Chapter 1

 

Slavery! Just saying the word sent a thrill through my loins. And here, in the gay magazine was the Ad.: 'Slave wanted-phone ...' Nothing else. Unlike similar ads which described the 'slave' required-and the 'master' to be served. No. This one was simplicity itself-and immediately stirred something deep within me. I reached for the phone, then pulled back. Did I dare

All my life, since the first vague conjuring of erotic thoughts had stirred my imagination, I had had visions of 'Slaves'. Slaves being sold-naked on the block. Slaves being inspected-fingered by buyers interested as much in playing with their genitals as with appraising their bodies. Slaves being worked till they were exhausted. Slaves being punished. Slaves being tortured-in all manner of unspeakable ways.

I Read avidly of Egyptian slaves. Greek slaves. Roman slaves. Negro slaves. Any sort of slaves. But most particularly, of slaves who were used as sexual objects; playthings of their owners; tortured perhaps, simply for the pleasure their pain and suffering gave their masters-and mistresses.

I read of slaves made to perform all manner of strange and erotic tasks; loaded with weights and other impediments to add to their misery and the pleasure that misery gave to their owners.

And then I began to think of myself as a slave. Under the same conditions. My jerk-off sessions became charged with imaginings of myself on the slave block, under torture (although I could not really imagine what the pain would be like) and being used for the sexual pleasure of others.

Again I reached over for the phone, this time dialling the number. "Yes?" A very deep, almost sepulchral voice answered. "I'm ringing in response to the ad in..."

"One moment," his slow, almost tremulous voice bespoke great age, and I wondered what sort of household I was connected to.

"Can I help you?" This time the voice was younger, boyish, I would say, but still deep. This time I was definitely turned on by it.

"I'm ringing about your ad..."

"Ah, yes. Well we won't discus it over the phone." I was pleased about that. Who knew, these days who had phone taps and who didn't. "Would you care to come over to discuss the matter? Where are you ringing from?"

"Well, perhaps... I live on the Gold Coast. Where are you?"

"We're not far away at all. I could send a car for you?"

"Oh... I'm not sure..."

"Don't worry. You will be quite safe. This is just for a preliminary discussion. We'll have you returned in the car straight afterwards."

"Oh well. Yes. Er, when?"

"When is suitable?

"Anytime... Now, if you like." Might as well get on with it, I thought.

"Certainly. The car will be there... What is your address?" I told him, hoping I was doing the right thing. "Good, well the car should be there in half an hour. Dress simply... And no underwear!" He hung up. Already I had a raging hard-on. No underwear?

I undressed, removing my jockettes and singlet and put on a pair of old jeans, a white T shirt and a pair of old sneakers without socks. That was surely simple enough? It ought to be-only four items of clothing all up.

The car duly turned up and I gaped as I watched out the window. It was a big, black limousine, chauffeured by a personable young man in immaculate uniform, peak cap and all. "You are ready, sir?" His boyish, tanned face creased into a smile but his sparkling blue eyes looked at me speculatively.

"Sure," I said, locking the door of my bed sitter. He held open the rear door of the limo. "Could I not sit up front, with you... er, what's your name?"

"Gary. Yes... If you like." I did like. He was very handsome and he might tell me something of the owner of the voice... What I might expect.

Handsome he certainly was but not a word about his employer or even our destination, could I get out of him. He was friendly-and talkative and we chatted on about all manner of things-except what interested me most.

It took only a half hour to reach the estate-for it was certainly more than simply a house. We drove towards the hinterland of the Gold Coast, up into the hills, along roads completely unknown to me. Main roads, then lesser but still sealed roads then back roads then onto a real byway, through gates in a wire fence, along another track through a densely wooded forest, then through heavy, wrought iron gates (which opened as we approached, and closed after us) in a high, brick wall, up an immaculately cared for front drive amid green lawns and dense shrubbery to the house.

Two storied, dark, reddish-brown bricks with steep, shingle roof and leaded windows. A most imposing house. Gary let me off at the front door: "Just knock, they're expecting you." Then he drove the car around to the back of the house.

I knocked and waited. It seemed like ages. My knees were shaking and a hard knot had formed in my stomach. I think if I could, I would have turned and run, there and then. But where to? We were miles from anywhere. I hadn't seen another house for at least two; and the house was a good half mile from the road.

The great door creaked open and I was greeted by a tall, if bent, cadaverous old man: "Mr Jones? You are expected. Come in." This must have been the man who answered the phone. His sparse, white hair fell over his gaunt, bony face as he looked inscrutably at me. "Follow me," he said, showing me through the tiled, wood-panelled hall around whose walls stood heavy, polished furniture and even a couple of suits of armour. I looked up for the expected banners, emblazoned with family arms and was not disappointed. "In here, sir." He had opened the door of a room next to the front door and I entered a small study, or so I assumed from the desk and leather chairs and the books filling bookcases around the walls. "Wait here. Someone will be along presently."

I didn't know whether to sit or stand so I strolled around the bookcases examining the titles. Mostly very old, leather bound and ranging from Shakespeare to tomes on the occult. Nothing frivolous. Yet, I didn't feel oppressed at all by the house or this room. Not even by 'Jeeves', although I am sure he would have liked me to be.

"You are Paul Jones?" I turned at the voice, recognizing the boyish tones of the second of my two communicants of this morning. But there was nothing boyish about this man. Young? Yes. I should say early twenties, but this was certainly a man. Well over six feet, broad shouldered and, from what I could see through his neat, stylish suit, very well built.

And he was handsome. Blond. Crew cut. Brilliant blue eyes-lighter though than Gary's. Fair, even skin; lightly tanned. He smiled at me. "Sit down. Let's get acquainted." I thought, if this was my prospective master, I wouldn't be doing too badly. But that thought was soon dashed. "I am Karl, the count's secretary." He put out his hand and squeezed mine in a bone crushing grip. God, was he strong! "The count will see you shortly... if I am satisfied you are genuine... Are you?"

"I believe so. I have never approached anyone like this before. But I do have a real taste for slavery-I think I have anyway."

"Tell me something of your fantasies?" I told him of my boyhood thoughts. How they developed. Of my nightly dreams-and the nocturnal emissions they engendered. Of my jerk-off sessions, now practised at least once, sometimes four times a day. "How old are you, Paul?"

"Eighteen."

"Family? Friends? Job?"

"I have left home. Don't see my family-and they're not interested in me anyway. No real friends here, yet-a few acquaintances. And no job. still looking."

"Strip off!" He said it so abruptly I sat for a moment, stunned. But when he said it again, with a little menace in his voice this time, I did. And quickly. It took no time for me to pull off the sneakers, T-shirt and jeans and I stood naked before him.

Until then, I had been nervous; awkward; and even recounting my fantasies had not stirred my cock. But now. Now that I had actually been ordered to strip myself naked, as he looked on, it awakened, quickly rising to stand erect from my groin.

He didn't touch me, but stood up himself and walked around me assessing my body for his master. "Yes. I think you might do. Wait here." I stooped down, reaching for my clothes, ready to put them back on. "No. Leave them. In fact, give them to me." He took them and left the room.

Now I was a little worried. I was naked and my clothes had been taken away. But my boner stayed. Firmly erect.

The door opened. Oh, horror. A woman entered. Dressed in a crinkling black dress which covered her severely from neck to ankles. Her hair was black and pulled tightly back into a bun behind her head. Her eyes were black and looked me up and down critically.

Everything about her was black-except her skin which was white-a milky, almost translucent white. In stark contrast to her clothes.

She was old-or at least middle aged-in her fifties I imagined. I covered my genitals with my hands. "You needn't bother doing that, my lad. If you are coming here, I will be having a lot to do with those parts of you." I cringed in embarrassment. "Stand up, boy! And take your hands away from there. Put them on your head!" I grudgingly complied as she sat in a chair. "Come here! Stand there, where I can see you. Good. Now let me look at you." Then began the most embarrassing examination of my life. She isn't a doctor. I found out later she is the count's housekeeper, but she knows a little about the body, and the count likes to shame his slaves by having them examined by a female.