I am a slave, sell me

I am a slave, sell me

I was drifting through life, going nowhere. I had been brought up in a home, had no family except an older sister, four years my senior, who was married, and her life revolved around her husband and two very young children. At nineteen , I had a boring job, no close friends, no social life to speak of, and lived in a furnished bed-sit. Evenings were spent watching rubbish on the TV, using my computer, and reading silly magazines. Days off from work were, if anything, a nuisance. I never knew what to do, and often ended up window shopping.

It was an article in a newspaper that started me thinking. A man was putting his whole life up for sale on EBay .  His house, his job, his car, even his friends. It was creating a lot of interest, and the papers were full of it for days. Well, I had no house, no car, a job no-one would want, and no friends to speak of. But I had me. I thought that if I sold myself as a slave, I would be somebody else’s problem. Life could not be much worse than it was, and it could be a lot better. I pictured myself owned by someone who cared for me, and of course used me as they saw fit. Someone I would obey because I respected his authority over me. I had no sexual experience, and no prospect of any, so anything in that line would be an improvement.

My naivety was complete, and my daydreams impractical, but it kept me amused for a while. Then I started to surf the web, not really expecting to find a ‘slaves wanted’ site, and for a long time I didn’t. But I kept looking, and one day, by a circuitous route, from one link to another, I found someone offering slaves for sale. This was exciting, and I made contact, explained what I had in mind, and waited.

Before long I had an email,  which seemed hopeful. Yes, they were in a position to carry out my wishes,

But they urged me to think it through very carefully. Any sale would be for life, it was not a stated period option, and if offered, anyone could bid. Had I considered that the life of a slave may be unpleasant, and no activity could be ruled out. Including, of course, prostitution , here or abroad. I was reassured that, if anything, the sender of the emails was talking me out of it, rather than in to it. For about a week we corresponded on a daily basis, and I sent two photographs, one head and shoulders, and one full length. but at the end, I said I was sure, was asked for, and gave, my address, and was told that he, the sender of the emails would call on me the next evening, at six, if convenient. On ascertaining that I had a doorbell, not a knocker, he said he would ring three times.

Next evening, promptly at six, my bell rang three times. I took a deep breath, and opened the door. A man, about ten or so years older than me, was standing outside. My preparations had been thorough. I was looking my best, had my hair done, and was wearing my smartest clothes. As I invited him in, and took him through to the lounge, I hoped his impression was favourable. He didn’t say one way or the other, and we sat and made small talk. “Did he find me without too much trouble? Wasn’t it cold for the time of year? and so on”. My appearance apparently was sufficient for the arrangement not to fall at this first hurdle.

Finally , to the purpose of the evening. First I was told to strip, and he looked me over carefully. Standing naked in my own flat being sized up and assessed was somewhat weird. He explained that usually they sold slaves who were already owned, but now he had met me there was no reason why they couldn’t sell me, if I wished. He again made sure I fully understood the drawbacks. There was no guarantee that I would be bought by someone who would treat me well. In fact it was unlikely. There would be no going back, no time limit. I would need to wrap up my life as I knew it. My bank account emptied, credit cards surrendered, flat given up, notice given at work, and all my possessions disposed of, to friends or charity shops. I confirmed that I had a passport and driving license, which he said they would want.

He explained that the proceeds of the sale would be sent to whoever I nominated, and I should prepare them for the arrival of quite a large sum of money. No decision could be accepted that evening, but if I did decide to go ahead, a simple telephone call could set things in motion in a matter of hours. If I changed my mind, all I had to do was not make the telephone call. He gave me a card with a number on it, and left, I am sure he did not expect to hear from me again.

However, I now realised it was possible, and I could give my sister some money to set her up. And the unknown. Ah, yes, the unknown, always fascinating. The more I thought, the more I talked myself into it. I accepted the warnings I had been given, but my dull life suddenly had the prospect of excitement. So, I did all the things he had told me. I gave my notice in at work, I paid up and cancelled my credit cards, I informed my landlord that I would be leaving at the end of the month, and I spoke to my bank. I drew out more than enough cash, and transferred the balance to my sister’s account.

Of course, she had to be told something. I told her I had a new job I couldn’t talk about, and I had no need of money for a while. In fact I had landed a large golden hello, which again I had no need of, so I would arrange for it to be sent to her, for the benefit of my nephew and niece. I knew she would accept on their behalf, getting her to accept it for herself would not have been so easy.

Then as the month drew to a close, I got rid of all my belongings, other than the clothes I was wearing, and my ornaments and little pieces of jewellery, either in charity shops, or in skips. When I rang, I had about £100 in cash, and an envelope addressed to my sister. The voice on the telephone knew my name, when I gave it, and told me to go to an hotel not far away. He asked about money, and told me I would need exactly £30 to pay for the room in advance, plus my passport and driving license, and I was to sit in my room and wait. All my clothes were to be placed in a bag which would be on the bed. Then he rang off.

It took about forty minutes to walk to the hotel, and when I gave my name, I was shown into a ground floor room, and handed over the £30. The remainder I had posted on the way. I arrived with nothing , not even a handbag, or a watch, just the money and my driver’s license folded in my passport.. On the bed was a plastic bag, and I undressed, placed the clothes inside, and sat, naked, on the only chair in the room, waiting for a knock on the door.

In fact the door was opened without a knock, and the man who had shown me my room came in, had a good look at me, lifted up the bag, and walked out with it. I placed the papers on he table, and had a close look at myself in the mirror.  Not ravishing, but pretty and petite, and I thought my figure was quite good.

Time passed, and I began to think. Was I scared? Yes, just a bit, mainly of the unknown. I had seen pictures on the web, of girls being caned and whipped, and then sitting smiling with their tormentors. I realised that some women could hardly live without pain, and although I did not class myself as one of them, I thought I could cope. Then, I mused, could it be much worse than the home? No sooner had the thought crossed my mind, than I wished it far away. I was ashamed. The couple who had run the home were dedicated to our welfare. Yes, it was a care home, not a family one, but they had always shown us love, and only once had I been struck, on my leg behind my knee, and I deserved it. I had never even contacted them since I left, or thanked them.

For a while I was quite low, but it passed, and I began to fantasise about what would happen to me.  I would be tied, whipped and used for all sorts of sex, which I would learn to accept, I was sure. Then I started to get cross. How much longer was I going to sit naked in this room before someone came with my slave clothes, and things would happen. I also wondered about my slave clothes, deciding on a shapeless shift dress,  and very high heeled shoes.

Reality kicked in when the door opened again, and two men came in with a large box on a trolley. When the box was opened, I saw a sort of chair inside, on which I was made to sit. My wrists were strapped to the arms of the chair, and my ankles to the legs. A strap around my neck kept my head immobile, and I was blindfolded and gagged. The lid was closed, but there had to be air holes, because I was able to breathe, and I felt the box tip on the trolley, and became aware that I was being wheeled out. The box was lifted, and I heard a door closed, then several jolts made me aware that we were travelling. It seemed ages, but it was probably no more than an hour before the jolting stopped, and I could feel that I was being trundled along again. One big jolt, and the lid was opened, I was released, and allowed to step out.

There were three men in the room, the two who had fetched me, and the man I had met at my flat. He told me to sit, and then asked me a lot of questions.

“Had I any sexual experience, and with how many men?” “Well none actually.”

“So, you are a virgin?” ”Yes.”

“Have you ever received corporal punishment?”. “No, well only a slapped leg when I was naughty as a child”.

“Did you enjoy it?” “No”.

“Have you ever had sexual feelings for other women?” “No, never”.

“Ever had a cock in your mouth?” “No”.

“What about fantasies, anything recurring?” “Meeting a romantic man who sweeps me off my feet, and lately, of course, being totally in someone else‘s power”.

“Have you ever been ill?” “Only measles when I was young”.

“Do you have a boyfriend now?” “No one special”.

“When did you last have a period?” “It finished a week ago”.

“Have you cleared all your financial affairs?” “Yes, everything”.

“This is your passport, and this your driving license?” “Yes”.

“So you are nineteen years and three months? “Yes”.

“Why are you here?” “Because I want to be a slave”.

Do you know what this entails?” “I think so, I shall be the property of whoever buys me, he will have control over me, and I will obey his every order, and devote myself to his service”.

There were a few more questions about my schooling, where I grew up, and the like, then I was asked if I wished to say anything. I replied that I would like to be assured that my sister would receive the money, and send her a letter. I was given a sheet of paper and a pen and I wrote.

Please do not worry about me, I am fine. The money is for your children, but I would like you to spend some money on  a treat for the children at our old home, and tell them that I am sorry not to have been in touch, but I do remember them with fondness. He read what I had written then said ”As you are a virgin, the price will be high, I cannot say how high, but certainly six figures. We will keep a third for our expenses and profit, but I pledge to you that the remainder, and this letter, will be sent to your sister. Please write her address down”. Which I did.

I was then handed a contract, which basically stated that I wished to be sold, and that I fully accepted what this entailed. That I was acting of my own free will. There was also a clause relating to their fee and expenses, which amounted to 33% of the sale price. I was not sure if it was legally binding, but I signed anyway.

“Now, to business. From this moment you will speak only when you are told, and only what you are told to say. Your new owner may vary this. Now stand”, so I stood in front of him. “Unfortunately, you are a bit fat around the middle, but we have a week to put that right. You will have an exercise routine, and a strict diet. You will now undergo a medical, to establish the truth of what you have told us, and to assess your general health. All orders are to be obeyed without question. Come with me”. I would have liked to debate the fat round the middle, but I had just been told not to speak, so I just disagreed in private.  With that I was led into the next room, where a doctor gave me a thorough and intimate medical, confirmed my virginity, and declared my general health satisfactory, apart from slightly too much weight. Not him too, I thought, what did they want, skin and bones?

For the next week. I dieted and exercised. I had always found dieting difficult, but actually it is simple. You just eat everything you are given, you remain hungry, and there is no opportunity to cheat.

Exercises involved a lot of running on a treadmill, a lot of skipping, which I did not enjoy as my breasts bounced up and down, stretching , bending down to touch first my ankles, then the floor with my fingertips, and finally the floor with my hands. Sit-ups were the most frequent exercise, I presumed to get my waist down to eight inches. Quite a lot of time was spent on perfecting the splits. Perfecting was perhaps ’stretching’ it a bit, you understand, but I got most of the way. I always had an appreciative audience, and occasionally saw a few other girls, all, I thought , beautiful, and all with shaven pussies, and various rings through their nipples and other parts. All, I had to admit, with tiny waists. We never came into close proximity, and of course we never spoke.

My free time, if you can call it that, was spent in a cell further into the building. Just a bed for furniture, and a bucket for a toilet. After a few days I got used to performing in front of a number of men, but it was unnatural to me at first. Each morning I was given a bowl of warm water, and I washed thoroughly, and they were also solicitous about my teeth. Dirty teeth, it seems, lowers the price. Each night I lay down, a mixture of aching muscles, hunger, apprehension and exhaustion. Always it was the exhaustion which won, and I slept soundly under my single blanket.

After about a week, suddenly, one lunch time, everything changed. I thought of it as lunch time because everyone else ate. I was fed just twice a day, morning and evening. I was examined, and one of the men felt my abdomen, and said, ”Not perfect, but we have done quite well in the time”. I thought great, we had been hungry, and trained to exhaustion, I could not believe what he had been through.

The first thing that happened was that I was made to bend, a nozzle inserted in my anus, some sort of liquid pumped into me, then about five minutes later I felt my stomach filling, and I emptied my bowels into a bucket. That was my first ever enema, not something I saw as a basis for a new hobby. I was showered, standing with my arms in the air, while a man soaped me all over, and rinsed me off. Then, with a razor, he shaved my arms and legs, but not, I noticed, my pubic hair, although all the others were bare. I thought possibly that they were being resold, whereas I was to be dealt with by my first master, who would decide such things. In fact, as I discovered later, that was precisely the case.

Shortly afterwards a lady hairdresser came in and my hair was dealt with. Quite nicely, actually. It took her a long time to get just the look she wanted. Something told me that the time for the auction was fast approaching, especially when I saw that the other girls also had their hair done. For me, this was the beginning, and soon I would be embarking on my new life. I noticed that the other girls were actually more concerned than I. They had had a master, who they were accustomed to, and who had decided to sell them on, to who knows who, and for what purpose. At least that was my reading of the situation.

One by one, the others disappeared, until I was the only lot left. Yes, that is what I now was, a lot in the auction. When my turn came, I was led into the room where the auction was to be held. There were six podiums, five occupied by naked girls, with collars round their necks, to the back of which their wrists were fastened, Their legs were spread wide apart, and their ankles chained to the sides of the podium, about five inches off the floor, so that they were on tiptoe. All their mouths were open, and held so by a ring behind their teeth, attached to a strap which was fastened behind their heads. The last touch was a noose, hanging down from above, around their necks, at such a height as to make them strain upwards so that their bodies were taut, between their ankles and tiptoes to their necks. Their was no slack, and it looked very uncomfortable.

I soon found out just how uncomfortable, as I became the sixth naked girl held exactly as the others. My legs hurt, my jaw ached, and I was very afraid of the noose. The only movement possible was my head, and turning my head made the rope noose rub against my neck. It was almost impossible to focus on any one pain, I just stood there and waited for it all to be over.

The first arrivals walked in soon after, and thoroughly inspected the merchandise. Some, I felt, knew that they would probably not succeed in their bids, and this inspection was the main thrill of the occasion. Our breasts and buttocks were kneaded, hands felt between our legs, any dampness loudly commented on, our stomachs prodded, and our legs felt from hip to toe. Even our mouths were probed. I am afraid that I was soon a leading competitor in the dampness stakes. Of all the goods on display, I was the one to whom such detailed groping and fondling was a new experience, and it was undoubtedly erotic.

One thing I had not been prepared for was the number of women , some carrying whips, some dressed in leather. Almost a third of the bidders were female. This gave rise to a new fear. I was prepared for a master, but I had never considered a mistress. And they all looked so cruel.

My first contact was the auctioneer, and the bidding for the first girl began. It was all electronic, everyone had a handset, and they pressed a button to make a bid. I was expecting, ”What am I bid, who will bid fifty thousand, are there any other bids”. But nothing. The slave had no idea who was bidding, and how much. The auctioneer confined himself to talking up the lot. “A very good slave, five years experience, excellent under the whip, oral and anal technique first class”, and so on. One by one the others were sold, taken down, and their new master took over. (Only one mistress).

I finally heard, “A rarity tonight, ladies and gentlemen. A nineteen year old virgin, in all senses. No sexual experience of any kind. In fact a blank canvas for the lucky purchaser. She is obedient, compliant, and has carried out a rigorous fitness regime with enthusiasm. Very supple, a choice lot”. My mind went blank, I felt as in a dream. He continued to talk, but I did not hear a word. This was really happening, it was no longer an abstract something in the future.

The bidding seemed to go on a long time, and I did have one rational thought. Perhaps the price was high, and my sister would be getting more money than I had imagined. At last, all done, bidding closed, and I was taken down, to my great relief. I stood in front of my new owner, a man (thank goodness), mid thirties, fit looking, impassive face.

No one spoke to me. My owner spoke to the auctioneer, “I will arrange transportation in one week. In the meantime, continue the fitness training, and have her body hair permanently removed. Rings in her nose, her nipples, her clit hood, and her cunt lips. I will give you some pills, I have no desire for babies, or periods, and I think she will need some vitamins. Six strokes of the cane each morning and evening to accustom her to pain. This collar, ankle and wrist bands will lock permanently on her. Oh, and a number five branded on her arse cheek”. Then he walked away, and I was taken back to my cell. 

All night I was left alone to ponder what I had heard, and what had happened. The thought of branding was terrifying, and the realisation that I now belonged to another person was erotic, but a bit scary. The rings I was ready for, as I had seen them on the other slaves, and guessed that it would happen to me. The caning was something else I was mentally prepared for. What was most worrying, and a little unsettling, was that my owner seemed in no hurry to have me service him.

Next morning, I was woken and made to wash. For the whole time my personal hygiene was important, and I was frequently showered or washed  myself. My meal was a little more substantial, for which I was grateful. The collar and wrist and ankle bands left for me were fitted. Each was metal, self locking, adjustable so that they would not come off, but were not too tight. Each had a number of anchor points. Then the first of my instructive lectures, this one from the man I now thought of as the auctioneer.

“Your new life starts now. You exist purely to bring pleasure to other people, your own pleasure is irrelevant. The only pride you are permitted is in your performance, and the pleasure you bring. Your body does not belong to you, and you must ensure that it is displayed as your owner would wish. For the next week, you will exercise with vigour, and will be educated in some of the techniques you are ignorant of. You will also see films of girls like yourself, demonstrating their skill, and showing their enjoyment. What you will be made to do is no worse than other girls welcome, even crave. You must learn to crave it as well. I am about to cane you. Not as a punishment, purely to give me pleasure, and because your owner desires it. You will not be restrained, but you will not move or cry out, to demonstrate your acceptance. And you will now bend over, and present your arse to ensure that my pleasure is enhanced. Bend”.

So, I bent over, legs apart, and pushed my arse up into the air, and awaited my first ever real punishment. The first blow struck. My arse felt on fire, but I remained still, and silent. Yes, I was proud.

Five more blows landed, and I remained bent over until I was told to stand. Standing hurt, as it involved moving my buttocks, but I was dry-eyed, and compliant.

I remained compliant as my body was pierced in the required manner. It was painful, but not, in fact, unbearable. My sternest test was when my septum was pierced. I desperately wanted to cry out, but I managed to stay silent.

The rest of the morning was taken up with exercising. This too, was painful, as I stretched parts of my body which had been pierced.

I had another meal at lunchtime. Bliss, I was no longer on a starvation diet, although I could not pretend to feeling full. Some new exercises were added, which were designed to stretch my holes without penetration. In particular, the splits were made more extreme, and I spent some time pulling my arse cheeks apart, to enlarge that hole. A few hours of that exercise during the week did have some effect. I was shown porn films, with a running commentary to ensure the educational content was highlighted. A typical commentary was on the lines of, “Look, how she worships that cock with her mouth. See how she sucks, and moves her head up and down to ensure maximum satisfaction to her lover. This is how you will behave when your time comes. You may never have done it, but you will know how to”. Then,  “watch how she arches her back to welcome the lash.  See in her eyes how she is responding to the stimulus. And she is not a slave, except to pain“.

In the evening, after my second caning, I was given an enormous dildo, and told to practice giving a cock the attention it needs. “You will not have a real cock until your owner decrees it, but you will accustom yourself to taking one as far as you can, and without gagging. Hours of practice will ensure you are ready for the moment“. And hours of practice is what I got.

First thing next morning came my third caning, then after a few hours training, I was restrained over a spanking stool, using my ankle and wrist bands. Legs spread as usual. I had an uneasy feeling, and I was right. Suddenly a searing pain, as an electric branding iron stencilled the number 5 on my rear. I was actually grateful for the restraints, and by the time I was released the worst of the pain had gone. However, I was always conscious of the brand for the next two days, and stretching exercises were a real trial. But, of course, they didn’t stop. And, from being a creature with no name, I now became Five.  

That evening’s caning was considerate, surprisingly, and my new brand was spared. Once again, a routine, strangely comforting, interrupted only from mid-week on by the arrival of the next batch of slaves. I never got within twenty yards of them, but I knew they were there, and what fate had in store for them, at least until they were sold, after which nobody knew their future as yet.

After showering one morning, the box I had travelled in was placed outside my cell. I was naïve but not stupid, and I knew the next chapter was about to be written. I was strapped in as before, but not blindfolded or gagged. Then a scratch on my arm and oblivion.

When I awoke (hours, days later?) I was lying sprawled on the floor of what was obviously the playroom. My owner was looking down on me, saw I had awoken, and I had another of those lectures. Much of what he said, about my purpose being to give pleasure, about unquestioning obedience, and pride in what I did, was not new. I thought how strange when I was constantly degraded and humiliated, how often pride was mentioned.

The importance of silence was high on the agenda, any attempt to speak, I was told, would result in the removal of my tongue. Obviously, I would be available at all times if required, but I was not to think that I would sit around and wait for someone to have fun with me. He employed no domestic servants, but four, now five, slaves would be expected to keep the house spotless. For this purpose One was allowed to speak to us to organise our efforts. One was aware of the consequences of abusing this privilege, and would speak only as necessary. I would be obedient to everyone, (including One where appropriate), and keep myself fit and supple at all times. I would drink only water, and be fed from bowls, and should learn quickly how to eat without using my hands. I should watch the other slaves, learn from them and copy them, and keep myself clean at all times.

Then it was party time. About eight people came in to watch my deflowering, and I was placed on a network of ropes, spread-eagled to the point of pain, and, from the top, my nose ring was attached to the ropes, my collar was attached to the ropes, and my breasts fed through, and joined by a chain. Then thin rope was tied round each breast, and they were tied together, and to the rope frame. Any movement was impossible.

Did I think I was about to be fucked? Yes I did, but the preliminaries were not over. I was caned, hard, and my back was whipped. I was not gagged, but I made not a sound. Then a riding crop was used to whip my cunt, from the rear. All by my owner, who then, with incredible generosity, suggested that maybe some of the others would like a go.

Only when everyone was satisfied did the main event take place. First he stood behind me, pushed his cock into my cunt, and I was no longer a virgin.  More painful than I had imagined, and by the time he had come, blood and juices were all over my legs. He needed time to recover from the ordeal, so about three of the others completed the task. Act two, the arse. Again he stood behind me, found my arsehole, and that too was invaded for the first time. Even more pain, but also satisfaction, (strange word), I had done what I now lived for, and I had done my best to make everyone feel good. Less recovery time needed now, and the frame was tilted further forward until my mouth was at cock level, and I took him in my mouth. First I cleaned off the blood and cum, and worse, then I gave a very good, I thought, performance emulating the films I had seen. Good enough to bring him off again, or was that the power as an aphrodisiac? At a signal, two other naked slaves appeared with glasses and wine, and the party really got going. At least I was still the centre of attention, although one or two guests so far forgot themselves as to fuck the waitresses.

The last act of our mini-orgy began with my owner lying on a low table, and I was then lowered on him so that his cock went inside my arse. Then one of his friends grabbed hold of my ankles and lifted them high in the air, giving him easy access to my cunt. My hair was then yanked back, arching my back so that two cocks could be placed side by side in my mouth. For a novice like me it was a challenge to pump myself up and down on the cock in my arse, whilst ensuring that there was action on the cock in my cunt, to supplement the action from the man above me, and at the same time to keep both cocks in my mouth, one from each side, and suck and lick them both. I thought I did quite well, and yes, the pride began to grow.

So, I had been caned, whipped, had a number of cocks in each of my holes, licked several cocks clean, and I still hadn’t been shown my room, or unpacked! I hoped my owner was pleased with his purchase, although I wasn’t expecting any plaudits or feedback. This was now what I did. The only feedback would be if I fell short of expectations, and that would not be pleasant.

It would appear the session was over. Each of us had our hands tethered behind our backs, and a leash attached to our nose rings, and we were led out. What was my room going to be like. A cell, maybe, with bars, and no windows, certainly nothing comfortable. In fact we were led out from the house into a yard, with stables down one side. My first sight of my new home, which was certainly a grand country house, with extensive grounds. We were led into the stables. There were no horses, but there on one of the doors, was my name, a large figure 5. And that was home. I could just see the other slaves, all in similar stalls, each with their name (or number) on the door.

Inside there was straw on the floor, a bed, with a large blanket, a bucket, but surprisingly, a shower in the corner. And a hairbrush. I was fastened to a long chain attached to my collar. It gave me free rein (oh dear, I was already using horse language), to move anywhere in my stall, but even if the door was not locked, I could not get outside. The two already inside were exercising like demons, anxious to show their dedication, and the other two immediately emulated them, so I joined in. A popular exercise was lifting one leg up to the top of the door, a good stretch, and also bending over and pulling at the arse cheeks. And those damned splits. At least it kept me warm, as the stables appeared to have no heat, and there was a chill in the air. With no belongings, I simply followed the example of my more experienced fellows, until some food was brought in.

A word about my relationship with my fellow slaves. I had thought of us as a band of sisters in misfortune, but this was not the case. Since we never spoke, we never became friends, but it was more than that. We hated each other. We were rivals, each of us craving attention, each trying to be a better slave than the others. When one of the others was led out, the overwhelming feeling was one of jealousy. And as for Miss bossy boots, who ordered us about in our domestic duties, her we all hated with extra venom, especially as she was allowed to speak.

Eventually I observed that sleep was appropriate. It was good to cover myself with the large blanket to get some warmth. And in spite of my soreness, (my whole body seemed to sting or ache), I did manage to fall asleep.

In the morning, after ablutions and breakfast, which was a type of dry muesli, and which I was learning to eat from my bowl, the others were soon exercising. The meal had been brought in by someone who appeared to be a member of staff, and he returned to unlock our doors and collars, then attach leads to our noses, which were handed to One, who proceeded to lead us into the house. Once inside we were quickly separated, ( I soon noticed that we were rarely in close proximity), our nose leads removed, and the others left to their various duties. I was bottom of the pile, so One led me into one of the bathrooms. “Your task is to clean the three bathrooms, and I shall today keep a careful eye on you, and when you have finished take you to each of the others“.

“The bath, shower and toilet are to be spotless, and you will use your tongue to make them so”, she informed me. Then she grabbed my hair, forced my head down into the water in the bowl, and she watched as I licked the inside clean. The bath and shower were clean, but the toilet was not. I realised that it would be much more efficient to give me some cloths, but efficiency was not the issue, it was humiliation. My owner popped in to give me a few smacks with the crop, and to use my arse, which I noticed with satisfaction displeased One, who was ignored. Very occasionally I was given the privilege of polishing, sweeping or cleaning dishes, but mainly I was bathroom slave.

When One led us back, I noticed that she too now had a lead, albeit in her own hand, but she was met in the yard and handed over the whole bunch to the man who had given us breakfast. He was one of three gardeners, and between them we were set to work, apart as usual, in the garden. Again, we were not given hoes or forks to make us efficient, but knelt down, arses in the air, with little trowels, to weed in between the vegetables. The gardeners did all the hard work, like riding round on the lawnmowers, and harvesting. However, they also had carte blanche to use us as they saw fit, and I was the new toy, so they all took turns at accepting the gift presented so enticingly by my raised rump by fucking me in cunt and arse. They also carried riding crops which they used to encourage greater effort. After that first day, all these extra duties was shared out, but I could feel the resentment at fifty yards on day one. We were also used to push huge wheelbarrows, full of straw, weeds or manure, around the garden. They were so big that fully laden it was a real struggle to move them, so of course they were always fully loaded, and it was vital to punish our arses to make the barrows easier to move.

A late lunch, which as was to be  usual was a meat  stew, a clean up, and for the rest of the day we entertained our owner’s guests. Sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. I was already finding the pain easier to bear, and my orifices were getting larger, which, of course lessened the fun for our abusers, who liked tight holes. When they sat down to eat later, I was introduced to another regular duty. Under the table, hidden by the tablecloth, and chained to the centre leg of the table, I crawled round from seat to seat, using my hands and mouth to pleasure each diner. Some male, some female, but I quickly discovered the way to bring both sexes to orgasm before moving on to their neighbour. Sometimes I was one of the waitresses pouring wine or carrying food, but the prized job was under the table, being used.

Much of life was routine, routine degradation and routine humiliation. The pain and the sex were just to underline our status. This status was further demonstrated by a further regular occurrence. The weekly, or thereabouts, Gymkhana.

For this there was always quite a crowd. We were dressed, (if dressed is the word for total nudity), as horses. This involved ornate headdresses, with a bit, a bridle and blinkers, and a few straps around our bodies. We were then harnessed to small carts , sulky is what they were called. I gathered). Then we gave rides around the estate. It was enormous fun for the passengers. I was given no instruction, but a whip on the buttocks soon got me moving, and tugging on my left or right nipple soon had me turning, and a yank on my collar always got me to stop. I had to learn the fine arts of being a horse from observation. At the walk, legs were always raised until the thigh was horizontal, The shafts to which our arms were strapped kept still, to avoid a bumpy ride for our passengers, and a gallop was fast, flat out.

Forward propulsion was transmitted mainly through small handgrips at the end of the shaft, not through the leather straps round our bodies, which were for control. Pissing was a good thing, as it underlined our position, and everyone enjoyed watching a pony relieving herself on to the ground.

There were three types of event, dressage, races, and recreational rides. The first two were fiercely competitive, with sometimes some competition between the drivers, too. It was several weeks before I became anything like as good as the others at dressage, but I was fast, a naturally good runner. The races were usually twice round the field track, about half a mile in total, which suited me. Winning at either event was always rewarded with a rosette, which we prized, even though it was attached to our nipples, behind the rings, with a safety pin. When I won my first rosette, in a race, I am sure if I could have spoken, I would have been insufferable for weeks. Of course, the drivers, who had done all the work, received rather nice glass trophies.

The recreational rides were sometimes quite romantic, with loving couples seated together, out in the country, and with no human in sight.  We would stop in some secluded spot, and I would wait patiently until the canoodling was over. It was always good in those circumstances to piss at some time, just to let them know you were there. Then back to the stable, two very happy passengers.

There was something pleasant about being a horse in the good weather, but of course that was not guaranteed. If it was raining, the events went on, but with protection from the rain. This took the form of a large canopy which was fitted over the driver’s seat, which kept off the rain from everyone who mattered. Cold weather, on the other hand, was more of a problem for the driver, the horse worked up quite a sweat.
Rather darker, to me , was to be given to the dogs in their kennels. One of us would often be placed in the kennel for several hours, and would be expected to behave like a dog, down on all fours, being playful, not barking, of course, silence still reigned. But when one or more dogs became frisky, they knew what to do, and so did we. It was quite different being fucked by a dog. Their cocks would swell, and no way were they withdrawing until full satisfaction had been given. Sometimes we would have an audience, but usually it was enough for us to have been shown where we came in the order of things. I always wanted to scrub myself afterwards, but not so as to show what I felt.

As the weather got worse, preparations began for Christmas. Decorations appeared in the house, and parties got bigger. This made me realise how long I had been a slave. Almost a year. A year without speaking, not one single kind word, without hearing music, watching television, reading a newspaper. I thought, we could be at war, I would never know. Then there was a year of not using a cup, or knife and fork, in fact of eating like a dog, and of total nudity.

Christmas day was fun. For some. No housework was required, the food was all brought in, the gardeners were with their families, and torturing us was a big part of the festival. At lunch, for about twelve people, One was under the table, the lucky cow, whilst we other four were in the corners of the room, providing illumination by means of candles. In our mouths, in our cunts, in our hands. All very romantic, except that candles produce wax, and wax is hot, particularly on exposed skin.

After lunch, a surprise, a nice drive in the country, even though it was freezing outside. Working up a sweat is fine if your feet are not in contact with frosty ground. When we were put back in the stable, a shower was absolutely necessary.

Nobody could be left out, of course, so the dogs were treated to all five of us, as well as a considerable feast of bones. None of the guests were of a mind to go to bed early, so until about two o’ clock we were given our usual diet of canings, whippings and fuckings. Some great party games, in which we were the prize. The winner got to pick a slave, and decide on how it would be used. Some original ideas, but usually just multiple cocks.

When we finally got to bed, I realised that actually, we had not eaten since breakfast. Nothing sinister, it was just that everyone was enjoying themselves so much, no-one had thought about feeding us. Still, the sight of all that food, particularly the piles of leftovers, was some sort of substitute. Breakfast next morning, however, was very welcome, even if it was the usual fare.

I was under the table at lunch on Boxing Day, when my owner announced that his nephew, who was sitting next to him, was joining the family business (whatever that was), and would be moving in to share his house. And his slaves, I thought, and so it proved to be. When he used a crop on my cunt after lunch, I saw a young man, not much older than me, but an expert at giving pain. I could testify to that in the months that followed, as he seemed to choose me quite a lot. Score a point for Five in the one-up stakes. In fact we became almost a fixture in the riding events. In spite of his cruelty, I developed quite a desire for him because I knew the others were a little jealous. I needed no incentive, given my circumstances, but I really did try to please him, so that he would continue to choose me.

It was lunch, after a morning in the garden, when I was told to clean up. As I finished my shower, my owner appeared, put a chain on my cunt rings, put my hands at the back of my collar, and led me in to the house. There was quite a gathering, and a festive feel. I stood, breast out, legs apart, as he took his seat.

“Well, Mark, your twenty-first, a man at last. You have had some great presents, but I am going to give you what you really want. From this moment, Five belongs to you, to do with as you wish“. Great applause, which I very much wanted to join in. I thought, nothing much will change, I shall continue to live here, and be used by everyone, but I now belong to him. All the other slaves have the same Maser, but I have my own. I was so into my own thoughts, that I didn’t hear the thanks.

He took hold of the chain and led me out, not to the playroom, but upstairs to his room.

“Your name was Nicola”, he said, “what did your friends call you, Nicky?” Silence was so ingrained in me that I said nothing, until he told me to speak. “Er, no Master, Nick”. “That is a boy’s name, I shall call you Nicky. Much will not change. You are now my pain slut, and you will obey me in all things. Is that understood?” I nodded. “Say it!” “Yes Master”.

“But there will be some changes. You will move into my room, You may speak unless told not to, and I want to change not just your ‘nick’name, but your surname. To mine. I have grown to love you, and your compliance in what is done to you. I will not force you to marry me, but I fervently hope you will”. For the first time I could remember, I cried. I couldn’t stop. Of course I was going to refuse him, wasn’t I? I loved him with every fibre, and I thought I must be dreaming.

“I will buy you some nice clothes, and some jewellery, and a ring”, he continued, and I continued to cry.

“My uncle understands my feelings, and although he is sorry to lose a slave, he is happy for me”. I finally managed to stop crying long enough to tell him I loved him, and had done for some time, although I had never dared to think of him in those terms, I assured him that he could continue to beat me and use me as his slave, and asked, very practically, what my surname was going to be. Apparently I was to be Mrs Fredericks.

That was two weeks ago. My wedding is one week away, My husband to be has met my family, who understand that I am to marry my boss, and I have met his. They had been a little concerned, but then found they liked me. We shared a love for Mark, which is always good for relationships. Dear Claire wanted to return the money, but I assured her I had no need of it. I was staggered when she told me what she had received, and I thought that my fiancé’s uncle had given him a very expensive present.

I also took him to my care home, a somewhat emotional time, and I vowed I would not forget them again. Claire had sent them all to Disneyland, giving me all the credit, although in fact, the money had been hers, not mine any more. And the children had benefited from knowing that someone cared.

Mark is a little selective about who uses me and how, but not too selfish. I still love the gymkhanas, but I feel no nostalgia for the dogs. My Master is strict, I know who is in charge, and I need no second bidding to please him, even where that means being used by others. But the icing on the cake was to be told, since I could talk, there was no need for One to talk as well. I became de facto housekeeper, and guess where One found herself. Fortunately her hatred of me was already at 100%, and her fear of her owner too strong for any resistance. I even think the other three were glad, although of course they had no way of expressing it.

So everyone was happy, except me. I was in heaven, happy was not strong enough.