At about seven o'clock, Melanie started binding Harry, very securely, to one of the upright posts in the living room. His wrists were relocked behind it. She left his ankles locked together but used a short chain to hold them against the post. It was a round pillar- another sign of its real purpose, for the ceiling was obviously capable of supporting itself- so there were no sharp edges to dig in to his flesh. There was a slight strain on his arms and shoulders, but he knew he'd be fine for an hour or even two. Then she hooded him, concealing his face completely. This was also a process with which she seemed familiar. First she panel-gagged him, but she screwed a flexible tube into the breather hole, running it round his throat and taping it to his back to one side of the post. The hood then covered his whole face except for his nose, ensuring that he was totally blind. She then used another short chain from his collar round the post, holding his head upright against it. She added a few more lengths of chain round his legs and chest, and the final touch was to draw his elbows closer together, which seemed to make everything tighter. Never had be felt more helpless, with chain digging into his skin all over his body. She'd hardly said a word while she was doing it, so he assumed that she intended some kind of slow masturbation, or possibly that she just wanted him like that as a decoration, while she went about business of her own. After she'd finished she left him on his own, still wondering, still exploring the sensations imposed by the metal links pressing hard against so many points on his body. Then all of a sudden, everything became clear. His flesh crawled and tingled, and his reflexes instructed his muscles to fight and struggle, however impossibly, to escape his bonds. His breathing threatened to escalate into hyperventilation, as he gasped for air through the narrow tube, but he did manage to keep quiet, and after half a minute he regained control, and used every mental trick that he knew to force himself to relax. The reason for his anxiety was that he could hear Melanie talking, and she wasn't talking to him. As the sound approached, and it was right in front of him, he knew she was with a stranger. He didn't think for a moment that it was Ursula, and the newcomer's voice, when he heard it, was female, of middling range, and had a mild Scottish accent. Since they were discussing a proposed meeting of an unknown organisation, with an unknown purpose, he tried to concentrate on peripheral sounds. To his astonishment, he detected a slight rustling of chain; his own being too tight to make any noise. The only conclusion was that there was a third person in the room; a slave belonging to the newcomer. He felt a milder version of the flesh-crawling sensation, knowing that two pairs of eyes were drinking in the sight of his naked body. At that moment, he was too anxious to be aroused, but he felt a hand take his penis and begin to massage it, and he was sure that it wasn't Melanie's.

They started talking about him then. 'He's very new, and he hasn't formally accepted slavery yet', said Melanie. 'Obviously he can't be allowed to see you or your slave. He is very promising, so I'm hoping it won't be long before you can try him out.'

The Scottish voice answered. 'That's something to look forward to; he's coming up nicely now.' He was indeed almost fully erect under her ministrations, and getting harder with every passing moment. She helped him along by tickling his testicles.

'This is what he looks like', said Melanie, doubtless showing one of the photographs she'd taken earlier. There was a sound of approval, and Melanie said something else, very quietly, that made her visitor giggle. Then his mistress said that she had something else to communicate that was 'for your ears only', and his penis was released, footsteps receded, and the door closed. He hadn't heard any chain-noises, and surmised that the slave was still in front of him. He didn't even know whether it was male or female, but in the hope of beginning some kind of interaction, he let out a long, moaning sigh. Then he did hear the chains rustling, and a body touched his chest in two places. That was hopeful, but all doubt was removed when a very quiet, but unmistakably female, voice murmured to him.

'You poor thing', said the slave. 'Those chains must be really cutting into you.'

That was all she said throughout the encounter, but she showed her sympathy by rubbing her face against his mask, and then bending her knees to kiss his chest. Not wanting to waste was what probably a very short time, she squatted lower and started to lick and suck his penis. Her lips felt warm and soft, with lots of surface area in contact with his shaft and tip. Whether she'd find it easy to bring him to orgasm, when he couldn't jerk forward into her mouth, was a question that was never answered. He assumed that she was listening carefully for footsteps, but she was surprised, nevertheless. The door was flung open- he heard it hit the stop- and the girl snatched her mouth away, just brushing him with her teeth. Within a second, she was being berated, in a shrill and shrewish tone, for wantonness, sluttishness, disobedience, and being in every way a disgrace to her owner. The words were soon supplemented by slashing sounds that Harry assumed to be made by a whip, doubtless carried routinely in case of need. They were accompanied by piteous screams and pleas for mercy, but ten or fifteen seconds passed before the outraged owner calmed down enough to apologise to Melanie, grab her property (Harry assumed) and march out, slamming the door behind her. As for Harry, he was left standing at the post with his cock still erect, and as Melanie followed her visitor, perhaps to offer her own apology, he was alone for a few minutes.

 

***

 

Melanie was silent when she returned, and began to unchain him from the post. He was glad to be free of the gouging metal links, though he'd hoped that she'd masturbate him first, He was soon surprised to find that she was not actually releasing, but moving him. With her usual efficiency, she stretched him out between the two uprights, arms horizontal, legs wide apart, still gagged and hooded. She stood in front of him then and stroked his penis back to full hardness. Then she spoke. 'You were left alone with that poor girl for barely five minutes. How long did it take you to get this into her mouth? Two minutes? You're not only a male chauvinist pig; you're a white male chauvinist pig. I suppose you think that's all black girls are good for.'

'Mmm?'

'Doubtless you're trying to tell me you didn't know she was black. Whether you were consciously aware of it is neither here nor there. It's an instinct with men like you; it's in your DNA. You're very lucky to have me as one of your mistresses. I don't give up on people. I think I'll be able to whip the wickedness out of you. I expect that poor girl will get a dozen strokes tonight. It'd be very unfair if you didn't get the same; I'm sure you agree. When you've been properly tamed, she and her mistress can have the option of either giving you another dozen each, or spending a night with you.

Harry had now fully understood that, as he'd suspected she would, she'd engineered an excuse to whip him. Presumably he'd find out at some point in the future whether 'that poor girl' had really been punished for playing her assigned role. Melanie was running her fingers down his back now. 'It's important to match the whip to the texture and firmness of your skin', she told him, conversationally. It's a difficult skill to acquire; to inflict the maximum possible pain with the minimum of damage. We generally assume that the marks should have disappeared completely after three days. I know one owner who always whips his slavegirl every three days, so she always bears his marks. I'll be back in three or four minutes.'