Regan was not a girl who liked feeling insecure. She liked to have her schedule and keep to it. She liked her life settled, and orderly. She wanted to know where everything was, and that it was in working order. She did not like unpredictability and never had. She liked to know the rules of a thing, and what was expected of her. She did not like not knowing!

And so she was quite uncomfortable, quite at a loss, and well beyond her comfort zone as the limousine took her towards Forbes' house. She didn't know what would be expected of her – beyond the obvious, of course. And that itself was terribly unsettling. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the thought that she would be required to have sex with this man, whenever, and wherever, and in whatever manner he chose. That she literally, as a debt slave, or “Indentured Servant”, could not, by law, could say no to nothing he desired.

But there was so much more she didn't know about! What was his place like? How would she be treated? What sort of work would he put her to (again, aside from the obvious). As he said, it wasn't like he could be having sex with her all day, so she'd have a substantial amount of time alone. What would she do? Study? Chores of some sort?

And how much did the limousine driver know? She had blushed deeply and avoided his eyes since he'd picked her up at the IS office.

There, she'd been injected with an electronic chip would would locate her anywhere she decided to go, should she decide to run off. She was Forbes' property for now, and had no right to her freedom until the year was up. If she did run off, she was told, rather sternly, the police would be obliged to bring her back to him, and he would be able to punish her as he chose. Whatever time away she'd spent would also have to be made up – twofold – before the contract could be ended.

She had asked how much she could bring, and been told to bring nothing. The IS people had dryly informed her that “uniforms and clothing” would be provided as required.

The car was cruising down a two lane highway through the woods and trees, and now turned off at a small, paved side road. Her stomach clenched further and she stared around her at the trees as the car sped up. It took only about a minute before it slowed and pulled into a cleared area. There was a modern looking single floor house there, L-shaped, with a high, steeped roof and large glass windows.

Her chest tight, she got out of the car as the drive came around. He made no move to accompany her as she walked, heart thumping, to the big, double doors and then rang the bell.

She wasn't sure what she expected, other than Forbes. She certainly didn't expect the tall black man in the three piece black suit to open the door and look down on her.

She blushed again.

“Uhm, my name is Regan Atherson. I'm here to see Mr. Forbes,” she said.

He nodded his head slightly and stepped back, and, her stomach churning, Regan stepped inside.

The house was large and airy, with an open concept design and modern furniture. White seemed to be the prevailing color scheme, though the floor was a deep, polished hardwood with colorful Persian carpets here and there. She followed him through the foyer down a wide hall to a huge room she thought of as a living room – though it was three times bigger than any she'd seen before. There was an enormous fireplace at one end, and floor to ceiling glass walls looking down the rolling green hill to the river fifty feet below.

It was certainly a startlingly beautiful view, letting her look up the long length of the river, and across it to the woods on the other side. The house itself was gorgeous as well.

It was not a bad place to be imprisoned, if imprisoned she must be.

Perhaps, she thought, she ought to stop feeling so sorry for herself, given the number of woman actually IN prison, here and elsewhere. This certainly beat concrete stone walls and iron bars.

She was also being paid a considerable fee for her time.

There was a large patio outside, with tables and chairs on what looked like polished granite stones, and a number of flowered bushes running along its edge.

“Well, hello,” said a voice.

She spun with a gasp and flushed even more deeply as Dillon Forbes stood there.

“Uhm, h-hi,” she said, her voice squeaking a bit.

He was taller than she'd thought he'd be, better looking, if she was honest with herself, with broad shoulders and what looked, under his sports shirt and jacket to be a strongly built body.

He stepped forward and shook her hand, and she licked her lips anxiously.

“So, you're my new... employee,” he said, looking her up and down with a smile. “I must say, your pictures don't do you justice.”

Before she could reply he motioned to the side with his head. “Come this way.”

She followed him back to the hall and down a side branch. They turned a corner and there was a large wooden door there, which he passed through.

Her stomach churned as she saw they were in a bedroom. And what a bedroom! The bed was beyond king size, the rug so thick and soft it was a marvel. There was a large stone fireplace at one end, with a sofa, chairs and table gathered before it, an antique desk to one side, and then an open doorway to a huge bathroom. The glass wall looked out, not on the river, but on a flat area about a hundred feet or so across. There was a large pond or pool not ten feet away from the french doors. At least fifty or sixty feet across, it backed onto a stone hillside ten or twelve feet high from which water tumbled down into the pool. It was beautiful, and she was amazed at what money could buy in the way of comforts. What normal person would have thought of building such a thing in their back yard!?

Forbes closed the door behind her and smiled as she tensed up. He walked past her and took a seat, then motioned her closer.

“Now then,” he said. “Just so we understand each other. Because I have a considerable amount of money, I get to... well, indulge myself, I suppose you might say. That waterfall and pond out back, for example, cost over a hundred thousand dollars to build. I did it so I'd have something nice to look out at when I waken in the morning. The cost, after all, is largely negligible to me. You, likewise, are a foolish indulgence. I can, as you might expect of a man with my wealth and, not to be immodest, attractiveness, find women without a lot of difficulty.”

“Why don't you?” she asked, not in a confrontational voice but simply confounded.

“I do, from time to time,” he said with a smile. “But women, well, they take a lot of time and effort. Nor do I wish to rent one for the night, as in prostitution. I want to know the woman I sleep with. I want to be comfortable with her. I don't want to have sex with strangers.”

“I'm a stranger,” she said, blushing.

“Not entirely,” he said with a smile, “And in any event, you're not entirely a person, not by law. You're in the nature of a, well, a belonging. In a sense, I own you, at least for now. And in any event, you won't be a stranger for long. I'll grow used to you, comfortable with you. Also, you won't require any effort on my part in convincing to part with your favors. I won't need to seduce you, and you'll make yourself available at whatever odd time I feel in the mood.”

Regan's mind squirmed at his blunt talk about her and what he would expect of her. It wasn't as if she didn't already know it but standing before him was horribly embarrassing. And it only got worse.

“Now, if you don't mind, and, come to think of it, even if you do, would you disrobe, please?”

She felt her chest grow tight, and froze, eyes going wide. Her face flamed, and her heart raced, but she knew that, realistically, she could not refuse. And it wasn't as if she hadn't expected it at some point.

She reached down awkwardly, fingers trembling a little, and gripped the hem of her t-shirt, then peeled it up and off. She had deliberately not worn anything particularly 'sexy' underneath, just a simple white bra and white and blue striped panties. She undid her jeans and toed off her shoes, then slipped them down her legs and off. Blushing furiously, she turned her back to him and undid her bra, slipping it over her shoulders. Then, heart pounding, she crossed an arm across her breasts and squatted to peel her panties off.

Naked, she slowly turned, a hand over her sex, an arm across her breasts, more than a little breathless to face him. She couldn't, of course, and looked down at his feet instead.

“Shy. I like that,” he said. “Hands at your sides, Regan, and shoulders back.”

She had to obey, and did so, feeling a new, hot rush of emotion, of humiliation, of anger.

“Hands behind your head, please. Arch your back for me.”

Again she obeyed, feeling a further tightness in her chest at the words.

He stood up, and she gasped, and took a half step back.

“I didn't say to move,” he said. “Resume your previous position.”

She obeyed, and he walked slowly around her, then startled her by reaching for her glasses, and removing them.

“Do you need these?”

What a stupid question, she thought furiously.

“I-I need them mostly to read,” she stammered.

“You don't have contacts?”

She shook her head slightly.

“You should answer questions orally.”

“No.”

“Make that no sir, just to get into the spirit of things.”

She hesitated. “No, sir,” she said.

Regan felt his hand on her bottom. She gasped and jerked, but then resumed her position, breath growing a bit more ragged as he kneaded her buttocks, then slid his hand slowly up and down her back, along her spine.

“You have soft skin,” he said gently. “Very soft skin.

His hands were soft, as well, as they caressed her back, and Regan felt an unexpected sparkle of arousal and interest, though it was quite minor.

His hand slid along her side, along her ribs, then as he circled before her, came up under her breast. She flinched again, but didn't move as he let his hand run over her breast, lightly following the contours of her body. She felt her nipples grow painfully hard as the palm of his hand stroked over them, and emotions swirled and churned within her.

“Spread your legs a little more,” he said not unkindly.

She flinched anyway, and her blush deepened, but she obeyed, and gasped as his hand moved slowly down her belly and between her legs. His fingers stroked the soft skin above and around her sex lips, then ran lightly up down the tightness of her narrow cleft.

“They did a good job,” he said.

The memory of that made her insides burn with embarrassment once more. Even though it had been a woman, and even though she'd clearly done it often, and was clinical and professional, it had still been horribly embarrassing to be sitting there before a strange woman for so long, her legs spread, while she worked the machine over her legs and groin.

His hand ran back up onto her breast and the other joined it. She gasped and her eyes, which had been dodging his face, were yanked up along with her nipples as he hooked his fingers into the nipple rings and tugged sharply.

“Hold your position,” he said.

She gulped and jerked her hands back behind her neck, breaths coming faster as he grinned down at her and slowly lifted his curled fingers up.

That had been another embarrassment, getting her nipples pierced. Again, she knew it was done fairly routinely, but she was a reserved girl, normally, and submitting herself to something like that was far from her nature. The rings were very plain and round and stainless steel. As he tugged on them her nipples stretched and ached, and she was forced up onto the balls of her feet before him.

She felt a sense of fear, wondering what he intended, but there was also, curiously, a surge in arousal, a quickening of sexual interest as she stood so brazenly naked before him.

He straightened his fingers and pulled them out, and Regan sank gratefully to her heels again, speechless with the turmoil inside her.

“Remove those, would you please?”

She blinked in surprise at the order as he turned away, but then drew her hands back down and awkwardly fumbled at the rings. They were both held together by small balls which screwed one end to the other. It was fairly simple to remove them, and then hand them to him as he handed her another pair.

“Put these in. I find them more graceful and eye pleasing.

She examined the rings. They were larger than the others, though thin. They were about the width of a quarter. They had no ball to lock them together. Instead, one very slim eye on one side of the open ring was to be inserted into the tube of the other side. Applying pressure, it slid in and locked, forming a perfect circle without any apparent mechanism or means to open them.

“How do they come off?” she asked.

“You forgot to say sir.”

“Sir,” she said, blushing.

“Repeat the sentence.”

Jerk!

“How do they come off, sir?”

“There's a tiny hole in the side, hardly visible, which a special tool is inserted into to unlock them. Until then they'll stay nicely in place. Put the other one in. Actually, let me.”

He took the ring from her and she gulped as his thumb and forefinger pressed together around the base of her nipple, squeezing it out. She felt a hot surge of emotions again, emotions which included that strange sense of arousal as he slid the ring through the piercing in her nipple, then locked it in place.

He stepped back to examine her.

“Hands behind your head.”

She obeyed again, growing somewhat less humiliated with the passing of time.

“Very nice,” he said. “Veeery nice. They hang very well against your breasts. Your breasts, by the way, are lovely. Drop your arms to your sides.”

She obeyed and he cupped both breasts, squeezed them up, then let them drop.

He smiled. “Very resilient,” he said. “That's something you don't find on older women.”

He squeezed them up and together, then let them spring back into their normal shape again.

“You have gorgeous breasts, Regan.”

She didn't know what to say to that, and blushed again.

“It's customary to reply when given a compliment,” he said.

“Tha-thank you, sir,” she stammered.

“I require you to be a well-mannered servant,” he said, rolling her throbbing, erect nipples between fingers and thumbs.

“I-I'm sorry,” she gulped. “I just... I don't know how to... I'm not used to strangers complimenting my... breasts.”

“But I'm not a stranger,” he said. “I'm your owner. I own these breasts.”

He squeezed them up and together. “I own them. I can do whatever I want with them. I own these nipples too.”

He hooked his fingers into the rings and slowly pulled them up and out, forcing her up onto the balls of her feet again as she gasped at the way they stretched and pulled at her aching nipples.

He released them and his hand slid between her legs, cupping her sex.

Again she squeaked, but didn't try to resist.

“I own this too. Don't I.”

She didn't answer and he frowned.

“Answer when spoken to.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Say it. Who owns your pussy?”

“Y-You do, sir.”

“Say it then.”

“Y-You own my... p-pussy, sir.”

“Indeed I do.”

He stepped back and sat down again, still examining her.

“Do you know how to dance?”

She looked at him in surprise amid a fresh surge of anxiety.

“Uhm, I uh, not that well... sir.”

He smiled. “Have you ever given a lap dance before?”

Regan's blush deepened and she shook her head mutely.

“I think the first punishment for disobedience ought to be something light, like a spanking. Don't you agree?”

She stared at him, more fear rushing into her.

“You've disobeyed my command to answer orally twice now.”

“I-I'm sorry, sir!”

“Don't disobey again. I expect discipline and obedience. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

“So you haven't ever given a lap dance? Well, you need to learn. I want them. You can go on the internet. I'm sure you'll find lots of videos to instruct you. I'll make that your first assignment. Learn how to give a proper lap dance. We'll try it out tomorrow. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” she gulped.

“How good are you at oral sex?”

“I-I'm … okay, I guess,” she said helplessly. “Sir, I mean!”

“I expect you to be better than okay. I expect you to have superlative skills. I'll let you study that, as well. Your deadline for that is two days.”

“But...”

“Yes?”

“I... how do I know what, uhm, superlative is, sir?”

He smiled. “Check the internet for phrases like best blow jobs and such. I'm sure you'll find some good ones. Pay particular attention to deep throat. I like that. And I expect you to master it.”

“But... what if I can't?! Sir!”

“You can. It's not complicated. Watch the videos. Practice.”

“Uhm, how, sir?”

He smiled and stood up. He walked across to one of the cabinets in the room and pulled open a drawer, then took out a very realistic looking dildo.”

Blushing, she took it form him as he handed it to her.

“That's about the right size. Figure out how to get that down your throat without gagging. There'll be others in your room, smaller ones. You can practice all you want. I'd suggest doing it on an empty stomach, perhaps in the morning.”

She held the dildo awkwardly, blushing furiously.

“For now, get down on the floor. Lay down there,” he said. “On your back.”

Pulse racing, she obeyed, getting down on her knees, then sitting back and then hesitantly laying back.

“Raise your knees and spread your legs wide.”

She cringed mentally but obeyed as he looked down at her.

“Now I want you to masturbate.”

She stared at him, appalled, face going white, then beet red.

“You're embarrassed by the thought?”

She started to nod her head jerkily, then remembered his admonishment to answer orally.

“Yes, sir!”

“That's okay. Once you've done it most anything else will probably not embarrass you much. That is, by the way, one of the reasons I'm having you do it. I want to break down your embarrassment, your uneasiness, your anxiety. I don't want to have sex with a trembling, wide-eyed virgin who jumps at my every touch. So we're going to break down your inhibitions.”

She stared up at him helplessly.

“Spread your knees wider.”

She obeyed as best she could, the tendons in her thighs aching as she stretched them.

“Lift your feet off the floor, then. Bend your knees fully, and then let them fall to the sides as much as you can.”

Again, Regan obeyed, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Put the head of the dildo into your mouth to moisten it.”

She obeyed, flinching, horribly embarrassed.

“Now run it up and down along your pussy.”

Again she obeyed, emotions seething within her so that she felt light-headed.

“Now push it into yourself.”

She changed the angle, staring up at the ceiling, not looking at him. It was easier that way. She felt the rounded nose pushing in against the lips of her sex, forcing them in and then apart, spreading them open as it sank slowly through the mouth of her sex.

“Do you need a lubricant?”

She jerked her head, then managed to say “N-No, sir!”

This had certainly not been the kind of thing she'd imagined doing! But she had no choice, and slowly worked the dildo into herself, more than a little surprised that she did not, in fact, need a lubricant. She was, it seemed, somewhat moist inside, and the sheen of saliva on the dildo eased its passage as she worked it slowly in and out.

While he watched.

“Do you have a dildo at home?”

She shook her head helplessly, still staring at the ceiling, working the dildo in by feel.

“A vibrator?”

“No,” she gulped.

“Deeper. It's only ten inches. I'm sure you can get almost all of it inside.”

She had to twist and pump it in and out, and that was far too close to real masturbation for her comfort. Her mind squirmed with embarrassment, with humiliation, as she obeyed him, and she clenched her teeth against the anger at his perverse order. The least he could have done was given her some time to get used the idea her body was his to play with as he chose!

It also struck her as bizarre that he was still fully clothed, sitting back in his chair, watching her. It wouldn't have been so bad if he was naked, too, and they were doing something – together.

But she was alone, putting on a show for him!

“Maybe we should get you a vibrator too.”

“N-No,” she gulped.

Forbes got up anyway, and crossed to the cabinet. He returned with more than just a vibrator.

“Get on your knees,” he said. “Keep the dildo inside you.”

The dildo was three quarters of the way up inside her, and she moved awkwardly and carefully with it sticking out between the lips of her sex as she moved to her knees. He had tossed the stuff onto the chair, but now brandished a collar, a black leather collar with a round ring in the center. She knelt, heart thumping, as he placed it around her throat, then fastened it behind her.

Next came a pair of leather wrist restraints.

“Hold your hands out,” he ordered.

The restraints fit firmly around her slender wrists as she watched him anxiously fasten them together.

“This is largely for effect, of course, and symbolic as well.”

He held up something else, a sort of chain, a Y-shaped chain.

“Stand up.”

She stood up, and watched him fasten the dual ends of the chain to her nipple rings, then pull the single end up to the ring in her collar. He fastened it so that the chains were taut as she stood there before him.

“Hands behind your back.”

Again, her fear and alarm surged, but she obeyed, and felt his hands on her wrists, felt the restraints fastened together. He gripped her arm and sat back on the chair, then pulled her forward.

“Across my lap,” he said calmly.

And then she understood. He was going to spank her! It only took a moment to understand why, for she realize she had, yet again, failed to answer orally, and then failed to say 'sir', and had done so several times.

Inside, she wailed at the unfairness of that. Her mind was spinning at what he was having her do. How could she remember things like that!?

But the thought of a spanking filled her, not with fear, but with a sense of mortifying embarrassment. She was no little girl to be spanked!

But with her wrists locked behind her there was nothing she could really do about it.

He drew her forward, adjusting her body across his lap.

Regan was painfully aware of her nudity, as she felt her bare flesh sliding across the fabric of his trousers and jacket, felt the soft, sensitive skin of her breasts sliding down to press against the side of the chair as her head hung down. She almost automatically tried to raise her head up to look back but then gasped as she realized that pulling on the collar tugged against her nipples.

Her face burned at the view he must be getting, and she gasped as she felt his left hand lay on her buttocks and his right – his right between her legs, gripping the dildo. He slid it out a ways, then pushed it back in, his fingers twisting and turning it as he pumped it slowly in and out.

“Oh!” she gasped, as she felt the head of the thick dildo pushing achingly deep.

“What is my name?” he asked calmly.

“D-Dillon Forbes!” she gasped.

Crack! His left hand slapped down sharply on her buttocks.

Regan yelped, her legs kicking.

“My name, as far as you are concerned, is Sir,” he said in a soft voice. “Say it with me.”

“S-Sir!”

Crack! His hand slapped down sharply again.

“Again.”

“Sir!” she cried.

His left hand kneaded her buttocks while the right continued to pump and twist the dildo. As he did so, his fingers brushed across her clitoris with distressing regularity, and despite herself Regan began to feel a dark surging heat within her lower body.

“You are my personal servant,” he said, caressing her upraised buttocks.

Crack!

“Ow!”

“But let's not bandy words, Regan. You are my sex slave, at least until your debt is paid.”

Crack!

She gasped and squirmed helplessly. The slaps were sharp and stinging!

“That means your body is owned by me until such time as I release you from the contract or it expires.”

Crack!

“The government, in its infinite wisdom, has seen to it that I am gifted with permission to motivate surly and lazy workers into proper obedience.”

Crack! Regan's bottom was starting to heat up under the repeated blows.

“And that disciplinary power extends to employees who do not learn their role with proper alacrity.”

Crack!

“I realize this is all quite new to you, of course.”

Crack!

“And I want to help you in falling into your new role with as little difficulties as possible.”

Crack!

“You're still a young lady, and the young often learn best from painful experience.”

Crack!

“This is not your school where your grade will be cut for mistakes.”

Crack!

“This is not a place where mistakes will be tolerated at all.”

Crack!

“Is that clear?”

Crack!
“Y-Yes, sir!” she gasped.

“Who am I?”

“S-Sir!” she gasped.

His fingers massaged her buttocks and rubbed at her clit.

“And who are you?”

“I-I'm... me...”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

“You are my slave. I use the word deliberately. You're a bright girl, and so your problems will not come from stupidity but pride and inhibitions. Abandon them now.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

“Ow! Oh! Please, sir!”

“Abandon your pride and inhibitions. A slave may have neither. Think of yourself as a slave, and you will not feel outraged or indignant at the orders you are given. Think of yourself as a slave.

“Crack! Crack!

“You can be as contented and as happy as you decide to be. Think of your resentment, your indignation, your outrage, and you will be such.”

His fingers worked the dildo in and out, slowly, stroking lightly against her clit as his left hand slid up her side and under to knead her breast.

Regan's bottom was a throbbing mass of heat now, and she moaned as she felt him abandon her pussy and spread her buttocks apart. Then her eyes widened as she felt his finger... or something... pressing against her small, tight round back opening.

“Oh! Don't!” she cried, jerking her head up and around.

That, of course, tugged sharply on her nipples, but the more stinging pain came from a half dozen sharp, hard, fast slaps to her throbbing bottom.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

“That is not a word you are permitted to use, slave girl,” he said. “This body belongs to me. I can do with it as I wish. You have no say in the matter. Understand?”

“Y-Yes, sir!” she moaned.