up and offered to take her to the cellar.

Once down there he told her to lie down on the floor and raise her legs to be relieved of the ankle cuffs. "OK, Sis, get naked". "No way!" She jumped up, clenching her fists. "Standing orders, Sis. Slaves' clothes are locked away during the night, and besides, you have to do your things, don't you?" He nodded at the three rusty showerheads over open drains at one end of the bare room, grinning hugely. "Not with you around, you dirty, snivelling bastard!" She finally lost her temper and screamed in his face. "Hey, Sis, you can't talk to a free man like that. You're a slave!" But she went on, calling him all the dirty names she could think of at the top of her voice, until their parents came down, alarmed by the noise. "What's going on here? Have you lost your mind, girl?" Her father grabbed her arm and shook her angrily. "No, it's… He…". She broke down crying, pouring out how beastly her brother had behaved, what he and his friends had done to her at the auction house, how they'd planned to buy and abuse her, even what Rosie had told her. When she finally stopped, sobbing helplessly, he looked calmly from her to their parents. "She's lying". "Of course she is, darling". Their mother shook her head sadly. "What's gone into you, Chris, you've always been such a kind and gentle girl?" "You know what, dear. They change, once enslaved, become subhuman, though I'd never thought that my own daughter…". "Dad! How can you say that, that I'm not human?" "Because of what I see and hear with my own eyes and ears. You're behaving like a slave, obstinate, disobedient, telling lies, and such behaviour must have its consequences. Ten strokes with the cane. Undress and bend over the sawhorse". "Dad!" "Now!" "Mum!" "I'm sorry, dear, but it's only what you've earned yourself". "Can I do it, Dad? It's about me she's telling lies". "That's only reasonable, you can give her the last five. Get out of those clothes, slavegirl!"

Frozen in shock Chris mechanically fumbled with the shorts, but woke of her stupor when she felt a hard object in a pocket. Regaining her senses she suddenly jumped past her father and ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door locked behind her, then fled to the adjacent bathroom, locking herself up. Ignoring the angry shouting and banging on the door she hauled out the cell phone, Master James had given her, and pressed the button.

With the help of his male slaves her father had broken through the first door and they were working on the next when the noise died down to be replaced by loud arguing. A little later she heard her master's voice: "You can come out now, Christine. No one will hurt you, I'm here". She unlocked the door and threw herself into his arms. "Come now, little one, calm down. They haven't hurt you, have they?" "Noo, but they were going to cane me, my father and, and my brother". "She's lying, it was just a threat to make her see reason". "If you say so, and I wouldn't hesitate to sue if you'd damaged my property". "You left her in my care. It's my right and duty to chastise an unruly slave!" "So who's lying here, Sir? But I'll relieve you of that burden. Come, Christine, let's go home".

Master James listened patiently to her ramblings, sharing a bottle of wine with her and gently guiding her back on track when she lost the thread, until he'd heard the complete story of her enslavement, the horrors of the training camp up until the auction. "And there you were bought by a sadistic master". Unloading her heart had calmed her down and she smiled shyly. "So we thought, Sir, but that's not true. You're the kindest and most generous master any slave could hope to have. Thank you for saving me tonight". "I'm sorry that it went so wrong". "I hate them! I don't want to see them again, ever! I'm so glad that you're taking me far away, Sir". "Time will heal, Christine, but just now you're right. It wouldn't do you any good to stay here and risk meeting your brother in the street". "That beast!" She shuddered. "I hope he'll do something to get him enslaved". "He might benefit from the experience, but as a whole I find the idea of enslaving people wrong, even if it's real criminals, and I've already seen too much injustice done". "Oh, yes, Sir, and there's more". She told how Danny had been enslaved for twenty years, defending her sister against a rapist. "She saved my life, Sir, and I promised to find her and make my dad by her, but I can't do that now. Oh, it's so terrible!" She burst into tears again. "Do you know her full name and where she used to live? Perhaps I can find out who bought her and how she fares now". They talked it over and he told her to take a long hot bath in his bathroom and sleep in the spare bedroom.

Back from our outings, all of us downcast, though for different reasons, we were kept busy packing Master James' stuff and preparing to leave the rented house. Nick and I still slept in the cells, but were not locked up at night. Chris stayed on in the bedroom, even if she protested that it was unfair to us boys. We were allowed to use the bathroom and eat the same meals as Master James and Steve, even watch TV in Chris' room when not serving in the evening. Master James stayed kind and polite, asking, not ordering us to serve him, and the cane wasn't used again. Not on us, that is. Steve was still moaning and screaming in the bedroom every night, but now even Nick accepted their relationship and all of us sensed how hard it was for them to part and felt sorry for them. Steve had considered taking a job abroad, but in the end decided not to leave their parents alone and opted to stay.

We had almost everything ready two days before we were due to leave when Chris one morning burst into the garage where Nick and I were scrubbing the floor, naked for once and covered in sweat and grime. "There's a slave van at the door. Oh, God! He's selling us after all". She was on the verge of tears. "Of course he isn't, but it could be another inspection. Quick, get naked, Chris. I'll fetch the hobbles". Just then we heard Master James calling her and she ran off, frantically tearing off her t-shirt. We followed to get chained up, at least we looked like two hard worked slaveboys, and had reached the scullery, when we heard Master James again. "Christine, fetch Nick and Pete too. I'll need all three of you for this, I think. Here you are, officer, and thanks for the quick delivery". We hurried through the kitchen, glimpsing two slave handlers leaving, and heard Chris cry out. In the hall we found her on her knees, sobbing and cradling a naked girl in her arms. Master James stood beside them, looking concerned. "Meet my new slavegirl, Danielle". He touched Chris' shoulder. "Come on, there'll be a time for that later. What she needs just now is a hot bath, run along to prepare it. The boys can help her". She turned on her knees to kiss his shoes and looked up with a face stained by tears. "Sir! You're not only the kindest master, but the kindest man alive! I…". "Sure, but hurry now". She kissed his shoes again, jumped up and ran to the bathroom.

Master James turned to us. "Lift her up, gently. She's exhausted and pretty badly hurt, I'm afraid". The new girl's head was cropped to a mere stubble, her wrists and ankles badly chafed, and her back and arse striped and scarred by a whip. I grabbed under her armpits and gestured Nick to take her legs. "No, Sir, I can walk, or crawl, Sir", she protested feebly. "You'll do as I say". We hefted her up to reveal that her front, not least her ample breasts, were marked like her back, even her pubic area was heavily striped. Nick gasped and Master James shook his head. "She'll need more than a bath, but let's begin with that". We got the limp body to the bathroom where Chris had filled the tub with hot scented water and lowered it gently. "Let's leave it to the girls, shall we?" Master James gestured us out. "Wash off the dirt and get dressed". "Yes, Sir. Can we finish the garage first, Sir?" "Do as you like. I'll run up to town and get some salve and things".

When we saw her again, resting on a sun bed on the terrace, now partly covered by shorts and shirt, Danny looked much better, but still very weak. Master James was sitting beside her with a glass of wine. "Lay a table out here, we're lunching together today". Chris had made a rich vegetable soup, fillet of plaice, and strawberry flan, and Danny begged to be allowed at table, even if Master James told us to serve her where she was. "I haven't been sitting at a table for more than three months, Sir, haven't had real food either". During lunch Master James told her about our imminent departure and what kind of life she could expect as his slave. I could hardly take my eyes from her, even bald she seemed to me the most beautiful girl I'd ever met, but wondered about the glimpse of steel I thought to detect in her eyes the few times they met mine. Not that she wasn't subdued, humble even, didn't speak unless asked a direct question and mostly kept her eyes lowered, but her spirit was clearly not broken, in spite of what she so obviously had suffered. After lunch Master James told her to rest again and Chris to stay with her. Nick and I gave the garden a last touch up. The girls talked quietly for a while, but then Danny apparently fell asleep. Later Master James called for Nick and I worked on. When I was weeding the roses around the terrace Chris came over to whisper that she had to start dinner and would I keep an eye on the sleeping girl? I'd almost finished when I heard a clear voice: "Pete, isn't it?" I jumped up. "Can I do anything for you?" "Show me where I can have a drink of water". "You just stay there and I'll get it. Just water?" She nodded. "How about a coke?" "Are we allowed that?" "Sure, you like?" She nodded again and I fetched a cool glass in the kitchen and sat down beside her bed. "Aah, first coke I've had for months. He must be a very kind master". "He is, the best", I answered emphatically. "Must be, but he can do whatever he likes to me. He saved my life". "Was it that bad?" "Yes". She closed her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it, not just now, but I was bought by a couple of true sadists, man and wife. Had to pay §78.000 for me, that's something, isn't it?" "You're worth a lot more". "Thanks". She sent me a weak smile and took another sip. "They kept me in the cellar and tortured me, every day, both of them. I'd decided to kill myself, but wanted to take at least one of them with me. Had figured out how to do it. That's what kept me alive until I was suddenly fetched up and handed over to the chief of police. I knew him from the trial of that cursed bastard of a stepfather I had. He took me to the slave centre and I was examined by a doctor, then locked up in a holding cell for the night and brought here today. To Heaven on Earth". She sniffed and I saw tears in her eyes. "Now tell me about yourself. I know Chris, but not you and that other boy, Nick, isn't it?"

So I talked a bit about myself and what I knew of Nick, but mostly about the last few weeks. "He must be a saint, our master, saving not only you, but me as well". "He did, Chris and Nick for certain, I might have gone to a service company, that's not too bad, but he got my sentence reduced. And yes, he's kind, very kind, but not a saint. He has his dark side". I told about the relationship between Master James and Steve. "But that's consensual. He doesn't abuse people who can't resist, his slaves". "No, only once and only for our sake". "Well, he can do anything he likes to me, and welcome, as I said". "Same here, and I'm sure that Chris and Nick agree, but I don't think he will. May want to, but too decent to force us".

Danny was sent straight to bed after dinner, she slept most of the next day as well, but we joined Master James for coffee in the sitting room. "I know that your new fellow doesn't want to talk about her experience as a slave, and we'll respect that". He looked sternly at us. "Yes, Sir", Chris answered firmly. "But I can tell you this much. When Christine cried out her heart about being unable to help her friend, I decided to make use of my connections, so I asked my police friend if he could find out what had happened to the girl. It was easy enough, she'd been bought by a well-known businessman from this town, very influential, close friend of the mayor. It seemed quite straightforward, the girl would be all right, just one slave among many in a big household, but now I'd got three fine slaves for free, why not buy another, one I could keep for a longer time? So I asked my friend to find out if her owner was willing to sell. He did and was told that the man knew nothing about her. That was puzzling and my friend checked again, only to find that she indeed had been sold to that particular person. Now more suspicious than puzzled, he asked to see her, but was rebuked. Policemen don't like that, not even from the mayor's friends, so he instigated an unannounced inspection of the slaves of that household. She was not among the houseslaves. That really made him smell a rat and demand to see her or he'd come back with a search warrant. The man and his wife tried to fend him off, mentioning their connections in high places, but my friend is rather insistent and completely incorruptible. In the end Danielle was brought up, even worse looking than she is now, and the couple admitted that they have this very special hobby, torturing and abusing young girls. Only slavegirls, criminals, nothing wrong with that, was there? My friend thought so and demanded to see the place where she'd been kept. It was a veritable dungeon, complete with chains on the walls and hanging from the ceiling, X-cross, torture bench, cage, every conceivable instrument for tormenting a girl. My friend is not against slavery, can't be in his job, and fully agrees that it's a punishment, not a holiday, and that slaveowners are entitled to get their money's worth out of their property, but finds unjustified cruelty and excessive abuse unacceptable. He threatened the couple with exposing their abnormal sex habits and when they, as expected, offered money for his silence, he for once abandoned his principles and asked for the girl. They dared not refuse and signed her over to him on the spot. Yesterday he made me a present of her, so now she's mine". He smiled thinly. "Not the worst gift I've ever received, but the prospect of keeping captive for twenty years a girl, who in my opinion has committed no crime, doesn't appeal to me at all". "No, Sir". Chris had tears in her eyes. "But she has to stay a slave for that long and couldn't have a better master".

The next day we shipped off most of Master James' belongings and Steve came over to bid a tearful goodbye, tearful in more than one way. A car and a van brought us to the airport next morning. We slaves were chained up in the van and delivered to the cargo area of the airport in handcuffs and hobbles. When it was time to board the aircraft we, and a few other slaves, were taken aboard first and brought to a screened off part of the cabin where we were chained by the neck to some hard wooden seats and had our ankles cuffed to rings in the floor. Master James came down a couple of times during the long flight, 'to inspect his property', feeding us bottles of soft drink. Apart from that there were no meals or drinks for us slaves, not even water. Too much work to unchain us to go to the loo, I guess. After landing we waited until all regular passengers had left and were then taken to the luggage room. The workers, who were handling the suitcases, looked curiously at us, but said nothing. After standing there for a while, cuffed and hobbled, barefoot in skimpy shorts and t-shirts, we were called out to a crowded arrival lounge where Master James was waiting. He looked dismayed at us, took off my handcuffs and handed me the key. "Get those damned chains off, and quickly". People were staring and whispering while I hurriedly freed my fellow slaves. "Take these and get changed, over there". He pointed to the lavatories and indicated four carrier bags. They contained not only jeans and polo neck sweaters, to hide our collars, but underwear, socks and trainers as well, even a windbreaker. In a way it felt odd to be fully dressed again after almost four months, but no one took any notice of us when we followed Master James to the taxi stand. He handed me a card. "This is the address, in case you get lost. It's quite a long drive". I stared at him. "Did you expect to be chained on the floor?" He called two cabs, got into the first with Danny, who seemed near collapse, worn out as she was before we even started the journey. We loaded his suitcases in the next and drove off to our unknown destination.

'And what a paradise that was!' Even after three years I haven't really grown used to it. A three-storey eighteenth-century town house at one end of what they call a crescent, right in the middle of this ancient town, with a walled garden behind. It was a bit dusty and stuffy when I first saw it, but charming, filled with antiques and paintings. "Unoccupied since my aunt died", Master James explained while we went through the spacious rooms, "Cleaned once every three months, but there's some good honest work for you here". "Yes, Sir. Looking forward to it, Sir". Nick grinned hugely. "Of course there are no slaveroom, but I guess the old coal cellar will do". "Yes, Sir". His grin faltered. "Or perhaps the garden shed". Now it was Master James' turn to grin. He led us across the lawn to a two-storey building at the far end. "The old mews". Now the garage, of course, with two large black cars. A little hall with a door opening to a back street had a staircase to the second floor. Five rooms upstairs, one of them large enough to be named a sitting room, bathroom, even a small kitchen. "Is this", Chris stammered, "Is this the slaverooms, Sir. Do we stay here?" "If you don't mind. There's still the coal cellar, you know".

Danny mumbles in her sleep. A slim arm comes across my chest and I snuggle closer to the warm body. 'Paradise! That's what it is. A fucking paradise'. Grinning to myself I drift off.

Part 5. Danny

"Mmm". I jerk my left leg. "Hey!" Someone is tickling the sole of my other foot. "Hey, wake up!" "Mmm". I come slowly to my senses and open my eyes to see a hugely grinning Nick beside the bed. "Bad, bad slavegirl!" He kisses my lips softly. "Wha, what?" "Wake up! You have be on duty in twenty minutes". "Oh!" I sit up, looking bewildered from him to the sleeping black boy beside me. "Oh!" "No 'Oh's will save you, less you get up right now". He wrinkles his nose.. "And have a bath. You smell something awful. Sex in the afternoon? Bad, bad slaves!" "Oh, I, we, he....". "Yeah, yeah, raped you, or was it the other way around?" "Both, and it wasn't rape, not even sex. Love it was, deep, endless love". His arms come around me and I'm dragged up in a warm embrace. "Don't I know and I'm sorry to interrupt, but...". "We're slaves and we have work to do".

Slave, yes, that's what I am, a naked, miserable, abused slavegirl, and I'll stay that until released as a forty years old worn out, good for nothing hag. God! What I owe Chris, and Master James!

I was only half conscious that first day when he brought us here and hardly registered anything, not even what was to become my paradise. Nick and Pete half carried me around the main house, through the garden and down here. "We've better put her to bed". I saw Master James looking concerned and protested feebly when dragged back up to a spacious room, dominated with a grand four poster bed. "No, noo! Please, no more!" I cried and fought the restraining hands while Chris hurried around putting on fresh sheets. "No!" They took off my clothes and carried me to bed. "No!" I struggled, but they didn't tie my arms and legs, just put me down on the soft mattress. Moments later another naked body was pressed to mine and I was held in a comforting embrace.

My eyelids fluttered open and I stared into a pair of warm brown eyes. "Hi there". Soft lips touched mine. "Hi". But it was wrong, we weren't allowed to speak. "No!", I whispered, "Don't" "Don't what?" Chris hugged me tighter. "We can't, we mustn't...". "Mustn't what, dear?" "Speak". "Why on Earth not?" She kissed me again. "Because...". Suddenly I became aware of my surroundings. I wasn't in the bleak dorm of the training camp, but in a bright and cosy bedroom. From a framed print on the wall a gaudily dressed little girl with a drum strapped to her waist smiled down to me. But it was Chris cradling me. Then it came back, the endless horrors in the cellar and I broke down, crying helplessly, clutching the naked body beside me in a vain attempt to drive away the nightmares.

When I came awake again, I was alone in the bed and sat up, looking bewildered about me. "Good morning, or rather, good afternoon". A black teenage boy rose from a chair. "Feeling better now?" I stared at him. "Who're you? Please don't hurt me!" He dropped to his knees beside the bed. "I'm Pete and no one will hurt you here. Do you need anything, a coke perhaps?" Then I remembered. I'd been saved, I was free, or no, I was still a slave, but slave of a kind master. They wouldn't strap me to the cross again, they wouldn't tie up my breasts, wouldn't whip them, wouldn't... . I closed my eyes, shivering. "Please, Danny! Please don't be so scared. We only want to help you". A callused hand touched my cheek and I shrank back in fear. "I'll fetch Chris". "No, please don't... Pete. I'm sorry. I'd like a coke, very much. Please!" He smiled gently and shook the pillows, arranging them behind my back. "Won't be a second". He disappeared and I sank back. "Here you are". A cool glass was offered on a tray. "Thank you". I drank deeply, quenching my raging thirst. "How about something to eat. Some soup, or perhaps tea and toast?" I emptied the glass, looking shyly at him. "I, eh, I have to...". "Use the bathroom. It's just over there, lemme help you". He drew back the covers and I saw him wincing at the sight of my ravaged body before offering a hand to help me up, but my legs refused to support me and I sank back, whimpering. "Oh, Danny!" He looked helplessly at me. "I'm sorry", I mumbled, fighting the urge to relieve myself. "No need, I can take it". Before I'd time to protest he gently forced my legs apart and knelt, cupping my sex with his mouth. "No, no!" I tried to push him away. "Come on, mate, let loose".

Blushing deeply I had to give in and he was swallowing frantically when the door was opened and my new master entered. "Oh, God!" I gasped, deeply embarrassed. "Name's James and don't take any notice of me". The kneeling boy licked me clean and raised my legs back on the bed, covered me again and sat back on his heels, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back. Our master sat down on the chair. "How are you, Danielle? Dizzy, feeling sick?" "No, Sir. But I'm so tired and I hurt". "No wonder. I've asked a doctor to examine you. She'll be here in a couple of hours". "Thank you, Sir". "One of your fellows will be watching over you, so just relax and get all the rest you need". "Thank you, Sir. I'm sorry that I can't serve you just now". "Don't be. My other slaves need some good honest work. Can you eat anything?" "Pete offered tea and toast, Sir". "Good, and don't hesitate to use him or the others for whatever you need". He gave me a warm smile, touched my hand and left. "I'm so sorry, Pete". "What for?" "Humiliating you like that". "I'm a slave, Danny. I've drunk piss before and this time it really was necessary". He rose to fetch the tea. "I'll make it up to you later", I called after him. "Nah, but thanks for the offer". "I could swallow something else of yours". "Maybe, but only if you'd really want that". "I would".

The doctor, a petite woman in her late twenties, was clearly horrified when examining my body. "Animals! That's what they are, Jamie. Animals!" "Can't disagree with you, darling". "You too. Keeping a poor girl like her in slavery!" "Now, Angie!" "And not only her! What's become of you, Jamie?" He blushed, looking flustered, and I dared protest. "Please, Miss! Please don't be angry with Master James. I am a slave, we are slaves, felons convicted according to law". "Some law!" "But we're lucky, Miss, we have a kind master". "Master, my foot! Turn on your stomach, please". Her fingers probed my back and buttocks, and one of them went into my anal opening, feeling around. "Enjoying yourself, Jamie? At least you could show some decency and leave". "Leave her to you, darling?" His eyebrows rose questioningly, or was it mockingly? "I'm here in my professional capacity and I'd never...". "Of course not, darling, and neither would I, as you very well know". "Turn again, dear. OK, OK, Jamie, I'm sorry". She squeezed my breasts. "Someone put needles into you, didn't they?" "Yes, Miss". I closed my eyes in horror. "At least they were clean", she mumbled. "Down here as well?" She fondled my labia lips. "Yes, Miss, they sewed them up with wire". A finger wormed its way up my vagina. "Good God! Worse than animals! Jamie, if you ever lay as much as a finger on this poor girl, I'll kill you!" "Not even a finger, darling, promise". She covered me and turned. "Sorry, dear, I know you wouldn't, but on those handsome boys, then?" "Not even them". "Hmm, perhaps not, but if you did, I might forgive you". I watched them embrace and exchange a chaste kiss. "He's my kid brother, dear, and we're of the same ilk, I'm afraid. Our poor parents won't get any grandchildren". Then it dawned upon me. "If Master James allows it, I'll be happy to serve you, Miss". "Angela. Hardly happy, or are you a lesbian?" "No, Miss, but I've been trained to serve a mistress and you've been so kind to me, Miss". "We'll see about that, but only if you convince me that you do it out of your absolutely free will". "And if her master allows it, darling". "Arhg, little brother, denying your sister a bit of fun?" "Well, there was that affair with my toy train". "Taking revenge, huh? Anyway, dear, you're hurt badly, I don't need to tell you that, but nothing that won't heal, physically, that is". She gave me a brief kiss on the lips. "I can't imagine the state of your mind, but at least you're safe in the hands of this brother of mine. He may be something of a sadist, but only hurts willing victims". "Yes, Miss". "And to relieve any doubts you may harbour. With me it's the other way around".

Master James firmly confined me to bed for the next week. Nick or Pete watched over me and served my meals, and Chris slept with me. It was almost as the good old times in the training camp. Or, of course you couldn't name them good, but it was good to feel her warm body, not least when I woke up from the nightmares that kept haunting me. Most nights she was asleep and I just snuggled closer, touching my burning skin to her, but one night she too was awake. At first I thought she was having a nightmare, like me. She was shivering, her breath coming in short gasps, and I was just about to embrace her for comfort when she let out a muffled scream and went limp. I smiled to myself and couldn't resist. "Was it good?" "What? Oh, I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?" "No, but was it?" "Yes, I...". "Don't you dare be embarrassed, Chris. We have no secrets, and I could make it better for you, if you like". "I...". "Not the first time, dear". "Noo". "But you wouldn't like it?" She didn't answer for some time, then whispered: "Yes, please". I drew back the sheets and blankets to touch my mouth to her left breast, tickling the ringed nipple. "Ooh!" I licked and sucked gently, changed to the other nipple and back again, then slowly licked my way down her flat stomach. "You don't have to, Danny". "But I want to. Raise your knees and spread the legs". Miss Angela had removed the rings in her labia lips, but, like the boys, she'd asked to be allowed to keep the nipple rings.

I scurried round and bowed towards her hairless slit. A strong, musky odour attacked my nostrils and I inhaled deeply before lapping up the sweet moisture from the glistening lips. It's true what I'd told Miss Angela. I'm no lesbian, but that doesn't mean that I can't enjoy another woman. Actually, at that time I was in doubt if I'd ever be able to have sex with a man after what my stepfather and that sadistic swine of a master did to me. Just the thought of anything entering my love tunnel, not to mention my other holes, made me sick. Chris sighed and I stabbed into her opening, just briefly, then continued down the hypersensitive skin between her two holes. She squirmed and I heard a muffled scream, repeated when the tip of my tongue tickled the little brown rosebud. "Good?" I raised my head to see that she was pressing a fist against her mouth, biting the knuckles. "Yes, oh God, yess!" With a smile I went back to press into the narrow passage, licking around. "Please, please! Oh God, please don't stop!" That was definitely not my intention and I gave her a thorough cleaning before returning to the other opening. Her juices were flowing again and I drank them down with relish, then had to take a firm grasp of her ankles to keep her in place when my lips finally closed around her sweet little nubbin and she with a half choked scream suddenly went limp.

Next morning I woke up with a hot tongue licking my left nipple. I cringed and turned away. "Please don't!" Chris raised her head and looked concerned at me. "You don't like it?" "No! Yes I do, but not just now. It brings it back". "Oh, Danny ! I'm so sorry". "I'll come to terms with it, forget about it, given time. Don't worry, and it's not as if I've abandoned sex". "I know. Thank you". She gave me a light kiss. "You don't have thank me for anything, Chris, not ever. You saved my life". "Not I, Master James did". "Him too. At least I can do something to pay you back, but what am I to do about him?" "You'll be his slave for almost twenty years". "And the best slave in the world, but that's nothing special. How can I show him my real gratitude, I can't even offer him my body?" "I don't know and you're not alone in this. He saved Nick and me as well and now he won't allow himself to take from us what he really wants". "Whip you? Don't wish for that, Chris. You can't imagine how horrible it is". I closed my eyes, shuddering, and she embraced me. "Sorry, Danny. No I can't, but Master James would never go that far and accepting pain from his hand would make me feel better".

The next day Miss Angela examined me again and declared me fit for work. The others had already done a great job cleaning the old house, and now we were four it was soon sparkling from cellar to attic. Actually there was no coal-hole, only a large, old-fashioned kitchen, a scullery, store room, a well stocked wine-cellar and a surprisingly bright servants' hall. Master James sent for catalogues and told Chris to choose new kitchen fixtures, and when she gave them back, asked why she hadn't marked a dishwasher. "We don't need that, Sir". He bought one anyway, though it was hardly ever used. A new dining table, comfortable chairs, a large TV set, stereo rack and video player arrived with the rest, and our part of the house was transformed into a cosy home, far from the deliberately bare and bleak slaverooms we knew so well. Not that the rest of the house wasn't pleasant. An elegant little hall with a winding staircase, a large sitting room with French doors opening to the garden, a dining room and a library on the ground floor. Upstairs was another, smaller, sitting room, a study with advanced computer equipment, a master bedroom, dressing room and a large bathroom. On the third floor, four bedrooms, for children I guessed, and a couple of bathrooms, and in the attic a number of small, empty rooms for servants.

But not for slaves. When we'd finished with the main house, the boys went to work on the mews, cleaning out the dust and dirt accumulated during the many years since it was last occupied by coachman and stable lads, and repainting the garage and the rooms upstairs. Meanwhile we used the second floor bedrooms. Chris and I shared one and the boys another. We didn't see much of our master, who'd decided to leave the computer company and was establishing himself as a freelance consultant. He left most mornings after breakfast and didn't return until dinnertime, if not dining out with prospective clients. So in a way he fulfilled his threat of being a cruel master. Treated as kindly as we were, left to organise and do our duties as suited us best, I think we worked harder than most slaves do under the whip. We had no reason for cutting corners, try lazing it off or cheating our master. He hardly ever gave an order, only asked politely if he needed something, always thanked us when we'd done it, was full of praise for our efforts. Neither did he issue instructions about how we should dress, so we decided to wear shorts, us girls t-shirts as well, but no shoes. The boys undressed when doing the dirty work at the mews and, when Master James seemed to appreciate it on the first morning, were naked when bringing up his tea. He didn't even ask for that, but one of us always kept close to him when at home, ready to serve, mostly Nick, sometimes Pete, but when I one day after dinner tried serving his coffee and knelt quietly beside his chair, he didn't comment, except with a curt: "Please sit, I don't want you kneeling", so I continued to take my turn serving in the evening.

Only once did he, not order, but called us together and when we were on our knees in front of him very gravely told us: "Perhaps I'm asking too much, but I don't want you to engage in sexual intercourse". "Of course not, Sir!" Nick looked shocked. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But you're young, you are very handsome, you're forced into very special circumstances, living closely together, as often as not in a state of undress. To expect you to be unaffected by that is contrary human nature. I have eyes and I'm not stupid. I could've kept Chris locked up and have Danielle pierced in the same way, but I consider that unacceptable, plain inhuman. So I ask you not to betray my trust. You may please each other, all you like, with your mouths, but penetration is not allowed. Is that clear?" "Yes, Sir", Pete answered, equally gravely. "Good. The reason for this demand of mine is not to impose my superiority as your owner, but to prevent jealousy, not to mention fighting between you. If any two of you develop feelings for each other too deep to suppress, come to me, and if convinced that you really mean it, and, just as important, if the other two accept it, I'll allow you exploring your relationship in any way you may need". We stared at him, too stupefied to answer. "Is that clear?" "Yes, Sir", Pete answered again, "Thank you, Sir".

He was as good as his word, and our friends too, when Pete shyly dared tell how things were between us. "Congratulations and bless your love. But if you don't respect, cherish, adore her, I'll make life hell for you!" "Yes, Sir, with good cause".

The boys didn't like it, but I insisted that it was only fair, and one morning turned up in Master James' bedroom, naked, with the tea tray. He was still sleeping when I put it down to draw aside the curtains, letting in the early sunshine, but had opened his eyes when I turned to kneel by the bedside, offering a cup. "Good morning, Sir. I hope you slept well. Your tea, Sir". He looked startled for a moment. "I did, and thank you, but something else first". He threw away the bedclothes and sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. "Aouw, damn!" He was visibly wincing with pain and I looked alarmed at him. "What is it, Sir, is something wrong?" "Yes", he moaned through clenched teeth, "I tend to forget myself, too absorbed in work and staying far too long in front of that damned computer". "Your back hurts, Sir?" "Pretty badly. Some mornings I'm hardly able to get out of bed". "I can help you with that, Sir, if it's just muscle pain. I was studying to be a physiotherapist before being enslaved". "Really? I know too little about you". He tried to rise again, but sank back. "Damn!" "Please don't hurt yourself, Sir! I can help you with that too". I scuttled closer and touched his knees to make him open his legs. "You can what?" "Spare you going to the bathroom, Sir". "Drink my piss, you mean. No you can't, absolutely not! Do you really consider me that much of a monster, to humiliate you like that?" "You don't humiliate me, Sir. I ask you to allow me to help you. Please, Sir, I beg you!" He made a last effort, then mutely spread his legs, looking away, and I closed my mouth around the stiff rod, opening my throat. A steady stream of hot, pungent urine made me swallow frantically, but I managed not to spill a drop, and when it stopped, licked the now only partly erect member clean. "I'm so terribly sorry". "Please don't be, Sir". I looked up with a smile. "You've made me very happy". "I can't imagine that you enjoy drinking other people's piss". "I don't, but you're not 'other people', Sir". "I'm your master, you mean?" He smiled wryly. "You are, Sir, but to me you are first of all the man who saved my life and have shown me nothing by kindness. I owe you everything, Sir, and want to pay back what little I can". "You work for me, hard and without pay". "I'm a slave, Sir".

"So you are. Get to work, slave". He stretched out on the bed and I got up to run my fingers down his back, probing the small lumps of knotted muscles. "Have you seen a physiotherapist before, Sir?" "No, just swallowed some painkillers and relaxed for a while". "Have you told Miss Angela about the problem, Sir?" "No, is it that bad?" "No, Sir, I don't think so, but I'm not a doctor". "Very well, do what you can for me today and I'll consult my sister. She's coming for dinner tomorrow anyway". "Yes, Sir, but I must warn you that what I have to do will hurt". "Afraid of angering your master, are you?" "No, Sir, and I'm sure that a massage will help, but you may not be able to move much for some hours". "OK, do your worst" "My best, Sir. Perhaps I could begin with a light massage to ease the immediate pain, then after your bath and breakfast give you a longer treatment?" "Do that". "Yes, Sir". I fetched a lotion from the bathroom to spread on his back, then began stroking it, gradually increasing the pressure. "Ouch!" "I'm sorry, Sir". I was kneading his shoulders. "No you aren't, but I appreciate your warning". "I really am sorry, Sir. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I'm sure it'll help". "How about my sister?" "Miss Angela, Sir?" "Auw, ooh! She's a masochist, Danielle, not hardcore, but she likes mixing sex with a bit of pain". "Yes, Sir". "Mostly just to be tied up tightly, some clothespins in interesting places, perhaps a few lashes with a whip". I saw myself helpless in a strict hogtie while my former mistress was putting sharp toothed metal clamps on my toes, my nipples, my pussy lips, my…, and shivered. "Can you do that for her?" "Yes, Sir". "Are you sure. Won't it trouble you, make you remember what you've been through?" "It will, Sir". I kneaded his buttocks. "And I won't like it, but if I can make Miss Angela happy, and you, Sir, I can do it and I will do it, gladly". "Good girl! I don't want to force you, but I'm concerned about my sister. The life of a masochist is often risky. Once you're helpless there isn't much you can do if your partner goes too far". "I'd never do that, Sir". I reached his calves. "Aah! That feels nice". "Thank you, Sir". "And of course you wouldn't, because you know how it feels to be at the receiving end". "And I'm a slave, Sir. I do what I'm ordered to do and only that". I knelt and licked his feet.

"Mmm, real nice. It's partly my fault, I'm afraid, that Angie became what she is now. I've always had a dominating streak and loved playing cowboys and Indians when a boy. She and I got on very well, even if I'm the beastly little brother, she's two years older than I, and we often played together. She was always the Indian, who'd be caught and tied up. Just ordinary childish fun to begin with, but when we were growing up it changed. Being older, and a girl, she matured earlier than me and at first I wasn't aware that she was pushing me, telling me to tighten the ropes, inventing new and more uncomfortable positions, demanding to be left in bondage for longer periods of time. But I liked it and eventually we abandoned the roleplay in favour of just tying her up. And we did, or I did, harder and harder. She was hogtied, frogtied, balltied, suspended, spreadeagle, for hours on end. She took to wearing longsleeved jumpers and ankle socks to hide the rope burns and we had to be very careful not to get caught. It would've caused quite a scandal if the bishop's teenage kids were observed doing something which might be misunderstood. Not that sex was ever part of the game, how exciting and arousing it may have been for us, and even if Angie preferred being barefoot and in skimpy shorts and halter tops. It went on until I was about fifteen and she turned seventeen, and we discovered how we felt about sex. For me it came as a shock when I had to admit to myself that my wet dreams were about my schoolmates, not girls. I cried my heart out, literally, at Angie's bosom and found to my relief that not only did she understand me, but she had exactly the same problem. That made us even closer friends and confidantes. We were pretty ignorant about sex, having lived a sheltered life, but searched discretely for all the information we could get and discussed it at length, greatly relieved that we by no means seemed exceptional. Not even our bondage games were weird, but something many people used to spice their lives. So out we went to explore the world and were uncommonly lucky. Angie had a very popular young gym teacher who usually showered with the girls and engaged them in cheerful horseplay, chasing them around, catching and tickling them, even giving them a friendly slap with a wet towel. Armed with her knew knowledge Angie sought her advice about these weird fantasies of hers about being tied up by another girl, and within a month they were lovers".

I kneaded his feet thoroughly. "Aah, very pleasant, do continue. One of my schoolmates, a rather shy boy, often went to me for help with our homework and in return offered to fetch and carry for me. One afternoon when we were working in my room I casually told how my sister and I used to have great fun tying her up, but that she all of a sudden had begun acting like a grown up, refusing to play silly boys' games any longer. "To be tied up is not silly". I looked surprised at him. "You've tried that?" "Not really, but sometimes I tie myself up". Now he had me staring in disbelief. "You've what?" "But I can't do it properly, have to be able to get free. Would you like to tie me up?" "I, eh, well". I gathered my wits. "If you like". "I do. Please find the rope". He kicked off his shoes and used his toes to pull off the socks while hauling his t-shirt over his head. I rummaged feverishly in the closet to find my bag of ropes. When I turned, he'd dropped his jeans as well and stood there in a pair of tiny briefs. "How do you want me?" "I, eh, tell me what you like". "OK". He flopped face down on my bed, placing his ankles on top of the bar at its foot. "Like this and my arms stretched towards the upper corners". My hands were shaking and something stirred in my pants when I began wrapping a length of the soft rope, Angie and I used, around his left ankle. "Don't you have some thinner string? I like to feel it cutting into my skin". "Sure". I fished it out and showed him. "OK, tighten it as hard as you can, but leave an end free to tie around my big toes, stretching my feet real good". Even more excited I went to work and soon had his sturdy ankles lashed to the bar and his large, adolescent feet stretched painfully. He tried wriggling but could hardly move anything but his free toes. "Great! Now my arms, but please wrap something around my wrists. I don't want my mum asking about ropeburns". I found a couple of scarves and stretched him out, but he asked me to tighten the ropes even further. When I at last stood back to survey my work, his sinewy teenage body was as tight as a bowstring. "Yeah, this is really something", he gasped and turned his head to send me a big smile, "Thanks". "You like it?" "Greatest thing ever, man". "Doesn't it hurt?" "Like hell, but that's the point, see?"

Actually I'd finished the massage, but wanted to hear the rest of the story, so I went back up Master James' legs. "I sat down, looking at the strained, practically naked body. "How long do you want to stay there?" "Dunno, but can I ask you to do something else?" "Depends". "Do you mind tickling my feet?" "You like to be tickled?" "Not much, but it's like a test of self control. You tickle and I try to keep absolutely still". "You can hardly move at all, man!" I grinned. "I can wriggle my toes". He demonstrated. "But have to try not to. You watch them and tell me if I do". I thought it pretty weird, but wheeled my chair in place. His feet were already turning red and felt hot when I let my fingers run down the strained soles ever so lightly. "Shit, man, but it's hard!", he moaned, curling the four toes on his left foot. "You moved!" "Shit! That's one". It went on for about half an hour. I continued the feather light touching, tried scraping with a fingernail, blow gently, admiring his self control. He did wriggle and curl his toes, but only thirteen times before I stopped. "I've better untie you now. Your feet are turning blue". "OK, just one more thing". He tried to look back at me. "Please, James! I know it's weird, but do you mind strapping me?" "Why? What for?" "That's my punishment for not controlling myself". His eyes were strangely pleading. "OK, I'll spank you". "No, please use my belt". "OK". I tried to keep my voice level, but was so excited that I'd trouble hauling the thin leather belt out of his trousers. "Where and how many?" I doubled it. "Thirteen on my bum, as hard as you can, and please drag down my briefs". "OK", I croaked and bared his tight teenage butt before slashing down with all the strength I could muster. "Shit! That's one", he hissed. "You want another?" "No, twelve more. Come on, man!" So I laid another stripe across the unblemished skin and another, carefully placing them side by side until his buttocks turned flaming red and he gasped: "Thirteen. Thanks again, you've got a mean stroke". "I won't say sorry, but let's get you untied now". "Just one more thing". "What now? I really don't think you can take much more". "Whip my feet. Please!" "You can't be serious. It'll hurt like hell!" "Sure, that's the point. They moved, they've gotta be punished". "OK. Another thirteen?" "On each foot, yes". This time he couldn't keep count but had to press his face into the bedspread to muffle his screams, yet didn't ask me to stop either, so he got what he wished for".

Master James turned his head. "I feel much better now. Thank you, Danielle". "Yes, Sir". I helped him sit and then rise. "Much, much better". He moved carefully towards the bathroom and I jumped ahead to open the door. "Shall I run your bath, Sir?" "No, I think a shower is what I need". "Yes, Sir". I started it and regulated the flow until the temperature was right. "Aah!" He went under the spray and I grabbed a bar of soap to follow. "I can wash myself, Danielle". "Yes, Sir, but please allow me to help. You mustn't strain you back". "Perhaps not". He raised his arms to let me soap him up. 'Truly gay', I thought when dropping to my knees in front of him, 'Naked, with a naked woman shaking her tits in his face and fondling his dick, and it remains limp'. "That was my first experience with gay bondage and discipline". Master James picked up the thread of his story. "By far the last, but it taught me the most important and basic rule for a top, a rule I've never broken: Always let your partner top you from the bottom, he's at the receiving end, he knows what he wants, he sets the limits. A top/bottom relationship is always balancing on a knife edge, but if you follow that rule, it has a sporting chance of success". I finished washing his feet and stepped out to dry myself hurriedly, then stood ready with another towel. "Unfortunately a good bottom is hard to find". He sighed deeply and I dried his back. "But you have two here, Sir". "No, that's exactly what I don't have. Nick and Pete can't set the limits, they're my slaves". "You could tell them to do so, Sir". "I could, but never trust that they'd actually do it. They wouldn't stop me in time, either out of fear of annoying me or out of gratitude, and besides, they're not real bottoms, they'd just submit for the same reasons". "But why can't you allow us to show our gratitude, Sir, in what way open to us". "Because I can't and I won't".

I told the boys about it later that day, after I'd given Master James another, much harder massage and left him to sleep. "He seemed so sad that I just acted on the spur of the moment, without considering the consequences for you". "It's OK", Nick answered, "I wouldn't like it, but I'd happily take a lot of pain to help him". "Me too", Pete confirmed, "He's missing Steve, I think, but we can't offer it now, can we? It'll only make him embarrassed. The only thing we can do is to work so much harder and make him as comfortable as possible".

"You really are a fool, you know, Jamie", his sister told him after dinner the next day, when examining his back. He'd followed my advice and told her about his weakness, admitting that he'd had frequent attacks for some years. "Count yourself lucky not to be crippled by now. But Danny's right, physiotherapy can cure you". She turned to me. "A full treatment every second day for the next month". "Yes, Miss Angela". "Aw, Angie! Not that often, it hurts like hell". "Your own fault, little brother, and if you don't do as I say and right now, you 'will' be crippled". "OK, OK, doctor, if you say so", he sighed, "Poor master, roles reversed, tortured by his own slavegirl!" "Only good for you to be at the receiving end, dear, and for me too. Are you still willing to help me, Danny?" "Yes, Miss Angela". "Good girl! Can I borrow her tomorrow, Jamie?" He looked searchingly at me. "Are you sure, Danielle?" "Yes, Sir". "OK, then. You can have her, provided that you take her on one of those shopping sprees, you're so fond of, and treat her to a decent lunch"". "Deal, little brother, and thanks". She kissed him tenderly on the mouth.

I was nervous when she fetched me the next day, and embarrassed to enter a fashionable store with the elegantly dressed young lady. All I had was the simple clothes, Master James had given us at the airport, but at least I wasn't barefoot in skimpy shorts, as I would have been at home. When leaving the car park I automatically fell in step behind her, but she grabbed my hand. "Forget the slave manners, Danny, and enjoy yourself". "Yes, Miss Angela". "And call me Angela or Angie". "Yes…Angela". I felt like a little girl from the country when we walked past the glittering displays to one of the dress departments, and was completely stupefied when Miss Angela insisted on buying me a beautiful two piece suit and a silk shirt, and after that lace underwear and expensive shoes. My hair was still extremely short and everyone seemed to look at my collar. "Rubbish, Danny! You have such a beautiful head and that ring only looks chic". We had lunch at a world famous hotel and spent the afternoon visiting more shops than I'd seen in my entire life. A wonderful day, but it ended in disaster.

"No, Miss Angela, I can't, I can't!" I sank to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. She cooked a delicious dinner and wouldn't allow me to help, not even laying the table, just poured a glass of wine and told me to sit down while she worked. Afterwards she made coffee and served a wonderful French pear brandy with it. We talked about our lives and I felt so warm and relaxed and happy and grateful, that when she rose to take my hand, whispering: "Come, dear!", I didn't hesitate for a second. We went to her very feminine bedroom and she asked me to dress down to my underwear and stockings while she got naked. Her slim, sinewy body and diminutive breasts made her look almost like a boy. "Like what you see, dear?" She made a slow pirouette. "You are very beautiful, M....Angela". "Rubbish! I've always envied girls like you, who look every inch a woman, but can't do much about it". She gave me a light kiss and drew aside a curtain. It concealed a St. Andrew's cross, painted black and equipped with a number of black leather straps. "Still certain? We can stop here and have another cup of coffee". I suppressed a shiver. "Yes...Angela. I'll do what you want". "Thanks, you're a darling". She kissed me again and stretched out upon the cross. "Now strap me down". Reluctantly I closed a leather band around her left wrist. "As tight as you can make it, dear". "Yes, Angela". "Aah!" She tried wriggling her naked body, but the straps held her immobile, cutting deeply into the delicate skin at her wrists, arms, stomach, thighs, lower legs and ankles. "Now strap those around these raisins of mine". She nodded at another two leather bands she'd placed on the bed and looked down at her chest. It wasn't easy, but I managed to get them around the small mounds and tighten them, raising two red and throbbing plums. "Yess!", she hissed, "Now those". She nodded at a basket of plain wooden clothespins. "My lips first". Trying hard to control my trembling hands, I attached two to each of her labia lips. "God! My nipples, dear. Aargh!" I took a step back, listening to her hissing breath. She opened her eyes and I read the pain and lust. "Another, and then whip them off, slowly". I put a last pin on her pulsating clit and turned to grab the riding crop she'd placed beside the basket. "God! Oh dear God, it's been so long". Her voice, her eyes, her body cried out her pleasure, but all I saw was myself, writhing in pain, screaming for mercy, looking into their dead eyes while another two long needles slowly went through my flesh.

"Danny! Danny!" The quiet, but insistent voice at last penetrated my clouded brain. "Danny, please unbuckle the straps". I managed to control my trembling hands long enough to undo the restraining leather bands, then collapsed again. The next I heard was Master James' angry voice. "I'll never forgive you!" "Perhaps not, little brother, but let's get her to bed now. I'll give her a sedative".

The nightmares were worse than ever and I unconsciously fought against the soft arms around me with all what was left of my strength.

"How is she?" I dimly registered Master James' anxious question. "She'll be fine, Sir", Chris' calm voice answered, "I've been in a worse state than she is now, Sir, but she brought me back. I can do the same for her". "Thank you". "No need, Sir". "Every need in the world. I failed her. I should never have allowed this". "Excuse me, Sir, but that's not fair. Danny's greatest wish was to repay Miss Angela for what she'd done for her" "That bitch!" "No, Sir. Miss Angela is no bitch and you don't really mean that, Sir". "Abusing an innocent girl like that!" "Miss Angela didn't abuse Danny, Sir. Her former master and mistress did, until you rescued her". "Only to deliver her into the hands of another animal". "Sir! Miss Angela is no animal, but a kind and gentle mistress. She has special needs, that's true, and Danny wasn't able to cope with that. But I can, Sir". "You! What do you mean by that?" "That I ask, beg, you to allow me going in Danny's place, Sir". "Never!" "Yes, Sir, if you want to help Danny, and your sister".

"Still daydreaming?" Nick is back, tickling my feet. "I'm sorry, but you really have to get up". "I know". "And it's only until dinner". "I know, and I don't mind". "Does any of us?" He helps me up and I stand for a moment looking down at my lover, still sleeping peacefully, then leave to have a hurried shower.

Part 6. A master and his slaves.

James.

Nick closes the garage door and comes over to take my briefcase. "Good evening, Sir, did you have a good day?" "Thank you, yes, but I'm tired and very much looking forward to some rest and a drink before dinner". "Yes, Sir". He flashes a smile and precedes me across the lawn. "On the terrace, Sir?" Summer has arrived with a vengeance and I look longingly at the comfortable chairs in the shade of a parasol. "Sure". I enter the parlour, where a naked girl is arranging flowers, but drops to her knees as soon as she sees me. "Good evening, Sir". Her head is submissively bowed and her long, blonde hair hides her face, but I know that she's smiling. "Good evening, Danielle. Why are you naked?" "I'm on punishment duty, Sir". "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten". I nod and pass through to the hall, dropping my suit jacket on a chair, run up the stairs, shedding my tie and hanging it on the rail. The shirt ends up on the landing, my shoes are kicked in the direction of the door to my bedroom and my trousers drop to the floor before I flop down in a chair, stretching my tired feet. A hugely grinning Nick, laden with my discarded clothes, picks up my trousers. "My, my, Sir! Must've been a hard day". I just grunt and he carefully places the clothes on another chair, then kneels down in front of me, relieves me of my socks and grabs my right foot to raise it and begin washing it with his tongue. Sighing contentedly I let my head drop back and relax, enjoying his skilled ministrations. "Better, Sir?" He changes to my other foot. "Much better, thank you". "My pleasure, Sir. Do you want a bath or just to change into something comfortable?" "A quick shower". "Yes, Sir". He reaches for my briefs and I raise my bum to let him haul them down, freeing an erect cock. "Oh my, Sir! That looks very painful. Can I do something about it?" "What for example?" I ask with a mischievous smile. "This, Sir". He returns the smile and swallows my member. The experienced mouth and tongue brings me to the point of explosion, but suddenly lets me out. "Hey! What?" I protest indignantly but shut my mouth again when my feet are raised to rest on the edge of the chair. A hot tongue caresses my sack, traces its way along the sensitive area below it and licks around my arsehole. "What an expert you've become, Nick", I moan. "Got a good teacher, Sir". The tip of his tongue stabs past my sphincter.

After an earth shattering orgasm I watch him swallow, lick my cock clean and look up with a grin. "Better now, Sir?" I take his handsome face between my hands to drag him up for a long kiss, our tongues playing, and taste myself. "As good as new". "Thanks, Sir". "How's your arse?" "Sore, Sir". "Show me". He turns his back and drags down his shorts. The fifteen clearly raised welts are still red. "Looks good!" "Glad to hear that, Sir". "Looking forward to my fucking it again tonight?" He hauls the shorts back on and faces me. "Thanks, Sir, my pleasure, but I have a paper to finish. Couldn't you make do with Pete?" "Poor Pete!" "Do him good, Sir. Time he did something useful". He grins again. "Poor Danielle, then, sleeping all alone in a cold bed, and after a punishment!" "Ha, they've been fucking like rabbits all afternoon, Sir. Lazy slavegirl!" "You're a heartless brute, aren't you...slaveboy?" "Who had to iron your shirts, Sir, because she'd 'forgotten' to do them?" "Anyway". "Nah, Sir, you're much too kind to those girls". "Who have such a bad friend". "Who, Sir? Me, Sir? You can't mean that, Sir!" "Perhaps not, but I don't like punishing them". "Just as I told you, Sir, you're much to kind. This is the twentyfirst century, the age of equality between boys and girls". "Perhaps, but not in this house"". "Because the master is so old fashioned, Sir". "A gentleman, I hope". He suddenly turns grave, "Yes, Sir, a kind and gentle man", and kisses me again. "Shall I start your shower, Sir?" "I can manage, but I'd like a good long drink in fifteen minutes". "Yes, Sir". I leave for the bathroom and hear him moving around. "And a footstool". "Yes, Sir".

I come back, much refreshed, to find a fresh pair of briefs, a t-shirt, a pair of comfortable slacks and my loafers ready, and dress before running down the stairs. Delicious smells of cooking are wafting up and I continue to the cellar to poke my head into the kitchen. A barefoot girl in a pair of shorts, her delicate breasts only half covered by an apron, is about to take a freshly baked loaf of bread out of the oven. "Allow me". In two strides I'm beside her, take over the protecting gloves and carry the bread to cool on the windowsill. "Thank you, Sir". "My pleasure. What's for dinner?" "On a hot day like this I thought that cold vegetable soup, quiche Lorraine and raspberry fool would be nice, Sir". "Excellent! Are you dining with us or are you going out?" "No, Sir, not tonight. Angie needs her rest". She smiles shyly and I slap her rump gently. "Been maltreating my sister, have you now, you naughty slavegirl?" "I don't think she'll agree with you, Sir". She shakes her lush auburn mane away from her eyes. "I suppose not".

On the terrace I find my favourite chair placed in the shadow, a low table with a tall glass and a bowl of olives beside it, and a naked, blonde girl on her knees. And not just on her knees, but with her hands forced between her legs, ankles and wrists locked into a set of stocks. "Aah!" I sink down on the chair, take a long sip of the gin and tonic, kick off the loafers and place my bare feet on the soft mounds. "This is Paradise", I mumble and hear a heartfelt, "Yess", from the tormented girl.

Nick.

Master James appears to be asleep when I look out to see if he needs anything, so I fetch a bottle of water and pad noiselessly past him to kneel beside Danny. She raises her head to let me send several squirts into her mouth. At last she nods and rests her forehead back on the tiles. I touch her cheek and tiptoe away. She's in pain, don't I know, forced into that cramped position, and so am I. He was damned mean last night, fifteen of the best, and with the crop!

When we came here, three years ago, it was like we'd died and gone to Heaven. Pete and I cleaned and repainted the mews, Master James bought new furniture for it. Each of us had a room with a bed, a closet, a chair and a desk with a computer. In our common room we could relax with TV or stereo. Not that we did relax much. We worked with the houses and garden, and our master kept his promise to give us a tough time preparing for exams to enter university over here. Despite the hard work, it was sheer delight. We did something we liked, we were out every day, meeting other young people, making friends. We were normal boys and girls, not miserable, barefoot slaves, serving some sadistic master or mistress, or slaving away for a service company. Only at home did we look and to some extent act like slaves. Chris cooked and the three of us took care of cleaning and washing, and we alternated serving the master. Not that he demanded anything, but we used the skills we'd got at the training camps to make him comfortable.

Four happy girls and boys, free to spend our days as we liked, as long as we lived up to our own standards, nicely dressed and housed, we even had pocket money to spend. Paradise, but with a snake hiding in the shadows. Master James worked hard establishing himself in business, came home very tired and spent hours in front of the computer most evenings. He was unfailingly polite and seemed grateful and a bit surprised by our efforts to smooth his way, but as the first year went by he became more and more depressed. He rarely entertained guests, apart from his sister, he didn't seem to have many friends, and he certainly had no lover. It affected, saddened, us, now we'd grown to like him so much and we discussed what to do about it, but couldn't think of anything but what we were already doing. Steve came for a holiday and I was happy to see him. So was Master James and they spent a lot of time together, in and out of bed, but in the end it was clear that they were growing apart. When he left, our master seemed even more depressed, burying himself in his work. A gloomy atmosphere descended upon the house, affecting all of us.

The change came out of the blue. Of course we made mistakes to annoy him, but as promised, he never did anything but raise an eyebrow or occasionally scold us gently. But one evening, bringing up his coffee after dinner, I tripped over one of the Oriental rugs, stumbled, dropped the tray and overturned a side table. A very beautiful antique bowl was smashed to the floor. I heard an angry
outburst and a second later he slapped my left cheek, then the right, left and back again. I knelt upright, stunned, and took the punishment meekly until he stopped as sudden as he'd begun and sank back in his chair, burying his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Nick! I'm so sorry, but that bowl meant a lot to me". I didn't know what to do, just knelt there, staring at my tormented master for what seemed a long time, but could only have been a minute or so. Then I went to his bedroom where I knew he'd hidden it, and came back to kneel in front of him, offering the cane. "Please, Sir!" He raised his head, staring uncomprehendingly, but accepted it. I got up, shed my t-shirt and shorts and mutely draped myself over the back of an armchair, arse high. Nothing happened for long minutes, then I sensed him beside me. Still nothing happened, but I kept my position and at last heard a swishing sound. A fraction of a second later burning pain spread across my unprotected skin. I jumped, but regained the position and bit my lower lip to suppress a scream. The cane hit me again and again, without pause, until he suddenly stopped, after more than twenty, I think, and stood there, breathing heavily. It was pure agony, but I managed to gather my wits and reached back to open my arsecheeks. "Please, Sir!" Again nothing happened, but then I heard rustling of clothes and clenched my jaws in preparation. He was gentle, very gentle, but it nevertheless hurt when his cock slowly penetrated my tight hole. I don't think he pumped more than two or three times before spurting into my bowels, then collapsed on my back and stayed there, breathing heavily. A whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry", reached my ears and he stood up, extricating himself with a soft plop. "I'm going to bed and won't need any of you tonight".

When Pete brought up the tea next morning, Master James told him that he wished to see all four of us after breakfast. I'd of course told the others what had happened and he found us lined up on our knees, naked, in the sitting room. He stopped abruptly, but before he had time to say anything, Pete acted as our spokesman. "Sir, we know what you're about to say. Please don't. Please do it again". "Do what?" "Punish us, use us, Sir". "You can't possibly be sincere!". "We are, Sir", Chris took over, "We need it and you need it". "No you don't". "Sir! We're your slaves, but only human. We make mistakes, annoy you, and you don't do anything about it. That makes us feel guilty, sad. If you punished us, it would be over at once, and we'd feel much better". "No you wouldn't, especially not Danielle". "I would, Sir. A just punishment is not abuse, and I'd welcome it". "I can hardly believe that, and what about the other kind of abuse?" "Sir!" I caught his eyes. "We only want to serve you, repay what you've done, do for us. Please allow us, please!"

I'm not like my brother, I still hate it, the cane or the belt or the crop, but we only get it if when we've done something to deserve it. Master James never hits the girls, they're given extra unpleasant duties or are tied up uncomfortably for a time. And of course he never uses them for sex, only Pete and me, and we've not only grown used to, but rather like it, me not least. I don't know, but I guess I'm falling in love with my master. So now this 'is' Paradise.

Chris.

"How is she?" Nick comes back with the bottle. "Just fine". "And Master James?" "Sleeping". "Want a glass?" I indicate the bottle of white wine I've been using preparing dinner. "No thanks. I've better run down to rouse Pete if he's still asleep and work on my paper until dinner, unless there's something I can do for you?" He grins and I grin back. Once this might have lead to kissing and cuddling, but now we have other preferences, both of us.

The first time it was weird and if Angie hadn't persuaded me to share a bottle of wine with her, I think I'd run away. Not from the sex part. I'd been trained for it and making love to and receiving love from Danny had opened my eyes to the pleasures two girls can give each other. But to hurt your partner! In spite of the wine my hands were shaking when I strapped her to the cross, but seeing her writhing in agony and lust while I slowly decorated her skin with clothespins awakened hidden feelings. Her laboured breathing, her whimpering, to see her struggling against the tight straps made me wet. And when she later, freed from the cross, but still marked by the pins and with her hands tied behind her, knelt between my legs and licked me to one shattering orgasm after another, I thought I'd die.

I went along to help Danny, but I stayed on because I loved it, and grew to love Angie. Ours turned out to be a perfect partnership between a sadist and a masochist. We do what we do because it's equally satisfying to both of us. There's no tearful remorse or frustrated accusations afterwards, just passionate lovemaking and content resting in each other's arms. The sessions have gradually grown harder. We went from light bondage and clothespins to prolonged periods in a hogtie, to suspensions, arms up, head down, flying spreadeagle, rolled into a ball, to more and more intricate and painful positions. But that's all. I've never hit Angie and I wouldn't like to, but she may want to take that further step one day. Just now she can't.

She has, repeatedly, asked Master James to let me move to her flat, to make a present of me or to allow her to buy me. He's always refused, in spite of heated or tearful arguments, and eventually we've had to admit that he's right. I 'am' a slave, that's a fact, and I'll stay a slave for another two years, but as his property. If he orders me to please his sister, I can't object, but if I refuse to do what she tells me, she can't do anything about it, short of complaining to her brother, and she'd never dare. Were I her own slave she could force me, punish me, and that would ruin the delicate balance between consensual play and ugly abuse. So we'll have to wait until I'm free again before entering a permanent relationship on equal terms.

And we will. Angie gave me a present at my last birthday. A double dildo. When the day comes, we'll finally be united. We'll hug, kissing deeply, while we lose our virginity, to each other.

Master James allows me to spend three evenings and nights a week with her, the rest of the time I stay here, working and studying with my fellow slaves and friends, and even if I'm longing to be free, I know that I'll miss this paradise.

Pete.

I leave the mews to cross the lawn and enter the terrace. Master James is asleep in his chair, feet resting comfortably on Danny's bare back. I kneel quietly beside her and she turns her head to give me a weak smile. She's so lovely, every muscle in her tanned body strained to endure the painful position. My heart goes out to her, but there's nothing I can do, other than caress her hot cheek and leave my hand there to let her rest her head on it.

Half an hour later our master sighs in his sleep and shifts his legs. I sit upright on my knees, hands clasped behind my back and head bowed. "Good evening, Pete". "Evening, Sir. I'm so sorry". "What for?" "Falling asleep like that in the middle of the afternoon, Sir". "You had your reasons, I believe?" He chuckles and gently kicks the tempting globes in front of him. "I became so absorbed in the project last night, worked on it until pretty late, Sir, and we had a test today". "Which went well, I assume?" "I think so, Sir". "So my poor hardworking slaveboy came home exhausted?" "I, eh, a bit, Sir". "Only to face another tough task?" His toes dig between Danny's exposed cunt lips. "Ah, not really, Sir". "But it finished you?" "Ah, yes, Sir, if you put it like that. I'm sorry, Sir. Do I fetch the cane now or would you want to wait punishing me, Sir?" "Neither, you can serve me tonight". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir". "For molesting your arse?" "For allowing me to please you, Sir". "Perhaps. How far did you get with the project?" "I finished it, Sir, or so I believe. I haven't made the final test yet". "Very good, very good indeed. Fetch me a drink and tell me about it. You may have a glass too, if you like". "Thank you, Sir".

We're discussing our work, Master James still in his chair, nursing a gin and tonic, and I sitting on the tiles beside his human footstool with a glass of white wine, when we faintly hear a car door slamming and a moment later the front door. "Hi, there, Uncle Jamie!" A gangly teenage girl, all arms and legs, dressed in a white tennis skirt and sweatshirt, comes prancing out to the terrace, dropping her racket on a chair. "Good evening, my dear". Master James offers his cheek for a kiss. "Did you have a good day?" "Terrific!" She flops down on a chair. "Hi, Pete. I beat Johnny 6-5, 5-6, 6-3". "Good, my dear, very, very good. Fetch Gabrielle a coke, will you, Pete?" "Aw, Uncle Jamie! A glass of white wine, please, just a small one, to celebrate". "No way, young lady. One glass on Sunday with your dinner, until you've turned eighteen". "Aw, Uncle Jamie, all the other girls drink wine!" "You are not 'other girls', Miss, but my ward". "Yeah, yeah". "And very happy and grateful to Master James". That comes from the chained girl. "Yes, Sis. Sorry, Sir, Uncle Jamie, Sir".

I come back with a glass just as she's toeing off her trainers. "Thanks, Pete. Aargh! My feet are killing me". "I'm so sorry about that, Miss Gaby. Perhaps I can help you?" I drop to my knees, offering the glass, and then peel down her damp socks. "Aw, Pete, don't do that!" "Do I offend you, Miss Gaby?" "Nah, it's nice, but you shouldn't". She giggles when my tongue slides over her sweaty sole. "Why not, Miss Gaby? Its' only my duty as a slave". "Yeah, but you're no slave of mine but my best friend and my brother in law".

Once Danny overcame the shocks of her first enslavement and her failure to serve Miss Angela, she again became the strong and cheerful girl Chris knew from the training camp. Her only real worry was about her young sister, left behind with their drunken slut of a mother. I suggested that she asked Master James' permission to write to her, but Danny was sure that their mother would intercept any letters. Chris solved that problem by suggesting that she tried writing one of her sister's friends and ask her to deliver them. It worked. Danny and Gabrielle, Gaby for short, wrote regularly and Master James even gave Danny money to send to her sister to pay for phone calls. Things at their home were, if not good, then at least tolerable, until Gaby called to tell that their mother had fallen seriously ill and was probably dying. Danny went sick with worry, not because of their mother, but about Gaby. She was only sixteen and would have to go into care, a fate not very different from that of a slave, at least for a girl from a poor family. When told about it Master James simply took Danny and me over there.

It was strange to be back as an ordinary slave again. Treated as so much cargo on the plane, chained in a transport van, shorts and bare feet in public. Our master took one look at the hotel's slave rooms, told the staff that he needed his slavegirl at his disposal twentyfour hours a day, so she had to sleep in his suite, and sent me to stay with my parents. The reunion was as happy as the last. Mum tearful and Dad dignified, but immensely proud of me, and my brothers almost envious. "Gee, man! A life in luxury, nothing you could call work and free education", they teased, "That's the life of a slave? Count yourself lucky that you ain't a free man". Master James came out for tea one day and left Danny behind. Mum took one look at the blonde beauty when I introduced her as one of my fellow slaves, then hugged her. "Welcome, daughter!" Dad hmm'd and haw'd something about taking no nonsense from this son of his and my brothers were for once stunned into silence, shyly grabbing her small white hand in their black paws.

Danny's mother had died the day before we arrived. Master James paid for the funeral and thereafter took her Gaby in hand. Danny was her only close relative, but as a slave she of course couldn't qualify as her guardian, so he claimed her as his ward. 'To allow her staying with her sister'. The people at Town Hall obviously thought that he was getting a new slavegirl pretty cheap, but had no objections and within a week we were on our way home. Danny and I chained in the back, Gaby and Master James travelling first class.

It might have been awkward had Gaby not been such an easygoing and likeable girl. As usual our master didn't issue any orders, just asked us to make two of the rooms on the third floor ready for her and then left us to sort out how to cope with a sixteen year old free girl in our midst. To begin with she was subdued and bewildered, literally clinging to Danny for support, and we simply went on from there. Master James became her 'Uncle Jamie', a benevolent elder relative, who lay down the rules, sends her to a prestigious school and generally provides for her. Danny is at times her mum, sometimes her elder sister, always the person she goes to if in any kind of trouble. Chris is her girlfriend, with whom she can giggle, share her secrets. Nick and I are slaves of the house, call her 'Miss Gaby', do what she says, within limits, which she never oversteps, and serve her to the best of our ability. She's the pet of our paradise.

Danny.

The naked girl snuggles closer to me, mumbling in her sleep, and I kiss her forehead. So warm, so comforting. I miss Pete, but when I can't have him, Gaby is no poor substitute. 'God, what I owe Master James!' My life, my sanity, my love. I'm a strong girl, tough, had never survived if not, but at times like this it's almost too much to bear. Abused from I was a child, enslaved for trying to defend my sister, going through hell, and then end up here, surrounded by friends, well on the way to fulfil my hopeless dream of becoming a doctor, loved by a man I love more than life itself. And who loves me so deeply that he's able to retain that love even if I demand the impossible.

Gaby was a wreck, mentally, when Master James rescued her, just like he'd saved her sister. I did prevent that monster mutilating her, but not before his ministrations had shocked her to the point of being physically sick if a man as much as put an arm around her shoulders in all innocence. I couldn't allow that. I'd been enslaved for protecting her, but had no intention of seeing her denied the most important part of a girl's life.

To go through that without knowing, enjoying the pleasures a man can bring you, because a twisted specimen of their gender tried to take them from you to fulfil his own needs, were an unacceptable destiny. I was almost in the same wilderness when Pete saved me, because he was able to behave like a true gentleman, without the slightest hint of lusting for me until I made the first advance, and even then he was reluctant, afraid that I was offering myself to him out of gratitude.

Gaby got back on her feet once Mater James brought her over here, got her smile back, acted like a normal teenager, but I sensed her discomfort, almost smelled her fear when any other men than he, or Nick or Pete came close enough to touch her. I talked it over with her, tried to reason with her, telling how wonderful a sexual relationship between a woman and a man can be, how fulfilling, how utterly indispensable, but she didn't, couldn't believe me. At last I did succeed in persuading her to try, promising to hold her hand when he had her way with her.

That was hard enough, but to make Pete do the honours went far beyond his limits. Yet his love for me was strong enough. He held my eyes while his tongue reduced my sister to a shivering wreck, while his long cock slowly penetrated her, making her climb even higher towards Heaven on Earth. When she lay there, barely conscious, mumbling how wonderful it was, babbling her thanks, he withdrew his stiff member and I engulfed it, gratefully swallowing what he'd never allow himself to deposit in her womb.

Depraved? Perhaps. But whenever I see Gaby socialising happily with her schoolmates, read the admiration in their eyes, sense that she can retain that without giving herself up or cringing back in disgust, my love for Pete rises to even higher peaks.

In two years time he'll be free to claim me. Not just because he'll stay here as Master James' assistant, once he has his degree in computer sciences, to enjoy the charms of his employer's slavegirl, as he has been allowed to do it as his slave, but because I'll be his property.

We could hardly believe him when Master James called us in to tell that he'd discovered a way of freeing me, years before my enslavement comes to an end. "In two years you'll be free, Pete". "Yes, Sir". "But I hope that you'll consider staying with me, as my assistant, partner?" "Thank you, Sir, if you'll have me". "I suppose that Christine will leave at the same time. Nick can just as well move in with me, at least for the last two of his years as a slave". "Yes, Sir?" "So I'll offer you the mews as your first home". "Thank you, Sir". "You'll need a housekeeper". "Sir?" "You may consider buying my slavegirl". "Sir!" "For one dollar. Cheap, isn't it, considering that you can keep her for another fifteen years?" "I don't know what to say, Sir!" "But you may want to keep her longer than that". "For ever and ever, Sir!" "So I thought, and that being the case I'll advise you to marry her". "But we can't, Sir, she's a slave!" "Yes you can, and if you as her master take her as your legal wife, she'll be free, provided that she doesn't divorce you before her time as a slave is up.

Paradise!