Chapter 1 The First Day

When she woke, she felt cold and pain. Cold, because the room's temperature was too low for someone naked. Goose bumps bristled out of her body. And pain; because the wrought iron cage, she was in, had bars on the floor, as well as the sides and top. They dug into her skin.

The cage was too small for her: four feet long, two feet wide, and three feet high. She could get her five foot six body on her hands and knees, but had to be careful not to bang her head on the top. But she couldn't keep that position for long. The bars bit into her hands and knees. There was a padlocked door down at the end, by her feet; but she couldn't get around to look at it.

The room was well lit. Her cage was next to a wall. On the other side was a full-size bed she couldn't see over. In front of her were two black doors, one on the wall that she was next to, and one at a right angle, facing her.

The bedspread and carpet were burgundy, the color of red wine. The walls were the same shade of red, but with alternating black stripes. The carpet, in contrast, was a pure white. Under the cage was some kind of metal pan.

The brunette raised her head up and cried out, "Hey! Can anyone hear me? Get me out of here!"

The call seemingly fell on deaf ears. And she waited for hours.

As she crouched in her cage, she thought she heard whispering intermingled with the sound of air conditioning, but she couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was her imagination.

She was a prisoner here, but how did she get here? The last thing she remembered was stopping in Kansas City to change buses. She had a three hour layover, so she walked around the city. The last thing she remembered was looking at dresses in a vintage clothing store.

Surely people were looking for her, but who? Definitely not her mom and step-dad. They cared too much for their booze and drugs, to worry about her. All her friends in West Virginia knew she was going to Los Angeles, to get into modeling. None of them were expecting to hear from her.

That meant she was on her own. She had to escape from her captors. She didn't know how, but she knew the first step was to get out of this cage.

As she reached this conclusion, the far door opened, and in walked a man. He was middle aged, with receding light brown hair, a small moustache, wire rim glasses, and a slight pot belly. Not very impressive. He stood by the cage, his black sneakers by her head.

A feeling of déjà vu swept through her. She remembered something about laying at a man's feet. Maybe she had dreamed it.

"Please let me out," she begged.

The man smiled. He talked in a friendly, conversational manner. "Of course I'll let you out. You just need to do two things."

A knot formed in her stomach. "What are they?"

He presented a inch wide leather dog collar, with a shiny gold dog tag on it. "Put on this collar around your neck."

"I can do that."

"And you agree to be my slave."

This left her at a loss for words. "You ... You can't be serious!"

"Quite serious." There was something in the way he said that, that left no doubt.

"I-I can't do that."

He didn't seem upset. "Suit yourself." He turned and walked to the door.

"I'll wear the collar!" she cried.

He turned at the doorway. Only a black curtain could be seen beyond. "One is no good without the other." He then closed the door.

She was alone again.

She scolded herself. She should have agreed to his demands. Anything to get out of this imprisonment. Her response had been reflexive, instinctual. Next time he showed up she'd tell him that she'd changed her mind.

She kept trying to find a comfortable position. She laid on her side, using her arm as a pillow. That worked for a while, but her arm soon ached from the bars cutting off her circulation.

Laying on her back was probably the most comfortable. Her long brown hair helped protect her shoulders, and the bars didn't dig into her large breasts. But she never could sleep on her back.

Eventually though, she did sleep; on her back, with an arm covering her eyes from the light in the room. Her sleep was fitful, though. Her body kept wanting to turn onto its side.

And her dreams were odd, also. Most she couldn't remember, but one had her crouched at a man's feet, licking his shoes. After she woke from these dreams, she was physically aroused.

What finally ended her efforts to sleep, though, was thirst. She had been thirsty in her life before, but nothing like this. Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt thick, and stuck to roof of her mouth.

She was hungry too, as her rumbling belly attested to, but thirst trumped hunger.

Still laying on her back, she tried to call out, but her throat was too dry. "H-Help!" she finally managed to cry out.

Almost immediately, the man appeared. He was still dressed in black jeans and a black polo shirt. "Yes?" he asked.

"W-Water..." she croaked.

He took a high step onto the top of the cage. It didn't bend or groan under his weight, testifying to its strong design. He stood on top of her. His feet directly above her breasts. "While you're in this cage, the only water you'll get is my piss."

Before she could register what he said, he opened his fly and began to urinate on her face.

The first shot went right into her mouth. She started to choke and gag, but the need for water was too great. She swallowed the pee.

Fortunately, the man had drank a lot of water before hand, and the urine was almost clear, and didn't taste too acrid.

The man moved the stream several times, and each time she moved her mouth to get more moisture.

When he'd finished, he zipped up his flaccid cock and stepped off the cage.

She was still thirsty, and saw a few drops hanging off the top bars. She eagerly lapped them up.

He was almost to the door, when the girl had remembered her decision to go along. "Wait!" she cried.

The man turned. "Yes?"

"I-I've changed my mind."

"About what?"

"I'll do your two things. I'll wear your collar and ... and be your slave."

A small smile crossed his face. "Very good." He opened the door he was about to exit, and pulled out two items, the collar and a briefcase.

He squatted down beside her, and pushed the collar through the bars. "Buckle this around your neck, however tight or loose you want."

She secured the collar as loose as possible.

The gold tag on the collar was blank on both sides.

He moved down to the cage's gate. "The collar is a symbol of your enslavement. You are to take it off only when I say so. Do you understand?"

"Yes..."

"Master. Always say 'Yes, Master.'" He pulled a leash out of the briefcase, and threaded it through the gap between the cage door and the cage itself. "Attach this to your collar."

"Yes ... Master."

He then took a key out of his jeans pocket, and unlocked the cage door.

"Now, back out slowly."

She did so. The relief of getting out almost drove her to tears.

"You know, I could have left you in that cage for a couple more days. But I didn't."

"Thank you."

There was a slight irritation in his voice. "Thank you, what?"

"Thank you, Master."

Once she had gotten out, she tried to stand, but he stopped her.

"Be careful," he said with genuine concern. "Don't get up too fast."

She decided to try and break the ice. "So, do you have a name?"

"Master will do, for now."

"My name is ... ow ow Ow!" She tried to stand, but dizziness and leg cramps interfered. She managed to collapse on the bed.

The man shook his head. "I told you not to get up so fast.

"But as long as you are up here, we can get this out of the way." He grabbed her arms and forced them behind her back. "Get on your knees," he said in a conversational tone. He pulled her arms up, so she had to comply.

He released his grip and reached for the briefcase. "Now, don't move."

He pulled out something that, from her angle, she couldn't see.

She thought about moving, but was too scared.

Without warning, he shoved something small up her ass.

She let out a gasp, at the intrusion, and tried to move away.

The man punched her butt, leaving a bruise, but he didn't raise his voice. "I said, don't move."

She heard the sound of a small pump, and felt whatever was in her ass inflate. He did inflate it much, only to the size of a golf ball. But she knew it was not going to come out her tight ass.

He removed the inflation tube, leaving a small plug behind.

She tried to reach behind. "Get it out!" she cried frantically.

The man hit a button on a small remote. The girl fell over shrieking in pain, as an electric jolt coursed through one of the most sensitive parts of her body.

He held up the remote. "This is part of your training. Don't touch the plug. How long you wear it is up to you. Any time you disobey, you'll get one of these:..." He pressed the button again.

She writhed on the bed in agony.

"If I tell you to do something, you do it immediately. Delayed obedience is disobedience. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," she cried.

"Good. Now, let's take a look at those legs. Your muscles are all cramped up."

He got to work, rubbing the knots out. It turned out he had real good hands, and knew just how to soothe hurting muscles.

He must have been one of those massage people, she thought.

As he was rubbing, he talked. "You were about to tell me your name. I already know it. But it doesn't matter. You won't be using it anymore.

She wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but she was too afraid.

When he was finished with her legs, she felt much better.

He pulled her to her feet. He was about six inches taller than her. He pointed to a small desk that was on the other side of the bed from the cage. "Go sit over there."

The chair was hard wood, with no padding, but was not very uncomfortable.

The man placed a single piece of paper in front of her. "Sign this."

At the top of the page was a heading that said "Contract of Enslavement."

"Go ahead and read it," he said. "Take your time."

She read the title, but had trouble understanding it. She thought that a contract was a little lens you put in your eyes, instead of glasses.

The last big word had the word "slave" in it. So she guessed this was agreement to make her his slave.

On the top line was her name, Sharon Waid.

Throughout the paper were words, she didn't know. But she got the gist that she was giving up everything, and he would take care of her.

"What if I don't sign this?" she asked in a trembling voice.

"That's all right. You can just go back in the cage until you do."

"I thought Lincoln freed the slaves."

"That was involuntary slavery. This you are doing of your own free will."

She sighed. "Where's the pen?"

He handed her a two inch long straight pin, used for sewing.

"What's this for?"

"Prick your finger. Sign your name in blood."

She was about to ask if he was serious, but she knew he was.

She started out tentatively, trying to cause as little pain as possible. She managed to get an "S" printed out, when Master grabbed the sheet, wadded it up, and put a fresh copy down. "Why'd you do that?" she asked.

"I told you to sign your name, not print it. Sign it like you were signing a check.

She had never had a checking account, but she knew what he meant. She sighed and started over.

The signing process was a long one. Each finger produced only a little dot of blood. All ten of her fingers were sore, and she hadn't even got to her last name.

"Would you like some help?" asked the man, who had been watching her.

"Please," she said. She then panicked as to what she had agreed to.

He grabbed the pin, and her left index finger. He stabbed deep into the digit.

She cried out in pain.

When he pulled out the pin, deep red blood welled up. "There you go."

"T-Thank you, Master."

The wound did provide all the blood she needed to finish her signature.

Seeing her name on the contract, sign in her own blood, caused a knot to form in the pit of her stomach. It was like she had signed away part of her soul.

It was either that or the cage, she thought.

"Very good," he said, as he collected the document, and put it in the briefcase. "Now, let's get you cleaned up." He lead her, using the leash, to the door on the same wall as the cage.

The door lead to a small bathroom. With just the two of them, it was a tight fit. It had a one person shower, with no curtain or door, the size of a phone booth.

The first thing he did was draw her a glass of water from the tap. She drained it quickly."

"More?"

"Yes, please."

She ended up drinking three glassfuls from the plastic glass.

Next, he cleaned and bandaged her wounded finger. The care that he took on it impressed her.

"Thank you."

"You are my property. I want to make sure you stay in good working order."

"Oh."

"Now, take your shower. Take off your collar. We don't want it to get wet."

The slave didn't realize how dirty she was. Not only did she have piss on her, she also had several days of sweat and dirt. The shower felt wonderful.

Her master talked to her during the shower. "I have some questions for you. If you lie, I'll know."

Despite the warm water, she shivered. She did not doubt him. "O-Okay."

"How old are you?"

"I'm fifteen. I was going to be sixteen in a week."

He nodded. "You're sixteen.

"Are you still a virgin?"

She blushed. "Yes." She knew neither of her parents would believe her. Would he?

"Are you a complete virgin? Have you ever had anal or oral sex?"

She flushed even deeper. "I ... I gave my old boyfriend Kyle a blowjob twice."

He patted her on the back. "Very good. You are being truthful.

"You have very large breasts. What size bra do you wear?"

"34D."

A shock went through her anus, and since she was wet, the pain was even worse. She fell to her knees on the shower floor, moaning.

"The bra you were wearing, when you got here was a 34DD."

"It depends on the brand," she cried. "With some it's a D, others it's DD."

"You should have said that. But I don't believe it. Tell me one brand that makes a D cup that can hold you melon-sized mammaries."

The flustered girl panicked. "I ... I don't know."

He continued on. "Do you know your waist and hip measurements?

"No. I..."

"That's fine. Your waist is 28, and your hips are 36. You have some weight to lose. Our goal is for a twenty-four inch waist."

"Yes, Master ... Ah!" She felt a shock course through her again. This time, she lost control, and pissed on the shower floor.

"I told you not to touch that plug. You've got to be more careful."

She nodded miserably. She didn't know how many more of those shocks she could take.

The shampoo and conditioner were generic, but at least they were the right type for her hair.

As she stepped out of the shower, he handed her a towel. "Dry your neck first," he ordered. She did, and he refastened the collar.

"Can I ask you a question?" She looked at him fearfully.

"You can ask."

"Why me?"

He smiled. "An excellent question. I'm sure you have some ideas. I'll answer it later in your training.

"Any other questions?"

"Can I have some clothes?"

He laughed. "You are a long way from wearing clothes. Only a slave who has completed all her training would be allowed to wear normal street clothes. By that time, though, most of them see clothes as a nuisance; as well it is."

"But you are wearing clothes," she said impulsively. The girl cringed, expecting another painful shock.

"That is to reinforce my dominance over you. If I were alone, or with someone who feels as I do, I would wear little if any clothes. Later in you training, I will not always be so fully dressed."

She turned on the blow dryer, to dry her hair. This made conversation difficult. Once she was done, she asked, "No makeup?"

Slaves generally don't wear makeup, unless her master wants to show her off, or she has some kind of skin condition that needs covering up. You don't seem to have any skin problems."

"My lips are dry."

He reached into a drawer, and pulled out some Chap-Stick. "Use this."

She did.

He led her with the dog leash, out of the bathroom. "When your master is walking you by a leash, and you are standing upright, clasp your hands behind your back."

She did so. It gave her a feeling of vulnerability. It made her breasts stick out. She didn't like it.

"Now I am going to take care of your grooming."

This confused her.

He lead her through the other door, careful to not let the door hit her, and through a black curtain, to another room.

The slave could not tell how big the room was, but it felt big. It was pitch black, except for one area in front of her, illuminated by an overhead light.

Under the light was a big wooden frame, seven feet high, four feet wide, and three feet deep. On top of the frame, on the inside, were two handles, centered, about two feet apart from each other. On the bottom were two metal loops, spaced the same as the two on top.

"Step into the frame," he ordered.

The girl stopped and looked at the set up.

He pressed the button, sending a shock through her ass.

She shrieked, and leapt into the frame.

He wagged his finger at her. "Didn't I tell you delayed obedience is disobedience?"

"Yess," she hissed in pain.

"Yes, what?" he asked, raising the tiny remote.

"Master! Yes, Master!" she cried.

"Very good.

"Now, grab the handholds overhead, and put your feet in the loops below."

Not wanting to be hurt again, she instantly complied. She wasn't completely stretched tight, but she only had an inch or two of leeway.

Her master pulled out two Velcro straps. "Grab those handles tight." He wrapped a strap around each wrist, then through the handholds, and around her hands several times. She couldn't let go if she wanted to.

For her feet, he used a belt on each. He ran each belt through the inside of the loops, around his slave's heel, around the foot to the other side of the loop, the through the loop, back to the heel. At the heel, he buckled the belt. He tightened it until the top of her foot dug into the metal loop, and she winced in pain.

Out of the darkness, he retrieved a bowl of shaving cream, and a straight edge razor.

"It is not a general rule, but many masters prefer their slaves free of body hair. So that is what we are going to do.

"Now, don't move. If you flinch at the wrong moment, I could slash an artery, and put your life a risk. Understand?"