The car drove for close to an hour. I could make out little of the surroundings in the moonless night. I wondered what my new master would be like, and what he would expect of me. Would he want a hot, eager slave slut, ready to throw herself at his feet and split her legs widely, begging to be raped? Or perhaps a shy, reluctant girl to be forcibly bent to his will and compelled to serve him unquestioningly? Or did he want an All-American college girl whom he could dress up in cheerleader costumes, that she must then remove sensuously in the privacy of his chambers? I did not know. All I could do was be myself - a deeply submissive slave girl, willing to do anything to please her master. I hoped that would be enough for him.
The driver used a magnetic card to pass through a tall iron gate, and then we turned into a long driveway that led to a small but elegant stone mansion. It seemed in the light from its windows like a modern version of an old English university building, like one of the Oxford or Cambridge colleges refreshed with a contemporary architect's clean lines. I had little time to appreciate its appearance before being once again lifted onto the guard's shoulder, carried into the entranceway, and unceremoniously deposited on the floor. My hands and feet still bound by steel cuffs, I pushed myself up onto my knees and assumed the position of a trained pleasure slave, looking about me for the face of my master.
Instead, I looked up into the eyes of a beautiful, young woman wearing a flowing silk dress - and a steel collar about her throat. "Welcome," she said in an upper-class British accent. "I am Charlotte, and as I am sure you have realized, I am a slave girl, every bit as much as you." Yes, she was a slave girl. The thin, short garment of silk was obviously all she wore, and could do little to hide the sweet curves of her young, soft body. I could see why she had been chosen for slavery, her body almost crying out to be taken and dominated by a master. If I had been a man I was sure I could not have resisted her, but would have torn off her dress and thrown her to the floor. I wondered if I might inspire those same reactions in men. I shuddered to think of the passions to which I was subject.
"Yes, mistress," I said. As the new slave girl, I assumed I must treat any other girls as my superiors.
"There is no hierarchy among slaves here, Jenny," Charlotte said. "We are not to devote our energies to any pursuits other than pleasing our master." After a pause, she continued. "I am to see that you are cleaned and prepared to meet the master."
The guards unchained my wrists and ankles, leaving me absolutely nude; my previous collar had been left behind, in Paris. I expected I would be wearing a new collar soon. Jenny led me up a spiral staircase and down a hall to a large, almost opulent bathroom with a circular marble tub already filled with hot water. I entered the bath and luxuriated for a moment before she reminded me that the master was waiting. Not wanting to cause the least displeasure, I hurriedly cleaned myself and toweled off. There was no makeup available. I would present myself to my master purely as I was, without cosmetics or any other artifice.
When I was ready, Charlotte led me back down the hallway, past the stairs, and into a large bedroom. She left me, and there I knelt, my thighs spread and my eyes cast down as she had instructed. I knew I would do anything in my power to be pleasing. I desperately wanted my master to be pleased with his girl, and feared the consequences of any disappointment. I thought about how far I had come from Los Angeles, where I had simply assumed that men liked me and wanted me. Then I could count on them to attempt to please me. Now it was I, naked and on my knees, who must beg for the chance to serve them.
I heard footsteps, but forced myself to keep my eyes on the floor. A moment later there was a man standing before me.
"On your hands and knees," he said. The British accent sounded familiar. I obeyed in a second. "Kiss my feet," he said. I lowered my head to his feet and kissed them lightly, then tenderly, then passionately. I moaned softly as a sign of the arousal I experienced simply from kissing the feet of my master. It was a common slave girl's device to entice a master, but it was also something I felt deep inside me. "Lift your head," he said. I did so. I was still on all fours, now looking ahead at his knees and thighs. I felt his hands lifting my hair off my neck. I was momentarily confused. Then I felt the cold steel collar lock into place about my neck. I had been collared, like a dog. But instead of being insulted, I felt secure in the collar. I knew that I was worth enough for a man to buy and own me, and the collar was the ultimate symbol of my value as a slave.
"Kneel," he commanded. I looked up into his eyes.
"David!" I must have shouted, throwing myself to my belly before him, clasping his ankles and calves with my hands as I once again kissed his feet, fervently and passionately this time. It was the Arabian playboy who had so often claimed me during the months in Paris, who had known so well how to make me scream in pleasure and in submission. He had bought me! Perhaps he even cared about me. But even if he had no feelings for me, even if he had bought me solely because he had found my sexual services to be satisfactory, had judged my soft thighs worthy of being spread before him, I was still grateful, because I knew what delights might await me under his power. He was a powerful, unconditional, absolute master, of course, one who knew how to make a slave girl crawl to him and beg to be used, but at the same time he could make that same girl happier to be a slave than she would have ever have imagined possible.
Then he dragged me back to my knees by my hair and slapped me across the face, throwing my body sideways and to the floor. "You are a common slave slut," he said. "Do not insult my name by letting it pass your lips."
"I'm sorry, master," I pleaded, still lying on my side where I had fallen. "Forgive me, master. I am only a worthless slave girl. Let me demonstrate to you my absolute submissiveness. Let me serve you as a slave, in any way you desire."
He crouched down, rudely spun me only my belly, and lifted my hips into the air. An instant later I felt him deep inside me as he subjected me to his swift, disciplinary rape. He had no thought for my pleasure, but used me brutally, casually, and unilaterally, exerting the primitive dominance of a master over his slave. But even being used in this way, my body welcomed him, and I could feel myself heating up as he had his way with me, unavoidably responding both physically and emotionally to my complete ravishment. When he finished with me and let me slump to the floor, defeated, I immediately rolled to my knees and took him in my mouth to clean him and to show my utter submission, my desperate eagerness to give pleasure, and my impatience to be used again.
It was not long before he fulfilled that desire, and it was many times and in many ways that my master compelled his new slave to serve him that night. On my back, my ankles bound to my wrists high above my head; leaning forward over the bed, my wrists bound behind my back; on my knees before him, forced to hold myself open for him with my hands; or writhing on top of him, at his command, my hands behind my back; he extracted from me many times over the price of my slavery. That night he allowed me to sleep on the floor by his bed, chained by my collar to the foot of the bed. As I learned, I was extended that courtesy so that he would have the convenience of summoning me onto the bed in the middle of the night, there to continue my intimate services. And in the morning, I even dared to perform the task that M. Roget had first demanded of me, allowing him to awaken in the gentle morning light already bathing in the warmth and softness of his new slave's mouth. He smiled, locked his hands in my soft hair, and forcibly guided me to complete my task, holding me to him even as I swallowed in submissive ecstasy.