Mansion of Slaves
Click on image to enlarge.
by Lady Blade
Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: Slave Training Academy for Men! The Mansion is widely known throughout the BDSM Community as a place to buy the best quality of human slave personally trained by the Mistress in residence. Inside the B&D is used to discipline and train slaves into total submission. Then the Mistress begins training a very special male slave. Soon she realizes that even the Mistress of the House must face the basic needs of a woman, her heart becomes involved at long last. Will she keep the slave she love? Or will she sell him after he's helped her carry on the Family Tradition ... The Mansion...A slave training center where traditions don't come without a heavy price...
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2004
eBookwise Release Date: October 2004
26 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [125 KB]
Reading time: 83-117 min.
She sat on the long leather couch watching him across the room. His breathing was deep and even, sleeping off the effects of the drug she'd used on him earlier in the night.
She smiled slowly with the memory of that time, some hours before, when she'd set out for the club. She'd dressed perfectly, the short skirt of her dress tasteful, meant to draw attention to her long tanned legs. Her bodice, a corset actually, just peeked out from the hem and molded to her flat stomach and size 36 chest. Her long legs were enhanced by the almost stiletto style heel of her shoes, causing her muscles to ripple and flex with each step. She'd braided her long hair, the plait swinging almost with a mind of its own, well beneath her buttocks, drawing the warranted attention to the smooth round globes.
She walked into the club knowing full well that every eye drew to her as she did so, but she had eyes for only one. She'd watched him for weeks, each Friday and Saturday, dancing with various women to the modern pop/rock beats of the DJ.
His body gyrated, and sleek muscles rippled as he moved. His slightly long hair whipped this way and that as he contorted himself to the beat. His legs, nearly as long as hers, moved him about the floor with confidence and grace.
As she'd watched and planned, she'd known he would be perfect. Each night that she'd watched him he'd left with a different woman, but she knew he lived alone, having followed him one night, weeks before. The women never stayed more than a few hours and always left with a smile.
She'd taken the time to find out through her connections, exactly who he was from the license plate on his jeep. Dillon Ryder was his name she'd found out shortly after first having seen him at the club. He had his own shipping business, though he was only twenty-eight; he'd inherited it from his grandfather a few years before. The business was doing relatively well, though it could do better. She knew Dillon wasn't struggling financially, nor was the business, but he didn't dedicate his time to it as his grandfather had. It would soon fall to the wayside, unless it was bailed out--which is where she came in.
A soft smile touched her lips as she stared at him again. She rose off the couch and walked across the room to where he was bound tightly in a large chair. Her slim fingered hand reached out and caressed his bent head lightly and she smiled softly again.
She stood over him, her hand lightly caressing the back of his bent head, as she mused over how easy it had been to capture his attention at the club that night. Dressed as many of the other women who had shared his bed, she caught his attention almost immediately. It had been an easy, casual night of dancing for them both, with Dillon staying close to her all through the night, as she knew he would. He was an easy mark; she'd studied him extensively in the previous weeks. She knew how he liked his women to act, what body signals set him off, and turned him on.
It had been so simple to cajole him into taking her back to his place--and even easier to slip the harmless sleeping pill into his soda once they were there. Within moments of his first sip, he was out like a light, and she was on the phone. The pill she'd given him was entirely harmless, with only the mildest of headaches as an after effect, but it was enough to ensure that his transport to her home went off without a hitch.
She snapped her fingers and a soft rustling came to her out of the shadows, along with a slight clink of chain, as her first slave shuffled forward on his knees. He came to rest before her, head bent to his chest, silently awaiting her command.
She reached out and touched his head gently, smiling as she did so, pleased with his training so far. "You do well, Jarron," she praised softly, stroking his head. "You'll be ready for sale soon."
His head whipped up at that, and his wide eyes stared at her in surprise. Her smile broadened slightly and she stroked his cheek around the heavy leather strap of the large ball gag in his mouth. "Yes, that's right ... sale."
He grunted slightly, the noise muffled by the ball, and a single tear escaped him. "You knew the contract with me wasn't permanent, Jarron." She turned away from his pleading eyes as she said it. She reached out and stroked Dillon's long hair, her smile bright with expectation of the coming months he would be in her care.
Just as she'd broken Jarron, who now lowered his head again at her feet, she would break Dillon in time. They always broke. They always had and they always would. "Prepare him," she commanded softly, as she turned and left the room, locking the single door behind her with a heavy click of finality.
* * * *
Dillon was jarred awake by a rush of cold water on his face. He jerked in reaction, his brain fuzzy for a moment, then slowly clearing. His sluggish body took a moment to catch up to his mind and he gulped heavily, his jaw aching.
Had he been in a fight? He remembered going to the club, and dancing with a nameless woman; taking her back to his place, as he had done with other women, so many nights; remembered her offer of a drink ... then blackness.
He lifted his pounding head from where it had slumped forward, and blinked open his eyes. It took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting and he wondered again if he'd fallen asleep on the poor woman and rolled off the couch. It would certainly account for his aching jaw and mild headache. He must have bumped his head on the coffee table when he rolled off. He started to rise, but his arms and legs wouldn't respond. He shifted his gaze down the length of his body, trying to figure out why. It took another moment for his brain to register that he was sitting up, his legs held firmly to a chair by five, heavy leather straps that buckled over his skin.
He shifted again and felt another wide belt around his waist, and yet another, around his wide, muscular chest. He tried to lift his arm and found five more leather straps holding them immobile against the hard wood beneath them. As he came to full awareness, he realized could move only his hands and head.
Dillon began struggling, flexing his muscles against the bonds. He mumbled to himself, or tried to, until he realized why his jaw was aching so much. It was being held wide by something hard and round, pushed back behind his teeth and strapped behind his head.
"MMMMMPHHHPPPPHHHHTTTTTT," he screamed out, the sound barely reaching his own ears as he struggled futilely against the heavy leather.
"Shh..." whispered a soft voice next to his ear, as a hand reached out and stroked the back of his head. "There's no need to be afraid. I won't hurt you--much."
He whipped his head around and his eyes grew wide at the sight beside him. The nameless woman he remembered dancing with that night, stood tall and proud, next to the heavy wooden chair. She had changed from what he vaguely remembered. Instead of the short skirt, tight fitting top, and high heels she'd worn at the club, she now wore something that looked like medieval armor of some sort--or something off that TV show, Xena.
She even vaguely looked like the actress who played the character. Long legs were encased in high leather looking boots. Flat stomach, high breasts, and wide shoulders were now held erect by a heavy looking leather corset of bright red. Her long midnight black hair, which he vaguely remembered being braided, flowed freely all about her, as if it had a mind of its own.
She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, and reached out again to stroke his head like she would a child. She bent close, her face inches from his, as she whispered. "Please don't struggle so, Dillon." Her tone was calm and even. "It's useless, and I don't want you hurt anymore than I deem necessary." Her brilliant green eyes lit with something akin to passion.
"MMMMMMMPPPPPHHHHHHHTTTTTTTTT," he cried against the hard rubber in his mouth, his eyes pleading for understanding as to what was happening to him.
"Shh..." Her long nailed fingers reached out to caress his chest like a lover. "All will become clear in time," she assured him as she turned and walked a short distance away.
"MMMMMMMPPPPHHHHHTTTTTTTTT." He cried out again as she seated herself on a wide leather couch he could just make out on the other side of the room. He struggled against the bonds holding him to the chair, trying unsuccessfully to throw his considerable weight against the hard wood to move it. Dillon realized, as she sat calmly and snapped her fingers once, that the heavy chair was bolted to the floor. His struggles were futile until she decided to unbuckle him.
He felt a glimmer of hope that that was going to happen when he heard someone else in the room, shuffling toward her seated position. He tilted his head to see behind him for a moment as the shuffling grew louder, and his eyes widened with something close to fear as another male moved forward from the shadows.
His wrists were cuffed by two heavy rings of leather, and held to his waist by a single, sturdy looking padlock. A weight lifters belt encircled his trim waist, and Dillon saw it too, was locked at the small of his back as he passed. A thin chain ran from the back to his feet, locked with similar padlocks to the heavy looking cuffs at his ankles. Another short length of chain between his ankles, kept the poor man hobbled, accounting for his shuffling gait as he passed by Dillon.
He had a hard rubber ball in his mouth of bright blue, the leather holding it there locked behind his head. He made no struggling moves, as if he were resisting his bondage, but instead shuffled over to the nameless woman, a manila envelope clutched in his bound hands. He came to a stop in front of her seated position and bent his knees gracefully. Without error, he ended his descent in front of her, head bowed to his chest in reverence.
She leaned forward slightly, and took the envelope from his hands, patting his head much as one would a child that had done a good deed. She sat back again, lifting one long leg over the arm of the couch next to her. A graceful hand snaked out and turned on the light on the table next to the couch. She smiled slightly as she flipped open the envelope in her hands.
Dillon realized that the corset she wore didn't cover her private areas, and she was now fully exposed to his wide-eyed view. He struggled again, futilely pulling at the heavy leather encasing his body. His hands clenched and unclenching tightly in frustration, as he did so. "MMMMMPPPPHHHHHTTTTTT," he screamed out again, though the sound barely traveled across the large room. With the secondary light on, he could make out more of the room, and realized with a start of fear that it was a dungeon--or a basement--he couldn't tell which.
Numerous pieces of equipment, some heavy looking wood, some leather, loomed in the shadows. Their straps hung loosely toward the floor. Behind the couch on which she sat was a second couch, their backs facing one another. Beyond them, was a massive entertainment center, complete with TV, videos, VCR and what he thought might be a DVD player, or satellite system.
She smiled as she flipped one of the pages in her hand, scooting a bit further down on the couch in open invitation to the male at her feet. The male groaned heavily behind the rubber in his mouth, shaking with anticipation in his bonds, but he didn't move toward her. A spark of silver at his waist captured Dillon's attention, and he noted the heavy looking bikini style underwear the man wore.