Chapter 5

I awoke on my stomach, my hips pressed deeply into the mattress, my hands still chained securely behind my back. I closed my eyes, still feeling the traces of the soldier's hands on my unprotected body, pushing myself against his imagined touch. But I could not return to that palace archway, to that humiliating yet exciting scene.

Still breathing heavily, I rolled to my side. It was time to get up.

I looked up at the painting, partially visible in the morning light that filtered through my curtains. Had that girl been subject to the same domineering, casual exploration of her body that I had experienced in my dream? No doubt, I thought. As a slave, her body was available to the touch of any man who found her of interest. And with her hands bound so tightly behind her back, she had no ability to protect herself.

I sat up and swung my shackled feet over the edge of the bed, standing carefully near my nightstand. I looked down, fixed the location of the key chain in my mind, and then turned around and squatted down so my chained hands could reach it.

Suddenly, as I balanced myself on my closely chained feet, I slipped and fell backwards against the night stand, jarring it sharply. I caught myself with my hands, struggled back up to my feet, and turned. The key chain was nowhere to be seen.

Suppressing the urge to panic, I lowered myself gingerly to the floor and looked around. Finally I spotted the keys, wedged between the nightstand and the wall. I could only reach them by moving the heavy piece of furniture. I surveyed the situation, my pulse quickening. The nightstand was pushed into a corner and bordered on one side by the bed, which I would be unable to move in my current state. There was no place I could position myself to push the nightstand out of the way. I tried sitting with my back to it and pulling it away from the wall, but with my bound hands I was unable to grasp it with any strength. I tried to perch myself on its edge and tip it over onto the floor, but it was too low and wide.

I lay on my back on the bed, my wrists pinned in the small of my back, now breathing heavily. My mind was racing. The doorman had a key to the apartment, but I could only imagine what he would think - or do - if he found me naked and chained helplessly in my own bedroom. That left only Robert who had a key. I was terribly embarrassed to be so blatantly caught playing out my fantasy. But he already knew that something in me longed to be a slave. Besides, it might even give him ideas. And in any case, I did need to get out of my apartment at some point.

I slid off the bed again and made my way with tiny, careful steps to my desk. I bent forward and pressed the speaker button on the phone with my nose, and then pressed the speed dial button for Robert. Please pick up, I thought as the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Robert, it's me, Heather," I said, trying to sound normal.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Um, I'm having kind of a problem this morning. I need you to come over to my apartment."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"I'll tell you when you get here." I didn't want to frighten him away. "Can you make it over?"

"Well, OK, there's nothing at work that can't wait," he said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, and let yourself in. I'll be in the bedroom."

"OK, whatever you say. See you soon."

"See you." I heard him hang up. I leaned forward and turned off the phone with my nose again. My fate was in his hands. I felt a thrill of excitement at the thought.

I thought about kneeling before the door, my knees spread for him, but decided it was safer to try to cover myself as best as I could in the bed. I slipped back onto the bed and tried to pull a sheet over me with my teeth, eventually succeeding in getting it about to the level of my breasts. Well, there was nothing there he hadn't seen before, I thought - except the collar around my neck, and he would have to see that eventually. I lay under the sheet, my pulse racing, waiting for him to arrive.

I heard the apartment door open, and then footsteps, and then the bedroom door being pushed open. "Heather?" he said as he stepped into the room. His eyes fastened on the steel collar locked around my throat. "What's going on? Are you OK?"

Here goes, I thought. "Well, honey, I got myself a little tied up last night . and then I lost the keys," I tried to say casually. They're behind the nightstand - do you think you could get them for me?"

Instead of moving the nightstand, he stepped closer to the bed, looking down at me. I felt momentarily weak, and vulnerable, chained helplessly before him. "Tied up? What do you mean? How did this happen?"

I wriggled out from under the sheet and turned to my side so he could see my wrist and ankle shackles as well as the collar. "Do you know how I offered to be your slave the other night? I was wondering what it would feel like, so I chained myself up before I went to bed last night. But in the morning, I knocked the keys off and behind the night stand, and now I can't reach them." He looked completely befuddled. "It's really embarrassing, and I wish it hadn't happened, but could you please get the keys for me?" I tried to smile up at him.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he finally said, and crouched down to pull the nightstand away from the wall. I took the opportunity to slip off the bed and onto the floor, kneeling behind him, my thighs parted, my head bowed submissively. He turned, the keys in his hand. "Here they -." His voice trailed off. I felt his eyes fixed on my naked body.

"How can I repay you for this favor?" I asked timidly. He was silent. I lifted my head. "You have me completely at your mercy," I continued. "Isn't there some price you want to demand for my freedom?" I pulled my shoulders back even further, lifting my breasts up toward him.

He spun the key chain around his finger. I could tell he was thinking. A trace of a smile curled around the edge of his lips. "I'll think about it," he said, and stepped around me, heading toward the door.

"Robert?" I called after him. "What are you doing?" There was no answer, but I heard him doing something in the kitchen. A minute later he was back, and once again I was kneeling before him, this time a bit more fearfully.

"I'm going to think about the price while I'm at work," he said, looking down at me, an amused expression on his face. "I suggest you call in sick. I left a bowl of food and a bowl of water for you in the kitchen. I think that should work for you."

"You're going to leave me like this all day?" I said.

"Yes, I am," he answered. "And all day tomorrow, if I feel like it. If I have any instructions for you, I'll call and leave them on your machine so you can hear them."

I was too surprised to object. This was not something I had foreseen.

"Enjoy yourself," he said, smiling, as he turned and walked away. A moment later I heard him locking the door behind him.

Damn, damn, damn, I said to myself. Now what had I gotten myself into. Well, I had better make the best of it. I struggled back to my feet and made my way to my desk, where I called the gallery and said I wasn't feeling well. Then, realizing I was hungry, I walked carefully to the kitchen to see what my captor had left for me.

I felt a shudder of excitement ripple through me when I saw the two bowls sitting on the tiled floor. I smiled to myself. Robert would have me eat and drink from a bowl on the floor. Perhaps he did want a slave girl after all. I knelt down on the floor and bent forward slowly, my hair falling in front of me as I dipped my tongue into the bowl. Cheerios. At least they were low in cholesterol, I thought. After I had eaten half the bowl, I turned to the side and began lapping water from the bowl into my mouth with my tongue. What a sight I must make, I thought, the assistant director of a midtown art gallery, kneeling naked on the floor of her own apartment and drinking water out of a bowl on the floor.

I spent most of the day watching TV, kneeling on the floor against the couch, occasionally turning around to point the remote control at the TV with my bound hands. Never had I so wished I had more than basic cable. I tried taking a nap, thinking I might slip back into my dream of the previous night, but this time the discomfort of my bonds prevented me from falling asleep.

I did, however, have time to think about what might happen when Robert returned that evening after work. Would he force me to serve him as a slave? Would he throw me on my belly and take me, bound as I was? Or would he kneel me before him like the girl on my bedroom wall, guiding my head onto him with his hand? And when he was finished with me, would he release me, or would he leave me chained to the bed, to await his return the next day and the day after that?

More disturbingly, I wondered if that was what I really wanted. Obviously, I was turned on by the idea of submission, but would I trade my current life for the life of a slave girl? I doubted it. I had too much invested in my life as an independent woman - not just my career, but also my identity, my self-image. I liked being smart and self-sufficient, a match for any man I went out with.

So what was I doing naked and chained in my own apartment, waiting for a man to return and use me any way he wished?

The ring of the phone interrupted my semi-coherent afternoon musings. After my message, I heard Robert's voice. "I'll be there a little after five. I expect to find you kneeling with your back to the door, bent over with your head to the floor. Do not speak or change position when I arrive." I heard him hang up.

The words sank into me. When he entered, I would be complete exposed to him, ready to be taken from behind. I realized that I was wet thinking about it. I rubbed my thighs together.

By five o'clock, I was nervous with anticipation and arousal. I positioned myself on the rug in the entryway and knelt facing away from the door, making a point to spread my thighs invitingly. I bent forward and pressed my forehead to the floor, thankful for the partial cushioning provided by the rug. And I waited.

I heard the key turning in the door. Suddenly a flash of panic shot through my mind. Was it Robert? Could he have sent someone else to take advantage of me and leave? The door opened and someone stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him. I wanted to say something, to turn and see who it was, but I knew I had been commanded to remain silent and in position, open and available. I trembled as I heard a zipper behind me. I could feel the wetness between my legs, my body silently begging to be taken.

Then two strong hands gripped my hips and he plunged into me from behind, burying himself in my softness. I gasped as he withdrew and thrust into me again, over and over, my body a mere instrument of his pleasure. Then, too soon, he pushed deep inside me, holding me in place by the hips, forcing me to cry out in submission. He withdrew, and I collapsed on my belly on the rug, barely able to breathe.

I felt a key turn in the lock on my right wrist, and the shackle being lifted away, and then two hands turning me over by the shoulders. I looked up into Robert's warm, smiling face. He leaned down and kissed me gently on the lips. "Did you like that, sweetheart?"

"Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes," I whispered, lifting my arms and clasping them around his neck.

"Well, maybe we can do it again sometime." He slipped out of my grasp and unlocked my other wrist, and then my collar and ankle shackles. I rose up to my knees and stretched my arms and legs, feeling the freedom of movement I had taken for granted until today.

"Thank you for . freeing me," I said, smiling coyly.

"You can repay me by buying me dinner," he said. He slapped me on the bottom. "Get some clothes on. I'm starving."



"Yes, sir," I said, and skipped to the bedroom to put on jeans and a sweatshirt.

Over dinner in a local Chinese restaurant we talked about our days. He complained about work, and I complained about having to watch daytime TV and eat dry Cheerios. I felt happy inside as we walked back to my apartment. I had confessed my secret to my boyfriend, and our relationship had survived. We could act out my fantasies, and I could return to my life in the morning.

"The painting has to go," he said as we snuggled in bed that night. I lifted my head from the pillow and looked at him. "It's really hideous," he explained. "I can't believe you got the gallery to buy it."

"OK," I said. I didn't need it any more. I took one last glance at that naked, collared slave girl and turned out the light.



The large hall was bathed in the light of torches set into the wall. In one corner, a group of dark-skinned musicians coaxed sensuous melodies from a set of instruments I did not recognize. The room was filled with laughing and shouting in a foreign language, and with the gasps and cries of young women.

A man raised his hand and beckoned to me. The soldiers were sitting on the floor at long, low tables, the remnants of their victory feast spread out before them. They were being served by about twenty young women of the city they had conquered, now their slaves. I rushed toward the man with my heavy pitcher of wine, as quickly as I could given the shackles on my ankles.

I knelt next to him and lifted the pitcher with my chained hands to refill his glass, trying to avoid the eyes of the other men at the table. I was thankful for the thin, sheer, one-piece garment I had been given to wear. Although it left little to the imagination, at least I no longer had to display myself completely naked for these harsh men. Of course, there was no doubt about my status; the collar on my neck left no question about that. I could feel their eyes on the swell of my breasts and the soft flesh of my bare thighs as I knelt, my knees spread as I had been taught.

I finished pouring the wine and tried to stand, but was held in place by the man's hand in my hair. He pulled back and twisted my hair, forcing me to look up into his eyes. He said something I didn't understand. Seeing my blank look, he tried again in my language. "Hot slut," he said. "Want man." I nodded, afraid to contradict him. He laughed. "Later." His other hand reached under my tunic and grasped my breast possessively. I gritted my teeth and held my position. Then he released me and pointed at another man. I rose and went to refill his glass.

As far as I could tell, our duties so far had been restricted to serving food and drink to the celebrating soldiers. But I knew that other, more demanding services could be required of us. I expected the men had been commanded not to enjoy our other uses until the serving had been completed - which would not be long now, as the men were licking the sugar of their desserts off their fingers. Although I dreaded the prospect of being raped by these cruel men, part of me awaited my impending humiliation with a keen sense of anticipation. It would consummate the slavery that I had begged for in the afternoon, that already felt like my natural place.

General Halimar, commander of the troops - and the man who had stripped me naked in my bedroom that morning - rose. He gave a short speech in his native tongue, no doubt celebrating the exploits of his men, and mourning the loss of their fallen comrades. Then he drained his glass, smashed it on the floor, and clapped his hands, to the applause of the men.

The man whose glass I had filled a moment ago turned toward where I was kneeling and beckoned again. Hesitantly, I approached and knelt before him, not forgetting to spread my thighs widely, feeling the hem of my garment slide up to my hips. I wondered how long I would be wearing it. I lifted the pitcher, but he took it from me and put it on the table. He crouched in front of me and reached up to the neck of my garment with both hands. I resolved that I would obey him completely. I had no desire to be beaten.

I heard a woman's voice behind me. It was Raisa, the slave trainer. His hands paused, not yet stripping me naked before him. They spoke for a few moments, and then he stood up and stepped back, not before pinching my breast cruelly.

"Turn around," Raisa ordered. I turned toward her, still on my knees. She reached down and clipped a chain leash to my collar. "The General wants to see you," she said. "If you are not pleasing, I will whip the skin from your body." She turned and led the way, leaving me to scurry as quickly as I could on hands and knees. I heard the men laughing behind me, no doubt watching my exposed bottom as I crawled away.

He was sitting on a long, high wooden bench against one wall of the hall. "Ah, the young woman from the window," he said as I approached on hands and knees, my head lowered before him. I felt a jerk on my leash, pulling me back up to my knees. His boot pushed them further apart. "Well, my dear, do you have anything to say to me?"

Raisa nudged me with her foot. "I beg . I beg to please you, master," I heard my voice saying. "Let me please you, master. Let me serve you any way you wish."

He stood, and motioned me to rise. "Let's see what you have to offer me," he said. I stood before him unsteadily, my eyes lowered. He raised his hands to the neck of my thin garment and ripped downward, tearing it open all the way, exposing my naked breasts and belly to him. He ripped the shoulder straps and brushed the garment off me, letting it float to the floor. I stood just inches from him, naked and unprotected. His hands cupped my breasts firmly and then slid down my sides and over my hips, then over my thighs and to my most intimate places. He laughed as he felt my wetness. "I see Raisa was right," he said. "She knows slave flesh when she sees it." I blushed in shame.

He pushed me back down to my knees. "You may attempt to please me with your mouth," he said generously. "Raisa, prepare her."

Raisa quickly unlocked my wrists from the manacles and pulled my arms behind my back, tying my wrists tightly with a length of rope. My elbows were forced back uncomfortably, causing my breasts to strain forward, helplessly offered. The general lowered his trousers, revealing his large, erect manhood. I gathered he enjoyed forcing captured slave girls to serve him in this humiliating way. He perched on the edge of the bench, inviting me to fulfill my duty. It was time to earn my slavery, if I hoped to survive.

Tears in my eyes, I wet my lips, widened my mouth, and lowered my face to him, trying to imagine what would give him pleasure. I felt Raisa's firm grasp on my leash, preventing me from rising and fleeing. I caressed him with my lips and bathed him with my tongue, desperately hoping to be found pleasing. I closed my eyes and abandoned myself to the feeling of his manhood in my mouth, worshipping him with the absolute submission that only a slave girl can feel. I heard him moan with pleasure and felt his hand clench in my hair, holding me firmly in place.

As I devoted myself unconditionally to his pleasure, my feelings of dread and humiliation faded, to be replaced by a new feeling, one that bordered on acceptance. This was a man, a powerful man, who had taken my city with a sword and defeated its men. As a captured woman, I was rightfully his, to do with as he pleased. I could expect no other favor than to be enslaved and put to the uses that slaves girls are good for. No one remained to protect me, and I was powerless to protect myself. If I wanted to live, I would have to provide some service to my new ruler, and if this was the only service I could offer, then I would offer it unquestioningly. I felt a wave of arousal gather in my belly as I bobbed my head up and down, feeling him grow inside me.

Sensing he was close, Raisa reached out with her hand and grasped the base of his shaft, stoking his passion further. I felt his grip tighten in my hair, pressing my face further down around him, and then he erupted, his passion pouring into my mouth as Raisa stroked him skillfully.

And then a veil cleared before my eyes and I knew where I was. I remembered the auction house where I had first seen the painting, and the first, fragmentary dream I had had that night, and the days since then until that last day spent naked and bound in my apartment, and the intervening nights when I had been captured and enslaved in my dreams. I knew I was the slave girl in the painting on my bedroom wall, and was wearing her chains on my ankles and around my neck, and the semen dripping down her chin was overflowing from my mouth, still held in place by the hand entwined in my hair. And though I knew this must be a dream, I still swallowed as quickly as I could, using my tongue to clean off my master and finally, when he released my hair and withdrew from me, bending down to lick off the floor the drops I had let escape from my mouth.

"Thank you, master," I said, hoping for some word sign of approval. He pulled up his trousers and pushed his foot in front of my face. I licked and kissed at it eagerly.

"Give her back to the men," he said simply.

Raisa pulled me back up to my feet by my leash and pointed me back to one of the tables. "Go beg to please them," she said, and slapped me on the bottom to speed me on my way, but not before looping a cord about my neck, with a key dangling from it between my breasts. I shuffled off toward the men, still in shock from the use I had just suffered.

Since I knew this must be a dream, I was surprised that I had not woken up yet. But I could not deny that I was content to let my fantasy take me where it would.

As it turned out, there was no need to beg to please the men. One of them grasped me by the arms and thrust me down over one of the tables on my belly, my legs hanging off the end. I felt my breasts pressing against the rough wood and heard the key strike the table's surface. A large hand pulled the cord over my head. A moment later I felt my ankles being unchained and rough hands thrust my legs widely apart. With my hands still bound behind my back, I was hardly able to move from this vulnerable position, let alone resist what was being done to me. I imagined the sight I must present to the men, my body completely open and exposed to them. I gasped as the first man entered me, rocking my hips against the table as he used me for his pleasure. I moaned, both in humiliation and in satisfaction as I felt him deep inside me. He used me quickly and withdrew. I felt another man enter me in his place.

Later that night, I lay on my back on the floor, my hands still pinned beneath me. The last of several men had staggered off, finally satiated by me and the other girls. I was sore all over, but not terribly so. I was ready to wake up. With my hands tied, it was difficult to pinch myself, so I bit my lip as hard as I could, but only succeeded in hurting myself.

I felt a boot nudging at my hip. I looked up to see Raisa. "Get up, slut," she said. "The general wants you in his room." I moaned, but I did as she ordered. Thankfully, she let me walk on my own feet, rather than crawling after her. She took me to a large bathroom, untied my hands, and let me soak in a warm bath, letting the sweat and stains of the last hours wash off my aching body. Too soon, she pulled me out by the leash to dry off. Then she was leading me down a long corridor and into a torch-lit room with a wide, low bed.

On her command, I climbed onto the bed and knelt, my forehead to the mattress. I felt her pull my hands behind my back and tie them there. She attached my long chain leash to a ring at the head of the bed. "Do not move," she said, and left me with my thoughts.

Just this afternoon I had knelt in this same position, waiting for my boyfriend to come and satisfy my fantasy. Now I was waiting for a cruel, harsh master to come and abuse me for his pleasure. This time I truly was a captured slave girl, desperately hoping to please her master, even if only in a dream. I wasn't sure my body could take another assault after all it had endured already. Maybe if I fell asleep, I thought, the dream might end. Surely you couldn't fall asleep inside your own dream. But positioned so vulnerably as I was, I could only think of the impending approach of my master, and the services he might exact from me.

I did not have long to wait. I knelt, motionless, as his footsteps approached the bed, and as I felt him position himself behind me. His hands stroked my hips and once again explored my intimacies, feeling the returning wetness that betrayed my readiness. Then he was inside me, using my body casually, imperiously, for his pleasure, treating me as nothing more than so much warm, soft, willing slave flesh. I felt him climax, and then he was finished with me, rolling me off the bed. I fell on the floor on my side and shoulder, thankful the bed was not higher off the ground. Then I felt a thin, rough blanket that he cast partially over me. "Thank you, master," I said as I tried to adjust it with my teeth, my hands still bound behind me.

I lay there awake, reliving the events of the evening, remembering the taste of the master in my mouth, the feeling of being bent over a table, the hands on my ankles thrusting them apart. I thought about that final rape I had suffered, in silence, my body just a meaningless vessel for the general's casual pleasure. I could not deny that that was what slaves were for, nor could I deny the arousal I had felt, both awaiting him and held in his grasp.

I had learned something more about myself tonight, I thought, but now it was time to wake up. I closed my eyes and finally fell asleep.