Dark Erotic Fiction

(Following on from “The Whipping“, we return to George Page’s PoV)

I chatted briefly with Cov and Hun and didn’t rise to their semi-snide comparisons of the way we treated our respective Wheaton Heights Wives.

With Claire Winters looking on, I complimented them on the event so far, and thanked them for introducing me to Monsieur Avignon.

I let them go as they went over to Ernestine to join the camera crew for a more intimate interview.

All the while I’d ignored, as much as possible, the slave that I’d ordered to lick the ‘basting’ paste from my hand.   I’d noticed her movements slowing down, and an increasing warmth in my fingers, but I’d been determined to show the women that I could be as callous as they could.

I may have done better than I’d known, because as soon as they were out of earshot, two slaves hurried over to us.

“Master,” the first one to reach us said urgently, “That paste is mildly acidic, ah, it contains some chemicals that break down the skin to further tenderise the meat.   Ah, it can cause permanent damage if we don’t get it cleaned off quickly.”

I quickly held out my hand for her to wipe down with a wet towel, while the other one hovered nervously. If they were so concerned about my hand … Fuck!

“Can you neutralize it?   For her?”   I nodded at the slave who’d been licking my fingers.

“In the clinic, Master, can we?”   They looked over to the back corner of the courtyard, where one of the arms joined the cross at the kitchen.

“Lead on” I ordered, helping my slave to her feet. I nodded as one of the others had her rinse her mouth out before taking a long drink of water.

The ‘Clinic’ they lead me to was a well set up little facility in the back corner of the complex, almost a mini-hospital, with several treatment rooms as well as a couple of small ‘recovery’ type wards.

The thickness of the doors on the ‘treatment’ rooms should have been my first clue, but it wasn’t until I saw a slave - well, a presumed slave - strapped to the table in the last room, with what looked like a dozen surgical clamps attached to her breasts that I realised that this was as much of a torture facility as the courtyard or the dungeon I’d looked into.

Some of it may have been psychological, but by the time we reached the sluice area, my hand - my dominant left hand, of course - was beginning to sting quite badly.   I didn’t want to think about how the slave’s mouth and throat felt.

I very quickly had the paste washed off, and a cooling anesthetic (and antiseptic?) gel smeared over it.   When it was offered, I accepted a thin gauze glove as well.

Looking at my victim, I watched as she was made to rinse her mouth some more and then gargle a sharp smelling liquid.

“You’re both medics?” I asked as her attendant shone the expected device down her throat, looking for damage.

The one who treated me snorted.   “I’m an MD, and Kate’s a registered nurse, or she was.”

“Ah.   This place would keep you fairy busy, then.”   Another snort.

“How is she?” I went on as she didn’t offer any more information.

“Tongue and lips are the worst,” the other one - Kate - answered, “But then you’d expect that.   Throat’s inflamed, but I don’t think it’s too bad.   I doubt she swallowed very much.”

“Good.” I knelt next to my victim and took her hands.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” I told her, very much to her surprise, I imagine.   “I didn’t mean to, but that’s my fault for leaping before I knew what I was putting my hand into.”   She nodded when I finished. “Is there anything I can do?”

“She’ll get points for this,” the MD said.   “Not many, because there wasn’t all that much damage, but I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone eat the paste before.   And her obedience was perfect, too.”

I pulled a card from my shirt pocket and handed it to her.   “If there’s ever anything, give me a call.”

***

Jesus, I thought as I wandered back out to the courtyard.   I’d thought that I was riding the rough edge of my personality when I beat on my Debbie, but half the things I’d seen here were giving my ideas.   I amble past some of the displays that had been set up while the queue basted poor Earnie.

Most of it was low key stuff - girls in whipping posts, or getting fucked in pillories, that sort of thing.   But there were a couple that stood out.   They were winding up before the main event, so I couldn’t watch them for too long.

One was a ‘human dartboard’:   A slave was strapped to a wheel like an old knife thrower’s assistant and the wheel was spun while the ‘players’ threw oversized darts.   When the board spun to a stop, I was surprised to see the slave wearing a hard plastic mask over her fast and throat.   I would have expected her to have to take her chances with getting a dart in the eye, but it soon occurred to me that it was Cov and Hun who weren’t taking any chances:   It wouldn’t do to have some mere slave upstage their show by dying by accident.

That explained some of the urgency of the two medics, as well, I supposed.

The other interesting exhibit was more complicated.   This time the slave was suspended by her feet from a gantry that extended out from the rooftree.   With her hair just sweeping the ground, the swing arm must have been something like twenty feet.   That part of it alone, I could see possibilities for - thank you Foucault - but it didn’t stop there:   on each swing, she swung between two large metal domes.   As she did so, fat, juicy sparks leapt out from the Van der Graff generators.

She must have been well gagged, or very well trained, because I didn’t hear anything over the Hummm-Zap! of the generators.

Like the dartboard, though, this one was also coming to an end.   The swinger was slowed till she hung still, directly between the domes!   The discharge rate went up dramatically until they were turned off.   She was left hanging, but the machines were quieted so as not to distract from the main event.

While I’d been away, Ernestine had been moved from her upright frame to the ‘kneeling supplicant’ restraints of a Jessica 3000, her neck and spine held rigidly in place, her arms stretched out in front of her.

I worked my way to the front of the onlookers, up by her head, almost despite myself.   I was damned sure I wasn’t going to enjoy this anywhere near as much as I’d thought I would.

There was absolutely no expression in Earnestine’s eyes as the tip of the shaft, the spit, was seated in her anus, and I wondered if I had hurt her more than I’d helped when I’d brought her back - if I’d brought her back - earlier.   If she’d found some place inside herself, I’d probably not done her a favour.

Still, I was hardly the demon of this piece.   The spit may have been ready, but Cov & Hun weren’t ready to let their Earnie go quite yet. They stepped up to where her hands were splayed against the metal frame of the Jessica and rapped the machine hard with bulb-headed metal rods.

Earnie blinked at the sudden noise, but that was it:   she didn’t track her tormenters the way I’d seen her do the night before, or even as recently as her whipping.   From the look of it, if they wanted a live spit roast, they’d better get on with it.

I was wrong.   Earnestine focused and started tracking again the instant Hun brought her baton down to smash one of her fingers.   Then it was Cov’s turn, and they alternated until her hands must have been shattered.

I could understand why they did it - it was like Winters had said earlier, there was no point tormenting someone who wasn’t aware of it - but there was something beyond callous in the way they did it.

Finally, they were done, and with a flourish, Cov pressed the button that started the machine.   Earnie didn’t react much for the first several inches, but I wasn’t surprised given they way she’d been reamed out the night before, starting with myself and graduating up to Cov’s fist. God only knew what they’d got up to after Tia and I left.

I could tell when it hit the first serious resistance by the way her eyes widened and the slight pause in the shaft before the sharpened point pushed through whatever membrane or intestinal wall it had hung up on and continued its remorseless inch-per-second progress.

Her breathing changed as it punctured her diaphragm, and then she spasmed - despite the rigid restraint - as the spit forced its way into her esophagus.

I watched her throat bulge at the end, just before it appeared between her teeth.

The shaft continued to come out until a full yard had passed completely through her before stopping.   Earnestine’s ragged heartbeat thumped out over the PA system as the MD slave I’d spoken with earlier held a microphone to her chest before bowing deeply to Cov and Hun and announcing solemnly “She is alive, Mistresses.”

The two Hosts grinned hugely as the whole compound burst into applause.   Bowing themselves, they reached forward and pressed the next button on the Jessica, causing the gutting blades to sweep out and disembowel their slave - their meal, now - in a gout of blood.

They walked hand in hand the length of the machine until they reached the offal tray at the end.   Hun reached in and picked up something - I figured that it was probably the liver - and cut a long slice.   She seared it quickly on a prepared hotplate and offered one end to Cov.   Taking the other end between her own teeth, they embraced and nibbled down the virtually raw slice of meat.

I could barely hold down my gorge as they met in the middle and sank into a deep soul-kiss to renewed applause and a couple of cat calls.

That was it, for me, I had had enough.   ‘Friend of Jamis’ I might have called myself, but at least Paul Atreides never had to watch the deathstill in action.

Earnestine Royal had expired, at last.   I reached out and closed her eyes, only to look up into the smirk on the face of Claire Winters.

“Staying for Dinner?” she asked.

(Carrying on from ‘The Whipping‘, Earnestine’s Owners have a message to pass on)

Cov and Hun: Faded Lotus Events (Fade Out Films Transcripts)

Eleanor:   Fade Out Films is producing “Earnestine”s Last Supper” here at Faded Lotus Dolcett Village in Stepford.   This is a DVD bonus section, an interview with Mistress Covington.   I”m Eleanor, your host and a GVVN person of limited rights.   Mistress Covington has a statement for the Wheaton Heights ladies.

Cov & Hun image 1

Cov: (blows cigarette smoke in Eleanor”s face—Eleanor coughs) They are bitches—snooty, bitchy, whiney, cunts that never worked hard in their worthless lives.   (Cov puffs on her clove cigarette and drops it on the ground, lights another).   This is how to make dinner, bitching cunts.   Start with one stupid snooty socialite.   Broaden her horizons—and as the man says, other orifices.   Beat well.   Run her until she collapses.   It doesn”t take much.   Earnie baby was so lazy that shopping was hard for her.   Next, we whip the shit out of her.   We fix her to the grill and spice her up.   The moment of truth is when we let Earnie in on the joke.   She”s the joke!

Eleanor: I see that you have her trussed up already.

Cov: Now Hun is going to inject the special flavoring into Earnie”s brain.   It will make her feel every little thing magnified a thousand times.   She has only a few hours to live—and she will be very grateful when the pain stops.   Taking away her oxygen won”t kill her.   The stuff breaks down at 140 degrees so it is safe to eat her brains.   We will.   This DVD is to put all those spoiled rich bitches of Wheaton Heights on notice. (takes a last drag on her clove cigarette and drops it on the ground) Earnie was a Royal pain in our ass from Day One.   When Hun and I worked at the Bargain Hunter Supermarket, her complaints got us fired.   Every day she showed up was a day the manager got a complaint about me or Hun or both of us.   We were rude to her, she said.   We reeked of tobacco smoke. (lights up another clove cigarette, puffs on it) Finally, after being put on probation without pay for a week, we were told to never return.

Hun: Yes, Earnie is ready now.   It”s payback for the restaurant when Earnie dumped that soup all over me. (dumps a bowl of red paste on Earnestine and spreads it around with her gloved hand) This would really burn if I didn”t have gloves.   See?   Earnie here is trying to get away from the burn.   The flavor enhancer is working its magic.   Earnie can”t make a squeak anymore.   She”s dead.   She is just stuck in her body for our amusement until the flavor enhancer burns out of her system over the coals.   About that restaurant—there was a little waviness in her wine glass.   Earnie bitched so much about that little blemish that we didn”t get any tips from either table that night.   We got fired again because Miss Perfect here said that we had put pubic hair in her food.

Cov & Hun image 2

Cov: Rich Bitch kept showing up wherever we worked and caused us trouble.   We lost a pet grooming business we started because she and her friends boycotted us.   We finally had to leave for our current location, Fort Jones, Arkansas, because we kept getting harassed by Earnie and her brunch bunch.   I bet she regretted that.   We were out of state when WSA 2000 was passed or Earnie might have gotten us enslaved.   Her bad!   We left our problems behind and started a dude ranch.

Hun: Yeah.   (Finished with Earnestine Royal, removes gloves) When we saw Governor Rush roast his daughters, it was Hello!   Why not start a live roast dude ranch?   We knew food.   I was a butcher in the Bargain Hunter Meat Department.   Cov knew the spices.   Cov, may I have a cigarette?

Cov: Sure, Hun. (lights two and passes one to Hun).   Don”t forget Earnie”s anti-smoking crusade.   She got us tossed out of our trailer court for smoking too much!

Hun: As if she would know.   (long drag and exhales) She and the other Wheaton Heights bitches never knew.   We are going to be buying other Wheaton Heights bitches and even roasting them in their own homes.   Isn”t that right, George?   You bought three of them and you want to be part of this scene.

Cov: That bitch Bethany is forted up in that Eastlake University Castleman thing—but she won”t be there forever.   We”re waiting.   Sharon is on our list, so is Alex.   And don”t think your spoiled brats are safe, either!   Tiffany had better watch her back.   She could be sent out on a fake slave pick-up and wind up here.   We have been bugging Ben about what a slut his daughter has been!   It doesn”t matter if Tiffy slut is really a good girl or not—what matters is that lovey dovey daddy loses it and slaves Tiffy bitch so that we can roast her too.

Cov & Hun image 3

Hun: The only thing is that we regret is that Earnie cunt won”t see that.   We have an option to buy Sandra next.   There is supposed to be a two-girl roast in Wheaton Heights next week.

Cov: Anyway, Faded Lotus Dolcett Village is the premier dining experience in Stepford, just 90 minutes away from lovely Wheaton Heights.   Look us up on the World Wide Web. (finishes her cigarette in a long drag)   Look out, rich bitches!   We will have our vengeance.

Eleanor: Whew! (Fans herself) Mistress Covington!   That was quite the message!

Cov: What do you mean by that?

Eleanor: You made it clear that you have been wronged, Mistress Covington.   You have put the ladies of Wheaton Heights on notice.   At least the free women of Wheaton Heights.   They will never know if they are going to lunch or going to be lunch.

Cov: That”s right!

Cov & Hun image 4

(Continuing Straight on from ‘The Running‘)

I got back to the courtyard as the end of the maze nearest the pool had been cleared and the MC’s little podium had been moved to the side, near the row of whipping posts.   Earnestine - and her owners - were nowhere to be seen, but the crowd was gathering again near that end of the courtyard.

I wasn’t paying too much attention as I wondered along with them.   Noreen’s reaction to the first event was troubling.   As far as I could remember it was the first time she’d actually asked me for anything, and gone so far as to impose on the supposed debt of a promised reward.   Sending her home was the right decision, I thought, along with the implicit promise that I wouldn’t partake of the meal.   The question was, whether I had gone far enough?

The MC broke me out of my revere as he cracked a whip over our heads.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!   While we give Earnestine a brief respite - in order to catch her breath - it is my very great pleasure to introduce to you our master leatherman, our artiste with the crop, Henri Avignon!”

A tallish man came out of the end of the building at the far side of the pool, trailed by five slaves.   He was dressed in the same smart casual as the MC and some of the other staff members.   The slaves, nude save for their collars and scars, were each carrying a different style of whip or flogger.   They were all relatively well marked, although I didn’t recognise either of the two who’d taken part in the first event.

They followed Avignon in a procession across the courtyard, one stopping at each of the five whipping posts, where they placed their implement on the ground, and were locked into shackles hanging from the top of the post.

“Mesdames et Monsieur’s,” he started in a moderately strong French accent.   “For this brief interlude, I shall demonstrate the proper - ze artistic - use of some of the minor tools here. Oui, oui, I know most of you already know how to use them, but we have some new friends here, and even the best of you can learn some new tricks, no?   Frankly, Madam Winters, your technique has gotten stale.   I should add you to my dolls here, to remind you what a good whipping is.   But No!   We shall save that for another time.”

He paused to allow the light laughter to die out, while a tall blonde in a dress suit waggled her finger at him.

“Zis is Sophia,” he said as he stepped to the first of his ‘dolls’, who was facing us, “And zis is a riding crop.” as he bent down to pick up the implement.   “It is ze basic tool of the slave owner, used both for guidance, and for correction.   It is painful, oui, but does little serious damage.   As such, it can be used with impunity on the sensitive parts of a slave, such as the nipples and the clitoris.”   He struck her strongly on each nipple to emphasise the point and then waited as she lifted her right leg in a standing split.   She managed to catch her heel behind her wrist just as he unloaded on her clitoris.   She gasped, but managed to hold the position until he motioned her down.   “It is also light enough that you can make ze amusing patterns with it.   Turn around my cherie.”   He laid down a rapid flurry of strokes on her back, and then stood aside to reveal a stylised, but recognisable Fleur de Lys.

He bowed slightly to the applause, then waved it down and moved along the line of posts.   “Now we come to Mercy, and her leather strap.”   The strap he picked up looked to be about six inches wide and half an inch thick.   “This tool, also is painful for ze recipient, and does not do too much damage to the skin.   It is wide enough to spread the impact out, you see.   It is much heavier, of course, and so, it can leave deep bruising that will take days to fade.   Ze trick is to overlap your blows, so that the damage compounds.”   He looked at the strap.   “With a fifteen centimetre strap like this one a skilled user can get fifteen strokes in side the mark of the first.”

“How many have you done?” someone heckled from the audience.

Avignon gave a very Gallic shrug.   “Thirty-two.   Ah Rachel, Cherie.   I do hope you let me help in your Grand Finale.”

“Like fuck!” called a voice from the back.   “If I’m going to spend that long letting you paddle my ass, I want to be around afterward to appreciate it.”   Rachel, the Doll who’d helped chase Earnie came through the crowd to kiss the Frenchman on the cheek.   “I literally couldn’t sit for a week.”

He shrugged again as everyone chuckled.   “So crass.   You can see why she needed to be ‘paddled’, as she says, no?   One last thing about this strap.   It can damage the soft tissues, so it is safest not to use it on the stomach, or around the kidneys.   Unless you wish to cause such damage, of course. Now cherie, you will help me with young Mercy here, oui?   Count my strokes, and make sure that I stay within the first mark.”

He laid his first stroke across the top of her ass, and then proceeded to lay eleven further strips before Rachel announced that he’s gone outside the first.   Mercy yelled and jiggled in place with each one, but didn’t break her basic position

He shook his head sadly.   “A poor effort.   You have upset me, cherie.   Shall we try again?”   Everyone laughed at Mercy’s groan.   “Non,” he said smiling.   “Mercy is her name, and mercy she shall have.   Let us move on.”

I watched rapt as he went on to describe the characteristics of the cane, the full sized maritime cat’o'nine tails and the single-tailed stock whip.   I’d started on my own torture slave with the crop and the cane and had picked up some of the technique from my reading, but this was a master at work, enjoying his work.

Once he was finished he announced that there would be a brief opportunity for members of the audience to try out the tools he’s demonstrated.

I quickly stepped to the queue for the strap.   So far I’d focused on causing my Traci - my Debbie, rather - intense pain, rather than anything long lasting.   I’d obviously not been completely aware of the possibilities short of permanent injury.

When my turn came, I took the strap from the previous guest and hefted it gently.

“Ah, le sinistre.”   I jumped to find Avignon standing beside me.   “Bien, it will do her good to have some balance.”

I looked from the strap to Mercy’s backside and back.   Given that the strap was a foot and a half long, I couldn’t see any sign that one side had received any less punishment than the other.

“Monsieur Avignon,” I started, wondering, “What would be the effect if I were to, say, whip only one thigh with this strap?”

“Ah?   You like the asymmetry?   Like ze Picasso abstracts, oui?   This is not really the position - it is best if you isolate the target you want.   Hmmm.   If you do it well, the bruising is like a pulled muscle, yes?   It restricts movement, and she cannot put the weight on it when she sits.   She will lean, to put her weight on the other side.   Mercy, turn around, and give the master your left foot.   If you would hold it level, monsieur, at about waist height.”

With me holding her leg out straight, he struck her evenly down the thigh about ten times, with a little bit of overlap each time.   They weren’t gentle blows - as well as feeling the weight through her foot, I watched her knee lock up each time.

“Like that, two or three times.   Better if you hit the muscle down the back directly.   Watch her this afternoon, but it might be the knee rather than the thigh.”   With that he handed me the strap and headed off to the next post.

Likewise, I handed the strap over to the next person in line and went in the other direction; to watch the tall blonde - Mistress Winters - offer advice to another woman on the use of the crop.

A little while later, the MC rapped sharply on his microphone.   “If I could have your attention, please!”

When he had all eyes - and staff members were letting the Dolls down from their posts - he continued: “It is now time to welcome Earnestine back to Center stage.   For this part of the festivities, we like to prepare our stars for their final showing.   After tenderisation, we need to season our star.   Henri will assist us in that process by applying his delicate touch to her skin, and then our hosts will baste her in our own special blend of herbs and spices, and letting them soak in.”

As he spoke, Earnestine was wheeled out to the area of the whipping posts.   She was stretched tightly between the corners of a vertical frame that was cleverly designed so as to be able to rotate in both the vertical and horizontal axes:   Earnie could be spun backward, forward and even upside down.   From what I’d seen of Henri’s work he wouldn’t bother.   He would just make the tip of any whip he chose curl around and hit whatever part of her he wanted.

Cov and Hun escorted her out, and greeted Avignon surprisingly formally, both bowing as they presented their slave to him.

The Doll Rachel brought out a wooden case, and some of the audience members sighed reverently as he opened it and withdrew a long single tailed whip.

“For those of you who haven’t seen her before,” the MC ‘whispered’ over the public address system, “that is an eighteen foot bullwhip that Henri has named Marie, after both the French noblewoman Marie Antoinette, and the first woman he ever killed with it.   It has a reputation here at the Faded Lotus of being capable of the most exquisite pain, and the most stunning artwork.   Many of the Dolls here today have had their major patterns created by Marie.”

Henri finished shaking the whip out and swung it gently a couple of times to make sure he had room.   He bowed briefly to the Hosts and then began.

It was a virtuoso performance.

He started at the extremities: Clever bindings presented both her palms and the soles of her feet and he hit all four with the first four blows, leaving bleeding welts.   The fifth, he placed around her right side, just below the ribs, the popping tip leaving a gash under her left breast.

Earnestine shrieked with each blow, and gasped between.   Cov and Hun looked satisfied as they watched, expressions very like those I’d seen the night before as they tormented their slave.

Back to the outside, now, and Henri laid three welts around the bound woman’s calves and forearms before stopping.

One of the staff members ran up to Earnie during the pause and quickly checked her pulse and responses before injecting a hypodermic of something into a shunt taped to the side of her neck.

I was surprised - I would have thought that this place wouldn’t ’shoot up’ its meat, that they’d insist on her stewing purely in her own juices - Organic Slave Meat, so to speak.

I mush have been obvious in my surprise because a quiet voice beside me said “It’s a mixture of adrenaline, stimulants, some other anti-shock compounds and a nasty little nerve toxin.”

I looked and saw the tall blonde I’d noticed earlier, one of the obvious regulars.   I nodded for her to go on.

“Generally, it keeps you awake, alert and responsive.   There’s little point in whipping a woman who has passed out, after all,” She explained.   “The nerve toxin is an added extra.   I’m told it increases the sensitivity of the pain receptors.   Greatly.”

“Ah,” I said, intelligently.   “George Page,” I added, holding my hand out.

“Claire Winters.   That was your slave with the runners, wasn’t it?”

“Noreen. yes.   I’m afraid that was a bit much for her though, so I sent her home.”

The eyebrow she raised made me feel about two inches tall, because I couldn’t manage my slaves.   “She’s new,” I added defensively, “and I didn’t want to make a scene.”

Winters nodded knowingly and looked back toward where Avignon was getting ready to continue.

He started with a shot at her thigh that clearly wrapped right around, causing Earnie to howl piteously.   This time he went around in a circle, slowly spiraling inward toward her body.   Earnestine never really got a chance to catch her breath, each new mark would cause her breath to hitch and then she’d howl again.

I though back over what little I knew of biochemistry.   It wasn’t enough, but that shit they’d shot her up with must be something really awful.

Another pause, and another hypodermic, and Henri went on to the body, laying a cris-cross pattern across her back - the first time he’d crossed his strokes - that bled at every intersection.   Left to heal, I was sure that they would leave terrible scars - scars much like those on the various ‘Dolls’ that were watching, and moving through the guests.

After the back, he added half a dozen or so rings around her waist, and then he got fancy.

With a combination of backhand and forehand strokes, he snapped the tip of the whip around Earnestine’s front to the applauded approval of the people watching on that side.   I looked, later, and he’d laid those strokes blind, right up and down the valley of her cleavage, without touching her breasts proper.

The last three strokes were the most skillful.   One choked off her howls as it wrapped itself around her neck, incidentally tearing out the shunt, and the others laid open the skin of her face, across the cheekbones and just touching her nose.

Everyone applauded, and Avignon bowed as he coiled his ‘Marie’ and placed her reverently bank in her case.

When he was finished, and two of the Dolls ceremoniously carried the case back into the building, the MC returned to his stand.

“Now that she has been prepared, it is time to baste our star, and once again, our Hosts have graciously allowed us to share that with you.   Please, form a queue, so that everyone who wants one gets a chance to help apply our special blend.”

I managed to get into the line near the front, so I was able to get to Earnestine before she was too splattered with the strong smelling paste.   Heavy on both the spices and the garlic, I decided.   I felt eyes on the back of my neck, and looked over to see Mistress Winters whispering to Cov, while the two hosts watched me.

On impulse, and to show that cow Winters something, I forewent the brushes everyone else was using and scooped up a small handful of the mess. and rubbed it into the side of her neck and jaw.   She flinched away from me and whimpered, an animal look of hurt in her eyes.

I was surprised how level we were.   I’m not an overly tall man, but even stretched in the frame our heads were at the same height.   That made it easy to cup her chin and cheek and murmur ‘Tina’ before I had to move on.   I fancied saw a glimpse of awareness return, just as I turned away.

“I, too, was a friend of Jamis,” I whispered as I approached the slaves holding towels.   Aware that Winters and co were still watching, I waved away the towel and beckoned to one of the slaves instead.

“Come with me and lick this clean,” I ordered as I wandered over toward the hosts.

(This is a the continuing story of Easnestine Royal and follows on from George’s First meeting with her. It is also the first part of Earnie’s demise at the Faded Lotus Dolcett Village)

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Mesdames et Monseurs. On behalf of today’s Hosts, the Mistresses Cov and Hun, the Faded Lotus Dolcett Village is both happy and proud to welcome you the last night of Earnestine Royal!

“As you will have seen in your programme, we have a busy schedule ahead of us, designed in part by our hosts. In approximately six hours time, we look forward to offering you a most succulent roast, well stressed, tenderised and seasoned with the Fades Lotus’s own patented blend of spices and flavour enhancers.

“As a reminder, at the request of the Hosts, today’s festivities are being covered by a crew from Fade Out Films. If you do not wish to be recognised on that film, please stay behind the yellow floor markings in all areas. Hoods and Masques are, of course, available for those wishing a closer, but still discrete, view.

“And now, I present to you the star of today’s entertainment. Earnestine Royal!”

The Master of Ceremonies waved a flourish at the curtained alcove at the back of the stage, which opened to reveal the soon to be late Mrs. Royal nude and gagged, bound only by her hands above her head to a mobile frame.

Two attendant slaves escorted it out on a circuit through the audience as the MC continued his introduction.

“Earnestine Royal, formerly the wife of Mister Edward Royal, was one of a group of slaves recently sold by the Wheaton Heights Community Patrol. That’s quite all right Sir; handle the merchandise by all means. We just ask that at this point you not cause any damage to either Earnestine or her attendants. There will be plenty of time for that later.

“Until very recently a staid and very vanilla housefrau, Earnestine has had her horizons, and other orifices broadened considerably, and has been delivered into our hands to provide the highest form of entertainment in her final hours. Her sores from the reputable F&S Testers were a dismal 50 for vaginal intercourse, a workable 85 for oral - I can confirm, folks, that she does give a mean blowjob - and the default ten for anal virginity. No, Mistress Winters, I’m afraid that that has already been taken care of. We have kept a couple out the back that you can help us with later, if you like.”

The platform wound its way through past the tables while the MC continued his patter and Earnestine was poked, prodded, slapped, groped and pinched to a variety of muttered comments. It was obviously a well practiced performance and he wound down as the platform made its way back to the stage.

He leaned forward as she disappeared behind the curtain again and the audience quieted. “In a few minutes, we’ll adjourn to the courtyard for the first event, something we like to call ‘The Running’. Everyone knows that the meat is at its most tender after being exercised. I’m sure you’ve all heard the farm kids boast about chasing the spring lamb around the field before it was butchered for dinner. This is our version of that.”

He waved a slave over from the wings. She was fitted out with a number of metal cuffs, heavy looking nipple clamps and a heavy chastity belt, and handed him a chain with a number of remotes.

“Earnestine is backstage right now being kitted out exactly like Sarah here, with ten separately controlled shock devices. Ten? you ask. Yes indeed. You can see most of them already, but let me demonstrate.”

He started triggering the remotes seemingly at random, and the slave flinched as she was shocked at both ankles, both wrists, her neck, and both breasts in quick succession.

“That’s only seven you say? Of course, I saved the best for last. Number eight is a butt plug - ” the slave grunted as he activated that one. - ” Number nine is a dildo” - another grunt, and the slave bent forward - “and the last one arcs straight across her clitoris.” The slave struggled to maintain her balance as the last one went off, but managed and stood straight, with her hands behind her head as the crowd murmured appreciatively.

“Our hosts have kept some of these for themselves, but they have kindly offered five - chosen at random, I might add - to us here at the Faded Lotus to auction off for the benefit of the Sierra Club.”

* * *

“Come on,” I told Noreen as the auction started. She was kneeling on a cushion beside me and I helped her up as I stood. “You’ve got a role to play here.”

She followed me quietly as I headed toward the courtyard where they were nearly finished setting up the electrified maze that poor Earnie was going to have to navigate while total strangers zapped her most sensitive places.

“One of the chasers,” I told the attendant, who nodded and waved us toward the starting position. On the way, I maneuvered her over to the wall and pressed her into it, reaching around to fondle her breasts.

“You’re doing very well,” I whispered over her shoulder. And she was. This was the most public outing I’d yet taken any of them on and I’d tried to impress on her the importance of remaining in control and, putting it bluntly, not embarrassing me in front of my new peers. I’d picked Noreen for this because I figured that she was the most stable of my three ‘house’ slaves. The ‘basement slave’, Debbie, didn’t count, of course, except as an object lesson.

I felt her relax a little under me and let her go and led her over to the starting gate.

There were two slaves already there, doing stretching exercises as we arrived, although they leapt to attention and made short bows as they noticed me. “One of the Chasers,” I said, nodding for them to carry on, as I took a step back and compared them with my own slave.

There was a significant contrast. The two slavers were much younger than Noreen, for starters, and they were obviously extremely fit. There were two differences that really stood out, though, and those were their attitudes and their skins. Noreen was slightly hunched, still apparently overwhelmed by everything, if less so than before, while these other two stood tall and straight, proudly displaying their marked and scarred skin. Watching them gather Noreen in and examine her, I saw that they both wore patterns of scars from floggings that were almost artistic, and must have been excruciatingly painful when inflicted. One of them even had her hair styled to reveal rope scars up the side of her neck. They must be two of the “Dolcett Dolls” that Hun had been talking about.

I left them to it and wandered around the courtyard taking in the facilities. For starters, it was larger than I’d imagined, nearly a hundred feet square. The main hall where we’d stated took up one side, and there was in industrial-strength kitchen on another near the currently covered barbeque pits. Larger apparatus had obviously been pushed aside, and while I could recognise some of it - like the gallows, and two Jessica 3000 auto-spitting machines - some of the other pieces were more mysterious.

The third wall looked like storage sheds, but even they were adorned with bondage and torture equipment, even knife throwing wheels.

The fourth side of the courtyard was open, and led past several pillories whipping posts to a large pool. Given the rest of the decor, I suspected that that, too, had ominous and sinister uses. And, apparently, a very serene Tea Garden. For ‘Capital T’ Tea, according to Hun, with appropriately trained servitors.

The maze itself took up most of the open space in the courtyard. There were a couple of covered spaces where there must have been other pits, and several more whipping posts have been incorporated into the structure. The walls were only a little over waist high - enough so that bouncing into them wouldn’t tip you over, but low enough not to obstruct the view. They were made of panels of regular looking chain link fence, though the bundle of cables running along the base was only the first clue that they were electrified.

The pattern of the maze was simple: long stretches that ran along three sides like a “U” before twisting inside itself, getting tighter and tighter before popping out in the middle of the same side as the entry. Hmmm, I thought. A clever slave could -

A familiar yelping screech brought my attention back to the start of the maze, where Noreen stood rubbing her ass where she’d obviously just been shocked with the cattle prod in the hands of the Doll behind her. The other one pointed at her own breast and barked “DO IT, BITCH, or we’ll run you before the meat gets here!”

Just inside its range, I used my remote to set up a slight tickle in Noreen’s collar, just to remind her that I was around. She looked around wildly, and when she saw me, I increased the power, shutting it off when she nodded and bent down to pick up the prod she’d dropped when she was zapped.

She reached out tentatively toward the other woman and jerked as the second one grabbed her hand and triggered the prod. The first Doll barely flinched and then pointed insistently at her other breast. Even with he second still holding her hand from behind, I could tell by the way she screwed up her face that Noreen triggered the second shot herself. A quick shove-and-grab and Noreen had been spun around to repeat the process on the second Doll, who then zapped her again in return.

They did this several times before stopping to refresh themselves from the drinks table provided. The first Doll, somewhat to my surprise, even brought Noreen a cup of water, laughing - but not unkindly, from what I could tell - when Noreen half-raised her prod defensively.

People had been trickling into the courtyard over the last few minutes, but the flow suddenly increased, just as Cov and Hun came out of a side entrance leading a kitted out Earnestine.

I headed for a prime spot between the two exits of the maze, where more fence segments stood ready to loop them together and was quickly surrounded when the Master of Ceremonies began again.

“Welcome to ‘The Running’,” He announced.

“We like to consider this event a mere appetizer, something to whet your appetites for later activities. The concept is simple. Earnestine will run through the maze you set up before you, being careful to avoid the walls.” He threw something into the middle of the maze, causing one of the fences to arc. “For the obvious reasons.”

“To encourage her, we have three ‘chasers’ who will pursue her through the maze, menacing her with their cattle prods. And lastly, we have those remote controls. None of them are powerful enough to do much more than distract the runner, but two or three such ‘distractions’ at the wrong time, should provide all sorts of fun.”

“The overall aim is to get all of those delicious ‘fight or flight’ hormones running through her system, tenderising her and adding that piquant flavour we’ve become so famous for here at the Faded Lotus. Given her age and general fitness level, we’re going to aim for two complete circuits of the maze. If she makes it, she gets a rest before the next stage while we devise a … creative penalty for our chasers. If she doesn’t, the chasers get the reward.”

I was close enough to hear one of the Dolls hiss to Noreen, “You don’t want to this lot getting creative, understand?”

“I think we’re ready to start. Chasers, are you ready?” The two Dolcett Dolls, followed quickly by Noreen, raised their prods to ’salute’ and the tips crackled. “Very good. Masters and Mistresses, if you could test your remotes please.” Earnie jerked and shuddered as all of her various attachments fired. “Excellent!”

He turned and addressed Earnestine for the first time. “Earnestine, when I say ‘Go’ you will have a ten second head start on the Chasers -”

“You better run, Bitch. As bad as today’s going to be for you, we can always make it worse!”

The MC frowned slightly at the interruption from Cov. “Yes, indeed. Earnestine. Your run begins in Three … Two … One … GO!”

Earnestine Ran.

Ten seconds later, the MC nodded at the chasers. One of them thumped Noreen on the shoulder and pointed her down the start channel. “After her!”, while the other headed straight for the exit channel.

Earnie fell twice in the first straight as her ‘equipment’ was triggered, but she still got to the first corner before Noreen caught up with her. Just as she got in reach and swung her prod, someone dropped Earnie again, and caused the two of them to fall in a tumble.

With my attention fixed on my own slave, I almost missed what was happening virtually right in front of me as the Doll who’d pointed Noreen into the maze took a very short run-up and vaulted the fence into the next loop. The fence arced as she used one hand for balance, and she shook it out when she landed, like a bad case on pins & needles. Picking up her cattle prod, she started walking back through the maze, toward where Earnie would be coming toward her.

I recalled my earlier thoughts. Yes, a clever slave indeed.

Meanwhile, Noreen and Earnie had untangled themselves, and Noreen was helping the other woman to her feet. Earnie leaned on her former friend for a moment, before she was pushed away. Noreen waved the prod at her and hissed something before slapping her on the ass and firing the prod a couple of times. Earnie started to shuffle onward, until Noreen yelled “RUN!” and zapped her in the back with the prod. She picked up the pace, with Noreen trotting along behind and helping her up every time she was zapped from the audience.

At the ‘top’ of the next loop, the Dolcett Doll was waiting.

She, too, menaced Earnie with the cattle prod, but didn’t zap her, merely falling in behind them and exhorting both to greater speed.

The MC picked up the commentary, although thankfully low key, not like someone commentating a horse race. “Joining Earnestine in the second loop is one of our own Dolcett Dolls, Rachel. Rachel is one of our senior Dolls, and the current record holder for The Running, both in terms of speed for a single circuit, and number of circuits completed. Neither of which look to be at risk here today.”

Between the two chasers, they managed to keep Earnie moving at something above a trot until the very end of the circuit where the last Chaser was waiting.

All three chasers zapped at her same time as she cleared the exit and headed around to the start again, dropping her to her knees. Cov once again shouted from the sidelines, threatening dire consequences if she didn’t complete the course.

The chasers picked up the pace again, and it was as if it was two chasers and two runners, because Noreen caught almost as many jabs of the prod as Earnie did. Or, at least, she did until she remembered her own prod, and swung it back and zapped one of the Dolls, to the amusement of everyone.

By this time, Noreen was starting to flag, and with the pressure taken off, slipped behind the Dolls. One of them, Rachel, Looked back at her and took mercy, sending her back to the start/finish area, where she took up a guard position at the start of the final straight.

With her out of the way, the Dolls sped up again, really pushing Earnie, who was suffering badly enough from the Run, and the frequent zapping of her attachments, let alone the prods of the chasers. She eventually collapsed about three quarters of the way through the second circuit, and multiple shocks couldn’t motivate her to get up again.

“I believe that’s the end of The Running,” the MC announce formally. “Earnestine has been well run, but she didn’t make it to the end, so our Chasers have earned their reward. To our guest chaser, your Master is well pleased, and will reward you when you get home. To our Dolcett Dolls, your usual award awaits you. In fact, yes, Rachel has qualified Terminus. I’ll need to discuss it with our Hosts, but you are now on the Short List. Congratulations!”

The Regulars and staff burst into applause and Rachel’s companion Doll hugged her fiercely. I was somewhat confused as to what was going on, but put it aside as a bone weary looking Noreen plopped to ground at my feet. I crouched down beside her and hugged her tight. “I am well pleased. You have done me proud,” I whispered in her ear. She turned her head into me and started weeping. I lifted her to her feet and moved out of the crowd as the staff started to disassemble the maze. Soothing her, I guided her down the length of the courtyard toward the pool area, and sat down on one of the benched by the wall.

“Hush,” I told her as I settled her in my lap and wiped at her tears. “It’s over now.”

She looked at me and said with utter conviction. “They’re going to kill her, and it’s just a game to them.”

I nodded. “I know. But your part is over now; you don’t have to help them.”

“I don’t want to watch, either. Master, my reward?”

“Yes?”

“Can we go home now? I’ll cook, and then we can play, just the four of us.”

Damn, I thought. I really wanted to stay, but if I made her stay, god knows what damage it would do. I brought her along to this, just like I’d taken Tia to last night’s ‘Private Party’ where Cov and Hun had enacted a brutal orgy of humiliation and sexual degradation upon their slave. My plan had been to strongly imprint upon my slaves that whatever I might do to them, there was always a worse option. It might have backfired, I thought, and it definitely would if I pushed too much now.

“No,” I said, and felt her go rigid. “I will send you home, but I’m going to stay until the end.”

She nodded ad pulled away, using the wall for balance as she stood. “Thank you, Master.” she murmured.

I stood, and together we walked back to the reception area, where I had the staff member call a taxi. Noreen stood further away from me than usual and stood with her head down, refusing to look at the art on the walls, or to meet my gaze.

As I ushered her into the cab, I made another decision.

“Noreen. Cook a good dinner for all of us. Tracey as well. It will have been a long time since lunch.”

(This is a somewhat belated response to the ‘Buy these Sluts or they Fry‘ SlaveBay Auction)

I decreed Saturday to be a day of rest.

For me at least. The first proper week of my life in America had left me exhausted. I thanked God I hadn’t brought that pair of teenagers the moving guy had talked about.

Anyway, I decided that I wasn’t going to fuck any of my slaves on a Saturday. The weather was fine, so I set them to clearing and cleaning up the lawns and gardens, the ‘yard’, they called it.

The whole bit, actually: Floppy hats, t-shirts, sunscreen, leg irons with two foot chains.

Spring was fading into summer, so the weekend was fine and clear. I sat back in a lounger by the pool and watched them work, occasionally summoning one of them to refill my drink. I unchained Hillary and let her dress when she got the lawnmower out. I think she took it as a mixed blessing, figuring that I’d come up with some way to get the value back out of her. Perhaps, I shrugged mentally. In the meantime, there was no point in running unnecessary risks, and I’d copped enough stones in the shins in my time.

The pool kept attracting my attention. I’d had my ‘girls’ sweep it for leaves, but it still wasn’t in proper condition to be used. I’d have to get those pool people out to take care of it.

Eventually, they were done with the back lawn, so I set them to the front yard. A mental coin toss on my part ‘rewarded’ Hillary with the loss of all her clothing, although it was partially compensated by having the other two make a production out of rubbing sunscreen into _every_ square centimetre of her body.

Myself, with the action moving out of sight of the pool area, I decided to go for a walk.

* * *

I followed the same route that I’d taken the previous weekend, and with much the same result. Passing the Mullen place I again heard the cadences of the girl, Tiffany, acting as auctioneer.

Entering the garage, I managed to snaffle one of the brochures and caught the low-down on this crop of slaves. Complete reversal of the previous week’s auction - early twenty-somethings, higher sex scores, enormous breasts.

What the hell, I thought. I dropped a blanket bid for one of any left over, but that quickly went by the way as someone else bid on the whole package. I took note of the name; the guy was acting on behalf of the Castleman Trust. Wait, what? I shook my head in bemusement. Castleman was one of the shows that had inspired me to move to Eastlake, and here I was bidding against them.

Surprisingly, the bidding on this lot was very muted, compared to the previous week. I dropped fifteen hundred dollars on the first on the list. Apparently she was an accountant for whatever religious group they’d belonged to, but I didn’t really care. I was looking at those breasts and mentally inventorying the contents of my basement.

I chatted with some of the people I’d met last week, keeping a particular eye out for my Tia’s former husband. The man had brushed off my first enquiry about buying his daughter, and I hadn’t been able to talk to him since.

The auction wrapped up after about an hour of apathetic bidding. I swiped my credit card and made arrangements to have her delivered to my place.

I penned a quick note to be given to my slaves with the delivery:

“Her name is Debbie. Fit her with one of the Shock collars and string her up in the basement. Enjoy yourselves until I get home.

Surprise me!

G”

Watching me write the note, Tiffany told me that the slave’s name was actually Traci Wheelock. “Not any more,” I told her. “Make that official, too, would you? In the Database.” She did, and charged me for the privilege. _Someone_ was making money off of the slave trade.

I was closer to the local shopping centre than I was to home, so I walked. There were a couple of items I wanted to pick up for my new acquisition, and I wanted to give my other slaves time to play before I got home.

* * *

Noreen was waiting in the entrance-way when I came in the door whistling. I’d taken longer than I expected shopping - there were so many ideas to explore - and I’d stopped off at one of the taverns for dinner.

She was still wearing her gardening outfit, and fidgeted nervously. I was late, she didn’t know whether I was expecting a meal, I’d brought a new slave, and since I’d been drinking earlier, was I completely in the bottle now? She probably thought she had several reasons to worry.

I quickly reassured her on several points: No, I wasn’t drunk, Yes, I’d already eaten, so could prepare something for just herself and the others, oh, and a bowl of ’slave chow’ for the new girl.

“So, what do you think of the new girl?” I asked as she prepared the meal.

“She seems … eager to please,” Noreen replied after a moment.

“Oh?”

“As soon as she was delivered, she asked where the master was. Because she ‘needed a good fucking’.” Noreen made the quote marks in the air with her free hand. “When we showed her the note, she shrugged and asked whether we wanted her before we strung her up or after, and when you would be home.”

“And did you enjoy yourself?” I asked as she set places at the table.

“I, ah, took a long bath upstairs,” she admitted as I laughed.

Seeing she was nearly finished, I reached for the intercom. “Hillary, Tia, dinner’s ready. Bring Debbie up with you.”

They took longer than I expected, because Hillary was tugging on the leash of a crawling ‘Debbie’ with Tia walking alongside. “See,” Tia said as they entered the kitchen. “Master’s here. He’ll take care of you now. He’ll protect you from Hillary. He might even punish her, would you like that?”

Debbie glanced up at Hilary warily and shook her head quickly at the other slave’s frown.

I had to laugh again. “Been playing ‘Good Mistress’, ‘Bad Mistress’, have we?”

“Si. Hillary, I think she could be a very bad Mistress.” Tia smoothed Debbie’s hair and, taking the leash from Hillary seated her charge at the foot of the table. Unbound and seated, the girl rubbed her wrists and rotated her shoulders, as if to ease a strain. I could also see the marks of my riding crop on her breasts.

“You didn’t do too much damage, I hope?” I asked Hillary as Noreen dished up salad and cold cuts, and Debbie’s bowl of dog food.

She shrugged. “No worse than _our_ first day. I zapped her a few times, while Tia and I kept up this complicated scoring system. So many strokes with the crop against whatever she could think to offer us. You need to get some more toys, by the way.”

“I’m pleased to see you enjoyed yourself. Although I’m surprised at you, Tia. I didn’t think you had this in you.”

“It was exiting, Patron. She was so eager to please me, so long as I didn”t hit her like Hillary did.”

“Eat, Eat! Bring her downstairs again when you’re finished. Debbie,” She looked up at me cautiously. “We’ll talk about your future then.”

* * *

They must have eaten quickly, because I’d barely finished setting up my latest purchases when they came clomping down the stairs. Tia was leading a walking Debbie, but lightly, while an unhappy looking Noreen separated them from Hillary. There was ’slave chow’ smeared across Debbie’s face and chest.

“Debbie! Explain this mess.” I demanded. I made a mental bet as to what had happened

“Master,” she started, glancing at Hillary. Yep. “Slave Debbie tried to eat her food without utensils.”

“Hillary made her.” Noreen put in. “And then pushed her face into the mess.”

“I see,” I picked up my note from the floor and handed it to Hillary, who was looking a little less pleased with herself. “Read this. No, out loud. The first paragraph.”

“‘Her name is Debbie. Fit her with one of the Shock collars and string her up in the basement. Enjoy yourselves until I get home.’”

“‘Until I get home’. Yes?”

“I should have stopped.”

“Indeed. You’re lucky I’ve got other plans, or you really wouldn’t enjoy this evening. Noreen, Tia, get her cleaned up while I deal with Hillary. Wait a moment. Tia, give me that leash.”

I clipped the leash to the front of Hillary’s collar and led her over to one of the new installations, a five foot pole rising from about three feet in front of one of the sets of ankle stocks. Attached to the top of the pole was a complicated metal head cage.

“Into the stocks,” I ordered as I removed and opened the cage. Once she was in place, I fitted the cage. It was open at the mouth, but had a wide metal band from the nose right over to the base of the skull. Adjustable pads allowed it to be secured firmly in place.

The wide band - and I explained this to Hillary - had six attachment points: Nape of the neck, back of the skull, crown, top of the skull, forehead and between the eyes. Another attachment point under the chin completed the set. The mouth area was open, leaving her able to speak, scream or be gagged.

After a moment’s consideration, I had her turn around in the stocks, and moved the pole closer so that I could attach the cage to the pole at position number seven, the nape of the neck. I also adjusted the height of the pole so that she was in a mild ‘bridge’ position: Tilted over backwards, slightly. Just enough, in fact…

A quick dash upstairs and I was back with a bowl full of slave chow. I rested it carefully on Hillary’s upper chest. “You seem to like making messes. _Don’t_ make this one. If you spill this, you get to lick it up, and I give a collar remote to the new girl, clear?”

“Yes, Master. Ah, how long…”

“Until I let you free.”

I turned and smiled warmly at the others, especially Debbie. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. Debbie. Welcome to my home. I hope that I’ll enjoy having you here. Tia, Noreen, relax. Raid the bar and pull up chairs. I’ll let you know if I want you to assist me.”

“Now, Debbie, Noreen tells me that you wanted a ‘good fucking’, when you arrived. Did my slaves satisfy you before dinner?”

Debbie went to shake her head, stopped, and started to nod. “Mistress Tia made me come, Master, and it was nice, but… Master, I want cock. Please will you fuck me? I can suck you real good, and then you can fuck my ass as hard as you like and - ”

“Enough,” I stopped her before I burst out laughing. Noreen and Tia were smiling, too. “So you’d like me to fuck you, would you? Are you some kind of Nymphomaniac, or what?”

“I don’t think so, Master. I don’t _need_ sex, but I really like it. It’s how we can share the love Jesus felt for the world.”

“Uh huh. Okay. Well, it isn’t going to happen tonight.” Her face fell, and it looked like she was struggling not to interrupt and plead some more. “I think I’ll hold that out as a reward if you’re really, really good. You see, I didn’t buy you for a sex slave, although if you can teach my girls anything, it will count in your favour. Come here.”

She walked over to me and I looked her over closely. Large breasts, of course, I think the brochure called them DDD. Slightly aquiline features, vaguely reminiscent of that actress from one of those teen angst shows. Reasonably broad shoulders, a taut ass and legs. Reddish brown hair down to the middle of her back that matched the neatly trimmed bush. There were crop marks all over her ass and thighs to match the ones on her breasts.

“Did you like it when Hillary whipped you?” She shook her head

I trailed my fingertips around her body and gently hefted each breast, feeling the nipples crinkle under my palms. I traced her lips and let her nibble at my fingers. I could see the hope rising, that maybe I’d changed my mind.

I was still smiling gently as I took half a step away and rocked her head back with an open palmed slap to the cheek.

I was focused on the hurt and shock in her eyes, but I could hear my other slaves gasp, and Hillary’s plate fell to the floor.

“Then, Debbie, dear, you may not enjoy it here too much.”

I thrust my thumb back into her mouth and took a firm grip on her jaw. “You are going to be my torture slave. Noreen,” I ordered without looking away from Debbie. “Unhook Hillary and make sure she cleans up every spot. Then the three of you are free for the evening. Stay, or go upstairs as you choose.”

Tia got up with Noreen, and they both went to help their ’sister’ slave.

“One thing I want you to remember, though. Debbie’s position is _not_ interchangeable. The only way one of you will end up in her place is as the result of the worst offences. Consider it one step short of the Fugu collars.”

* * *

I twisted one of Debbie’s nipples hard, making her whimper.

“As for you, my dear, you won’t get out of here. Your best hope is to somehow mitigate my efforts.” I took my thumb out of her mouth and cupped the side of her face where I’d slapped it. “Traci” - she started and looked back at me as I used her old, her ‘real’ name - “this isn’t anything personal. I’m sure you’re a very lovely person. I just don’t intend to find out. I’m only interested in making Debbie scream.”

Before she could recover, I rocked her again with a slap to the other side of her face.

I led her over to the ether new piece of equipment. This wasn’t as openly elaborate as Hillary’s head cage. It was just a set of genital stocks, like a heavy duty version of the ‘Pole’ sex toys that I’d looked at in the slave outfitters.

Unlike the lighter toys, this one attached into the centre hole of one of my Ankle stocks and consisted of a sturdy adjustable pole topped with a ‘U’-shaped metal band set with two inflatable dildos, and an adjustable linked metal waist belt. Locked into place in the stocks it was extremely stable.

I had Noreen fellate the two dildos to lubricate them slightly, and then I stood Debbie over them and started raising the pole until they were both well seated and she was standing on the balls of her feet. The device as capable of supporting her full weight - and then some - but one of its tricks was a low powered pair of prongs that would shock the perineum if she did rest on it. Which she did, to start with.

With her anchored firmly in place, I inflated the two dildos a reasonable amount - Until she started to squirm - and walked around her, considering my options. I picked up the riding crop and slapped her with it occasionally as I thought. Each slap on the thighs or breasts would make her wobble and occasionally lose enough balance to rest her weight on the device, which zapped her, etc.

I was becoming impressed with how accurate the pain threshold testing was. It had tagged my first three perfectly and was now proving correct again as Debbie did little more than gasp and whimper at the relatively low settings I was using so far.

I wasn’t going to do anything fancy tonight. I wanted some time to consider things more carefully, and as Hillary had said earlier, I needed some more toys. Still, my latest acquisition wasn’t going to get off lightly.

I changed the crop for a whippy plastic cane and dialled the clitoral stimulator to the level indicated for her pain tolerance. Apparently, this aspect of the device could be intensely pleasurable for the victim, but that wasn’t the setting I was using.

Debbie screamed in pure torment as a bomb exploded across her most sensitive flesh, and then yelped as the centre prongs did their thing again. When she finally got her balance under control, she stood there panting and twisting, tying to keep an eye on me.

I stood behind her and swished the cane through the air. “You control how long this lasts tonight, Debbie,” I told her. “I want to give you three more shots exactly like that one, but I give you a choice. You can exchange one of those shots for ten strokes of this cane, and I’ll even wait until you are ready for each one. Thirty strokes, means no shots, do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, Master,” she said when I tapped her on the thigh.

“Good. Which is it to be?”

“Can I choose again after each ten? Then, Could I have the first ten strokes, please?”

“As you wish. Pull your hair over your shoulder. Nod when you’re ready.”

The first slash with the cane made her yell, a loud ‘No!!’ and pant as the centre prongs zapped her. I turned them off; their effect was distracting me from my appreciation of the major blows. I admired the welt that sprung up and made her flinch as I ran my fingertips along the length of it from shoulder to bottom rib.

After a coupe of minutes, she nodded readiness again. I help off for another ten seconds or so, to spoil her anticipation, and then slashed again, being careful to aim about an inch lower.

In all, it took about half an hour for that first set of strokes with the cane. Debbie was sobbing with the residual pain from the welts. I have to admit, that was a pretty harsh whip I was using.

I took a break while I considered, got myself a drink, then took one of the ice cubes and ran it gently over the welts until it melted.

“One shot down,” I said to her eventually. “Let’s try something else. Your choice this time is between a clit shot and _twenty_ strikes of my riding crop, ten on each breast. At my pace, this time, not yours.”

She nodded quickly at the crop and I smiled. Yes, Hillary had hit her with it, but I was somewhat larger, and had different motivations.

I put my full weight into it and dropped the first hit right across her left nipple, making her scream almost as loudly as the clit shock had. Her arms, free till now, immediately crossed protectively. “Can’t have that,” I tut-tutted. “Can you hold them at your side, or should I bind you?”

Reading my preference correctly, she immediately crossed her wrists behind her back.

“Say it”

“Bind me, Master, please.”

So I did: Padded cuffs around the wrists, and then I gathered her hair back into a sloppy braid. Lifting the cuffs up her back, I used a short chain to link them to her hair, which, of course, pulled her head back.

Coming back around, I stepped in close and licked her exposed throat. I chuckled at her whimper and struggle to get away as I stepped back again and unloaded on her right nipple.

When I was finished, her breasts were well marked, especially since I’d taken care to overlap each stroke slightly.

“Last choice,” I said as I released her braid. “One clitoris shock and it’s all over, or ten more with the cane. Hmmm. I think I’ll move you to Hillary’s post, and … No, tell you what: I’ll take you off this device and pull you into a strappado for ten on the ass. How would you like that?”

She took her time deciding. I think that if it had been twenty with the crop, thirty even, she would have leapt at it. Of course, she hadn’t seen how firmly I like to pull a strappado yet. But the whippy cane? No doubt she could still feel the welts on her back. Ten more of those, on her ass?

I could see her decision as she straightened and braced herself as well as she could on her toes. I shocked her even as she said it, and her scream echoed off the walls.

* * *

Hillary, Noreen and Tia were watching television as I came back upstairs. Some soap opera on ‘SlaveTV’ I saw as I plomped down in the ‘Master Chair’. This show was kinda edgy: The slaves were slowly ruining the life of a villainous ‘bad master’. I’m not sure who the message was aimed at, but it was either a warning to bad owners, or a guide for their slaves.

“Is she still alive?” Hillary asked archly from her accustomed place in the other single seater.

“Go and see for yourself. Hold it!” I barked as she nearly bolted for the door. “Rules first.”

“One: She is _mine_ to torture. Do what you like to her, but understand that I’ll do the same to you. Specifically, for the moment, nothing more than the cross and the crop.

“Two: You can treat her as ‘Tracie’, if you like. However, whenever you are punishing her, she is ‘Debbie’, and you will make sure that she knows it. Tracie doesn’t get hurt, Debbie gets nothing but, understand? Likewise, Debbie only gets slave chow, while Tracie can eat whatever you do.”

“Thirdly, Debbie sleeps on the pad in the basement. If you bring Tracie up for the night, she sleeps with one of you.”

“Are those all clear? Good. Now you can go. One of you remember to detach her before you go to bed for the night.”

Hillary headed off immediately, and Tia fidgeted until the next ad break before following her. Noreen stayed, but she was watching me more than the television.

I patted the arm of my chair and slipped my arm around her waist as she came over.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why the torture slave? Or why the rules?”

“Yes.”

“Okay it’s like this:” I paused to put my thoughts in order. What was it like, exactly? Yeah, sure, the ‘Debbie’ thing was obvious, but Tracie Wheelock bore absolutely no resemblance to her. Was she a surrogate to make sure that I never went too far with the other three? Yeah, that was some of it. I’d grown pretty fond of all three of them.

“Okay,” I started again. “You remember that first night, when you asked if I was going to kill you?” She nodded. “Well, I think the three of you are pretty safe, now, and you all fill certain niches. Debbie fills another, one that I’ve pretty much closed off with the three of you. She’s the one I get to take out my real demons on, where I don’t have to worry about spoiling someone I know well.”

She nodded, slowly. “And the Debbie/Tracie thing?”

“Long story. Let’s just say there’s a Debbie that I’ve been … wanting control over … for a long time. What? Don’t cock your eyebrow at me like that.” I reached up and tweaked one of her nipples.

“I’d figured that part out, but why the split-personality thing. Unless you’re actua- oh.”

“Yup, call it an experiment, a late change to the game plan, just to see if I can do it.” I shrugged. “It probably won’t work. I doubt that we, that I can keep the two personas separate enough.”

I pulled her down into my lap and I idly fondled her while we watched out the slave opera. It continued with the mixed messages right to the end, where the plot against the bad master continued, but one of the slaves got too eager and greedy and ended up in the shadowy - if surprisingly incurious - hands of the brutal security forces. Or the brutal hands of the shadowy security forces, something like that. Noreen flinched as they broke the slave’s thigh with a heavy steel rod just before the credits faded in to her screams.

I looked at the clock and smiled. “Pleasure me, punishment and reward.” I said after a lick into her ear. “Punishment: ten strokes with the crop. Reward: One less for every ten minutes that it takes me to come. If you can make it to two hours, I’ll make love to you however you would like.”

I’d played this same game with both Hillary and Tia on previous evenings, and they’d both failed, receiving partial punishments. I was glad to see that Noreen was willing to try something different as I allowed her to lead me up to the Master bedroom.

George and his Slaves - Keeping them occupied.

Driving my rental car back from Cov”s - Earnie”s Mistress - I glanced frequently at
Hillary in the seat next to me. She was nude, but I”d left her wrists unbound, instead of
cuffed behind the headrest like they”d been on the trip out. She”d been subdued the
whole day, since I accepted the group decision that she would be the one to accompany
me. She”d been compliant - that was the best word - in giving me some background on
her former friend, and then taking the part I”d instructed in the event itself.

She”d turned downright pensive afterwards, when she”d knelt beside me while I
discussed Earnie”s future with her owners, Cov and Hun. Earnie”s _short_ future.

“Talk to me,” I said, about halfway home. “What”s bothering you?”

“Nothing.” Her voice was flat, and she stared straight forward.

I checked the mirrors - I”d been doing so even more regularly than I”d been looking at
my slave: Driving on the wrong side of the road was going to take some getting used to -
for traffic before looking at her again. “Oh?”

“Nothing, _Master_” stressing the title.

I braced myself against the wheel and slammed on the brakes, throwing her forward into
her seatbelt, and then sped up again, throwing her back.

“Lying to me is bad,” I said as I steadied the car again. “I”ll punish you worse if I catch
you in a lie than if you say something I don”t like. Now what”s bothering you?”

“You”re going to eat her?” She still didn”t look at me, but at least her voice had some
emotion in it.

“Yes, a slice or two. Just to see what it”s like.”

“But that”s cannibalism,”

“Only technically. Legally, I suspect I”d cause more offence eating roast beef in a Hindu
temple.”

She was quiet for another couple of miles. But it was a different quiet to earlier.

“It”s real, isn”t it? You could to exactly the same to one of us,” she whispered very
quietly.

“Yes it is, and yes I could.”

***

Arriving home, I set Hillary to preparing dinner, and quickly padded down to the
basement to see how my other two slaves were getting on.

The basement of my new home was very much a product of the last seven or so years.
There were attachment points all over the place, and a movable pulley system like a
mechanic”s chain hoist on tracks from the ceiling. There was also a heavy diagonal
cross - a Saint Andrew”s, I think it”s called - built into the wall

Most of the fittings had been stripped by the previous owner, but the most permanent
installations had been left in place. I”d taken a couple of photos on our shopping trip the
day before, in order to get some advice in refitting everything, and the manager of the
local slave outfitters had recognised it instantly - he”d done most of the original
installation work.

With his help, I”d brought most of what I”d needed to bring my dungeon back up to
scratch, and had orders in for the rest. It was certainly enough to provide Noreen and Tia
with sufficient “entertainment” while I was out.

Tia was strapped tightly into the cross, cuffed ankles and wrists pulled out with ropes
threaded through pulleys at the tip of each arm. Most of her weight was being supported
by wide leather straps around her thighs and waist. Her breasts were squashed flat
between two balsawood boards. Not tightly, but enough so that she would feel it s
something tugged on them.

That something was a rope that passed down between he legs, behind the cross, up
through a series of guides to the ceiling, along to the hoist and down. To Noreen”s wrists.

Noreen was positioned in the middle of the room, her feet spread wide in a set of “ankle
stocks” and bent over at the hip because her arms were bound together behind her back
and lifted away from her in a classic strappado.

It was a nicely tuned little system. To avoid pulling on Tia”s breasts, Noreen had to lift
her arms above a point that she could hold for very long. Conversely, Tia could pull on
her wrist ropes and cause the cleverly built cross to sink on springs and create just enough
slack to give Noreen a respite. The tension in the springs could be adjusted, and I”d set it
- after some trial and error - so that she should hold it about the same length of time as
Noreen could raise her arms.

At neither extreme should the bondage seriously damage either woman, although I
expected Tia”s chest to be tender for a while.

To mix things up a little, both women wore ring gags and had electronic dildos inserted
that randomly varied from pain to pleasure.

As a last, and probably cruel, touch, I”d had them bring one of the new televisions
downstairs and it was looping a DVD that I”d quickly put together the previous night
from the promotional videos for some of the goods I”d brought from the slave outfitters
and some training movies.

As I arrived, the programme was just finishing “Basic Passive Sodomy” and beginning
the promotional spiel for the various lethal collars offered by the supplier. There were a
surprising number of ways to die from a collar around your neck and the video showed
all of them.

Everyone was familiar with the “greater” explosive collars that blew a slave”s head right
off, but there were also the “lesser” explosive collars that used a much smaller charge to
blow out the throat or spine. There were collars that used a fine wire to garrotte the
victim, and ones that used a broader metal band to choke them to death. Overcharged
electric shock collars could do the job, too, and there were poisons, venoms and even
acids for the more exotically inclined.

I”d had one of the store slaves explain them all in detail to my slaves, and they paled
when I chose one of the exotics. Tetrodotoxin - Puffer fish poison - was one of the more
painful and messy ways to go, the store slave explained, with the victim often remaining
conscious through increasing gastric distress and then paralysis over the course of four to
six hours. The promo showed a strongly sanitised version of this, but I had a full length
movie record from exposure to expiry that I was saving for a penultimate warning.

I checked my watch and decided that this was the third time they would have seen this, so
I reached for the remote that I”d left by the door.

The movement attracted Tia”s attention, and she called out an obvious, if
incomprehensible, plea to be let down.

That caught Noreen”s notice and she twisted to see who was there, which, of course
pulled on the rope. I laughed and slipped out of my clothes as Tia yelped and Noreen
groaned in frustration.

Naked, I wandered slowly across the room, paused for a rope-jerking slap on Noreen”s
ass and stopped in front of Tia. A quick examination reassured me that there didn”t seem
to be any significant damage and I unclipped the rope from the boards, letting it fall to the
ground.

“Nearly done,” I told her as I reached down between her legs to flip switch on the dildo
from random to pleasure. She shuddered as the toy began its gentle stimulation.

Noreen felt the tension release as the rope fell and was beginning to straighten up when I
picked up the rope and pulled it painfully taut again. “Not quite yet,” I called out to her.
“Hold position for a couple of minutes.”

I picked up the claw/hook that I”d used to thread the rope through the ceiling pulleys and
unthreaded it again, back to the last pulley above Noreen. I flipped her dildo to pleasure,
then grabbed to rope and pulled her wrists far enough up to force her to bend till her head
was at the level of my crotch.

My intent when I stepped in front of her was obvious, and she went to work immediately,
wiggling the opening of the ring gag to get it over the head of my penis, then laving her
tongue liberally over everything it could reach.

It was unfair, I suppose: Earnestine had left me drained. Still, I managed a stand, so I
pulled out and, stripping the rope down through the last pulley, undid the ankle stocks
and led her over and used it to secure her to one of the padded horses.

Out of perverse whim, I left the dildo in place as I lubed up her sphincter and forced my
way past. Yeesss, much more comfortable than the virginally tight Earnie.

I could feel the bulk of the toy filling her other orifice, but not its more subtle electrical
effects, as I started o saw in and out to the rhythm of Noreen”s grunts. Unless that was a
slight tingle, just at the sensitive spot on the underside of my cock?

Wow! I DID feel it when the dildo started vibrating! I started pounding harder and faster
and then lost all control when Noreen orgasmed and squeezed her asshole tight. I came
hard and shot what little semen I”d been able to regenerate into her colon.

“_That_, I liked,” I whispered in her ear as I undid all of her bondage and helped her
upright, and then made her squirm by running my tongue into her ear.

Releasing her with a playful slap on the butt, we proceeded to release her fellow slave.

“Si, thank you patron,” were her first words as I removed the gag. I waited until her
dildo brought her to another orgasm and then released the boards on her breasts at its
peak. Her moan started to turn into a gasp, but reverted to a moan as I licked, and then
gently sucked her right nipple. Motioning Noreen to join me, we spent a couple of
minutes soothing her abused flesh before continuing.

Bracing myself in front of her, I had Noreen undo the waist belt, and then release the arm
ropes so that she flopped down onto me, wrapping me in a tight embrace while Noreen
freed her legs. Tia leaned her whole weight on me briefly before getting her feet under
her. I used the opportunity to give her a good hug as I let her go.

“So, my pretties, did you learn anything?”

They both nodded and Noreen added “But you tied me down too tightly to try anything.”

“You”ll get another chance, but it”s Tia”s turn tonight. You”re in the pussy eating
hogtie.”

Earnestine Royal

“Nice,” I thought as the house save led me into the room where his afternoon’s entertainment was waiting.

As I’d discussed with her new owner at the auction she was bent over the narrow end of a standard office desk, facing away from him with her legs spread wide. Three inch heels and stockings completed her attire. Except for the restraints, of course. Nice and simple: Spreader bar holding her ankles apart just about to the legs of the desk, a short chain linking the middle of it to the desk. Wrists cuffed and stretched toward the far corners. A nice, clean bent spread-eagle with a little bit of play in the stretch, so her breasts weren’t mashed down. Lastly was the collar - a standard brushed aluminum radio collar, by the look of it.

I stepped closer, approaching her for the first time since the auction, and shifted her hair, so I could examine the markings on the collar, near the latch. Yup, same brand as mine - rather, the ones my three new slaves were wearing - but the modality symbols were different. Earnestine’s only had the lightning bolt that symbolized an electric shock collar.

She’d tensed up as I approached, so I ran my fingertips lightly down the length of her spine. She jerked a little and pulled tight at the first touch but then relaxed as I chuckled.

“Good afternoon, Earnie,” I said, calling her by the nickname that until now - or so I’d been told by my slaves - only her husband had ever called her. Wheaton Heights was at the pretentious end of middle class: She was Earnestine to everyone but the closest female friends, who called her Tina.

“You may greet me,” I told her when she didn’t reply, only to get a muffled ” ‘ud affnn maffer”

I walked right around and saw the problem: the collar remote was jammed in her mouth.

Pulling it out, I stood back and raised an eyebrow.

“Good Afternoon Mast-eeeEEE!” I chuckled as I released the switch, letting her slump down.

While she gasped, I waved my own slave over and she began caressing Earnie’s ass, again causing the bound slave to start.

“Good afternoon, Earnie,” Hillary said in her furry contralto.

Earnie tried to whip her head around but locked in spasm as I triggered the collar again.

“Face me, Ernie,” I said as I crouched down to meet her eyes. “That’s right, look at me. I’m here to rape your virgin asshole. Keep looking at me while Hillary gets you ready. That’s right - keep looking at me, stay calm. Now, please, Hillary.”

I watched Earnie’s face as my slave intensified her caressing of her buttocks, kneading them before stretching them apart and running her finger down the crease. Earnie’s eyes widened at the first touch on her rosebud, and then more as Hilary inserted the narrow nozzle of the bottle of lubricant. The chilled lube made her gasp as Hillary squeezed the bottle and then she moaned as my slave inserted first one, and then two fingers up her ass.

“She’s ready, Master,” my slave reported.

“Good - come around head and undress me.”

Earnie watch as a nude Hillary removed my t-shirt and jeans, then leaned forward and licked up my already hard cock. She blushed and shuddered as I smiled and told her ‘Any time now.”

Hillary’s well greased hand caressed my cock, coating it with now warmed lube, as we walked back down to the business end of the table.

Stepping up behind the bound woman, I pulled her ass cheeks apart and placed the head of my cock right on her asshole. A quick prod revealed a slick give, and then she screamed as a hard thrust forced her ass wide open around my crown before she clamped down again, hard.

Good god, she was tight.

We acted in counterpoint - I’d thrust and she’d scream - until I was finally buried to the hilt. I pulled back for a couple of short thrusts and then slapped her on the ass. “How do you like that?”

“It hurts,” she sobbed.

“You should have had this done years ago, what was your husband thinking?” I asked as I pulled out completely.

I cut her reply off with a quick zap of the collar. “It was rhetorical. More Lube.”

Hillary complied quickly, firing another squeeze up Earnie, then running a drizzle down my length and massaging it in.

Stepping up, one long scream accompanied thrust buried me completely. “Much better. God, you’re tight, woman.”

I grabbed her hips and set up a rhythm of short strokes followed by long ones as she whimpered and screeched, but it didn’t take long. Between her tightness, the screams and the excitement of popping an anal cherry, it was only a few minutes before I filled her rectum with semen.

Pulling out one last time, I gave her a light slap. “I’m going to have to arrange more visits with your owned,” I told her. “I want to see how you improve.”

As Hillary wiped me off with a cloth, there was a click/thump from the table as the ropes holding her wrists released, and so did the chain holding the spreader bar to the table.

“Thank him, slave,” A voice ordered from the doorway. Earnie’s owner stood here holding a duplicate collar control, which she triggered when the slave didn’t move.

Earnie groaned when the current stopped, and pushed herself backwards off the table until she was kneeling with her ankles still spread by the bar and the mixture of lube and cum starting to run down her thigh. She knee-walked awkwardly over to me and bowed, touching her forehead to the floor. “Thank you master, for raping my asshole. May I show my appreciation by sucking your cock?”

How could I refuse? I nodded and she leaned forward to lick the head, but quickly proceeded to deep throat me in a single pass. Wow!.

“She’s got a Fuck&Suck rating of 85 for her oral skills,” her owner told me, although I have to admit that I wasn’t paying a huge amount of attention. “She’s really quite good.”

Was she ever! It took a little longer than my first orgasm, but I was soon pumping another load down her throat.

Yep, I’d definitely be seeing whether I could come back for another round.

George and his slaves: Breakfast.

The first breakfast with my slaves is a memory that stands out, because it set the tone
pattern for all those that followed:

I was woken at 8 a.m. by a gentle nudge on the shoulder from Hillary that quickly turned
into a stronger shake. What can I say? I’m a deep sleeper, especially after a night like the
previous one.

I didn’t hesitate when she told me that breakfast was nearly ready, I got out of bed and
headed straight for the shower. “Join me?” I asked while the water was heating.

Hillary paused, then nodded and joined me in the shower, washing my back and
submitting, if not enthusiastically, as I returned the favour, wandering my hands well
forward of her ‘back’. Okay. Maybe she’s not a morning person.

The activity had completed my morning erection, though, so I leaned her forward and
entered her slowly from behind and started stroking. I sped up, forcing her to brace
herself stiffly against the wall until I came. Technically only - I’d had better orgasms
masturbating.

“What is for breakfast, anyway?” I asked as I rinsed down again. “I didn’t think there
was much in the kitchen.”

“Noreen’s preparing it, Master,” she replied as I shut the water off.

“And what is she preparing? I don’t recall there being much in the way of food about.”

“She ordered a delivery, Master. She took money from you wallet.”

Her tone of voice clearly told me that she thought she’d imparted important information,
but we obviously had different ideas about what was important.

Heading for my wardrobe, I mentally cursed the fact that the collar control as still
downstairs. “What is Noreen preparing for breakfast?” I asked with exaggerated
patience.

Well, she wasn’t completely tone deaf, I decided as she snapped to attention and dropped
her eyes to the ground. She was even smart enough to stop her answer at my sharp
“Ssst!”

“Make a note for me to have intercoms installed,” I told her as I finished dressing, and
reached for my cellphone.

“Good Morning,” a cheery voice answered. “George Page’s Residence, How may I
help?”

“Good Morning Noreen. What are you cooking up down there?”

“Pancakes and syrup, followed by your choice of Cereal or Bacon, Eggs & potatoes.”
She paused. “I, uh, used some more of the money from your wallet to order a delivery.
Um, I have the list and receipt down here.”

“I know. Are you cooking just for me?”

“Yes. I also got some sandwich meats and bread for lunch, and, um, some slave chow.”

“That sounds good. I’ll go with the cereal. Prepare two more seats of the same, and one
of the slave chow. Is Tia with you?”

“I think she’s unpacking in the den.”

“_Very_ good!” I said warmly. “Send her up here with the collar remote, would you?
Hillary and I will be down in a minute.”

A quick thumping on the stairs warned me of Tia’s approach and I walked over to take
the remote just as she arrived at the open door. She was wearing one of my t-shirts and
had shreds and flecks of packing materiel all over her. “Noreen’s just about got breakfast
ready,” I told her. “Better go get cleaned up.” She glanced across at Hillary, who was
still standing with her head down, and nodded once before heading back toward the
stairs.

Turning back to Hillary, I carefully set the remote and locked on a mild discharge.
Watching her carefully, I saw her jaw muscles clench. I slowly increased the current
until her breath hissed through her teeth.

“You’ve done two things this morning to annoy me. What are they?”

“I didn’t answer your question.” She gasped as se forced her jaw to unlock. I dialled the
collar down a tad to make it easier for her.

“And?”

Her eyes flicked to the side, as if looking for the answer. I joggled the current control
slightly to hurry her as she fixed on the bathroom door. “I, uh, wasn’t… I didn’t do you
well in the shower.”

“True,” I said as I unlocked the constant flow, and then dropped her to the floor with a
more powerful jolt. “But not what I was thinking of. I was informed that you weren’t
particularly good lays when I brought you. Tell me, what did you hope to achieve by
ratting on Noreen? Better treatment?” I punctuated that with a mid-level zap.
“Punishment for her?” Zap.

“She stole from you!” Was there the tiniest bit of pleading in her voce?

“Did she? I informed the three of you last night that you responsible for household
duties. Including both cooking and shopping. I obviously hadn’t set up the account to
enable that, so Noreen extended the instruction I gave her last night, and used cash.
_And_, you will note, she informed me of her actions the very first thing after answering
my question. Until I asked her for the remote, she was probably expecting the dog food
to be for her.”

“So,” I went on, “Since you didn’t appear to care what was for breakfast, you’ve got the
dog food, sorry, the slave chow. For the other, we’ll consider it closed. For now.”

**

Entering the kitchen I found Noreen and Tia standing by the counter, with three places set
on the table, and a frying pan in the sink.

Frying pan? I deliberately hadn’t brought any cookware with me, because I had planned
to start from scratch. Make some retail slave’s day with a big order.

Tia was nude, and her hair was still damp from an obviously quick rinse that had
managed to get most of the packing material out.

Noreen, on the other hand, was almost decently clothed. Well. Call it covered instead.
Somewhere she’d found one of the keepsakes I’d brought with me - a branded apron
from my last employer. Her hair was pulled back in a crude tie and also had flecks of
packing in it.

“Sit, sit,” I waved them to two of the set places. “Where’s the other bowl?”

“On the bench. I, uh, didn’t know whether you wanted it on the floor, or …”

“On the table’s fine.. Normal utensils - I’m not treating any of you like dogs. This
morning.” I grinned and took my place at the head of the table.

Noreen quickly served up my plate of pancakes, then set up a place at the foot of the table
for Hillary before serving up he others and stripping off the apron to sit down and eat.

Breakfast passed with surprising normality. I engaged them in various small talk, idly
picking up information about their lives and personalities. Hillary had to be coaxed into
joining in, but by the time she’d finished her plate, it was almost ‘nothing unusual here, I
just happen to be eating repackaged dog food.’

My initial assessments were quickly confirmed: Noreen and Tia were morning people,
Hillary wasn’t. Tia was the most submissive of the three, Hillary the least, and Noreen?
It looked like she was focussing on what she _could_ control - like cooking, and she
looked comically relieved when I ruled that her morning’s shopping had been within
bounds, and properly done - rather than on what I made her do.

When the plates had been cleaned up, and coffee served all around, I leaned back in my
chair. “So. Shopping today. What do we need?”

“If I may?” Noreen asked tentatively, picking up one of my notepads from the bench and
bringing it to the table.

“Per your instructions from last night, we need some, um, specialised furniture. I think
the slave outfitters sell that sort of thing, and there might be somewhere more upmarket,
as well, I think I remember that Wood’s had a curtained off section.”

“Add an intercom system to that,” Hillary said as Noreen paused. “The need for one
became apparent.” Se glanced at me and relaxed slightly as I smiled and nodded.

“Towels, too,” I put in. We ran out my supply last night.

Noreen nodded. “Manchester and housegoods in general. Your boxes don’t have much
more than a basic dinner set, and I was lucky to find that frying pan had been left
behind.”

I nodded again. “I’d wondered where that came from. Is there somewhere where we can
get all that at once?”

“I have my good dining set at home,” Tia offered. “We only used it or special occasions,
I’m sure Tim wouldn’t mind…”

“That reminds me. Do you all have your lists of things y