Sausages for the Slave Ch. 11

Dan gazed out the window. Thirty five thousand feet below him, small white fluffy clouds were drifting slowly across a steel grey rippled Atlantic Ocean. His mind was buzzing. What to do? What to do? The plane would land in Paris in about four hours. Mary Hemmings, his wife and owner (officially ex-wife, since she had divorced him just to make him more insecure and dependent on her), was up in business class somewhere, paid for by the company. Dan, her slave, was, appropriately, sitting in steerage. He didn't mind that. Just being in a plane, just being on an international flight, that was heaven for Dan. He had a passport in the name his wife had given him, Nathan Hemmings, in his pants pocket, and nothing else. Except for his boarding card, but now that he was aboard, it was so much scrap paper.

Mary had been reluctant to give it, or the passport, over to Dan, but had no choice. She was boarding separately for business class. She had watched as Dan, waving his passport and boarding card, was cleared through the boarding gate into the tourist section. He looks happy, she thought, wearing his new wardrobe of chinos and casual shirt, plus a pair of trainers. Proper clothes, just like everybody else had. She didn't allow him underpants. Keep him a little nervous, a constant reminder as to who calls the shots in Dan's life. But after three years in track pants and sweat shirts, or being made go just plain naked, why wouldn't he look happy with his chinos and shirt? Mary headed over to the business class desk. Off on her new adventure.

The riskiest bit of the trip was behind them, Mary knew. Dan could have made a run for it on the way to the airport. There wouldn't have been much she could have done about it. Or, he could have simply refused to go. Refused to leave the house, even. Just in case, she had convinced Tom Berovich, the burly next door neighbour, to be on hand to make sure Dan exited her property. Tom was allowed by Mary to use Dan for his pleasure. Tom had agreed to drive them from the house to the airport with the back doors of his car locked to prevent Dan jumping out at traffic lights or something. At the airport, when Tom had dropped them off at Departures, Dan made no attempt to break for freedom, though he could have. They went through airport security without incident. Inside at the departure gate Mary knew Dan could simply declare that he didn't want to fly. She was slightly surprised when he didn't. She thought he had a bit more fight in him.

The reason they were taking this flight was because Mary's IT firm had appointed her the new Marketing Manager for the Middle East and Africa. A great career opportunity for Mary. One that she intended to make the most of. Having Dan around, or not, wouldn't make much difference. She was fond of Dan in her own way. She was at ease in his presence, in the presence of the silly, simple slob she had married and now owned as her personal slave. He now knew how to cook all her favourite dishes, do her laundry and housework as she wanted it done and, after a little training, to pleasure her just the way she liked it.

Even so, Mary thought a change of scene would do them both good. Dan had been her house slave for the guts of three years, and everything was getting a bit tired. Mary had been selling the benefits of the sojourn in Dubai to Dan since she got word of her promotion. Her objective was to get him on the plane. What might happen after that was a different matter. She was led to believe that slaves were ten a penny in Dubai. They were called houseboys these days. An agency sends them along on demand, apparently.

Mary was looking forward to the new job, the new challenge, the new scene. She felt she had earned it, and she knew she could do it. A directorship, member of the board in head office back home, could be hers at the end of the three years, all going well. The person she was replacing in Dubai was appointed the Marketing Manager for Europe, based in Paris. Mary would have a four day stopover in Paris with her predecessor to do a detailed handover. She needed a full briefing on the active contracts they had in the region, what was in the pipeline, who's who and the lowdown on her staff in Dubai.

As decisive as ever, thirty-five thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean, Dan now decided that he should really have made a run for it before boarding the flight. He told himself, trying to justify his failure to flee, that he had been really looking forward to the experience of travel after three years as a domestic slave. Just to be on the plane, just to be one of all the other international travellers; like he had somewhere to be, something to do. Wearing chinos and a regular shirt. Listening to the clunk of the doors shutting and the 'Arm doors and cross check' announcement, whatever that was about. It was like hearing the door slam shut on his former slave life. A chapter closed. Something new and exciting up ahead.

Much as he was enjoying the air travel experience, Dan knew that three years as a slave in Dubai didn't really meet the 'new beginning' test. Walking away at the airport would have been a new beginning. Mary couldn't have stopped him. The whole prisoner thing was done with. He was a free man in the eyes of the law. Tom Berovich couldn't have forced him to get on the plane. Dan could have got a job in McDonalds -- right there at the airport, or become one of those Deliveroo people, he thought. He wouldn't have starved. People lived off dumpsters and stuff. But too late for that now, Dan thought, dejectedly.

Dan had read up about Dubai. He wouldn't fancy making a run for it in Dubai. They still had slave markets there, out in the desert. He wouldn't have been surprised if Mary decided to sell him on to some local, or lease him out for the three years. They probably had laws and harsh punishments concerning runaway slaves in Dubai.

Dan could see himself shackled naked to a palm tree after the auction, freshly and painfully branded on his left buttock was the mark of the runaway slave. A mark that forever reduced him to the second division of slave auctions, doomed to be sold cheaply to poorer rural slave owners. Once he had received his forty lashes for attempting to escape, the chain on his collar would be attached to the saddle of his new owner's camel and Dan would trot along, naked, trailing behind the camel, his new owner perched on top, swaying over and back in that ship of the desert, stately camel gait sort of way, heading into the deep interior.

There, slave Dan would spend his days hauling water in leather bags from deep wells and servicing, with his mouth only, because he would be left with nothing else to service them with, the pussies of the four wives of his owner. They would be completely covered in their long black niqabs and abayas. He'd never get to see their faces, ever; just their shaved pussies. Exciting. To hide the tell-tale signs of his cock stirring and stiffening in his brand new chinos, Dan quickly pulled the airline magazine onto his lap, lest the young lady sitting in the middle seat beside him became alarmed.

He'd already exchanged a few harmless pleasantries with this younger female. She was about thirty he reckoned. A New Yorker, she said. For the first time Dan was aware of the reverse age gap. She was all business, working away on some sort of spreadsheet on her laptop. Stuff to do. People to see. Places to go. Whereas Dan, aged forty-ish, was sitting there twiddling his thumbs. No job, no business to run, no class to teach even. Going to where his wife -- though technically no longer his wife -- told him to go. He felt left behind, passed out by the younger set.

Unless...unless... he did it in Paris. After all this flight was to Paris, Dan reminded himself. The Dubai flight was four days away. If he was serious about putting the slavery thing behind him, Dan told himself, he could still do it in Paris. All was not lost yet. That's it, he decided, once again, to be sure to be sure. Desperately decisive Dan really would make a break for it in Paris. His last chance to be a free man once more. They have McDonalds there too, he realised, remembering the line from Pulp Fiction. What was it John Travolta said? 'You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris? They call it a "Royale with Cheese"... and a Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "Le Big Mac".' That's definitely it so, Dan tried to convince himself once more. He'd run away in Paris. Get a job in McDonalds. Eat leftover le Big Macs. He'd survive. He could deal with change. Had done.

As the plane continued its seemingly slow crawl across the vast ocean, Dan thought back to the recent dramatic changes in his circumstances. Two big changes actually. First there was the pig thing, and now this Dubai thing. The pig thing was big. Just three short months ago Mary had suddenly decided to turn him into her pet pig. Just because he had politely wondered if his slave terms and conditions might be adjusted a little. He shuddered at the memory of it all, instinctively bringing his hand up to feel the slowly filling hole in his septum that his wife's pal, Bette, had pierced, punched more like, before inserting a big brass piggy ring in his nose that had hung down below his upper lip.

Dan's transformation from Mary's totally owned slave to Mary's pet pig happened very quickly. One minute he was getting ready to do the washing up after serving Mary her dinner, the next he was dressed up as a giant pig in a costume that he couldn't get out of. His hands trapped in rigid elbow length mittens that ended in two hard trotter like toes. He had thought at first it might just be a practice fitting for a planned Slave Dan podcast the following day. Even when Mary said that this was how he was to be from now on, Dan hadn't quite taken it in. She implied there would be an exotic level of piggy transformation to follow - including a sex change. Dan agreed to it only because he felt he had no choice anyway. Even as she sent him to sleep in the outfit that night, Dan didn't quite realise the enormity of what was being done to him.

That next morning Dan struggled up from his bed and onto his hind trotters. He was hot and sweaty from having slept the night in the pig suit, his arms, legs and head encased in a rigid plastic/latex mix. His arms, or front trotters, were cramped and stiff from being clipped under his chin all night. Once out of bed, he stayed standing on two legs with effort. The leg elements of the pig costume kept his knees bent and his feet arched up like he was wearing high heels. This threw him forward and to balance he had to almost squat in a very undignified way with his arse stuck out behind. He clomped around in this ungainly pose wondering how he was going to manage the shower and toilet, his morning enema and so on.

He didn't have to wonder long. The slave quarters door slid open even as Dan was thinking about these problems. Mary arrived in briskly.

'And how are we today?' She asked brightly as she unclipped Dan's piggy front trotters from under his chin.

'Oink, oink,' replied Dan dutifully, sticking to the limited piggy vocabulary that, as Mary had advised him, painfully, yesterday, was all he was allowed to use while in piggy mode. She proceeded to remove the trotter gloves. This was to allow Dan 'prep himself for the day' as she delicately put it. Mary promptly left, bringing the trotter gloves with her. She told Dan, over her shoulder, that she would see him in the kitchen shortly. Not going to get her hands dirty, Dan thought.

When he joined her in the kitchen later, with his slave dildo shoved firmly up his ass for the podcast performance, Mary had Dan stretch out his arms while she refitted his front trotter gloves and fastened them securely. Mary had placed two kibble filled bowels on the floor and added milk. On Mary's command (eat, piggy!) Dan flopped down on all fours in the corner to slurp up his breakfast while she got her own cereal.

No harm to see her do a bit or housework for a change, thought Dan, as he gulped down the mush. Make her appreciate the benefits of having a slave. Afterwards, Mary had wiped Dan's piggy snout clean when he finished. A touching scene; Dan the helpless little piggy getting his nose wiped by his Mummy. Mary then dressed him in his pink frilly tutu. She told him she was going into the office for a few hours and Dan was to standby in the slave quarters ready to be called to do the podcast.

'By the way, Bette will be coming later and I'll be bringing home your replacement at lunchtime,' Mary shouted over her shoulder as a parting shot.

By the time Dan managed his dutiful 'oink, oink; she was gone.

So, he really was being replaced, Dan realised with apprehension. Enough apprehension to drive out the usual apprehension that accompanied the announcement that Bette was heading his way. Strange days ahead, he thought. Silence reigned. It took Dan a while to realise what was different. Alexa was mute. She hadn't starting listing out a series of tasks for Dan to do, nor had she asked him to pleasure her. Dan guessed that Mary has switched Alexa off until the new regime was established. Until old Dan had been replaced by new Dan, that is.

Dan waited patiently in the slave quarters, practising walking on his trotters, flexing his knees, attempting his podcast dance moves, until the sharp double zap of his shock collar summonsed him to the iPad. The 'Year of the Pig' podcast duly happened. Less said about it the better. Dan's heart wasn't in it. Went only so-so. Dan had to get a lot of help from the dildo in shock and vibration mode before the money shot happened. In the end he came, jerking and twerking to the background music. He spilled his load unseen by himself because of the frilly pink tutu sticking out around his middle and the fact the piggy mask severely restricted his vision to the front and below him.

Afterwards, Mary berated Dan on his poor performance saying it was no wonder the podcast subscribers have voted for a replacement.

'It's only what you deserve, she said callously, offering no easy let down for Dan. 'You've been pathetic these last two podcasts, and it's not good enough, Dan. So suck it up. Let's see if you can make a better job of being a pet pig.'

Since 'oink, oink.' was the only response allowed, Dan said nothing. The iPad went quiet and Dan was left waiting for Mary's return. She'll be bringing the replacement with her, he thought mournfully. At least she hadn't put him in the T-Bar as punishment for his poor performance. He decided the T-Bar is only for slaves, not for pigs. Besides, a pig -- even a human pig - could just pull its trotters out of the cuffs.

After a while Dan felt that he might as well have been in the T-Bar anyway because he couldn't release himself from his trotters or his mask. He could do nothing. He couldn't sit on the bed out of hours. He squatted on all fours over the hole-in-the-ground toilet and had an animal like pee. His aim was approximate. He couldn't see what he was doing or where. This is what it must be like for an actual pig, he thought, with a shudder, as he tried to shake the last drops of pee out of his dick. He slowly trotted over and back waiting for his replacement, feeling anxious, as anxious as only a grown man trapped in a latex pig outfit can feel.

'Ding-dongggg... Your attention please. The cabin crew with shortly be moving through the cabin serving a light meal....'

Dan was snapped out of his piggy reverie by the announcement. The idea that someone would be serving him, slave Dan, instead of the other way round was such a novelty. For the previous three years he had been preparing, serving and cleaning up after his wife -- and himself. Nobody had done anything for him. Lots of people had been doing things to him. And now he was being served. He had a silly smile on his face as he watched the catering trolley slowly move down the aisle towards him. They are going to serve me, he thought, giddily. Dan felt like royalty as the smiling cabin crew passed the tray to him. Dan didn't care if they gave him just a drink of water. To have somebody hand him something with a smile and to be able to take it was enough. It made him realise what he had been missing, and reinforced his determination to make a run for it in Paris.

The trays were handed out, the tea or coffee moment happened. A bit of juggling of condiments with his neighbour as sachets or sugar and creamer were swopped over and back. This led to names being exchanged and the inevitable polite conversation. Sophia told Dan she was going back to Paris where she had lived for the last three years. She'd been visiting the folks back home and buying some material for her new business venture. She had a house in the suburbs of Paris that her grand-aunt left her in her will. Her grandparents had moved from Paris to New York after the war. Nice, thought Dan. No chance some distant Irish grand-aunt is going to leave me a thatched cottage in Kerry. Having asked all the appropriate questions, without seeming too nosey, Dan told a few appropriate white lies about himself in return. He was taking a year off to travel. Going to Paris because he had always been fascinated by the city. He had never travelled to Europe before. Hoped to pick up some work there.

Once the trays were collected, Sophia opened her laptop once more and Dan took the hint. He gazed out the window some more and his thoughts returned to when the reality of being permanently trapped in the pig suit really hit home.

After the failed podcast, Mary eventually returned from her workplace. She quickly called Dan out of the slave quarters, with a 'here Piggy, this way.' Instead of leading him towards the kitchen, she opened the side door and sent Dan out into the back yard. She suggested, in a rather condescending manner, that now that he was a pig, he might enjoy rooting around in the shrubbery. He wondered if that meant he wasn't supposed to use the slave toilet any more. Since she kept reminding him that he was now a pig, Dan decided he'd have a go at an outdoor pee, doggie style. He could only manage a few drops, but he didn't care. Dan kind of hoped Mary was looking at him out of the kitchen window. You can only go so low, and then it doesn't matter anymore. He wondered if his replacement, new Dan, was in the kitchen too, also looking at him out of the window. Hope he enjoys wiping my ass when I have a shit, thought Dan spitefully.

When Mary brought Dan back inside and into the kitchen, she put him eating his midday bowls of kibble. No sign of the replacement yet, mused Dan, as he gulped the mush, though already feeling rather full since his big breakfast of mush. Suddenly, a toolbox landed on the floor beside him. He recognised, with trepidation, that it belonged to Bette. The Enforcer had arrived. Never a good thing from Dan's point of view.

'Now Piggy,' said Mary, in that high pitched weechy weechy voice usually reserved for talking down to toddlers or pet dogs, ' Bette is going to do a little modification to make you more pig like. Nothing major. No need to panic. Nothing is being cut off. I was only giving you a fright last night.'

'Okay, Bette? I'll leave you to it. '

When on all fours on the floor, Dan's vision was more or less restricted to knee height. Even so, he had no difficulty recognising Bette's dungarees and work boots when they appeared a few inches in front of his snout.

'Up, Piggy,' she commanded, all business, 'you can eat later.'

Bette pulled Dan upright and stood him against one end of the kitchen table, pushed him back to lie flat with his head almost off the far edge of the table. She strapped him in place, with loops binding his four trotters, each to a table leg. Tied in place like that, face up and spread eagled, Dan could only see the kitchen ceiling above him through the piggy mask. Suddenly the Enforcer's face loomed over Dan's telling him to open wide; like at the dentist. She quickly inserted a large rubber ball gag and tied it tightly behind his neck, keeping Dan's mouth stretched open. He could hear her rooting in her bag for more equipment.