A Slave's StorybyRonClarkeson©
This is the first chapter of an almost complete, full-length novel about star-crossed lovers. There are two streams to the story, this one is aimed at female readers the other, entitled Master, is aimed at male readers. Therefore Females should read the Slave chapter #n before reading the Master chapter #n. The story is of the interaction of the main characters as they travel the bumpy road of experience that is life.
It is intended to get readers of both sex's able to identify (get their juices flowing) with the main character (of their sex) while understanding what the other character is doing.
All characters are drawn from real life; names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Be warned the female character has a hidden agenda right to the last chapter!
Also be warned the lovers are very sexually adventurous and this story has them experiencing activities that are injurious to health if practiced in real life.
The ultimate and safe sex is to read about it!
Where in your body is your highest erogenous zone? Answer between your ears.
I hope you like the humor buried here, so read on and enjoy James and Jessica's story.
Slave by Accident
Hello dear reader my name is Jessica and this is the beginning of my story of Masters and Slaves, of Bondage and more much more. I hope you like it.
It all began with an accidental death. A client of a well-known Dominatrix died of heart failure while serving her. She did all she could to save him. Called for help and did CPR very expertly. The client was pronounced DOA when he got to the Emergency Room. Of course, the cops arrested her and her dungeon became a crime scene. She did not have a Lawyer so one was appointed and the firm I work for as a very raw junior was appointed. None of the partners wanted the job, so as the token female lawyer in the practice she fell into my lap, I was given some advice from the senior partners.
"Do not make waves, do your best, but let it all go down, she does not have a hope. It's open and shut." Said the stern senior partner.
I went to the Watch House facility where she was being held and was given the details of the charge sheet. Murder in the second degree! The senior detective in charge who I knew only by reputation took pity on me and agreed to let me see the crime scene photos, before I saw my client. I soon realized he was trying to intimidate me, as well has have a laugh at my expense.
He showed me photo after photo. Whips, a riding crop and a school cane. Ropes, pulleys and pieces of wood with steel rings attached. The panoramic shots of the inside of the dungeon with all sorts of instruments of torture. Wooden structures, one like a cross, padded benches and rings attached to the floor, walls and ceiling.
He grinned as he showed me the pictures of the deceased, lay upon the stone floor as the ambulance men worked on him. The police had arrived before the Ambulance. The dungeon was just across the road and round the corner from the local red light district police sub-station. A patrolling office had been the one to respond to the woman's call for help. He had thought the man dead from the instant he saw him.
The photos were not pretty. There was a wooden bar quite thick and quite long, which spread his legs wide. With cuffs around his ankles. His entire arms were in a strange leather glove like thing that bound them behind him. There was a rope around his chest that had obviously been tight. And it hung limply from a ring in the ceiling. And went round a two-stage pulley system back to the wall.
There were angry red welts over most of the mans body and worst of all there was a purple thing sticking out of the mans bottom. This last photo was very poor quality. The detective told her the attending officer had taken it with his cell phone as he called for the ambulance. There were others he had taken of the scantily clad accused giving CPR. A very sordid case, made worse when his identity was revealed, a minor politician from a regional city here in the state capital for a representatives meeting. I could just about recognize his face when I obscured the state of his body and just looked at the face. It seemed to be in rapture. A smile, not a grimace of pain.
The policeman told me I would get copies as soon as the prosecution could reproduce them. He handed me the last photo of the sheaf a full length shot of the accused. The woman was dressed if you could call it that in what could just be referred to as shiny red leather underwear, but most of her breasts were exposed as was her pubic mound de-nuded of hair. She had shiny red thigh boots on with ridiculously high heels.
The detective handed me a final sheet. This was a list of places where they expected to find the deceased's DNA. It was a long list. He banged home the final nail. The woman's desk diary showed the man had been there for just over two hours of a three-hour appointment. I was very hot when I left the interview room and was escorted to the cell interview room. The woman was in an orange shift that did not fit well and she had bare feet. Her first words are imprinted on my mind.
"He had just ejaculated and he went puce. I knew what had happened. I had him down on the floor, called for help and was giving him CPR in seconds, now they say I murdered him. You can get me off this can't you?"
So began my descent into darkness, a world I knew nothing about. A sordid world of prostitutes, Sadists and Masochists, of dungeons and torture. I took a copy of the statement she had already given the police and went through it with her. I asked her to tell me what had happened again beginning with when she had first had the man as a client, and how many times he visited. I took notes in a shaky hand. At last I could go.
"Annie it does not look good. I will do my best, we will have to wait for the autopsy report. I will contact this person you mention who he had visited in his hometown. She may be a good defense witness, that is, if she would be willing to appear. I will do my best."
I struggled not to run from the room, I was moving very quickly when I gained the street. I do not normally visit a bar at 11:30 am, but that day I did.
I was still shaking when I reported back to chambers. The senior partner had me read him my notes and I am sure I saw him grinning like a Cheshire cat as I described some of the photos.
"Thought so, she does not stand a chance." He had a smile on his face. "Now remember what I said about not rocking the boat. A quick plea of guilty will be in the client's best interest."
I was dismissed.
I had two terrible photos. One of that purple thing sticking from his behind and one of his smiling face. Then I noticed my first bit of good news in this terrible case. The pictures had a time stamp on them. The photo of the face was before the 911 call had been recorded by two minutes. The photo of the purple thing was some 17 minutes after the ambulance arrived! An interval of 29 minutes. What had the police officer done before calling the ambulance?
Then having had to confront the demons those photo's represented I saw the second glimmer of good news. There was not a trace of a tear on the mans face. No sweat marks. Remove the background and the lifeless eyes and he could just be a happy chappy. I made a call to the coroner's office and made an urgent appointment. My deceased was next for the knife. I rang a friend and found the name of a private forensic pathologist. The good doctor a female was expensive but as Annie had told me she did not care what the cost, I got her to attend. I gave her very specific instructions.
The hour and a half at the autopsy gave me nightmares for the four weeks before I met James. I had others to replace them after I met him!
Next day at the office, I began a quest for a defense. I contacted the other Dominatrix by phone, she agreed to meet me, but she was in hiding until the dust died down. She gave me valuable information about the equipment and the name of a magazine where she thought Annie had purchased hers, through a contact listed there. I had gone to a local adult bookstore. Buying that magazine had turned my knees to jelly. The things that were on show were shocking. I had frantically tried to look elsewhere when buying it, I had seen a filthy magazine showing a naked woman with her arms restrained by a similar glove as that the victim had been found in. I added it to my purchase.
The seedy man at the counter said, "I have had a run on that mag I've only those two left." He told me, "enjoy, enjoy!"
I was scarlet as I hurried out into the fresh air. I was carrying a brown paper wrapper. I hurried back to the office locked myself in the toilet and read through the contact magazine and there it was an advert exactly as the woman had said. A Slave master who supplied bondage equipment. I thrust the filthy thing back in its plain brown wrapper and returned to my desk in the Junior Lawyers pen.
I stowed the filthy things in my briefcase. I told the receptionist that I would work from home as it was too noisy in the office and left. I had been indoors seconds when I had a call from the senior partner.
"Good Idea working from home, don't want to upset the troops. Take as long as you need. Tell me as soon as you have a hearing date. I will give you some time then to review the case. Have you got her to make a plea yet?"
I told him, "She is protesting innocence very loudly."
"Do your best then Jessica, I will leave it all up to you."
The phone line went dead before I had chance to reply.
I took the contact magazine from its wrapper careful not to look at the other one. Turned to the instruction page for replies and filled in the silly pro-forma.
Name, contact details, the details of advert number being contacted. A slip of paper less than four inches square. Little did I know where that piece of paper would lead me. I posted my reply.
I spent quite a time on the internet looking up precedents. I seems manslaughter was the harshest penalty handed down to prostitutes who had been unfortunate to have a client die on them. Longest sentence I found was 5 years, the shortest was two. Annie looked likely to go down. I printed a few examples to take in to her when I next saw her. A guilty plea to manslaughter would be a good bargaining point. I delayed looking at the other magazine. I had picked up the brown wrapper and then put it down again. all afternoon. I had had dinner with it on the table beside me as I ate a sparse meal. I found myself taking it with me as I made myself a late night drink of Chocolate and it sat on the kitchen table. It sat like a time bomb on the coffee table in front of the TV.
The mans death had been headlines yesterday, today it was reduced to a filler. The brown paper thing kept attracting my eye.
I had taken the filthy thing upstairs and thrown it across the bed as I prepared to sleep. I knew it was laying there on the floor beside the bed. I re-set the alarm, no need to get up early while working from home. I turned off the light and prepared for a sleep that refused to come. I really tried to sleep. I tossed and turned for ages. The red numbers of the bedside clock flickered ever onward as time marched past, I found myself looking at those numbers again and when I realized that less than two minutes had passed since I had last looked I gave up turned the light on and sat up.
I shuffled across the bed and lent over the side. The magazine had slid out of its wrapper and fallen open. The lurid picture that confronted me made me moan in shock. It took me all my strength to reach down and pick the filthy thing up.
I took a gulp of air and began turning the pages. I looked at the clock again and saw that I had been turning pages back and forth for almost a hour before I threw the thing away in disgust. Turned the light off and thumped the pillows and sought sleep once again. As I turned on my side, I felt a damp patch and realized my nightgown was wet! Dear God what was happening to me. I turned the light back on threw back the covers and saw a damp patch where I had been propped up looking at that damn thing. I drew my nightgown over my head and threw it away found a clean one then replaced the soiled sheet. I then realized that I was still very wet between my legs and retired to the bathroom. I sponged myself down and returned to my freshly made bed.
Eventually I slept.
I woke in a lather of sweat and I realized my fingers were busy at my crotch. I was wet again so was my nightie and so was the bottom sheet. I tore the nightie off and moved over the bed. I wrapped the top sheet between my legs and sought sleep again. I looked at the red numbers again scarcely two hours had passed. It was a long night. I woke twice more disgusted with the state I woke in. The bed reeked of sex. I had leaked everywhere. Even the pillow was wet. From tears or drool, I wondered.
I rose well before my normal time and had a cool shower and began work. I had kicked that damn magazine beneath the bed. 'Out of sight out of mind,' I told myself. There was no news from the pathologist, they were busy! I stewed all morning.
I had to stay focused, but then when I was looking through my briefcase I saw the contact magazine. The phone interrupted me four hours later. I had read and re-read every advert. I had made copious notes yet understood not a thing about what I had read. There were all sorts of code words and mnemonics used that I could only guess at. The small thumbnail pictures that accompanied some of the adverts were pathetic or lurid or just plain disturbing. I cooked a lonely meal and sat before the TV all evening, I was dreading going to bed.
It was late when I eventually climbed the stairs. I got in bed and again watched the red numbers count the passing seconds. I do not remember groping under the bed for that filthy magazine, but here I was at 3:30 still turning the pages. The sheet was wet again. I turned off the light and sleep took me. I woke several times with my hands in my groin. I was constantly wet. I was disgusted. I got up early again. Took the magazine down stairs picked up the contact magazine and threw them both in the rubbish bin.
I worked hard all day.
I went out and had a nice meal with a girlfriend. I did not talk about the case. I returned home slightly the worse for ware, and went to bed. An hour later, I was rummaging through the rubbish bin retrieving those damn magazines.
I was soon masturbating furiously. I had a massive orgasm. Threw the magazines to the floor and slept, indeed I was surprised when the alarm went off.
I worked on the case getting more internet data. I rang the pathologist no news. I ate, watched TV and went to bed. I masturbated looking at the pictures. The ones of the woman on the cover were the one's I looked at most. I slept reasonably well.
This seemed to establish a pattern. I worked at the case all day. I watched some TV in the evenings. I masturbated every night and dreamt lurid dreams. The autopsy report came in and it looked like I just might have a defense. The body was released and a televised funeral took place. Annie would not consider a guilty plea to manslaughter. She told me she had got her equipment from interstate but she did know of the man in the contact magazine, she gave me his name and address. I employed a private detective and within three days had a report on the bondage supplier.
The days then weeks passed. I was still masturbating every night before I tried to sleep. I looked at those pictures quite often and soon the magazine was with me where ever I was, open on the table or hidden in my briefcase, if I had to go out.
It was three weeks since I had posted that 4 inch square of paper, and on the Thursday evening, the phone rang. A mans voice spoke.
"Is that Jessica? You sent a reply to an advert I have in the contact magazine." The voice sounded quite normal, soft and well spoken.
"Yes, yes I did, could we meet I need to ask you some rather detailed questions." I felt foolishly self-conscious. But took down the details of a wine bar and agreed to meet the next afternoon after working hours. The voice told me how he could be recognized. I put the phone down in a blue funk.
I was too agitated to eat and went to bed early. I masturbated furiously, had two gigantic orgasms and slept with even more lurid dreams.
Friday and I was in a state all day. I could not achieve any real results, no matter what I tried to put my mind to.
I dressed very formally, as if I was due in court and caught a cab to the wine bar. There was a coffee shop across the road from the wine bar. I found a window seat and ordered a flat white. I studied the men going in to the wine bar. He was early. 'Tall, just a bit taller than me,' I thought. I did not get a good look at his face, but got the impression that he was older than I had expected. There seemed to be a touch of grey at his temple. He was casually dressed and the sweater he had described was very distinctive. I drank my coffee and then another. I forced myself to wait another ten minutes hoping that he would give up and go away, but no he was still in there.
I used the ladies at the back of the coffee shop, I was disgusted to find a damp patch in my panties. I excused myself, 'you are going to meet this man just once so get as much as you can from him.' I returned to the window seat, then hurried out. I almost got myself run over crossing the road. What if he had left while I was in the loo?
He was still there. I dithered then composed myself and crept up behind him.
"Hello are you James. I'm Jessica." I tried to sound confident just another casual meeting after work.
"Yes that's me, can I get you a wine, Dry White?" He was studying me with smiling eyes.
"Yes please that would be nice." I sat at a stool beside his, he had obviously kept it for me despite me being so late. The bar keep served me the drink. I had not seen him ask so he had obviously been primed. This was probably his local watering hole. No money changed hands.
"I saw your advertisement quite by accident and I am both curious and somewhat disgusted that people make and sell such implements of torture." I tried to put him on the defensive. He did not respond
"Do you use them as well as sell them?" This was not going how I wanted it to, I kept my eyes away from his.
"What sort of disgusting things do you sell then?" I tried to put him in his place, a disgusting torturer. I briefly glared into his blue grey eyes. I found him rather attractive. I hastily looked away.
"I have a range of equipment." He replied, smiled then drank the rest of his wine.
"Yes, but what sort?" I took a quick glance to see him watching me intently with almost a grin on his face.
"They are all hand made. I am a skilled worker and they are of the finest quality, soft leathers, silk ropes and varnished wood." He was obviously proud of his filthy stuff.
"Yes but what sort and do you use them yourself?" I felt myself getting hot. I tried to look at him through the mirror behind the bar. He was watching me intently. That damn smile was very fetching and seemed to be permanently fixed on his rugged good looks.
"Well there are many different sorts of bondage implements, what sort are you interested in?" Damn it, again he answered my question with another. I realized I had almost finished my drink. I was getting nervous.
"I don't really know, did you see the photographs in the paper a month or so ago?" I tried to get him to say something rather than ask questions.
"Yes I saw the paper and read of the stupid woman who went too far and killed her client." He was brutally honest I began to hate him.
"Yes that paper, that woman, but your are a man so you torture women." I sensed I was getting the better of him at last.