I dropped off to sleep almost immediately, and woke up at about half-past eight with a natural erection. With no experience it was difficult to be sure, but I thought that the treatments I'd been given had multiplied my capacity by a factor of three or four. They had not multiplied my physical strength, however, and my hips were getting stiff from the constant jerking and the weight that she had put on them. I could sense, somehow, that the mistress had not slept as long, but had for some reason refrained from waking me up. She said nothing, but pushed me down to give her cunnilingus, and when she was satisfied she made no move to reciprocate, but propped me up against the bedhead, obviously wanting to talk. She gave me a sip of wine that was left over from dinner, and took a longer drink herself. 'I've been thinking', she announced.

'That's very tiring, mistress', I replied. 'I prefer to avoid it myself.'

That earned me a wry smile and a slap on the thigh. 'I have tried it before. I've made a few decisions about your future.'

I wriggled close and kissed her. 'You do me an honour by thinking about me, mistress.'

'Don't you want to know what my thoughts are?'

'Do I need to know, mistress? Whatever decisions you make, I wouldn't dream of commenting on them, mistress.'

'Sometimes, as you say, you chatter like a monkey, and sometimes it's like getting blood out of a stone. You are my slave, but you are not going to carried around like my suitcase. Some input from you will be required, acting under orders, of course.'

'I'm eager to hear anything that you have to say to me, mistress. Please go on.'

'I'm glad I have your attention. I've decided to make you my sex toy, for a period of between one and five years. Your cock will be mine exclusively. Others may use your mouth and other parts of your body, but you will penetrate no-one but me. You will continue to work for the farm shop for between three and five days per week, and you will normally spend the rest of your time here. During that time, you will be kept in strict restraints, and mostly in this suite. I may take you out occasionally, but probably not often. When you are in the shop, at your chalet, or anywhere else, certain precautions will be taken to ensure that you observe the conditions. You will have frequent opportunities to interact with other people, both free and slave, but your penis is, I repeat, exclusively mine. You will never have an orgasm that I haven't caused or authorized. If necessary, drugs can be administered that will slightly reduce your libido, but you will have to exercise control over your thoughts and urges. Are you clear so far?'

My mind was racing. What would the 'certain precautions' be? What 'interactions' would be permitted? How often would the mistress use me? Presumably there was no question of her being faithful to me, so she got the whole of me in exchange for a share of herself. I could not put all these points to her, but I disguised some of them as a general enquiry about my day-to-day living conditions. She fended me off. 'Wait and see what tomorrow brings', she told me. 'Everything will become clear during the next two or three weeks.'

Considering that I had only been a slave for four days, two or three weeks seemed a long way away, but I had to accept what she said. I was anxious to know, however, about the 'strict restraints'. I thought that I had been experiencing those all weekend. I went for a direct question. 'Have I not been restrained strictly so far, mistress?' I shook my shoulders and lifted my legs to demonstrate that I was bound hand and foot. She did not reply verbally- not immediately- but tipped me on my side, hauled my ankles up to meet my wrists and locked them together, putting me in a simple but severe hogtie. 'That's stricter', she said, and as I was now on my side, she lay down with her face an inch or two from mine. Her further comments were punctuated by kisses, and she held my balls firmly in one hand. 'If you were hanging by your bonds . . . that would be stricter still. . . . If you were gagged . . . and blindfolded . . . that would be even stricter. . . . If I was beating the soles of your feet . . . we would have almost reached "strictest". . . . However, the hogtie is not particularly severe. . . . I could borrow, for instance . . . an automatic rack, which would stretch you . . . and relax at random intervals.' She laughed, and kissed him more vigorously, and longer. 'Don't worry. I won't give you more pain than you can stand, but you can't live a life of unalloyed pleasure. You have to pay a price. It's quite difficult to fuck in a hogtie. Let's try it.'

I had no choice, since she had the remote control and could keep me hard indefinitely, but I would have appreciated her giving me longer to think about what she was saying. Perhaps it was better that she didn't, because she was not offering me options, she was making announcements. I had to try to focus on the concept of 'sex toy', which did not sound too bad, despite the fact that I had always imagined such things as being made of plastic. It seemed that I was being objectified; being turned into a tool that existed to give her pleasure. I was losing even the degree of humanity usually left for slaves. I had to turn my attention back to what the mistress was doing, however, for her lips were now sealed to mine, with her hands holding my head firmly. I responded by pushing my tongue forward, resulting in a battle for territory between our two mouths. She was, however, manoeuvring herself to get our midriffs against one another, and she was able to get my penis into her vagina. It seemed very awkward at first, especially as her hips were broader than mine and she had to lean me towards her slightly to allow it a straight path, but once I was properly seated it felt better. The notion of the 'toy' then became obvious, as with her considerable strength, she simply pushed and pulled my body back and forth like a dildo with a very big handle. She obviously found the position exciting and soon started cumming, but she did not continue until I was satisfied, if indeed that was possible at that time in those conditions. That was appropriate, for plastic dildos do not have orgasms, and I certainly had no right to expect them.

She kept me hogtied for the rest of the evening, occasionally giving me a sip of wine or a few crisps. Because of the medications I did not suffer cramp or muscle aches, but it was extremely restrictive, and I felt very vulnerable when the mistress took to running her fingernails down my chest, scratching me lightly. I was relieved to find that being objectified did not prevent her looking to me for companionship and advice, for she was very worried about the standard of the meat being offered by the butcher. Throughout, she continued to fondle my genitals, and it seemed odd to me that she never seemed to touch her own, except when having sex. She also talked about my lodge, revealing a detailed knowledge of the interior. 'I've had a few cameras set up in there', she said. 'Someone will be looking at the footage from time to time, to make sure you're being a good boy. There's a receiver and a speaker, so I'll be able to talk to you.'