Sausages for the Slave Ch. 13

After Sophia abandoned him in the hallway, to go eat her dinner, Dan used the time to consider his new situation. He was now this Sophia person's slave, plain and simple = in the eyes of this Sophia person anyway. His wife had taken a bundle of cash from her in return for handing Dan over. It was a bit like leaving a child with a stranger, Dan decided. Irresponsible. You just wouldn't do it. Yet Mary had just done it. Abandoned him. Sure, thought Dan, I am an adult, technically, but Mary has left me as helpless as a child. Tied, gagged and naked, unable to speak, unable to do anything for myself. Walked out the door leaving me at the mercy of this total stranger, who calls herself Sophia. Never looked back. Never said goodbye, even.

Driven by a shiver of apprehension, a long stalactite of drool slid around the side of Dan's ball gag, briefly hung from his chin, broke free and landed with a soft plop on the tiled floor beside his bare feet. Gravity, thought Dan, the scientist, briefly distracted. Where would you be without it? Turning back to the matter at hand, he decided he had every reason to be apprehensive.

In one mighty leap, Dan had gone from being a pretend slave owned by his wife to being a real slave owned by a total stranger. In his former slave life he had known his owner from way back -- she was his wife of long standing -- and she had known him. That set certain boundaries on what happened. He was willing to work for her and she was happy to work him for her benefit. She had given him a bit of a hard time, or a humiliating time, on a regular basis and Dan was happy enough with that too. But the thing about his previous owner was that Dan could still talk to her - as his wife, person to person. She had allowed him a bit of chat over breakfast. In short he had a relationship, even if it was seriously imbalanced in favour of his wife and owner. That was now in the past.

Going forward, as they say - when they have nothing to say, Dan had no clue what to expect relationship-wise. Already the attitude Sophia displayed to Dan the slave was very different to that she had shown to Dan the man. On the flight over and in the Metro she had been chatty and friendly. But once she had mentally moved Dan into the slave category, her approach had changed completely. She ignored him utterly when it suited her -- like now. She had walked past him in the hall several times like he wasn't there. She had stopped calling him Dan. This was not something Dan was used to and he found it a bit unsettling. Concerning would be the word du jour, as they say in France, where Dan now found himself enslaved. Ensclavé, en francais, Dan hazarded. He wondered briefly if he would have to learn French, before resuming his contemplation of Sophia as slave owner.

Take this very instance, Dan supposed to himself. Sophia had left him standing tied, gagged, and naked at the bottom of her stairway for almost two hours. Clearly, it hadn't cost her a thought to expose him to such physical discomfort. Then, after blithely telling him he was going to be punished every day for a week, she placed the instrument of his upcoming torture on the floor in front of him, a riding crop. Teasing and tormenting him with the sight of it.

Determined to beat her at her own psychological mind game, Dan resolved to ignore the riding crop on the floor in front of him, the intentional reminder that punishment was imminent. He would rise above the petty provocation, above her pathetic attempt at building the tension, so to speak. He was made of sterner stuff.

Instead he focussed on food. He was hungry. He hoped Sophia would bring something for him to eat when she returned after her own dinner. It has been at least six hours since the light snack on the plane. A small square of quiche, about three bites worth, garnished with a few tiny green leaves and a sliver of tomato, as Dan recalled, accompanied by a miniscule bread roil and a couple of grapes. Then coffee to finish. The coffee over which he had politely chatted with his neighbouring passenger and from which moment Dan's plan for a new life in Paris blossomed and grew from a dream to a hope. Dan, now with his dream stillborn, standing naked at the stairway, decided that, small as the airline meal was, it might be the nearest he would come to having a proper meal for a long time. He resolved to remember every detail.

Just then the door from the front room opened and Sophia appeared. No sign of food for Dan. She was carrying the leather cuffs that Mary had left for her. Dan almost felt nostalgic for his old slave gear from back home. As if putting them on would restore him to his safe slave state under Mary's ownership. Put things back the way they were.

Sophia cut one of the cable ties around Dan's wrist and fitted one wrist cuff. Dan didn't try to resist. Having considered his situation, he accepted he was her slave for now and for the foreseeable future. Looking at it from her point of view, Sophia had bought a slave in good faith and paid with her own money. And Dan happened to be that slave. Dan felt she could reasonably expect to get value for her outlay. Dan was a bit like that, too accommodating. Too willing to see the others point of view. He had decided, standing naked and tied at the foot of the stairs that he would have to work within those parameters as best he could. In other words, be a good and obedient slave.

Dan certainly wasn't going to attempt to make a run for it now. Not after the way his last escape attempt turned out. The failed attempt for which he going to have to endure a week of punishment as a result. What made it worse was that it was a failed attempt before it even began, only he hadn't know it. He was the sucker in the set up. Mary, sitting up front in executive class had known it. Sophia sitting beside him had known it. They were all the time quietly aware of Dan's already doomed fate that awaited his arrival in Paris.

As if to emphasise that things were not going back quite the way they were, Dan noticed that Sophia had fitted a short chain between the two ankle cuffs, and another short length of chain hung from the neck collar. She hadn't just been eating her dinner then, Dan thought. She seemed to be a thorough and organised person. The sort who would have quietly prepared for any sudden moves by her yet to be broken-in slave. If he did try and break free, Dan decided he'd probably get zapped with a cattle prod or Taser before he got very far. Dan meekly offered up his other wrist for the second cuff. On a positive note, he decided wearing the leather cuffs would be more comfortable than the hard plastic cable ties which were beginning to bite into his wrists.

Sophia bent down and fitted Dan with the ankle cuffs that now has a short length of chain joining them. Once she'd snapped them shut, Sophia relaxed. She knew her slave couldn't run now. At best he could shuffle carefully and slowly. Dan was well used to wearing the cuffs and the familiar click of the lock snapping shut didn't faze him. But the fact that, when ordered to move, he would only be able to take short shuffling steps was humiliating -- and sexy, in a slave sort of way. Dan's penis stiffened and rose steadily upright at the thought. Sophia ignored it as she unlocked the bicycle lock and slid it from her slave's neck. In its place went Dan's neck collar to which she had attached the short length of chain. She clipped Dan's wrists to the end of the chain in front. It was long enough to allow Dan reach upward to place his hands on his head and downwards to scratch his belly button, if he so desired. Fairly short in other words. Sophia had put Dan on a tight leash.

'I'm going to bring you downstairs, show you your living quarters, give you your first punishment, and feed you. I intend to feed you three times daily; eight in the morning, two in the afternoon and eight at night. Now bend down, pick up the riding crop and follow me.'

As Dan went down on his knees and bent over so he could reach the riding crop with his chained hands, he was thinking that Sophia's choice of phrase was a bit off. 'Feeding you' sounded a bit like a farmer talking about his animals; 'time to feed the pigs' or 'we feed the chickens twice a day.' She could have as easily said, 'we eat three times a day,' but she didn't. Maybe it was a turn of phrase among slave owners, discussing the mechanics of slave owning on their internet forums. They would ask each other how often they feed their slaves, or what do they feed their slaves. These thoughts flitted through Dan's mind as he shuffled along the short hallway after Sophia. His cock betraying him relishing the prospect of being fed like an animal. Bit of a humiliation kick to look forward to, he supposed, taking the positive view. Of course he'd had his share of eating out of a dog bowl on the floor under Mary's ownership, but that was more a deliberate putdown, between normal 'sitting at the table' eating. The casually unequal nature of the 'I will feed you' phrase set a different tone. No sense of sharing a meal, let alone sharing a table. Dan suspected a dog bowl would feature permanently in his life from now on.

The basement stairs curved down behind and under the main staircase to a small corridor at the bottom. Dan descended carefully to this basement corridor. The bolted door on the left of the corridor led into the front garage/workroom that Dan had been let into on his arrival. There were two doors on the right, close together. These doors also had solid, substantial, bolts fitted. When the bolt was closed over the door could only be opened from the corridor side. Sophia, slid back the bolt and opened the furthest door first. It opened out.

'This is where you sleep.'

Dan leaned in to see a room that was not much bigger than the single mattress that lay on the floor inside. Calling it a room was an exaggeration.. It wasn't really a room. It was a long deep cupboard in effect. There was no window and no light on the ceiling, just a vent for an extractor fan. A white metal bucket with a lid stood ominously inside the door. Sophia closed the door and slid the bolt home with a clunk. No getting out of that box unless she decides to let you out was the clear inference.

Sophia opened the adjoining door and told Dan to step inside. Dan shuffled in to a much larger room. It was dominated by a foot thick wooden floor-to-ceiling post in the centre that looked a hundred years old and, no doubt, supported the floor of the room above. The iron rings set into each side of the post towards the top grabbed Dan's attention. They were matched by similar sets of rings set at waist and ankle height. He knew where this was going.

'Hand me the whip and go to the post.'

Dan handed over the riding crop to his diminutive owner and shuffled towards the post, thinking, this is it then, life as a pure slave begins. There was no denying the purpose of the post sitting in the middle of the room. It was a whipping post. By way of distracting himself as he headed for his appointment with the whip, Dan looked around the sparsely furnished room. The floor was concrete. It had been painted a dull red some long time ago. The walls were unpainted, or painted a very dull grey. He realised that his bedroom was just a corner cut out of the larger square he was shuffling across. The alcove behind Dan's bedroom cut-out appeared to be a tiled shower cubicle, with the now familiar hole in the ground toilet incorporated into it. It was fronted by a glass door. No privacy there then, but Dan was used to that. A line of shutters covered most of the outside wall.

The wall opposite the shower cubicle contained some shelving, a wooden chest, and a tall cupboard. That's where her whip and cane collection will be, thought Dan, gloomily. Some ancient furniture was dotted along the remaining wall, the one they had entered by. A long mirror, a small table, a desk and chair. A tall wooden armchair with a cushioned seat completed the inventory.

Dan could imagine grand-aunt Eugenie, or whatever, sitting on the wooden armchair, her feet neatly together, balancing a basin on her knees into which she shelled the peas she had picked in her garden back in 1937. He assumed the garden that the peas grew in lay behind the line of shutters, beyond the peas would be a couple of apple trees and maybe a blackcurrant bush, he thought, getting a bit carried away, as he reached the post and stood facing it.

'Give me your hands.'

Dan wasn't fighting this, he knew it was going to happen no matter what he did. Even so his buttocks clenched involuntarily as he raised his arms to allow Sophia unclip each wrist cuff in turn. She had to stretch up to reattach the cuffs to the ring on the far side of the post high up. Sophia unclipped his ankle chain and brought each leg around and clipped his ankle cuffs to the rings at ground level, on each side of the post. It looked like Dan was holding the post in a close embrace, fucking it almost, his chin pushed up hard against the wood, his buttocks forced to jut out provocatively. Like he wanted it, and was offering up his ass for the whipping he was about to receive.

To an outsider it would look like a classic sexy BDSM scene. The low ceilinged gloomy dungeon; the slave, naked and gagged, tied hard against the whipping post, his arms raised above his head and chained to the iron rings set in the post; his buttocks taut and tensed, braced to receive the crop. But there was nothing sexy about this scene for Dan. He was jetlagged and hungry. He wanted to eat and sleep. The last thing he needed was a whipping. And anyway, after the humiliation of his pathetic bid for freedom earlier in the day, he had already decided he would never attempt that sort of escape again. Next time he'd just walk out the door and keep going. He'd do it, even if he was naked at the time. If an opportunity presented itself, that was. If there ever was a next time.

The mortification of his so called Paris escape would take some living down. To think that only this time last night, New York time, he was sitting in JFK airport, free as a bird. Could have just walked out the door and started a new life. How stupid could a person be? How could he, a scientist, have believed it was all just a coincidence? That the very person sitting beside him, on a transatlantic flight, wanted to hire a science teacher. Right there and then. And who was sitting beside her but a science teacher who wanted work. Right there and then. Fancy that? The very idea was ludicrous, on reflection.

Any further musing about being played for a fool was banished when Dan glanced sideways from his position at the whipping post. He a caught a shadowy glimpse of Sophia reflected in the mirror. He could see the riding crop held out from her raised her arm which was at shoulder height across her body, like Venus Williams about to unleash a backhand volley. Except Sophia was about to release a vicious backhand stroke of the crop. He looked at the image in the mirror calmly. It was as if what he saw there was not real. His mind didn't tie it in to what was about to happen to him. Must be the jet lag. So the searing, scorching pain when the crop struck with full force across Dan's buttocks came as a surprise. Dan couldn't supress the loud muffled grunt that escaped around the tight ball gag.

He got off lightly enough in the end. Sophia had been silent throughout the short punishment session, the only sounds being the crack of the crop across Dan's ass and his involuntary throaty protest after each hit. There were five red stripes across Dan's ass as Sophia reached up to unclip his wrists. He flinched when she pressed one of her hands into the small of his back, but it was over, in fact. She was just casually using his body to help her stretch up to release his wrists. Dan still found the way she seemed to just casually use his body, or ignore his body, unsettling. It reminded him that he had no idea where Sophia was coming from in her interactions with him. Was he just a thing?

After she unclipped him from the post Sophia silently indicated that he should turn around by placing a hand on each of Dan's hips and rotating him on the spot. This was more of Sophia's unconcerned familiarity with Dan's body. As she went on to clip his hands under his chin, Dan decided he wasn't the first slave to have graced her whipping post. She had bought, sold, and used slaves before. The way she ignored his genitals was another thing. Dan would have expected her of feel him up. Just because she could. Like she already had, before she started to totally treat him as a slave, when she made him come all over her floor. He wouldn't have minded if she demonstrated her ownership of his body now, say by giving a stroke of encouragement to his penis, or a little friendly squeeze to his balls. Like Mary would have done. Showed him that they were hers to play with. And that she was fond of playing with them.

Sophia dropped the riding crop, walked over to the wooden armchair and sat on it, facing out towards the room. She beckoned Dan to her. As Dan shuffled across, Sophia spread her legs and pulled off her soft woollen pullover revealing a well filled black bra. She pointed to the ground between her spread knees.

'Kneel, Slave.'

Dan was a bit surprised, but obeyed briskly, shuffling closer and kneeling down, wondering what next. In front of his face, Sophia's large breasts were held high and proud by the strong black bra. Her chin was above the level of his forehead. He didn't dare look up at her, just stared straight at the little satin bow in the centre of her bra, about four inches in front of his nose. His ass still stinging from the riding crop, Dan needed no reminding as to who was the boss here. If she wants me to look up, she'll tell me to look up, he decided.

'Closer, Slave. It's feeding time.'

Dan braced himself for further humiliation. She's probably going to tease me by spoon feeding me, he thought. Going for the 'open wide' then make him wait while she dangled each spoonful of baby goo over his face, then making him wait, then doing the 'there's a good boy' stuff, and 'open again.', Infantilising him, emphasising his dependence on her. Or worse, she could be going the cruel tormenter route, taking the food in her mouth, chewing it, and then spitting it into Dan's open and upstretched gob. Like a guillemot feeding its chick. More of the same really, thought Dan, deciding that he was so hungry it didn't matter. He just needed to eat something.

As instructed, Dan shuffled even closer on his knees till his head was almost touching Sophia's breasts on either side of her cleavage. His naked stomach was pressed against her crotch, only the thin fabric of her Lycra jeggings between them. His erect and dripping penis searched for contact with anything under the seat of the armchair. With his face right between her breasts now, Dan could feel Sophia's body heat and smell her body smell, his cock twitched, thickened, and probed the nothingness beneath the wooden armchair. No relief there. Sophia's fingers passed beside his face, so close as to be blurred, and pulled away the cup of what Dan immediately realised was a nursing bra. She had unhooked the right cup of the bra.

Sophia's large breast spilled out and pressed, warm and full, against Dan's cheek. Instinctively he turned towards it, his lips brushing the soft, tender, blue-white, stretched skin. He quickly went to pull away but Sophia gripped the back of his head with her hand, holding his head against her breast and turning her breast more to meet his face full on. As her round brown aureole towards came into view Dan realised what was about to happen. It made him forget all about the burning pain in his ass. Surely she's not planning to breast feed me, he said to himself, even as he knew she was about to do exactly that. Sophia reached behind Dan's head with her other hand, unclipped his ball gag and pulled it from his mouth. Dan had time to gratefully take a few deep breaths as Sophia turned his head further to line up his mouth with her large brown engorged nipple.