At night we stopped by the road for a few hours to rest, and after having me serve both of them at once, apparently for a change of pace, they stretched out on the two bench seats to rest. I was left lying curled up on the floor of the van, my hands still uncomfortably bound behind my back. Once they were asleep, I lifted my head and looked about the van, wondering if I had any chance at escape. But the rear door was still locked, and chained as I was, I could not reach the front doors. I resigned myself to my fate and lay back down on the hard floor. I wished I had been given a pillow or blanket. When I had been free, I had taken those small comforts for granted. Now, I knew, I could take nothing for granted. Finally I drifted off to a fitful sleep.

When I awoke, it was still dark. I felt a tug on the chain attached to my collar. Unable to resist, I followed it, lifting my head toward the seat. Eddy was pulling my head towards his lap. He put his hands in my hair and guided my face down toward him. I opened my mouth and began licking and kissing at him. "Yes, master," I sobbed, and continued my work.

When he was finished with me, after I had swallowed submissively and cleaned him off, he pushed me back onto the floor, where I landed hard on my left shoulder, unable to break my fall with my hands bound behind me. I lay there, wide awake, unable to cry.

We arrived in Paris early the next morning. It was a warm, overcast day, the city's nineteenth-century apartment buildings gray against the gray sky. I pressed my nose to the window, trying to make out landmarks I had only seen in pictures: Beaubourg, Notre Dame, the spire of the Sainte Chapelle, the Louvre. I thought I recognized them, but I could not be sure. I had often fantasized about visiting Paris - in fact, I had been planning to at the end of my summer in Berlin - but I had never imagined I would see the City of Light as a piece of merchandise being delivered, a naked, bound, abused pleasure slave peering out from behind tinted windows.

We parked on a side street so that Eddy and Karl could make use of my aching body one last time, and then we drove up a large avenue that I later learned was the Champs Elysees, turned into a side street, and turned again through a gate and into a large courtyard. They opened the rear door, unlocked the chain attaching my collar to the inside of the van, and led me out onto the flagstones of the courtyard. I could barely walk from having been chained for the entire trip, and because of the short chain attaching my ankles. Eddy's hand was still exploring my body as they escorted me to a large doorway. We were met by a young, casually dressed man whose name was Felix. Despite my fatigue, my aches, and the poor appearance I am sure I made, still covered with the stains of the previous twenty-four hours' abuses, I still wanted to make a good first impression. I sank to my knees on the hard stone and opened my thighs as best I could. Felix smiled. He talked briefly with Karl, exchanged documents, compared me to a picture he had of me, and checked the tag on my collar. Then he thanked my two couriers, who returned to their van. Looking back at us, Eddy called out, "She's a real hot one, that one. A real first-class slut."

Felix looked down on me, still on my knees. "Are you a first-class slut, Jenny?" he asked.

"Yes, master," I answered. "I live only to please my masters. I want nothing more than to serve them with my body." He seemed like a reasonable person. I wanted desperately for him to like me, at least to treat me as a human being rather than as the real-life sex doll I had been for the last day.

"Well, we'll see about that," he said, attaching a leash to my collar. He led me into the building, shuffling along after him as best as I could.

Felix led me to a wing of the building that he introduced as the slave quarters. The rooms in this section only had windows on the interior courtyard, and entrance and exit were controlled by two sets of locked doors. Inside, he turned me over to a slave girl named Helene, a French girl who spoke English with only a mild accent. English, I took it, was the international language of the pleasure slave industry. After unlocking my wrists and ankles, removing my leash, and giving me strict instructions to obey Helene's every word, he left me.

Helene wore a one-piece, nearly opaque, light blue piece of lingerie that hung from thin straps over her shoulders and came down to mid-thigh. Although it was cut low in front and back, slit high on her hips, and obviously the only thing that she was wearing, I was deeply envious of her. Since being abducted, I had never been granted permission to wear clothing, except in a training situation. Now I was appearing before her nude and disheveled, the traces of the previous days' degradations still apparent on my body and in my hair. Surely she must think me the lowest type of slut, I thought.

Helene showed me where to shower and clean myself up, which I did, and gave me a brief tour of the slaves' wing. Unlike the relatively friendly atmosphere of the training center I had just left, here the various girls seemed sullen and unfriendly - an impression that would only be strengthened during my stay in my new home. Soon enough, I heard an intercom system paging Helene and Jenny. She accompanied me to the double gates of the slaves' wing, where I was met by Felix again. He reattached a leash to my collar and led me through a maze of corridors to a sumptuous corner office, appointed with heavy wood furniture and dark red curtains.

When Felix stopped, I knelt on the hardwood floor, awaiting instructions. Behind the desk was a large, imposing man with gray hair and sharp, almost crooked features. He finished reading some papers, rose, and walked around the desk in front of me. At his side materialized Mr. McGregor, who had so thoroughly humiliated me only two days before.

"Well, Jenny," his voice boomed in the large room, "do you know why you are here?"

"I have been purchased by a new owner, master," I answered. "I am here to obey his every command."

He smiled. "Claudia does such a wonderful job training her girls, doesn't she, Colin?"

Mr. McGregor answered, "Yes, but this one is particularly remarkable. You would think she didn't even need training."

"So I hear, so I hear," the large man said, turning back to me. "I am Philippe Arnaud, although you will refer to me as Monsieur Arnaud or, when addressing me, as master. This is a business, and I run it. Do you know what kind of business it is?"

"No, master," I said, not wanting to make a mistake.

"Surely you must have some idea."

I thought for a moment. "A business where girls such as I are used as slaves," I ventured.

"The business of pleasure. My business is pleasure. My customers come here seeking pleasures they can find nowhere else, and I make sure they get them. And you are the key to that business. The pleasure they seek is the kind of exquisite, absolute satisfaction they can only get from a trained, sensuous slave girl. You are here to give them that pleasure. As long as you do so, you will be treated well. If you should fail in the slightest, you will be punished, or discarded." I listened quietly. This was essentially what I had expected. I took the time to subtly and continually adjust my position, drawing attention to my charms, to my soft, uplifted breasts and to my open, inviting thighs. I knew I was attractive, that men desired my body. I wanted M. Arnaud to desire it as well. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, master," I replied readily. "I will be absolutely obedient."

"Sometimes slave girls come here who are resolved to be obedient, but are really only playing a game, going through the motions without really embracing their slavery. They are constantly scheming, looking for ways to get ahead and make their lives easier, only pretending to live for their masters." He looked into my eyes. "Are you such a girl?"