I, Slave

1. The Prospect

I was almost late for my appointment but I paused -- actually, hesitated would be a more accurate word, I suppose - to recheck the address. I was sitting in my mom's car, parked in a tidy, tree-lined office park, looking up at the squat, mirrored box of a building in front of me. It was numbered 9951, just like the email had said, but I decided to check the website for "Paragon Companions" on my phone's browser, just to be extra sure. Sure enough, the address was listed as 9951 Elm Crescent Parkway, suite 333. Yup, I was at the right place. And I was three minutes late... so far.

But still, I sat in the car, gulping air and fighting back panic attacks for five more minutes. Not for the first or last time I carefully considered my plan and acknowledged that it was probably an awful idea. However, I had my goals and, as my dad said, "the reason people fail to meet their goals was because they weren't willing to do whatever it takes to achieve them". So I thought of Princeton University, my future alma mater - if I could just get the money to attend. (And it was going to take a lot of money, let me tell you.) My options, which were always pretty limited, were now down to one and only one and it led through 9951 Elm Crescent Parkway, suite 333. Finally, I got out of the car and walked to the entrance, my mind screaming for me to turn away.

I paused at the building directory and confirmed the suite number. As I waited for the elevator I smoothed my cute little back dress against my thighs, abdomen and ass, pressing out any creases I'd picked up on the drive over. I felt the firmness of my flesh and the definition of my muscles. My recent yoga obsession and years of competitive gymnastics and had really paid off. If only my boobs hadn't gotten too big I might have even had a shot at a gymnastics scholarship. However, when the elevator arrived the confidence I sought from my own body rapidly evaporated. My hand was shaking again as I pushed the button for my floor.

I stepped out on three. There were doors to the offices to a dozen or so companies opening off the long, professionally bland hallway. I followed the ascending numbers to the very end of the corridor. There I found a set of incongruous double doors padded in quilted pink leather. "Paragon" was written across them in cursive, chrome lettering. Suite 333 read the brass placard mounted on the wall to the right.

I delayed one last time before entering; looking back over my shoulder, terrified one of my dad's friends might spot me and ask him what his little girl was doing going into a place like that. But there were no witnesses. The coast was clear. Nothing was holding me back but me. As I pushed inside I thought of the tree-lined campus of Princeton and its gothic stone buildings full of knowledge and success. And I thought of money: lots of money.

I entered. The foyer was sheathed in slabs of pink marble, furnished in pink leather furniture the same color as the double doors and softly lit with chrome lighting fixtures. A shapely brunette in a tight blouse and tiny skirt sat at the reception desk - an arc of tempered glass on twisted chrome struts. The receptionist was closer to my mom's age than mine, but more attractive than both of us put together. She raised her eyes from her computer monitor and looked a question at me.

"I... I have an appointment with Ms. Montrie," I said. My timid voice echoed around the pink stone room.

She nodded towards one of the pink leather doors that flanked her desk: the right one. "Go on in," she said.

I did. Inside was another reception area. A beautiful blonde sat at a similar desk, dressed in a slinky white dress that showed much of her ample cleavage. She looked me over dismissively for a brief second before asking: "Are you the four O'clock?"

"Yes."

"You're late," she told me. I could see she didn't approve of me for not being as tall or beautiful as she. I felt my spirit sink. If these were the girls they hired to work desk jobs how much more beautiful did you have to be to work as an escort? If it wouldn't have been so humiliating to retreat before those judgmental goddesses I would have backed out right then. But I didn't. I still hoped my preternaturally youthful appearance and my c-cup chest would be my saving grace. Some guys liked that combination.

"Go ahead, she's waiting," said the blonde impatiently. I obeyed and pushed through the last pink leather door.

Inside was a large, corner office. It was bigger than the two previous reception areas combined. It too was clad in pink marble and furnished in pink leather. A burbling fountain and soft, spacey music filled the echoing space with gentle sound. At a large teak desk in the corner formed by the two walls of tinted windows sat an older woman with faded red hair shot through with streaks of white. Her face was too smooth; stretched and softened with plastic surgery and Botox no doubt. She wore a scarlet dress that flaunted, rather than concealed her small chest. I felt relief that my boobs were at least bigger than the boss'.

That relief didn't last long.

"Oh for Christ's sake!" she grumbled as she looked me up and down. I felt myself blush.

"I'm..."

"I know who you are. Let me see your driver's license, kid. I'm not saying another goddamned thing until I know you're really old enough to even be here. You sure as hell don't look it."

That had been the exact reaction when I'd tried to "interview" at Tiggle Jitz, the strip club. The manager, a creepy old guy with some kind of obscure accent, had laughed in my face and told me to get out. He'd said I was too young looking. A girl like me was "like a red fucking flag to a motherfucking bull" he'd told me. He said that even though I was legally old enough, I looked too young; every state, county and local commissioner and "pain in the ass" moral guardian would be harassing him with recurring demands for documentation on not just me but all his girls. "I look at you and all I see is a lot of paperwork for myself," he'd said. However he gave me Ms. Montrie's email address and suggested she might have something for someone like me. I was not feeling encouraged as I dug my driver's license out of my little purse and handed it over.

Ms. Montrie looked the license over carefully, opening the blinds and turning it this way and that in the sunlight. Finally she handed it back, saying, "OK, looks real. So what do you want kid?"

"Mr. Arrentolf said you might have a job..."

"He's gotta be fucking kidding me. You look fifteen. How tall are you?"

"Five foot."

"You're too short, that's one problem. Plus you're meek as hell: oozing discomfort like a kid at a recital. I provide classy sophisticated companions for well paying clients. You? I wouldn't be surprised if you were still a virgin."

"I'm not," I said, which was true, if only barely. Cliff and I had finally done the deed on Prom Night a couple of months ago and three more times since. I'd meant to find other partners after we broke up - it was mutual, he was going off to work as a busboy at some mountain resort all summer and we figured we should call it quits - but I never got up the nerve to go trawling for sex partners. Now here I was trying to get a job as a call girl. I had honestly never expected my inexperience would be an issue, it's not like sex was difficult or anything.

"Well honey, I don't care if you were the biggest slut in the school marching band, you just ain't right for me. Sorry, kid."

I started weeping -- damn it. This was my last chance. "But I really need the money. I've been accepted to Princeton..."

"Good school," she said. "But it's hardly the only school. Can't you go somewhere cheaper?"

"Princeton is... I've always..." I paused to sob.

"Oh God, a goal," she said with derision. "Watch out for goals kid. They'll fuck you up. Once upon a time, I was going to be a great Broadway actress no matter what it took." She barked out a harsh laugh. "'Course, I'm doin' OK now, but this line of work ain't nobody's first choice. And do you really want to be a whore kid? Do you? Because, to be perfectly blunt, that's what we're talking about here."

"I'll do anything," I sobbed. "I need a lot of money. I don't know what else to do."

"Anything covers a lot of ground kid," she said, looking at me sadly now. "Yeah, I know what Arrentolf had in mind for you."

I didn't understand what she meant, but it sounded hopeful. "What?"

"I know of a job. It's not with my organization but I got contacts. You'd be perfect for it. But it's a long term thing: a four month commitment with no backing out. And seriously, I wouldn't be doing you any favors by setting you up for it, kid."

"What is it?" I said, a little pissed. If she knew about this job why didn't she suggest it right off? Why was she toying with me?

"A resort: a very, very exclusive resort in the Caribbean: bondage, S and M, that sort of thing. It's hard duty kid -- very hard - but it pays crazy good. Forty thousand a month: undocumented, so it's tax free. They'd love a timid little thing like you down there. They'd love to chew you up and spit you the fuck out."

" Forty thousand a month!?" I said. I could do anything for that kind of money, I assumed. "That's perfect!"

"Did you hear me? You're cool with BSDM stuff? They aren't fucking around down there. It's goddamned hard duty kid. You'd be a whole hell of a lot better off just going to a community college and waiting tables, maybe suck the occasional dick for book money."

I didn't tell her, but already had scholarships to a couple of state colleges. But I was accepted to Princeton, damn it. And suddenly, with a lead on a forty thousand a month job, it was really going to happen. I felt light as a feather. My heart was bursting with relief that my future had been saved. I didn't even think about the BSDM stuff. Frankly, I wasn't really sure what that entailed. Nor did I care.

"I'll do it!" I said.

"Shit kid, are you sure? Maybe think about..."

"No. This is the only way for me. I'll do it. What do I have to do next?"

She gave me a long hard look. Finally she shrugged, "The part of this job I fucking hate is watching naive little cunts like you make stupid mistakes for ridiculous fucking reasons. Princeton... fuck," she spat onto her pink shag carpet. "What do you need Princeton so fucking bad for anyway?"

"Just tell me what I have to do."

Ms. Montrie sighed. "I'll take a few pictures and forward them on. They'll be in touch with you in a few days... if they're interested."

"I thought you said I was perfect for this job?"

"You are. And I suppose they'll want you alright. But a sad old whore can hope, can't she?" She looked me over one more time before her face snapped back into its all-business coldness. "Now wiggle out of that dress and let me get a picture of your goddamned goodies."

2. The Interview

I was in my mom's car again. She was there too this time. She had driven me down to the Marriot by the airport to see me off on my new job. As expected, she was making things difficult.

"Do you have everything you need, sweetie?"

"Yes mother. We've been over this."

"Are you sure you don't want me walk you in?" she said.

"Jeez mom, no. I'm an adult. You'll embarrass me."

"I just don't like you going off for months at a time with a bunch of strangers."

"It's a job, mother, not a sleepover."

"Did you bring... um... did you bring... condoms?" She whispered the c word.

"Mo-ther! " I chided her. We never discussed sex. She was embarrassing the hell out of both of us.

"Well... it's a valid concern sweetie."

"Trust me mom. I can handle myself."

Mom started crying. "I just can't believe you're all grown up."

I leaned over and we hugged goodbye. Finally, I extracted myself and my suitcase from her car and we said our "I love yous". She was bawling like a baby as she pulled away. I watched her go, worried she'd plow into another car as she drove off, her vision clouded by tears. What's the deal with parents, anyway?

However, when I turned toward the towering hotel my annoyance at my mother's mothering was immediately replaced by terror of my new job.

I had got the email summoning me - that's the word it used, "summoned" - a week ago. The note had been terse and direct. My orientation was to take place at the airport Marriot. I was not to bring any luggage or companions. My final appraisal would take place and, if I passed, I would be off to my new situation that very afternoon. I was to tell everyone that I was working for "Far Horizon" cruise lines and would be gone on an extended tour with long periods of being out of contact. If I divulged any information about my real destination I would forfeit my wages and my job. It was all very clear.

The old suitcase I carried was full of ratty tee-shirts, grungy sheets and threadbare towels. My first stop was to find a dumpster and get rid of it. I had only brought it along for my mother's benefit since she would have thought it strange if I was leaving for four months without any luggage. As it was, she thought it odd I was only bringing one bag. "The cruise line supplies uniforms, towels and all that," I had told her. "I don't need a lot of extra crap."

After I had thrown my decoy luggage into a dumpster by the loading dock I went inside and walked to the registration desk. I gave them my name and told them I was here for the "Far Horizon Cruise Line orientation", just as I'd been told to do. I was handed a keycard and directed to room 1108. Once again I found myself alone in an elevator pushing a button for the top floor with my shaking hand.

I fretted as the elevator rose. I was going into this thing blind and it was starting to worry me. I had considered doing some research on bondage and whatnot in the weeks since my initial interview, but I kept putting it off until it just didn't get done. Frankly, I was worried what I might find out. I mean, obviously I knew that it involved being tied up, spanked and otherwise humiliated but what good would it do if I totally freaked myself out? I needed this job no matter what it entailed. I figured it would be better to go in as ignorant as possible and just deal with whatever happened until my time was up. Then I'd be sent home with one hundred and sixty thousand tax free dollars: next stop Princeton. People survived prison, special forces training and other horrible working conditions in the most god forsaken places on earth... surely I could handle a few months of being a sex toy for depraved rich guys. Heck, it would probably make me a stronger person in the long run. "Suffering builds character," as my dad liked to say.

I reached my floor and found room 1108. Not letting myself hesitate, I knocked at the door. There was no response. After trying again I slipped the key card into the slot. The click of the lock opening made me jump a little. I pushed the door open and called out a soft, "Hello?"

There was nobody there. Instead, there was a ring of video cameras on tripods with cables running to a computer sitting on a desk in the corner. The cameras were all arrayed around a cushioned stool. I approached, letting the door shut behind me. "Sit on the stool," said a voice. It sounded loud, harsh and metallic, slurred to a low tone by a vocal pitch shifter.

I obeyed the voice.

"Why are you here?" demanded the voice.

"The job... at the, um, exclusive resort. Ms. Montrie..."

"Tell me what you know about the job."

"Well... it's at an exclusive res..."

"Do not repeat yourself or hesitate," demanded the voice. "Now tell me what you know about the job."

"It involves bondage." I said. I tried to keep it steady, but my voice trembled as I spoke.

"Does that frighten you?"

Something about the authoritative force of the disembodied voice made me answer honestly without even thinking about it. "Yes."

The voice didn't bark another question at me right away. Instead I heard a long slow exhale come through the speakers. I got the distinct impression that he liked that answer.

I'd always been told that you should always ask questions at a job interview, so I decided the pause was a good time to pitch one. "Where is..."

"You will speak when spoken to. You will not ask questions. You will follow orders swiftly and without second guessing. When you are addressed you will end every response with the word 'Master'. IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Yes, Master." I was trembling at the force of his words.

"During this interview I will ask you three times if you still want this position. These will be the only times you will be given a choice in any aspect of your life until your term of service is fulfilled. Once you have agreed for the third time you belong to me for the term of your service. Changing your mind will not be an option. Is that understood?"

"Yes Master."

"Are you still interested in this position?"

"Yes Master."

"Remove your clothes."

"Yes Master." I said meekly as I stood to disrobe. I was trembling as I quickly kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned my blouse, slid off my skirt, unhooked my bra and dropped my panties to the floor. For the next few minutes he had me stretch and twist this way and that, displaying my lithe, nude body for the cameras. As I followed his orders I noticed a saucer of milk on the floor in front the camera directly ahead of me. Was there a kitty in here with me? I wanted to ask but was too terrified to do so.

"There is a sliver tray to your left with a black towel over it. Do you see it?"

"Yes Master."

"Remove the towel."

"Yes Master," I said as I stepped over to the credenza and picked up the towel. I gasped. Before me sat a large, pink vibrator ringed with rows of rubbery protrusions. Next to it sat a smaller black whatsit: some kind of three inch rubbery shaft. Next to that sat a small tube of KY jelly.

"Pick up the lubricant."

My heart was pounding in my chest as I obeyed. But I had made my first mistake.

"When you are addressed by a superior you will end every response with the word 'Master'. IS THAT CLEAR?" the voice reminded me. Anger charged his words.

"Yes Master. Sorry Master."

"Now lubricate your anus."

I had been assuming there would be some butt stuff during my time as a bondage girl and I had been dreading it. I'd never done anything like that before. I'd been hoping it would come up after I'd gotten used to my new lifestyle. I did not expect it to come up as the very first thing I was ordered to do. But what could I do? With another "Yes Master" I placed a generous squirt onto my finger and began swirling it around my butthole. I was surprised. It actually felt pretty good.

"Now, turn away from the camera, bend over and insert the black plug into your anus."

It was right here that I came closest to chickening out. I hesitated a moment too long and he barked the order at me more forcefully. With a simpering "Yes Master" I did as he said and bent over to push the black divot of rubber into my bottom. It felt weird and uncomfortable but also kind of sexy. Again, I was surprised.

"Now pick up the vibrator and turn it on."

"Yes Master," I said as I waddled over to the tray and took the scary pink monstrosity in my hand. I turned the knob at the back and it began to hum enthusiastically.

"Sit back on the stool with your legs open as wide as you can. Then fuck yourself with the vibrator."

"Yes..." (gulp) "...Master."

I did as ordered, opening my legs so the lips of my womanhood parted. I began slipping the knobby pink device up and down my crease, letting the buzzing thing tease me into wetness. I raised my left hand, tickling myself with my fingertips as I brought them up my torso to my breasts to linger on my soft feminine flesh and swirl around my hardening areolas. I let the purring machine drop to the gates of my sex and began to push it inside me. I felt the vibrating latex knobs as they poked and prodded my wet and sensitive flesh before slipping into my body, prying me open, filling me with wicked pleasure. Further and further, the machine disappeared inside me. I began twisting it, pumping it, rocking it back and forth to hit my g-spot as I thumbed the dial to a faster, more urgent buzz. I let a spare finger find my clit. I gasped aloud at the tsunami of pleasure I was raising within me.