Jennifer and Slave Sarah

Chapter 1: A Chance Meeting

Saturday is one of those typical blustery spring days where the weather can change dramatically in a matter of minutes. As usual I go for a run along the riverbank and back through the park. I'm nearly home when I see Sarah-Anne walking on the other side of the long narrow park between Church Street and Riverside Avenue. She looks different from when I last saw her, and I need to look twice to be certain that it is in fact my former classmate and childhood friend. We had been inseparable until Sarah-Anne suddenly dropped out of college nearly a year ago. No explanation, no sudden crisis ... at least as far as I was aware. One minute Sarah-Anne was one of my group of friends, and the next she wasn't. She abandoned her studies and briefly disappeared from sight.

At first I was worried about her. She had emotional troubles after the death of her parents. But that was six years ago, and she seemed to have recovered since then. Her boyfriend, Pete, assured me that she was fine and I had no reason to doubt his word. I've known Pete for almost as long as I've known Sarah-Anne. Pete and I are acquaintances rather than friends, although he often joined our group on student trips. At college he was a typical sports jock, with the big difference that he was brighter than most of his team mates. There was a time I thought that he and I might get romantically involved, but it never came to anything. They say opposites attract, and Pete and I are too similar in temperament to really hit it off together. Sarah-Anne wasn't really his type either, but they obviously found something that attracted them to each other.

I've kept in touch with Sarah-Anne to the extent that we exchange Christmas cards and birthday cards. Sadly the close friendship we shared ever since we were ten years old has been allowed to lapse. My initial attempts to see her after she dropped out of college were politely refused, and I gave up trying after a while. She has become a stranger to me. Text and phone messages were rarely answered. Her social media pages were deleted, or were simply left frozen in time. I have a new circle of friends now that I'm studying at university, and, to be honest, until just now I haven't thought about Sarah-Anne for weeks.

Seeing Sarah-Anne again arouses my curiosity. I've always wanted to know why she dropped out of college when she was comfortably on her way to gaining entry to the local university. She always talked about wanting to study for an arts degree, so what happened to change her mind? And why was the change so sudden?

I jog across the grass to catch up with her. She sees me when I'm about twenty metres from where she's walking. Several emotions quickly run across her face; surprise, fright, uncertainty, and finally the calm indifference that is one of her typical expressions. More than anything, her facial expression confirms that the woman before me is Sarah-Anne Lindström. I thought for a second that she was going to run away from me, but I could be mistaken.

"Hi, Sarah-Anne. How are you?" I ask as I approach.

"I'm fine, thank you," replies Sarah-Anne like a robot, refusing to look me in my eyes. "How are you, Jenny?"

"I'm fine," I reply weakly. This isn't the warm reunion I was hoping it was going to be.

"Do you want to go for a coffee and catch up on old times?" I ask when Sarah-Anne makes no effort to continue the conversation.

"Um. Sorry, but I must meet Pete off the 11:15 train. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Pete Ashcroft? Are you two still together? I thought I saw him dating someone else a month or so back."

"Pete and I live together," replies Sarah-Anne, not seeming surprised at my mentioning seeing him with someone else.

"Can't you call him and tell him you've bumped into an old friend and that you'll be a bit late?" I suggest.

"I don't have a phone," replies Sarah-Anne. "Besides, I mustn't be late. But you can walk with me to the station if you like."

I find it strange that Sarah-Anne no longer has a phone. When we were at college together her phone was virtually glued to her hand. But that's only one of the many things which have changed about Sarah-Anne. She's certainly looks healthier and fitter than she did in college. I can't see much of her body under her long coat, but her previously unkempt shoulder length tangle of blond hair is now replaced with a well groomed coiffure that ends half-way down her back. If nothing else, she now takes some pride in her appearance ... something she never used to bother much about. She looks well and I begin to feel foolish for worrying about her.

"So why the sudden change to your life?" I ask, deciding I don't have time to circle around the subject.

"Pete helped me to see what I really needed in life," replies Sarah-Anne.

Her answer intrigues me. Pete Ashcroft is not the sort of person who should be advising anybody about anything. He's good looking, moderately clever, and fun to be with, if you ignore his tendency to be bossy ... OK, I admit that could also describe me. But nobody would ever accuse Pete of being wise or knowledgeable about life. Particularly somebody else's life. And certainly not the emotionally fragile Sarah-Anne. But I suppose Sarah-Anne has hidden strengths too. After her parents' death, her ailing grandmother was made Sarah-Anne's guardian, but their roles were usually reversed. Her grandmother died shortly after Sarah-Anne turned eighteen, leaving Sarah-Anne to manage on her own. As far as I know, Sarah-Anne now owns the family house, and has a small trust fund to help pay the bills. It's one of the reasons I found Sarah-Anne's change of direction so unexpected.

"Are you happy?" I ask, fishing for some clue about what has happened in her life.

"Oh yes," replies Sarah-Anne. "What makes you think that I'm not happy?"

"You changed so suddenly. We used to be such close friends and now something has come between us. I've been worried about you."

"Oh, Jenny! Thank you for being concerned, but please don't worry about me. My life has taken a different turn to yours. It was unexpected and sudden, but I'm happy with my choices. I'm sorry if it caused you any distress."

Her answer only leaves me more intrigued, but I can see that I'm not going to get much more out of her at the moment. Perhaps now we've met again, we can try to re-establish our friendship. I would like that, but only if Sarah-Anne really wants it.

We arrive at the railway station at exactly a quarter past eleven. That's another thing that's changed about Sarah-Anne. The girl I knew was never punctual for anything. We arrive on time, but unfortunately the train Pete is expected to be on doesn't. I know from my own weekday commute into university that the railway timetable is more of an expression of intent, bordering the realms of fiction, than anything a traveller can rely on. At weekends the service is even more unreliable. The electronic sign on the platform says the train is expected to arrive in ten minutes.

"Do you still keep in touch with Adam Forrester?" asks Sarah-Anne out of the blue.

Sarah-Anne and Adam had been dating for a few months before Pete muscled in on the scene. That was about four months before Sarah-Anne dropped out of college. I don't know why Sarah-Anne dumped Adam in favour of Pete. To my mind she and Adam had a lot more in common. But Adam must have been okay with the split because a few weeks later he was frequently seen in the company of the rapacious Caroline Waters.

"Not to talk to," I reply to Sarah-Anne's question. "But I've seen him a couple of times. He's working at the garage on Westridge Road. A trainee mechanic or something like that."

I detect a certain lingering interest that Sarah-Anne has in Adam. It's clear from her question that she hasn't completely forgotten her former boyfriend, but neither does she seem to have kept in touch with him. Unfortunately further enquiry is interrupted by the arrival of the train. Sarah-Anne suddenly goes really tense as though Pete might not approve of my presence.

If my presence was the cause of any tension, then Pete's greeting soon dispels any fear on that count. He greets me like an old friend, even though we have never been more than acquaintances. He's even more arrogant than I remember, but he's obviously doing well to be able to afford designer label clothes and the expensive looking shoes. My own off-the-shelf running gear makes me look scruffy by comparison.

"I'm so glad you two have met up again," he says. "I've been asking Sarah to invite you round to our place."

Sarah-Anne looks alarmed at Pete's words. I don't fail to notice that he refers to her as Sarah ... something she always used to hate ... and Sarah-Anne's house as 'our' place. My previous concern for Sarah-Anne's well being is renewed. My temptation to keep my distance is replaced with a need to find out more. When Pete invites me to join them for lunch, I readily agree. I quickly run home to wash and change, and meet them at the restaurant Pete suggested.

The Grove isn't the sort of restaurant I normally go near. It's a little out of my price range and its subdued lighting and discreet booths are more suited to romantic meals or clandestine meetings. Neither of which fit my current situation. I've heard that it's a popular place, and that reservations are essential in the evening. But at lunchtime the place is quiet, and there are only two other tables occupied when I join Pete and Sarah-Anne in a booth.

The moment I sit down I realise the magnitude of the change to Sarah-Anne's life. The pair of them are dressed in fine clothes and both are looking disgustingly fit and healthy. I've kept myself fit, so I don't feel out of place in their company. Sarah-Anne's hair is groomed to perfection, and while she isn't wearing much jewellery or make up, what she does wear highlights her features beautifully. If I wasn't so shocked I'd feel a little under-dressed.

What shocks me, though, is that Sarah-Anne has a bright steel collar around her neck, and matching cuffs on her wrists. Each seems to be welded in place, although I'm sure they must be some way to remove them. Small steel rings are fixed to the collar and cuffs. Dangling from the ring on her collar is a small chain which disappears between her cleavage and under her dress.

"Are you shocked at Sarah's collar and cuffs?" asks Pete when he notices what I'm looking at. "She has matching ones on her ankles. Stand up, Sarah, and let Jenny see what a beautiful slave you are."

Sarah-Anne doesn't hesitate to obey Pete's instruction. I'm too shocked to say anything, particularly when I see that her ankle cuffs are linked together by a short chain. Sarah-Anne can't manage more than a shuffle with her ankles held together by the chain. Surely she didn't come into the restaurant like that. And Pete referred to her as a slave. Is that what she is? Pete's slave girl.

"She has clamps on her nipples linked to the chain you can see dropping between her cleavage," continues Pete. "Unfortunately this isn't the right place to show you those."

I look into Sarah-Anne's eyes trying to gauge how she feels. Is she embarrassed? Frightened? Certainly there is an element of both in her expression, but what I also see is a cross between contentment and arousal. If she's embarrassed, then it is probably because I've now been shown their secret. These two are obviously into bondage games. Something I've heard about but never come across in real life ... until now. One of my boyfriends once tried to tie my wrists together with his scarf, but that's the sum total of my experience in such things. I always thought that people played such games in the privacy of their own homes, or in seedy red-light clubs. Certainly not in an up-market restaurant, even though it provides a discreet setting.

Sarah-Anne stands there until Pete instructs her to sit down. I still can't find the right words to say. My emotions are still on a roller coaster and I don't want to say the wrong thing. I've never regarded myself as a prude and I don't want to appear like one now. I mumble something in response to Pete's question which at least confirms that I'm not about to throw a screaming fit.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment," says Pete. "I need to pay a visit to the boy's room."

I can't tell whether he really needs to go, or whether he is being tactful in leaving Sarah-Anne and I alone for a moment. Either way it gives me the opportunity to question Sarah-Anne.

"Is Pete holding you against your will?" I ask, deciding to get straight to my main worry.

"No, of course not," replies Sarah-Anne. "You're shocked, but I can't really understand why. Didn't you always tell me what to do when we were together?"

Her reply catches me unawares. I do a quick mental stock-take of our friendship. I admit I was the one who always decided what we did. But that was as much Sarah-Anne's fault as mine. She always seemed happy letting me take the lead. I suppose you could say I was the dominant one in our relationship, while Sarah-Anne was content to go along with my ideas. Is that what is happening between Pete and Sarah-Anne? Only they've taken it a step further.

"How often do you play at being his slave?" I ask, becoming more curious and less alarmed.

"All of the time," replies Sarah-Anne. "I agreed to be Pete's slave. My collar and cuffs are rarely removed. I was wearing them when we met this morning."

"Are you lovers?" I ask in the heat of the moment.

"We sometimes make love," replies Sarah-Anne. "Pete lives with me, but I wouldn't call us lovers. Our relationship is nothing like that. I'm his landlady if you like to think of it like that. But a landlady with some unusual side benefits."

Pete's return to the table stifles further exploration of the subject for now. Despite Sarah-Anne's apparent happiness at their arrangement, I can't bring myself to discuss it in front of Pete. Fortunately the arrival of our meal provides a good distraction for my roiling feelings. On one level I want to take Sarah-Anne aside and shake her back into the real world, but on the other hand, she seems happy and in no obvious danger. Perhaps I should simply leave her to the life she seems content to be living.

What I never anticipated is that I was about to be drawn into their strange but slightly thrilling world of dominance and submission.

Chapter 2: Renewed Friendship

Our conversation over lunch is pleasant and relaxing. Other than Sarah-Anne's steel collar and cuffs, our reunion is no different from any other group of friends meeting together over lunch. Pete is quite open about his arrangement with Sarah-Anne, although I sense I'm not being told everything. Sarah-Anne had said earlier that she was Pete's landlady, but that doesn't fully describe their arrangement. She owns the house, and Pete pays her rent for the master bedroom and the shared use of the bathroom, kitchen and living room. In that respect she is his landlady. But their relationship is far more than a simple tenancy arrangement. Both say they are not lovers, but they admit that they sometimes engage in physical sex together. Both admit that Sarah-Anne is Pete's willing slave. There are dark sexual overtones to their relationship. It's a curious arrangement which leaves me wanting to know more.

Time passes quickly and it's mid-afternoon when Pete suggests that perhaps it's time to leave. We're the last lunchtime customers, and I suspect the restaurant staff are wanting to prepare for a busy evening ahead. Pete accepts my money for my share of the bill, and he leaves Sarah-Anne and I alone for a moment. While he's gone, Sarah-Anne reaches down into the bag at her feet. After a bit of rummaging through the contents, she produces a key to unlock the padlocks holding the chain between her ankles. She drops the short chain into her bag and produces a longer chain which she padlocks to the ring on her collar. I simply sit there dumbfounded.

Pete returns to the table after settling the bill, and Sarah-Anne offers the loose end of the chain to him. Surely he isn't going to take her out of the restaurant on a lead? But that is obviously what's about to happen.

"I think Jenny deserves the privilege, Sarah," says Pete, amused at my puzzled face. Without hesitation Sarah-Anne offers the end of the chain to me. I remain frozen, torn between horror and some other more pleasant emotion which I can't identify on the spur of the moment.

"I can't walk you out of here like a dog," I say. "Not in daylight. Not in public."

"So you would lead Sarah by a chain if it was dark and we were somewhere less public," observes Pete.

"That's not what I meant," I reply defensively.

"Sarah told me about the games you two used to play," laughs Pete. "Pirates and captured princesses, and the like."

That's unfair! We were twelve years old, and into all sorts of adventurous kids games. Yes, OK, Sarah-Anne always liked to be the captured princess, while I was the cruel pirate. I tied her up on several occasions, but I never thought anything more about it. I suppose on reflection, Sarah-Anne did enjoy being tied up, and the tighter her bonds the better. But those games came to an end once we started getting interested in the opposite sex. They were definitely not the sort of games you played with adolescent boys.

My hesitation in taking the offered chain is in danger of attracting the restaurant staffs' attention. I look at Sarah-Anne, whose eyes are downcast in what I can only describe as a submissive posture.

"Is this going to be OK with you?" I ask Sarah-Anne.

"Yes. It's what I want, Mistress Jennifer."

Her reference to me as Mistress Jennifer sends a strange jolt through my system. Shock mixed with a strange thrill. I take the end of the chain and follow Pete out of the restaurant, towing Sarah-Anne a few paces behind me. If the restaurant staff notice the chain, then they don't show any reaction.

The weather has turned nasty. That shouldn't have been a surprise to me since I noted the gathering clouds during my run this morning. But in my haste to meet Pete and Sarah-Anne for lunch, I left my raincoat at home. I could ring mum and dad and ask one of them to come and fetch me, but that would damage my pride in my increasingly independent life. I still live at home, but I'm allowed to more or less come and go as I please. Except Sunday afternoons, when I'm expected to spend 'family time' at home. It's an arrangement which works remarkably well. The only concession I must allow for their peace of mind, and my own security, is to allow them to track my whereabouts through my phone. I don't know how actively they monitor my whereabouts, but I'm never anywhere that I'm not happy for them to know about. My quasi-independent life means I must do my own laundry, and meals are only provided if I say beforehand that I'll be home to eat ... which isn't often during the week as I tend to eat at university with my friends.

Pete and Sarah-Anne are better prepared for the downpour. When Pete sees that my lightweight jacket is no match for the weather, he suggests that we go round to 'their' house until the weather eases. Sarah-Anne's house is only a few minutes walk away, while mine is a forty minute walk, or two bus rides taking almost as long. I accept his offer despite my qualms about what else I might discover about their living arrangements.

Sarah-Anne's raincoat, and the pouring rain, at least partly hides the chain by which Sarah-Anne allows herself to be led. I'm too busy trying to keep dry to be self-conscious about my part in the scene. We soon arrive at Sarah-Anne's house and I release Sarah-Anne's chain while we shed our wet coats. I do my best to dry my top and skirt which my thin jacket failed miserably to protect. We go into the living room which is clean and tidy ... something it never was when Sarah-Anne was at college. Pete invites me to sit down on the couch, while he sits in the chair. Sarah-Anne kneels on the rug by the fire.