"I hear you are the hottest new pony in my friend M. Arnaud's stable," he said after contemplating my body for a minute.

"My hope is to be pleasing to my masters," I said in reply. "I hope that they have found me acceptable."

"Oh, I'm sure I will find you more than acceptable," he said. He paused. "If not, you will be beaten."

I shuddered. At the club, I was beaten relatively infrequently, thanks no doubt to my careful attention to my duties and to the pleasure of my masters. I had no desire to feel the whip. "I will be absolutely obedient, master," I said. "I hope that my body will prove satisfactory."

The man walked over to the dresser and returned with a whip in his hand. He held its handle to my lips. I licked and kissed it, fervently and submissively. In California I would never have kissed a boyfriend with the passion I lavished on the instrument of my domination. But then I had not been a slave girl. Now I was.

Apparently satisfied with my performance, he withdrew the whip from my lips. "On all fours," he said. I obeyed instantly, my head lowered submissively. "Lift your head," he said. I did so. "Now turn and crawl to the other side of the room." I crawled, maintaining the position I had been taught - back arched, bottom high, thighs spread. Even in the most humiliating positions, a slave girl must always display her body to maximum advantage. "Now pick up the end of your leash and bring it to me." I knew what he wanted. I turned and retraced my steps to where the end of the leash lay on the floor. I bent down my head and picked it up in my teeth before continuing back to my master's feet. I lifted my head to present the leash to him. He took it from my mouth and stroked my hair. "What a good little slave," he said.

"Crawl backward two meters," he continued. I did so. "On your belly, spread your arms and legs" he said. I obeyed, my body vulnerably and openly stretched before him. "On your back." I rolled to my back, keeping my arms and legs wide. I had not been given permission to close them. "Grasp your ankles." I did so, drawing them up over my head, opening my body even more widely, brazenly presenting my charms for his view and potential usage. I held the position as he seemed to consider my form.

He continued to put me through my paces, making me open and display my body in ways that can only be demanded of an absolutely compliant slave girl. I hoped he liked what he saw. On top of the arousal that had been forced upon me during the ride in the van, I was becoming increasingly excited by this man's simple, strict domination of me. As both a natural submissive and a trained slave girl, I was conditioned to respond to mastery, to become heated in being compelled to obey another's will. Although he had hardly touched me, I knew that the services he was already commanding me to perform were profoundly sensual, and could only culminate in my absolute ravishment, in the kind of sexual conquest that only a slave can suffer at the hands of a master. And as a slave, I longed for that conquest, I longed to feel his body exerting its will over me and inside me.

Suddenly I grew bold. "Please, master," I said, uninvited, now on my belly, grasping my ankles behind my body, "let me please you! I beg to serve you, as a slave."

Suddenly I felt the whip burn into the flesh of my back. "You were not asked to speak, slave," he said coldly. I lay on the floor, silent, tears forming in my eyes from the pain. But I expected my pleadings were not completely wasted. Hopefully now he knew how desperate I was, how much I longed for my rape. And such knowledge, I knew from experience, generally has its effect on a man.

Finally he positioned me again on my back, my knees lifted and my thighs widely spread. I was completely open to him as a slave, and I knew my body was more than ready to accept his entry. He swiftly pulled my wrists first inside my thighs and then outside my ankles and chained them in place with a pair of steel manacles. Bound as I was, I was powerless to close my knees. Nor did I want to.

"Now you may beg to be raped, slave," he said as he crouched down by me and removed his robe.

"Please, master," I cried out. "Your slave begs to be raped. Take me, overwhelm me, use me for your pleasure, make me serve you as a slave."

But first he toyed with me a while longer, using his hands to heighten my arousal even further, but mercilessly preventing me from achieving climax. He also crouched above my face and used my mouth to prepare himself. I greedily licked at him with my tongue, thankful for the chance to give him pleasure. Finally, as I continued to beg him to have pity on me, he saw fit to enter me, and I cried out my gratitude as he had his way with my body, using me unilaterally as a debased, submitted slave.

I thanked him repeatedly, tears in my eyes, when he finally withdrew from me. He took a blanket from the bed and spread it on the floor next to me, and then rolled me onto my side on the blanket. He left me chained as I was, my arms still threaded inside my thighs and cuffed to the outsides of my ankles, unable to close my knees. Although the position was uncomfortable, I was by then accustomed to the rigors of bondage. I was grateful for the blanket, that I would not have to sleep on the hard wood floor. Soon I could hear him drifting off to sleep.

I lay there, awake, my mind still clouded with sex, thinking how wonderful it was to be a slave, and to be at the mercy of men. I hoped only that the master was pleased with his slave. Eventually I, too, fell asleep.

I awoke with a start. I was being casually turned onto my front, my wrists and ankles still chained together as before. In this position, my hips were unavoidably propped up on my knees, my body open and vulnerable from behind. With no way to support myself, my head was pressed against the blanket. Suddenly I felt myself entered from behind, held in place by firm hands on my hips. I felt his powerful strokes filling my body, finally surging as he emptied himself in me yet again. I felt him unlock the manacles joining my wrists to my ankles, only to join my wrists together again behind my back. He gave me brief instructions, and then returned to his bed, leaving me once again wide-eyed to contemplate my situation.

Earlier I had been thoroughly and ruthlessly dominated, forced to display myself as a slave and to beg repeatedly for the privilege of serving my master. Now I had been used as a simple physical convenience, a piece of captive flesh within which a man might find satisfaction for his basic urges. These were both unavoidable aspects of being a slave girl, I knew. In the morning I would have to experience a third.

As I had been commanded, I awoke shortly after dawn, while the man was still sleeping. In the gray morning light, I rose to my feet and, using my teeth as my hands were still bound behind my back, drew back the covers from the bed. Then I knelt beside my master's body and lowered my head to him, gently licking at him with my tongue. I could feel him stiffen and took him into my mouth, closing my eyes to focus exclusively on giving him pleasure. I could hear his body stirring as he awoke, and felt his hands searching for and finding my hair. He seemed content. I continued my work as he gained consciousness, slowly increasing the depth and intensity of my motions, until he locked his hands in my hair and took over the rhythm, forcing me down upon him at an increasing speed. He burst within me and I swallowed him greedily, not because I liked the taste in itself, but because I wanted desperately to demonstrate to him my absolutely, unconditional submission, my utter willingness to please him in any way. I continued to clean him with my tongue as he withdrew from my mouth.

"Did I please master?" I dared to ask.

"Yes, you did," he said gently. "You are quite a wonderful slave," he added.