Amyís Bondage
by Raul Roget

Copyrighted material, not for those under 18 years of age.

Chapter 61 -- First Flight

Lavina stirred in her bonds.

Master, before I start, in the same drawer there is a vampire glove. Torture me with it to ensure I speak slave truth. They taught me ĎA slave is believable only when in great pain.í

Glen reached behind him into the drawer, watching her. He encountered something sharp that pricked his questing fingers.

"Ouch!"

Quickly, Lavina spoke. "Careful, Master. They are very sharp."

"Now you tell me!"

He brought his empty hand around. There were drops of blood on two fingertips.

"Here. Suck on these."

†Lavinaís exceptionally powerful tongue surrounded the fingers, tasting his blood. Glen steadied himself, suppressing the overwhelming urge to spurt his load that the caressing tongue invoked.

This time he looked at what he was doing and gingerly brought one glove around, leaving the second one in the open drawer.

The glove was an eyeful. The palm and the insides of the thumb and fingers were studded and a double row went across the knuckles on the back. Carefully he pulled the glove onto his hand. Lavina stared, mesmerized, at his flexing fingers, knowing only too well what pain the vampire glove could inflict.

"Injuring a Master is a very serious offense. Have you done this before?"

"Unh. No, Master. I did injure an instructor at training school. He stood me before the entire class and whipped me between the legs with the tip of a fiberglass fishing rod. Iím still a bit tender down there."

Glen subconsciously noted that despite her upset, Lavina was squeezing in response to each question. Now he needed a new punishment.

With his free hand he grasped the far nipple, still encased in the clamp. Lifting her breast he reached forward with one finger and dragged a stud across her chest, exactly in the fold where he breast met her body. She was sweating, which provided the second part of her punishment. The salty liquid slid into the scratch, burning like a freshly lit match. He grasped the unhindered near nipple and put a matching scratch in the same groove.

"Thank you, Master, for properly punishing me. I will not soon forget your penalty." The words grated, exposing the underlying pain she was suffering.

"Your first flight," Glen reminded her.

Yes, Master. I completed my training and was assigned to the plane. Linda and Lisa were waiting for me. As the junior flight attendant I had to not only learn several things about serving and servicing the passengers and the cockpit crew, I had to go through some serious hazing.

Waiting for me was one of the serving carts. It was empty and had been modified just for me. They pulled it out and loaded me into it. I was kneeling in a narrow cramped box, with my head sticking out the top. There was a wooden form that fitted around my neck, enclosing me completely in the box. My head was near the front of the cart and I soon found out why. It allowed the passengers to get close enough so that I could do a blow job or lick cunt without being released.

They put the cart back under the counter until all the passengers were aboard. Then they pulled it out and paraded me into the main cabin, where I got my first look at the passengers, and their slaves.

There were two men and a woman. All three looked like they had been drinking heavily, which I later found to be true.

The first man got all excited when he saw me - or my head - and they told him that this was my maiden flight. He whipped out his cock and shoved it in my face. I had almost no room to move my head, so he had to aim it for my mouth, which resulted in four or five misses before he got it in. He was a tall blond, fairly handsome, perhaps about 40. He was so loaded it took forever to make him come. He went back to his seat and had his slave clean him up. She was also a blonde, nearly as tall as he, even without her heels.

There was one odd thing I noticed. His slave was of course nude and she had one finger on her clit. The finger never moved through the whole process of getting his cock cleaned with her tongue, and back into his pants.

As the second man rose to come to my mouth he expressed the same interest. The first man explained, "I caught her beating off. I keep her finger there to remind her why her life is so miserable. She has another month to go before Iíll even think of letting her climax."

The other man, older, perhaps 60, with silver gray hair, nodded and burped. "Tell you about my bitch when I get back."

He needed both hands to steady his cock enough to spear me. I thought he would never ever come, but my technique must have improved as he came almost immediately.

His slave had coal black hair. She was kneeling before his empty seat, holding her breasts in both hands, the nipples invitingly stiff and visibly red and sore. The man almost fell over her, but when he got into his seat he reached out and backhanded both breasts, momentarily knocking one out of her hand. She was punished for the lapse with another backhand.

He gulped at a fresh drink and leaned over to the other man. "She got pissed when she had her rag on and wouldnít let me touch her tits. ĎToo sore.í Iíve been teaching her what sore tits really feel like. Sheís got three periods to go. She gets specials on her tits every time."

Apparently trying to ignore the men, the lone woman sat there with a sour look on her face. Standing in front of her was a hulking Black, who weighed at least 300 pounds. He was easily wearing at least 50 pounds of iron - a massive collar, logging chain links connecting his wrists and ankles, a matching belt and more chain from his collar down to the belt. He wore a deceptively tiny looking bent-tube chastity locked to the belt.

In a southern accent you could cut with a knife she admonished her slave, "Boy! You keep that black prick of yours down. You donít shoot your load until I tell you. Ya hear me?"

The Black bowed his head. "Yes, Mistress."

The liquor loosening her tongue she finally recognized her fellow travelers. At least long enough to brag on her slave. "Got him right out of the University. Can you imagine, a Black professor!"

She turned back for a moment to admire her slave. "Boy! Stop slumpin! You straighten to Hell up or youíll be draggin your ball and chain wherever we go. Ya hear me?"

The Black straightened up as if he had feathers on his back instead of iron. "Yes, Mistress."

"You keep him locked up like that all the time?"

"Only out in public," she smirked. "He has work to perform."

"You ever let him out of that tube thing?"

"Oh, sure. I make sure ueís tied down to something big. Donít want him raping me or something. He gets pissed when I douse his thing in ice and squeeze it back in the tube without letting him blow his nuts, but thatís the life he chose to live. Isnít it, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress." There was the barest hint of resignation in his voice. Drunk or not, she caught it.

"Boy! You and I are going to have a long talk while I cane the shit out of you. You sound like Iím forcing you."

"No, Mistress. I want this. I asked for this. I accept it." He sounded much more believable this time.

The older man, feeling his drinks blurted, "Does he do any tricks?" He ended with a hiccup.†

The woman glared for a brief moment, then continued to show off. "Boy! Give me the key."

"Yes, Mistress." The key was hanging around his neck hidden by the chains. He had to stoop to get enough slack to lift the key chain over his head. He knelt before her and handed her the key. God forbid he should touch himself.

She unlocked his chastity tube and pulled it roughly off. The cock that emerged was an awesome sight. Flaccid, it measured at least 10 inches.

"Boy! Get it up! You have one minute!"

"Fifty bucks says he canít do it."

"Youíre on," said the other man.

"Boy! Turn around! You ainít gonna get a piece of white ass so quit lookin!"

With three seconds to spare a black ramrod reared between his legs. He turned back, proud of his accomplishment, only to incur the wrath of his Mistress. "You, boy! You donít hear good. I said turn your black ass around. My caning hand is tingling!"

Once again he turned. The younger man reluctantly paid up the bet he lost. He tried for the last word. "Iíll bet you this new stew can make him come in five minuteís or less. Sheís got a natural cocksuckerís mouth."

"In a pigís ass. He can go a month without coming!" she snarled. "Boy! Turn around! Your betters are talkin to ya. Can you last five minutes in that galís mouth?"

Boy looked at me with a mixture of frustration, need, lust and icy fear flushing over his face in rapid succession. "Yes, Mistress." Was there a hint of concern in his voice? The woman missed it as she slugged down the last of her drink and waved for another. I had my own doubts. I wasnít even sure I could open my mouth wide enough to get that massive head in.

The test didnít come for almost half an hour as the three argued over the amounts bet, a side bet that he could last 10 minutes and another round of drinks. Lisa and Linda had their hands full keeping everyoneís glass full.

At last the argument ceased, or at least subsided. Everyone was agreed on the rules. My work was cut out for me. I had to make him come in five minutes or I would have to service the two female slaves for the rest of the night.

Boy struggled over to me, fighting the load of chains, which suddenly seemed heavier.

He of course was cold sober, denied any alcohol by his cruel Mistress. The only thing I had going for me was the probability that it had been weeks since his last orgasm, so he would have to depend on willpower alone to keep from filling my mouth.

I about pulled a jaw muscle getting the head in, barely. I started sucking and I could feel an immediate response. I was getting a little elated when the woman upped the odds. "Boy, you come and you will live in a box - a small box - until hell freezes over."

I could feel that monster head - which was all that fit in my mouth - shrivel at the sound of her voice. The older man spoke up, to me, "You fail and Iíll whip your hide into ribbons."

I speeded up, never taking my eyes off his face. Heíd look down and I could feel the head swell. Then heíd look away, concentrating and the head would shrink.

"Three minutes to go."

I hurried, my tongue a blur, in and out of his piss slit, around and around the head. I showed him my face, my most lustful expression and he began to crumble.

"One minute to go."

I jammed the head as far back as I could get it, blocking the entrance to my throat. There was no way that I could get it any further down. I did the unthinkable, raking my teeth along the top and bottom as I pulled away. It reached something in him and with a roar he let loose, spurting six or seven gobs of semen into my mouth.

The ĎTimeís upí was an anti-climax.

The woman was livid. Sheíd not only lost her bet, she was faced with what she felt was open rebellion from her slave. She swore and called him a dirty name under her breath, then screamed at him, "Boy! I warned you! Itís the box for you!"

Then the argument as to the bets started all over again. Linda used the opportunity to back my cart out of the cabin and safely under the counter, where I was hidden and hopefully forgotten by the three drunks. They told me afterwards that the woman asked where I was and to get her a whip, but she was so drunk by this time that she forgot it a few seconds later.

Her slave had to carry her to bed and Linda and Lisa and the two blond slaves helped carry their masters in to bed. In seconds loud snores were coming from the three cabins. The slaves curled up in the chairs in the main cabin and they finally let me out of the cart. I was a wreck and it didnít help a bit when Lisa said, "Oh, itís usually worse than this."

When we landed at the castle, I stayed in the background, but other than curious looks none of the three seemed to remember anything of the previous night.. The Black grinned at me for an instant, but that was the only indication of what had happened.

-0-

Glen had been busy while Lavina was talking. His hand was light as a feather, but virtually every exposed bit of skin south of her chin had faint scratches criss-crossing and swirling about. Lavina was filling the scratches with sweat as fast as Glen could make them and every burning scratch pushed her a fraction closer to another mind-boggling orgasm.

Lavina was eating it up. Even the instructors had never treated her in this fantasy-answering manner. She decided she was in love with Glen and wanted to be his permanent slave. Anyone who could take her straight to her impossible dreams and make her like it had to be the best Master in the world.

At the moment there was a much more pressing need. "Master, please allow your slave to come?"

"You tell a good story. You may come at my command, without penalty."

His finger was on her clit again. Hadnít it always been there? He pressed, twisted, pressed. "Come."

A four alarm repeat of the earlier event left her breathless. She had to breath to ask for a second pressing need.

"Master, I need to piss.

"Of course."

Glen opened the stocks, releasing her. She looked at him expectantly. He looked at her, face bland. She walked to the bathroom, head up, a smile on her face, mentally counting the barbs that were pushing into the soles of her feet.

The bathroom door was an obstacle. The round knob was nearly impossible to grip with her copper gloves. She finally exerted enough pressure, at the expense of her hands, to turn the knob. She left the door open, certain she could not do a repeat on the smaller inside knob.

"Master, I canít wipe."

Grumbling, carefully loud enough for her to hear, he slipped off the bed and walked in. She looked up at him, scared that she had earned some more punishment. He grumbled again as he reeled off some paper and as she spread her legs he dried her.

She lifted herself to her feet and walked back to the bed as if nothing was amiss. Glen took the opportunity to relieve himself, after some trouble getting into position with his half -hard cock.

When he came back she was lying with her limbs and neck in the opened stocks. He eyed her up and down and joined her on the bed.

"Master, would you enjoy a slave fuck?"

"Sure. Let me get the stocks out of the way."

He reached for the stocks, but she stopped him. "I have a new version. The stocks are part of it."

"Youíll kill yourself."

"Try me, Master."

Shaking his head, Glen reached for the stocks again, this time locking them, holding her ankles, neck and wrists. "Itís your funeral," he muttered.

Lavina turned her head carefully. The sky was turning bright in the east. "Itís the dawn of a new day. Fuck me, Master!"

He was rock hard. She was dripping juices. They met somewhere over the bed. She bounced, meeting him stroke for stroke. He rode her, meeting the thrusts that were meeting him. She was pushing him upward as hard as he was pushing down. They came, together, grunting and yelling in their ecstacy, supremely satisfied.

While they recovered, Glen slowly unfastened the restraints that Lavina had suffered without complaint. He still couldnít believe that she could use the stocks as springboards to bounce like a rubber ball. He was sure there would be blood. There was, but only scant traces. There were numerous red dots where studs had pressed without breaking the skin. The only serious damage was on her feet, where her weight had been enough to wound her but here too there was nothing serious.

When he removed her belt, she sighed, drawing a deep breath for the first time in hours. The metal removed revealed a belt of red dots across her belly and above her hips around to her spine.

Lavina was more certain than ever that this was her one love. She even opened her mouth to beg, but hesitated, uncertain of his reaction. A little later she realized it would have been a bad move.

The announcement came from the cockpit, "Prepare for landing."

Chapter 62 -- At Last, the Castle

With the landing announcement Lavina immediately switched from the seductive slave to the all-business flight attendant. She shucked the slippers and gloves in an instant, belying their apparent tightly locked status. With quick, but subservient questions she learned which clothes to lay out for Glen. She packed his bag again as he pulled on his shorts, then aided him - actually dressed him, tying his tie like she had been doing it all her life.

He was ready when the final warning to the cabin crew crackled on the speakers, strapped snugly in his chair in the main cabin. All three of the redheads fluttered around him before taking their jump seats at the last second. The landing was butter smooth, the transition from air to earth without the slightest bump. Glen was used to applauding a good landing, but felt rather self-conscious doing it alone.

The plane taxied swiftly to the large terminal building. Looking out the window he could see workers assembling a jetway. For now he would have to go down the stairs.

Dr. Saslo waited at the foot of the stairs, smiling up at him as he came out the cabin door. Kneeling beside him on a small pillow was yet another redhead. From what he could see of her face with her head bowed she was at least a 13 compared to the matching 11 or 12 ratings of the three flight attendants. The fact that the first four slaves he encountered were redheads was not lost on him.

Dr. Saslo greeted him with an embrace. He asked about the flight and seemed pleased at Glenís expressed satisfaction. Then he turned and with a sweep of his hand he presented the kneeling slave. She prostrated herself on the tarmac kissing his feet as she caressed them with her manacaled hands. When she knelt up on her pillow Glen noted the sparkle in her eyes before she bowed her head.

The girl spoke clearly, "Master, Becky is your slave while you are here. Slave Becky welcomes you to Castle Bond. Slave Becky is a pain slut so she welcomes your harshest discipline and most stringent bondage."

Glen merely nodded to acknowledge the offer.

Dr. Saslo pointed out, "Your slave will serve your every possible need. She knows where everything is and who is in charge in each area so she will be able to guide you to any possible point of interest."

With that he turned to the waiting limo. The female driver, clad only in a hat stood by the open door, ready to assist. Becky had picked up her pillow and followed behind, crawling in when the two men were seated. She knelt on the floor between them, eyes down, waiting for orders.

Glen was feeling the first signs of jet lag so watching the new sights took all his interest. The big car turned from the airport road onto the main road to the castle, sailing through the checkpoint where the guards stood at attention. Everyone in the castle had been altered that the new boss was coming so they were on hand - as many who could excape their duties - to watch the one-car parade go by.

As the castle loomed, Glen caught a glimpse of something unusual about the decorations surrounding the main castle gate. He slid open the sun roof and got a good look. Hanging from decorative arms on each side were matching cages, sized to hold a human body in close embrace. Both cages were occupied, the two captives looking mutely down at the arriving guest.

He bent down and commented to Dr. Saslo, "Tough duty."

"More like punishment. The two slaves performed the poorest in their training classes yesterday, so today they serve as appropriate decorations. Becky here can tell you all about it. She spent a week in the left hand cage after she flunked out of our flight attendant school. However, she passed her pain slut and pleasure slave training with the highest marks. Perhaps the incentive..."

Becky remained silent, eyes down, but a trace of a flush crept over her face.

When they reached the inner courtyard the limo made a wide sweep, stopping near the front end of the line of staff members awaiting them. Dr. Saslo announced Glen to enthusiastic applause. Then he walked him down the receiving line, greeting each of fifty employees by name, their job title and brief personal history. Glen did his best to memorize them as they went along, but was somewhat overwhelmed by the large numbers. He was used to remembering client names, a practice that stood him in good stead in this case.

Dr. Saslo, well aware of Glenís problem, assured him, "Youíll have plenty of opportunities to learn names and jobs. Iíve trained the staff to introduce themselves at each contact, until thereís a sign of recognition. Your real estate training will certainly help on that score. How about some breakfast?"

Glen wasnít sure he could handle food, but he agreed. The dining room was five star quality. The head waiter and the chef waited at the door to greet them. As they were guided to their seats Becky appeared - without her pillow - and knelt by the table at Glenís left.

Dr. Saslo ordered pancakes, "A taste I acquired in your country." Glen settled for a fruit plate. He looked at Dr. Saslo for guidance.

"She eats from your fingers for your entire stay. Donít forget too often to feed her. She would rate serious punishment if she reminds you she is hungry. She also needs your permission for anything that she does. I know, I promised you the pick of the castle slaves, but I took the liberty of picking Becky for you since she is so well versed in the castle operation."

As the finished, Dr. Saslo, observing the obvious signs of jet lag, and correctly assuming that Glen had had little if any sleep, ordered, "Go to bed and sleep it off. There are some pills on your night stand that will alleviate the symptoms. Becky will lead you to your quarters and Iíll join you for breakfast in the morning."

Becky rose and handed Glen her leash. "Follow me, Master, please. It is better than ordering you to turn left or right." She led him from the dining room, across the main hall and into the north wing. "This will be where you and your slaves will be housed." She opened a door from the hall and allowed Glen to enter first.

Glen chuckled. The room looked like a cross between a sumptuous bedroom and a torture chamber. Hooks and ring bolts were everywhere - floor, walls, ceiling - and around the base pf the four-poster, canopied bed. Chains, leather straps, shackles and manacles decorated each corner of the California King bed, no doubt imported as most Europeans had never heard of either a queen or king size bed. The bed was so big that it required an additional double set of restraints in the middle at head and foot, to accommodate two bodies.

The morning sun was shining in the windows. Becky turned on a light, then closed the shutters and shades on the windows, cutting off every ray of sunshine. With the light out it would be pitch black in the room.

Becky undressed him, carefully hanging his suit and tie in the big walk-in closet. Several suits in his size already hung there, along with shirts and ties and large underwear drawers. The clothing reeked of money. He guessed thousands for the suits only to find his estimate far too low.

He walked to the bathroom and started to shut the door. A small hand stopped him. She grasped his flaccid cock and pulled him gently to the toilet, the seat already up, then held him, directing traffic as he hurried before erection set in. He entered the shower, shadowed by his slave. She soaped her body, especially her breasts and then washed him by rubbing all over him. That brought up his† erection in a hurry, despite his desire to go straight to sleep. Finished, she dried him, raising his receeding cock stand again with the silky soft towel.

For the first time since boyhood, his teeth were brushed for him. Becky flossed them over Glenís sleepy protests, then held a glass with rinse for him. A second glass and the pills followed. Slightly refreshed he let her guide him back to the bed She pulled a shackle and chain from beneath the opposite side and snapped the lock on her delicate ankle.

She knelt. "Master your slave has ignored your wishes by arousing you. She begs permission to wear a punishment collar for the night to remind her of her place."

Curiosity aroused, he nodded permission. With a rustle of chain links she walked to a cabinet and brought out a massive collar. She handed it to Glen, who almost dropped it, surprised by the weight. He examined it, finding the interior lined with dull pyramid studs. They were designed to irritate, abrade, annoy and bother the wearer, rather than puncture or tear the skin. He closed the collar, closed the lock and gave her some orders.

"You are to attend me as I sleep. I want you to caress me without arousing me to put me first to sleep and then to maintain my sleep. Waking me for anything but a fire or revolution, or allowing me to wake with a stiffy will earn you all the pain you can handle."

"I will obey, Master."

Glen laid down on the bed and she pulled a sheet and light blanket over him. Outside, the air had been sultry with humidity, but it was fresh and dry in the bedroom. Glen noted the delight of unexpected air conditioning even as he closed his eyes. He felt her hands, touching him, sliding up and down his arms, across his chest, and then he snored. Becky continued, as ordered, her caresses gravitating into a deep bone massage that loosened the kinks of t he long flight. She rolled him over, dreading, but not waking this very tired man.

He slept the day away and well into the night, his internal clock a ruin. She brought him a drink of cool carbonated water which woke his taste buds. When he expressed interest in something to eat she unmasked a microwave behind a cabinet door and made him a miniature pizza, which she was allowed to share. She went about her work without complaining, despite the 20 pounds of steel wrapped close around her neck. He offered to remove it, but she refused, quoting, "A punishment aborted is a punishment lost."

Glen drifted back to sleep. Becky cleaned up the tiny kitchen and then returned to the bed, resuming her caresses, careful to give his cock and balls a wide latitude in hopes of avoiding arousing him. She knew that like most men he would wake up hard, but rather than concerning her it aroused her in turn, leaving her panting from contact with his skin. She would welcome any kind of punishment from him. She had no way of knowing that he had a string of slaves at home who felt the same way about him. She knew there were slaves, and a wife-slave, but that had been all she had been told.

At four in the morning Glen woke, his head somewhat dull, but otherwise feeling refreshed. As expected he was stiff. He swung back the covers, pointing for Beckyís benefit. She barely suppressed a grin, confident in her correct assessment of his sexual prowess. She immediately suggested a punishment, another of the slave fucks he had received on the plane.

Feigning exasperation, he complained, "What is it with you redheads? Always want a slave fuck, always when itís going to hurt. With that big collar on you could break your neck."

"Master, if it breaks my neck, so be it. We slaves have nothing. If we can give the gift of our body responding to Masterís body, that is our reward. We thrive on pain, so we expect it in everything we do. We thrive on bondage, and this is an expression of our lust to be restrained and to be pain sluts. Chain me, Master and bend me to your will!"

Suiting action to her words, she threw herself onto the bed, her arms and legs outstretched, inviting the waiting steel. Glen shook his head and leaned down, closing the shackles on her ankles, then over her, dragging his cock across her belly as he locked the manacles on her wrists. The control beside him pulled the chains taut, they in turn pulling her limbs until there was no slack anywhere.

He put a pillow under her head. She looked down across the edge of her collar, noting the stiff thimbles on her breasts, seeing the dripping cock that was poised above her. She gasped with excitement, certain she would fail to hold her orgasm after the first impaling stroke. A vision of her delicious punishment for coming without permission only added to her tension. It was coming, a foregone conclusion. She was mastered, in every sense of the word, helpless to avoid her fate. She felt the head, pushing at her labia, slick-sliding the shaft into her depths. She came, screaming "Master!"

She levered her body up, her back arched in an impossible curve, her neck pressing her weight in the collar, meeting him so hard they both grunted with the effort. She bounced, meeting his† rhythm stroke for stroke, ramming his cock into her bottomless pit, yet finding bottom, somewhere deep inside her, making her come again. The steady drumbeat dragged her climax into an endless agony of excitement that was too much to bear. She screamed in his ear, nearly deafening him. She began to babble, "Whip me, Iím coming! Itís forbidden, but I came. I came and came again. Punish me. I am an undisciplined slut. Use me. Tie me in knots. Chain me. Fuck me, Fuck MMMMEEE!" With a wail of indescribable guilt she screamed through a multiple orgasm that never ended. She beat upon his chest with her body, driving her tender breasts into hard muscle until he came, draining his newfound energy.

Exhausted, both lay side by side. Becky wanted to touch him, caress him, but her chains were unyielding. She closed her eyes to relive her big moment and in seconds she was snoring as loudly as the Master beside her.

-0-

They woke in total darkness. Glen felt for the lamp and turned it on. He looked down at the slave beside him, taut, but limp. He leaned over and kissed her. She woke, a leftover climax rippling through her body as she realized what had happened. Glen quickly released her and she padded to the bathroom to assist him, carefully wiping his cockhead as he finished. She washed him with her body again, brushed his teeth and rinsed. Glen looked at the clock which showed a few minutes before ten.

"Weíre late.† I was supposed to have breakfast with Dr. Saslo."

"Not to worry. He rarely eats before ten or eleven."

"Anyway, dress me and letís get to the dining room."

The dressing took precious minutes but it was not quite ten. Since only Glen needed clothes it went faster than expected.

Glen had barely been seated when Dr. Saslo walked in. "I didnít expect to see you before noon, or one. Did you get a good sleep?"

"Plenty, even though Becky tried to break every bone in my body. Thatís one fine piece of ass."

Becky, finding herself the topic of a crude remark, shifted ever so slightly, her face faintly colored. She was used to being discussed as if she wasnít present.

"I assume she came without permission? Her greatest fault."

"I lost count. She will be doing some counting of her own." The threat added a little more color to her face. Nobody asked for her opinion, but she would have said, "Well worth it!"

As they ate, Dr. Saslow outlined a schedule for the afternoon, ranging from visiting the Security area to a tour of the outer wall and the lake. Glen asked if he would come along, but the doctor begged off. "Iíve got three job interviews this afternoon so Iím stuck."

Chapter 63 -- Inspection

Glen decided to tour Security first, estimating it would take the time before lunch, then go out and look at the wall. Becky handed him her leash and led him out of the castle to the Security building.

When they entered the lobby, Glen was faced with a large sign that was impossible to miss. "Security Area / No slaves beyond this point." He was tempted to pull rank and ignore it, but Becky put her hand on his arm, risking censure, to tell him, "Master, they mean it. The slave gets an automatic month in the discipline barracks and the resident or guest may be banished from the castle."

"In other words, more punishment than even a pain slut can endure."

"Yes, Master. Iíve never been to the barracks, but there are stories on the grapevine that make me shudder."

"Thatís a surprise. I thought a pain slut would look forward to a vacation in the barracks."

"Master, I thrive on pain, but even my body has limits that I have little or no control over. I have no desire to destroy my vocal cords with a month of constant screaming. One of the slaves smuggled a tape out. It made my flesh crawl listening to it. I only heard a few seconds before they pounced on her and confiscated the tape."

"All right. You stay here and Iíll take the tour." Glen looped her leash into a locking hook and turned to the woman standing waiting behind her desk. She was fully dressed, he noted, indicating she was not a slave.

As he stepped forward a door opened and the head of security walked in. Glen had met him in the receiving line and remembered his name. "Ralph, thanks for setting up this tour on short notice."

Ralph led him into the hall. The door closed behind them with a loud click indicating it was securely locked. They walked a short distance and Ralph put his thumb on a sensor. Recognized, the door slid open. They walked into a darkened room lit by the glow of hundreds of color monitors. The views constantly changed every few second. Even a quick glance caught scenes ranging from the dungeon to private bedrooms.

Ralph spent several minutes explaining the system. "We use a camera in every room along with special motion sensors. Certain movements first attract a camera and then sound a warning signal. If someone is beating a slave we know it by the second blow. If a slave is attacking a Master we know that. Our biggest secret is our response. We have jets that can fill a room with an odorless, colorless gas that will immobilize everyone in the room in five seconds. For big rooms we have concentrated gas jets so any one part of the room can be flooded. Weíve only used the system three times but it was effective in each case. The effect only lasts a few minuets, more that enough time to get our rapid response teams to any point in the castle or the village."

"I can see why you donít want any slaves in here," said Glen. "Any problems recruiting people to monitor these?"

"The pay is quite good and we provide housing and other perks, including use of the slaves."

"Male slaves for the women?"

Ralph chuckled. "They get their choice. Most want a man, but there is a lesbian or two."

"Are you using female slaves to do the excavating under the castle?"

"That isnít my area - come under the Labor Department - but most of the work is being done by a chain gang of men, loaned to us by the Government. The work is plenty tough enough to qualify as Ďhard labor.í"

Glen mentioned that he was going to be inspecting the outer wall after lunch. "Have you had any problems?"

"Nothing significant. Weíve had two incursions, both at night, cameras with night vision equipment. We were at the wall to greet them, to their considerable surprise. We put them in a holding cell right at the wall and Ďheldí them for a week. Then we turned them over to the Government, which turns a simple trespassing case into an illegal border crossing. The word on that got around fast and we havenít been bothered since."

"Dr. Saslo said the National Prison is to be avoided."

"Amen to that. I say the same thing - I donít even want to tour it, let alone be incarcerated in it."

As they finished up, Ralph escorted him to the door. He took in the waiting slave. "You enjoying Becky?" Glen nodded, waiting to see which way the comment would go.

"Sheís a hot piece of ass, besides being one of the smartest slaves in the compound. She can find her way blindfolded to any spot in the area so youíve got a top notch tour guide, with a lot of fringe benefits. Sheís smartened up considerably from when she first arrived."

Becky kept her head down but the two men could see she was listening intently to their conversation. They shared a grin at her expense. Glen unlocked the leash and Becky trailed him out the door.

Waiting outside was the armored scout car. Ralph pulled a blindfold and ear plugs from his pocket. "Youíll need these for your slave. We donít want to give away our secrets out there."

Glen put the blindfold on Becky and stuffed her ears. The plugs wouldnít block all sounds but would make it very difficult to understand conversational level comments. Silently she let herself be lowered into the cramped space. Glen was invited to ride in the turret, standing up to get a better view.

The scout carís six wheels gave them a ride like pitching over swells, slowly bobbing up and down as it sped toward the outer wall. They reached it in a few minutes. The commander handed him a pair of field glasses. Glen searched the empty area beyond the wall. Nothing out of the ordinary was visible. Cameras on the posts near the car were moving slowly back and forth getting a panoramic view of the areas inside and outside the fence.

They started up and followed the wall for a mile until the road branched off, aiming toward the lake. They pulled up to a stop at the marina. At the end of the pier a large white yacht was tied, with the crew busy with last minute details. Glen could read the name on the stern - "Castle Bond."

Glen turned at a sound and saw Becky being lifted up out of the scout car. The commander grinned at Glen. "With your permission, we have a little surprise for you." He nodded toward Becky as they removed her blindfold and ear plugs. Glen held his hand out, offering her.

One of his men led Becky toward the boat. She glanced back at Glen, who was in deep conversation with the commander. A few minutes later there was a shout from the bow of the boat. The Marina manager came up and led Glen onto the boat. They walked him forward to the bow and the manager leaned over, looking down. Glenís eyes widened momentarily as he saw Becky, spreadeagled across the prow - the perfect figurehead - and exactly as he had fantasized as a boy. He wondered momentarily if he could get access to her to complete his fantasy, but decided to leave it for another time. He did note that there were permanent bronze fittings that she was lashed to, so she was by no means the first to adorn the castle yacht.

With a deep rumble the motors began turning. Lines were cast off and the boat rapidly gained speed, heading out into the lake. Glen gripped the rail, watching the water froth up, burying Becky to the waist. If she dared, sheíd probably give him the devil for her unexpected bath. The swell of the water at least partially completed the fantasy making it easy to believe she was a mermaid pinned to the bow.

Lunch was served on deck. Glen made a mental note to feed Becky later as there was no easy way to get food to her. The only thing lacking was the tang of salt on the lake breeze.

They docked as Glen and the others finished lunch. Glen walked back to the bow and watched as they backed a small boat in below her and lifted her bodily off the bow. He could see that she was shivering as the water was not all that warm. She was given a towel which she used only to dry herself. She returned to Glenís side and knelt.

The limo was waiting for Glen. He climbed in the back and Becky knelt at his feet. "Master, what else would you like to see?"

"Iíd like to tour the castle. All Iíve seen so far are my bedroom, the dining room and the great hall."

The limo swept through the guard gate and back into the castle without pausing. When they got out, Becky handed him her leash. Glen shook his head. "Either leading or following is awkward. Letís lose the leash." He unlocked it from her collar and stuck it in his pocket.

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring every nook and cranny of the castle. In the office wing Glen recognized several of the men who had greeted him. The operation of the different offices was much the same. A male was in charge. Most of the workers were female slaves. In a couple of highly specialized jobs there were more men and even a woman or two fully dressed.

Glen suspected and confirmed that losses to attrition were being replaced with slaves with the special skills needed, avoiding having to hire specialists. Eventually the workforce would be more than 95 percent slave. Several of the managers indicated they were building a backlog of potential candidates for their job openings. All of them were looking forward to the expansion that would become necessary as more residents were signed up.

As might be expected Glen spend some extra time with the real estate department. The staff was working on their licenses, necessary to do business in the country. An efficient slave gathered Glenís information and typed it into her computer against the day he began working.

That thought caused some self searching. He found himself acting like he already was in the job. He was being treated with the respect he would expect at General Manager, although nobody but Dr. Saslo had any inside information on his decision.

Certainly Becky was treating him like the boss. He still wasnít sure whether she treated any guest like that, but it stroked his ego to have her doing so many intimate things for him.

Becky directed him to the basement dungeons. A modern elevator carried them down, right alongside the massive stone steps that had been worn by a thousand feet.

The dungeons were straight out of the history books. The Inquisition could have moved in without a ripple. At first glance it looked like every torture museum and dungeon in Europe and Asia had been robbed and brought to Castle Bond.

Most were true antiques, hundreds of years old. A few were copies of irreplaceable relics whose owners refused to part with them. Some of the chains looked like they were hand hammered centuries before the birth of Christ.

Interspersed were rooms that were strictly modern. Stainless steel bondage tables, vibrating probes, electrical apparatus, all there and much more. Yet, the dungeon master spoke of his want list, more often growing than declining as word came of old or new that he didnít have.

Becky bent over a whipping bench, looking back at Glen expectantly. He obliged her, picking a waiting whip from a dozen on th wall.

"You will count, thank me and ask for another, harder. Move a hand or a foot and a dozen are added. You came without permission this morning, did you not?"

"Yes, Master. Please whip me."

She followed his orders to the letter. As the tenth approached she hesitated, wanting the extra twelve but afraid to ask. Glen read her like a book.

"One extra for hesitation. The term is Ďvery hard.í"

She yelped with pain. That one really hurt.

"Do you really want 11 more, each one harder than that one?"

Becky hung her head, knowing her desire defeated. "No, Master."

"On your feet!"

She stood, hurriedly. The lesson: "Donít mess with the boss." She wanted to rub her sore ass, but Glen was having none of it. He didnít believe in coddling slaves.

"Show me the chain gang."

Becky opened a door in the dungeon wall. To Glen it was like stepping into Danteís Inferno. Dusty light bulbs barely penetrated into the gloom. Ahead were bright lights. They walked toward it. Becky used the darkness to hide a hand rubbing her welts. Her wrist was caught in an iron grip. "Donít mess with the boss."

As they sideled around a massive pillar the scene unfolded before them. Standing along a dirt bank were a dozen male slaves, shackled to a long chain that was locked to a ringbolt in the floor. Each had a shovel or a pick. Several males were not chained. They were operating wheelbarrows, hauling the dirt ot a conveyer belt which lifted it out of the basement. In charge of† them were half a dozen female slaves. Each wore a colored belt, signifying their authority. Becky described them, "The females are slaves from the Labor Department, as indicated by the green belts. They have certain perks, sort of like the trustees in a jail. The other departments have different color belts."

"Who assigns where they work?"

"The female slaves? Thatís a matter for personnel. The recruiting department finds them - women who are into bondage primarily - and then they review their work history, give them a batch of tests and assign them accordingly."

"Looks to me like the men could easily overpower the women."

"Master, there are several safeguards. For one, their chain is locked to a ringbolt and the lock is remotely controlled so they canít steal the key. The security cameras will catch any overt move before it gets out of hand.† There probably are some other protective devices we slaves are not aware of, but if you will notice in that locked room thereís a slave on watch. She controls an electrical jolt to the chain that will knock them down like a taser. The men on the wheelbarrows have an electrode up their ass that will knock them flat if they move away from the barrow or toward one of the girls."

"Besides, they are meek as lambs. Being here instead of the National Prison is like escaping to paradise. If they screw up here they are sent back, their sentence begins over again and Iím told they get castrated."

"I guess Iíd toe the line too. Iíve been hearing a lot of negative reaction to that National Prison. Whatís your perspective?"

Becky shuddered. "Master, itís a true hell on earth. I talked to a slave who served a six month sentence. She was whipped - like you whipped me - three times a day, every day. For staining her mattress the whippings were changed to hourly. They woke her up every hour at night and whipped her. They did things to her she wouldnít even talk about. They wouldnít release her until she swore never to reveal what had happened to her. Somehow they found out that she had talked to me. They came and arrested her and took her back with a five year sentence. They threatened me with the same sentence if I even mentioned her."

"So, I need to protect you from arrest, is that it?"

"There are some other problems, so youíll have some negotiating to do with them. The castle swings a lot of weight with the government, so youíll have to use it to protect all of us.

Chapter 64 -- An Evening in the Dungeon

Dinner was pleasant. Dr. Saslo discussed everything that Glen had seen and talked about. Glen was making sure that Becky had an ample supply of food to make up for the skipped lunch.

Dr. Saslo had several suggestions for the following day. Subtly he led the conversation to give him an opening to ask the crucial question, "Will you take the job?"

Glen had been expecting the question so his answer was ready. "So far, from what Iíve seen, yes. Thatís conditional, based on what I see during the rest of the week."

"That makes me a happy man," Dr. Saslo beamed. "Youíve managed to see a majority of the place in one day. That energy will stand you well in the job."

"I had a good guide, with a lot of pertinent information. I havenít seen the organizational chart yet, but I can see youíve accomplished a lot in a short time."

"Yes, and I expect you to double it in the first six months."

"Thatís a big bite. I donít know if I want to work that hard."

Glen grinned, signaling that he was joking. Becky, kneeling with her head down, failed to catch the grin and began worrying.

"Anything over that figure and youíll be in line for a substantial bonus."

"That I can use."

Dr. Saslo raised his glass, "A toast to the new GM."

"A bit premature, but... just a bit." He clinked his glass with the doctorís and drank it down.† Becky was confused for a moment but relieved that he was saying yes. This was a man who could master her anytime as far as she was concerned. Her mouth actually watered as she considered his ability to make pain an aphrodisiac. She was already certain it was addictive.

Glen invited the Doctor to his quarters, but Dr. Saslo again begged off, citing a delayed interview and other paper work. "Besides," he added, "you have a slave that needs attention."

Becky remained rigid, not acknowledging that she was the topic of conversation. She had felt Dr. Sasloís whip - a far different feeling than when Glen had whipped her - and she was anxious not to elicit his wrath.

The men said their good nights and Glen accepted Beckyís leash as she handed it to him, confident he could lead the way back to his suite. She noted the new confidence and heeled him gracefully.

She undressed him and washed him in the shower as always. She clothed him in lavish silk pajamas with a matching robe. Once in his recliner she knelt before him, a somewhat odd look on her face.

Glen read her face. "You may continue to speak freely."

A broad smile wreathed her face. She was certain he could read her mind. She dropped her head, subservient. "Master, a slave is happy that you are taking the job."

Glen chuckled, touched by her remark. "Doesnít anyone in this place understand Ďconditionalí or Ďprobablyí?"

"Master, this slave recognizes the ability to manage, with knowledge and concern for their employees, or slaves. You have that ability and more. The castle is lucky to get a man of your caliber for the job."

"That, after you got soundly thrashed in the dungeon?"

"That as well. I have been whipped many times. You are the only one to make my pain erotic and make me sincerely wish for more, and more. A pain slut learns to judge the hand that holds the lash. Your hand is different than the others. You hurt like the others, but there is a subtle difference. A pain slut likes that difference."

"You hesitated, on the whipping bench."

"Yes, Master, and I was suitably punished. I was trying to decide if I should ask for the extra 12, even though I hadnít earned them. I dreaded your wrath for making you appear too gentle with me."

"Youíre trying to tell me you would have enjoyed a dozen more, but not at the Ďvery hardí level." His comments were couched as questions, but were simple statements of fact instead.

"Master is very perceptive. A slave is already addicted to his whip."

"You may not appreciate my other talents as much."

She neatly evaded him. "A slave has no choice or say in her punishment."

Glen made a mental note. Becky would find evasion expensive, later.

-0-

"Master has not interrogated his slave."

The statement jolted Glen out of thoughts of his slaves at home. He looked at Becky, one eyebrow raised. She barged ahead, sure she was on dangerous ground. "This slave is told you are an expert interrogator, getting any information you want."

"SOME-body is a big blabbermouth." He shook his head and grinned wryly. "Thereís no stopping a well organized grapevine."

He reached out and grasped Beckyís jaw in his big hand, pulling her toward him, eye to eye. "Just why does a pain slut wish to be questioned?"

She tried, hard, to drop her eyes, but Glen had them locked to his, denying her a hiding place. "Master, a slave knows more than she should. The slave needs to be tested for ulterior motives, for loyalty and the ability to keep her mouth shut."

Glen stared into her eyes, searching for truth. "And?"

"A slave wants... begs... to be hurt by the Masterís hands that hold her a willing prisoner."

"A certain slave is guilty of deviousness, as well as evasiveness. Listing the main reason last is not likely to get you on your Masterís good side."

"Master, I am sorry. A slaveís thoughts are conflicting in her head from the powerful effect you have on this slave."

"So, a slave thinks it necessary to make a visit to the dungeon."

"Yes, Master, but there is no need - unless Master wishes it - to go to the dungeon. There is a fully equipped room right here in your suite."

She led him to a door at the end of the hall. It opened to a miniature edition of the basement dungeon, but seemingly packed with as much equipment as the larger room. Miniature was perhaps a poor descriptive term as the room was at least 75 feet long and almost as wide.

Becky knelt just inside the door. Her ankle chain made a metallic noise as it came to rest on the stone floor.

"Stay." Glen wanted to explore for himself† before satisfying his slaveís urges. He examined each piece of equipment with care, rummaged in all the drawers, opened all the cabinets and tried several of the whips. Becky watched, even more sure that she was in expert hands. She resisted the urge to caress the jaw muscles that he had held so tightly. Her chained hands remained motionless on her thighs.

He returned with something of leather over his arm. As he drew closer, Becky recognized it as a single glove. She flashed a vision of arms tight behind her as Master did horrible things to her rampant breasts. Master had other plans. He removed her manacles, then roped her arms together at wrist and elbow behind her back. The black leather slid sensuously up her arms, trapping her fingers as tightly as the wrists just above.

Heavy straps curled through her armpits, crisscrossed her chest and locked behind her neck. Glen paused a moment to admire the view. The glove did indeed force her breasts into offered prominence. They tempted, just as Becky imagined, but Glen was on a mission.

He grasped her leather-covered arms and led her into the room, her ankle chain whirring and snapping as she walked. He stopped where a chain hung from a recess in the ceiling. She eyed the chain, the light dawning as he turned her back and brought the chain hook up to meet the ring at the end of her glove.

The chain moved upward, to a silent winch. Becky stared into the distance, feeling the tip of the sleeve curl upward, following the chain as it rose. She unconsciously raised herself on tiptoe. Realizing it she cursed herself for anticipating the coming event.

The leather bent at her fingers, moved upward, her fingers, hands, wrists and elbows bending and lifting from her now bent back. Her body flattened parallel with the floor. Her arms reached a 45 degree angle beyond which flesh and bone could not bend. Still on her toes, she felt her weight lessen on them. A moment later, her toes left the floor, closely followed by the loop of chain between her ankle shackles.

Her ride into the sky seemed endless. The winch neither slowed nor speeded, carrying her full weight hanging from her backward racked arms.

Her head lolled until she learned to support it. She knew her neck muscles would quickly tire, but a vestige of pride demanded her head be upright.

A whip curled around her ankle, snagging her chain.

"Ankles apart! Keep the chain tight."

Obediently she snapped her legs apart until the chain was taut between. The odd though struck her that she had never been whipped about her ankles before. Her body was already rebelling. She could feel the hurt spreading from her shoulders, while several muscles served notice that they were not about to keep her legs apart indefinitely.

Glen checked everything and then wandered off, looking at more of the equipment that filled the room. Becky already regretted her rashness. The pain in her shoulders spread rapidly down her arms. Even as it lanced through her she realized she could barely feel her fingers, lost somewhere in the crumpled leather.

It kept intensifying. She moaned. Regretted it. Bit her lip. The next moan shattered her defenses, loud in the silent room. Glen glanced at her. Slowly he returned.

"In the old days, you would be pulled to the ceiling and allowed to drop several feet. You talked, or they repeated it until you did. Tough on the shoulder sockets. Quite a few got dislocated, never were any good as arms after that. But they talked, just like you are going to talk."

"I will talk. Tell you anything you want to know."

"Indeed you will." He tapped her ankle with the butt of his whip. She jerked, pulling apart, hurting her arms with the movement. His face was at a level with her knees. He could see the slick coating on her thighs.

"They would hang weights from the legs if a confession wasnít immediately forthcoming."

"Master, I will talk! Anything. Anything you want to know."

"This must be doing some good. It made you remember your manners."

"Yes. Master. I will talk."

"At my whim you can spend the night dangling from the winch."

"Master, I beg of you. Ask, and I will answer."

"I think we are beginning to get somewhere. A slave must be put to the torture to learn the true facts."

"Master, please!"

Glen touched the slickness, transferred some to a rock-hard nipple. The slave was getting off on the pain.

"Your name?"

"Becky, Master."

"Your full name." He sounded annoyed.

"Becky Mansard, Master."

"Education?"

"UCLA. Master."

The questioning went on and on. Glen was in no rush. Becky wanted it over, but the questions kept coming.

"Are you working for someone else, or are a member of any anti-slavery group?"

"No, Master," she wailed.

"Do you talk about things with the other slaves that you learn while on escort duty?"

"No, Master."

"Are you working for someone inside the castle?"

There was a long pause. Glen thought she might have fainted.

Then a faint, "Yes, Master."

"Who?"

"Dr. Saslo, Master."

"Why?"

"Master, he is doing an intensive background check on you and he wanted information on your reaction and comments. Your likes and dislikes."

"No sinister reason?"

"No, Master. I would tell you if there were."

"You didnít have to tell me this."

"Master, you underestimate the effectiveness of this torture. From now on all you need to do is mention it and I will stand on my head to please you."

"Are you, or will you use your position to brag, or get extra perks?"

"I brag a little, Master, but only to the other slaves. I donít tell them anything about you or the other Masters or Mistresses."

"Who will you tell of this episode in the dungeon?"

"No one, Master. I remind you that a security camera has been trained on us. Dr. Saslo will have seen the tape when he meets you for breakfast."

"What have you forgotten to tell me?"

Becky tried hard to assemble her jumbled thoughts. She could think of nothing. "I havenít forgotten anything, Master."

"You are loyal to Dr. Saslo. Are you now loyal to me?"

"I cannot serve two Masters. My loyalty to Dr. Saslo is important. I took a vow to serve him. I cannot break that vow. If he gives me to you, then thatís different."

"You have not lied? I believe the penalty for a lying slave is three months in the Discipline Barracks for the first offense."

"No, Master, I have not - dare not - lie to you, with or without torture."

Miracle of miracles, she felt the chain she hung from start to drop. In a few moments her toes touched the floor and her weight gradually transferred from her arms to her legs. He stopped there and walked in front of her. He lifted her face.

"Horny?"

"Master, Iíd fuck a flagpole after that stint."

"Think you can take care of this?" He opened his robe to reveal his rigid cock fully extended through the flaps of his pajamas.

"With great pleasure, Master."

Glenís hand dipped into the pajama pocket. He held a glittering object close to her face. She got her eyes focused and recognized the unquestioned nastiest nipple clamps in the castle. She wriggled in her bonds in silent protest. Glen ignored her and with the other hand coaxed one nipple to an even greater erection.

Chapter 65 -- Promotion and a Shopping Trip

Beckyís bondage adventure was by no means over when Glen came in her mouth. Glen removed the single glove long enough to remove the ties on her wrists and elbows and then replaced it, taking up a couple of notches in the strap. He attached a short chain from her ankles to her collar, keeping her in her bent over position, leaving the nipple clip chain to dangle beneath her breasts. Grasping the end of the single glove he walked her to his bedroom. Becky was panting with arousal by the time they got there.

As they walked, Glen reminded her, "That was a bit of interrogation. You still have a charge of evasiveness and deviousness. That is likely to take up the rest of the night."

The promise of more pain was almost too much for Becky. She stopped, orgasm at the ready, only to burn as a whip appeared in Glenís hand. She jumped, jerking the nipple chain, and followed meekly, her panting louder with every step.

Glen sat down on the bed as Becky knelt before him. "Slave, you are charged with deviousness and evasiveness. How do you plead?"

Without hesitation Becky spoke, softly, "Guilty, Master."

"Louder."

"GUILTY, MASTER!"

"Since you have just been interrogated, Iíll waive my right to torture you to obtain a full confession. Lie on the bed."

Becky jumped to her feet and positioned herself on the bed, arms and legs spread. Glen went to the foot, unlocked one ankle and transferred the chain to a locking hook on the corner post of the bed. He looked at Becky, lying partly on her side. He made a twirling motion with his hand. She rolled onto her back, most of her weight on her imprisoned arms. Glen got onto the bed, kneeling between her wide flung legs. He fastened her loose leg to the center chain, making her totally helpless.

-0-

"Your slave looks well fucked this morning." Dr. Saslo didnít bother to glance in her direction, knowing she would blush.

"She had a bad night. I caught her spying. Then there were a couple of other matters."

"So I noticed. As she told you, I saw the tapes this morning. The strappado will make a wooden post talk."

"She is totally loyal to you, as you also saw."

"Her work is done. I have all the information I need from this and other sources. You pass with flying colors."

Dr. Saslo paused while he chewed a piece of head cheese. "It is our custom to give a gift to a new executive. The paperwork is already done. You now own slave Becky."

It surprised Glen. "Iím honored. Iíll send her down to sign the papers sometime today. I am also appointing her as my personal assistant."

"That of course qualifies her for a red belt, the only one of that color in the castle." Dr. Saslo chuckled, anticipating his own joke. "Of course she still is not able to visit Security."

"I donít think sheíll have time to mope about that. I have a lot for her to do - in or out of bed." The two men smiled at each other, relieved that a tacky situation had been solved. Beckyís only acknowledgment of her new status was the faintest of flushes on her upper body.

Although Glen had half expected that Becky would be given to him, it was still a surprise and posed new problems for the soon-to-be General Manager. He already had a string of slaves at home. Just how they would take to a fresh addition to their group - and a slave who outranked them at that - was a bridge soon to be crossed. To Glen it was not a serious problem. His philosophy was, "You tell slaves what to do, or not do and they obey, or else."

They would have to be moved to the castle and housed. He knew there were supposed to be rooms for them in his wing of the castle, but Becky hadnít shown them to him yet. He decided to change plans slightly.

"Becky, go to personnel and get the paperwork done and bring back your belt. I want you back by the time weíre finished eating."

Becky was already half way to the door, her ankle chains a blur, her "Yes, Master" trailing over her shoulder. Her head was in the clouds as she skipped along, excited beyond words by her sudden transfer of ownership. She wondered if Glen knew that Dr. Saslo had never before sold or given one of his slaves away.

Not only that. She was now Glenís personal assistant. She knew very well what her duties would be, but it brought her into constant contact with her idol.

Idol. She blinked, never having brought that specific thought to mind.

She was breathless when she raced back into the room, taking in the table at a glance, where several bites of food remained. Gathering herself to a sedate slave pace she walked to Glenís chair, dropping at his feet to her belly, holding and kissing his feet. Mutely she held the red belt out to him.

Glen stood up. "Rise."

Becky scrambled to her feet. Glen watched her face as he tightened and locked the metal belt around her slim waist. The look of adoration peeped through a smoky haze of arousal. Glen knew instinctively that his new slave was one step from climax.

"Do you accept me as Master, accept this honor, making you a slave above other slaves?

"Yes, Master!" she breathed.

"You are now my personal assistant. As such you will be aware of secrets and other sensitive information. Do you swear to refuse to reveal to any other person the knowledge you gain from this post?"

"I swear, upon my life, Master."

Glen dropped to one knee. He motioned to her foot. She lifted it into his hand, snubbed by her ankle chain. He unlocked the chain and then she lifted the other foot and he removed the chain, leaving the shackles on her ankles.

"As a visible sign of the significance of the red belt, your feet will be free. However, the shackles will remain on your ankles as a reminder to you that you are always one breath away from returning to full slave status. You will signify your total acceptance of me as your Master by kissing my feet again."

Dr. Saslo was full of surprises. When Glen finally said, "Enough" and Becky jumped to her feet, the doctor grabbed her in a bear hug and kissed her fervently on the lips. He whispered in her ear, "I will miss you." She whispered her thanks, realizing her life was changing rapidly, in unexpected ways.

-0-

The head of the real estate department met them with a golf car for a tour of the village. He pointed out some of the original ambience, including a huge fountain that looked almost prehistoric. The streets were freshly paved, although the alleys retained their original bricks or stones. From the exterior the houses all had the look of a typical European village with lots of stonework and plaster. Inside, as George guided through the first of the houses, they were 21st Century new, Stainless steel kitchens, with matching appliances, HDTV in the living rooms. Just by walking through the door you went from the 16th to the 21st Centuries in a single step.

There was a mixture of sizes, ranging from an overgrown bachelor pad to those with four, five or even six bedrooms. Glen made a crack about bringing along all the wives, which drew a laugh from George.

"We leave it up to the resident as to just how his or her slaves live. They can have a private bedroom, or be housed in the basement. Leading the way he went down the stairs and entered the private dungeon, a scaled down version of Glenís. Along the wall were four cells, actually oversize cages, matching the number of upstairs bedrooms. There was room for a table, a cross, a stocks and some well stocked cabinets and drawers.

"With all that thereís not much need for the big dungeon."

George shook his head. "The residents just get warmed up at home, then head for the dungeon for some serious bondage. The big dungeon is already in constant demand and I understand that it will soon be necessary to reserve the equipment you plan to use."

Becky, oddly enough was acting as if she had never seen a dungeon, poking into everything. The two men stopped talking and watched her. She became aware of the silence and straightened up, feeling guilty. Glen chuckled indulgently and they went on talking.

"I noticed that most have two car garages. Do you expect that many with cars?"

"The space is figured on a car and a golf car. Even if they donít play, they will probably use the electric cars to get around the village."

"Howís the course coming?"

"They have the clubhouse and the first nine holes finished. The second nine is done next week and the last 18 in another six weeks."

"Iíll have to remember to bring my clubs."

"We already have a league that plays Friday afternoons. You will be welcome as a member."

"Back to business. What are you charging for the houses?

"That of course depends on size. The bachelor pads go for $60,000 and the six bedroom ones are $250,000."

Glen whistled. "Man, thatís cheap! How can we afford to let them go like that?"

"The board pulled a lot of strings. They got the materials to remodel at a steep discount from the Government and even a grant from the Natioal Historical Society. They were tickled to death that we were leaving the exteriors - tile roofs and all. The biggest saving though was on labor. We got some outstanding carpenters, electricians and plumbers out of the jail. All we had to do was feed and house them."

"How soon will they be finished?"

"They have about 50 houses to go. They should be done next month."

"Iím going to give some orders like I already was the General† Manager. Get the ad department to whip up some ads, saying the low prices will end at the end of next month. Warn that after that prices will increase from 35 to 50 percent, due to the heavy demand."

"Yes, Sir. Iíll get them right on it. The demand is actually rising sharply as our word-of-mouth ads are getting more and more response."

"I assume I have a desk somewhere, but Iíve yet to see it. Iíd appreciate it if you would prorate that increase across the house sizes and have a draft on my desk before I leave on Friday."

As they drove, George pointed out the Presidentís house, easily the largest in the village. He added. "The President has at least 20 slaves, here. Nobody knows how many he has in his home up in the mountains."

The next stop was the shopping mall. As they drove up Glen spotted the name of a well known European food chain on the big box at the end. Built back to back along a wide corridor, they could have been walking into the Mall of America. Every conceivable type of store was there. Glen decided you could buy anything except perhaps a car or a plane. He asked Becky to remind him to see about a car dealer. He was about to add an electric car dealer but the next store in line was exactly that.

A whole section was set off as the bondage area. It even had a big iron-barred door at the entrance. Here, as in the rest of the mall, a few shops were open. The rest were boarded up, waiting for tenants. There were signs on life as there were workmen everywhere. Almost all of them were from the National Prison.

The stores that were open drew a crowd. The first store they came to had an open front, the sign naming it as the best source of steel restraints.

Lined up in front of it were a dozen slaves, each chained to a ring in the floor. Each was demonstrating a particular piece of bondage equipment. The first slave had her hands cuffed in front of her, but there were at least 15 pairs of cuffs locked on her wrists and arms.

The next straddled a long leg spreader, her ankles bent sharply at the ends, standing on six inch heels.

The third hung by her wrists, separated in a steel strap that was hooked to a winch. Becky was excitedly examining each slave, touching them to feel their arousal through her fingers. Glen held her leash but gave her all the slack she wanted.

Number 4 was the chain girl. Loops and strands of chain circled her, hung from her collar, restrained her hands and kept her feet hobbled.

Directly in front of the cash register, the next girl was sightless, her head in a small tight cage that barely accommodated her, A metal bar was locked into her mouth, forcing her jaw down so she drooled constantly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Becky, mouth open, rubbing her thighs together. He looked around and noticed several in the crowd were watching Becky, rather than the demonstrators.

Glen unobtrusively shortened her leash, drawing her to him. In a low voice he reprimanded her. "Youíre making a spectacle of yourself. You will be suitably punished tonight."

Becky was panic stricken. So soon she was in trouble again. She knelt at Glenís side to try to placate him. "Iím sorry, Master."

Glen moved on to the next girl. She was standing with her legs† spread, an odd device of rods attached to her ankles and just below her knees. He glanced at Becky. "What is that rig?"

"Master, that is called a Spanish trapezoid." It is designed to make it difficult for the slave to walk and running is impossible."

"If I locked my personal assistant onto one of those, what would she do?"

"She would wear it proudly, a public gift from her Master."

"Iíll think about it. Be warned."

"Yes, Master."

The next girl was locked tightly in a chastity belt. She turned for† inspection, showing the tight wire that bisected her ass. Becky looked at the unhappy girl and then into her Masterís eyes. "Please, Master, not that."

"Be warned." Becky gulped and was silent.

Beyond her was a girl locked in a yoke, her arms stretched to their limits, her neck surrounded by the steel collar. Glen reached out and touched her erect nipple. She suffered the touch, unable to move her hands to protect her breasts and unwilling to challenge the right of a Master to touch her anywhere. She really wished he would touch the other one.

The ninth girl was perhaps the most unfortunate of the line of slaves. She was modeling a cruel punishment device. It was made in the shape of the letter ĎYí The spreading arms surrounded her neck, while the heavy base hung down her back. Across the arms a metal rod crossed under the girlís chin, forcing her head up and back. The device jiggled with her slightest movement, rubbing her neck and gouging her chin.

The 10th slave was rigid. Both her arms and legs were encased in steel tubes locked variously to her wrists and ankles. They were tight and allowed no flexing or bending of her limbs. She was made to walk in a tight circle looking half robot, half woman.

Next to her was a slave who looked like a fugitive from Darkest Africa. She wore a dozen locked collars, looking much like the brass hoops that the women of one tribe wear. Glen examined the collars, remembering that he had to collar Becky at the first opportunity.

Last and forlorn, a slave leaned against an angled sheet of plywood. She was attached to the board at the ankles, thighs, wrists, elbows and at the neck by massive U-bolts whose threaded ends were secured behind the board by large wing nuts. She was able to move only her fingers and toes and lived in constant fear that she would slide down the board and choke on the bolt around her neck. A last bolt straddled her head, with a bar to which a ball gag was attached.

Glen jerked Beckyís leash slightly. "Which one of these donít we have, either in the dungeon or my suite?"

"All of them are there, Master, except the head cage, which has to be individually fitted. If you wish to buy one it will be delivered to your suite."

"Order one and let them measure you. It is to be tight."

"Yes, Master."

Glen watched as the cashier slave, wearing a brown belt, made the measurements and then spoke into a microphone. The rear door burst open almost immediately and a slave came running with the cage. She fitted it on Beckyís head and looked in Glenís general direction for his approval. He stuck a finger in through the steel straps. It was tight. He nodded. Becky gave delivery instructions. Her red belt had been noted and the two slaves fawned over her, promising delivery in less than an hour. Both studiously avoided eye contact with Glen. They already knew.