Part 1

"Here we are now". My father's business agent stopped in front of an impressive six storey redbrick building and I got out to have a look. The house sported a well-kept front garden with lawns and rosebushes and an overall very pleasant old-fashioned look. "Quite nice, isn't it? Thirty flats, six to each floor and a penthouse". "For me?" "The penthouse? Of course, but the rest as well. Your dad considers it a very good investment, so it's yours". "Mine?" "Something to get you started in business, he told me". "Not quite like him, but very generous". A teenage boy opened the door to a spacious hall decorated in marble, dropping to one knee and bowing his head as we passed by. Only a pair of grey shorts covered his deeply tanned body and a short chain hobbled his bare feet. A girl dressed in the same kind of shorts, but with the addition of a T-shirt was chained to a small reception counter by her right ankle. "Mr. Marshall. The new owner", the agent announced. She too bent a knee in front of me. "Welcome to Marsfield Gardens, Sir". Like the boy, she had a steel ring locked around her slender neck. "Thank you". "Your luggage will be brought up right away, Sir, if it may please you". "It does". She smiled shyly and lowered her eyes. "This is your private lift, John". The agent held the door open. "Coming". I sent the girl one last look and sauntered over. "Quite a pretty little thing". "Was she? I didn't notice". We rose soundlessly. "They belong to the company servicing the estate". The lift stopped and the doors opened to reveal a spacious hall. "I hope you like your temporary home". "Quite grand for a student, isn't it?"

I'd come over for a three-year post-graduate study in international politics and was of course joking. My dear parent has a wide range of interests and investments all over the world and I suppose that most people would consider me a spoiled upper class brat. Well, young man rather, I was twenty-three at the time. Perhaps I am, to some extent, at least used to a life in luxury, but the fast crowd never attracted me. I've always liked studying, have been reading voraciously ever since I could. Not that I don't like sports and I've been to all the parties I could wish for, but my real interest is the world around us. As a child it was animals and plants, later on history, and now it's politics. Luckily my father appreciates that, so we've always been on the best of terms, not least, I think, because even if I of course do enjoy the advantages of being rich, I don't overdo it.

The agent looked somewhat unnerved and hurriedly opened the door to a large sitting room, elegantly equipped with modern furniture and Oriental rugs scattered on the gleaming hardwood floor. One wall was a great window, opening to a roof garden. "Very grand, I dare say". I passed through the sliding doors to meet a superb view across town and country. The garden covered two thirds of the top of the building, with well-grown orchard trees, a little lawn, and beds of flowers, even a fairly large swimming pool. "But I like it". "Thanks, there's more". "So I expect, at least a place where one can sleep". I followed him back to the hall to look into a bright and airy bedroom, with a luxurious bath, three spare rooms, a spacious study, and a diningroom. A door opened to a well-equipped kitchen. "I don't just like it, I'm already falling in love with it". The agent lit up in a relieved smile. 'Poor guy, my father can be very demanding', I thought. "But I don't know much about housekeeping, nothing at all, to be honest, so I'll need some sort of catering, and maid and cleaning service. Perhaps that company, you mentioned, can do that for me". "Of course, but I thought you'd be more comfortable with your own staff". "Wouldn't that be overdoing it a bit? I mean, we do have servants at home, of course, but after all that's a mansion in town and a manor house in the country. Part time help can easily maintain a small place like this and I don't much care for the obligations. Servants are fine, but do give you some trouble". "Not over here, John. We use slaves". "But I know nothing about handling slaves".

I knew of them, of course, had seen them around on previous visits, even been served by some at the private homes I'd visited and at hotels and restaurants, but never had to deal with them directly. My own government had contemplated, but decided not to add slavery to the penal system. When introduced over here twenty years ago it was meant to save the cost of prisons and therefore included virtually all sorts of convicts. Soon, however, it proved much too risky to have hardcore criminals roaming around, even as slaves, and enslaving people past forty turned out to be unprofitable. So now only younger felons, males from the age of fifteen, females from eighteen, and up to thirty years of age, who'd committed minor crimes, were sentenced to slavery for periods of between five and twenty years. After that adjustment, the system worked well, and was very popular. All families, who could afford the not very high prices, kept slaves, and they were widely used in the service sector, at hotels, by cleaning companies, gardeners and at housing estates like this.

"Nothing to it, John. They come fully trained, so it's just a question of deciding how you want to be served and if not satisfied, you punish them". "Well, I don't really know". "It's the easiest thing in the world. I'm sure that you'll soon be a happy slaveowner, just like everybody else". He coughed nervously. "As a matter of fact I've already bought some for you". "Without even bothering to ask me?" I raised a questioning eyebrow. "It's so common over here that I didn't think twice about it, just like buying furniture. If you don't want to keep them, I can sell them again, easily, and without loss. But why not try them out? I'm convinced that once you've been served for a day or two, you won't want to miss it". I considered for a moment. "Very well, on your recommendation then, but please consult me first if you want to do something for me another time". "Of course and I'm sorry, but...". "It's all right. What have you bought and where are they?" "In the slaveroom. There are three of them: A well-educated male of twenty-one as head slave and general servant. A not very bright, but strong and reliable boy of seventeen for heavier task, like taking care of the garden, your car, driving you if you prefer that. And a very pretty girl of nineteen, who's a good cook and can satisfy your personal needs". "My what?" "Well, serve you in bed". He grinned and added hastily: "Most of us use our slaves for sex". "But you're married!" "I am, happily, but a slavegirl isn't a lover, just a tool when you need relief, and my wife sometimes uses our slaveboy. It's normal, actually very good for married couples. No need to be sullen if your wife, or husband, isn't in the mood when you are". "I see. Very well, please fetch them". "Right away, John". I went back to the terrace to have closer look at the surrounding grounds far below.

"Here you are now". The agent returned with my slaves; naked and collared, ankles hobbled by a short chain and wrists cuffed, or so I judged from the way they kept them rigidly behind their backs. They sank to their knees and bowed their heads submissively. "This is Fred, college graduate. Fifteen years of slavery for manslaughter". "You've bought me a murderer?" I looked astonished at the kneeling young man. "Of course not. His sentence was for reckless driving. Next, Christine, who'd just finished high school when she got ten years for shoplifting, and last Tim, mechanics apprentice, twelve years for street-fighting. None of them have served another master, but Fred and Christine have had six months of advanced training, including a special course in French cooking for her. Tim just had the obligatory three months routine training for new slaves. Get up, girl, to let the master inspect you". She rose gracefully and spread her legs as far as the chain allowed, but kept her head bowed. A thick mane of chestnut hair fell almost to her shoulders, her young breasts were firm, with prominent nipples pierced by two small steel rings, and her slender legs incredibly long, tapering down to well shaped feet. A typical teenage beauty. I went around her, appreciating her straight back and pert little arse. "Delicious, isn't she, though not a virgin, I'm afraid". The agent's eyes were gleaming. "And just how would you know that she's not?" "Few girls her age are and all female slaves are trained to serve their future masters in bed". "I see. Why are they in chains?" "Standard procedure when delivered to their master. I have the key here". "Thank you, and for your efforts. I can manage on my own now". "Happy to be of service, John Your car is in the garage. I can see myself out". We shook hands and he disappeared inside.

"Please rise, Fred and Tim, and remove the chains". I unlocked Fred's wrist-cuffs and handed him the key. He gestured the girl to turn her back to him and I looked my youngest slave over. About six feet two or three of bulging muscles under a gleaming black hide. Like Christine's, his crotch was clean-shaven and his long cock was hanging low over a heavy ballsack. He too had rings in his nipples and I noticed the same on Fred. "Member of a street gang, were you?" He raised his head. "Nah, Sir, just me and me mates. Guys like us got to stick together". "Fighting other gangs?" "Yeah, nothing serious, just a bit of fun, Sir". "Which earned you twelve years as a slave". He shrugged his broad shoulders, grinning shyly. "Yeah, that's how it is for poor guys like us, Sir, not allowed no fun". He lowered his eyes, but the grin never left his face. "And what did you steal, Christine?" "Underwear, Sir". "Ten years for a bra and a pair of panties?" "Yes, Sir". She looked briefly at me, then averted her eyes, but not before I'd caught a look of sheer terror. I shook my head. "Can you make me a vodka martini, Fred?" "At once, Sir". I sat down in a deck chair beside the pool and was a few minutes later offered a glass by the kneeling slave. "Thank you". I took a sip. "Excellent". "Thank you, Sir". He was about my height, with short-cropped fair hair, slim, but with well-defined muscles, a flat stomach, slender cock and strong legs. "What happened?" "Sir?" His calm eyes looked questioningly at me. "The manslaughter incident which made you a slave?" "My car skidded on black ice, Sir, and rammed into another vehicle. The driver was thrown out and killed". "No seatbelt?" "No, Sir". "But you were using yours?" "Yes, Sir". "Were you drunk?" "No, Sir. It was in the afternoon, I...". He swallowed hard. "I was on my way home from University, Sir". "Bad luck". "Yes, Sir". "I mean; it was just an accident, wasn't it? And you were enslaved for fifteen years!" "That's the law, Sir. I did cause the death of another man". "Hardly. Black ice was not your fault, neither that he was fool enough not to use his seatbelt". He didn't answer, but his eyes darkened.

"Be that as it may. You know how to organise my household?" "I believe so, Sir". "Then do that. My luggage will be brought up shortly. Have it unpacked". I handed him the keys to my suitcases. "Dinner at eight". "Yes, Sir". "Don't you have any clothes?" "Yes, Sir". "Get dressed then, all of you". "Yes, Sir". I waved and heard them leave. After a while, I shed jacket and tie, opened my collar and took off my shoes to be more comfortable. "It's seven thirty, Sir". I woke up with a start to see Fred on his knees beside my chair, now dressed in white shorts. "Ah, I must have dozed off". "Would you want to change before dinner, Sir?" "Well, yes". He offered me my shoes, but I shook no and padded to the bedroom. The living room seemed brighter, with vases of fresh flowers scattered on the tables. I sat down on the bed to take off my socks, but in a flash Fred was on his knees in front of me. "Allow me, Sir". He bared my feet, then rose on his knees to unbutton my shirt. "Would you want to shower, Sir?" I nodded. "Tim", he called softly and the teenager came running to bend a knee. "Shower", Fred whispered, while helping me out of my shirt and unbuckling my belt. Tim hurried to the bathroom and Fred looked up at me. "Would it please you to rise and allow me to relieve you of your trousers, Sir?" I did as asked and was soon naked. "Tim has the shower ready for you, Sir". I nodded and strode to the bathroom, where the boy was kneeling beside a fresh bathmat. I went under the pleasantly warm spray to soak myself and jumped with surprise when a hand slid down my back. Tim had dropped his shorts and was soaping me up! No one had done so since I was a baby, but it did feel nice when his hands covered me in a rich lather, massaged my neck and shoulders gently, and went between my arsecheeks. He came round to kneel and wash my feet, continued up my shins and thighs and calmly raised my cock to wash the ballsack. When he rose to do my chest, I asked: "Were you trained for this?" "Yes, Sir". He smiled broadly. "Feels good, Sir?" "Strange, but yes, very good". "Thanks, Sir". He finished by washing my hair and stepped out to let me rinse, hurriedly wiping himself with a rough cloth. When I left the shower the two slaves were ready with fluffy, heated towels to dry me, without forgetting the crack of my arse or the spaces between my toes.

"Something comfortable, Sir?" Fred had laid out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. "Yes". He knelt to help me into boxers and jeans, asked me to sit down to dress my feet in socks and loafers, and dragged the shirt over my head. "Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, Sir, if it may please you". He was combing my hair. "Where would you want it served, Sir?" "In the garden, I think". "Yes, Sir". He nodded to Tim, who'd cleaned the bathroom. "A drink, Sir?" Fred followed me to the terrace, where his fellow was busy laying the table. "Sure". A couple of minutes later I was offered another vodka martini and strolled over to lean on the railing, looking out over the city lights.

When I turned and emptied my glass, Fred held a chair for me and I sat down at table, laid with china and silverware, candles and a bowl of fresh flowers. Seconds later Tim placed an ice-cold gaspacho in front of me and Fred poured a glass of chilled dry sherry. The soup was perfect and I ate slowly, savouring every mouthful. When I put down the spoon, Tim whisked the plate away and Fred placed another glass in front of me, cool Chablis. The black slaveboy returned to serve a hot plate of Dover sole and offer me small potatoes and sauce beurre blanc. The fish was as perfect as any I'd ever enjoyed. Fred stayed behind my chair, topping up the glass and offering more sauce. When I'd finished, Tim was back to remove the plate. I looked over my shoulder. "Splendid, absolutely splendid!" "Thank you, Sir". Fred looked gravely at me. "But where did you get this?" "Your slavegirl made it, Sir". "The fresh fish and the other ingredients?" "I asked Reception to buy it for you, Sir. There are several very good shops in the neighbourhood". "Why not go yourself?" "We're not allowed to leave the premises without your permission, Sir, and I didn't want to disturb you. Would you prefer cheese prior to or after dessert, Sir?" "Before, like in France". "Yes, Sir". He left to come back a moment later with a selection of fine cheeses, biscuits and another glass, this time a full-bodied Burgundy. "Excellent; a good wine merchant". "Thank you, Sir". "Or did you select them?" "Yes, Sir. I've undergone special training as a gentleman's slave, Sir". He removed plate and cheese, topped up my glass and left me to enjoy it. Ten minutes later he was back with a lemon soufflé and a glass of cool Riesling.

"Marvellous!" I leaned back and emptied my glass. "Thank you, Sir". "Call Christine". "Yes, Sir. Would you want coffee, Sir?" "And a Calvados, if we have that". "Yes, Sir". She was wearing shorts like the boys and a clean white apron, barely covering her breasts. "A very fine meal". "Thank you, Sir". She curtsied, eyes to the ground. "I didn't know your tastes, Sir". "I like almost anything, especially when it's as well prepared as this, so just go on surprising me". "Yes, Sir". She curtsied again and disappeared inside. Fred came out with a tray. "Your coffee, Sir". I moved to a deck chair beside the pool and sat down to digest the meal. He knelt beside me; head bowed and hands clasped behind his back. "I'm rather tired and suffering from jet-lag, but you seem to have everything under control, no need for me to interfere". "Thank you, Sir". "Any questions that can't wait until tomorrow?" "Just one, Sir. Would you want us locked up or just chained?" "Is that necessary?" He hesitated. "Slaves are mostly caged or chained at night, Sir, but there are no cages up here". "I asked if it is necessary. Do you run away?" "No, Sir". "Where do you actually sleep?" "There's a slaveroom behind the kitchen, Sir". "Well, put on those ankle chains when you go to bed". "Yes, Sir". "Didn't I tell you to get dressed?" "Yes, Sir". He looked surprised. "Don't you have a shirt?" "Yes, Sir, but most masters prefer their slaves in shorts only, if not naked". "I want Christine to dress decently. You and Tim put on shirts when leaving the house". "Yes, Sir". "You may go now, and retire to bed when ready". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Good night, Sir". He rose, bowed to me and disappeared inside.

A moment later Tim came out to kneel beside my chair and top up the coffee. It was a warm evening and I dozed off again to wake up and find that it was almost midnight. The boy was still on his knees beside me and the coffee in my cup fresh and hot. "Fantastic", I mumbled. "Sir?" He looked up with a pained smile, shifting his knees. "Fantastic service you offer me". "Thanks, Sir, but it's just what we were trained for, Sir". "Still, but I've better go to bed now". "Yessir". He jumped up, grimacing with pain and followed me to the bedroom. I sat down and he dropped to his undoubtedly aching knees to relieve me of shoes and socks. "You want your feet rubbed, Sir?" "Why not?" He sent me a smile and bowed to let his tongue wash the top of my left foot. "But what are you doing?" "Lick your feet, Sir, before rubbing them; feels very nice, Sir". And it did. He sucked on my toes, raised the foot to clean the sole and rub it gently, and then changed to the other foot.

I was surprised, but very pleased, to say the least. One of my childhood friends, son of a farmhand at our country estate, introduced me to the pleasures of foot licking. Well, not just like that. It began innocently enough when we were playing hide and seek in the woods. Our games developed into cowboys and Indians, with me as the Indian, who captured and tied the poor boy to a tree and tortured him. Just tickling, at first, but later on I used a switch on his bare thighs to encourage him to tell where his fellows were hiding. I guess that he was a natural submissive because he put up with it, even if he was about a head taller than me and much stronger, but perhaps it was just because I was the squire's son and therefore in his eyes naturally superior. Yet it was he who suggested that we changed roles to allow him dressing like an Indian, in just a loincloth, a headband with a few feathers stuck in and war paint on his chest. Now he was tortured to tell where his tribe hid its treasures and we gradually went further. I strung him by the wrists from a branch and whipped his back, sometimes with stinging nettles, or hogtied him and whipped the soles of his feet. Not real torture, but it did hurt. It began when we were about eight and we only saw each other during summer when my parents moved down to the country. When turning twelve he began working at the estate after school and was supposed to spend his summer holidays supplementing his family's meagre income. I complained about the loss of a playmate and my father agreed that he could retain his pay when spending time with me. I don't know if that changed our relationship, but perhaps it did. Learning Latin at school made me grow an interest in ancient Greece and Rome and our games turned in that direction. Now I became a centurion and he a barbarian warrior, who was captured and tortured. We, or rather he, built a secret cabin at the brink of a forest pond and we spent days there, imagining that it was my villa and he a newly enslaved prisoner of war. A very reluctant and unwilling slave, who had to be kept firmly in place, chained hand and foot and often chastised with a switch. He carried heavy loads through the forest, hobbled and barefoot, served me snacks and soft drinks on his knees, was used as my footstool. It was an important part of the game that I forced him to do something unpleasant, so he could rebel against me and be punished. One such thing was licking my feet, something both of us considered gross and humiliating. But it aroused me to see him there, on his knees, restrained with chains and padlocks and near naked, reluctantly licking my sweaty feet, always under the threat of the switch. Aroused, yes, but sex never played any part of our relationship. I don't remember ever seeing his dick. It went on until we were about sixteen and grew other interests. He matured earlier than I, village boy as he was, began dating girls and go dancing, but we remained friends and still see each other, even if he's married now, with two kids. It didn't harm him either, our friendship. He's now head gardener at the estate. But I did miss our slave games and his submissiveness. His wife is a wisp of a girl and sometimes I've been wondering about their relationship when her towering hulk of a husband is jumping to meet her every wish.

"Good, Sir?" The slaveboy beamed at me. "Very good, Tim". "Thanks, Sir". He rose on his knees to draw off my shirt, opened my trousers and dragged them down. My cock sprang free, grown stiff by his ministrations and my reminiscences. "You want me to help you with that, Sir?" "I want what?" "Me sucking you off, not healthy to sleep like that, Sir, it isn't". "Do you consider me a faggot?" "Course not, Sir, but you need relief and a mouth is a mouth, isn't it? I can call Chris if you like, Sir". "She's asleep, I hope". "No problem, Sir. I fetch her?" "No, well, do it then". "Yessir". I received another beaming smile before he relieved me of jeans and underwear and began licking up and down my shaft and sucking on my balls. It did feel good and even better when the hot mouth engulfed me and his tongue worked wonders. Within seconds I was shooting a heavy load and he swallowed frantically, licked me clean, and looked up again. "Good, Sir?" Good? Damn, it was the best blowjob I'd ever had! "Are you gay?" "Nah, Sir". "But you've done this before?" "Sure, part of the standard training, Sir. Practised on each other, we did". "Why?" He shrugged. "A slave's duty, Sir. Most masters like it and mistresses too, we were told. You want a bath, Sir?" "No, just to brush my teeth". He jumped to the bathroom to stand ready with toothbrush and a glass of cool water. "What time do you want to get up, Sir?" He tugged the sheets and blankets around me and put the key to their cuffs on the bedside table. "At eight and I'd like a cup of tea in bed". "Yessir. Night, Sir".

The light was dimmed and he left me to contemplate the day's turn of events. I suddenly owned three fellow human beings, body and soul. Exciting, frightening in a way, but definitely something to explore further. I hadn't dominated anyone since my childhood friend and we stopped playing six or seven years ago. Not that I hadn't dreamt about it, but grown-ups don't do things like that, except in a special sexual relationship perhaps. Of course I'd seen magazines, surfed the net, even sneaked into a SM shop, but none of the girls, I'd bedded so far, had shown any interest in that kind of sex. They squealed if I gave them a playful slap on their bare bottoms, wriggled delightfully if I caught their wrists in a firm grasp above their heads while I was up them, but didn't seem inclined to go any further. So I pushed the dream to the back of my mind, but never abandoned it. Now I had an opportunity to live out that dream. A delicious slavegirl, wrists tied to the headboard, long legs spread and tied above her head, sex open and inviting, and, why not, with red stripes across her strained buttocks. Not a dream, but something I could just do, without any protests or accusations of rape and abuse. No one would even think it odd or depraved. Or a strong black body in the same position? Not that I'd had any experience with gay sex, but at the bondage sites it did look tempting. Perhaps make all three of them kneel and raise their bare arses for my whip, before I decided which hole to use? The possibilities seemed endless. 'But you're a decent chap, aren't you, old boy? Could you really treat a helpless teenage girl like that?' I recalled the look in her eyes, terrified, yet resigned. 'Or a boy?' It had been fun when a child back in the woods, but fun for both of us, a consensual game. It would be no game for my slaves and most certainly not consensual, but then they couldn't do anything about it, weren't supposed to, were they? 'They're convicted felons and it's your duty as their master to ensure that they're punished according to law'. If I got a bit of fun out of it, would that be more than I deserved for all my hard work? Perhaps not, but not at the price of losing my self-respect. 'You'll stay a good master, demanding, but not unfair or deliberately abusive. They'll be punished if they deserve it and you'll get your fun out of that. Some 'relief' too when needed. A slave's natural duty, as Tim told you. But you won't degrade yourself by turning into a sadistic monster, absolutely not'. With that decision I fell asleep.

Fred brought my tea. I woke up when he drew the curtains aside to let in the sun; naked and hobbled. "Good morning, Sir. I hope you slept well". He arranged the pillows behind my back and knelt to offer a tray with a cup and a plate of sweetbread. "I did, thank you". "Would you prefer a cooked breakfast, Sir?" "Sure". "In the garden, Sir? It's already pleasantly warm". I nodded and he shuffled to the door, whispering to someone outside, then returned to the bedside. I sipped my tea, looking at his bowed head, curious about this slaveboy, young man rather, just two years younger than I, but limited myself to repeating that I relied on him to run my household to perfection. He meekly promised to do his best, asked when to serve my meals and humbly advised me to acquire a slave credit card and electronic slave passes to allow them shopping for supplies. Upon my question he explained that it was a small cell phone clipped to the slave's collar. If a police officer or a shop owner wanted to ascertain that he or she was acting under orders, they just pressed the button to connect to the master's phone.

He ran my bath, soaped me up, dried and dressed me, and followed me to the roof garden. Tim was cleaning the pool and called a cheerful 'Morning, Sir', when I sat down at table. Fred poured my tea and Christine came out, naked and hobbled like the boys. Her body went rigid when she bent over to serve a hot plate and my hand slid down her arse. "Relax, girl, I won't harm you, or rape you". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir", she whispered and held the pose. I reached for her hanging breasts, fondling the firm flesh, gently pinching a nipple. "Those rings", I looked up at Fred, "Are they standard?" "Yes, Sir". He was watching the nude girl anxiously. "Our collars and rings mark us as slaves, Sir, and can be used to control or punish us". "How?" "We can be chained or leashed by them, Sir. Weights may be hung from the nipple rings". "I see. Thank you, Christine". She breathed a sigh of relief and shuffled off. Fred remained behind my chair and she came back a little later to take away the empty plate and offer me a basket of warm buns. "Freshly baked?" "Yes, Sir". Her hand was trembling. "Look at me". The terror was still there. "Christine, please don't be so scared. I promised not to harm you and I meant that. You'll be punished, but only if you've done something to deserve it, and I won't demand that you serve me sexually. Perhaps later, when you're more comfortable with this, but I don't want a terrified girl in my bed". "Yes, Sir. No, Sir". "I'm very satisfied with your cooking". "Thank you, Sir". "Now, sit down and give me your feet". "Yes, Sir". Obviously still frightened she lowered her bare bum to the tiles and raised her legs, exposing her sex. I found the key in my pocket and unlocked the ankle cuffs. "Is that another standard for slaves, shaving your pubes?" "Yes, Sir", Fred answered. "You don't have to do that, Christine, if it makes you feel better". "Thank you, Sir, but I don't like hair down there". "As you prefer, now get dressed". "Yes, Sir". I was rewarded with a shy smile before she took her chain and fled.

Fred buttered a bun for me and refilled my cup. "Are slavegirls always that frightened?" "Most are, Sir, at least when newly enslaved. The hard training and the uncertainty about their future can be very scary for a young girl, Sir". "Understandable. I hope she'll calm down soon". "She will, Sir, but Chris is more scared than most. Her family keeps slaves and her two elder brothers can be very rough with their slavegirl, she's told us, Sir". "Expecting the same from me. And she?" "Sir?" "How did she treat the slaves?" "I don't know, Sir, but if her brothers are allowed, eh...". "To abuse the girl". "Eh...yes, Sir. I think her family treats their slaves very strictly, most people do, Sir". "You too?" "My parents have no slaves, Sir". "Why not?" "They can't afford it, Sir". "If they could?" "Yes, Sir. They would have a slave, or more. It's common and very convenient". "So you don't consider slavery wrong?" "No, Sir". "You accept your own?" "I do, Sir". "All of it?" "Sir?" "You'll happily suck my cock or take it up your arse?" "Yes, Sir". His eyes were as calm as ever. "And Tim?" "We're your slaves, Sir, the three of us, here to serve you in any way you may wish". "But won't like it?" "Slaves are not supposed to like what they have to do, Sir". "I guess not. Now take off that chain and get dressed. Tim as well". "Yes, Sir". He took the key. "And don't send Christine to serve me until told differently". "No, Sir".

I spent the next two weeks getting accustomed to my new surroundings. It took me no time at home. Even used as I was to luxury and servants, my slaves surprised me. Fred or Tim was always kneeling beside or standing behind my chair, jumping to my every wish, dressed and undressed me, bathed me, rubbed my feet and my body. Christine produced a seemingly endless series of marvellous meals and the three of them kept the penthouse in perfect order. I acted 'masterly', but was polite, and, although sorely tempted by my slavegirl's half naked body, limited my sexual use of them to letting Tim suck me off when he saw me to bed. After the first few days Christine lost her frightened look and towards the end of the first week even sent me a timid smile when I thanked her for another splendid dinner. Fred was unfailingly polite and efficient and Tim cheerful, almost cocky, but always subservient. They gave me no reason to complain and I never saw them idle, so there was nothing to justify a punishment.

Part 2

It was a small town, centred around the university, and at this time of year, before the beginning of a new term, deprived of a large part of its occupants. There was no lack of cafés, small restaurants, shops selling all kinds of delicacies, and discos, but the hustle and bustle of the student population was missing just now. I went around to get my bearings, always with Tim two steps behind me, when not driving my car. His eyes almost burst from their sockets when we on the first morning went down to the underground garage and I strode towards the large black vintage Bentley. "That's yours, Sir?", he whispered in awe. "Quite". I tossed him the keys and he looked dubiously at the unfamiliar car. "I'm not sure I can drive that, Sir". "Of course you can. It's a bit old-fashioned, but basically just a car". "Yes, Sir. Do me best, Sir". I watched from the backseat while he tried the controls, tested the manual gearshift, and finally expertly manoeuvred it up to the streets. "Gawd, Sir! 'Tis so beautiful, Sir". "We do know how to make real cars where I come from, Tim". "An' that's no error, Sir". Cars as such don't interest me. I don't even like driving, but have always been fascinated by the perfect, yet discreet luxury of vintage limousines. Tim turned out to be an excellent driver and I told Fred to let him spend some time getting familiar with the Bentley.

If I hadn't paid notice to them before, the slaves, I did now. They were literally milling around. Scantily dressed, barefoot girls and boys trotted along the edge of pavements, always carefully keeping out of my way. They followed two steps behind their owners, waiting patiently, heads submissively bowed, while they chatted to friends in the streets or window-shopped, knelt by their chairs at the cafés, carried their shopping bags. Most of the slaveboys wore just a pair of shorts, the girls a T-shirt as well, though I did spot some bare tits. I wouldn't say that they looked cheerful, but neither did they seem miserable, except some who were hobbled or sported a striped back.

I paid a visit to the university and was cordially received by the provost, who showed me around. No wonder, really, my father had made a very handsome donation to their research fund. The tour finished at the office of the professor who'd tutor my studies. I knew of his reputation, of course, but had never met him, and found him a quite amiable man in his mid-forties. We were discussing my project when a hobbled slavegirl entered to serve coffee, accidentally spilling some in my saucer. Without breaking off our conversation my host casually slapped and backslapped her face. She stammered an excuse and ran off, tears running down her cheeks, to fetch a clean cup for me. "Pity, really". The professor looked after her. "She used to be one of my most promising students". "What happened to her?" "A prank gone wrong. She lost a bet and had to streak down Main Street on a Sunday morning, flashing her boobies. Unfortunately, for her that is, she met some silly old cows on their way to church, who later claimed to have been offended. That earned her five years as a slave. I had her assigned to me when we bought her. Partly because I make good use of her, doing some of the more tedious research at the library for me, partly because she's very attractive". The girl returned to serve my coffee, this time without mishaps. "Got one of the most delicious little arseholes I've ever encountered. And those tits! Show us". She dropped to her knees, hauling off the T-shirt and arching her back to present the soft mounds. "Nice, aren't they? And now she can flash them all she likes, anywhere, or rather all I like. As long as her pubes are covered, she can run around practically naked without anyone taking offence. Ironic, isn't it?" He caressed them idly while we resumed our discussion.

My father had asked me to pay a visit to a Mr. Allen, one of his business acquaintances. He owned a large colonial style mansion on the outskirts of town and I made an appointment for the last day of my second week. A couple of naked slaveboys were busy mowing lawns and weeding flowerbeds when Tim stopped in front of the imposing entrance and jumped to let me out of the car. A barefoot girl, topless in a white miniskirt, showed me into a spacious hall with a grand curved double staircase, humbly asking me to wait while she informed her master of my arrival. I was studying a painting on the wall, trying to decide if it was an original, when an angry voice made me look up. "You fucking, worthless idiot!" A thickset, rather flabby, dark haired young man was dragging another slavegirl, this one naked, along the first floor balcony by her long, blonde hair and, when reaching the staircase, flung her down it. She stumbled, but managed to grab the banister for support and clung desperately to it when a vicious kick hit her arse. He raised his foot for another kick, but caught sight of me and ran past the sobbing girl down the stairs. "Hi, I'm Harry. You're here to see my dad?" "John Marshall". We shook hands. "Glad to meet you, John. Dad told you'd be dropping by. I'm up at Uni too, undergrad, of course". The nude girl had descended to kneel behind him, her forehead pressed to the floor and hands clasped behind her back. He half turned to hiss: "Three hours on the horse". "Yes, Master Harold. I'm sorry". "I bet you are and you'll be mighty sore when you're done. Get out!" She crept up to kiss his shoes, then scurried away, still on her hands and knees, displaying a severely striped arse. "Sorry about that, but the stupid cunt scratched my cock while blowing me". I couldn't come up with an answer and instead asked what the 'horse' was. "A high sawhorse with a triangular board on top. The slave straddles it; hands tied on her back and ankles to the board behind her arse. Very uncomfortable for her pussy". He shrugged. "Damn good reminder. After three hours she'll hardly be able to walk. But do come in".

I'd met his father back home and liked him, but Harry apparently hadn't inherited his open and friendly demeanour. Not that he was unpleasant, just seemed impatient and demanding. Mr. Allen had a naked boy rolled into a ball and chained to serve as a footstool and another topless girl kneeling beside his chair when we came out to the terrace to greet him. The girl, who'd met me at the door, stayed to kneel beside my chair and a third came out to serve Harry. "Where's Julie?" "Had to send her down for a ride, hurt my cock, always clumsy. Should've learned by now". His father shook his head. "I don't know why you keep her, if she's so annoying". He turned to me. "Julie was at high school with Harold, they even dated for a while. She was caught with dope in her car, a couple of joints, and enslaved for ten years". "That must be tough, especially for a girl from a good family". "It's meant to be a punishment and it is. Our slave laws are strict, but fair and they've brought the crime rate down, taught foolish teenagers and youths to behave, most of them at least". They persuaded me to stay for lunch.

We were already seated at table with our three serving slavegirls behind the chairs, when a lanky young man, or rather teenager, dressed in a white tennis outfit, burst through the French doors. "Who owns that fantastic car outside?" "Daniel! Meet Mr. Marshall". "Oops, sorry. Hello, Mr. Marshall, pleased to meet you". He was as fair as his brother was dark and sent me a winning smile, offering a grubby hand. "Sorry I'm late, Dad, but we ran into a tiebreak, took more than an hour". He flopped down on the chair one of the girls held for him. A very tall and muscular young man, blond like Dan, came out with a washbasin and knelt to let him clean his hands. "Do my feet, will you, Steve?" He half turned in his chair and stretched his left leg. The slave put down the basin and unleashed his sneaker, pulled off the sweaty sock and bowed to lick his foot. "So it's yours, the Bentley, Mr. Marshall?" "John, please. Yes it is". "1957?" " '59". He stretched the other foot. "Thanks, Steve. You can just leave them bare". "Yes, Master Daniel". The slaveboy licked the other foot clean and left, while a couple of girls arrived with the first course.

Dan talked throughout lunch, questioning me about my country and what I was doing over here. His father listened with a bemused smile, only occasionally able to put in a word, and his brother kept mostly silent. I knew that their mother had died a couple of years ago and that the two boys were now nineteen and twenty. Dan had just finished high school, but spent rather more time playing tennis or swimming than on his studies. Another interest of his was cars, especially British brands, but he had to make do with the usual four-wheeler. When told where I lived, his eyes sparkled. "Gee, man, Marsfield Gardens! You've got the best private tennis courts in town and the largest pool". "Is that so? I haven't made use of them yet, but you're welcome any time you like". "Thanks, but they're very strict. Outsiders can't use them unless they're with one of the tenants". "You can. I shall instruct the staff". "Thanks again, but are you sure?" "I own the place, it seems, so I don't think you'll meet any trouble". That earned me another dazzling smile and his profuse thanks.

I changed the subject to slaves and told how satisfied I was with mine, yet still a bit uncertain about handling them. Mr. Allen confirmed that most people did what I'd done so far, left day to day affairs to the slaves themselves, that's what they were trained for, and just expected the best of service, correcting them when necessary. "That's what I'm most uncertain about. I don't know the rules". Now Harry showed an interest. "There are none, or practically none. You're not allowed to kill them or maim them seriously, cripple them, but apart from that, anything goes". "Really, not just a whipping?" "Slaves are not like free people, John. They don't feel pain like we do, just shrug off a thrashing and stay lazy, trying to cheat you. You've got to keep them in line all the time or they'll cut any corner they can find, so you have to use other methods. I can show you some, if you like". What I didn't like was the evil gleam in his eyes. "Thank you, but how can you say that slaves are different. I mean, until sentenced, they were 'free people', like your former girlfriend". "Sure, but once they've been through training and served for a time, they change. They think like slaves, act like slaves, show no responsibility, stop feeling pain". I looked dubious and noticed that Dan sent his brother a dark glance. "Have a look at our punishment room, John", their father urged, "Harold's right. It really is necessary to take a firm hand and he's very experienced. Thanks to him, we have the best slave herd in town. Besides, it's your responsibility that the court sentence is carried out. Slaves must be treated as slaves, worked hard, made to feel the consequences of their crimes on their body. That's the law". I nodded reluctantly and changed the subject again when coffee was served. After another hour I rose to take my leave. I'd grown to like Dan very much and renewed my invitation. Harry jumped up. "Would you like to see the cellar?" "Well, all right, just a look". "Sure". "Can I have a look at your car in the meantime?" Dan's eyes sparkled. "Certainly, go ahead. My slaveboy, Tim, can show you, take you for a ride if you like". "Gee, thanks, John!"

He disappeared around the corner of the house and I took leave of my host, while Harry yelled something through the door. We went back to the hall, where the tall slaveboy, Steve, came running to join us, and through a narrow door beneath the stairs to descend to a large room, with bare concrete floor and raw brick walls. The unlucky Julie sat slumped on the evil horse, moaning softly. "Very effective, this device". Harry went up to her, pointing out her red and swollen cunt lips. "She'll be mighty sore when I fuck her tonight, but it's just as effective with a boyslave and yet so simple". And it was, the torture bench, and the girl's tie as well. Her thumbs were lashed together, hands behind her back, and a short string ran from one of her big toes to the other across the pole she was straddling, forcing up her legs up almost horizontally along it. "Comfy?", he mocked. "No, Master Harold". "Sorry to hear that, maybe these will help you". He fetched two lumps of lead from a wall cabinet and hooked them on her nipple rings. The tormented girl gasped and I turned away, disgusted by the casual cruelty. One of the walls had five doorways; four of them closed with steel grilles. I peered through one to see a narrow room with four bare metal shelves spaced on top of each other along one wall. Four smaller shelves held a few clothes and thin blankets. 'Bleak, to say the least', I thought and suddenly realised that I didn't know how my own slaves slept. The fifth room was larger, but without a door. Six showerheads over open drains along one wall and a steel trough on the other. "Shall we get on with it?" Harry joined me. "Yes, but where's the lavatory, I need...". He laughed. "Lavatory! Right here. They piss and shit down the drains". "Girls and boys in the same room, without any privacy!" "Slaves, John, and this is a luxury. Elsewhere they use a hole in the backyard. But you're no slave. Here, boy!"

Steve, who knelt in a corner, came running. "Yes, Master Harold?" "My guest has to piss". "Yes, Master Harold". He dropped down in front of me, reaching for my fly. "But what are you doing?" I took a step back. "Didn't you need a lavatory? It's right in front of you". "But...". "But what? Don't you use your own slaves?" "Certainly not. It's gross!" "Not at all, everyone does that, even the ladies. Come on, John, piss and let's get on with it". The kneeling boy drew down the zipper to dig out my limp cock and guide it to his mouth. I looked down to see him swallow when I gave in and let loose a steady stream. Harry went back to the main room and the slave licked me clean, put back my cock and zipped up again. "Sorry, Steve", I whispered and he shook his head with a sad smile.

"Have a look at these". Harry stood beside a frightening array of punishment instruments arranged on hooks on the wall. "You've got the basic things, I guess". He pointed to a row of canes, crops, whips, a cat-of-nine-tails among them. "Ah, yes". I had no idea. "Special tools like these as well?" He took down a small cane and a little flogger. "Ah, well, I don't think so". "Very useful. This is for their feet". He offered the cane for closer inspection. "And this for their cocks and balls, or the girls' cunts or tits. Stings like hell". "I see". "But let's begin with the ordinary things. Across the horse, boy!" "Yes, Master Harold". Steve dropped his shorts to drape his naked body over the sawhorse in front of the riding girl, arse high. "This is not a punishment, just a friendly lesson, no need to strap you down, but don't you dare move". "No, Master Harold". "Steve's such a big, strong boy". The cane cut across the already striped globes. "Quarterback. Classmate of my brother, on a sports scholarship. Pride and joy of the old school, its girls not least". He sent Julie a dark glance. "Yes, very popular was our Steve, but it's costly with all those girls and when one's dad's a construction worker with five kids, what do you do?" He lashed down again. "Good boys find a job, washing dishes, serving in a burger bar, but not our great footballer. No, Siree. Got his own little business, didn't he, selling dope?" A third stripe appeared. "But it's dangerous if someone grass on you and the cops find a stack of joints in your room. Earns you twenty years as a slave, no more football and no more blowjobs from high school sluts. Now it's our Steve who delivers the blowjobs, among other things. Lucky him, though, to be bought by his good old schoolmate's dad. So it's not too bad for poor Steve, is it?" The cane fell again, harder, and the naked boy jumped. "No, Master Harold", he hissed between clenched teeth. I felt my cock stirring.

"OK, you know how to cane them, I guess, but one may add some extra spice. The arse is fine, but they get used to it as I said. So try down here". The cane hit precisely where buttocks and thighs meet and Steve jumped again. "Keep still, big boy. It hurts, as you can see, much more than on the meatier part". He hit the same spot twice again. "But it's even better in a more interesting place. Spread your legs and open up!" Steve reached back to display his arsecrack. The cane swished down and he yelped. "Very effective, especially with a bit of practise. The hole is the most sensitive place". This time the tip of the cane buried itself in the prominent arsehole and Steve yelped again. My cock twisted, straining against the fabric of my trousers. "Try it when you've just fucked their dung hole. Hang them upside down, best from their big toes, it makes it easier to take aim, and they can't hold their arses open for long, especially not the girls". He changed to the little flogger and aimed at the boy's exposed balls. "Very effective if you hit them there too, or on their cunts. OK, feet!" "Yes, Master Harold". The boy scurried away to lie down on a low bench and place his ankles against a raised bar at one end. "If you don't have a foot bench already, I suggest that you get one as soon as possible. Excellent device. Keep still!" Harry flicked his wrist and the small cane hit the boy's left instep. "You'll need some practice, but even if their soles are hardened after running barefoot for years, it does hurt, a lot". The cane hit the other foot. "Right, boy?" "Yes, Master Harold", Steve hissed.

"Well, thanks, but I really have to leave now". It was becoming more and more uncomfortable inside my trousers and I was angry with myself for responding to the casual torture of a totally innocent boy. "Not until you've had a look at the special equipment". Harry indicated three sets of chains and shackles hanging from the ceiling. "You've seen how the horse works. Stretch them well in those, with weights on their rings and clamps on their dicks or clits, and let them hang there for a night or two, that'll keep them on their toes". He laughed at his nasty joke. "A night in a strict hogtie on the floor instead of a good sleep in their soft beds is fine too, but this is even better. Over here, boy!" He went to a small iron cage in a corner and Steve jumped to sit down in front of it, his back to the open door. Harry took a set of steel chains and clipped one end to the slave's collar, then drew down his head to fasten a set of cuffs around his sturdy ankles. The boy rolled on his knees to allow the chain to be dragged up his back, where his wrists were locked into another set of cuffs. "In you go". Steve winced when backing his painfully bent body into the cramped space. The door was closed and his tormentor grabbed an iron bar. "And now the icing". The bar was forced under the slave's bent knees and hooked to the sides of the cage, leaving him half suspended. "An hour like this, and they're in tears. Two hours make them scream. After three, they usually pass out". I shook my head in disgust and hastily took my leave. The last I heard was Harry sneering: "Now let's get you down, cunt. I'll fuck you bent over your old bedmate's cosy little cage".

I was shaking with suppressed rage, partly because I couldn't deny that I'd enjoyed watching the slaveboy writhing in torment, and had to take a strong grip of myself. Dan and Tim were studying the engine of my car. "Gee, John! It must be fantastic to drive. I almost envy your slave". "Hardly. I can't imagine you enjoying a visit to that cellar, at least not as a slave". His smile faded. "No, and I rarely go there". "Unlike your brother". He looked away. "I don't share his ideas about punishment, but Dad...". "You don't punish the slaves?" "With a paddle, if they deserve it, or a cane if it's real bad, but there's no need to torture them". "So you don't mind spanking your former classmate?" His eyes flashed angrily. "Of course I do! I try to be kind, but he's a slave and slaves are punished if they do something wrong. That's how it is and we have to accept it". "Sorry". "It's OK". He smiled thinly and changed the subject. "Can I come over sometime tomorrow to try out your court?" "You'll be more than welcome. I could use a game too". "That's a deal. Around ten?" "And stay for lunch". "Thanks, I'd like that very much". Tim jumped up from his knees to open the door for me. "Good slaveboy you've got there. I know him a bit, used to work at the garage servicing my car". He grinned. "Somewhat more hard-working now". "So, why do you say that?" "He'd borrowed a hose from our slaves and washed the car, was polishing it when I came by. You know how to keep them on their toes. Usually they grab the opportunity to relax while waiting for their master". "I didn't ask him to do that and I don't have to keep my slaves on their toes. They manage very well without any encouragement".

Back home I went straight to the kitchen. Christine looked up, alarmed, from the dough she was kneading and sank to the floor on her knees. "Please rise and don't be so scared. I've repeatedly told you how satisfied I am with your work". "Yes, Sir". She got up to stand rigidly with her hands clasped behind her back and eyes lowered. "But it suddenly occurred to me that I don't know where you sleep". "In here, Sir". She opened a door to what I thought was a cupboard, and in a way it was. A narrow, windowless room, devoid of furniture, with a showerhead in the ceiling at one end and an open drain beneath it. I stared. "In here?" "Yes, Sir". "You sleep in here?" "Yes, Sir". "On the floor?" "Yes, Sir". "All three of you together. Naked, without a mattress, or even a blanket?" "Yes, Sir". "And you wash under that?" I indicated the rusty showerhead. "Yes, Sir". "And where do you, eh, do your things?" "In here, Sir". She kept her eyes to the floor. "In here, where you sleep!" "Yes, Sir". "But it...". I shook my head in disgust, unable to mutter anything but: "What an animal I am!" "Please, Sir. No, Sir. It's fine, Sir". "It is not fine and where do you eat or spend your spare time?" "We eat here in the kitchen, Sir". "But there's no table, or chairs". Fred must have heard us, because he entered and sank to his knees. "Would you want a cup of tea, Sir?" "And a talk with you when I've changed". "Yes, Sir". He remained on his knees while I stomped out, furious with myself.

Tim sensed my dark mood and for once wasn't his usual cheerful self when licking and rubbing my feet carefully. "Why did you wash the car. You did that yesterday and it hasn't rained since then?" He didn't raise his head. "I, eh, I'd nothing else to do, Sir". "Why not have a rest then?" "Slaves don't dawdle, Sir". I shook my head, but didn't say anything else while he helped me into my jeans and T-shirt. His fellow slave was arranging my tea and a fresh apple pie in the garden when I came out. "Fred can serve me". "Yes, Sir". Tim disappeared inside, obviously relieved. "Fetch a cup for yourself". Fred hesitated, "Yes, Sir", and rose to come back with a mug. "Have a piece of pie". "Thank you, Sir". He knelt to serve me and pour for himself. "Sit, on the floor, if you must". "Thank you, Sir". He turned to draw his bare feet up beside him. I sipped the tea and munched my cake. "Don't you like Christine's cooking?" "Yes, Sir". He cut a small piece and seemed to savour it. "Good, isn't it?" "Yes, Sir". "At least you eat well". "Yes, Sir". He avoided my eyes. "The filet mignon last night was exceptional". "Yes, Sir". "Was there enough for Tim? I suppose he eats like a horse, or at least a teenage boy". At last he raised his head. "Please, Sir, I'm sorry. I didn't know". "Knew what?" "That you allow us, eh, eating the same as you, Sir". "Allow? But what do you eat then?" "Slave food, Sir". "Slave...What's that?" "Porridge, Sir, very rich in proteins and vitamins". "That's all you get?" "Yes, Sir. All slaves...". "Three times a day?" "Twice, Sir. We have some of yesterday's bread for breakfast, Sir. It's too good to go to waste".

I stared, blushing with shame. "And you sleep on the floor in that horrible little room, stinking of your own shit". "It's not...". "And you work all the time, never take a break". "Sir, we, you haven't...". "Why haven't you told me about this?" "I'm sorry, Sir, but I thought...". "That I'm a monster". At last his reserves broke and he looked gravely at me. "No, Sir. You are no monster, but a very kind and gentle master". "What you've had to endure is monstrous!" "With respect, Sir, it's ordinary living conditions for slaves, better than some". I looked away. "Perhaps, I don't know much about it, but I'd never allowed it if I'd known". "I'm sorry, Sir". "Don't be. I neglected you, not the other way around, but at least I haven't deliberately abused you". "No, Sir". "But I can't go on with this". "Sir?" He suddenly looked alarmed. "I can't keep slaves. I've seen how some people treat theirs and I don't want to lower myself to their level". "No, Sir". He swallowed hard. "You'll sell us, Sir?" "Have to, if only to preserve my self respect". "Because you think you treat us badly, Sir?" "Not think, know". "But, Sir, you don't. You're a good master, we're very happy here, Sir".

"It doesn't trouble you to be slave of a young man just a couple of years older than you?" "No, Sir. It did trouble me to be enslaved, but this is my life now, for the next fourteen years". "So what are you trying to tell me?" He looked me frankly in the eyes. "That I've come to terms with my new life, Sir. I'm determined to make the best of it, serve my master well, be a good slave. It'll be hard years, but a slave's life is always hard, sometimes very hard. Even so, there's an end to it. One day he'll be free. That's what he hopes for and dreams about in his misery. But that hope can be shattered, if he's treated so badly that he's reduced to nothing, unable to cope on his own, when the day comes. I don't have to fear that now, Sir". "Only if I sell you". "Yes, Sir". "So if I do, I'm really behaving like a monster". He didn't answer, just looked gravely at me.

"So be it then. I can't keep you". "Why not, Sir". He looked questioningly at me. "If I do, I'll one day give in to my darkest desires and abuse you". "Abuse how, Sir?" "Whip you, tie you up, rape you". "But that's not abuse, Sir". "What is, then?" "Sir. We are your slaves. It's our duty to serve you to the best of our ability". "And you do", I interrupted. "Thank you, Sir, but whatever we do, we're bound to make mistakes, annoy our master and earn a punishment". "Be abused". "No, Sir. A fair and deserved punishment is not abuse. How else can a master express his dissatisfaction? By what other means can a slave redeem his faults?" "Don't tell me that you enjoy being whipped". "I don't, Sir". "And if it's not a 'fair and deserved punishment', but your master having 'fun' with you?" "A slave's duty, Sir". "To be tied up and whipped, raped up his or her arse?" "Yes, Sir". "How do you define 'abuse', then?" "If a master treats his slaves like animals, or worse than animals, and I don't believe that you'd ever do that, Sir. Punish us, yes. Use us for your pleasure, yes. Make us work hard, yes, but never degrade yourself by abusing us, Sir". "I don't think I can see any difference". "With respect, Sir, I believe you can". "So you prefer the devil you know". "We know no devil, Sir. We only know that we have a good master". I stared at him, then looked away, contemplating his words.

"Very well, then. I'll keep you; not that it's any great sacrifice. I've never been served as well as during these last weeks". "Thank you, Sir". His face lit up in a smile. "From now on you'll report to me if one of you warrants a punishment and suggest something fitting the crime". "Yes, Sir". "You don't seem dismayed?" "No, Sir. I, we won't like the punishments, but they're necessary in a master/slave relationship". "Why?" He looked apologetically at me. "A slave is troubled if not punished for his faults, Sir". "Relieved rather". "Yes and no, Sir. Relieved to be spared immediate pain, but afraid that his master one day will be so angry that the punishment will be much worse. For us it's much better to have the slate wiped clean at once, Sir". "Another neglect of mine". He didn't answer. "Do we have any whips and such?" "Yes, Sir. A riding crop, two suede floggers, one of them for genitalia, a foot crop, some canes". "Where?" "In the kitchen, Sir. Some nipple weights and genitalia clamps as well and a portable set of stocks. Ropes and chains too, Sir. And there's a well equipped punishment room in the cellar, for the convenience of tenants". "Well equipped, how?" "Shackles for suspension, stocks, punishment cages, Sir". "And it's being used?" "The present tenants keep 84 slaves all in all, so at least some of them will be due for a heavier punishment most days, Sir. There's also a storeroom with sleeping cages for up to 60 slaves". "People keep their slaves there?" "Some tenants do, Sir. The cages have remote controlled time locks to release the slaves without inconveniencing their masters or mistresses, Sir". "Others sleep in slaverooms like mine?" "Yes, Sir". "Perhaps it's about time that I had a look at that cellar".

Part 3

The storeroom was exactly that. Bare concrete walls and floor, sixty cages piled three on top of each other in a row along one wall, only just big enough for a human being to lie down on a thin vinyl mattress. Along the other wall were the usual showerheads over open drains. Three bare bulbs in the ceiling spread a feeble light in the windowless room. Without any ventilation, the air was stifling hot and putrid with the stench of sweat, human waste and cheap disinfectant. "Good Lord!", I mumbled, shocked, "This is even worse than that horrible room upstairs". Fred didn't answer. "But not uncommon, I suppose?" "No, Sir". Shuddering with disgust I left hastily. In contrast, the punishment room was bright and airy, though not exactly cosy. Tiled floor and walls, fluorescent lightning and air conditioning. Rows of punishment instruments were hanging neatly on the wall and six sets of shackles from the ceiling. Three tiny cages, of the same type I'd already seen at the Allens' house, were lined up on the floor beside three sets of elaborate stocks, in which a victim could be restrained in numerous positions. To my surprise, the room was in use. A young woman was vigorously paddling the bare arse of a teenage boy, bent over and locked into one of the sets of stocks. "Twelve, thank you, Miss", he gasped, when yet another stroke made his flaming red buttocks dance.

She stopped the next in mid-air and turned when she heard us entering. "Hullo there, you must be our mysterious landlord. I'm Jane Thompson". Her face lit up in an enchanting smile and she offered a well-manicured hand. "John Marshall, pleased to meet you, but why mysterious?" "Well, maybe that's exaggerating it a bit, but we haven't seen much of you yet". "Just moved in". "Argh, two weeks ago! Why haven't you joined one of our little get-togethers on Friday?" I'd seen people down at a barbecue area in the grounds, but thought it to be a private party. "Thank you, I'll be happy to". "Fine. You're here to study, aren't you? Most of us are at Uni too". "Yes, I've planned a thesis on French/American relations after 1945". "Sounds interesting. I'm in art history myself, but I can see that you come well prepared". "What makes you think so?" "You've bought Fred, haven't you. Brightest undergrad head in the politics department until he got himself enslaved". She nodded at the slave, who knelt quietly just inside the door. "Shame, really, great guy, everybody liked him". She grinned. "As a matter of fact I dated him for a while about a year ago, best pussy licker I've ever come across. Perhaps I could borrow him for the night once in a while?" "Eh, I...". She laughed, blushing. "Just joking, or at least only half serious, he really is good, but I suppose you're going to work him hard seeking stuff for your study. He sure knows his way around the library and plays the databases like a pro". "Well, yes, I... I'm very satisfied with him". "Don't doubt it. Fred always does everything better than anyone else, no matter what it is, but of course even he can make mistakes". "None that I've noticed so far". "Oh! I thought you brought him down here for a whipping". "No, I'm just looking the place over". "Pity, I've always dreamt about watching one of my lovers writhing in the chains". She chuckled. "Just joking again, of course". "Of course. Well, nice meeting you, Jane". "My pleasure, and do come down next Friday, will you? Or how about joining me and my neighbour for a drink? Third floor". She smiled again and added hastily. "He's my present boyfriend". "Thank you, I'd like to. I know very few people in this town". "Tonight at seven?" "Yes, please, but perhaps you'd want to see the penthouse?" "Love to, thanks, we'll be there. Charlie's in politics too. I'm always attracted to those serious guys. Actually he replaced Fred in my bed". "What about dinner then? I'd very much like to know more about the department and my fellow students". "An offer one can't refuse, thanks". We shook hands again and she turned to the boy in the stocks. "Where were we, Toby?" "Twelve, Miss Jane", he moaned. "OK, last three". The paddle fell with a resounding smack.

Back in the roof garden Fred sank to his knees beside my chair. "You can let Tim serve tonight, and keep out of sight. I see no reason to humiliate you". "As you wish, Sir, but I won't be humiliated". "Serving your former girlfriend and your rival?" "A slave cannot be humiliated, Sir, and it was bound to happen anyway. In a small town like this a slave cannot avoid meeting some of his former friends". "Perhaps not. Very well, do as you like". "Yes, Sir. May I leave for a moment to tell Chris about dinner?" I waved my hand and he left silently, only to be replaced by Tim. "Want a cup of tea?" His grin was back. "Thanks, Sir". "Or something else?" "A coke, if I may, Sir". "Sure". "Thanks a lot, Sir". He disappeared for a moment to come back with a plastic bottle and kneel again. "Sit". "Thanks, Sir". "Fred just met one of his old friends, how about you?" "Sir?" "Have you met someone you used to know?" "Yeah, Sir, seen 'em around". He grinned hugely. "Fucking envious, they look, Sir. Me driving that fantastic car". "Hardly envying your present position". "Nah, maybe not, but that's how it is, Sir. I'm not the only one of the old gang who's a slave now. That's what happens to guys like us, always get in trouble". "Miss them, your mates?" "Yeah". He sighed. "Take a break, then, when waiting for me by the car and have a talk with your friends if you see them around". "Gee, Sir, thanks a lot! You're just about...". "Tim!" I hadn't heard Fred's soft footsteps. "Oops, sorry, Sir". "What were you about to say?" "Only that you're just about the best master I ever heard of, Sir. Excuse me, Sir. Sir". "Thank you". I smiled evilly. "I expect you to change your mind when I tie you up tonight, whip your arse and fuck it". "No, Sir". "You like being whipped and arsefucked?" "Nah, Sir, not supposed to, am I, being slave, but that won't make me change me mind, Sir". "We'll see about that". I waved him away and told Fred to take his place.

"You heard that. I'll have sex with you from now on". "Yes, Sir". "You and Tim that is". "Yes, Sir. You won't want Chris?" "Perhaps later, but not while she's still new to this and scared out of her wits". "No, Sir". He looked up. "Tim's right, Sir". "Perhaps. How far had you come with your studies?" "To my graduation thesis, Sir". "What subject?" "Nearly the same as yours, Sir. Only it was Germany, not France, and limited to the 1960'es". "Really! Jane was right then. You can help me searching for sources and literature?" "I'll do my best, Sir". "And slaves are allowed to use the library?" "To serve their masters, yes, Sir". "Good. I'll probably use you for sparring. Two clever heads are better than one". "Thank you, Sir".

"Back to the present. As of today, Christine will have to work harder". "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry...". "Making breakfast, lunch and dinner for four". "Yes, Sir". "Perhaps not the same for all, but proper meals for you and something you like". "Yes, Sir. Thank you very much, Sir". "Slaves can have all the tea, coffee and soft drinks they need". "Thank you, Sir". "Slaves will from now on have time to relax. The two of you not serving me can spend their evenings as they wish". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir". "For what?" "Your kindness, Sir". "So you're looking forward to free evenings in your cosy room?" "If you allow us, we could stay in the kitchen, Sir". "I don't". "No, Sir". "Come here". I got up and went to one of the spare rooms. "Store that double bed somewhere. Buy three singles, with good mattresses, sheets, blankets, pillows, perhaps screens to allow you a bit of privacy. Leave the rest of the furniture". Fred stared around the pleasant room, the thick carpet, the two armchairs, the desk, the TV. "Yes, Sir. I...Yes, Sir", he stammered. "Move in here at once. You boys can sleep on the floor tonight". "Yes, Sir". "And stop chaining yourself up at night". The adjoining bathroom was simple, with just a shower cubicle, lavatory and wash basin, but a paradise compared to what they had now and to what I'd seen in the cellar. "Buy some better clothes. Jeans for the three of you, a couple of skirts, short and long, for Christine, sneakers". "Slaves are not allowed footwear, Sir". "If I order it?" "That's the law, Sir, to mark us as slaves". "Very well, then, but a table and chairs for the kitchen". "Yes, Sir".

The evening turned out very pleasant. I was in the sitting room, when my guests arrived, and heard a deep, masculine voice from the hall. "Hi, Fred. Good to see you, how's things?" "Fine, Sir". "Not too bad, you mean. Bloody shame it is". "This way please, Sir, and Miss Jane". "Hello, Fred". I thought to hear a soft kiss. "Sorry about the teasing. Forget about it, will you?" "Yes, Miss Jane". Charlie was almost the exact opposite of Fred. At least a head taller, dark hair, broad shoulders and chest, and a hand like a shovel. Jane caught me looking from her petite, slender frame to Fred and then Charlie. She laughed. "Wondering about my change of taste, are you? Sometimes I do so myself. Fred was the perfect roommate, tidy and careful. I couldn't share with Charlie, even for one day. You can't imagine the mess that man can create within two minutes. Luckily he got the flat beside mine". "So Fred and you have been living together?" "For about seven blissful months until we grew apart and parted, amiably. We're still friends, aren't we, Fred?" "If it may please you, Miss Jane". I ushered my guests to the roof garden and he brought a tray of drinks. "Chablis, Miss Jane?" "Perfect". Charlie had a beer and I my usual vodka martini. They'd brought the slaveboy, I'd seen punished in the cellar, with them. He was stark naked and his ankles were hobbled with a short chain. Jane saw me looking at him kneeling beside her, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back. "Couldn't leave him and I don't like locking them up in the cages", she explained, "Can't keep his hands, not to mention other parts of his body off my slavegirl". "Was that why you spanked him?" "No, that was because he dropped a plate when washing up. I don't deny them a bit of petting, not much fun in their lives, but he's not allowed fucking her and I don't trust him not to get carried away. Normally I keep her locked, but she has her period and it's such a bother when she comes running to be unlocked all the time". "Locked?" "She has rings in her labia lips, easy to padlock". "Really! Is that common? And allowed?" "Allowed, yes. Piercing is not mutilation, the holes heal up if the rings are removed. Common? I don't know, but it's for her sake and I don't think she minds at all". "No, I meant, slaves allowed to, eh...". "To have sex with each other. No, I don't think many masters allow that, rather the opposite, but don't understand why. A happy slave is a better slave".

"Sorry about all these questions, but I'm new to this". "Ask all you want, but Charlie and I are not very typical slaveowners. Both of us were brought up in homes where slaves are treated decently". "But you do punish them?" "Of course, if they deserve it. What else can you do if not satisfied? Besides, some slaves need it". She glanced at the naked boy. "Some are perfect, willing and careful, others try cutting corners or get sloppy if not kept on their toes. If their master's not a sadistic bastard, it's mostly their own fault if they're punished. Toby here gets his arse warmed or his back striped frequently, but I don't think I've punished my girl for, oh, I don't know, more than a month". "Me neither", Charlie added, "It's bad enough for them as it is, no need to humiliate them further by spanking them like naughty children. If my boy needs a reminder, I tie him up painfully or lock him in a cage, but very rarely". "But you do keep slaves?" "Of course and I won't deny that I enjoy it. There's nothing wrong with the system as such, it's better for them to be out working among other people than locked up in a prison, especially the teenagers, and many of them do need to be put back on the right track. But two things are wrong, very wrong. One, that there's no control of slaveowners. They should be vetted before being allowed to keep slaves and their slaves inspected frequently to ensure that they're not abused. Two, that it's mostly girls and boys from poor families, who're sentenced to slavery for petty offences". "So the judges are unfair?" "I can't prove it, but it seems so to me. Not when it's real crimes, shoplifting, drug dealing or things like that, but when rich youngsters generally make a nuisance of themselves, are drunk and disorderly, vandalise public property, they're let go with a warning. Poorer kids get five years as slaves".

Fred came out to announce that dinner was ready. I'd grown used to Christine's perfect meals, but my guests marvelled over the lobster soufflé, asked if I'd hired a professional cook for the occasion and was surprised when I called for the teenage slavegirl. She stood blushing, while they praised her skills, not so much because of that, I thought, rather under Charlie's admiring scrutiny of her half naked body. "Delicious!" He grinned to me and Jane slapped his arm. "Not for you, darling!" "What! No more food for a poor hungry guy?" "You know what I mean!" I dismissed Christine and Tim came out to serve the roast duck. Now it was my lady guest, who had trouble averting her eyes from the magnificent black body. I'd ordered Fred to put on a T-shirt, but Tim was in shorts only. "Uh, huh!" Charlie shook his head sadly.

When cheese was served, Jane looked down at her slaveboy. "Could Toby have a bowl of slave chow? I forgot to feed him". "No he can't. Slaves don't eat chow here, and that reminds me". I turned to the slave behind my chair. "You may leave for your own dinner, Fred. Tim can manage". He'd stayed with us throughout the meal, supervising the younger slave and serving the wines. "Thank you, Sir". "What'll you have?" "Vegetable soup and lamb stew, Sir". "Can you allow your slave that, Jane?" "Well, I don't know if he deserves it, but OK. Run off, Toby". "Yes, Miss Jane. Thanks, Miss". He kissed her shoes and followed Fred inside. "A happy slave is a better slave", I reminded my guest. "As I just said, yes. Perhaps I should try feeding them better, never really thought about it. Everybody gives their slaves chow, it's easier, and good for them". "For their health, but so boring. You're right there, John, why deny them decent food?", Charlie added. When we rose for coffee, he asked if I could allow Fred to join us, to let him pick his brain, and I readily agreed. That gave me the first opportunity to spend time with my slave on almost equal terms and I decided that it wouldn't be the last. He was on the floor, we in easy chairs by the poolside, had his coffee in a mug, not cups like us, but nevertheless managed to partake in our conversation as an equal, yet unfailingly polite, never overstepping the line between slave and free persons. The three of them told me about town and university, teachers and students, and Charlie, Fred and I discussed mutual subjects. It was puzzling how they could act so freely, friends once, lovers even, and now slave and free, but it didn't seem to bother them. 'Decent people can handle slavery without degrading neither themselves nor the unlucky', I thought.

It was late when we parted. I'd dismissed Christine and Tim to enjoy their first free evening since they became slaves and Toby was curled up at his mistress' feet, half asleep. "A very pleasant evening". Fred had hurriedly cleared away while I saw my guests out. "Can I bring you anything, Sir?" "No, I think I'll go to bed". "Yes, Sir. Shall I call Tim?" "No, let him sleep". "Yes, Sir". He followed me to the bedroom to help me undress and was a few moments later on his knees in front of my chair, licking and rubbing my feet. Finished, he looked up. "Would you want me to suck you off, Sir?" I hesitated, uncertain if this was how I wished to end the day. "No, I think I'll like to try fucking you". "Yes, Sir. How do you want me?" He rose to drag off his shirt and shorts. "You were trained for this, show me how good you are". I opened my legs. "Yes, Sir". Back on his knees he let his tongue slide slowly from the top of my left foot, up the shin and along the inside of my thigh to reach my ballsack. The hot tongue touched it only briefly before it went down the other leg to end up on my right foot. "May I raise your legs, Sir?" "Go ahead". He grabbed my ankles, placed my heels on the edge of the chair and bent over my crotch. Now the sack was washed thoroughly, the nuts sucked into his mouth one by one and massaged gently by an adept tongue. My cock stood up, stiff and pulsating, waving in his face, but was ignored when he traced his way down the sensitive area below the sack to reach my arsehole. I jumped with surprise. No one had ever touched me there, at least not since I was a small kid. He licked around the puckered hole and suddenly stabbed into it. That almost brought me over the edge. My cock twitched and I felt the juices rising, but he knew what he was doing, raised his head abruptly, swallowed me and closed his lips around the base of my cock, preventing the imminent explosion. "God!", I moaned. "Please, Sir". He rose and dragged me with him, turned to kneel on the edge of the bed and reached back to open his arse. The brown hole winked at me and I didn't hesitate to bury my throbbing piece of meat in it. "God!", I moaned again. Only once had I felt something remotely similar, when a half drunken girl had challenged me to try her arse. That had hardly been a pleasure, it hurt, both of us. This was heaven, so hot and narrow, yet smooth like a young girl's breasts. I pumped, slowly, trying to prolong the pleasure and felt his muscles contracting around me. Another thrust and I had to give in, buried myself to the hilt and with a shout of joy spurted deeply into his bowels, again and again and again. There seemed no end to my juices, never had I come as much, as long and as hard when I at last collapsed on his back, barely conscious.

He stayed motionless while I lay panting, slowly regaining my breath. After what seemed like hours, I was finally able to rise on trembling legs, extricating my spent tool with a soft plop. A steady stream of sperm and arsejuices ran down the inside of his thighs, but was ignored when he quickly rose and turned to steady me, gently lowering my body to the bed, then knelt to lick and suck my soiled cock clean. I protested feebly and he left for a moment, only to come back with a glass of cool wine, offering it on his knees. "That was fantastic!" "Thank you, Sir". I sat up and he arranged the pillows behind my back. "But you're not gay! You can't be if you've been living with that chick?" "I'm your slave, Sir, here to serve and please you". "As you most certainly do, but if not gay, where did you learn how to please a man?" "At slave training, Sir. We were taught how to serve our future masters or mistresses in every conceivable way". I took a sip of my wine and thrust the glass at him. "Have a taste". "Thank you, Sir". "You practised on each other?" "Yes, Sir" "On girls too?" "Yes, Sir". He'd hardly touched the wine, when offering it to me again. "So Christine has been trained as well, very thoroughly in fact". "Yes, Sir". "You were in training together?" "Yes, Sir". "Have you, eh, had her?" He looked calmly at me. "I've assisted in preparing Chris for her duties as a slavegirl, Sir". "Fucked her, you mean?" "We've practised vaginal and rectal penetration together, Sir". "Was it good?" "It was...clinical, Sir. Fifty female and fifty male slaves on a row of mattresses performing different sexual acts together under the supervision and guidance of experienced prostitutes, changing partners after each act". "Male/female, female/female and male/male sex?" "Yes, Sir". "Advanced too. Bondage and such?" "Yes, Sir". "So Christine were fucked by several boys there and had sex with other girls". "Yes, Sir". "I do wonder why she's so shy then". "It was very stressful for the slavegirls, Sir". "Of course, yes, it must have been. What a stupid way to train a girl, scaring her off the pleasures of sex, for life perhaps". "A slave pleases her master, not herself, Sir". "Of course, but how can a frightened girl offer any pleasure?" "Not all masters are as considerate as you, Sir". 'True, and I've met more than one of them', I thought. "But you were not scared". "I'm a grown man, Sir". "And Tim?" "Sir?" "He's two years younger than Christine". "It would take a lot more to scare Tim, Sir. He's been living on the streets since he was fifteen, practically banned from home by his mother's new boyfriend". "Really? But he was apprenticed to a mechanic?" "Tim's determined to have a good life, Sir". "Not much hope for that after twelve years as a slave". "Perhaps not, Sir, but he'll only be about thirty, when he's free again, and a slave can learn a lot, if he has a good master". "Like me?" "Yes, Sir".

Part 4

Dan turned up the next morning as agreed. Steve was waiting on his knees when we came down to the tennis courts. A short chain hobbled the tall slave's ankles and his back sported a tight pattern of fresh red lines. I've always liked tennis and enjoyed myself thoroughly, even if Dan beat me in five hard sets. "Whew!" I wiped sweat from my brow before Steve could reach me with the fresh towel he had ready for us after each set. "You have a nasty backstroke". Dan grinned. "How about a return match?" "Some other day. I'm an old man". "Sure, sure, but do you mind if I play another? Steve's a great player". "I thought it was football". "He played tennis to keep in shape. Feet, Steve". "Yes, Master Daniel". He dropped to his stomach and raised his legs to let Dan unlock the cuffs. "Something of a bother, but Dad insists that our slaves are shackled whenever leaving the house". I sat down to watch the match. To my delight, Steve beat his master in three straight sets, running effortlessly on the hard gravel in spite of his bare feet. "Mighty sore arse for you tonight, slave!", Dan threatened. "Yes, Master Daniel". The half-naked boy hung his head, but with a smile on his face. He knelt to offer the ankle chain, but his young master shook his head and we went up to the penthouse. I showed my guest and his slave to the second spare room for a shower and went to my own bathroom to let Tim wash me.

Dan was already in the garden when I came out, a barearsed and hobbled Steve at his feet. "Hope you don't mind naked boys. This stupid slave of mine forgot to bring fresh shorts for himself and the sweaty rag he was wearing is just too disgusting". "Not at all. Can I offer you a drink before lunch?" "A coke, please". I didn't have to tell Fred to bring it, along with a glass of cool white wine for me. "He doesn't deserve it, but can Steve have something to eat?" "Of course, he may share with my slaves". Fred ushered him in and a little later told that our lunch was ready. It was as delicious as ever and Dan and I discussed tennis techniques while Fred and Tim took turns serving. Hopefully, I thought, because our slaves were enjoying their own lunch in the kitchen. We were waiting for dessert when Dan looked over my shoulder and abruptly stopped talking. He stared with a stupefied expression on his face, blushing furiously, then shook himself out of his stupor and finished the sentence. A moment later my slavegirl served us hot strawberry pie and offered a bowl of homemade ice cream. He took a helping, without looking up, still blushing. "Perfect as always", I remarked when she was serving me, "What did you have, Christine?" "Thank you, Sir. The same, Sir". She, too, was blushing, staring fixedly at her bare feet. "Good, isn't it, Dan?" "Sure", he mumbled, still without raising his head. "I think you may take that as praise for your excellent cooking, Christine". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir". She topped up my wineglass and left for a moment to come back with a fresh glass of coke for my guest. This time he managed to stammer his thanks.

"Living in such a small town must be difficult. Most of you seem to know each other". I leaned back, nursing my wine and looking at my young guest. "Yeah". He seemed lost in thought. "Not least when one's friends get in trouble and suddenly are transformed to slaves". He nodded mutely. "And that happens quite often, I've already learned. You and Steve, your brother and his girlfriend, my neighbours and my own slave". "Yeah". "You and Christine?" He shook no. "Don't lie to me, Dan. You know each other, don't you?" He looked away. "Friends, at school perhaps?" "Yes, she, we were classmates, Chris and Steve and I". "Just classmates?" At last he looked me in the eyes, his own brimming with tears. "No, we...dated". "And did more than just holding hands?" "Yes, we... Oh, shit! Why did you have to buy her?" "Actually I didn't, but I do own her. Is that a problem for you?" "No, I...". "Dan, I like you and I'm looking forward to seeing you here again, often. If you don't want Christine around as she is now, I'll sell her, even if she's a marvellous cook". "No, please don't! It's just...". "I haven't used her, for sex, if that's what's bothering you, hardly even touched her". "No, it's not that. She's yours and you can do to her what you like, that's how it is. No, it, I...". He drew a deep breath. "It's my fault". "Her enslavement? But that was for shoplifting. I can't imagine that you forced her to steal". "No, of course not, but when... We only did it once, for real, and when I... undressed her, she was so embarrassed about her underwear. Her family isn't very well off and she... I mean, you couldn't buy one pair of my boxers for what she paid for ten sets of bra and panties, so...". "So she stole to look pretty for you?" "I think so", he whispered. "But that was still her own choice, you didn't tease her about it, did you?" He shook his head. "Of course not, I... I was in love with her. It doesn't, didn't matter how she was dressed. I could've bought her anything, but if I hadn't... pressed her, she wouldn't...". "Do you still love her?" "I... You know I can't!" "But you do?" He nodded mutely again. "Do you want her? I'll happily sell her to you, for a price you can afford". "No! No, absolutely not!" He looked panicked. "Why not? Your brother owns his girlfriend". "I... Because I don't want to". "You don't want her as a slave, but you could make it easier for her, treat her as your girlfriend?" He looked away. "No I couldn't. At our house slaves are slaves and treated... as slaves must be treated. It's bad enough with Steve". "So you prefer that I keep her?" "Yes". He fastened his moist eyes on me again. "Please!"

Just then Steve came back and surprised me by kneeling to kiss my shoes. "Thank you for lunch, Sir". "Enjoyed it?" "Very much, Sir. Chris is a great cook". He crawled to kneel by his master's chair. "Some time since you had real food, what, Steve?" Dan had regained his composure. "Yes, Master Daniel". "Your slaves eat chow?" "Out of dog bowls on the floor, hands clasped behind their backs, if you must know". "Nice, that brother of yours", I remarked dryly. "No he isn't and I've already told you that I don't like the way he treats our slaves". "You did, and I suppose that he's responsible for the stripes on Steve's back". "Yes". "And what did this slave do to earn those?" "Nothing!" "Nothing?" "Harry claims that Steve scratched his balls when sucking them this morning". "Clumsy". "Harry was fucking Julie's arse and ordered Steve to work his balls over when he was up her. Maybe Steve did touch him with his teeth, but it must have been accidentally, with him hammering away on the girl". "I see". "No, you don't!" His eyes flashed angrily. "Harry will never forgive the two of them that she dropped him in favour of a poor scholarship guy, but Steve has only himself to blame. I'll never understand how he could be so stupid". I glanced at the kneeling boy, but he kept his head bowed. "He's guilty of a major crime, but he's my friend. I do try making it easier for him, but what the hell can I do?" I leaned over to squeeze his hand. "Don't blame yourself".

After Dan had left, I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading. My slaves moved quietly around, doing their chores and taking turns to kneel beside my chair. When Fred brought my pre-dinner drink, he asked permission to speak. "I have to report Chris and Tim for punishment, Sir". "So soon! What have they done?" "Chris dropped an egg on the floor while making lunch, Sir, and Tim didn't iron your underwear before stowing it away after washing". "I see, and what kind of punishment do you suggest?" "It was an accident, but Chris should have been more careful, Sir. Ten strokes of the cane on her buttocks, if it may please you. Tim was deliberately lazy, Sir. Thirty lashes with the whip on his back and three days in heavy ankle chains and with weights in his nipple rings, if it may please you". "Quite severe, isn't it?" "You ordered me to suggest punishments, Sir, and that is what I consider appropriate". "What other masters consider appropriate, you mean?" "Some, Sir, others would be harder". "I don't doubt it, but I'm not one of their kind". I thought for a moment. "I don't want to cane Christine. She can serve as my footstool after dinner, naked and chained hand and foot". "Yes, Sir". He looked relieved. "I'll deal with Tim when he sees me to bed. Place some rope, a cane and the foot whip in my bedroom". "Yes, Sir".

I was nursing the last of my wine after dinner when Fred led a naked Christine out to kneel in front of an armchair, made her curl into a ball with her arse towards it, cuffed her wrists behind her thighs and chained her ankles, then fetched my coffee. I emptied my glass, dismissed Fred, kicked off my loafers and sat down in the chair, resting my bare feet on her arse. I resumed reading, but it was hard to concentrate with the tempting globes right in front of my eyes. The girl tried to keep her body immobile, but as time went by, her legs began twisting and her arsecheeks opened to reveal a small rosebud. My cock stirred in my pants and I had to fight an urge to feel her up. After an hour I gave in, closed the book and swung down my feet. "Turn and kneel upright in front of me". She laboured around, grunting with the pain in her cramped limbs, until she was facing me. With her hands cuffed behind her back, her chest was straining towards me and she surprised me by spreading her legs, offering a clear view of the pink, hairless slit. I swallowed hard and took a grip of myself. "Look at me". She raised her head to reveal a pair of frightened eyes.

"Fred tells me that you've been trained to serve me in bed". "Yes, Sir". Her voice was quavering on the verge of breaking into sobs. "Did you enjoy the training?" "No, Sir". "None of it?" "No, Sir". She shuddered. "It was horrible!" "Dan told me that he has fucked you". "Yes, Sir". "Did you enjoy that?" "I...", she lowered her eyes, blushing all over her naked body, "Yes, Sir". "So you can enjoy sex?" "Yes, Sir". "Was he your first?" "Yes, Sir". "It must have hurt then, but you enjoyed it anyway?" "Yes, Sir". "Because you were in love with him?" "Yes, Sir". Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think you'd enjoy sex with me?" "I'm your slave, Sir". "And not supposed to enjoy what you have to do?" "No, Sir". "Has the 'horrible' training scared you away from the pleasures of sex?" "I, eh, I don't know, Sir". Her frightened eyes were brimming with tears. "If I let Dan fuck you, would you enjoy that?" She stared uncomprehendingly at me. "Would you?" "I...Please, Sir. I don't know what to... I, it...Yes, Sir. I think I would". "So you still love him?" "Yes, Sir", she whispered. "Even if it was his fault that you ended up a slave?" "But he had nothing to do with it!". "That's not what he thinks or what he told me". "But it's not true!" "Didn't you steal that underwear in order to please him?" "I, but...". "That's why he blames himself". "I, oh...". She burst into tears, fighting against the handcuffs. I rose abruptly. "Your punishment is over, for now". "Thank you, Sir", she managed to stammer, "I'm sorry, Sir". "Take greater care in the future". "Yes, Sir". I went in to tell Fred to release her and send Tim to my bedroom.

He came running to throw himself at my feet, already naked. "Fred reports that you've been lazy and neglecting your duties". "Yes, Sir". "Why?" "I was down to empty the dryer and iron the stuff, Sir, and I met this old mate of mine. He's been a slave for 'bout a year, but we ain't seen him around, 'cause of his master being away, but now he just moved in here and me mate, he was down to do his laundry and we got talking, sort of, 'bout what's happened and our friends and such...". "And you forgot all about your duties?" "Yeah, Sir, got carried away some and thought I could sort of sneak your boxers down at the bottom of the pile and iron them later, but Fred caught me doing it. No excuse, Sir". "And now you're mad at Fred". He sent me a puzzled look. "Why's that, Sir? He's just doing his duty and he's a great guy". "I'm happy to hear that. Shall we get on with your punishment?" "Yes, Sir, what do you want to do with me?" "Get on the bed, on your back and spread your arms". "Yes, Sir". He placed himself to have his wrists lashed to the bedposts. "Spread your legs". "Yessir". I tied a piece of twine around the base of his cock and balls, ordered him to raise his feet and tied the ends to his big toes. "Comfortable?" "Not much, Sir". He tried to keep his legs still and some slack in the string, but soon had to give in when I began beating the soles of his broad feet with the small whip. "Augh! Oh, shit, ouw!" He waved his legs, tightening the string around his genitals, hissing between his teeth. After fifteen hard lashes on each foot, I lowered the whip. "Learned your lesson?" "Yeah, Sir. Sorry, Sir". "Perhaps". I grabbed the cane and laid a stripe across his buttocks. "One, Sir. Thanks, Sir". Another stripe joined the first. "Two, Sir. Thanks, Sir". His black hide was nicely decorated with clearly raised welts, when he moaned: "Twenty, Sir. Thanks, Sir". I changed position and hit along the gaping crack of his arse. "Aieeh! Ooh, shit!" "Forgot to count, didn't you?" I hit the same spot again. "Ooh, arrgh! Twenty.... Ooh!" "Twenty-two it was". I dropped the cane and tore off my shirt, jeans, and briefs and knelt between his widespread knees. "And now the reward". My aching tool was rammed into his puckered hole and I began mauling him mercilessly. It was heaven, better than anything I'd experienced so far, even better than Fred's arse. The helpless teenage-boy, his burning hide against my thighs, when I slammed into him, his blistered feet waving, his cock and balls turning blue, the feeling of total control, all of it combined to make it a nerve-shattering experience when I erupted into him. "Whew!" I sank back on my haunches, looking into the boy's pleading eyes. His long cock stood stiff and waving. "That was good, Tim". "Thanks, Sir. Happy to serve you", he croaked. I quickly freed his toes and genitals and grabbed the rock-hard tool. "But what about you?" "Sir?" "You didn't enjoy it". "Not supposed to, Sir". "Not even this?" I stroked his cock. "Please, Sir!" "Please, what?" "Please, Sir. I... If you go on like that, I can't hold off". "And why should you?" "Arrgh, shit!", he moaned, biting his lower lip, "Slaves are not allowed to come, Sir". "You are". "Yessir, thanks, Siir, aah!" He gave in and long hot spurts of sperm hit his chest. "Gawd! Thanks, Sir. Ooh!"

I untied his wrists and he rolled on his knees to suck shit and sperm off my cock. "Thanks a million, Sir". He looked up with a genuine expression of gratitude. "For punishing you?" "That too, Sir, but mostly for being such a kind master". "You consider me kind, even after what I've just done to you?" "Course, Sir, me own bloody fault, and you let us eat real food, sleep in a real bed, have a decent room, TV and all, and you allow me to come. Yessir, you can do anything you like to me". "I don't think I have to ask your permission for that". "Course not, Sir, but...". "But you accept it?" "Got to, ain't I, and times I like it, Sir". "You like being whipped?" "Nah, Sir, not just like that, it bloody hurts, but that blockhead me mum ganged up with, he was always beating the shit out of us. Sometimes I got a boner, when he was belting me arse, and had to run off, soon as he was finished, and beat off, so when you whipped me and let me blow me load, that was so great, Sir!" He beamed at me, planted a kiss on my cock and jumped up to run my bath. I allowed him a shower while I was soaking in the tub, earning another beaming smile, before he hurried to change the soiled sheets on my bed and come back to dry me.

I won't say that the relationship between my slaves and me changed radically after that day, but they seemed much more cheerful and content, even if punishments became a regular part of their life. Perhaps because of their better living conditions, perhaps because I was now acting more like a 'proper' master. I seldom found any reason to be dissatisfied, but Fred dutifully reported a number of minor infractions, which he thought warranted a punishment. Tim was often the culprit and did I enjoy striping his hide before fucking him! Perhaps he enjoyed it as well. I sometimes wondered if he made mistakes on purpose. Christine never suffered a beating. I simply couldn't make myself take a cane to her arse, but she 'was' punished, mostly chained up naked as my footstool, sometimes put on display in a set of stocks, an iron bar with four curved spaces to lock on her wrists and ankles. She hated it, just as much as I enjoyed looking at her slim body, forced into cramped positions on her knees or back, bare toes curling with strain and cunt gaping open. Tempting, but I never touched her, actually began wondering about my own sexuality. Up until now I'd considered myself straight, had fucked a number of girls, but after I'd learned to enjoy the two boys' hot mouths and tight arses, it wasn't difficult to resist the teenage girl's charms. It was much more difficult when Tim was trussed up at my feet. Fred didn't spare himself and I had to cane him occasionally for very small offences, but acknowledged his unspoken insistence that he must be treated like his fellows, even if he was as perfect a slave as anyone could wish for. Unlike with Tim, I didn't mix pain and pleasure with Fred. Sex with him was always quiet lovemaking, his tongue teasing my body until I was about to explode and then a long hot fucking of his arse.

The offences were mostly minimal and called for minimal punishments, if you name ten hard lashes with a cane across your arse minimal, but a few times I had to be harder. The first occasion was when Fred stumbled and dropped my lunch on one of the Persian carpets. It was an accident, but he quietly insisted that it had to be punished severely, at least with a whipping of his back. I didn't want to do it in front of the others, so I took him down to the cellar and had just strung him up when Jane entered with the hapless Toby in tow. "Hello again!" She looked startled at her former lover's naked body, painfully stretched on tiptoe. "We can't go on meeting like this". She grinned and dragged her slaveboy towards the stocks. I looked apologetically at Fred, but apparently he was quite unperturbed by the encounter. Jane finished strapping down her boy and turned to the display of whips and paddles hanging neatly on the wall. "Do you know how to use that?" She looked at the heavy whip in my hand. "Ah, not exactly. I've only used canes so far, and I had some experience with those". I grinned a bit sheepishly. "Then use this instead". She handed me a flogger with ten thin suede tails. "It stings like hell, but doesn't draw blood. You have to practice with that whip before using it or risk damaging the slave seriously". "Thanks". I took a practice swing. "Not like that". Jane grabbed the flogger with her right hand, the tails with her left, drew them up towards her shoulder and let it fly with a swishing sound. "Make sure to spread them". She repeated the demonstration then offered the flogger back. "Eh, I...Could you show me?" "On Fred! You must be kidding". She stared from me to the bare back beside us. "Please?" "Aw, I can't do that, he's too sweet". "That's why he deserves to be dealt with by an expert, not a clumsy amateur like me". "Aw...". She hesitated, but her eyes were gleaming. "Well, OK, but only to do you a favour". Her small hands grabbed the tails again, raised the flogger and let it slash across the exposed flesh, leaving ten thin red lines. "One, Miss Jane. Thank you, Miss". Fred's voice was as calm as ever. "You're welcome, loverboy". The tails flew again. "Two, Miss Jane. Thank you, Miss". "How many?" The breathless voice revealed her excitement. "Twenty". "OK".

She really was an expert. The evil strands of the flogger travelled slowly down Fred's back, covering it from shoulders to the back of his thighs. The last two lashes were directed at his arse and even if he continued his calm counting and thanks for the punishment, his voice was strained when he at last announced: "Twenty, Miss Jane. Thank you, Miss". She dropped the flogger and went round to confront him, "You're welcome", then surprised me by throwing her arms around his midriff, burying her face at his chest and whispering: "I'm sorry, Fred. Can you forgive me?" "There's nothing to forgive, Miss Jane. I deserved my punishment. Thank you, Miss". She let go and took a step back, while I let him down and released his chafed wrists. The naked slave dropped to his knees and kissed her feet, then turned to me. "Thank you, Miss Jane and Sir". I looked at the striped back and raised my eyes to meet Jane's. They were moist, but held a strange gleam. 'Sorry or aroused?', I mused and saw her thighs rubbing against each other. "Is Charlie at home?", I asked. "Noo, not until tonight", she whispered. "Would you like to borrow Fred for an hour or two?" "What for?" She stared at me. "He may be able to help you relax". "What do you mean... Aw, shit! Is it that obvious?" I just grinned and nudged the kneeling slave with my foot. "See Miss Jane to her flat and make her comfortable". He looked up, staring at me for a moment, rose and bowed to her. "Yes, Sir". She swallowed hard, stepped up to give me a peck on the cheek and whisper: "Thanks, John, but not a word to Charlie!" I shook no. "I think I'll leave Toby to contemplate his fate". She
swept towards the door, Fred jumping ahead to open it for her, and I followed, patting his shoulder on the way.

I didn't know he was back until he served my tea, calm as always. "Was Jane satisfied with you?" I took a sip, looking at his bowed head and striped back. "So Miss Jane very kindly said, Sir". "And you?" "I was happy serving Miss Jane well, Sir". "Of course, but was it good?" "Miss Jane is a very, eh, passionate woman, Sir". "Miss her?" He looked up at me. "It's as Miss Jane told you, Sir. We were happy together, but parted amiably when it was over". I refrained from prying further and he knelt silently by my chair, while I resumed reading, after all satisfied that I'd done the right thing. Both of us was startled, when Tim a couple of hours later announced that Charlie wanted a word with me, and exchanged worried looks, but the large young man was as friendly as ever when accepting a beer, flopping down on a chair. "I came to ask if I could borrow Fred for a couple of hours tomorrow. Have to finish an essay and I've got stuck". I choked on my drink and almost spluttered it over the floor. "Of course", I gasped, looking at my slave, whose shoulders seemed to be shaking in soundless laughter.

"Very much in demand, aren't we?" I asked, when Fred later that night was licking along the crack of my arse. "So it seems, Sir". He looked up briefly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "No wonder", I moaned when his tongue stabbed into my hole, "Perhaps I should try the same as Jane". "Sir?" He looked up. "Fuck me". "Yes, Sir, just a minute". He jumped up and left for a moment to come back with a tube of KY-jelly. I'd turned to kneel on the edge of the bed and moaned softly when his fingers probed my arsehole, carefully spreading the lubricant. "Aah, feels good". "Thank you, Sir. Have you tried this before, Sir?" "No". "I've better open you up a bit then, Sir". One of his fingers wormed its way into me, feeling around. A shiver of pleasure ran down my spine when it touched my prostate and I moaned again when a second finger joined it. "God, this is fantastic!", I mumbled and felt a third finger enter. He fucked me slowly and carefully for a while, then withdrew. I felt strangely empty and wriggled my arse impatiently until the head of his cock touched my opening. "Yess, ram it in!" He didn't, just held it there for a moment before pressing gently against my sphincter, slowly going past it and up the hot tunnel until his balls at last touched my arse. "God!", I whispered. It hurt, but sent sensations through my body like nothing I'd felt before. "Good, Sir?" He moved slowly back and forth. "My God, yess!" I was shivering, tears running down my face, when he slowly increased his speed, and began thrusting back to meet him. My own cock banged against my stomach, stiff as a board and throbbing almost painfully until it suddenly spurted thick wads of come on the sheet and I collapsed, spent but more satisfied than ever. Fred's dick left me and I felt his tongue cleaning my hole, but of course he hadn't shot his own load. "God!" I rolled on my back to stare up at him. "Why did I wait all those years for this?" He sank to his knees and cleaned my aching cock carefully.

The next day Fred was his usual calm and subservient self, never revealing the slightest hint that he'd fucked his master. His back was still marked by Jane's flogger and I ordered him to put on a shirt. Charlie phoned after lunch and I sent Fred down as agreed. He kept him all afternoon and, when I asked how it'd gone, Fred told that Charlie had three of their mutual friends over and that he'd been asked for some quite extensive tutoring. "An embarrassment or a pleasure?" "A pleasure, Sir, I was happy to serve the young masters". "Rubbish, Fred! It must have been embarrassing". "No, Sir, it was good to...". "To be allowed using your brain and your skills again". "I...". "Do you still have notes and drafts for your thesis?" "Yes, Sir, at my parents". "I want you to finish it". "Yes, Sir". He sent me a puzzled look. "I expect to use it in my own work". "Yes, Sir". "And if you really don't mind, I'll let Charlie and his friends borrow you again". "I don't, Sir". I told him to phone his parents to prepare them for a visit, and, as an afterthought, asked Christine if she'd like to visit hers. She stared speechlessly at me and burst into tears, but managed to stammer that she would like it, very much.

That night I ordered her to see me to bed for the first time as my slave. She was quite obviously frightened, but did what she could to hide her nervousness when serving as I by now had grown used to, licking my feet and undressing me, hesitating only when my stiff cock sprang free, waving in her face. "Do you ... want me to suck you, Sir?" Her voice quavered and she didn't dare looking up at me. "Not now, start my shower". "Yes, Sir". She jumped up to shed her clothes and pad naked to the bathroom. Her hands were softer than Tim's when they slid down my back, in between my arsecheeks and down my legs. She crept around on her knees to wash my feet and shins. "You may suck me off now". "Yes, Sir". She shuddered, but raised her head to lick my sack and suck gently on the nuts. Her tongue continued up and down my stiff pole and finally her mouth closed on it. I threw back my head into the streaming water, moaning with lust when the hot tongue swirled around me, and came violently. "That was good, slave". "Thank you, Sir". She retched, but managed to swallow my load and rose to continue washing me. When we came back to the bedroom, she drew sheets and blankets off my bed and stood awkwardly cradling them to her chest. "No need to hide your body, I know it quite well already, and don't I own it?" I smiled evilly. "No, Sir. Yes, Sir". She lowered the covering with a resigned look in her eyes. "You may go now. Good night". "Good night, Sir". "Disappointed?" I chuckled and lay down on the bed. "Sir?" She covered me. "That I won't fuck you? Perhaps I should change my mind?" "I...I'll be happy to serve you, Sir". I chuckled again and waved her away.

The next morning I told her to put on a long skirt, which almost covered her bare feet, and Fred to dress in jeans. He advised me that slaves ride in the trunk, but I let them kneel on the floor in front of the back seat instead while we drove to the modest residential area where Christine had her former home. I watched her run up to the door and caught a glimpse of a slender woman when it was opened and she flew into her arms. Fred was dropped off at the entrance to a housing estate. He was as calm and polite as ever, but his eyes revealed his joy. I paid a visit to the library and later went downtown to browse a couple of bookshops. While in the second, I happened to glance through the shop window to see a police van double-parked beside my Bentley. An officer was forcing Tim, hands cuffed behind his back, into the van. 'What the hell!', I thought and hurried out to cross over. Three other, white, teenage-boys, whose worn sneakers revealed that they couldn't be slaves, were on their stomachs beside the van, likewise cuffed. "What's going on here?", I demanded, "What are you doing with my slave?" The two police officers turned, surprised. "This is your slave, Mister, and your car?" "It is". "We caught him conspiring with these punks". "Conspiring?" "Yeah, planning a crime". "Really?" My eyebrows rose questioningly. "What exactly were they doing?" "Well, talking. Your slave used to be member of the street gang the others belong to". "Talking to his friends, then?" "Like I said, Mister, conspiring. Slaves ain't got no free friends and don't talk to free people, 'specially not punks". "I've explicitly allowed mine to do exactly that, if he's waiting by the car and has nothing else to do". "I told, them, Sir, but they wouldn't listen". The officer, who was manhandling him, slapped the back of his head. "Shut the fuck up, slave!" "Will you please refrain from damaging my property, officer, and release him, at once!" "But we caught him planning a crime, Mister", he hissed. "You did nothing of the sort. You saw him talking quietly to his friends, as his master has allowed". "So you believe him innocent?" "I have no reason not to, and neither have you. Now release him!" Grudgingly he unlocked the cuffs and my slaveboy dropped to his knees to kiss my shoes. "Thanks, Sir. We didn't do nothing but talk, Sir". "Of course not, Tim, you may rise". "Let's get the others loaded", the officer grumbled to his fellow. "We can't take them if this gent won't press charges". "And he will not". "Aw, shit, Mister! We know that those punks are criminals, just like your slave". "Then prove it, but without my assistance". He shrugged his shoulders. "OK, OK. We'll get them some other day". They retrieved their cuffs and drove off.

The boys rose, rubbing their wrists. Tall and muscular, they looked very much like my slaveboy, except for their grubby jeans, T-shirts and sneakers. "Thanks", one of them mumbled. "Hey, you say 'Sir' to my master!", Tim hissed. "What for? I don't say that to no bloody master until I've got one". "You do to mine!" The two large boys faced each other, clenching their fists. "Tim!" "Yes, Sir, sorry Sir, but he's gotta show respect". One of the other boys stepped between them, bowing politely to me. "Thanks, Sir, that was fucking decent of you". "Not really, I won't perjure myself". "Lots of people wouldn't think twice about it, and they'll get us anyway, like he told you ...Sir". The first boy sent Tim a sly grin. "Why? Are you criminals?" "Nah, Sir, but we've got to live, ain't we?" "You have no jobs?" "You're kidding, Sir. There are no jobs for guys like us". "Because you're lazy?" "Nah, 'cause they've got slaves...Sir". "But you want work?" "Sure, Sir, if we could find any". I considered for a moment. "Very well. I may have something for you if you show up at Marsfield Gardens in two hours, prepared for honest hard work". "What kind of work, Sir?" "What you tell me slaves do instead of you". "Kay, Sir, thanks". "See you, then. Tim!" "Yessir". He opened the door for me, sent his stupefied fellows a grin and got behind the wheel.

I'd told the two other slaves that they could stay out until six and Christine to prepare a cold lunch for me. We ran an errand on the way and I made some phone-calls while my slaveboy tossed a salad to serve with slices of cured ham, followed by fine cheeses and the strawberry pie, he'd been told how to heat up. When he announced that lunch was ready, somewhat nervous about the outcome of his efforts, I ordered him to lay the table for two. He looked puzzled and was obviously shocked when I told him to sit down and eat with me. "But, Sir!" "I want to talk to you". "Yessir". He was apprehensive, but managed to get through the meal without mishaps, serving me, and himself, and answering my questions about his former life. He even found time to stuff himself and drink the two bottles of coke, I allowed him

I was looking through some files in my study, when I heard him answering a call from Reception and some minutes later open the door. "Get out of them dirty sneakers", he hissed. "Aw, man, we're no slaves, not yet". "Nah, but 'tis me who's gotta clean the fucking floors". "OK, OK". "Those guys are here, Sir". He knelt by the door. "Show them to the garden. I'll join them shortly". "Yessir". The three boys were whispering together, pointing out sights from the rooftop when I came out. "Good afternoon". "Afternoon, Sir". They straightened to face me and I noticed that they'd made an effort to make themselves presentable, even if their grubby bare feet did spoil the picture somewhat. "Please be seated". I indicated a group of garden furniture beside the pool. "May I offer you something to drink?" They sank down on the edge of the chairs. "A coke would be great, Sir". I waved to Tim, who'd followed me out, and took the fourth chair. "I own this estate and have until now employed a service company to maintain it, using slave labour, of course, but am willing to offer you an opportunity to prove that you really are willing to work for your living". Tim came back with a tray and served me a glass of white wine, then turned on his knees to offer the boys coke. "You may have one as well, Tim, if you can stomach more of that nasty stuff". I saluted them and took a sip of my wine. "The estate has quite extensive grounds, as you can see, including swimming-pool and tennis-courts. I want them kept as they are now, flowerbeds weeded and pruned, lawns trimmed to perfection, footpaths raked, forecourt swept, pool cleaned and tennis-courts tidy. Can you do that?" They exchanged doubtful looks. "Guess so, Sir". One of them nodded. "Worked some with a gardener, promised to teach me, but threw me out and bought a couple slaves". "Excellent. What I have in mind is to terminate that part of my contract with the service-company and offer it to you for the same fee as I pay them". They looked at each other again. "Thanks, Sir, mighty kind of you, it is".

"That's settled, then. I have to give two weeks notice, so you can't start until then". "OK, Sir". "But I don't want to risk losing you before actually entering my service, because of some stupid mistake". "We won't make no mistakes, Sir". ""The police might". "Yeah". They looked down, shuffling their bare feet. "Tim tells me that you're more or less homeless, like himself, before he was enslaved". They nodded. "Then I have another proposal. Down at the back of my grounds is a small cottage, built to house the janitor, but unoccupied since he was replaced by slaves, years ago. I'll let you stay there, free of rent". They gaped at me. "But, Sir!" I held up my hand. "And that's not particularly generous. In return I expect you to take care of my property. You can start by cleaning it out, paint it and repair what you can manage". "Yes, Sir. Thanks ever so much, Sir". "Which again means that you are now employed by me". I fished a stack of notes out of my pocket and distributed them to the stupefied boys. "The cottage is not uninhabitable, so I suggest that you fetch your belongings and move in right away to start working on it tomorrow". "Yes, Sir". They jumped up. "Just a minute. Tim!" "Yessir". He hurried in to come back a few moments later with three plastic bags, handing them to his friends. They stood clutching them awkwardly. "Open them", Tim urged and they hauled out a pair of overalls and three T-shirts each. I had 'Marsfield gardener' printed on them. "Put them on, guys. You'll look great". A bit shy they got out of their worn shirts and jeans to reveal three splendid teenage bodies. I almost regretted having saved them from slavery, it could have been a pleasure to play with them, but they did look great in the new clothes. "Tha… Thanks, Sir", they stammered in chorus. "Not at all. I want my employees looking neat. Now, if you've finished your drinks, you may go down to have a look at the cottage. Tim can show you around, and until you've made it ready, you can have your meals up here, with my slaves, provided you treat Christine politely. She may be a slavegirl, but not to you". "Course, Sir, and thanks again, it's...". I raised my hand to silence them and they gathered their clothes and filed out. "One hour, Tim". "Yessir". He followed and a few minutes later I saw them crossing the lawn, Tim gesturing eagerly and slapping their shoulders. 'Another group of old friends, who know how to retain a relaxed relationship, even if one of them is a slave', I thought and went back to my study. Some time later I heard Tim moving around the flat, vacuuming and later cleaning the pool. He came in to remind me that it was half past five, time to fetch his fellow slaves.

Christine was waiting at the front door when Tim drove up. She gave the woman beside her a quick kiss, when I opened the car door, and came running to kneel on the floor beside me, face pressed to the seat and hands clasped behind her back. The older woman, her mother, I presumed, stood looking after her, then strode towards my car. I leaned across the kneeling slavegirl to offer my hand. "How do you do, Ma'am". She looked gravely at me. "I know it's awkward, but I couldn't just... Thank you for treating my daughter so kindly". "I don't know if I do, Ma'am. She's a model slave". "I, eh, but you...". She looked away. "I don't know what to say, but if I can do anything in return...". "Thank you, Ma'am, I'll bear that in mind, but I see no reason to be unnecessarily cruel, don't you agree?" She swallowed hard, "Yes, now", and looked at me again. "We've sold our slaves. I...we couldn't...not after Chris...". She shook her head and turned abruptly to go back to the house. I closed the door and raised her daughter's head to make her look up at me. "Enjoyed your outing, did you?" "Yes, Sir", she whispered, eyes brimming with tears, "Thank you, Sir". "Like another?" "Yes, Sir, very much". "Good, you can have one afternoon a week off, provided that your mother fetches you by car. I won't have you exposed to bullies in the streets". "Thank you, Sir, thank you", she stammered, kissing my hand.

Fred's eyes lit up in surprise when I told him about the new staff, but he didn't comment. "Have a look at the cottage tomorrow and buy what's needed, paint, furniture and fittings, simple, but of good quality". "Yes, Sir". "When the boys come up here, they're your equals, even if they are free and you are slaves". He hesitated. "That's ... unusual, Sir". "But what I want". "Yes, Sir". "I've told Christine that she may visit her family one afternoon a week, you're allowed the same". "Thank you, Sir". "And Tim may have an evening off to stay with his old friends down at the cottage". "Yes, Sir. You are...". I cut him short. "I want to read the draft of your thesis". "Yes, Sir". It was good, in fact brilliant, even if it lacked the finishing touches. A stringent presentation of the subject, at an academic level, I with a pang of regret had to admit that I'd never be able to reach. He got it back without comment, but with an order to take time off to finish it, using my laptop in one of the spare bedrooms.

Part 5

The autumn term was about to begin and the student population trickling back to town. The number of participants at the barbecue parties on Friday grew as my tenants took up residence. I'd been down there a couple of times, not to join the meals, I'm no fan of half cooked, charred steak, but to share a bottle of wine or two. As Jane had told me, most of the tenants were students, with a few junior lecturers thrown in. They were generally a pleasant lot, fairly well off, since they, or their parents, could afford the rent, and all of them kept at least one slave.

That Friday there were far more than the usual dozen down there, rather about thirty. Their slaves were milling around, tending to the three barbecues and serving at the tables set up on the lawn. I heard talking and laughing, while enjoying my own dinner and decided to join the fun. When I came down, with Tim in attendance, they'd finished dinner and were sitting in smaller groups around the pool, most of the men nursing beer and the girls white wine. Charlie jumped up to introduce me to those of the party I hadn't met before and then asked me to join Jane and him and two of the newcomers, a handsome couple, Paul and Paula, quite obviously twins. They had naked slaves trussed up to serve as footstools; the young man a girl and his sister a boy. He saw me looking curiously at them and confirmed my guess. "Yes they are, twins I mean. Paula and I thought it fun to have another pair like us, and we know how close you get, don't we, Sis?" "Sure, and they're so grateful to be allowed serving together, aren't you?" She moved a shapely bare foot down in front of the boy, who pressed his lips to it and then looked up with a strained smile. "Yes, Miss Paula". "You share a flat?" "We share everything, have done so since our cradle, though not a bed nowadays, at least not when sleeping". I must have looked shocked, because Paula laughed. "Not quite what you think, John, but we play our slaves together, the girl licks me and the boy sucks Paul before we switch to plunge in and on. Great fun". She smiled sweetly. "We really have no secrets and nothing to hide". "And our slaves just love it, don't you?" The slavegirl had her wrists cuffed to her ankles and her arse towards her master, who was resting his bare feet on the soft flesh. He dug one of them between her thighs to rub against her sex. A shiver ran through the naked body. "Don't you?", he persisted. "Yes, Sir", she moaned and jumped as far as her bondage allowed, when his big toe apparently found her clit. "Yeah, always horny, those two. That's what got them in trouble. Found in a sixty-nine on the beach one night, ten years for indecent and incestuous behaviour in public". The slavegirl was breathing hard and cried out softly. "But so lucky to be bought by a caring and understanding master and mistress". Paul chuckled and turned to wave his soiled foot at the slaveboy, who dutifully licked it clean of his sister's juices. "Who allow them all the incestuous behaviour they may wish for. You ought to see them rolling on the floor, fucking like rabbits, heats one up no end, and they have the most fantastic arseholes, tight as gloves and completely identical".

Jane shook her head and sent me an embarrassed smile. "Please excuse them, John, they're always like that, but fun to be with, once you've grown used to their antics". "Yeah, sorry if we're shocking you, but we don't consider sex indecent or shameful, something to suppress". Paula winked seductively at me. "It's wonderful, I can't get enough of it". "Will you lay off him!" Jane hissed angrily. "You saw him first, you mean?" "I did, but that's not the point. You're wasting your talents, dear". "Oh!" Paula glanced at Tim and smiled sweetly. "Well, OK, sorry. Can't blame a girl for trying". "May I offer you something else. A glass of champagne perhaps?" I returned the smile. "That'd be great, and no hard feelings?" "None, and you?" I turned to her brother and Charlie. "Beer, thanks, and please take no notice of my crazy sister". "Impossible and unfair!" I sent Tim for the drinks and Paul kicked his slavegirl's arse gently. "I've got to make room for another beer". "Yes, Sir". She wriggled around on her knees, gasping with the strain in her cramped limbs, and managed to get her head between his legs, while he quite unperturbed asked me how I liked the town. Her teeth drew down his zipper and she nuzzled with her nose until she at last could get her lips around his flaccid cock and drag it out. "Aah!". Paul sighed while her throat worked frantically. I looked at the others, but neither his sister, nor Jane or Charlie seemed to take any notice of the humiliation of the poor girl. "Is that normal?" I asked. "What?" Jane looked puzzled. "That!" I nodded at the scene. "Well, I guess it is". "In public?" "Not in the middle of the street, but discreetly, like this, sitting at a café table, on a park bench, yes, many people do that. Men of course, another unfair discrimination of women". "Not true, darling", Charlie interrupted, "Some girls do it too, but of course you'd have to wear a skirt". "And no panties, that's what you'd like, isn't it, Romeo?" He grinned. "Not your piss, darling, but I wouldn't mind doing something else under your skirt". She shook her head. "No more drinks for that guy, but he's right, it does happen". "In your bed, for example. She hates getting up, so Toby's there every morning, with a glass of juice and his mouth ready. Some sight, I tell you".

I thought it disgusting, but refrained from comment when Tim came back to serve drinks. The twins released their slaves to let them kneel beside their chairs. Jane and Charlie had a girl and a boy with them, I hadn't seen before. They were in shorts and T-shirts, but I noticed that many of the other slaves were naked like Paul's and Paula's. We talked about the coming term, and the twins, who were studying business administration, sharing even that, were very much looking forward to a series of lectures on investment by a number of younger bankers and stockbrokers. "Those kids can really teach you a thing or two". Paul's eyes gleamed. 'Well, why not?', I thought. My father had never pressed me to take an interest in his business, but it might please him if I one day could tell him something he didn't know. 'Not very likely, but why not try?' I'd already planned to attend another series, with politicians and experts from all over the world, and following two would take up much of my time, delaying my own work. 'But Fred can do the initial research for me, can't he, and enjoy it too'.

Disregarding their obsession with sex, Paul and Paula turned out to be very charming and full of fun, so I grew to enjoy their company. Some of the other tenants came over; mostly to tell how satisfied they were with their flats and the facilities the place had to offer. One of the young men remarked that he'd noticed strangers using tennis-court and swimmingpool, one of them apparently a slave, something he found unusual. I told him that Dan was a friend of mine, who had free access at any time, and that if he wanted his slave as a tennis partner and allowed him to cool off in the pool afterwards, he had my blessings. A girl complained that the slaves, who were renovating the garden cottage, had refused to wash her car. That gave me an opportunity to make it known that the boys were free employees of mine and, although expected to treat my tenants with proper respect, not obliged to take orders from them. "You could try asking how much they charge for a car wash. I'm sure they'll do a good job". She looked startled and mumbled something about borrowing her neighbour's boy.

I was contemplating leaving the party, which was becoming a bit noisy, when loud laughter at the other side of the pool caught my attention. Two naked slavegirls were tied across a couple of small tables, arses high and ankles lashed to table legs. A third, likewise naked girl was tied kneeling upright against a pole. "What's going on?" Charlie sent a disgusted look at the scene. "Preparations for a slaverace, time we leave". "A slaverace, what's that?" "Drunken 'fun', for the masters and mistresses that is. They send the slaveboys for a run a number of times around the building. The losers, usually the last three, are paddled or whipped, the winners, another three, are 'rewarded' with a free fuck of the two girls, arse and cunt, or a blowjob from the third". "Out here, for all to see?" "Disgusting!", Jane spat, "And so humiliating for the slaves, who haven't any choice but to obey". I rose and Tim jumped up to follow, when I happened to look at Charlie's slave, a younger version of himself, and Paul's, who was slender, but seemed wiry, with very long legs, and got an idea. "Why don't we enter our boys for the race?" Jane gave me a sour look. "You can't mean that!" "Yes I can, but let's try changing the 'fun' a bit". I explained and the four others readily agreed when they grasped my idea.

The slaveboys were running naked, of course, and had their hands tied behind their backs. Their owners took up positions along the gravel path, where they could 'encourage' their slaves with a whip as they came by. The race was ten rounds and our three boys nodded and grinned, when told what was expected of them, while we tied their hands. Actually it was great watching the about thirty naked youngsters running all out to avoid the threatened punishment, though the pleasure was somewhat spoiled by the row of drunken men who were shouting and lashing at bare thighs and arses, as they flashed by. Our boys kept to the middle of the field during the first seven rounds and Tim sent me a smile every time he went by. On the eighth they'd advanced towards the front, and when they passed again were running three abreast a couple of yards in front of the others. They won, of course, as I'd expected, and weren't even exhausted when they finished by dropping to their knees in front of us. Some of the other contestants were gasping for breath and rolling on the lawn with stomach cramps. "Hey!", the most rowdy guy of the party shouted, "Your boy won, landlord. He gets to fuck the arse, gonna be a fine show when that black pole splits her and she's screaming her head off". He laughed nastily and pointed out one of the tied girls, a petite, almost skinny teen. "Perhaps", I answered coolly, nudging Tim with my foot, "Eager to claim your price, are you?" He looked up with a knowing grin. "If it please you, Sir" "But will it please you?" "No, Sir". "Why not, she looks like a fine fuck, and you haven't had a girl since I bought you". "Don't want to hurt her, Sir". "Hey!", the drunkard shouted, "What's this? You just do as told, slave!" He stumbled closer, raising his whip, but Charlie caught his wrist in a firm grasp. "Lay off, buddy, don't damage John's property". "But he's spoiling the show!" He wrestled free. "OK, then your boy takes the two of them". "I don't think he'd like that?" His slave shook no. "And neither will mine", Paul added. "Aahrg, what's this? Three slave-loving prigs!" The man was furious and some of his friends tried to calm him down. "Indeed and no proper company for you", I answered, icily, "So you'd better find somewhere else to stay, haven't you?" "What?" "You heard me. The estate manager will deliver notice tomorrow". I indicated a slight bow to the rest of the now silent party and left, followed by the twins, Charlie and Jane and our slaves. "That was a fine thing, you did there, John", Paula told me, "He's always been such a nuisance. Our Fridays will be much better without him as a self-proclaimed leader".

I washed Tim in the shower. He mumbled a protest when I took the soap from him and began lathering up his sweaty hide. To feel up the hot muscles in his strong back, the hard flat stomach and the long, wiry thighs was sheer delight, and the slaveboy moaned softly when my hands caressed his cock and balls and went between his damp arsecheeks. "Nice, huh?" "Yessir, but you shouldn't...". "Why not?" I squeezed his ballsack gently and pressed a finger up his hole. "Who owns this body?" "You do, Sir, aargh! Please, Sir, I...". "Don't you dare!" "No, Sir". He clenched his jaws in an attempt to restrain himself, but his long cock was hard as a board and banging against his stomach. "So if its owner wants to enjoy his property, a slaveboy doesn't tell him to stop, does he?" "No, Sir", he hissed. I found his prostate and massaged it gently. "Siir!" My other hand grabbed his cock. "Very well, you may come, since you can't restrain yourself". I gave the stiff member a few hard strokes and felt it convulsing before four long spurts of sperm hit the shower wall. Tim's legs gave way and he sank to his knees under the still streaming water, breathing heavily. "Gawd! Thanks, Sir, thanks". His mouth was pressed to my feet and a hot tongue licked them reverently. "You deserved it, now I've deprived you of an opportunity to fuck a girl. But then it's not too late, is it. Would you like a go at Christine?" His head jerked up and he stared at me in alarm. "No, Sir!" "No?" I asked mildly. The head sank down again and he swallowed hard. "If it please you, Sir". "But it wouldn't please you?" "No, Sir". "Why not, you wouldn't have to hurt her?" "She's like me sister, Sir". "You get on well together?" "Sure, Sir". Clearly relieved when he understood that I had no intention of forcing him, he rose to begin soaping me up.

When I next morning passed the reception hall on my way to visit the wine merchant with Fred, the abusive tenant accosted me. He'd apparently already been presented with a two weeks notice and was fuming with rage, but at first tried pleading that I was being unfair, that he'd been drunk last night and had no intention of insulting me. There was no apology, though, and I coolly told him that I didn't like the way he behaved and frankly didn't want him as my tenant. That made him blow a fuse and tell me what a prig I was, that I was already well known in town as a slave-lover, that I wasn't welcome and ought to get out fast, and if not, he had friends in the police department, who'd make life very difficult for me. With that he stormed off and I was having second thoughts. He could very well be right, police harassment wasn't unknown and I'd already antagonised two officers. Fred seemed to read my mind and coughed discreetly. "Excuse me, Sir. I don't think the gentleman will have any luck, if he tries to carry out that threat". "Why not, he seemed very certain?" "The chief of police is Chris' uncle, Sir". "And so?" "Chris' family is very grateful that she has such a kind master, Sir". 'Her mother perhaps', I thought, 'But hardly a policeman, who'll have any reason to wash his hands of a niece enslaved for a criminal offence, and all that has to do with her'.

As the tenants had noticed, Dan came over most days for a couple of hard games, mostly with Steve as his partner, but sometimes bringing a friend. He didn't come up to the penthouse uninvited, but I'd told Reception to inform us when he arrived and one of my slaves went down with drinks and snacks, and often an invitation for lunch. It angered me to see the state of Steve's back and arse, always covered in fresh red welts, but the two boys seemed to get on well together, and at least the slave gained some respite when sent to join mine for lunch and a friendly talk in the kitchen. It angered me even more, when I began attending lectures and saw how some of the students treated their slaves. Not all, but the majority brought their own, and the lecture theatres were built to accommodate that, with room for slaves to kneel under the tables, beside the chairs or to stand behind their masters or mistresses. Most of them were treated decently; some even seemed on friendly terms with their young owners. I especially noticed that a few of the girls, who had male slaves, were very affectionate, allowing them to sit on the floor and often stealing down a hand to play with a lock of hair or receive a lingering kiss. 'Well, well, slaves have many uses', I thought. Most relationships were like mine, friendly, but businesslike, both parties knowing their place and acting accordingly, but especially one group of undergraduates was pure sadists.

Of course Harry Allen was one of the worst and appeared to be leader of the ten other young men and a girl. Common among them they kept their slaves practically naked. Most of the others followed the normal dress code, a pair of shorts, a T-shirt for the girls, often for the boys as well; some were allowed jeans or even a skirt. The 'ugly dozen', as I privately named them, kept their boys in tight jockstraps, the girls in a diminutive string bikini bottom, no shirts and always with their ankles hobbled by a short chain, sometimes their wrists chained as well. Of course it wasn't enough that they followed the customary two steps behind their owners, they were led around on a leash to their collars, or even crawling on all fours. It was a pitiful sight to see Julie scurrying after her former boyfriend like a dog, her ample breasts swinging and long, fair hair almost sweeping the floor. But that was only part of the routine cruelty. Weights or chains attached to their nipple rings seemed to be standard and when they had to kneel, it wasn't even reasonably comfortably resting on their heels, but upright, hands clasped behind their necks and toes pressed to the floor. Standing wasn't much better, ramrod straight, feet spread, hands behind neck, elbows back, chest thrust out. Only when they were used as footstools did the slaves gain a bit of respite, but, innovative as he was, Harry had found new ways of humiliating his girl. Not satisfied with the usual position, he made her sit cross-legged on the floor with her back to him and his legs resting on her shoulders, and ordered her to take off his shoes and socks to lick the sweaty feet. Or she was on her back under his chair, conveniently positioned to let him rest his feet on her bare breasts. I don't have to add that the slaves' bodies always bore witness to recent punishments. It seemed an unspoken code of conduct that whippings or canings would only take place in private, but that a public spanking was acceptable. So her former classmates had ample opportunity to study Julie's red arsecheeks when Harry took her over his knees and smacked them resoundingly.

He was very friendly, diffident even, when we met, and proudly introduced me to his circle of friends, especially his current girlfriend, a rather plain, plump girl with bleached hair and too much make-up. The other boys were all nerdy types, who didn't look as if they wasted much time on sport, whereas their slaveboys seemed carefully chosen for their athletic bodies. Obviously their masters got a kick out of humiliating and tormenting boys, who under other circumstances would be looking at them with disdain. Perhaps they had, they could very well be former schoolmates, just like Harry and Julie. The girl had made a similar choice, a long legged black beauty, whose finely chiselled face was only made even more attractive by her shaven scull, something I guessed her bitchy owner hadn't done out of kindness.

It was disgusting to watch and most of their fellow students avoided the gang, but some seemed to be courting them, laughing at their silly jokes, copying their manners, seeking their advice. Probably because the brutes were rich, I guessed. Harry tried the same, courting me, and I had to keep myself in check, just acted very cool and postgraduate-like to keep him at bay. He had the cheek to comment that I was very lenient towards Fred, who accompanied me at some of the lectures. I brushed him off with a remark that I'd gained my own experiences as a slave-owner and was very satisfied with things as they were. Later I was amused to see him send envious glances when Charlie and other senior students came up to chat amiably with a mere slave, while studiously ignoring him and his friends.

The lectures from visiting speakers did interest me, not least those at the business department and my small circle of friends grew, so I soon found myself occupied most of the day. Evenings too, when I entertained guests for dinner a couple of times a week or went out. That didn't leave much time for my studies, but Fred amended that. He was working constantly, from the slaves rose early in the morning to clean and wash before it was time for him to wake me up. We usually talked about my day. I gave my orders and he told if any of the slaves had done something to earn a punishment the previous day. If he was up for one, I usually dealt with it at once, with a paddle or a cane on his arse. Christine came to get orders for lunch and dinner and Fred left to do the necessary shopping, while Tim bathed and dressed me and I ate my breakfast. After that we were off to University, where Fred stayed with me during lectures on politics, taking notes while sitting cross-legged on the floor with a board on his knees, and otherwise worked at the library. If necessary he went back after lunch or else prepared my reading and wrote summaries for me. I suppose he spent most of his evenings on his own thesis after I'd dismissed him.

Not that my other slaves were idle. Now Fred was more or less out of the picture, they had their hands full with keeping everything up to the very high standard, they set themselves. All of my friends envied me and first Jane, then Paula and later a couple of others asked if they could send their slavegirls to learn finer cooking from Christine, something I of course agreed to, partly for my slavegirl's sake. She saw very few people, shut up in the house all day, except the afternoon when her mother would fetch her for a visit. "Fucking girls' school, Sir". Tim grinned, when I asked him how it was with three or four females in the house. "Yabbering away all the time, drives me crazy". "Or horny?" Jane's slavegirl was always just in shorts, Paula's completely naked. "Aw, Sir!" His grin widened. "I could ask for a favour in return". "Sir?" "The loan of one of them as a treat for my good slaveboy". "If it please you, Sir". His face suddenly turned grave. "And they're not your sisters, like Christine". "No, Sir". "But it still wouldn't please you. Why not?" "Cause they're slaves, Sir, ain't got no choice, like rape it'd be". I ruffled his hair. "You're a good boy, Tim". "Try to be, Sir, not hard with you as me master". "And your girlfriend down at the cottage?" My gardeners worked as satisfactorily as did my slaves. The grounds were in perfect order and I heard no complaints from tenants. They'd done a fine job renovating the cottage and proudly showed me around when it was finished. A common room, four small bedrooms, kitchen and bathroom, sparsely, but adequately furnished, a porch and a small secluded garden. I'd hardly noticed them when they came up to have their meals with my slaves, just that they seemed to dress like them, barefoot and in shorts. When asked if they now could fend for themselves, the three boys shuffled their feet and hesitatingly assured me that the kitchen was fine for heating burgers and pizzas, but none of them really knew how to cook. One of them asked if his sister could move in as their housekeeper, at their own expense, of course. I could hardly refuse and earned three relieved smiles, four actually. Tim was positively beaming, not least when I asked if they'd still allow my slave to spend an evening with them every now and then and was told that they liked that very much. Later, when licking my feet before I turned in, he admitted that he did know the girl very well, and when pressed further, that 'they'd made out some' prior to his enslavement.

"You mean I fuck her, Sir, but I can't, that'd be statutory rape. Slaves aren't allowed fucking free women, Sir". "Except when ordered, I assume". "Course, Sir, but...". "If a girl should express a wish to borrow you for shorter periods and asked your owner nicely, I'm inclined to think that he'd grant it". Tim stared. "You mean... Oh, Sir! You're not just the kindest master alive, you're...". I held up my hand. "But she has to ask and assure me that this won't cause any trouble with her brother or the other boys". "Course not, Sir. We've been... I mean...". "Lovers for some time". He nodded mutely and bowed over my feet again, covering them in kisses. "Good. I'll be expecting a visit then, but just now we have some unfinished business". He regained control and looked up with a beaming smile. "Yessir, what do you want to do to me?" "Any suggestions?" He hesitated. "You ain't hit me crack more'n once, Sir, makes the fucking very hot". "So I've been told, but it seems unnecessarily cruel to me". "Does hurt some, Sir, but I can take it". He jumped up to fetch a short cane for me and then knelt on the edge of the bed, spread his legs and reached back to force his arsecheeks apart. I looked at his by now familiar, but always tempting hole. "I don't know. How many can you take?" "As many as you like, Sir, but least twenty. Got to heat me up real good, Sir". "And I won't have to tie you?" "If you like, Sir, but I can take it". "Very well". I flicked the cane and hit the inside of his left buttock. "One, Sir. Thanks, Sir". "Too hard?" "Nah, Sir, mebbe a bit too soft". I swung again and hit the other side. "Two, Sir. Thanks, Sir". The third stroke fell precisely along the sensitive skin of the crack and Tim jumped, but continued his calm counting. My cock stirred and I swung down with gusto. After the tenth stroke, the tortured slave's voice became strained and his fingers pressed desperately into his flesh, but he remained in position, even when I after fifteen lashes dropped the cane, freed my cock and entered him. "God, you were right, Tim. You've never been so hot and tight". "Tha... Thanks, Sir, augh!" He kept his arse open for me, while I ploughed him slowly, savouring the heat of the striped hide.

Part 6

As much as I found his brother disgusting, I enjoyed Dan's company and he mine, I think. The only shadow in our relationship was Christine. He was obviously still very much in love and uncertain how to treat her, now she was a slave. I tried to ease the tension by keeping her out of the way when he came, but sensed that he was disappointed not to see her. I tried to have her serving us at table, but that made him embarrassed. I tried to have her in attendance when we relaxed on the terrace, sitting on the ground between our chairs. That distracted him. I tried to have Tim calling me to the phone, leaving them alone together for twenty minutes while observing discreetly from my bedroom window. They did exchange a few words, or rather Dan said something and she nodded, and he tentatively stroked her hair, only to make her stiffen. Finally I invited him up one afternoon after a game to let him find his naked girlfriend serving as my footstool, locked in the stocks. Her head was towards me, my feet resting on her back. He almost left on the spot, but with an effort limited himself to giving me a baleful glance and sat down, carefully averting his eyes. Steve knelt beside him, staring fixedly at the ground. "Angry with me?" He shook no, but kept his eyes averted. "I'm happy to hear that. Christine dropped a bottle of my very best Chablis at lunch. This is her punishment. Do you find it excessive?" "No, of course not". "Good". I changed the subject and we talked for an hour. Dan tried hard not to look at the tempting globes in front of him and the girl's exposed sex, but couldn't resist letting his eyes stray that way every now and then.

"Do you fuck your slavegirls?" I suddenly shot at him. He blushed. "Eh, I... Yes, I do". "And enjoy it?" "Why're you asking?" His voice had an angry edge. "Because I want to know if you consider it wrong". "I don't". "Even if the girls have no choice in the matter". "They're slaves, convicts". "And I suppose that you treat them kindly, unlike certain others". He didn't answer. "Do you hurt them, tie them up, spank them or whip them, when they're in your bed". "No!" Now he was angry. "I'm sorry, Dan. I have no intention of insulting or angering you by my questions, but they do have a purpose". He stared, then looked at the chained girl and up at me again. "Quite", I confirmed, "I'll offer you the use of my slavegirl". "I don't want her!" "Yes, you do. You love her, you're miserable every time you see her and just as miserable when not". He opened his mouth to protest. "And so is she. I can't have that, it's cruel to you, and what's more, it's cruel to Christine. I don't treat my slaves cruelly". "You don't, but...". "Hear me out. I'm not suggesting that you grab her, throw her on a bed and fuck her brains out. Even if I'm not sure that she wouldn't enjoy it". I felt her back trembling under my feet. "No, what I suggest is that you meet on equal terms, talk about what has happened, renew your friendship, forget your misery. After that, if both of you", I emphasised 'both', "want it, you may end up in a bed". He blushed furiously and shook his head. "And you'll not be fucking a slavegirl, but you beautiful beloved, who'll be just as happy as you". He shook no. "Yes. Can you dine with me tonight?" "I... Yes, thank you". "Good". I rose. "Come back at eight".

When he arrived, as always with Steve in attendance. I told him to leave his slave with mine and led him down to the next floor, where the evicted tenant's flat was still unoccupied. I'd planned using it when my father or mother came for a visit, and had it redecorated. When a bewildered Dan entered the parlour, he found his girlfriend beside a well-laid table, with fresh flowers and lighted candles. His girlfriend, yes, not a barefoot slavegirl in shorts. She wore a long, white, sleeveless summer dress, I'd bought her, and under that the finest lace underwear I'd been able to find, and a pair of high heeled sandals, with thin straps across her toes and around her slim ankles, leaving her practically barefoot. She'd groomed herself, set her hair and used the make up I'd given her. Only the ring around her neck revealed her status. Dan stopped abruptly when he caught sight of her and she almost dropped to her knees, but indicated a small curtsy instead, smiling shyly. "Your hostess for tonight, my friend, enjoy your dinner". I touched his shoulder and left.

I was on the terrace, discussing my, or rather our project with Fred when Dan returned. "Good dinner?" I called with a smile. He looked gravely at me, took a step forward and made to drop to his knees. "Don't!" I stopped him with a raised hand. "And don't thank me for doing a friend a favour". "But I, we...". "Are happy, just like me, so you've no need to be grateful". He shook his head and mumbled something. "And this was only the first of your weekly dinner dates". He stared. "Weekly?" "Or more often?" He shook no and turned away to wipe his eyes. "Good, just tell Fred in advance and it'll be arranged". "John, I...". "Am too upset just now, so good night". I rose to give him a hug and steer him towards the door. He stumbled away and I sat down again. "A glass of champagne in honour of our young lovers, Fred". "Yes, Sir". He disappeared for a moment, then came back, without the glass. I was about to ask why when it appeared beside me, offered by trembling hands. Christine was kneeling beside my chair, naked. "Thank you". I took the glass and sipped, then raised her head to meet her teary eyes. "Happy?" "Yes, Sir", she whispered. "Did your friend like the underwear?" I smiled teasingly. "He didn't see it, Sir". "You just talked and held hands?" "Yes, Sir". "Well, perhaps next time. I did choose it with care". "Next time, Sir?", she whispered. "I want you to host a weekly dinner for my friend, Dan". Her eyes brimmed over and large tears were running down her cheeks when she bowed to kiss my shoes. "You may leave now". "Yes, Sir". She didn't move. "May I serve you tonight, Sir?" "To show your gratitude. No, you may not". "No, Sir. Good night, Sir". She kissed my shoes again and left.

Tim looked up from my feet. "You have me hide, Sir, but I've got to say again that you're just so great, the best master in this world". "Because I let one of my friends borrow my slavegirl?" "Aw, Sir, 'tis not like that. She's so fucking happy, never seen no one so happy, less it's meself, Sir". His girlfriend did show up a few days after he and I had our little talk. A fair and pretty, petite girl, about half Tim's size. She was shy, of course, hesitatingly stating her business, but soon composed herself and impressed me with her calm self-assurance when questioned about her life. She'd had to leave high school because she couldn't afford the fees, but had tried to continue her education on her own, reading voraciously and using the facilities at the local library. Tim served us a bottle of wine and knelt by my chair like a good slave, but had trouble keeping his eyes to the floor. His pride was so obvious that it was almost comical. Of course I promised that she could borrow my slave one or two evenings a week, for whatever service she might need, but added an offer of a job as manager of the reception. Not that I was dissatisfied with the service-company's slaves and they'd continue doing most of the work, but a competent, and pretty, head-receptionist would be an asset, especially a free girl, whom the tenants had to treat politely. Some of them were rather brusque and demanding when dealing with the house slaves. She thought it over and accepted, provided that it was made clear that she'd be in charge and only answering to me. Like with her housemates, it worked well, so well in fact that I put her in overall charge of the day to day running of the estate, including the gardeners.

"You serve the young lady well?" He grinned hugely. "Do me best, Sir". "And you take care?" "Yeah, condoms are so damned expensive, Sir, but there are other ways of pleasing a mistress". "Ask Fred to buy some, for you and for Christine. We can't afford any mishaps, can we now?" "Aw, Sir, you're so kind". "When I'm beating and fucking you?" "We're your slaves, Sir, luckiest slaves in the world. Least I ain't never heard about no better master, but lots of much worse, like Steve's, not Master Dan, but...". "You like him?" "Steve? Great guy, Sir, but he's going down, won't be much left of him when he's released. Bloody shame it is". "Perhaps. He does seem a good sort, but can't be, really. Selling drugs is a very serious crime, in my opinion almost as bad as murder". "Sure, Sir, but he didn't sell no drugs". "He was found in possession of a fair amount of it". "Maybe, Sir, but he was no dealer". "What do you know about that?" He looked down. "Just something we know, Sir". "You and your friends. So you are criminals after all?" "No, Sir, but guys like us, we hear things". "I see, and you know this for a fact?" "We do, Sir. The drug business in this town's run by a black gang and Steve's white. They'd never allow a guy like him on their turf". I looked searchingly at him, but found only honest conviction. "But it couldn't be for his own use. Not a footballer like him". "Someone framed him, Sir". "Perhaps, yes, you could very well be right. Those drug dealers, to get rid of a competitor". "No, Sir. They'd kill him as a warning to others". He went to work on my feet again while I digested this new development. Of course there could be no doubt about who'd framed Steve, if Tim was right, and probably Julie as well. The more I thought about it, the more I believed that was what had happened, but what could I do about it? There was no evidence; just a suspicion based on the word of a slave and the fact that Harry hated the two of them. It proved absolutely nothing, but the thought kept nagging me.

"Augh!" Tim's right foot jerked. As so often before he was on my bed, wrists tied to the bedposts and legs forced up behind his ears, with his big toes lashed to the rail. I was working the hardened soles of his feet over with a cane prior to fucking him, but my thoughts had drifted back to the question of what to do about Steve and Julie. "Too hard was it? Sorry!" "Nah, Sir, I can take it". I dropped the cane and knelt to ease my cock into him. "I know, but this was not a punishment, just warming up". "Yessir, aah!" I took my time enjoying his hot hole, sliding slowly back and forth, but once again drifted away. "Argh, this doesn't work!" I withdrew, sitting back on my heels and began untying the boy. "Sorry, Sir. Don't know what I did wrong". "Nothing, Tim. I'm just not in the mood". "Maybe if you whipped me some more, Sir? Or I can get Fred". "No, fetch me a glass of wine. You can suck me". "Yessir". He hobbled out on his undoubtedly aching feet.

The problem kept nagging me. I had to do something about it, if only for my own sake. The first logical step was to get in closer contact with Harry to see if I could detect something to sustain my suspicions. I'd kept my distance, declined several invitations for lunch or dinner from the Allens, but politely, and the loathsome boy was always eagerly seeking my company, so a couple of days later I joined him and some of his cronies during a break between lectures. Like other groups of students they'd found a spot in the shade. All of them were drinking beer and some were having a smoke. The young masters and the mistress, of course. Their slaveboys were exercising. Just when I strolled over they were doing push-ups. "Fifty-two. Come on, you can do better than that, you lazy good for nothings!" Harry's girlfriend strode up and down the row of near-naked boys, slashing at their exposed buttocks with a riding crop. "Hello, John, can I offer you a beer?" Harry jumped up with a broad grin on his dark face and I saw that he'd been sitting on Julie's bare back. The girl was on all fours, visibly trembling with strain. "No, thanks. Tim!" "Yessir". My slave spread a blanket and worked the cork from the chilled bottle of white wine he had ready in a basket, filled a glass and offered it to me. "Sixty-eight". The crop danced on another bum. "Would you like a glass of wine?" I called to stop the cruelty. Her plain face lit up. "Why, yes, thanks". She came over to offer her hand and I indicated that she could sit down beside me. She waved impatiently at her slavegirl, who was on her hands and knees beside Julie, obviously used as another stool. The near naked girl crawled to the blanket and turned on her back beside me, raising her knees. Her mistress flopped down on the slavegirl's stomach, resting her back on her thighs, and accepted the glass Tim was offering. He kept his eyes to the ground, but his rigid stance revealed his anger. 'You're right, my boy, she's a bitch', I thought. Harry hesitated for a moment, apparently contemplating using his girl in the same way, but thought better of it. "My beer!" He snapped his fingers and Julie scurried over with a can. The other boys, who were sprawled on the grass, raised theirs in salute, but kept silent, used to letting Harry take the lead. "You can stop that, slaves, and take a tour around the compound", he called. The sweaty boys jumped up to shuffle away as fast as the short chains hobbling their ankles allowed. "Good for them", Harry sneered, "Resting all day at lectures".

We chatted for a while and the bitch asked about my country, where to go and what to do if one wanted to party. Her slavegirl must have found breathing difficult with the plump weight on her stomach and it got worse when her mistress kicked off her sneakers and waved her sweat soaked socks in her face. The bald girl raised her head to haul them off with her teeth and begin washing the bared feet with her tongue. I shuddered inwardly, but kept calm and answered her stupid questions as amiably as I could. Julie was on her knees beside her master, head hanging, obviously in very bad shape. The slaveboys came back, only to be sent for another round. "Thanks, John". The bitch beamed at me. "I'm off in a week for a six months stay and I sure don't want to miss any fun". She rested her cleaned foot on the licking girl's breast while the other was washed. "My dad's such a miser, won't give me the pocket money I need, so I have to sell this ugly slut. Can't bring her with me anyway, they don't keep slaves over there, do they?" I could only confirm that. "Silly! They're so convenient, but at least I can raise some cash on her. She was birthday present from my grandmother. I've had her for a year, so she's well trained by now. Should fetch me about twenty grand at auction, but I've been trying to sell her privately to save the commission. No luck, though, ugly as she is". She caught one the girl's nipple rings on her pinkie toe and hauled. The slavegirl winced with pain, but continued sucking the toes of her mistress' other foot. "Wouldn't she be something for you, John?" Harry interrupted. "She's a great cocksucker, takes it all the way down without gagging and it's great fun whipping those boobies. She can stand a lot of pain, never screams until after she's got at least thirty, and with a crop". I was about to decline the offer when I to my utter surprise heard Tim whispering, "Please, Sir, please, please!", in my ear and changed my mind. 'He really must have a very serious reason to dare making demands of his master', I thought. "Well, perhaps I could use another slavegirl". "Yess!" The bitch jumped up and kicked her. "Get up to let Master John have closer look, you lazy slut". The black girl rose and untied the strings to remove her only garment, a small triangle of white cloth, which barely covered her sex, clasped her hands behind her neck and spread her incredibly long legs as far as her ankle chain allowed. Four rings pierced her pussy lips, each pair locked with a brass padlock. "Not bad is she, for a slum girl?" Her mistress slapped her ample, but firm breasts and reached down to jingle the locks between her legs. "She's nineteen, got ten years for shoplifting, nine years left as a slave now. Always wet and horny, so I have to lock her up or she'll jump on every slaveboy she meets. How about nineteen grand?" She slapped the girl to make her turn and bend over. "Fine arse and a real tight hole". I was just about to explode when I heard another whispered, "Please, Sir, please!", and again wondered why Tim was suddenly so daring. "Well, I don't know... Eighteen?" "Deal!" The bitch was practically jumping with joy. "But I want to test her before closing it". "Of course, I'll send her over first thing tomorrow". "Better take her with me now. We've only got a week before you leave". "Well... OK, fine". "If she suits me, I'll keep her". "Great!" Harry looked at his watch. "Time to leave for the next lecture. My dad would very much like to see you for lunch, John. Are you free any time this week, or the next?" I wondered about his pleading, but told that I'd be delighted to come over one day next week.

The 'dirty dozen' left with their slaves, the bitch without a word to the girl who'd been serving her for the last year. She stood forlornly, staring at her chained feet, with a leash dangling from her collar. "What's your name, girl, and please cover yourself again?" "Nathalie, Sir". Tim was fervently kissing my shoes. "Oh, Sir! Thanks, Sir, thanks a million!" "What for, Tim? She can't be your girlfriend, or do you keep a harem?" He raised his head, looking at me with tears in his eyes. "She's me sister, Sir, got caught stealing food for us, 'cause that bitch of a mother we've got and her pimp never gave us nothing". "I see. That's why you dared making demands of your master, was it? You owe me one now, boy". "Owe you me fucking life, Sir". He kissed my shoes again. "Thank you, Sir". Nathalie dropped to her knees beside her brother. "I'll do all I can to serve you well, Sir". She had a pleasantly deep voice and her large brown eyes were looking softly at me. "Of course, that's what all of my slaves do". I rose and Tim looked up at me. "Can I give her a hug, Sir?" I nodded and he embraced her, dragging her up and whispering: "He's just about the greatest master in the world, Sis, ever so kind, and he doesn't beat his slavegirls". "When you've quite finished fondling my prospective slave, you may relieve her of that leash and give her your shirt". "Yessir". He beamed, whispering: "See, Sis?" "Do we have a key for her shackles?" "Guess so, Sir, back home". "Good, let's go". The slaves hastily gathered my belongings and followed me to the car. When Tim had stowed the blanket and basket away in the boot, his sister made ready to crawl in. "Hey, we don't do that here. You kneel on the floor, Sis", he whispered. She looked questioningly at me and I nodded her towards the front passenger seat.

Back at my house she hesitated before following Tim into the private lift to kneel beside him and I heard a whispered: "We're allowed using the lift here". Upstairs I told Fred to find some decent clothes for her and have her unshackled and cleaned up before presenting her to me. "Yes, Sir". I was digesting my lunch when he led her out, now dressed in a fresh white T-shirt and white shorts. She was about to kneel, but I stopped her with a wave of my hand, and she stood rigidly at attention, wrists crossed on her back, bare feet spread and eyes to the ground. 'Beautiful', I thought, and motioned her to turn around. Her fit, slim body and narrow little arse looked almost boyish. 'Tempting, very tempting'. "Are you a horny slut, as your mistress described you?" She turned, but kept her eyes to the ground. "If it may please you, Sir". "So I'll have to keep you locked up or you'll seduce Fred, or Tim?" "No, Sir". "Perhaps not Tim". She raised her eyes to look directly at me and I caught a glimpse of steel. "I serve as ordered and do all I can to satisfy my mistress or master, but I'm a slave, Sir, not a whore". 'Submissive, but not broken. Excellent!', I thought, but answered, frowning: "Rather cheeky for a slavegirl, aren't you? I do punish my slaves when they deserve it". "Yes, Sir". She lowered her eyes, but seemed quite unperturbed. "As I think I heard Tim tell you, I don't like whipping my slavegirls, but you'll be hurt in other ways if you do something to warrant a punishment". "Yes, Sir". "Good. Now back to your locks. Show me". "Yes, Sir". She drew down her shorts and took a step forward to present her shaven crotch. The labia lips were distorted by the rings and padlocks, which felt quite heavy when I weighed them in my hand. "Don't they hurt?" "Not any longer, Sir, unless they're pulled hard". "And that happens?" "Yes, Sir. When at home, the mistress locks my leash to the rings and drags me around by it. At night I sleep on the floor, chained by them to her bedpost and when I'm whipped, she uses a short chain to attach me to a ring in the wall, so I have to try keeping very still, Sir". I shook my head. 'What a damned bitch!' I noticed that her clit seemed very large and gently dragged it out to find it pierced by a barbell. "And she hangs weights from that, I suppose?" "Sometimes, Sir, and a chain with a bell when she goes to a party. The young mistresses and masters find it very amusing when I dance for them and the bell is ringing. Or bells, I have some in my nipple rings as well, Sir". "Bitch!" I mumbled. "And she lets her boyfriend use you?" "Yes, Sir, and other masters, sometimes slaves too. The young masters find it very stimulating to fuck me if a male slave has his cock up my arse when they use my other hole. He'll be chained spreadeagle on the floor; I squat over him, facing his feet, sit down on his cock and am chained on top of him. Then the masters take me". "They do that in public?" I looked incredulously at her. "At private parties, Sir. Some of the mistresses have very strict parents and dare not bed their boyfriends, so they position us slaves like that. Then a young master enters me and his girlfriend straddles my head to be licked. In that way they can embrace and caress each other, having sex together without any risk of angering her parents". She looked calmly at me. "Very often they whip us between the legs before using me, to get in the right mood, Sir. Master Harold's slavegirl is sometimes tied up beside me in the same way and the young masters take turns enjoying us".

"Good lord!" I was truly shocked at the depravity. "I can hardly believe what you're telling me, but at least you may be spared that from now on". "You'll buy me, Sir?" Her eyes lit up and a ghost of a smile was playing on her lips. "I may and as you've probably understood, I treat my slaves a bit more kindly than some owners". "Yes, Sir". "But you are my slaves and I expect you to work hard and behave as slaves should". "Yes, Sir". "I prefer fucking my slaveboys, so I'll probably not use you for sex, except an occasional blowjob". "No, Sir". "Will that be a problem for you?" She looked questioningly at me. "Being denied the joys of sex you're used to?" "No, Sir, and I didn't enjoy it". "Not at all? At least you must have got some relief, we all need that". Her eyes flashed angrily. "No, Sir. I didn't enjoy being hurt and humiliated, Sir. Not at all, and it didn't give me any sexual relief to be humped by a bunch of perverts or lick a smelly cunt". "Not just cheeky, are you, but downright insubordinate?" The eyes didn't waver. "Yes, Sir". "Not even 'Sorry, Sir'?" "No, Sir. You asked and I told you how I feel. I hate my mistress and her perverted friends. I've committed a crime, been caught and sentenced, so I'm a slave for the next nine years, have to work hard, suffer punishment and abuse. I have to serve my owner obediently and humbly, and I do. But, Sir, I'm a human being, not an animal. I have feelings and opinions. If treated fairly, I respect my owner, if not, I despise her". I had to fight an urge to smile to her. "Quite a handful, aren't you? I'm beginning to doubt that you'll fit into my peaceful household". She looked gravely at me. "You're a fair master, Sir". "And will gain a good slave, if I buy you?" "Yes, Sir". "Very well, we'll see, but perhaps you need an extra reminder. I'll punish you as I punish my other slavegirl, but if you really piss me off, I'll take out my anger on your brother, understood?" "Yes, Sir". "Fair enough?" "I'd prefer if you whipped me, Sir. I'm used to that". "But I don't beat girls". "No, Sir".

"Good. Fred is head slave and responsible for running my household, so you'll take your orders from him". "Yes, Sir". "Now find Tim and make him show you around". "Yes, Sir". She fell to her knees and kissed my shoes before picking up her shorts and going back inside. My head slave knelt beside my chair. "I've already decided to buy her". "Yes, Sir". "That ought to make Tim happy". "Much more than happy, Sir. Nat too". "But it may cause problems to have siblings serving together. She or he may resent what I do to the other". "I think not, Sir". "I hope you're right, but I want to make sure. The two of them can serve my dinner and see me to bed tonight". "Yes, Sir". "You move to the spare bedroom you're already using as a study. She can have your bed". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir". "Now we have four slaves you can just give them your orders and use more of your time on our studies". "Yes, Sir". "And not just my study. I want you to finish that thesis of yours as soon as possible". "Yes, Sir. You don't want me serving you?" "In the morning as usual, but apart from that, only if I order it". "Yes, Sir".

He left and was replaced by Tim, who mutely kissed my shoes before taking up his position behind my chair. My new slavegirl served tea in the afternoon and knelt beside me while her brother left for other duties. They took turns serving my dinner and I enjoyed watching the lithe black girl sliding silently around, taking short steps as if she were still shackled. When I finally rose after having enjoyed the cool of the evening and closed my book with a yawn, she jumped up from her knees and followed me to the bedroom, poking her head through the door to the hall on the way. Seconds later Tim came running and dropped to his knees to relieve me of shoe and sock. His sister knelt beside him to take care of my other foot and I was soon sighing with pleasure when two hot tongues began washing and sucking on my feet. "Good, is she, Sir?" Tim looked up briefly. "And taught well". "I know what you like, Sir". They finished and undressed me. "Shower, Sir?" "Yes". Tim dropped his shorts and hurried to the bathroom. I followed to dug under the pleasantly hot spray and he began lathering up my back. A moment later his naked sister was washing my front. Her soft hands slid over my chest and down my belly before she knelt to soap up my legs and feet. I wondered what came next, but she didn't hesitate a second before continuing with my genitals. My cock jerked and stiffened when she cupped her soapy hands around it and she looked up. "You want me to suck you off, Sir?" "No, just finish washing me". "Yes, Sir".

They wrapped me in soft towels and hurriedly dried themselves while I brushed my teeth. Back in the bedroom I told them to display themselves and keenly watched Tim's eyes, while I fondled his sister's breasts and told her to turn and bend over, spreading her arsecheeks. "Hmm, nice little hole, don't you think?" Not even a hint of resentment crossed his face when he with a grin looked down at the puckered entrance. "If it please you, Sir". "It may. Kneel on the bed, show your holes". There was no hesitation when they got into position and I looked from one arsecrack to the next. "Hmm, you seem very much alike, but let's see how tight you are". I wormed a finger up Nathalie's tunnel and felt around, added another and tried to widen it. Her hands were shaking, but she didn't utter a sound and kept her cheeks spread. "Nice, very nice". I withdrew my fingers to ram them up her brother's familiar chute. "She's tighter than you. Perhaps we should make it easier for her. Lick her arse, Tim". "Yes, Sir". I withdrew my soiled fingers and sat down beside the kneeling girl, waving them at her face. Without a flinch she opened her mouth to clean me, while her brother scrambled on his knees behind her to begin licking the crack she held open for him. If I hadn't already been convinced of Tim's unfailing loyalty and devotion, I was now, but perversely I decided to put them through the last test. "She's ready, Sir". The grin seemed a bit strained, but it was still there. "Not quite. She's a bit too tight for my taste. You've better lubricate her". "Yessir". He rose to fetch the jelly. "No, I want her heated too. Fuck her until you spurt, but hurry, I can't wait all night". His jaw dropped and the girl went rigid, but his hand shot down to grab the flaccid cock and begin stroking it hard. He kept staring at me, trying to plead with his eyes, but when I just looked impatiently back, he sighed deeply, lining up the large member to plunge in. Just when the head touched the entrance, I held up my hand. "You can stop that, I've changed my mind. Better the hole I know than one that may hurt me". I'd never seen a wider grin on Tim's face than when he with a sigh of relief took a step back. "Yessir, and I get the whip so you can heat it up real good". His sister went limp and slumped forward, burying her face in her trembling hands. "No, just a good long fuck, Tim. You may leave now, girl". I gave her arse a light slap and she rose, but stumbled and dropped to her knees. "And I'll buy you". "Thank you, Sir, thank you!" She was covering my feet in kisses, not because of my latest announcement, I don't think. "No need. As you may have guessed, this was a test of your obedience, which you passed. Can you remove her pussy rings and the padlocks, Tim, or do we have to call a doctor?" "I can do it, Sir. Just cut them open". "Do that tomorrow, then". "Yessir". "Thank you, Sir". She kissed my feet again, rose gracefully, gathered her clothes and left while I turned to her naked brother. "On your back, I think".

Nathalie was a delightful addition to my household, a perfect slavegirl. I'd never had any reason to complain about the way my flat looked, but after a few days sensed that a new hand had taken over. The hand of a girl who knew how to add that little extra which made everything just right. Delicate flower arrangements, a chair moved here and a table there, small things, but noticeable. Christine had always concentrated on her cooking and was much too shy to make changes without being told. I wondered how Nathalie, a girl from a poor and abusive family, had gained such skills. 'Must have been born with them', I thought and she didn't hesitate making use them. Not that she was offending in any way, far from it. She was submissive, completely absorbed by her present task, to make me comfortable, but not subdued like Christine. In spite of the harsh treatment she'd suffered during her first year as a slavegirl, she wasn't broken. Like her brother, and Fred, she kept her own counsel, but where Tim was cheerful, almost cocky, and Fred calm, undisturbed, she was dignified, kept her head high, in spirit and body. To watch her sliding gracefully around, kneel down in one fluent motion to serve me, even washing the floors or dusting the shelves, was like looking at a piece of art. And she knew it, loved showing off her beautiful body, feeling my admiring eyes upon it. Not that she tried to seduce me, offer herself, gain my favour, but she knew what she had and was proud of it.

She could turn even a punishment into a victory. A few days after I'd bought her Fred reported that both of my girls had to be chastised. "But I can't use more than one footstool!" I eyed the two naked beauties standing behind him, hands clasped on their backs and heads bowed. Fred looked flustered. "No, Sir". "So what do I do about the other offender?". "I, eh…". "Can I suggest something, Sir?" The black girl didn't raise her head. "Unless it's a caning". "Thank you, Sir. If you want to use Chris, you could hang me from the patio beam, on my toes, Sir". I eyed her speculatively. "Well, I suppose I could. String her up, Tim, and stretch her hard". "Yessir". Christine was soon bent double in front of me, locked into the stocks, with my feet resting on her bare buttocks. Tim returned with four lengths of rope. Nathalie got into position, spread her arms to have her wrists lashed to a horizontal beam and her legs to let Tim tie her ankles to the supporting poles, stretching her magnificent body painfully. And there was no doubt about that. She was in pain, very much so. Half hanging from her wrists, only allowed supporting her body by the tips of her long toes, she was soon suffering severe cramps. Small rivulets of sweat were running down her torso, but nevertheless she didn't utter a sound, not even a faint moaning, and kept her head high. I pretended to be reading, but of course couldn't keep my eyes from straying to her, admiring the display of teenage flesh and, yes, I admit it, enjoying the agony I was causing her. Or was I? She was suffering, but that only enhanced her beauty, and she knew it. Her eyes held a mixture of pain and triumph, and perhaps something else. Was she actually revelling in her pain? I doubted it until I saw drops of moisture gathered on her labia lips. 'A natural submissive?' I mused. 'No, not submissive, but a strong girl, with a deep urge to be hurt, to find sexual relief in suffering'. An hour went by, and another. The body under my feet began to tremble and Christine's breath came in short gasps. Her time was up and I rose, gesturing Tim to release her, and went over to my new slavegirl, running my hands down her body, twisting her nipple rings, pinching her engorged clit, finally forcing a moan from her. "You like this, don't you?" I kept my voice low, so only she could hear me. "Yes, Sir". Her eyes caught mine and held them. "A painslut?" "No slut, Sir, but being helpless does excite me". "It turns you on?" She nodded. "And is that enough for you. Or should I make Fred fuck you, hanging like this?" She hesitated. "If it may please you, Sir". "But will it please you?" "No, Sir. In a consensual lovers' game, it would, but…". "Not forced by a master, to entertain him?" "I'd be happy to please my master in any way he wants, Sir". I put my fingers to her lips and she kissed them softly. "I hope you'll find an understanding lover, once you're free".

Part 7

I hadn't come any closer to discovering the truth about Julie's and Steve's enslavement and had not much hope that a visit to the Allens would bring me any further, yet something had to be done before Harry broke them completely. The obvious would be to buy them, but he'd never agree to sell Julie, of that I was certain, so I had to try persuading Mr. Allen, who had no special reason to please me. The prospects seemed gloomy when two things happened.

Firstly, my father phoned to tell that he'd pay me a visit in two weeks time to stay for a few days. 'Checking on you' as he chuckled. I told him that I was looking forward to his check and to have him staying with me. He didn't want to intrude on my privacy and suggested a hotel, but I assured him that he would find much better accommodation at my house.

Secondly, I invited two young stockbrokers, who were chairing a seminar at University, for dinner. They were about my age and knew my father well, not personally, but his reputation as a major player on world markets. Christine produced one of her splendid meals and we spent a pleasant evening together. Over coffee our talk turned to other well-known businessmen and I accidentally mentioned Mr. Allen. "Yeah". One of my guests looked speculatively at me. "Are you a close friend of the family or just a business acquaintance?" "Neither, I've just paid him a courtesy visit, now I'm staying here in town". "I see". They exchanged glances. "So you don't do business with him?" "No, my father does, I think. Why?" "Because Mr. Allen is in trouble, big trouble. He's made some very bad investments and lost quite a substantial sum of money, more that he can afford, so rumour says, but your dad must know all about that, more than we do". 'So that's why Harry was so eager to invite me for lunch', I thought, 'His father probably wants to see if I can help him, or rather if my father can, and is willing. Interesting'.

Dinner was as usual accompanied by good wines and I persuaded my guests to taste some of the French fruit brandies I prefer with my coffee. They weren't drunk but happy and relaxed, and I noticed that one of them kept sending sidelong glances at Nathalie. During a break in conversation he cleared his throat. "Eh, that's an interesting specimen you've got there, John". I pretended to be confused and looked at the array of bottles "Which one?" "That slavegirl". "Ah! Well, I suppose so". Now he was openly scrutinising her slim body. "Is she as good in bed as she's pretty?" "I don't really know. I bought her only recently, but she's an excellent slave". "Don't doubt it, but I'd had her in my bed first thing, had she been mine". I shrugged. "I have other slaves". He got the message. "Sure, and very fine boys they are". We turned to other subjects and it was fairly late when my guests rose to take their leave. "Tim can drive you back to the hotel". "Thanks, John, and for a very pleasant evening". The young stockbroker once again eyed Nathalie. "Now a nice girl to round it up, if they have any left on offer". He grinned to me. "Or can I stretch your hospitality a bit further?" "To letting you borrow mine? Perhaps, it depends on your needs. I never beat my girls, so if you like warming up with a spanking or a caning, you can't use Nathalie". His handsome face lit up in a smile. "I don't, but I do like a girl tied firmly, not to hurt her, but to keep her in place". I hesitated and saw the black beauty glance briefly from my guest to me, then lower her eyes with a little smile. "Very well then, but she has to be back for her morning duties, so Tim can wait with the car until you've finished with her". "Thanks again, John, I really appreciate that. Do call me if you want some good tips". "Or me". My other guest nodded towards the slaveboy. "If he has to wait anyway, perhaps I could borrow him for an hour or two?"

"Did he treat you fairly, Nathalie?" She was refilling my teacup at breakfast the next morning. "Yes, Sir". "What did he do, besides fucking you?" "I wasn't fucked, Sir". "What then?" "Your guest tied me spreadeagle on his bed, Sir, face down, and licked my body". "All over?" I raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Sir. He began with my feet and licked all the way up to my neck, then down my back again to stick his tongue into my crack and lick my arsehole". "Some people do have strange needs, don't they. It must have been weird". "It felt good, Sir, and the master kindly allowed me to come". "When he licked your arse?" "Yes, Sir. Never happened to me before, but it was good". "Happy to hear that". "Then the master untied me and made me turn on my back to be tied up again, Sir, and started all over again". "Licking your body?" "Yes, Sir. Sucked on my toes and licked up to my tits. I, eh, I came again, when he…". "You came on your nipples?" "Yes, Sir, and then when he sucked my clit, and stuck his tongue up my cunt". I looked astonished at her. "Four times! You came four times?" "Yes, Sir". She smiled. "Dear me, what a beast! Not you, but that guy. I told him not to hurt you". "He didn't, Sir. It was just wonderful!" "Yeah, she screamed so we could hear it in the next room, Sir". Tim took away my plate, grinning hugely. "Thought he was killing her". His sister stuck her tongue out at him. "So you didn't mind being used, this time?" "No, Sir". "Even if you had no other choice". "No, Sir". She smiled again. "And he didn't demand anything else?" "No, Sir. The master and I took a bath together and he washed me". "Hmm, strange not to seek relief of his own". "The master said that a beautiful body is like a piece of art, Sir. Something to enjoy, not violate". "True, and the other master, Tim?" "Very kind, Sir. I sucked him and he flogged me back when I was between his knees and then fucked me. Beat me off while he was doing it, he did. Said I was good, Sir". "And you should've heard them bellowing, Sir". "Aw, Sis!"

Harry greeted me in the hall when I arrived for lunch, telling that his father would be delayed for a few minutes. A meeting with his bankers took longer than expected. We went out to the terrace, where two half-naked slavegirls as usual knelt in attendance by our chairs while a boy served us wine. I couldn't remember seeing any of the slaves before and asked where Julie was. "That slut!" Harry sneered. "She's being punished, she and her fuck-boy. Want to see?" I didn't, but did want to know how they fared, so I followed him to a space behind the garage where a number of wooden posts and beams proved that the family's slaves could be punished there as well as in the cellar. Steve's naked body was suspended by his big toes from one of the beams, his back a horrible mess of red welts. A similarly marked Julie was on her knees in front of him, face buried in his crotch. A closer look revealed that she had his cock in her mouth. A thin string tied around her neck and the boy's arse kept her in place and her hands were cuffed behind his back. Steve's face was forced into her groin by the same means. Just as we rounded the corner, another slaveboy was directing a stream of piss up and down the two tormented bodies. I almost hit Harry's leering face, but with an effort restrained myself and just stared. "Caught them kissing and cuddling this morning. Still up to their old games, our two turtledoves, so what can a kind master do, other than allow them enjoying each other? Warmed them up a bit, with the bullwhip, and now they can suck and lick all they like for the rest of the day. The other slaves cool them down when they have to piss". I turned away in disgust and headed back to the terrace, where Mr. Allen fortunately was waiting. Dan joined us, looking as if hovering between exploding with rage and bursting into tears.

During lunch Mr. Allen kept up a forced conversation, asking about my studies, if I enjoyed my stay, if I missed my family. I was still fuming with rage, but controlled myself and answered amiably, casually letting slip that I expected a visit from my dear parent the following week. That made my host's eyes gleam and he urged me to persuade him to accept an invitation for lunch or dinner. "Anytime it may be convenient". I promised to do so and confessed that I was a bit worried about the visit. Would my father be comfortable enough? He was used to the best of service and I had only my four slaves. Mr. Allen immediately offered the loan of some of his. "They're very well trained, the best in town". I pretended to think it over and thanked him, but didn't think my father would appreciate that. "He has always warned me against taking advantage of my friends". Mr. Allen assured me that it would only be a pleasure. "Thank you, but perhaps you could sell me one or two of them". "Of course, my dear boy, of course. Harold will select the very best and you can have them for what I paid for them, even if it did cost me a pretty penny to train them". "Well, thanks again, but I'd very much like some I already know. Steve and Julie will suit me fine, I think". "They're not for sale, ever!" Harry hissed vehemently and his father looked uncomfortable. "Well, they're what I want, but if you won't sell them, you won't". I shrugged my shoulders, looking directly at the old man. "I just hope that my father won't be too dissatisfied". "No, no, of course you may buy them". "Dad! You can't!" "Shut up, Harold. I'm acting in your best interest". Mr. Allen sent him a furious look and I glanced at his brother, who suddenly had a relieved smile on his face. "Julie was a birthday present, you can't sell her. She's mine!" "No she's not. I never transferred ownership to you". "It's not fair!" "Why not?" I interrupted. "Your brother will lose his slave as well". "And you can have any of the others, Harold". "Dad!" "Please leave the table, right now, if you can't control yourself!" Harry sank back, muttering to himself and staring angrily at me. Mr. Allen sighed. "Very well, John. I'll send them over tomorrow". "I'd prefer taking them with me right away. There's very little time left to introduce them to their new duties". "As you wish. Make them ready for delivery, Harry". Dan jumped up. "I'll do it, Dad". He ran off and his brother stormed into the house.

I suggested that we finished the paperwork right away and Mr. Allen was writing me a receipt for the check of $30.000, I'd given him, when Dan returned with my purchases. They'd been cleaned and their hair was still damp when they knelt in front of Mr. Allen, naked and with shackled ankles. He glanced briefly at them. "You've been sold. Mr. Marshall is your new master". The girl may have heard what he said, but the words didn't register. She slumped on the ground, forehead resting on the tiles, a picture of utter exhaustion. But Steve's head flew up and he stared at me, uncomprehendingly at first, then with an expression of gratitude I'll never forget. "Help Julie to my car". "Yes, Sir". He scuttled forward on his knees to kiss my shoes, then rose to drag the bewildered girl with him, whispering: "Let's get out of here". They disappeared round a corner while I stayed on for another half hour, discussing stock market techniques with Mr. Allen before thanking him for his kindness with a promise to persuade my father to come for lunch sometime during his stay. Dan saw me out and was fervently thanking me for rescuing of his former schoolmates, when Harry accosted us in the hall. "I'll get you for this, both of you. You plotted it together. Slave lovers!" He almost spat. "But just you wait! I know how to deal with people who try cheating me". I stopped and looked coolly at him. "So, how exactly?" He opened his mouth and I hoped that he'd let slip something to confirm my suspicions, but regrettably managed to control himself and just sent us another acid look before turning on his heel and leave, slamming the door behind him.

To make sure that Harry didn't somehow manage to make his father cancel the deal, I told Tim to drive by the Town Court to make the sale of the two slaves official and was signing the register when somebody called my name. I turned to find a youngish looking man offering his hand. "Hello, Mr. Marshall, happy to meet you at last". I guessed that he in spite of his youth must be Christine's uncle. "How do you do, Chief, my pleasure". His handshake was firm and his smile open and friendly. "Can you spare me a moment, Mr. Marshall?" "John, please. Yes, of course". He ushered me to a spacious office on the next floor and asked me to take a seat. "Mr. Marshall, my family…". I interrupted him. "John, please, and there's no need to thank me. I've already told your sister that Christine serves me admirably. I actually consider myself lucky to own her, but she is my slave and treated as such". "Please hear me out, Mr. Marshall. Chris has always been my favourite niece and I was devastated when she was caught stealing and subsequently enslaved. To see the little girl I've loved, played with, watched growing into a fine young woman, suddenly turned into a naked slave in chains, worked to exhaustion, whipped, used as a sex-toy by some dirty old man or a sadistic teenager was unbearable, even to think of. I've been chief of police in this town for about three years now, the youngest ever. I've done a good job and I'm proud of it, but was ready to quit and leave town to avoid meeting Chris as she would be now, a miserable, barefoot slavegirl, in the street, a shop, at a party, perhaps even see her punished or abused". He looked gravely at me. "I've been spared that, Mr. Marshall, because Chris was bought by a kind and decent master". I was about to protest again when the door was opened and a barefoot girl in a crisp blue tunic entered with a tray. She knelt to offer us two cups of coffee and my host sent her a smile. "Thank you, dear". She smiled back, rose gracefully and left. "So thank you, Mr. Marshall. I owe you more than I can ever repay". He saluted me with his cup. "You owe me nothing, Chief. Firstly, I didn't buy Christine. She was already part of the furniture when I took over my house. Secondly, she's a model slave, as I've already said, and rarely gives me any reason for punishing her, but I do it when necessary. And thirdly, I'm not that kind and decent. My slaveboys would tell you otherwise, I'm sure". "That's not what I've heard, Mr. Marshall, but my concern is for Chris. Of course you punish her, she's your slave, but not excessively and only with just cause, and you don't abuse her sexually". "I prefer my boys, Chief". "Perhaps, but still, and you've allowed her to spend time on her own, with her family and her boyfriend". "I've let a friend borrow my slavegirl. Is that particularly decent?" He looked gravely at me. "You know it is, Mr. Marshall, but I won't argue with you, just repeat that I am in your debt".

"We can't agree on that, Chief, but now that you mention Dan". I told how I suspected that Harry had framed his former friends and about his recent threats. "You don't surprise me, Mr. Marshall. We've been keeping an eye on young Harry Allen and his cronies for some time, especially the rather wild parties they seem to fancy, paid a surprise visit to them a couple of times, but never caught them actually breaking the law". "And you have to be very careful, because they come from rich and influential families". He nodded. "We have, but we're always careful, Mr. Marshall". "I don't doubt it, but it's easier to catch a poor kid". "Perhaps because they break the law more often". "Perhaps, but what about Harry's threats? It's easy enough for me, he has no access to my house and I'll never leave my car unattended, but if he plants something on Dan?" "Let him try, Mr. Marshall. Now you've told about his dirty tricks, we'll conduct a very thorough investigation, should someone tell us that Dan has entered the drug market. There are such things as forensic evidence. Just warn the young man never to handle or just touch unknown packets and his brother may end up framing himself". He smiled thinly and I sighed with relief. "Thank you, Chief". "No need, Mr. Marshall, and don't worry about your car, or house for that matter. My men will keep an eye out". I thanked him again and asked if he would like to sample his niece's great cooking. "And you'll not meet a barefoot slavegirl in chains, but a charming young hostess and her fiancée". He could hardly decline and we agreed to find a date in near future.

Julie still seemed stunned, kneeling on the floor in the back of my car, face pressed to the seat and hands clasped behind her back. Steve sent me a concerned look before he too lowered his face when I entered. Back at my house Tim as usual drove directly to the garage and jumped out to open the door for me. "Fetch Christine to the little flat and bring a key". "Yessir". I told Steve to help his former girlfriend and summoned the house lift. She could hardly walk and sank to her knees as soon as she entered. He knelt beside her, cradling the abused body in his arms, looking pleadingly at me. "Don't worry, she'll soon recover. You first duty as my slave will be to take care of her". "Thank you, Sir", he whispered and hefted her up in his strong arms when the doors slid open. I led them to the flat and its small spare room. "Put her down". I indicated one of the two beds. "And run a hot bath". "Yes, Sir". He lowered her gently, but she cried out when her striped back touched the soft bedspread. "Please", she mumbled, "Please no more, please!" I pushed the boy aside and bowed over her. "Never, Julie. You'll never be whipped again". Her eyelids fluttered open and her large blue eyes stared uncomprehendingly at me. "Never!", I repeated, "You're mine now and I don't beat my slavegirls". Tears were running down her cheeks when she whispered: "Thank you, Sir".

Steve came back from the adjoining bathroom just as the two other slaves entered. Christine took one look at her former schoolmate and burst into tears. Tim relieved the new of their chains and the boys carried Julie to the steaming bath while Christine took a grip of herself and undressed to jump in and help her. I went to the sitting room where the slaveboys knelt in front of my chair. "I don't think I can tell you anything about myself and my household that you don't already know, considering the time you've spent with my slaves". Steve looked up. "No, Sir. May I speak, Sir?" "Go ahead". "Thank you, Sir. We owe you our lives, Julie and I". "Your sanity perhaps, hardly your lives. I can't imagine that Harry could be stupid enough to kill you". "No, Sir. We would". He looked calmly at me. "You?" "That's why we were caught embracing this morning, Sir. Julie couldn't stand it any longer. She was determined to kill herself, slash her wrists with a kitchen knife. I was trying to persuade her not to, but she wouldn't listen". I shook my head in disbelief. "Had she done it, I'd have followed her, Sir". He kissed my shoes. "Thank you, Sir". I cleared my throat. "You are still that much in love with her?" "I am, Sir", he answered quietly. "And she with you?" "I don't know, Sir, but she mustn't. I'll still be a slave ten years after she's been freed. That's no future for her". "Perhaps not, but you'll get a chance to discover your true feelings now". He looked puzzled. "Sir?" "There's not room at the penthouse, so you and Julie will stay here in the spare room, and as you probably know, I don't take my slavegirls to bed, so if both of you want it, I have no objections if you make out with each other". He stared. "Sir!" "Both of you, I said". "Yes, Sir". He was still staring, shaking his head in disbelief.

"But I'm looking forward to enjoying your arse". "Yes, Sir". "It's still virgin, I suppose". "Almost, Sir. We were taught how to serve anally at slave-training, and Master Harold's girlfriend has used a strap-on on me". "While he was banging Julie, I suppose". "Yes, Sir. Sometimes both of them used her and I licked their arseholes, Sir". "Good Lord! What a perverted pair, but then what am I but a perverted faggot, who gets a kick out of beating a helpless boy, fuck his arse and stuff his dirty dick in his mouth afterwards". "Aw, Sir. You're no pervert". "Did I hear you asking permission to speak, Tim?" "Nah, Sir, but I gotta say what's right". "Twenty with the crop on your arse tonight!" "Course, Sir. Thanks, Sir". He was grinning hugely. "Perhaps". I couldn't suppress a smile. "Your and Julie's main duties will be keeping this flat as perfect as my own and serve those of my guests who may be staying here". "Yes, Sir". "That will include your former master and his girlfriend. You will treat her as a mistress on such occasions". "Yes, Sir". "When not occupied here, you'll assist upstairs as directed by my head slave. Julie can help Christine in the kitchen". "Yes, Sir". "But not just now. Both of you, but especially she, need some time to recuperate. My father will arrive next week for a short stay and I want you fit and ready to serve him". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir, thank you". He kissed my shoes fervently. "Thank you".

I didn't see much of Julie during their first week as my slaves. She stayed at the small flat and I told Fred to allow Christine and Nathalie to spend as much time with her as their duties allowed. On the second morning after I'd bought him, I was surprised to find Steve cleaning the pool area when I came out to the roof garden to enjoy my breakfast. He left his brush and turned on his knees, forehead pressed to the tiles and hands clasped in the small of his back when I strolled over. "Good morning, Steve". "Good morning, Master John". "Sir will do, and you don't have to greet me like that. Please rise". "Yes, Sir". He jumped to his feet to stand with his head submissively bowed. "You feel better?" "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir". "Show me your back". His hands flew behind his neck and he turned to present the horribly striped skin. Not just striped actually, but covered in clearly raised welts, some of which seemed infested, probably because his former fellow slaves had been forced to piss on him. I let my hand slide gently down his back and saw his body go rigid. "This must hurt". I touched one of the worst welts. "Yes, Sir", he gasped. "Why aren't you resting, then, as ordered?" "Slaves have to work, Sir". "Not when incapable". "But I'm fine, Sir, and I feel better when I'm doing something useful". "So you're fit for anything?" "I don't think I can play tennis, not yet, Sir". "That's not what I had in mind. Show me your arsehole". "Yes, Sir". He hauled down his shorts, bent over and reached back to spread his striped cheeks. "Hmm. Very well, since you are so very fit, you can join Tim in my bed tonight". "Yes, Sir". "Carry on". I went back to my table, where Fred was waiting to pour my tea and Nathalie came out to serve the hot plate.

In spite of looking forward to a fresh arse I did feel a bit guilty when the two slaveboys undressed in my bedroom and Steve displayed his welted body, but he didn't hesitate to lie down beside his fellow and have first his hands tied to the headboard, then his legs spread and his feet tied over his head. A beautiful display of boyflesh, with the additional delicious contrast between the black and the white body. Tim was as usual grinning expectantly and wriggling his arse. "A bit of warming up, Tim?" I grabbed the small cane to flick it at the sole of his right foot. "Aah, sure, Sir", he hissed. The cane hit each foot ten times before I dropped it and knelt to ram my rock hard member up the waiting hole. "Please, Sir!" I looked surprised at the other trussed up boy. "Yes, Steve?" "Excuse me, Sir, but it's not fair". "What's unfair?" I frowned. "That you don't warm up on me too, Sir". That took me aback. "Don't you think you've been punished enough?" "Master Harry didn't whip my feet, Sir". "Perhaps not". I buried myself in the black arse and Tim was whimpering, with lust, I think, while I hammered him mercilessly. It was heaven, as always, and I almost lost it, but managed to restrain myself before erupting. "So you want a bastinado, boy?" I withdrew my soiled meat. "If it may please you, Sir". "Aw, mate, don't say dumb things like that. 'Tis not unfair". "Tim!" "Yessir, but please don't hit him, not yet, Sir". "And if I do need another warming up before I fuck him?" "Use me, Sir, please!" I shook no and touched my cock to the other boy's almost virgin hole. "Open up, boy!" "Yes, Sir". I pressed forward and felt him relaxing his sphincter to let me in. "Good heavens, but you're tight!" "Sorry, Sir". "Don't be", I moaned, "But perhaps we should have lubricated you a bit first". Even wet with Tim's arsejuices, I made slow progress up the incredibly narrow passage, but finally my balls touched Steve's striped cheeks. "Aah, I think I'll rest here for a while".

I did, while my throbbing member got adjusted to the warm chute, looking down into the raped boy's eyes. They were calmly returning my gaze, but I thought to read something deep down. Pain? Perhaps. Resentment, hate? Definitely not. Submission? Not that either. Sorrow it was. The unjustly enslaved boy must have resented his fate once, but had come to terms with it, and his rage had been replaced by a deep-rooted sadness. I felt another pang of regret and was about to tell him that I was sorry, when his handsome face suddenly lit up in a warm smile. "Good, Sir?" "Very, Steve". I smiled back. "Thanks, Sir". I moved slowly back. "For what?" "Offering me a chance to pay you back, Sir". My cock pumped slowly and I felt my juices rising again, until they spurted into his bowels. I came with a sigh, not a shout. Deeply satisfying, but very different from the ecstasy I felt when fucking Tim. I stayed inside until my deflated member dropped out by itself. "Thank you, Steve". "Pleasure, Sir". "Hardly". I untied him and as expected, he immediately rolled forward to suck my member clean of Tim's and his own shit. When he sat back on his heels, I nodded to his still soft cock. "Definitely not gay". "Sir?" "You didn't get an erection". "No, Sir". "So you don't need to come just now?" He looked surprised. "No, Sir". "Just beat off, man. The master's so kind. He always allows us". "Thank you Sir, but I really don't need to". "Julie's enough for you?" "I, eh, we haven't. No, Sir, but Master Harold never allowed his slaves any relief". "But I do, so would you please help poor Tim?" The black cock was still waving angrily, ramrod stiff. "Aw, Sir, I can do it meself, if I'm untied". But Steve didn't hesitate to follow orders and quickly swallowed his fellow's meat, sucking gently. Tim grunted a protest, but couldn't resist and soon cried out his joy, while Steve swallowed frantically. "Ooh! Thanks, Sir, and thanks, mate".

Dan came up for lunch the next day. His former master's eyes lit up, when Steve came out to serve a drink, neatly dressed in white shorts and T-shirt. "Good to see you again, my friend. You look well". The tall slave bowed. "I am, Sir, very well". "This brute treats you fairly?" "Master John's very kind to his slaves, Sir". "Unlike some. And Julie?" "She's fine, Sir". "No she's not", I interrupted, "But at least recovering". Dan's face darkened. "I'm sorry". "Not your fault, but it almost finished her". I related what Steve had told me. "But you wouldn't, Steve!" He nodded gravely. "Yes, Sir. Our only way out". "Except for one other". He dropped down to kiss my shoes. "Yes, Sir, but we never imagined that possible". "Neither did I". Dan shook his head. "I'll never understand why Dad agreed to sell them?" "Your father is in trouble, financial trouble, and hopes that my parent can do something to help him. That's why he was prepared to do almost anything to ensure a meeting". "I see, yes, that explains it". Dan thought the unexpected news over. "Is Dad going broke?" "I can't tell you, but his troubles are known in financial circles". "Wish he were!" "You don't mean that, Dan". "Yes, I do. At least it would force us out of that horrible house. Harry hates me and he treats our slaves worse than ever". "Ah, yes, Harry. Now I must warn you". I reminded him of his brother's threats and told of my meeting the police chief. He shook his head. "I don't believe it. Even Harry couldn't be that bad. I'm his brother, for God's sake". "Perhaps not, but take care anyway. Promise?" He nodded. "OK, but...". We turned to more pleasant subjects and after the meal I sent him down to the little flat to enjoy a cup of coffee in the company of his three former schoolmates. "And remember, down there they're not slaves, but your friends". "Yes, thanks John. You're a great guy". When Tim was licking my feet that evening, he suddenly looked up. "Scuse me, Sir, but I heard what you said to Master Dan". "Yes?" "His brother threatened you, for real?" "You missed a 'Sir', but yes, he did, and I don't doubt that he was serious". "Shit!" "Tim!" "Sorry, Sir, but no one's gonna do nothing 'gainst me master, Sir". "Thank you, but there's hardly anything you can do about it. Just keep an eye out and never leave the car unattended". "Yes, Sir. No, Sir". He mumbled something unintelligible and resumed his licking.

The day before my father was due to arrive I inspected the extra flat. It was immaculate, of course, neat and tidy, with fresh flowers everywhere. Steve and Julie were looking well, but I asked to see her body. The back had healed, but still bore witness of the brutal punishment. "Are you sure that you're fit to serve?" "Yes, Sir". "I could send Nathalie down and you could help Christine in the kitchen, take a rest when needed". She shook her head. "I don't know what to say, Sir. You're so kind, so kind". Her voice broke and she swallowed hard. "But I can serve your father, I want to, Sir". "Calm down, Julie. Of course you may serve him, but if it proves too much for you, tell Fred and he'll replace you with Nathalie". "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir". Her eyes were brimming with tears. "At least you won't have to serve the old boy in bed", I chuckled.

Of course I should've known better, but one doesn't imagine that one's dear parents have a sex life, does one? You know that they must have, at least once, but that's just something they did to produce you.

"I say, John, haven't you changed quite a bit, for the worse". My father arrived rather late and pretty tired, so we'd just had a drink and exchanged the latest news, before he retired to the flat. "Dad?" I was baffled and must have looked it. "That poor slavegirl, what did she do to earn a thrashing like that?" "Slavegirl?" I looked bewildered at Nathalie, who was serving our breakfast. "Not her, the girl downstairs. I was in need of a bit of comfort before turning in and told her to undress, but lost all interest when I saw the state of her back". I stared, completely stupefied. "How could you do such a thing, John. You've always been a gentle soul, or so your mother and I thought. Has your new status as a slaveowner corrupted you?" "Nah, Sir, 'scuse me, Sir. Master John's the kindest master alive, Sir. 'Scuse me, Sir". As usual, Tim couldn't keep his mouth shut, but this time he deserved my everlasting gratitude. My father looked up. "He is, is he? Or are you just scared out of your wits?" Tim grinned. "No of course not, or you wouldn't dare speak without permission. But who whipped the poor girl, then?" I gathered my wits and quickly explained about Harry. "I see, young Allen. Well, it's no surprise, I never liked him". He looked up at Nathalie. "So he's a kind master, this son of mine?" "The best, Sir". She looked calmly at him. "Master John would never beat a slavegirl, Sir". "I'm indeed happy to hear that, but a slaveboy?" "Aw, Sir. Got to, ain't he, or this lazy boy of his gonna get even worse than he is, Sir". My father chuckled. "If your say so". We returned to the subject of the Allens, and I told about the bait I'd used to get Julie and Steve out of Harry's clutches. "Very clever of you, John and I shall pay a visit to Mr. Allen, but that won't help him". "So it really is bad?" "Quite frankly, yes. He has ruined himself, no one can do anything about that. He may last another couple of months, perhaps half a year, but not avoid the inevitable".

We spent the day relaxing and talking about old times, the family, and my future. Christine produced her customary miracles at lunch and dinner, and my father offered to buy her, or rather tried pressing me to sell her. "Don't you think you poor parents deserve a bit of luxury, now we're growing old?" "I can't imagine you, or Mother, lacking anything". "We've never had a cook like her". "I know, but you can't have her anyway. She can't leave this country". "Of course she can". He explained that even if it was rare, a slaveowner could obtain permission to take his property abroad, if the slaves in question agreed. They'd be equipped with implants; one a satellite connected tracing device, the other containing a deadly poison, which would be injected if they ran away. He was only half-serious, of course, so I talked my way out of it.

When we were enjoying our coffee after dinner, he nodded at Nathalie and asked: "Now I can't use the slavegirl, you've assigned to me, I should like another". I could hardly believe my ears. 'He really meant it!' My stupefaction must have been all too plain, because he chuckled: "Shocked, son, that your old man is still harbouring a taste for teenage girls?" "Ah, no... Damn it, yes I am!" "Why? Don't you consider me a proper man?" "I, eh, ...". "I'm not exactly a relic, you know, even if I may seem so to you". "Of course not". "And if it's your mother's feelings that are troubling you, rest assured. We've never had any secrets, son, we share everything, so she knows full well that I use the opportunity when over here". "Ah, yes". "And approves, John. We love each other, would never dream of denying the other anything. So don't be afraid that you might let something slip. I'll tell her myself, when I get home". "I, eh, yes. Of course you may use Nathalie". "Is she any good?" "I, eh, yes she is, very good". I looked behind him and saw the girl looking very smug. 'Ah, well, he may be old, but not that old, and quite handsome', I thought. 'And you do need a bit of fun, don't you, girl?'

This time I never dreamt about questioning her, but didn't need to, as it turned out. My father was late for breakfast the next morning, and when he eventually appeared, sank down wearily on the chair, Fred held for him. "Good morning. I hope you slept well". He sighed. "When I eventually was allowed to go to sleep, yes". I looked questioningly at him. "I asked for it, but that black devil almost finished me. Perhaps I am a relic, after all". "Uh, Nathalie, you mean?" "The same. What an inappropriate name for a tiger. But you were right. She's good. Fantastic! I haven't had a night like this since your mother and I were newly wed". "I'm happy to hear that, I'm sure". "Stop being prickly, John. You should be happy to have given your old man a great gift". "But I am, Sir!" "Those legs, incredible!" He sighed. "And she persuaded me to tie her up!" He shook his head. "Never tried that before. Spread-eagle. Hogtied. Legs over head. Good heavens! Do you do that, in bed I mean?" "I, eh, yes, very stimulating". "An understatement, I dare say, but I hope you can do without her for the duration of my visit". "Of course". "I promise not to have a heart attack". He chuckled and Nathalie came out to serve a hot plate.

In the event, he never did visit Mr. Allen. Later that day Dan phoned to tell that his brother had been found dead in his car. He'd apparently driven it off the road and down a ravine, breaking his neck in the fall. What was more, the police found a fair amount of narcotics in the car. The shock, on top of his other troubles, was too much for Mr. Allen. He had a massive coronary during the night and died two days later at hospital. Dan was devastated and I persuaded him to stay with me. My father and I did our best to console him, but it was Christine who succeeded. I put him in the third spare bedroom, with her of course, and when they eventually emerged next morning, he was almost his old self.

My father stayed to help Dan sorting out his affairs. Mr. Allen was in fact broke, but his and Harry's life insurance and the sale of mansion and slaves, to carefully selected new owners, brought enough to ensure Dan a comfortable life, for some time at least. Luckily one of the larger flats was free and he moved in there. I lent him Christine, who from then on just served as our cook.

Some time after my father had left, the chief of police came for lunch. As promised, we were four at table, Christine ravishing in a short white summer dress and Dan unable to hide his happiness. During a lull in our conversation Tim came out to serve another course. The chief looked up at him. "You are very devoted to your master, aren't you, Tim?" He bowed, for once without his usual grin, rather looking frightened. "Yes, Sir. I'd do anything for Master John, Sir". "I don't doubt it and in a way I'm in your debt, but don't do it again". "No, Sir". He bowed and disappeared hastily. I don't think our two turtledoves noticed anything, but I looked questioningly at my guest, who just shrugged his shoulders.

When I later was alone with him I asked about Tim. "Young Harry Allen's death was no accident. His neck was broken long before the car crashed". "Oh!" "I suspect that he was killed because of his amateurish dabbling in drugs". "I see". And I did. "Quite, but this will go no further, Mr. Marshall". "Of course not". "As I've told you before, I consider enslavement of young offenders profitable, for all parties. Provided, and that's very important, provided that slaveowners recognise that their first duty is to ensure that slaves are not just punished, but brought back on the right track, ready to re-enter the world as good citizens, once they've served their sentence. Few people really understand that, but those who do, earn not only the respect, but also the love of their slaves". "I , eh,...". "Some people even understand that an offer of honest work is the best remedy against juvenile crime". "I suppose so". "So, Mr. Marshall, you've won the respect, love, of some of our most troublesome citizens, and benefited from it in a rather unusual way. Please continue your good work".

Part 8

Well, that's the exciting part of the story of my life as a slaveowner. The rest is rather dull and quickly told. I stayed and went on with my quiet life, enjoyed my friends, and, not least, my slaves.

I never finished my study. The world of finance sucked me in, absorbed me. I'd inherited some money from my maternal grandmother and, firstly more or less as a joke, tried my hand on the stock market, willingly helped by the stockbrokers I'd met at University. It went well, actually more than well. Perhaps I've inherited my father's skills. Anyway, after a year I'd doubled my fortune several times over, and I just couldn't stop there, I became addicted, used most of my time studying the markets.

After a time that wasn't enough. Earning paper money is fine, up to a point, unless you're a compulsive gambler, which I'm not, so I felt in need of creating something. What I did seemed silly, as things were, but it was my own money, so I gave it a try.

My garden staff of free slum boys did a fine job. Not that the house and grounds hadn't been maintained perfectly by the service company, but they managed to add something extra. Slaves are good workers, have no other choice, but usually don't invest their souls in the work, why should they? As long as they can avoid the whip, there's no reason to overdo anything. But a free person wants to show his boss how good he is, and what's more, he's proud of his work. I could see the difference, and, more important, so could my tenants, who often told how satisfied they were. So I plunged in, started a service company, hired a number of homeless boys, and girls, bought a dilapidated house and employed them to change it to a sort of dorm for themselves, equipped them with smart uniforms and began advertising. I offered the same product as the slave companies, at the same prices, but promised more attentive service. My first customer was, perhaps not surprisingly, the police. I had my doubts. Potential criminals serving police officers! But it worked. My staff really put their souls into it and what doubts their former enemies must have harboured, were soon wavered. Not surprisingly. They were served better and saw their workload reduced. After that success we never looked back. If you have the entire police force of a town promoting your company, you can't ask for more. A year later there wasn't a single unemployed youth in town and we had to hire staff from neighbouring cities. My first three boys were promoted overseers and Tim's little girlfriend proved to be a perfect manager.

Perhaps I became greedy, but my own slaves were soon turning a profit too. Nathalie put me on that track. Christine continued her cooking lessons for neighbouring slavegirls, even after she and Dan moved in together. She was clearly enjoying it and I quite happy doing my friends a favour, until the black slavegirl one evening, when she was kneeling beside my chair, suddenly mused aloud in the manner of her brother: "Why don't you charge them, Sir?" "Charge whom?" "Those mistresses, Sir. They get great cooks and don't pay nothing for it". "But I can't do that, they're my friends!" "Yes, Sir, but why not make a proper school, then? Chris is a fantastic teacher, she could easily take in a lot more pupils, from all over town". I thought it over and asked Christine's opinion. Of course she meekly promised to do her best, but her joy was obvious, so I spread the word and in a couple of months we had a waiting list as long as my arm. Julie was enrolled to help and my cooking school soon expanded from teaching slavegirls to arranging courses for their mistresses, just for fun, of course, but did the young things love to show their boyfriends that they had talents outside the bedroom. When taking in free girls I made it very clear that if they wished to stay on, they had to respect their teachers. Christine and Julie might be slavegirls, modestly dressed, collared and barefoot, but when teaching, they were the experts. I found rooms in town for the expanding school and only ventured in once, to find about fifty happy young women, shrieking with laughter, mistresses and slaves mingling effortlessly, and clearly not appreciating male company.

Steve was next. Dan and he played a couple of matches or three every day, most often watched by some of the tenants. That developed into Steve becoming a regular tennis partner for a growing number of young men, women too for that matter. I allowed it, of course, he had little else to do, and enjoyed it hugely, but when we started the cooking school, I thought: 'Why not?', and hired him out as a professional coach. Another success, another waiting list, and another happy slave. To charge for Fred's tutoring was almost inevitable after that and he soon had his hands more than full. So instead of six, I suddenly had only two slaves serving me, Nathalie and Tim.

Owner of six slaves and four of them turning a profit, splendid, for me as well as for them. My friends noticed how happy they seemed to be, even if working harder than most, but with something that make them feel worth their while, something to make them proud. Not that the four breadwinners among them felt in any way superior. I rather think that at least the three of them still staying with me were competing fiercely to be allowed serving in the evening and that Fred had to exercise his authority to deal with that. Neither did they avoid punishments. No one is perfect and I had my fill of whipping boys and tormenting girls, and of course I had a hot arse in my bed every night.

If I were neglecting my studies, Fred worked so much harder on 'my' thesis. His own was long finished and delivered to me. If he resented his unjust fate, deprived of a well-earned degree and 'ghost-writing' for a lazy master, he of course never showed it, apparently unshakeable as he was.

But I did shake him, once. I'd been paying frequent visits to my own country, leaving Dan in charge of my slaves, when I well into my second year abroad asked Fred and Tim if they'd agree to be equipped to accompany me. Of course they did and we left, a master with two slaves, to arrive at my home a rich young man with two ordinary servants. I'd removed their collars and made them dress decently before we landed. Tim was overawed by my parents' mansion in the city and very uncertain how to behave, but Fred seemed as unperturbed as ever. Until I brought him with me to a function at my old university. We entered the ancient hall to attend a lecture of a Nobel-prize winner, preliminary to bestowing new masters' degrees. I kept sending sideways glances to my slave, who was sitting stiffly beside me, calmly listening, until he suddenly jumped in his seat, staring at the vice-chancellor, who'd just called his name. "Sir!", he whispered, "Sir!" "Quite, slave, get up there". He rose in a daze and almost stumbled towards the dais. The vice-chancellor was droning on: "... rare ... very few occasions during the last five hundred years ... outstanding work ... no student of this university could have done better ... first class honours". Fred reached him in time to receive a firm handshake and his patent as a master of this ancient establishment. "... may not be aware of the honour, young man, but from now on you are allowed to cross the lawns of the quadrangles...". The vice-chancellor was actually joking. I reached poor Fred in time to cover him with the academic gown, he unwittingly had brought with him, and support him before his legs gave way under him. "Fifty of the best, if you faint now", I whispered and put the square cap on his head.

"Sir!" He was on his knees in front of me. "My feet, slave!" "Yes, Sir". He composed himself and relieved me of shoes and socks. Later, when I withdrew from his smooth hole, the new Master of Arts, who was tied on my bed, legs beside his ears, looked up. "Sir...!" "Congratulations". I freed him and with a sob he rolled up to clean my soiled meat.

It was unusual and no matter how influential my dear parent might be, only Fred's own academic excellence could persuade the ancient institution to bestow academic honours on a person, who'd never studied there. I made it quite clear that it was not to be mentioned and he understood, but it was a very special triumph for both of us, when his, and temporarily my university asked me to give a lecture. I arrived in full academic fig to look down at an expectant audience. "I am indeed honoured to be called to speak to such an illustrious assembly, but feel that my humble achievements are too feeble to justify this honour. I've therefore persuaded one of my more scholarly colleagues to take my place". I stepped down to be replaced by another academic, this one barefoot and collared. There was a stunned silence and Fred began to speak. When he finished an hour later, the whole of the audience, professors and students, rose to cheer.

I stayed my three years, as planned, but was longing to go home. Before that I had to decide what to do about my property. The house was easy enough. I hired Dan to manage it and my service company as well, offering him the use of the penthouse when I'd left. But my livestock? Of course Christine stayed with Dan, on loan. She remained my property and my responsibility to relieve him of any obligation to treat her as a slavegirl, apart from the formal rules of dressing, and she kept running her successful cooking school. Julie and Steve had no love of their own country, where they'd been treated so unfairly. Nathalie, I think, was looking forward to new experiences, and Tim, yes, he was torn between his girlfriend and me, but in the end chose the latter. Of Fred there was no doubt, he'd stay with me, whatever happened.

So here I am now, a happy, and successful, player of the markets, sharing a pleasant house in the oldest part of town with my friends. Steve and Julie, that is, and Tim and his sister, and his girl. Well, yes, I offered her a job as my P.A., but, cruelly, only after Tim had made his choice. Now I wouldn't know what to do without her, and they manage very well together, even if Tim is a slave and she a free woman. The two couples have their own small flats over the mews on the far side of my garden

Steve spends most of the day at the tennis club as a professional coach and tennis partner. Nathalie runs an academy for sophisticated young ladies, teaching them how to move gracefully and keep in shape. They need it; my countrywomen generally look like dough-faced horses. Julie cooks for us and shares the housework with Tim, who takes care of the garden and my cars. The other two serve me when home from their jobs. Fred doesn't live here. He finished my thesis, but as his own now. He got his PhD and was invited to become a fellow of one of the most prestigious colleges at my old alma mater.

We are still master and slaves, but friends too, and we often dine together, during weekends joined by our young lecturer. Yet I do have my fun. Even the best of slaves, like mine, inevitably make mistakes or neglect their duties and warrant a punishment. Most often Tim is the culprit, but Steve doesn't escape his share and even Fred's hide gets striped every now and then. Only last night the three of them decorated my livingroom. Tim was dangling from the ceiling by his wrists, awaiting the next ten of thirty lashes with the flogger, earned by forgetting to weed among the roses in the front garden. Steve's athletic body was forced into a very strict hogtie, thin twine cutting into his wrists and ankles, and with a large butt-plug rammed up his hole. Something he really hates, but then he could have got a move on coming home to help me change before dinner instead of dawdling with his friends at the tennis club. It was his turn as evening slave. And poor, honest Fred was tied bent over a straight-backed chair, displaying his thoroughly striped arse. Sometimes he's almost too much, his 'crime' was neglect of duty, or at least he claimed to have postponed correcting essays from his students unnecessarily. I do wonder if he invents things like that just to be punished, not because he likes it, but because he wants to share his fellow slaves' misery. Anyway, it was great to see them like that, especially when relaxing in an armchair with my coffee and Nathalie locked in the stocks to serve as my footstool. She spilled wine when serving dinner. It's an unspoken agreement between us that Julie never suffers a real punishment. On the rare occasions when she needs a reminder, I make her work naked and hobbled for a day or two

And if the regular punishments aren't enough, I still have Tim. We've never discussed it, but both of us know that he is a masochist, or at least has special sexual needs. So does his girl, who perhaps doesn't share them, but calmly takes care of her beloved when he returns from my bed, with sperm and shit leaking from a thoroughly striped arse. Oh yes, my sex life is as hectic and varied as ever. Hard stuff with Tim, quiet passion with Fred on his weekend visits, and occasionally a double session with Tim and Steve. Not that the latter likes it one little bit, but he knows I do and simply turns up in my bedroom every now and then to be tied up beside his black fellow.

But most nights I enjoy a very different bedmate. A gorgeous strained body spreadeagle or hogtied beside or under me, begging to be used and used hard, in all three of her holes. Yes, my black tiger has, if not turned me from the joys of male/male sex, then lured me back to the 'normal' path. She's so passionate, so insatiable, so incredibly lovely that I can't but swallow the bait, hook, line, and sinker, every time I find her naked in my bedroom, teasingly dangling the ropes in my face. And she has the cheek to do it even on nights when her brother is with me, smiling sweetly at his scowling face and grinning triumphantly when I give in and dismiss him. If I do, that is. It does happen that I have two black bodies trussed up side by side, arms out and legs up, and three tempting holes waiting for my attention.

So, no longer a novice, but an utterly depraved slaveowner, that's what's I am now.

And the future? Is a long way off. Steve and Julie have to stay my slaves for five more years, well, he for another ten, but I've already decided that the day she's a free woman again, I have a gift for her: One fine male slave. On the same day my P.A. will receive a bonus: Another slave to boss around, if only for the two remaining years of Tim's twelve. Though I doubt the poor boy will ever be free. And perhaps I should consider giving away my third slaveboy. Fred is officially mine for another ten years. I can hire him out, as I've already done it, though his scholarly fellows would be rather shocked if they knew that they had a real slave in their midst, but not free him. A slave must have a master, or a mistress, and last time I paid a visit to the university I did meet this cute little art historian, who'd been invited to join one of the women's colleges and, quite accidentally I'm sure, told me that she'd had enough of big hunks of man meat and was looking for a real experienced tongue.

That would of course leave me to fend for myself, something of which I'm quite incapable, but another freedom gift may lift that burden from my poor shoulders. I have already bought it, a diamond ring, which will look marvellous on a slim black hand, when my fifth slave four years from now, hopefully, agrees to accept it in exchange of her shackles. A honeymoon in her old country and a visit to a slave centre over there will allow her to choose all the domestic help she'll need in her now role as a housewife.