"Are you sure you do not know who he is?" he insisted.
"Yes, master," I said. As difficult as it is for a naked slave girl to lie to her master, I forced myself to do so.
"And you have not told anyone anything about him? Not even one of your other clients?"
"No, master," I said. Did he already know the truth? Had my contact somehow been discovered? Was it all a set-up from the beginning?
Five more times was I beaten, and then five more times again. Finally my wrists were released from their chains, and I fell to the floor in a sobbing, trembling heap. I dragged my body over to M. Arnaud's feet and kissed them desperately, hoping through this overt act of submission to pacify him. I prayed he would take out his anger at me by kicking my legs apart and claiming my body. I would do anything to avoid being whipped again.
"Needless to say, I don't believe you," he said. I continued to lick his feet. "I should have you beaten to death for lying to me. I clearly cannot keep you here." My body shuddered. "But business before pleasure, as they say," he continued. "I have a received numerous offers for you, all at a considerable premium to the price I paid for you, and it would be a shame to destroy such a valuable asset. It's not often that we find such a perfectly obedient, willing slave slut as you. I've decided to sell you. Your new master has been apprised of your suspected duplicity, and will no doubt take measures to render you harmless." I dared not desist in performing obeisance to my master. "You will, of course, remain an utter, helpless, complete sex slave - something for which you are uniquely talented."
I would learn - much later - what had happened. M. Roget, as it turned out, was the current Minister of the Interior in the French government, and his patronage had helped ensure the continued, undisturbed operations not only of the club where I served but also of a reasonable portion of the trade in high-end sex slaves. On learning of his involvement with the club, the investigators who had "hired" me pressured him into relaxing his protection, and providing information, under threat of exposing his involvement in the business. This had come to the attention of M. Arnaud, who had concluded that I, being M. Roget's latest preferred slave, was the most likely source of a leak. I still do not know if he had any other information to go on.
At the time, my emotions were in a tumult. On the one hand, I was grateful to still be alive, having apparently come so close to dying a painful death as a slave girl. On the other hand, the freedom I had already begun planning for had now receded beyond the sphere of reasonable likelihood. Once in the secure possession of a new master, I could no longer hope to be freed by the parties whom I had been secretly aiding with my information. I would go to my new master a naked, powerless slave girl, and that was likely how I would live out my useful life - on my back, belly, or knees, begging for the privilege of serving men with my body. Slavery was no longer an adventure, it was now my unavoidable fate. I had sensed already that my personality was changing, that I found myself thinking more and more often of myself solely in terms of my ability to please masters, and to do so with no thought for my own pleasure or satisfaction. Without the hope of freedom to cling to, I expected that transformation would only accelerate. Soon I would be nothing more than the passive sex toy that Cristina had told me lay in my future, a pretty, compliant plaything that men and women might use as they pleased, a slave girl equally contented so long as she was being used for what she was worth.
That is all you are, Jenny, a sex slave, and that is all you will ever be, I told myself.
Chapter 10: My New Master
Later that day my new master's representatives arrived to collect their new property. Three men took delivery in the lobby of the building that had been my home for the past several months, briefly inspecting my naked, bruised body and comparing me to a series of photographs before signing the documents indicating receipt of goods. I was then bound hand and foot and gagged, before one of the men effortlessly lifted me to his shoulder and carried me into the courtyard, to deposit me on the floor of a large van. My mind was still numb. I expected to be raped in the car, but I could register neither fear nor anticipation. I wanted nothing more than to rest, recover from the beating I had received that morning, and come to terms with this sudden change in my fortunes.
To my surprise, I was not put to work entertaining my keepers during the car ride to a small airfield outside the city. I wondered if my new master had given instructions that I was not to be abused, and if perhaps that meant that my slavery would be lighter and more tolerable than it had been in the club. There, I had been only so much captive slave flesh from which pleasure could be forcibly extracted; where I was headed, perhaps I would be a valued possession, a girl whose comfort might be somewhat protected, if only to ensure the perfection of her services to her master. I knew the slavery I was headed toward could be nothing if not unconditional. No man, I realized, would buy me for any purpose other than to keep me and exploit me as a perfectly obedient pleasure slave. But there are many ways to treat a slave girl; perhaps one way was to treat her gently, so that she might be even more thankful to and dependent on her master.
The van drove onto the tarmac of the airfield. In the back, I was lifted and placed into a large, padded trunk. I was buckled in place with my legs drawn up to fit into the confined space. The lid was closed and secured and my world went black. I could then feel the trunk being lowered from the van and rolled, it seemed, across the concrete. Then it was lifted and carried up a series of steps, presumably into the plane that would take me to my new life. My heart was pounding, but I knew I had nothing to fear - other than, of course, the perils that a slave girl routinely faces. Someone had paid a large amount of money for absolute ownership of my body, my talents, and my complete submission, and he would ensure that I arrived safely in his keeping.
Once the plane was airborne, the trunk was opened and I was lifted out of it and placed on the floor. I struggled to my knees and knelt before my three guards, the only people in the passenger cabin of the small jet. I spread my knees and lifted my breasts as I had done so many times, hoping they were satisfied with me. I would gladly have served them with my body, but they showed surprisingly little interest in my naked, helpless form. One of the men reached behind my head and unbuckled the straps of my gag.
"Thank you, master," I said. "How may I serve you, master?" I expected the gag had been released for a reason - a price I would gladly pay to be relieved of its discomfort.
"Lie down, and rest," he said, tossing a pillow to the floor where I might lie on it. "Your master wants you to be fresh and rested when you arrive."
"Yes, master," I said, turning to my side on the floor of the plane. I did not ask who my master might be. I was a slave. If the masters wanted me to know, they would tell me. My place was only to listen, obey, and serve.
It was nighttime when we landed several hours later, but the air was still warm when we exited the plane. While I had been secretly smuggled aboard the plane outside Paris - slavery being illegal in France - I was surprised to be simply carried out of the plane by one of the guards, my naked, bound body draped over his shoulder. He carried me down the staircase from the plane and another hundred meters or so to a waiting stretch limousine. Perhaps this was a private airfield, or perhaps I was simply in a place where naked slave girls were not such an unusual occurrence. If the latter, any chance I might have of ever escaping my slave status would be significantly reduced. But I was already becoming resigned to a life as a sex slave.