Sausages for the Slave Ch. 12

'May I go to the bathroom first, Madam?'

'Just a minute, Dan. Hold it in. We'll have to get that spunk riddled shirt off you while still keeping you secure. I don't want you dripping cum on the stair carpet. What to do? I'd hate to cut it off.'

Dan, the can-do man, had the answer.

'I know how. Unbutton the shirt, Madam. Pull it over my head and down my arms as far as you can. Put two new cable ties on my wrists above the shirt and through the one looped around the bicycle lock. Then you can cut the old ties and pull the shirt off.'

'My, you are clever,' conceded Sophia as she quickly followed Dan's instructions and the shirt slid over his wrists and off. Quickly balling up the shirt, she wiped the drips of Dan's cum from the floor.

'It's an application of topology,' Dan piped up, eager to underscore his scientific know-how and his usefulness for her home schooling project. 'The science of mobile surfaces.'

'Well make yourself mobile up the stairs, Einstein,' Sophia replied, giving a quick wipe to the tip of the now naked Dan's deflating penis and thrusting the bundled shirt up into Dan's manacled hands.

'Rinse the shirt out and hang it up on the wire hanger over the bath. That's where I dry my clothes. And be sure to leave the bathroom as you find it. I don't want any man-splashes around the toilet seat, Slave.'

A man in a hurry, Dan quickly heading up stairs, intoning an ironic 'Yes Madam,' while half wondering if it was ironic at all, or if this mode of address between them was becoming the new normal. The speed with which Sophia had taken to calling him 'Slave' was unsettling.

As Dan carefully sat and pee'd, hands free and no splashes, he decided that Sophia was beginning to enjoy him being tied up a little too much. He also reflected uneasily on Sophia's overly familiar handling of his private parts. No shrinking virgin was she, he decided. But it was more than that, he felt.

It was as if, now that she knew he was a slave, she was quite happy to control him. She didn't seem put out any longer by the fact that he was virtually a total stranger from her perspective. Hadn't she just said, moments before, she was afraid to let him into the house because she didn't know who he was. The change had happened as soon as he had conveniently tied himself up so as not to be a threat to her. Then she seemed positively eager to get him naked. As if that wasn't enough, in an instant she had one hand around his balls and the thumb of the other hand poking his asshole. And as if that wasn't enough, seconds later she made him come. Stroked him off! And he was a total stranger to her.

Had he just been raped, Dan wondered. Was this Dan's #metoo moment? Used certainly, he decided, but it was nothing that hadn't happened to him as a slave back home. Slaves get used sexually, he accepted. Especially bondage/BDSM type play slaves. It's what they want after all. But as a free man, since that is what he was claiming to be, Dan decided, belatedly, that he should have protested strongly. It wasn't normal for a fellow to allow a strange woman fondle his balls and make him come. Not unless he is paying for the privilege.

Dan justified his acquiescence in his 'defilement' on two grounds. One, because he was so desperate to escape Mary's clutches, he was prepared to put up with unexpected difficulties and hardship along the freedom trail. Even getting stroked off by strange women. Two, in his role as Mary's slave for the past three years, he was well used to being manhandled, poked and prodded in all orifices with no consideration for his personal privacy. Suffering extreme humiliation before strangers was not a new experience for Dan. So, it was okay then. Besides, he decided, there is no #metoo for slaves.

The fact that all this happened after he gave Sophia the sheet of paper setting out his slave status and his owner's contact details made him wonder further that things may not be as they seem. Maybe she did actually phone Mary, decided Dan, as he carefully made his way, naked and hands tied under his chin, down the steep stairway and back into the lounge. He didn't want to fall and break his neck at this the final fence of his great escape race.

'I made a phone call to that number you gave me while you were upstairs, Slave,' said Sophia before Dan was even in the door. She said it knowingly, deliberately emphasising the slave part. 'I spoke to your owner. She is on her way.'

'I...I see,' stuttered Dan, at a bit of a loss, grasping the enormity of Sophia's words.

Is it all over then, he wondered, or is there still a hope. Maybe Mary would agree to let him go?

'I see, Mistress,' is the correct response, Slave. Let's hear it.'

'I see, Mistress,' Dan repeated, his heart sinking to where his boots would have been if he wasn't barefoot and naked. Mistress or Madam, was not the point. The point was she was treating him like he was a slave, not a potential employee and lodger. He had hoped that Sophia might have been satisfied just to have the contact details. She didn't have to actually phone Mary, he thought. After all she has my passport.

Standing inside the door to the small lounge, Dan felt very slave-like all over again. He was naked, his hands shackled under his neck. His owner coming to collect him. Glad he had just pee'd because he couldn't trust himself not to do it again otherwise. So that's it, he thought. The great escape has come to an ignominious end. Sophia was openly treating him as a slave. As her slave, in fact, and expecting him to go along with it. Which was a bit weird. But he was going along with it. What else could he do, wondered Dan, the well trained slave, now that she had him naked and tied up.

He supposed that he'd shortly be hauled off to Dubai with his tail between his legs, Dan the failed runaway slave. Mary would probably keep him in a cage out there for the next three years. Feed him dates and bananas through the bars. He felt his cock stir and grow stiff.

Sophia took Dan by the balls again, gripping him firmly, a little too firmly. She ignored his new erection. Dan winced as she tugged him behind her, through the doorway to the hall, to the foot of the stairs. She secured him to the newel post at the bottom of the bannister rail with another cable tie around the back of the bicycle lock on his neck. She said she had stuff to do. He could wait there until his owner arrived. It could be a while, she said.

'Yes, Mistress, said Dan quietly. He had thought briefly about making a witty remark, something along the lines of it being very obvious who wore the trousers in this house, but he chickened out. In truth, Dan was staggered at the swift change of character in this diminutive person. Half an hour ago they were discussing issues seriously, like adults, arguing points over and back. And now she was manhandling him and bossing him about like he was a three year old kid. Go there. Do this. Wait here. Things had changed in her mind obviously. It was as if she knew he wouldn't put up a fight. Couldn't put up a fight anyway.

Dan accepted he had no choice but to do Sophia's bidding for now. There was still the possibility that Mary would release him, realising he wanted to end the slavery game and allow him do so. Because, after all, she now had bigger things to think about. But who knew what would happen when Mary arrived. He'd just have to wait and see, standing naked and tied to the bottom of the stairs, all of two feet from the front door. He could forget about the coffee going cold on the table in the front room, and the biscuits.

And so Dan stood patiently in the silence of the little hallway, leaning his back awkwardly against the square mahogany column of the bottom newel post of the stairs, listening to the ticking of the ancient grandfather clock standing against the back wall. He felt a bit like the clock, just standing there, ticking away the seconds of his new found freedom.

As the clock ticked on, Dan's thoughts drifted back to when he first heard about upcoming the Dubai adventure. Of course Mary hadn't bothered to tell him directly. He'd heard it second hand in the course of one of Mary's book club meetings. This book club night was only a week or so after Mary had released Dan from his pig status and returned him to his slave status -- his big step back up from the animal to the human kingdom.

The timing was accidental. Every six months or so, it was Mary's turn to host the book club meeting. An event which broke the monotony of Dan's daily round of slave chores. Truth be told; the book choice of the month never got discussed that much. It served as an icebreaker, before the members, all ladies, moved on to more serious discussions about the goings on in the neighbourhood. That, and having a bit of fun at the expense of Slave Dan.

Dan's primary job on the night, as the house slave, was to make sure everybody's wine glass was topped up and there was a good supply of nibbles available. Dan also had to make sure the fire was kept well fed with logs and blazed merrily all night. A rule of their book club was that no fancy catering was allowed. The club met in a different member's house each month and they didn't want to let a competitive home catering frenzy develop. White or red wine and nibbles -- a few cheese dips, mixed nuts, tacos, grapes for the dieters and so on -- followed by coffee and something sweet to wind up the night.

Each member was allowed produce one speciality or novelty item. Audrey's home baked apple pie was a favourite when she was hosting. Mary's novelty item was always Dan. That was his secondary job on the night; to be the entertainment, the eye candy. He was very popular. A full turn out of the other six ladies in the club could be expected when Mary was hosting. Of course some of these ladies were the very ones that Mary loaned Dan out to for domestic and yard duties from time to time.

For book club night, Dan was naked, save for his collar and cuffs. His hands were cuffed under his chin which made serving awkward but doable with effort, and with much bending over, which the ladies enjoyed. At least his ass was free of the butt plug for the night, but only so as to be available for their amusement. His nipples were clamped, but not too severely. The clamps were joined by a light loose chain that hung down to his belly.

His penis swung free in front of a thick green velvet ribbon that was wrapped first around his scrotum, tightly, then around the base of his shaft and finished in a bow above. All set for the inevitable game of 'pass the penis.' The tightly coiled velvet ribbon forced his balls to stick out in front making them an easy target for the occasional slap, or tickle, though the ladies seemed to prefer to slap. They enjoyed the reflex gasp and wince that the slap on the balls produced -- every time. Maybe they were giving Dan the slap they would like to give their husbands, but daren't.

Some ladies asked Dan to accompany them to the bathroom -- that was allowed. There was no shame in it. Nobody ever queried the ladies on their return. Dan just resumed serving the wine or stood at his station by the fireplace, feeling the glow of the fire heat his thigh, waiting to be called. In the bathroom, Dan was usually asked to kneel before them and put his tongue to work. Tom Berovich's wife, Mabel, used him differently. She told him to open wide and she pissed down his throat, Dan, gulping and spluttering, swallowed it down as best he could. Clearly she resented Dan for providing a sexual service to her husband. Maybe it was just jealousy: the thought that Tom preferred Dan's ass to hers.

After Dan had cleared away the dips and so on, Mary would order him to move the coffee table to one side so that he could stand in the centre of the seated circle of book club ladies. Time for the 'pass the penis' game.

Mary controlled the music from her phone. Ravel's Bolero was a favourite. Built the tension nicely, always heading to that climax. Dan slowly walked in a circle past each of the ladies until the music stopped. Whatever lady was in front of Dan at that point had a choice. She could grasp Dan's penis and begin to stroke it, or she could have him bend over and slap his ass as hard as she liked. The winner was who ever made Dan come.

If he hadn't come by the time Mary decided the game was over, Dan was bent over the coffee table and one of the ladies got to give him twenty strokes with a table tennis bat. As often as not the ladies preferred beating Dan to beating him off. In fact the ladies often sabotaged any hope of Dan coming by just stroking him very slowly when their turn came. Sometimes they just kneaded his balls while looking Dan in the face. Enjoying their power over him, and his obvious humiliation at being so used and so obviously mocked.

It was while he stood in front of one of the book club ladies, getting his penis slowly stroked, that he heard another ask Mary when she thought she would be heading to Dubai. At first he thought they were referring to some upcoming business trip or a conference, but the true import of the question hit home when he heard Mary reply that she still hadn't found and apartment to rent. One with enough room to keep Dan too. She went on to tell the other book-club members that this was a big promotion and how great this opportunity would be for her career.

Dan had politely asked Mary over breakfast the next day what the Dubai thing was all about. And she told him, all matter of fact. She was getting a promotion. It was a three year posting. She would be taking him with her. That's all he needed to know, she said and switched the conversation to her immediate project. Project 'Get Dan back in shape.' The objective, she said, was to have Dan rapidly shed his piggy fat and return his body to prime condition.

Thus reminded, Dan, as he stood manacled to Sophia's bannisters waiting for Mary to come and claim him back or whatever, couldn't help glancing down admiringly at his trim abdomen. There was an actual hint of a six-back leading down to a smooth flat belly. No love handles either. Not bad for a forty year old, he reflected, but he had been made to work hard for it.

Mary had introduced two fitness machines into the slave quarters within days of releasing Dan from his pig suit. Two instruments of torture as far as Dan was concerned. He had only been locked in the suit for about three weeks, but the deliberately heavy diet, both in quantity and composition, had already made him quite flabby. At a casual glance, the machines were standard home gym items, a rowing machine and an exercise bike. Predictably, Mary had modified them both. First she tied them electronically to her 'intelligent house' project so that both Mary and Alexa, Mary's digital assistant, could monitor Dan's efforts and incentivise him as necessary. The second set of modifications were mechanical in nature, and equally predictable.

The saddle of the exercise bike had been replaced with a dildo that stuck straight up from the saddle post. Each morning after breakfast, when he had done his basic house duties, Dan placed his feet through open metal cuffs on the pedals and his hands through similar cuffs over the handle bars. Then he carefully impaled his previously lubricated asshole on the post. Once he had sunk his ass deep enough onto the post a sensor was triggered. The saddle post lifted up higher pushing the dildo further up Dan's ass, the cuffs closed so Dan's feet and hands were gripped in position on the pedals and handlebars of the bike. He was now trapped on the bike. At full stretch on the pedals he was no longer able to lift himself fully off the dildo. He would be skewered up the ass by the dildo for the next hour and would not be released until he had completed his assigned exercise cycle and the saddle post automatically lowered itself to its resting position.

Once Dan was securely fixed on the bike, Alexa would speak up.

'Slave, you will complete 20km in one hour, starting now.'

'Yes, Alexa.'

Dan started pedalling. As he did so the dildo started moving gently up and down in his ass. Dan was basically standing in the pedals, leaning forward to shift as much body weight as he could onto his arms, pedalling as fast as he was able, and being steadily and constantly fucked in the ass. There was a little screen set in the middle of the handlebars that showed the speed, time elapsed and distance covered. Dan knew he had to maintain an average speed of 20 km/hr to meet the target set. He knew that Alexa could give him the occasional electric shock up his ass via the dildo, if needed, to encourage him to keep on schedule. If he went faster than required, that didn't matter, but Dan found it only encouraged Alexa to lengthen the exercise distance or speed next time, so not wise.

After he recovered from his cycling session, Dan had (a very light) lunch and completed his afternoon household chores. Then it was time for Dan to settle himself carefully into the rowing machine for an hour of abdomen toning. Same story; a more flexible rubber dildo was permanently and firmly fixed in the centre of the small sliding rowing seat. It had some give which allowed Dan bend forward and pull back as he completed the rowing stroke, his feet locked firmly in the foot pedals. The dildo also had two metal rings spaced over its length. They carried the shock current for when Alexa decided Dan needed incentivising. Dan's hands were free, but he had to keep them pulling on the handle of the machine in order to keep up the required stroke rate. If Dan stopped pulling he got shocked repeatedly in the ass until he started pulling again.

During the first week, at the end of the exercise bike session, Dan would be shattered. As the saddle post automatically lowered, it took all of Dan's strength to pull himself up off the dildo. He would stagger off the bike, his legs on fire, trembling and weak. He could hardly stand up, stumbling the first steps away from the bike, bending over, gasping for breath, his hands resting on his wobbling knees. Sometimes he would drag himself to the corner and curl up beside the hole in the ground toilet, his guts heaving, threatening to spill his light fibre rich breakfast into the void. But it got better, soon he accepted the burn toward the end of the session, got into the endorphin rush, stuck with it as Alexa upped the rate to 30 km/ hr. Took the occasional zap in the ass in the spirit of no pain, no gain.

Likewise for the rowing machine, as the days went by Dan got into the rhythm of it, and his fitness improved. Catch, draw, lift, back...catch, draw, lift, back...catch, draw, lift, back, Dan would get the strokes rate up to where Alexa was happy. He could let his mind drift and imagine himself on the river Thames below Oxford of a summer's evening. Jolly good show, chaps, blade on the feather, all that stuff. Admiring female undergraduates lining the riverbank. The ripple of Dan's taut leg muscles as he pushed through the stroke, bringing a soft flush to their rosy cheeks, a hint of delicate perspiration to their upper lip, a teasing warmth to .....Agggghh! A hot whip of wincing pain shot through Dan's lower abdomen as Alexa shocked him for letting his stroke rate drift down.

Dan would quickly pick up the stroke. He was a slave on a roman galley now. Facing him and the other galley slaves, on a platform up at the stern, a helmeted Roman amazon wearing only a light, almost see-through, knee length tunic, beat out the stroke rate on a big kettle drum. Thump..... thump..... thump..... thump. All the naked slaves staring, entranced, at the clear outline of her full breasts as they bounced heavily each time she hit the drum with her club. She haughtily looked back at her chained, enslaved oarsmen, beating their eyes down with the sheer arrogance of her stare, forcing them to accept their servility, their deference to her. She who decided their fate; from how fast they row, and when they get to stop rowing, to whether they live or die.