Chapter 10: My New Master

Later that day my new master's representatives arrived to collect their new property. Three men took delivery in the lobby of the building that had been my home for the past several months, briefly inspecting my naked, bruised body and comparing me to a series of photographs before signing the documents indicating receipt of goods. I was then bound hand and foot and gagged, before one of the men effortlessly lifted me to his shoulder and carried me into the courtyard, to deposit me on the floor of a large van. My mind was still numb. I expected to be raped in the car, but I could register neither fear nor anticipation. I wanted nothing more than to rest, recover from the beating I had received that morning, and come to terms with this sudden change in my fortunes.

To my surprise, I was not put to work entertaining my keepers during the car ride to a small airfield outside the city. I wondered if my new master had given instructions that I was not to be abused, and if perhaps that meant that my slavery would be lighter and more tolerable than it had been in the club. There, I had been only so much captive slave flesh from which pleasure could be forcibly extracted; where I was headed, perhaps I would be a valued possession, a girl whose comfort might be somewhat protected, if only to ensure the perfection of her services to her master. I knew the slavery I was headed toward could be nothing if not unconditional. No man, I realized, would buy me for any purpose other than to keep me and exploit me as a perfectly obedient pleasure slave. But there are many ways to treat a slave girl; perhaps one way was to treat her gently, so that she might be even more thankful to and dependent on her master.

The van drove onto the tarmac of the airfield. In the back, I was lifted and placed into a large, padded trunk. I was buckled in place with my legs drawn up to fit into the confined space. The lid was closed and secured and my world went black. I could then feel the trunk being lowered from the van and rolled, it seemed, across the concrete. Then it was lifted and carried up a series of steps, presumably into the plane that would take me to my new life. My heart was pounding, but I knew I had nothing to fear - other than, of course, the perils that a slave girl routinely faces. Someone had paid a large amount of money for absolute ownership of my body, my talents, and my complete submission, and he would ensure that I arrived safely in his keeping.

Once the plane was airborne, the trunk was opened and I was lifted out of it and placed on the floor. I struggled to my knees and knelt before my three guards, the only people in the passenger cabin of the small jet. I spread my knees and lifted my breasts as I had done so many times, hoping they were satisfied with me. I would gladly have served them with my body, but they showed surprisingly little interest in my naked, helpless form. One of the men reached behind my head and unbuckled the straps of my gag.

"Thank you, master," I said. "How may I serve you, master?" I expected the gag had been released for a reason - a price I would gladly pay to be relieved of its discomfort.

"Lie down, and rest," he said, tossing a pillow to the floor where I might lie on it. "Your master wants you to be fresh and rested when you arrive."

"Yes, master," I said, turning to my side on the floor of the plane. I did not ask who my master might be. I was a slave. If the masters wanted me to know, they would tell me. My place was only to listen, obey, and serve.

It was nighttime when we landed several hours later, but the air was still warm when we exited the plane. While I had been secretly smuggled aboard the plane outside Paris - slavery being illegal in France - I was surprised to be simply carried out of the plane by one of the guards, my naked, bound body draped over his shoulder. He carried me down the staircase from the plane and another hundred meters or so to a waiting stretch limousine. Perhaps this was a private airfield, or perhaps I was simply in a place where naked slave girls were not such an unusual occurrence. If the latter, any chance I might have of ever escaping my slave status would be significantly reduced. But I was already becoming resigned to a life as a sex slave.

The car drove for close to an hour. I could make out little of the surroundings in the moonless night. I wondered what my new master would be like, and what he would expect of me. Would he want a hot, eager slave slut, ready to throw herself at his feet and split her legs widely, begging to be raped? Or perhaps a shy, reluctant girl to be forcibly bent to his will and compelled to serve him unquestioningly? Or did he want an All-American college girl whom he could dress up in cheerleader costumes, that she must then remove sensuously in the privacy of his chambers? I did not know. All I could do was be myself - a deeply submissive slave girl, willing to do anything to please her master. I hoped that would be enough for him.

The driver used a magnetic card to pass through a tall iron gate, and then we turned into a long driveway that led to a small but elegant stone mansion. It seemed in the light from its windows like a modern version of an old English university building, like one of the Oxford or Cambridge colleges refreshed with a contemporary architect's clean lines. I had little time to appreciate its appearance before being once again lifted onto the guard's shoulder, carried into the entranceway, and unceremoniously deposited on the floor. My hands and feet still bound by steel cuffs, I pushed myself up onto my knees and assumed the position of a trained pleasure slave, looking about me for the face of my master.

Instead, I looked up into the eyes of a beautiful, young woman wearing a flowing silk dress - and a steel collar about her throat. "Welcome," she said in an upper-class British accent. "I am Charlotte, and as I am sure you have realized, I am a slave girl, every bit as much as you." Yes, she was a slave girl. The thin, short garment of silk was obviously all she wore, and could do little to hide the sweet curves of her young, soft body. I could see why she had been chosen for slavery, her body almost crying out to be taken and dominated by a master. If I had been a man I was sure I could not have resisted her, but would have torn off her dress and thrown her to the floor. I wondered if I might inspire those same reactions in men. I shuddered to think of the passions to which I was subject.

"Yes, mistress," I said. As the new slave girl, I assumed I must treat any other girls as my superiors.

"There is no hierarchy among slaves here, Jenny," Charlotte said. "We are not to devote our energies to any pursuits other than pleasing our master." After a pause, she continued. "I am to see that you are cleaned and prepared to meet the master."

The guards unchained my wrists and ankles, leaving me absolutely nude; my previous collar had been left behind, in Paris. I expected I would be wearing a new collar soon. Jenny led me up a spiral staircase and down a hall to a large, almost opulent bathroom with a circular marble tub already filled with hot water. I entered the bath and luxuriated for a moment before she reminded me that the master was waiting. Not wanting to cause the least displeasure, I hurriedly cleaned myself and toweled off. There was no makeup available. I would present myself to my master purely as I was, without cosmetics or any other artifice.

When I was ready, Charlotte led me back down the hallway, past the stairs, and into a large bedroom. She left me, and there I knelt, my thighs spread and my eyes cast down as she had instructed. I knew I would do anything in my power to be pleasing. I desperately wanted my master to be pleased with his girl, and feared the consequences of any disappointment. I thought about how far I had come from Los Angeles, where I had simply assumed that men liked me and wanted me. Then I could count on them to attempt to please me. Now it was I, naked and on my knees, who must beg for the chance to serve them.

I heard footsteps, but forced myself to keep my eyes on the floor. A moment later there was a man standing before me.

"On your hands and knees," he said. The British accent sounded familiar. I obeyed in a second. "Kiss my feet," he said. I lowered my head to his feet and kissed them lightly, then tenderly, then passionately. I moaned softly as a sign of the arousal I experienced simply from kissing the feet of my master. It was a common slave girl's device to entice a master, but it was also something I felt deep inside me. "Lift your head," he said. I did so. I was still on all fours, now looking ahead at his knees and thighs. I felt his hands lifting my hair off my neck. I was momentarily confused. Then I felt the cold steel collar lock into place about my neck. I had been collared, like a dog. But instead of being insulted, I felt secure in the collar. I knew that I was worth enough for a man to buy and own me, and the collar was the ultimate symbol of my value as a slave.

"Kneel," he commanded. I looked up into his eyes.

"David!" I must have shouted, throwing myself to my belly before him, clasping his ankles and calves with my hands as I once again kissed his feet, fervently and passionately this time. It was the Arabian playboy who had so often claimed me during the months in Paris, who had known so well how to make me scream in pleasure and in submission. He had bought me! Perhaps he even cared about me. But even if he had no feelings for me, even if he had bought me solely because he had found my sexual services to be satisfactory, had judged my soft thighs worthy of being spread before him, I was still grateful, because I knew what delights might await me under his power. He was a powerful, unconditional, absolute master, of course, one who knew how to make a slave girl crawl to him and beg to be used, but at the same time he could make that same girl happier to be a slave than she would have ever have imagined possible.

Then he dragged me back to my knees by my hair and slapped me across the face, throwing my body sideways and to the floor. "You are a common slave slut," he said. "Do not insult my name by letting it pass your lips."