Chapter 4: Meeting Roger

“Well, what do we have here?”

“Oh, Roger, it’s you,” said Mistress. Then, proudly, “This is slave. You haven’t met her yet.”

“Sis said that you had bought a slave girl,” he said brightly. “Very nice, very nice, indeed!”

Colleen turned so that she could see Roger. He was mid-twenties, resembled his father some, sported a short clipped mustache and wavy blonde hair. His soft facial features hinted at a feminine side of his personality, but the tight tennis shorts and tight polo shirt made it clear that he was all man and very fit.

For some reason, she took an immediate dislike to him. Perhaps it was simply because he did not seem upset to find his mother parading around a slut with her hands locked behind her. She also did not like the way he looked at her hips and especially at her ass. What was that Tanya, his sister, had said? He liked to take girls in the rear? That was something Colleen knew very little about, and she had no wish to learn more.

“Well, I’m home now and looking forward to seeing more of this slave. Hi, George.”

“I have no doubt you will,” Mistress said with a chuckle. “I’ll have her arranged for you tonight after dinner. Oh! This isn’t the end of a semester. What are you doing here?”

“Got kicked out of college,” he replied with a grin.

“Really, Roger, that’s three schools that have thrown you out. You’ll never get your degree that way.”

“It’s okay, mom. I’m having fun. Those college coeds are something else.”

“Is that why you got kicked out...?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Mistress smiled, as if her son had just said something witty and intelligent.

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Just call her ‘slave’. Descriptive and good enough. Oh, and be sure that you don’t ever allow her the slightest chance of escape. Might be troublesome, you know.”

“I understand. You using that cell you and dad built down in the basement?”

“Of course.”

For a while, no more was spoken, and Colleen grew more and more uneasy about the way this man was looking at her. Tanya had hinted that he was sadist in addition to being fond of sticking his prong into inappropriate holes. She hoped that was not true. She did not need two of them beating her every day.

Eventually, it was Mistress who broke the uneasy silence. “You go ahead and get your things back up in your room. I’d have George help you, but I need him to help me with slave here.”

Grinning, Roger nodded to Mistress and bounded up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “George can get my things out of the car when he’s finished helping you.”

“Bring her along,” Mistress said as she turned for the stairs leading down to the basement. “Tanya will have to warn her girlfriends now that Roger is back. Oh well!”

In the torture chamber, Mistress gave orders for the affixing of slave in an uncomfortable position. First, her ankles were bound together with rope. As Mistress watched closely, she had George bind the girl’s legs just above the knees, extra tightly. Then she was placed in the center of the room, directly under a big metal ring set into one of the beam. A loop was fashioned at one end of length of rope and placed over Colleen’s head. It was tightened down, making her very nervous about what was to happen next. The rope was passed up through that ring and down to a cleat in the wall. George pulled, and Colleen felt the rope tighten.

George tied the rope off, knotting it numerous times and checking that it was just enough tautness to keep constant pressure on Colleen’s neck but could not tighten enough to risk cutting off the air supply.

“You’ll miss your lunch,” Mistress informed as she patted Colleen’s breasts through the vest. “But I want you to have to stand there for at least five or six hours. You can do that, can’t you? Just stand there until dinnertime.”

As Mistress turned to leave, Colleen called out, “No! Wait! Please don’t leave me like this! I might slip and strangle.”

“Then don’t slip,” came Mistress’ voice. She did not even bother to look back at the slut slave standing on high heels and looking very afraid.

“Please!” Colleen called out, but the only reply was the slamming of the door, followed by the sound of the padlock on the outside being closed.

Colleen whined in despair. She was well aware that she could not reach up to free herself with her hands locked in the handcuffs behind her, and neither could she reach down to the ropes on her knees or ankles. She would have to stay there until someone came to release her. And dinnertime looked a far distance away.

The handcuffs on her elbows cut in a bit but did not impede the circulation the way tight rope would have done. Her biggest worry was that she might lose her balance and actually hang herself. Logic told her that even if that were to happen she could easily get her feet back under her and support herself. The rope around her neck was not a noose that would tighten and then not loosen again when the pressure was taken off. But still she was worried. What woman in that position would not be worried? Handcuffed and bound, and with a rope around her neck! And facing a long, long time down there, alone and helpless.

After ten or twenty minutes, she realized that her legs would grow tired, and the ache in her feet would get worse. Perhaps much worse.

Once again boredom set in. She had nothing to do but look at torture devices around her and pray that she could hold that standing position for hours.

The first four hours were not too much of a problem but after that her leg muscles were burning and her feet screaming at her. Several times, she lost her balance and momentarily felt the rope tighten – until she got her weight back on her toes and those ridiculous high heels.

When George came to let her down, she almost cried in relief.