Chapter 3: Master’s Privilege

My “cell” is a long, narrow room in the basement. A single, plain bed is in the left-hand corner. At its foot sits a large, white porcelain chamber pot. Above, a bare light bulb protrudes from the wall well beyond my reach. On the far wall, over the bed, slightly to the right, is a medium sized paned window, which lets in ample light but cannot be opened. The solid wood door also prevents my leaving on a whim. There is a sliding observation panel at eye level and a similar one near the floor, which offer a tease of random surveillance and food.

Ms. Lynn removes most of my uniform, and locks my wrists up to the posture collar. She smiles as she shuts the door, knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my hands. However, I’m not long alone when the observation panel quickly slides back. A pair of dark brown eyes stare at me. Is it Mr. Rose? I can’t study them long enough before the panel slams shut. I expect the door to open but silence returns.

In spite of the sparseness, the cell feels like a home—a permanent home. The blankets look like more than enough to keep the chill away at night. Thick dark blue carpet, like that in the hallway, cushions my feet. Are all the “cells” like this or is this just first night accommodations?

How many women disappear each year? Do they wind up in places like this? Willingly or unwillingly? I’m part of the former group, but for how long? What will they do to me? Things like they’ve done at Red Silk’s place. Or worse. Suddenly, I want to get out of here, tell them I’ve changed my mind.

The door lock clicks. Mr. Palmer strides in followed by one of the other slaves from the coffle this morning. Her light blue eyes gaze out from a comely face.

Mr. Palmer gets right to the point. “Whenever a master enters the room, unless otherwise engaged by another master, you will stand up and acknowledge his presence, so.”

The female gives a slow, dignified nod, eyes downcast.

“Not until the master either acknowledges you, or becomes engaged with something else, will you return to your previous task. You are at Mr. Rose’s call day or night. Otherwise Ms. Lynn will be in charge of you. That’s all.”

The girl leaves, followed by Mr. Palmer who locks the door after him. So crisp and businesslike; imparting the maximum information in the minimum time. Not even “Do you have any questions?” His omission of such speaks of how my concerns don’t matter.

The rest of the day slowly passes. Paul comes and feeds me since my hands are still bound. Some steamed vegetables, rice and cubed meat. Warm tea in a mug helps me down everything. Paul lets my hands down so I may steady myself over the chamber pot. I make an effort of will to relieve myself. When I’m done he places a pair of stiff leather mittens on my hands and a chastity belt around my waist. He tests the belt for snugness, then leaves me alone again.

It is quiet. I discover if I stand on the bed and lean to the right, I can actually see outside—at ground level. Grass, I see nothing but tall grass at first. I stand on tiptoes, my balance somewhat precarious, but I am rewarded with a better view.

The side of the front steps are on the right, and some bushes just to the left. No one passes by although I hear dim voices outside from time to time. When the sun goes down and the light bulb comes on by itself, all I can see in the window is my darkened reflection, a mouse-like creature staring out from its cellar hiding place.

I sit on the bed, looking for anything to distract me from my growing sexual frustration. I rub the mittens over my bare breasts, but they are smooth, stiff and a far cry from what I really want. Eventually the bulb goes off and I’m left in the dark. My eyes adjust to pale moonlight and the faint shadows it throws across my bed. With both mittens I clumsily turn down the sheet and blanket. I lay down on the soft bed and enter a restless sleep.

In the para-reality of dream fantasy I sense a constant presence of someone watching me. Even at Mr. Rose’s feet, a watchfulness surrounds me from the grey shadows. The eyes that looked at me from the observation panel float all around, at times amused, serious and stern. I feel they should belong to Mr. Rose but he already stands before me, issuing orders. Who then? I almost have the answer when a pair of hands shake me awake.

It is the slave who was with Mr. Palmer yesterday. This time there is a leather collar around her neck with a name carved in it: Megan.

“Well? Is she awake?” Ms. Lynn asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” Megan replies.

“Good. Can’t have her thinking just because we let her sleep in the first day that she’s special.”

I blink. Sleep in? The window above is still dark.

Ms. Lynn removes my mittens and the chastity belt only long enough for Megan to sponge bathe me and let me use the chamber pot. When Megan is done the mittens and belt are put back on along with a collar. It is similar to Megan’s but without any name carved there.

“She’s your shadow today, Megan. Standard newcomer procedure.”

Megan takes charge of me. We run errands around the estate, but while Megan speaks and has the use of her hands, I am allowed neither. When I’m given anything to carry, it is either hung from my collar or stuck in a pouch slung over my shoulder. When I arrive at my destination, the receiver takes the pouch and I am hitched to any convenient ring until sent away on my next errand. My frustration grows again; not able to use my hands, no one speaking to me. I slap my mittens together to help relieve some tension. Megan senses my plight and, on one of our outdoor runs, with no one else around, speaks to me.

“I’m committing a breach talking to you, so if you ever tell anyone, I’ll say you’re lying. None of the staff will talk directly to you, except Mr. Palmer and Ms. Lynn. You’re the lowest of the low, no more than an animal. You’re with me only for today so you can get an idea of where things are on the estate and see the rest of the staff. They’ll treat you nice, but any slips and Ms. Lynn will know about it. She’ll probably make you pay double for it since she’s brand new in her job and wants to prove her abilities to Mr. Rose. So watch your step.”

We’re kept on our feet most of the day. When lunchtime comes, I am fed by hand in the kitchen of the main house. The cook, a jolly man, gives me bits from his sandwich. I worry I won’t get enough but he is generous. He even allows me some of his creamed coffee which I must sip from a bowl on the floor. I expect him, and everyone else, to fondle, squeeze or at least leer at me, but no one does. They all keep their hands to themselves except with Megan who is made to serve them during our brief rest stops.

They make her caress her nipples, or bend over with her legs spread, or kneel with her mouth open while they use her. They call out positions and Megan smoothly assumes them. Her graceful movements give an air of class to the crude orders she must obey.

My admiration of her leads me to my first serious violation. “Were you taught to move like that here?”

My timing couldn’t be worse. Mr. Palmer and Philip come into the hallway just as I finish my sentence. There is no doubt they heard me.

Megan wheels on me, delivering a full on slap to my face. “Bad! Bad!” She points a finger at me. The anger in her voice is plain, but there is fear in her eyes. Is she afraid someone might deduce that I felt free to speak because Megan may have spoken to me? How severe is the punishment? A thousand lashes? A night in bondage?

Mr. Palmer stops and stares at Megan. “Any problem here, slave?”

“No, sir,” Megan says, “none at all.”

Mr. Palmer studies us a moment longer. “So I don’t need to train a new messenger?”

“That won’t be necessary, sir.”

“Very well. I’d hate to see you turned out.”

Megan turns ashen. “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Palmer and Philip continue on their way. Megan doesn’t look at me the rest of the day. Now I know the punishment, the only real punishment of a willing slave—banishment.

The estate is huge. After the cramped quarters of my apartment and crowded city streets, it is like freedom itself. The part I saw from the limo is just a tenth of the total acreage. Several cottages sit in secluded corners connected by well-kept paths. At the back of the estate, at the bottom of a small hill, is a large stable. A bridle path leads around the perimeter of the estate, while a nearby gate allows for extended rides on rough paths outside the grounds in the woods.

Tethered to the gate, as if waiting for someone, is another of the slaves from yesterday. Chestnut hair spills down her back and a bit gag pulls back her lips. Her arms are pinned at her sides by a torso harness and she paws at the dusty ground with ankle high boots. As I wait outside for Megan I catch the name of “Tani” on her collar. A man comes striding down the path and calls to her by name. Tani makes a joyous sound of welcome. She stretches her tether to the maximum and is thus wrapped in his arms. He pats her, speaks soothing words, then leads her out beyond the gate. She capers around him and their silhouettes are lost in the westerly sun.

Come nightfall my legs are sore. I haven’t done so much walking in months. But my pussy is alive with need. Forced to watch Megan perform all day has put me in a white heat. Back in my cell I’m allowed to eat alone with my own hands. The panel slides open every minute or so to make sure that is all I do.

Dimly, I hear other doors open and shut. Voices in the hall tell me my neighbor is taken away, and none too gently either. Ms. Lynn says a few sharp words, then the door slams. Shortly after my own door opens and Ms. Lynn enters.

“This one is the centerpiece,” Ms. Lynn says. “But it also needs to be punished since it might get Megan bounced.”

Wrist cuffs secure my hands in back. A large, square gag with leather packing fills my mouth. A metal ring dangles on the outside of the gag. I wonder at its purpose until Ms. Lynn produces a couple of clamps that pinch my nipples, sending shock waves of sensation through me. They are joined by a short chain which draws my breasts close together, then another chain, attached to the ring on my gag, stretches them upward. Ms. Lynn checks the bounce of my breasts, lifting them in the palms of her hands, then letting them drop. The nipple clamps refuse to let go and I squeal each time the chains go taut.

She holds my face in her hands. “You know you deserve this for speaking without permission, my errant beauty. Do something like that again and you’ll find out what real punishment is all about.”

Upstairs, I am tied to a short, wooden post in the center of a long dining table. Placed on my knees, my arms and ankles are tied behind it. My ass is set against a cushion attached to the pole, thus thrusting my cunt forward and open. A strap under my chin, and another above my eyes, keep my head upright and the chain from my gag to my tits taut. I moan in constant pain, the heat in my cunt almost intolerable.

I gaze up through tear filled eyes at the vaulted ceiling. Murals of Cherubim wrapped in flowing robes float above me, their innocent, red cheeked faces looking down as though with knowledge of the fire in my belly and their refusal to do anything about it. My legs are surrounded by fragrant flowers in pale, soft colors. Magnificent place settings of silver and crystal line both sides of the table.

Mr. Palmer comes in, Ms. Lynn on his heels. He circles the table once.

“Leave it to a fresh mind to come up with a new pose. Excellent, Ms. Lynn. Maybe we’ve wasted your talents all this time, keeping you locked in the dungeons.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now about the appetizers. I want . . .”

Mr. Palmer’s voice fades as they move off, attending to final details. Soon after, Raymond and Paul take position at either side of the entrance. I don’t make any attempt to enlist their help because, like the angels above, I know they won’t.

Soon, the dinner guests drift in to the room. Tuxedos and evening gowns. Gentlemen courteously pull out chairs for women decorated in glittering diamonds. Light laughter mixes with the tinkling of silverware against fine china. Snatches of conversation tell me some of these people were at Red Silk’s place my last night there. But what does it matter? My identity was a secret due to the hood and leather suit. My cunt, ass, mouth and tits were the only things exposed. In a way it is the same now; all they see is my skin, perhaps they notice my eyes and the tip of my nose, but not the person. I am a curiosity to be admired before they turn back to one another in idle dinner talk.

I face Mr. Rose at the head of the table. Mr. Lange is on his right. Strangely, no one sits on his left although there is a place setting. Perhaps a guest failed to arrive.

Near the end of the meal Mr. Rose stands and the guests fall silent. “My friends, five years ago I opened this house. Since then we’ve grown, not just in size but in the number of people who share it. May we continue to grow and our friendships deepen.” He lifts his glass in toast.

A round of “Well said” was issued from the guests who raised their glasses in return.

“I invite you to make use of everything tonight. The leather is oiled, the dungeons ready, and the house brimming with expectant, nervous slaves. For those who want to take advantage of our beautiful weather, the bridle path is well lit and the stable filled with eager ponygirls for a moonlight ride. Enjoy.”

Mr. Rose bows to enthusiastic applause. The guests drift out and soon I hear the joy of merrymaking mix with the screams of the tortured.

Not until all the dishes are cleared away does Ms. Lynn let me down from the table. The nipple clamps and gag are removed, though my evening is not done.

“Down on all fours. Down!” she says, then clips a leash to my collar and I follow, like a dog, winding my way past so many pairs of legs. But instead of taking me back to my cell, she leads me to the east wing and Mr. Rose’s suite.

A fireplace, bricked from floor to ceiling, is off to the right. A door to the right of the fireplace opens on a hallway and gives a glimpse of a large, walk-in closet full of women’s clothes. Ms. Lynn turns me to the left and my attention is focused on the king-sized four poster bed opposite the fireplace. Sturdy rings hang from each post at various heights with several more around the bed frame. As at Red Silk’s place, paintings depicting scenes of submission hang from the walls. Yet, rather than giving the place a tawdry feel, the masterful works denote a sublime quality rarely seen in the erotic. In a corner just to the left of the fireplace, sits a tall, round cage.

I am locked in the cage, my hands cuffed overhead. Ms. Lynn opens an armoire, filled with gleaming leather devices. I don’t get much of a chance to study them as Ms. Lynn leaves and turns off the lights, plunging me into darkness.

I can’t help but tremble. I don’t even know this man yet, here I am, a prisoner in his room. Of course, I’ve been with other strange men before, but always with someone I already knew near me, like Red Silk. No such safety net now.

I draw a deep breath, lick my lips. I’ve got to get my fear under control, can’t let this paralyze me. Yet, before I realize it, my fear is transformed to longing in my vagina and I can’t wait to face the unknown.

Patience, patience, I chant to myself. Your time will come. But my need, the burn is reaching new levels tonight. Where is he? Where is the man who will satisfy me? Patience.

Sounds of celebration leak into the room. They briefly increase in volume as the door opens. A dim lamp at the bedside reveals Mr. Rose, his features relaxed. Gone is the sadness from earlier, replaced now with the expectation of using his new slave, of forgetting his duties as host. He’s seen to everyone else’s pleasure for the night, now it’s his turn.

He draws me out of the cage, his hands are soft, gentle. He unhurriedly secures my legs and arms wide apart to the bedposts. I watch in fascination as he undresses. Master of the estate, he takes his time in hanging up his clothes before he turns his attention back to the hot slave on his bed. His young body is beautiful: legs firm, tight stomach, broad chest. He joins me on the bed, taking care not to trample me with hands, knees or legs. Carefully, he lays on top of me.

“When I saw you in your leather suit at the party, I knew I would have you for my own. When you satisfied all those masters and still had enough left for me at the end I knew, even if the lady whose care you were in refused to negotiate, I’d find a way to get you. And now here you are. Do you have what it takes? Are you ready to commit?”

My mouth is dry. I’m not quite sure what he is asking, but I feel I’m at a crossroads. “Yes. I’m ready, master.”

He takes his privilege with me, his huge cock easily sliding in, pounding away at the cleft between my legs. His mouth covers mine in possessive kisses, his tongue exploring my throat as deeply as his cock explores my cunt. My own explosions start within and I hear him gasp in amazement. I pull against the ropes, my back arched, then almost immediately sense my fire start to build anew. I’m halfway there as he reaches his own climax and I cry out. Unlike most men he doesn’t collapse afterwards. His cock has lost some of its stiffness, but he keeps on with me, not stopping until I’ve orgasmed again. Somehow, I find my hands are untied and I cling to him like a lifeline. The rest of the ropes come off and we pleasure each other for hours on end. Eventually he falls asleep, but I don’t. When dawn breaks I greet it with contentment, curled up in his arms.