Muriel MacInley II: Pleasure Slave

Muriel MacInley II: Pleasure Slave

This is the second part of the story of Muriel, but if you didn't read the first, I don't think you will have any difficulty picking it up. The main character is an assistant librarian in a small English town, who is physically very attractive, but lacking in qualifications and with no ambition but to meet a rich and generous man. Hans is that man, but he soon reveals to her that, if he is to keep her, she must become his pleasure slave. Seeing it as her only chance to escape her humdrum existence, she accepts his proposition. The first part tells the story of her seduction and enslavement, covering only the first day of a bank holiday weekend. He has told her that she will return to work, and her own home, for the working weeks, and live with him as his sex-slave at the weekends.

Thank you for your interest in my work. If you choose to read it, a rating would be very welcome, and any comments would be very much appreciated.

Domestic Bliss

Having been seduced and put in chains, Muriel had two full days to get used to her new situation. She now knew that she had not found a lifetime sugar-daddy, but that she would probably always have a sugar-daddy, or possibly a sugar-mummy. She did not think deeply about the future so long as the present was satisfactory, and although it went a long way beyond what she had expected, she had decided that it was. Hans kept her restrained twenty-four seven, and after the first day he always fed her. She never showered herself, never cleaned her own teeth, and never administered her own enemas.

Such tasks, for a slave-owner, might have seemed demeaning, but Hans conducted himself with such an air of authority that they seemed more to demonstrate his mastery over her. He was very willing to talk about what he was doing and why. "You will not be a general-purpose slave who'll be used for sex and other odd jobs as they arise. You won't be peeling potatoes in the scullery between blowing the master of the house and eating out his wife's maid. You'll be a pleasure slave, and everything you do will be associated with giving or receiving sexual pleasure. That might involve a broader range of activities than you expect."

He did not enlarge on that then, but during the weekend she learnt more and more about what sex-slavery meant to him and, she hoped, to those with whom he associated. "Obviously, your first duty is to give your master or mistress sexual pleasure directly, with your three holes, your tongue and lips, and your tits and buttocks. Some might use your feet and hands; probably a minority. In your passive role, think of yourself as a sex doll, but warmer, wetter, and with apertures that can tighten around and caress anything that's put into them."

As he spoke, Muriel was lying across his knee, turned slightly to face him so that her locked wrists were not pressing against his legs. He had some of the fingers of one hand in her mouth, and his other hand was resting between her legs, the thumb just pushing lightly into her slit. Her head was on a thick cushion, and she felt very comfortable- even pampered- but also aroused. She found that she enjoyed the feel of his fingers brushing her lips, and despite her inexperience she tried to lick them as sensuously as she could, hoping to encourage him to leave them where they were.

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying, but she knew that it was important to her. "Many of us are aroused by the sight, sounds and feel of a slave's pleasure. It's almost literally music to our ears. It's a hackneyed truism to talk about playing a girl like a violin, but it's hackneyed because it's appropriate. Cross your ankles and let me open you up."

She complied as well as she could, rolling more onto her back. Her hands, locked together but pulled a little way up towards her shoulders, were over his crotch, and through the thin material of his chinos she could feel his erection. She wondered why he wore clothes in the house when it was so warm and she was naked at all times, but she guessed that he saw nudity as a mark of her servitude.

Despite her inexperience- for she had been his slave for only twenty-four hours- she thought she knew what to expect, and he did not surprise her. He used his little finger and thumb to hold her wide open while he just teased the skin around her clitoris, without touching it directly. At first, it seemed to her that if she was a violin, he was playing her pizzicato, tapping with his fingertips. He really needed both hands, but the other, now extracted from her mouth, was on one of her breasts, playing with the nipple and circling it with a fingertip. Her areolas were neat and well-defined circles, and they were very knobbly, as if dotted with mini-nipples, and she felt that she was getting little pleasure signals from each one as it was touched.

With her entire vulva now soaked and dripping, Hans began to "stir" her clitoral mound with his fingers, occasionally passing them over the bud itself. She was on the brink of cumming when she heard him conclude his remarks. "Very few sex-slaves would exchange their roles for any other calling," he told her. "What could be better than a life of giving and receiving sexual pleasure?"

Under different circumstances, Muriel might have probed deeper. If sex-slaves lived such blissful lives, why were they kept in chains? Although he had never picked one up, why were there whips hanging from convenient hooks in most of the rooms? Just then, however, she was overwhelmed by the first of a series of orgasms, twisting and writhing on his knee so he had to hold tight to her breast and clamp his hand against her sex. She thrashed and squirmed uncontrollably until he lost his grip, and then, as she lay panting across his knee, she began to feel less like a guitar, and more like a violin, or perhaps, as he turned her slightly away from him, a cello.

During the next half-hour he continued to play with her nipples, alternating between the two, but she squeezed them much harder during her climaxes, hurting her just enough to make her wonder about the relationship between pleasure and pain. She knew about nipple clamps, but had never thought they had any erotic function except for sadists and masochists. It was, however, the gentle stroking of her labia and clitoris with is fingers that suggested the analogy with stringed instruments, and which was largely responsible for the series of racking, all-consuming orgasms that convulsed her body.

Showing Restraint

As promised, Hans kept Muriel until Tuesday morning, and he spent much of the time trying her in various kinds of bondage, looking for the ways that best displayed her curvaceous body. She found some methods more comfortable than others. Her least favourite involved his heaviest chains, and yards of them. It meant removing her standard cuffs and collar and replacing them with thick, crudely-finished and cumbersome irons for which he had antique and rusty padlocks. They could have been simply locked together, but he used lengths of old chain that seemed more suitable for mooring ships, to restrain her in various positions.

Although with rope and/or standard cuffs he liked her with her hands locked behind her back and her ankles hobbled, in the vintage chains he gave her the freedom to take longer strides and use her hands in front of her body. She bore, however, such a weight of metal that she could only stand erect with difficulty, and take no more than a handful of steps before having to find refuge on a sofa or the floor. Resting some of the chain on a surface eased the burden, but when lying down she was always on some of the links, so no position was completely comfortable.

Hans obviously liked the heavy metal bondage, and when he locked her into it he warned that that she would not be released until he had cum in all her holes and between her breasts. Given his apparently super-human virility, that might have meant no more than a couple of hours, but he was in no hurry. He let her eat lunch on the sofa, and tried, with the aid of a straw, to let her blow him and drink her coffee at the same time. It worked, at best, as a novelty, and it was not until the drinks had been set aside that he was able to ejaculate into her mouth and throat.

Hans did not seem to mind a few red marks on her body, so she had to put up with lying on the chains as he used her for vaginal and anal sex. He liked the ironmongery enough to change her position after lunch. Earlier, she had been in what is generally known as sirik, with a long loop of chain running through rings on her collar (which seemed to her more like a small cangue) and her wrist and ankle irons, allowing her to stand upright if she could bear the weight.

In practice, the links were too rough, rusty and heavy to run freely through the rings, so moving her limbs in relation to one another was very hard work. She was, however, able to walk on all fours without too much difficulty, and it was that freedom which he now took away from her, moving her wrists behind her back. He preferred them there anyway, because they could not then obstruct his view of her breasts, and by Tuesday she had formed the impression that, had it been possible, he would have kept them there all the time.

As it was, he had to find ways to relieve the strain on her shoulders, and to give her arms some basic exercise. After the heavy chains, and an evening spent hogtied in ropes, she spent the night spread out in an "X" on the bed. That did not seem to give her much scope for exercise, but he not only used her in the missionary position before they slept, in the small hours, and the morning, but he also fingered her to a long series of orgasms, and as she bucked and writhed she fought her chains with every ounce of the strength in her muscles. It would have been difficult to think of a more effective way of exercising them.

For much of Monday, Hans kept Muriel in armbinders. He had only two available at the house, and his favourite was a pointed leatherette number with a zip instead of the more common lace-up fastening. It was narrow, and when closed from the bottom it gradually drew her elbows together until they were only a couple of inches apart. Thereafter, with some elasticity in its structure, it gradually overcame their resistance until they were touching.

The pull on her shoulders naturally pushed her chest outwards, an effect that was exaggerated by the straps that criss-crossed her breasts, acting like a bra. Her nipples cried out to be clamped, but all he did was to tie lengths of cotton around their bases, adding a little bit of sensitivity when he brushed them with his hands and fingers, as he did at every opportunity.

After lunch he exchanged the pointed armbinder for a square version. It held her arms folded behind her back, and had a similar arrangement of straps. It was a relief to no longer have her elbows forced together, and she also found it more comfortable to lie on when he was using her body. Both binders ruled out intermammary sex because of their straps, but she was deliciously vulnerable to all other forms of exploitation. With the square binder he tried spanking her, but only enough to make her bottom smart and feel hot, and she found that it made her next orgasm even more intense.

Hans liked to keep her bound for long periods, and he was soon complaining that he lacked the time to try her in as many ties as he would have liked. He was also short of some materials; leather thongs in particular, and a semi-liquid rubber that could enclose her hands and wrists. He seemed to have endless possibilities in mind, but he never suggested keeping her beyond her promised release on Tuesday morning.

The constant, restrictive bondage was a surprise to Muriel, who had expected that most days would be like the first morning, when she had been only lightly chained and free to explore the house and garden. In the armbinders he took her out twice, but each time on a lead and with her ankles so closely hobbled that she could only make good progress by jumping, which was very tiring. She told herself that the régime would ease over time. She could not imagine him going to so much trouble for weeks and months.

Besides, she was not unhappy in restraints, even if they were not always entirely comfortable. They rendered her almost completely free of responsibilities. She could sometimes just about reach his penis or his balls, or poke his bottom as he lay against her, but they were very much optional extras. In their everyday life she never had to wonder if it was common to cross her legs, or whether she should be the one to pour the coffee, or whether she should pass all the condiments when he asked for the salt. She just had to sit or lie there and take what was coming, and it was usually something nice.

About the bonds themselves, she had mixed feelings. After hours in tight straps or heavy chains she could feel overtired, and her arms and shoulders got mildly sore. That effect was much milder than she anticipated, and she wondered whether he had given her something to help her joints and muscles to relax. On the other hand, she was fascinated by the contrasts between soft flesh and hard metal, between skin, leather, rubber and rope. The grinding of chain on the floor when she crawled was surprisingly erotic. When she was being used for sex, any feeling of restriction, and any sound associated with restraints, seemed to enhance the experience for her.

He only gagged her twice during the weekend, and not for very long. On both occasions he used a panel gag with a penis insert and a breather hole, strapped in place and padlocked behind her head. He did it to keep her quiet when he was watching a TV programme that was important to him, but the main object, probably, was to test her gag reflex. It was a relief to both of them to find that she didn't have one, but it could have been treated, apparently. She knew that he was making an impressive list of treatments and equipment to be obtained.

It was the list, which he did not keep secret, that convinced her that he was part of some kind of group, with many members and an established infrastructure. What he needed would, apparently, be delivered on the next working day, so it would be available for her next weekend visit. He measured her wrists, ankles and throat carefully, so she knew that it would include a custom-made collar and cuff set. He also remarked that he was ordering "claim patches", but in the meantime he had a generic version that would secure his title for the time being.

He used that on the Monday evening, with her sitting on the sofa, hands locked behind her and ankles close together. He appeared with a bowl and various cloths and sponges, almost as if he was going to wash her feet, and in a sense he was. He sponged her left sole with something called "Pre-application fluid," which was probably Isopropyl (rubbing) alcohol, and then showed her something that looked like a stick-on label but was both thicker and sealed in opaque film. He stripped away one layer, and applied the patch to the sole, positioning it very carefully and smoothing it down firmly.

"It might smart a bit," he told her, "but you need to keep it on, and your feet off the floor, for about half an hour. After that you can walk on it, and after another hour, I remove the patch."

It did sting, which, as she was being etched with acid, was not surprising. It also contained painkillers, but was formulated for less sensitive parts of the body. Only pleasure slaves were etched on the soles of their feet. With others, the patch was usually applied to a buttock, although some slaves were branded. Muriel knew nothing about that then, but it hurt for about twenty minutes, and he gave her some wine to help, since he was at pains to emphasise that she was not being punished.

After the first half hour it felt slightly sore and itchy, and his cure for that was to give her a pair of sandals, replace her ankle lock with a hobble chain, and take her out for a shuffle in the garden. It was still very warm and the light was just beginning to fade, so it felt quite romantic, and he took her to the summerhouse in the shrubbery to use her body for his pleasure. It was almost dark when they returned to the house, and he sat her down, stripped off the patch, and fetched a mirror to let her see the results.

She expected to see some kind of marking, but nevertheless felt a rush of adrenalin as she saw the QR code, about an inch and a half square, etched permanently into her flesh. Considering it was a fresh acid burn it was remarkably clear, and Hans used a reader on his 'phone before accessing a web page on his laptop, tapping away for a few minutes before closing it and speaking to her.

"Don't try reading it yourself," he told her. "Any attempt is recorded, with a place and date stamp. With the info that I've just inputted, it shows that you are my property, with the date and place of your enslavement. There's a registration number, and a few details about you that I've supplied, to make you identifiable. Next time, I'll have a patch that's personal to you, with more vital statistics, and that will give access to a folder in which all your personal information will be stored."

"May I ask, where is it stored, master?" she asked.

"I've no idea where the server is, if that's what you're asking," he replied. "Now remember, if any free person asks to see your brand, even in a public place, you must show it, and allow it to be read. If they ask, it almost certainly means they have the right to see it."

For the final night of her stay, Muriel was spread out again, and exercised just as thoroughly, although this time he used her mouth when he woke up in the night. They had an early start in the morning, because although she was going to work he still insisted on the full routine, complete with enemas, and she was fed her breakfast in bondage. He released her at the last minute, locking a thin chain around her waist to act as a reminder. She got her clothes back, and he took her home in time for her to change for work. Their arrangement was that he would pick her up at the library when she finished work on Friday, which would be at four o'clock.

Target

Muriel's work was not very taxing, mentally or physically, so it didn't matter very much that she was tired and listless. She tried to understand why she felt that way, because despite the strictness of her bondage she had slept well. If she was ever to serve as a full-time pleasure slave she would need more strength and stamina. She recognized that her feelings probably arose partly from the sudden change of circumstances. The morning started with her as a helpless sex-slave, naked and in chains, and at nine o'clock she was a fully-dressed assistant librarian, trying to pretend that she had spent the weekend catching up on TV programmes and walking in the countryside.

It was a quiet day, as was to be expected after a bank holiday weekend. There was a reasonable crop of returns in the morning for her to re-shelve, and a teacher came in with a small class just before lunch. In the early afternoon there was a stranger- a man in his thirties- browsing the biographies, and Muriel fancied that he was watching her from the corner of his eye. She used her mobile phone- returned to with her clothes- to photograph him surreptitiously, intending to show Hans the result when they met at the weekend.

She became more suspicious when he asked her to recommend books on quantum physics. Hans' feigned interest in French tourism had been more convincing, and more likely to lead to further conversation. The newcomer's clumsy attempts to probe her personal life led to her beating a hasty retreat to the staff room, but she was not overly concerned. Being such a lovely girl with a stunning figure, there was no need to assume that every man who tried his luck was a slave hunter and/or trader.

She had forgotten about the "quantum physicist" by the following morning, after a night that had felt very lonely. She had masturbated, but could not quite shake off her longing to see Hans, and to be bound once again in his bed. The thin chain around her waist often reminded her of her altered status. Every so often she would feel a little pinch from it, and the surplus length hung down over her slit, touching it from time to time. She could have pulled the chain around to hang behind her, but she preferred to keep it as he had put it on her.

At work, Wednesday was even quieter. Her colleagues were annoyed at the unseen owner of a small white van that was in the car park all day. There were only eight spaces, and with two being reserved for electric cars, two for disabled users, and two for staff, it was using half of what was available to the general public. Muriel took no notice of their grumbling and picked up fish and chips on her way home. In the evening, conscious of the need to keep her body exercised, she went for a brisk walk.

Muriel knew all the public footpaths within easy reach of her apartment, and much preferred those that did not attract groups of walkers. She followed a riverside track where she passed several people with dogs, and then turned into a wood where she walked for half a mile without seeing anyone. Then, as she climbed the stile at the far end of path, to leave the shelter of the trees and join a narrow metalled road, the event happened that, as she instantly realized, would change her life for the second time in a week.

Muriel was struck in the upper left arm by a dart, just as she heard the quiet "phut" of the rifle that fired it. She did not lose consciousness, but she did lose all the strength in her limbs, and sank to the ground on the woodland side of the stile. Two men emerged from the trees; one the pseudo-reader encountered in the library, and they wrapped her in a net, bundled her into the little white van from the car park, and injected her in the throat, whereupon she blacked out immediately. She remained unconscious for two or three hours.

The most exciting part of Muriel's week took place while she was unconscious, and she had to piece it together from what she heard later from Hans and others. The men who took her must have laid their plans before she ever met Hans. They knew her habits and that, if she walked along the riverbank, she would probably turn into the wood. They knew how to get their van very close to a point on her route which was secluded, and where she would, by climbing the stile, present an exposed and easy target.

They had planned carefully, but she was not their only prospect, and with limited resources they had failed to watch her at the most critical time. Over the weekend they had plotted, in minute detail, the daily habits of a check-out girl in Aldi who bore a striking resemblance to Muriel. They were working to fill an order, not to gather stock for auction. An Arab prince had established a residence on a private island in the Outer Hebrides, and he was seeking to populate the harem with women of diverse characteristics.

The slavers' object all sublime was to harvest both girls and offer the prince a choice. The spare slavegirl would then go to auction. It was pure luck that they had placed their cameras outside both homes on Tuesday evening, and Muriel was the first to take an evening constitutional. They followed their usual procedure in shooting her with a paralyzing dart first and using a total anaesthetic a little later. They thought it beneficial for a new slave to have the experience of being hunted and captured, instead of just going to sleep and waking up somewhere else.

Hans' meeting with and seduction of Muriel had been so rapid and sudden that the slavers had no knowledge of it, or of the etching on the sole of her foot, or the little transmitter in the lock on her waist chain. The latter, with its tiny battery, only sent a little "beep" every five minutes, but stopped doing so if the wearer lost consciousness for any reason other than natural sleep. The slavers found the chain, of course, but failed to understand its significance.

The etching served a different function. It meant that, instead of hunting fresh stock- frowned on but a lesser offence- they were stealing existing and registered property. Hans was an influential owner, and when the signal failed he called for help immediately. The slavers were probably doomed from that moment, but at the time the outcome seemed less than certain.

Hans cursed himself for his carelessness. He had known that others were interested in Muriel but had set her loose with only the most basic and primitive of trackers. Now it had been triggered, it would, in order to escape detection, transmit a very faint and coded signal- easily mistaken for white noise- every fifteen minutes. It would be very difficult to follow the slavers if they covered any distance, but he had to hope that, as they were hunting, not stealing, they had a base close by. First one, and then several drones criss-crossed the landscape in the hope of picking up the signal, while some of his friends poured over large-scale maps to find suitable hiding places..

It took four hours to find the isolated farmhouse where the slavers were based, but only another thirty minutes to assemble a well-armed raiding party, equipped stun and gas grenades, tasers and metal-cutting equipment, and some light firearms. Another thirty minutes of watching, both directly and with drones, ascertained that there were at last six slavers, two of whom were on the premises at any one time. Under cover of darkness, and with four of the hunters absent, Hans' party descended on the farm, and there was almost no resistance.

It was a complete surprise to the slavers to find that they had stirred up such a hornets' nest, but because Hans' posse basically jumped the gun and failed to jam their communications, the absent four got away and were never seen in England again. The final haul was the two remaining slavers, one of whom was a young woman who could do "honey traps" with both male and female prospects.

In cages, in the do-it-yourself soundproofed cellars, the found the still-unconscious Muriel and three other fresh slaves; the harvest of the slavers' visit to that part of the country. Two were young women and one was a male of nearly thirty. All were eminently suitable for training as pleasure slaves, so no-one suggested that they be freed. They would be auctioned as raw material, with the proviso that they would be trained in some distant part of the country. Not being volunteers, they would be treated as flight risks and kept in secure conditions for a long time to come.

The proceeds from the sale would be shared among those who had answered Hans' call for help. The same applied to the male slaver, but for the time being Hans would keep him for interrogation, along with his female colleague. She would be his share of the loot, and he would, of course, also keep Muriel. With that agreement, they parted, with Hans taking his three charges home in the back and the boot of his car.

Prisoners

Muriel woke up on one of the sofas in Hans' living room, and nothing seemed to have changed since she had left on Tuesday morning. She was naked, her wrists were locked behind her back, and her ankles were hobbled. Her head was in Hans' lap, and he was also naked, with his penis against her lips, although it was just resting there, not pushing between them. He was stroking her face gently, and continued when he realized that she had come around.

"Back in the land of the living?" he began. "I nearly lost you then. I should have warned you against lonely walks in the evenings, but somehow I think they'd have got you anyway, somehow."

Muriel remembered the few seconds after she had been shot on the stile. "So you managed to rescue me, master. You must have been close by. Was I the bait in an ambush?"

He pretended to be shocked. "As if I would risk a slave as valuable as you! You've been out of it for a few hours, for it took me that long to muster enough people to deal with your captors. I've been waiting patiently for you to come around. Open up."

Her mouth was very dry, and she was trying to find a tactful way of putting him off when she realized that he was offering her, not his erection, but a bottle of water. She gulped it eagerly and felt much better for it. The penis came next, and she welcomed it like a long-lost friend. She wriggled towards him to get as much in her mouth as she could. She could still not bring herself to make a serious effort at deep throating, but she could enclose his top half in the wetness of her mouth, wrapping her tongue around him and pull with her lips to stretch his skin down to the root.

Muriel half-regretted not being able to use her hands, but on the other hand she felt that it would have been strange- almost unnatural- to have them free while she was fellating Hans. It did not seem to her that anything had changed since Tuesday. Her brain worked no faster than usual, but as she swallowed the gouts of cum that gushed into her mouth, the truth began to dawn on her. When she had sucked out the last drops and Hans had stretched out on the sofa to lie facing her, he gave her some water and stroked her face gently, looking her straight in the eye and telling what, for the most part, she knew already.

"Your kidnapping changes everything," he began. "For a long time I've lived a quiet life here, without involving any of my staff in my domestic affairs. This morning, people will be working to 'harden' this house against electronic spying and physical intrusion. One of my solicitors is contacting your employers. You'll never go back to the library, or your own apartment. For the foreseeable future, you won't be leaving this house and garden. I'll be taking steps to keep you much more secure than hitherto, and that will involve some physical implants. A doctor's coming tomorrow to carry out the procedures, which won't hurt at all."

All Muriel could think of to do was to wriggle closer to push her breasts against his chest. "So I'll meet your cleaner and your gardener, master," she replied. "Will someone make sure that all my bills are paid? Will this be my new address?"

"Yes, and yes. To the outside world you'll effectively cease to exist. This will be your address on the electoral register. Not being a UK citizen I don't have a vote at the moment, but I'm hoping, eventually, to have half a dozen. I've always admired British democracy, and I want to do my bit for it, since I live here now. Are you hungry?"

"Hungry for you, master, but yes. I could use something to eat."

"Then I'll feed you some cold chicken and salad, and then we'll visit our two guests."

They sat at the kitchen table while he fed both of them, with Muriel finding that her unconscious adventures had left her with a voracious appetite. Afterwards they relaxed over a small glass of port, and she was conscious of how carefully he was looking her over. "Muriel's a librarian's name," he finally said. "You're not a librarian any more. You're a pleasure slave. You have very fine, well-defined and firm nipples. You'll be called 'Teats' from now on, although I'll probably change it from time to time."

She managed to get out a standard "Thank you, master," before the shock hit her, and for a minute or two she felt quite faint. Muriel had not only disappeared: she had ceased to exist. Her old identity, by which she had known herself since her early childhood, was gone. Her new one was temporary, and would be changed at the will and whim of her owner. Nothing had brought it home to her quite so decisively, that she was now a private possession- a chattel- without any agency of her own.

Dwelling on that issue, her mind raced as quickly as it ever did, and Hans must have noticed that she had lost focus. She had assumed that everything that had happened to her over the weekend had had her explicit or implicit consent. Now Hans had taken her job, her home, and finally her name. If he owned her, he owned her body, and the right of consent that went with it. She had known that he would, at some point, allow others to use her for sex, and would eventually sell her, but the implications had not sunk in, for she did not have the most absorbent of intellects. Perhaps, in the back of her mind, she had believed that she could still walk away from the whole arrangement. Now she felt the whole truth overwhelming her like a tsunami.

Sex-Slaves and Bimbos

Teats seemed, for a minute or two, to lose herself in her thoughts, and she returned to reality to feel Hans' hands manipulating her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples. It seemed to be his way of offering reassurance. "Are you steady enough on your feet to come with me to check on our guests?" he asked her, and she nodded, still not quite trusting herself to speak to him. He nevertheless helped her to her feet and remained close beside her as she shuffled into the utility area.

Teats had, on her initial tour of the house on the previous Sunday, failed to find the cellar, the entrance to which was disguised as panelling next to a water tank. Responding to Hans' fingerprints it opened to reveal, not a stairway, but a very modern elevator which took them down to a lower floor that matched the footprint of the house. Another locked door led to a section that was lined with stone, and comprised an open section hallway giving access to three cells, separated by solid walls but with iron bars at the front, incorporating gates with locks that required both fingerprints and retinas.

"I sometimes provide accommodation for prisoners who need to be kept under conditions of maximum security," explained Hans. "This pair certainly counts. I hope that nobody knows where they are. They didn't seem to have any trackers in their bodies. People like that are too secretive to have allies who can ride to their rescue."

Only two of the cells were occupied, and Hans opened both doors, confident that neither could attempt an escape. The male and female slave-rustlers were both naked, and both adorned with a full set of five restraints; collar, wrist cuffs and ankle irons. In both cases, all five items were chained separately to different rings and staples in the floor, the ceiling and the walls. All the metalwork was very heavy, rather like the irons that Hans had occasionally used on Muriel before she had been renamed. It was possible for them to reach the toilet, the washbowl and the bed, although they would probably have to crawl, and both were reclining on their narrow beds, clearly struggling to find comfortable positions.

They went into the woman's cell, where a white line painted on the floor indicated where they could stand out of reach of a fully chained occupant. She was watching them, but made no attempt to get up. What surprised Teats was Hans' willingness to talk openly in front of her.

"This is the lady who thought she had the right to take you from me," he began. "She probably thinks that her people will ransom or exchange her, although we're not interested in any such deal. I think we'll end up keeping her as a sex-slave, once we've finished her interrogation. She's pretty, with a big, full mouth and really good tits that we can develop and put in milk."

Teats was surprised. "Surely, master, a sex-slave needs to be trusted, to some extent. Will any man ever want to put his cock in her mouth?'

Hans replied at length. "I said sex-slave, not pleasure slave. She might have to be gagged during sex. But I don't see what she has to gain by being awkward. Once she's spilt all her beans and been formally enslaved, she won't get better treatment from her old partners in crime. It's sex, the mines or the compost pits. Don't make the mistake of comparing her case with yours. You willingly accepted sex-slavery, and you'll make an ideal pleasure slave. You'll be a companion and an ornament, and I know you'll work hard to learn your craft. You'll try, as hard as your restraints allow, both give and take pleasure to and from your users.

"Unless you harm a master or mistress, or try to escape, you'll always be a human being who could walk down the high street- suitably dressed and unchained, of course- and attract no unusual attention. With criminals who seek to do us harm, it's very different. There are limits. They can't be sold as human sacrifices, or to cannibals. But their bodies can be drastically changed.

These two would make a good hu-dog and hu-bitch pairing. That would probably be the better option from their point of view. If they cooperate willingly and give us lots of useful information, I'll probably go for that. If I do, it means making some changes. Hu-dogs are great fun, but they tend to need a lot of care."

Teats was watching the woman, whose eyes were wide and staring, and whose breathing was showing signs of hyperventilation. "What if she doesn't cooperate, master?"

"We turn her into a bimbo. That means huge, stiff lips, wide eyes, truly massive breasts that look like inflated balloons, a minute waist and flaring hips, and permanently grafted heels so high that she can only totter on them. She wouldn't be able to speak, and she'd be fed on semi-liquids through a tube. You really need to see one to understand. I have some very good footage that I can show you."

"May I ask, master, what will happen to her now?"

"You may, Teats. They will both be questioned. We will want to know the names of those who got away. We want to know where they are to be found. We'll ask about all their families and friends, but most of all, their supply chains, and the methods by which they identify likely targets. We'll want to know where their home base is, how many people are there at any one time, and how many are out hunting. In other words we want to everything that they know, including the things they don't know that they know."

"And do you expect them to be willing to talk to you, master?"

"I'm not sure they have any reason not to talk to me. We'll spread the word that they have done, whether they have or not. If they don't, however, I'll have to torture them. You can watch. Perhaps you can help. I've ordered some equipment, just in case we need it.'

Teats was keeping half an eye on the female prisoner, who had managed to control her breathing and was dragging herself painfully to her knees, trying to minimise the noise from her chains. "I'll cooperate", said the woman, almost whispering in the hope that her male colleague wouldn't hear. "I'll tell you everything that I know."

Hans did not respond directly to the prisoner, but spoke to Teats. "That's good," he said, smiling. "That'll speed things up a lot. We can shorten the punishment phase and work on modifications at the same time. I'll send the doctor down tomorrow and she can make some suggestions."

Doctors and Nurses

Teats spent the night spread out on Hans' bed, held by much heavier chains than hitherto. He used the best locks that he possessed and hid the keys in a different room, so in the unlikely event of a home invasion in the small hours it would take heavy cutting gear to free her. It became her default sleeping position, and he usually used her, either vaginally or orally, before sleeping, at about four o'clock, and in the morning. He tried intermammary from time to time, probably in order to monitor the growth of her breasts, but on that first night after her rescue, that was in the future. For the moment, she found herself relishing the security of her chains, and the knowledge that she was guarded and valued by her master.

Doctor Stule and Nurse Passion arrived just after breakfast, and it took Teats a while to feel comfortable in their presence. The former was disconcertingly young and nubile, with a ripe figure and a top that showed a generous amount of cleavage. She was obviously a free woman, but the Nurse, as her name suggested, was enslaved, although she wore no visible signs. Her uniform was, however, a thin latex mockery of a nurse's outfit, covered when outdoors by a very light summer coat. She was slimmer than the doctor, but just as attractive.

For Teats, naked with her wrists locked behind and her ankles hobbled as usual, it was a struggle to remain calm as she was handled and inspected. She had accepted that her body was always open to Hans, but she was quite unused to having women inspecting her. Her GP- presumably now her ex-GP- her dentist and her hairdresser were all male. Now, female fingers pushed into her orifices and tested the firmness of her breasts, and brushed her nipples to get them erect.

Both women were free with their opinions. The slave-nurse was not in the least inhibited by her status, and virtually all the comments were positive. Teats had to stand patiently while numerous measurements were made and samples taken. They she was subjected to so many injections that she felt like a pincushion. For the last few she was hooded, and although the needles that were pushed deep into her breasts did not hurt very much, she guessed that their length, and the size of the syringes, would have terrified her. After those treatments she was allowed to sit down, and Hans fed her coffee.

The doctor was happy to talk to Hans while she was working on Teats. "She's a fine specimen," was her overall verdict. "Her breasts will grow by about twenty percent, as you asked, and they'll start lactating in about a week. It'll be a fortnight before you can use the milk. I'll leave you some supplements to improve the quality. I don't believe in whipping or beating the breasts during that time, although it won't do any harm if you want to do it for pleasure. Massage is more important: about an hour a day if possible. A quick cup of coffee now, if you please, and then I'll go down and inspect the prisoners."

Teats was left in the living room, relaxing on the sofa, while the three of them went down to the cellar. They were gone for about an hour. When they came back up, Hans sent her to the gate to collect lunch; mostly steak pies supplied by one of the local bakeries. The conversation soon turned to the treatment of the prisoners, and the doctor seemed not to be short of ideas.

"The woman would make a fabulous hu-bitch," she said, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. "I've recently been made an offer that, I think, neither of us can refuse. You know that hu-cannines are very labour-intensive. Their arms and legs have to be doubled up in sleeves that are locked in place for their shifts, which are usually between eight and twelve hours. They have to be removed afterwards, to avoid damage to joints and muscles, and the whole cycle takes at least forty minutes per day per dog, even with the latest time-saving bindings. A syndicate of the hu-kennel clubs is offering to finance an experiment in fitting rings and latches permanently, so the doublings and undoublings would take no more than a minute. It wouldn't cost you a cent, and you'd get to keep her afterwards, to use as a pet and sex-toy, or to sell or rent out."

"You think the woman's the better subject for the experiment?" asked Hans. "Do you have any bright ideas for the male? I don't think he can be used as an ordinary sex-slave, or a worker. He has to be dumb and kept more or less disabled."

"He's got a nice face, but a slightly effeminate one, if you imagine him completely depilated below the eyelashes," replied the doctor. "We could plump up his lips with Botox and grow him a really big pair of tits. With a narrower waist his hips would look broader. Try to visualize him as a shemale, and then double and redouble everything, so he's a shemale bimbo. That'd be an exciting project, and again, I think I could get a research grant to cover most of the expense."

"And I'd get him back when he's finished?"

"Of course. You could use him as a prostitute, and the profits would cover what it costs you to keep the hu-bitch."

"Then I think we have at least a provisional agreement. I'll need to hang on to them both until they've been squeezed dry, but I don't think it'll take too long. Are you staying after lunch to take Teats' lesbian virginity?"

"Wild horses wouldn't drive me away, Hans. I love virgins, but they don't last long, so I never turn a new one down. Do you want to play with Nurse Passion?"

That young lady was feeding Teats, and showed not a flicker of interest when her name came up. Her duties, presumably, included sex both with the doctor and anyone she nominated. Hans, however, was not interested, at least then. "I'm going out," he replied. "I want to investigate a check-out girl in Aldi that the gang had in their sights. They had done most of the preliminary work, so it'd be a shame to let it go to waste. I'm sure there are a few others buried deeper in their laptops."

He left very soon, making sure that the doctor knew where to find all the restraints that she might need, and cuffing Nurse Passion's wrists behind her back. "You will stay for dinner, I hope," was his parting shot. "I've ordered enough Thai food for us all." Then he was gone.

Defloration

Teats had not had sex since the early morning, and with the treatments that Hans had given her she would already have been feeling needy. The doctor had added to those and had included a quick acting, short-term aphrodisiac, so when she found herself alone with Doctor Stule and Nurse Passion, she was both very horny indeed, and disappointed to be left without even a kiss by her master. Almost immediately, however, she found herself being circled and groped by the two women, who now seemed quite different. Although Passion was now very restricted in what she could do she still had her mouth, and Doctor Stule's hands were everywhere.

Although Teats had been handled very thoroughly and intimately by both women they had seemed, if not exactly professional, at least purposeful. Now they were obviously predatory, eager to enjoy the feel of her soft flesh and to taste the fluid that oozed from her slit.

Teats found that she was enjoying the attention. She had often fantasized about having sex with women, but had never believed that it would actually happen. Now, as she experienced her first lesbian kiss with the doctor, the sensation of soft, female lips against hers seemed to surge down her body to be felt in her vulva, and she felt her sphincter muscle contracting as if to squeeze a probing finger or tongue.

For Teats, it was as if her whole body had become a single erogenous zone. To touch any part of it, with sexual intent, was to touch the whole. The effect was doubled and redoubled when the doctor's tongue invaded her mouth while both her hands kneaded her breasts, and at the same time Nurse Passion moved up behind her, turning her back to her buttocks and moving her fingers into the cleft to find the anal opening.

A very few minutes of that would have brought Teats to her first lesbian orgasm, but when she was thoroughly aroused, the doctor called a halt. Teats had to stand and wait while she undressed and tore off Passion's uniform, leaving her wrists locked behind her back. Teats' lesbian defloration was not going to be a team effort, apparently, but the nurse was not excluded completely.

Her first lesbian orgasm took place with her lying face-down on Doctor Stule. Once again, they were kissing deeply, and the doctor was reaching down between their bodies to finger her vagina, and then her clitoris. Meanwhile Nurse Passion, kneeling on the floor by the sofa, bent down over them and pushed her mouth and tongue between Teats' buttocks to make contact with her anal opening. The result was both quick and explosive, and the doctor had to use her spare hand to hold Teats in place as she writhed and twisted in an ecstasy that easily matched anything she had enjoyed with Hans.

Teats had never believed in conversion therapy, so she never imagined that her inclinations had somehow been shifted towards lesbianism. That would hardly have been in Hans' interests. When she reflected afterwards on the afternoon, she had come up with two possible explanations. One was that she was genuinely bisexual and always had been, but both her inhibitions and her want of opportunities had concealed that from her. Both obstacles had now been removed at a stroke, leaving her to writhe and moan with pleasure under the hands of her first female user.

The other explanation seemed to her less satisfactory; that she was so thoroughly dosed aphrodisiacs and libido-enhancers, both fast and slow-acting, that her need for sexual contact far overrode all her preferences and inclinations. She was, therefore, literally anybody's; a woman who, with her master's permission, was open to the public. That hypothesis suggested that she would happily congress with ogres and trolls, so it was perhaps as well that she had no way to test it.

Teats also wondered why she was being kept in such restrictive bondage, when there was clearly no chance that she would attempt to escape or attack her users. It seemed to make sex very one-sided, so that while Doctor Stule could finger her from one orgasm to another until she was incoherent and exhausted, she had no means of returning the favour. It suggested that from a purely sexual standpoint, it was better to be a slave than a master or mistress. It had something in common with the relationship between an owner and a dog. The former was supposed to be the "master," but provided the exercise, the affection, the food and the fun and games, while the dog enjoyed a healthy, happy and comfortable existence.

It was, presumably, the sexual element that made it different. In the world of slave-owners and users, it seemed that bondage was a fundamental ingredient of sex, so the question of whether or not it could be counter-productive did not arise. It seemed unlikely, however, that all slave users shared a particular kink. It was more likely that, for them, bondage provided a kind of boundary beyond which total promiscuity was not only permissible but virtually compulsory.

As far as Teats was aware, Hans was not married, but she had no idea whether or not Doctor Stule had a wife, husband or regular partner. Perhaps slave-users could be in monogamous relationships with other free persons, but sex with slaves in bondage did not count. It was consistent with what she had read in the past, and it also explained why Hans had bound Passion, for no obvious reason, before he had left the house.

Doctor Stule sought and obtained her own satisfaction by kneeling over Teats' face and lowering her vulva onto her mouth, facing her feet in the "reverse cowgirl" position. She and Passion kissed constantly while Teats ate her out, feeling on reasonably safe ground because, as a single young woman, she had often masturbated. The doctor helped by keeping her vagina over her mouth at first, allowing her tongue to thrust up into her tunnel, and then moving to present her clitoris, stretching the hood with her fingers.

Teats' mouth took a pounding from the doctor's orgasms as she ground herself down, but the periods when it was almost impossible to breathe were no more than half a minute long. She kept moving forward and back, and the climaxes came so rapidly that it was difficult to separate them, but Teats thought she had at least half a dozen. She found it exciting and was happy to be able to give the doctor so much pleasure, but it was tiring, and she felt dismayed when, as soon as she had finished and dismounted, she installed Passion in her place.

The next half-hour was quite arduous, and towards the end Teats' tongue was aching badly and her lips felt bruised. She was, nevertheless, determined that Passion would have her share of pleasure, and by and large she felt she delivered. Afterwards they all managed to lie side-by-side, squeezed together, on the cushion of the sofa, with the doctor in the middle, and they all got a couple of hours' sleep before Hans came home, looking as immaculate as always.

Dinnertime

While Hans and Doctor Stule compared their afternoons, Teats and Passion were left on the sofa, wrists still locked behind their backs. Without the body between them they soon came together for a long, gentle snogging session that lasted until they were summoned to the dinner table, the Thai feast having arrived. Teats was glad of the chance to have some intimate contact with the slave-nurse, who seemed to be sensitive enough to kiss her deeply without hurting her overworked lips.

They had been told not to speak to one another, so Teats was unable to satisfy her curiosity about how an obviously competent, and presumably qualified, nurse could find herself enslaved. She did wonder whether it was worth the effort of manoeuvring into the "69" position, and whether that would be allowed, but in the end the arrival of the food pre-empted any attempt to do that. The doctor had a quick shower and dressed for dinner, but the two slaves were sweaty and coated with vaginal fluid, so the aromas of the food were a welcome distraction. Hans fed Passion, and the doctor fed Teats, both occasionally giving them food from between their teeth.

It was fairly obvious that Hans intended to use Passion for his pleasure after dinner, and Teats realized that she was not feeling at all jealous about that. Presumably she would be used by the doctor again, and much later she would be chained in her master's bed for the night.

Over dinner, Hans and the doctor discussed the case of the girl from Aldi, although as she was about to be dismissed for persistent lateness, that description would soon be out of date. She was, apparently, in considerable trouble. Like ex-Muriel, she had hoped to be "spotted" by a wealthy sugar-daddy, but had overspent in her efforts to improve her chances, with expensive clothes and personal grooming. She had borrowed money from unsavoury sources, and as she was about to lose her income she would soon find that her only options were whoring or becoming a drug mule.

Under the circumstances, Hans would have to act quickly. She would not be courted, but would simply be seized and confronted with the realities of her situation. "Of course, it'll be too late then for the drug mule option," said Hands. "It'll be pleasure slavery, a brothel in Eastern Europe, or the lithium mines." He turned to Teats. "You'll be there to help her make the right choice," he told her, and to the doctor: "How did you get on with her this afternoon?"

The doctor seemed surprised to be asked that question. Perhaps she intended to report later by email. She rose to the occasion, however. "She was very good, for a virgin. I don't think you'll have any problems. She just needs to be given exercises that'll improve her stamina and strengthen her lips. I think she's a bit tender at the moment."

"I don't get many female visitors, but I suppose the Aldi girl will be good practice for her. In the meantime I'll make her give me lots of analingus," replied Hans. "She didn't have any unfortunate inhibitions? Was she wet enough with you?"

"No, and that reminds me of a suggestion I wanted to make. She juices very freely. If you sent her to an extraction facility, say, for a week every month, she'd probably make you enough money to cover her keep. Anything else would be pure profit. If you're intending to keep several slaves here, you'll certainly want to rent some of them out."

Hans' answer was non-committal, but by this time Teats was almost lost in her thoughts. Previously, it had occurred to her to wonder whether life with Hans might be monotonous, as she waited in bondage for long periods for him to find the time to use her body. How things had changed! She had now had sex with two women, with at least two more in prospect, and the male in the cellar waiting for the interrogation in which she would be involved.

Teats had no idea what a juicing facility was, or why it mattered that she produced vaginal secretions so freely. She was totally unaware that bodily fluids were now a vital ingredient in the most expensive and effective anti-aging and skin-softening treatments. She knew, however, that life from henceforth would not be dull. She was not naïve enough to have forgotten about the whips that were kept available throughout the house, but she intended to be always obedient and compliant, and she expected that the future held untold physical pleasures for her. She also found herself becoming more curious. She knew nothing about bimbos, shemales or hu-dogs, but she looked forward very much to learning about them, preferably through intimate physical contact. For the first time in her life, she felt a virtually unqualified optimism about her future, and every so often she felt the need to tug at the cuffs that held her wrists behind her back, to reassure herself that it was not all a dream.