Annie's sober and considered judgement, formed at leisure and with all the necessary evidence in front of her, was that Monday was the most beautiful woman in the world. Admittedly, she hadn't seen all the women in the world, but she'd had a very good look at this one. Wavy, mid-brown hair framed a face with a dark, perfect complexion, with a straight nose and lips that were full and soft, very symmetrical and slightly pouting lips. She was not just an exquisite image, however; she also looked friendly and accessible if, at that moment, a little nervous. Perhaps that was because Annie was staring at her as she drove, and now reached over to pull her hair back, for a better view of the line of her chin and throat.

'Miss Annie, I'm not bound.'

'That's so you can drive, Monday.'

'We're not allowed contact without me being bound, Miss Annie. We'll be punished if we break that rule.'

'I'm only making sure that your hair doesn't get in your eyes.' Nevertheless, she let her forefinger brush Monday's lips. 'Porthmadog feels a long way away. When we get past Bala, the road's a lot quieter, with plenty of secluded lay-by's where we won't have company.'

As if in reply, the New Mini- a perfect choice for the winding roads of mid-Wales- speeded up a little, and Annie settled in her seat to allow Monday to concentrate on her driving. There was plenty to see. The countryside was varied and beautiful.

The two women were together because it was time, after spending a very eventful five weeks as the sex-slave of Mistresses Stephanie and Sarah, for Annie to decide whether to spend the rest of her life in servitude. It was Monday, 13 March, and she had until Sunday, 19 March to make up her mind. It was longer than usual because it had been delayed, and in the last weeks of her trial period she'd become, in effect, a national heroine to the members of the Organisation. Two further days had been added at the very last minute, as an extra and unsolicited reward. Having been kidnapped from under the noses of security operatives and influential members, she'd turned the tables in such a way as to bring home not only herself, but also her abductor's vast fortune in money, property and slaves. It didn't alter her status, but it did mean that her five days of freedom would be spent in a luxury holiday cottage, with a pleasure slave and a general-purpose slave to serve her needs. She'd asked for a black woman for the former role, and been provided with Monday- whose name had just been changed from 'Pulchra'- who'd been lent by a free admirer of her exploits. Now they were on their way. Annie didn't really want her period of freedom; she wanted to settle down to her life as Stephanie and Sarah's pleasure slave. She'd discovered in herself a masochistic streak that made sex unimaginably wonderful immediately after a whipping, and her back almost itched to feel the scourge of Whipmistress Sadie's lash. One look at Monday had , however, reconciled her to the break. Although she'd wanted a black woman- the choice was itself a rare privilege- she hadn't thought for a moment that they'd come up with someone so utterly bewitching.

They drove through Bala without stopping. Annie was talking to Monday about her master, but she seemed evasive. Not having much experience of other slave-owning households, Annie would have liked her to be more forthcoming. She didn't even learn his name. They could have broken their journey for lunch in a restaurant, but they had a box of sandwiches that had been given to Monday with the car, so they carried on through the grandeur and space of the landscape to the west. A few minutes later, a sign led them to a picnic centre by a small lake; a magical but deserted place with mountains looking all around. It was ideal for them, for they found they could drive between a dense thicket and the lakeshore to a very small bay that was well hidden from the rest of the car park. Most users probably never suspected its existence. As soon as Monday switched off the engine, Annie told her to get out, and quickly finding one of the lengths of Smartrope, bound her wrists behind her back. She explained what it was, for her master had not yet discovered it. It was simply wound round the limbs that were to be secured; knots were an optional extra. When touched by a uniquely coded 'wand', the fibres went rigid. They were also extremely tough, so a slave in Smartrope was as secure as if in irons, but there was no lock to be interfered with, or to dig into the flesh when he or she was lying on it. Then they sat in the back of the car, where the windows were tinted enough to give them some protection against adventurous picnickers.

Annie knew that she didn't have to be subtle. Monday needed her at least as much as she needed Monday, and the latter was infinitely more experienced. Nevertheless, approaching a complete stranger for sex, in broad daylight and when completely sober, or being approached by one, was best done with consideration and gentleness. She stroked Monday's cheek, and the big lips turned slightly to make contact with her hand. 'You are so, so lovely', Annie murmured. 'Probably the loveliest woman I've ever been this close to. I hope my mistresses aren't listening.'

'Monday smiled. 'They aren't, and thank you. I was bred for beauty, so there's no point in me trying to be modest about it. I'm yours to enjoy, for the next few days.'

Annie badly wanted to follow up on 'bred for beauty', but the desire to enjoy her was more urgent, and she kissed her lightly on the lips. As she expected, they felt warm and soft, and feeling them open slightly, she was emboldened to press harder, and in seconds they were embroiled in a passionate French kiss. That hadn't been Annie's purpose, but she'd been intending to use her fingers to trace the shape of Monday's breasts through her top. It was a very loose blouse, and when she was driving the folds had concealed her shape. It was also made of a material dense enough for an early spring morning in the mountains of mid-Wales. Fortunately it buttoned down the front, and Annie broke off the kiss, leant away, and started undoing it. There was no bra, so very soon she had the two dark mounds in her hands. They were medium sized and looked and felt entirely natural, with broad bases and a rounded profile. The areolae were virtually black, as were the nipples, which were very firm, round and flat-topped, and unpierced. They were obviously engorged, and Annie heard a sharp intake of breath as her fingertips brushed over them. There was a louder hiss as she took one between her forefinger and thumb, and squeezed gently. Then she grasped the left breast with her right hand, hooked her left round the back of Monday's neck, and pulled her in to resume the kiss.

The back seat of the small car was not ideal for two grown women, and Annie hadn't been an adventurous teenager. She was able to get her hand up Monday's skirt easily enough, rip off her panties, and find her front opening with her questing fingers. She didn't try to probe deeply, but concentrated on the clitoral area until the first orgasm seemed close, when she pressed quite hard on the bud itself. The black girl shook and jerked, thrusting her head forward, making Annie grateful for the cushion provided by the fulness of her lips. She was twisting her torso, struggling against the bonds that held her wrists. Presumably that was an entirely reflex action; she must have been well used to cumming in bondage. Annie carried on playing her like a piano with a single key until she was whimpering and gasping, widening her mouth to make room to take in more air. Then came the question of how, without her hands, she was going to do her own duty. Annie first opened her own top to have her breasts suckled; she was carrying a good half-load of milk by this time, and she made Monday drain it all. The latter seemed to enjoy doing it; as an experienced pleasure slave she'd certainly encountered lactating females before. Then, however, it got a little more awkward. Annie pulled her skirt right up to expose her sex, for she wasn't wearing any underwear. She reclined across the seat, putting her left leg on the floor and lifting the other onto the parcel shelf. Monday took to the idea immediately and bent down to reach her, and Annie helped by using both hands to hold her head in the right place, raising her bottom as much as she could to give her a better angle. She responded quickly to the lapping tongue, and Monday used the weight of her head to press down quite hard with her lips on the area around the clitoris. Neither wanted to spin it out unnecessarily; the position was awkward, and if there had been any passers-by, the foot jammed against the rear window would have told them that more than heavy petting was going on. Annie was trying to keep an eye open for inquisitive children, but she couldn't turn her head enough to give her an all-round view. In the end she just closed her eyes and concentrated, and a short time later she started her first climax. She used her hands in Monday's hair to pull her harder against her, but relented a little when she heard an agonised squeak. She waited long enough for a second orgasm, and then scrambled up to sit on the seat, kissing Monday, tasting her own pussy juice on her lips and in her mouth.

They didn't talk much at first. Annie left Monday's hands behind her back and opened the sandwiches. The box was actually a little hamper with some basic melamine crockery and cutlery, so Anne was able to cut one into small pieces to feed to her companion. There were also some fruit juices and bottles of water, with a straw thoughtfully included. They ate with gusto, finishing all the sandwiches and the yoghourts and slices of fruit cake that were provided for dessert. Their conversation became more animated and personal, with a certain amount of shy giggling about their sexual preferences. Like Annie, Monday was fully bisexual. She liked to do it outdoors, and with males was regarded as a leading anal expert. She didn't volunteer anything about women, so Annie prompted her. 'Surely, you're an oral specialist? You've got lips to die for, and even after so short an acquaintance I know that you're brilliant with them.'

'I didn't want to fish for compliments, Miss Annie.'

Over coffee, she talked more about her origins. In a remote valley in Mauretania, a family with a large estate had been breeding slaves for generations, selecting for beauty and selling off as infants the ones that failed to show promise. They kept males to cover their brood-mares, but sold only girls. They were supplied as virgins, at extremely high prices, to the richest aristocrats, chiefs and civil servants in neighbouring countries. Once deflowered, they were often sold on to brothels, or to become sex-slaves to Arab princes and merchants.

It wasn't the worst fate for a slavegirl, especially in that part of the world, but recently a great change had come over the trade. Some of the wealthy first buyers were acquiring the girls in the hope that deflowering them would cure their AIDS. The medicinal properties of virgins were a myth that no attempts by doctors or missionaries had been able to eradicate. Afterwards, probably infected, the girls were worthless as sex-slaves, but there was a market for them as human sacrifices or actresses in snuff movies. Wealthy westerners were sometimes invited to watch them dying an agonising death; crucified, burnt or roasted, or impaled. Annie had already heard of another slave who'd been rescued from such a fate, though her origins had been different.

The girls were usually sold at sixteen years of age. Monday was fortunate that when she was fifteen, the construction of a new road had brought the family's remote valley within reach of civilisation. Local farmers soon started selling cash crops to South African exporters, and in a few cases directly to supermarket chains in Europe. A few sent their sons to get experience or education abroad, and rumours of the slave ranch began to spread. Suspicion soon became certainty, and the national government, eager demonstrate a willingness to enforce the remarkably recent ban on slavery, quietly authorised a raid by a French mercenary unit, privately organised by a 'charity' formed for the purpose of stamping out the trade in virgins and human sacrifices. It was completely successful; many members of the extended family died, and the remainder were carried off to Europe. The stock of slaves, including the girl who would later be named Monday, were loaded into transport aircraft, and never seen again.

The 'charity' was never heard of again, either. It's stated aims had been genuine, but the quite natural assumption that it would free the rescued slaves was quite unfounded. They were acquired by a shadowy group known as 'The Archipelago', that maintained a 'library' of slaves for leasing to its trusted members. It didn't deal in children, but farmed them out to foster parents until they were well above the age of consent for that territory. Monday had been lucky enough to be placed in England, near Norfolk, where she'd spent two happy years making up for lost time. A highly intelligent girl, she'd acquired almost native fluency in English in six months, and would have been ready for her 'A' levels by the age of nineteen. Just before that, however, her existing master had 'spotted' her, and as her owners were operating in the UK without the consent of the Organisation, he was able to make them an offer they couldn't refuse. The eighteen year-old beauty became the slave of Richard and Mary Beachcliffe-Mandleholme. According to Organisation regulations she was too young to be enslaved, but as she was already a slave, that rule didn't apply. Nor was she inclined to complain. She knew, now, what had been in store for her in Africa. Instead of that, she had owners who treated her well, and gave her all the care, training and treatments that she needed to become one of the finest pleasure slaves known to the Organisation. She was now twenty-three, and completely loyal to her master and mistress. They rarely lent her to strangers except at Organisation functions, but they were travelling abroad for a few days, and thought Annie deserved any help they could give her.

After coffee, both women needed to pee, and the picnic centre didn't boast any public conveniences. Annie adjusted her dress and walked round to the main car park, and found nobody there, so she came back and pulled Monday from the car without undoing her hands. Both women then squatted by the shrubs that isolated their little bay, and Annie cleaned them both with a bottle. They then had to scurry back as three very noisy vehicles- two pick-up truck and an old Mondeo- swept into the picnic centre, ghetto-blasters playing loudly. The local youths had arrived to make the place their own. Keeping as cool a head as she could, Annie used the wand to undo the Smartrope, and smoothed their clothes down to cover their bodies. The youths were too astonished to react when the Mini emerged from its hiding place, and Monday drove it quickly onto the road to resume their journey.