Jonathan's days with Matilda ended all too soon. He revelled in her company and would happily have kept her indefinitely, for he felt very apprehensive about what lay ahead. On the journey back to Mr. George's establishment, in the motorhome once again, they made love almost continuously on the fixed bed, arriving tired and dripping with sweat, blinking in the bright lights of the garage-cavern. Matilda, still naked, hands behind her back and his semen oozing down the inside of her legs, led him straight to the suite that he had visited before, using a different corridor that avoided the pleasure salons. 'You'll be staying with us until tomorrow', she told him. You'll have visitors this evening, and you'll be attended by the black slave that you liked. I've enjoyed the last few days more than I expected, master.'

At the door to the suite she hesitated, and he grasped her by the shoulders to give her a long, tender kiss. 'I hope this isn't a final goodbye', he said, and she smiled with a non-committal nod before she turned and walked away. He tore his attention away from her swaying bottom and opened the door, finding his favourite (and only) bathroom attendant waiting for him, no longer chained in her place of work. Instead she was kneeling in the centre of the chamber, naked and with her arms in a pointed binder, forcing her elbows close together and her huge breasts forward, their almost jet-black nipples aimed straight at him, surrounded by four-inch areolae. She was keeping her head lowered respectfully, but he immediately pulled her to her feet, and she was smiling broadly. 'It's wonderful to have the chance to serve you, master', she said. 'Please don't hesitate to use me in any way that you desire.'

'Don't worry, I won't', he replied, and he kissed her lightly on her generous lips. 'I need an hour to recover from the rigours of my journey. Then I'll desire you.'

She pouted. 'An hour, master? Did Matilda make you run all the way here?'

'Is that what they call it now?'

She giggled, her bosom bouncing. 'You need to come to bed and rest, master, and I will provide the pillows. You will wake up a new man, master.'

'I should have a shower first. Is there a new bathroom attendant?'

'Yes, master, but if I may advise, master; it would be better to leave it until after dinner.

'OK. What's your name?'

'At the moment, it's Chesty, master. Mr. George saw the film the other day, and he's a fan of Ms. Morgan's. He wants to start a campaign to get her a 'lifetime achievement' Oscar.'

'He'd better hurry up. She must be nearly ninety.'

As he intended, Jonathan had a good long sleep before dinner. At the cost of remaining awake herself, Chesty was able to keep his head on one of her breasts despite her armbinder, and the soft warmth of her flesh, and the sound and feel of her breathing, was remarkably soothing. When he woke up he made love to her immediately, lying in the missionary position. To give it a single name, however, understated the possible variations, for it was very different to doing it with Matilda. Chesty's greater bulk and padding meant that he was, in effect, wallowing in the cradle of her flesh. When she came, storms raged in her breasts, the skin rippling and creasing, and he found the effect more erotic than, perhaps, it would have sounded had it been described to him. Matilda was undoubtedly more skilled in the traditional techniques described in the sex manuals, but Chesty was able, somehow, to turn her whole body into a lake of eroticism in which her users could immerse themselves. That she could do it with her arms in tight, restrictive bondage was further testimony to her expertise, and Jonathan began to doubt whether she was, as she was presented, an ordinary bathroom slave. When he fed her at dinner, from a trolley of assorted roasts and all the accompaniments, she showed a lively intelligence and a comprehensive knowledge of current affairs. He was intrigued by her interest in politics. 'Do you and all the slaves here vote?' he asked her.

'Of course, master. We all get postal ballots. Obviously, Massa George fills them in for us. He has about a hundred votes, but I'm working on ways to get him more. It would be a great help to the brothel if he could choose the local MP. He's hoping to elect one of his employees as the next Police Commissioner. Hardly anybody votes, so a small bloc of guaranteed postal ballots can make a big difference.'

'Only a hundred, though? I can't see that being decisive.'

'It's important to get them counted by the public opinion polls, to skew the result. That should demoralize the opposition; make them think that the election isn't worth spending money on. I'm working on that.'

'Between cleaning cocks? You aren't really a bathroom slave, are you?'

'Of course I am, master. But I, and Mr. George, choose the cocks.'

After a leisurely dinner they sat together on one of the suite's two sofas, drinking coffee and port. She seemed quite used to drinking through straws. He amused himself by fetching a pot of moisturizer from the bathroom, and started rubbing it into her breasts. To him it was foreplay and he intended to spend the evening in bed with her. His ideal scenario was to have both her and Matilda bound on the four-poster, but he baulked at taking the risk of asking for something that would be seen as unreasonable, or impossible. In the event he had to wait even for Chesty. Mr. George came visiting, with only a mouth-slave for company. He settled on the other sofa with his own coffee and port, and she went to work immediately, while her master exchanged a few pleasantries before getting down to business.

'I hope you'll forgive us for keeping an eye on you, young man', he began. 'One thing I want to make absolutely clear. Tomorrow, you are at liberty to take away your slave, according to our agreement, and enjoy her in privacy, with only a few visits from Doctor Littlejohn and one or two other members of my staff. I expect you to treat her strictly, remembering the seriousness of the offence. A reasonable guideline, I think, would be a thousand lashes over the course of two years, in addition to the punishments that you need to give her. I sincerely hope that you'll be happy with her. I do think, however, that you'll run out of ideas eventually. I'm not sure that I could spend years in the company of just one person, and I'm not convinced that you'll get the best out of her that way.'

He paused to sip his port, and to adjust his position in relation to his kneeling slave. 'Do you have an alternative to suggest, Mr. George?' asked Jonathan.

'To be open to offers, young man. You seem, if you'll forgive me for saying so, very catholic in your tastes. It didn't bother you that Matilda is old enough to be your mother, or that Chesty is half as large again. The girl we're giving you is remarkably normal, in comparison. Now what do you think, young man, they all have in common?'

'They are all slaves, Mr. George, and in bondage. And lots and lots of sex.'

'Good. For a mad moment I thought you might say you'd been discussing Greek philosophy with them. From time to time we have people who need sex and bondage, but who don't really belong here in the brothel. I get requests to help with slaves who need to be kennelled while their owners are abroad or unwell. Not all of them are working pleasure slaves; some are much older but still have physical needs. Then there's the "submaster" market: free persons who want or need to be treated as slaves for agreed periods. That needs to be done discreetly, and nobody knows about you and your little estate. Occasionally someone needs to hide a slave for a while, and the same applies then. You are still under the radar, and we can keep you that way. Are you interested in any or all of the above? I know you don't need the money, but there are other favours we can do for you. The very latest medical advances are available only to a narrow circle. That can include you. We can also make the very best whore-slaves available to you on loan, so you won't have to visit the brothel to use them.'

He stopped and looked expectantly at Jonathan, who had the distinct impression that he was being made an offer that he couldn't refuse. He had no desire to refuse it, for he had realised that a life with one sex-slave, although the stuff of his most fevered adolescent dreams, might prove unsatisfactory in the long term. He just nodded, and the meeting ended there. An hour later he was in bed with both Matilda and Chesty, both having their hands locked loosely in front so he could lie passive and let them have their way with him and one another. It was a night that he would always remember, and it was never repeated.