Sausages Bacstory

After Mary drove their car out through the electric gate from Alice's house and turned towards town, and not until then, could Dan feel confident that his slave training ordeal was finally behind him. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, turned towards Mary, and said, 'Boy, was I glad to see you arrive this morning.'

'Well, I assume you didn't expect it to be a holiday camp, Dan?

'No, and it wasn't. But I didn't expect it to be such a total experience either. There was always somebody telling me what to do. The only time I was free to think about things was when I was tied up for the night in Alice's basement. And then I was too tired to think about anything much. So I still need to digest it all, really.'

'The way I see it, you don't have to think too much about it. A slave basically follows somebody else's agenda. They mightn't even know what that agenda is. They don't have to know. It's a simple life really. The slave's agenda is to be a slave. That's you sorted.'

'Hmmmm. '

The 'hmmmm' wasn't Dan thinking about the philosophical niceties of slavedom. It was Dan stalling over what to call his wife/owner. She was calling him 'Dan' but he wasn't sure if that meant he could call her Mary all the time. She'd already slapped him down once for going into full on slave-speak, so 'Madam' was probably a bit over the top. He settled for the noncommittal 'hmmmm.' See how it goes.

'For now, Dan, you are following my agenda. I own you. We signed a contract to that effect. Remember? I will tell you what to do. Don't sweat it.'

'Right now we are going to do a grocery shop before going home,' added Mary, as she turned the car into the shopping centre on the edge of town. She handing him a piece of paper. 'You are going to get the groceries on that list. Nothing more, nothing less. That simple enough for you, Slave?'

He didn't like Mary's sarcastic tone. That was new. He wasn't a total dork, after all. But now is not the time to pull her up on it, he decided. 'OK,' he said evenly. 'But I don't have my wallet.'

'Not a problem. Just get the groceries and wait before the checkout area. I'll come and find you and pay when you've checked them through. I've got a few other things to do.'

Dan decided against asking about the few other things that Mary had to do. Also not the time. None of my business, thought the good slave. If I need to know she'll tell me. As Mary was pulling into a parking bay he wondered if he'd ask Mary about his wallet generally. As in, when he might get it. His wallet, and access to it, was not a trivial matter. Besides, it was his. But Mary stopped the car and told him to hop to it before he had time to pop the question.

'Yes, Madam,' said Dan, glancing over at her, putting on a cheeky grin. Dan the daring slave. Willing to mix it with the owner now and then. More like Dan, the 'totally put down by his wife' wimp, and trying to save face. He knew the moment for the wallet query had passed and he would just sound whiney if he asked now. Never decisive enough was Dan. If there was a boat to be missed, Dan could be relied upon to miss the boat. He climbed out of the car, clutching the grocery list.

'Hey, Slave, come back here,' called Mary through the open window, with an equally cheeky grin, fishing a token from the glove compartment. 'You'll need this for the trolley.'

Dan now regretted starting the 'Madam' thing again. He was stuck with it. 'Yes, Madam,' he replied, trying, but failing, to maintain the cheeky grin. He hoped nobody in the carpark heard him being called 'slave' by his wife.

Doing the weekly shop was not foreign to Dan. He had already embraced the modern role sharing model. Did his bit around the house and all that. Working his way through the supermarket was no challenge; the vegetable section, the fresh fruit, the milk and dairy and so on, being careful to get exactly what was on the list. A couple of unusually detailed items surprised him:

2 Maxi bags dry food for large dogs weighing over 25 kg,

6 cans of Lamb, Rice & Vegetables dog food,

6 cans of Chicken, Rice & Vegetables dog food.

OK, thought Dan, obviously dog food. We don't, or didn't, have a dog last time I looked. Dan assumed, but briefly, that Mary might be getting, or might already have got, a dog. But as soon as the thought surfaced he rejected it. Getting a dog wasn't on the agenda, really. That left only one option. The dog food was for the slave. That's me. His heart sank, but at the same time it was balanced by a little tingle of excitement between his legs. Dan, the slave, treated like a dog.

He paused in the vegetable aisle savouring the memory of filling his breakfast dog bowl for Alice and holding it up to her pussy to be watered with her hot rich piss, the first of the day. She'd saved it for him, she used to say. He could picture it now: Out on the patio. The morning sun shining between her legs and flashing bright off the gleaming stray hairs of her public fleece. The backlit stream of golden liquid, like a libation for the gods of ancient Greece, splashed into his dog bowl. Small droplets bounced up, splattering his face and mouth. The dull hot throbbing of his cock pushing against the walls of its cage and the associated sharp jab of pain from between his legs brought Dan back to reality.

Down to business. Get everything on the list was the clear instruction. He wasn't going to fall down on the first slave task assigned to him in his new full time slave role. Next to the dog food items, Mary had written, and underlined, 'Get the Basic Essentials brand.'

Adopting a nonchalant air, as if he was a regular pet food buyer, Dan meandered through to the pet food section. He went past all the big brand names till he came to the cheapo own brand corner and loaded up the two bags of dry dog food while hoping a busybody dog lover type wouldn't confront him. How could you claim to love your dog and buy them that rubbish, he imagined them berating him. Don't you know it is half sawdust and the rest dried offal? He couldn't bring himself to review the list of ingredients. Better not to know. He noticed that the sacks claimed to 'contain large kibbles especially adapted to the jaw size of large breed dogs.' What's that about he wondered? The cans of dog food came in six-packs and boasted of their 'proven high acceptance rating: full of flavour and accepted by many dogs.' Well good for you, thought Dan. Now also accepted by many slaves. You can add that proud boast to your advertising.

Mary kept him waiting a good five minutes before she arrived. He'd got a few funny looks as people passed him and moved their trolleys up into the checkout. She waved at him to go up to a checkout. After he cleared the checkout Mary sent him on out to the car while she paid. As they loaded the groceries into the boot, Dan noticed several packages already there -- Mary's few things no doubt -- one of which was not in a bag. It was a large aluminium dog bowl.

'Are we getting a dog then?' He chanced remarking. Seemed an obvious and safe enough question to ask. Even though he knew the answer.

'Don't try getting smart with me, Slave. I already pointed out to you that I will tell you what I need to tell you when I need to tell you. Your impertinence is noted and it will be dealt with later.'

Dan quickly went into full retreat. 'Sorry, Madam. I didn't mean to pry. It won't happen again.'

Navigating the 'am I her slave or am I her husband' boundary was going to prove tricky, Dan decided. Ask no questions and offer no opinions would be a good first rule of thumb. The 'Madam versus Mary' boundary would take a bit of figuring out too. After all it was Mary who rubbished his 'I am you humble slave' effort in the first place. And now she was kicking him back into total humble slave mode. Dan didn't like living with uncertainty but he also suspected he wouldn't like 'being dealt with' either. He decided he'd give uncertainty a go for the moment. No more questions.

While driving home from the shopping centre Mary gave Dan the skinny on slave economics. 'Owning a slave, Dan, is like any economic proposition. The slave - that's you - is an asset. To get maximum value from the asset you have to maximise its output for the minimum of input. I'm sure there is something similar in the world of science, biology or something that you teach to your students. Something about honey bees gathering nectar or whatever. Anyway, long story short: steak is wasted on you, Dan, when dogfood will get the same result. Capiche?

'I suppose,' said Dan glumly, steering carefully around the Mary/Madam conundrum.

'I'm not saying you'll never have steak, Dan, you will. But it will be as a reward for good behaviour or exceptional performance or something. Basically, you'll have to earn it.'

'Phew, that's a relief. The slave without steak could be a very dull slave,' quipped Dan, trying to lighten the mood.

'Well, there's lots of ways of incentivising performance. We'll give them all a go, don't you worry,' said Mary as she turned the car into their short driveway.

The sight of his home actually brought tears to Dan's eyes. He got a lump in is throat and welled up a little. Fortunately, Mary was all busyness and didn't notice. It had only been a week in all, but it seemed like a lifetime. First there was the 'wellness' break, then the three days of slave training. In that short time the parameters of Dan's life seemed to have irreversibly shifted into some new and strange dimension. Yet here he was back outside his own house, wearing normal clothes again, even if only a tracksuit and trainers, talking with his wife and sitting in his car. Great! I'm back, he thought with relief. Dorothy and Kansas came to mind: There's no place like home.

Dan didn't need to be told to start bringing in the groceries. Just the very act of tripping up the front step fully laden, staggering down the hall and dumping them on the kitchen table was heaven. Then back out for more. Dan was blissfully reconnecting with the normal trivia of suburban living. He breathed in the familiar smells of the hall and the kitchen as he walked in and out. He was happy. The thought of having the same experience going into school tomorrow made him almost giddy; the chemical smells of the lab, the noisy chatter of the students before settling down to the lesson. He couldn't wait.

'OK, Dan. See those packages. Bring them upstairs for me and I'll show you to your slave quarters while we are up there. I've had a few alterations made while you were at your slave training camp. You weren't the only one slaving away over the past few days.'

'Yes, Madam,' said Dan eagerly, his cock cage twitching as its imprisoned member filled and hardened in anticipation. Slave quarters, he thought, I wasn't expecting this.

Mary led Dan into the spare room. It was the smallest of their three bedrooms. A small box room with its door directly facing the main bedroom across the landing. Normally it contained boxes of winter clothing, the vacuum cleaner, an unused exercise bike, and miscellaneous junk. The room had been transformed. The most obvious change was the fact that it had been completely emptied. Next big change was that the window in the wall facing them as they stood in the door was gone. A roughly applied rectangle of pink plaster marked where the window had been. No doubt the window was still visible from the outside, but was hidden behind a sheet of plasterboard, or maybe even bricks, on the inside. No effort had been made to match the new plaster with the old paint. The pink square of plaster splashed carelessly against the old magnolia paint gave the room a utilitarian, industrial look.

The utilitarian look was complimented by four ring bolts fixed into the wall, two above and on either side of the window space and two more the same distance apart below near the floor. Dan noticed the strategically placed ring bolts. His cock cage lifted and pulled again at its chain. A trickle of precum threatened to ease out the tip of his swollen penis as he imagined himself spread-eagled against the wall, arms and legs stretched and chained to the ringbolts. The slave awaits his cruel punishment.

The smallish room was sparsely furnished. As he stood in the doorway, it was easy to take it all in. On the left wall there was a single bed hard up against the wall with its head in the corner made with the window wall. The lower ringbolt was conveniently close to the head of the bed. There was another ring bolt high up midway along the length of the bed. What for? Dan wondered.

In the opposite corner of the window wall, on the right, a four by two stack of IKEA style box shelves was fixed against the wall across from the bed. A few coat hooks were fixed at the top of side of the box units facing the door. To hang coats on, or maybe a cane, or whips, fantasised Dan, getting more carried away by the minute.

Ominously, a highback chair stood towards the centre of the room with an old paint bucket beside it. Exactly the same as Alice's basement, thought Dan. The floor was covered with a dull grey vinyl. For ease of wiping up anything nasty, he decided. Dan couldn't get over the transformation of what had been an ordinary box room where they used basically dump stuff. He knew the chair would be fixed to the floor. As would the bed, with its plastic coated mattress.

He glanced ceilingwards. Sure enough, there was a small circular vent high up to the side of the window wall. In the centre of the ceiling, a naked light bulb surrounded with a metal cage. The steady blinking red light of a camera fixture in the ceiling over the door came as no surprise either. Dan knew, without looking, that there would be no door handle on the inside of the door and no light switch either. The handiwork of whoever made over Alice's basement was evident here too. Bette, probably, Dan speculated, but he wasn't about to ask Mary. Don't need to know.

At least there was a folded duvet sitting on the end of this bed. All in all, bit more homely in its dimensions than Alice's basement, but it did not have the look of a comfortable sleeping space either. A prison cell.

A push in the small of his back brought Dan out of his reverie and he stepped into the room. He hadn't realised Mary was talking to him. 'This is where the slave sleeps,' Mary was saying, gesturing towards the bed. You can put those bags on the shelves, and take off you track suit and hang it up. I've decided my slaves should normally be naked, or as good as, indoors.'

'Yes, Madam, said Dan, slipping off his sneakers and stepping out of his tracksuit bottoms. He hung it and the tracksuit top from one of the hooks. Slaves, he thought, slaves plural? Surely not. She's probably just trying to worry me.

'We'll put you in your collar and cuffs for the rest of the day,' said Mary, reaching into one of the bags she brought back from Alice's. Dan buckled his wrist and ankle cuffs on. He buckled the neck collar on and twisted it around so the buckle was at the back and the main attachment ring hung to the front. This was drifting a bit from Dan's imagined agenda for the afternoon. He had thought maybe a leisurely lunch together followed by watching a bit of football on the couch while Mary went out for her jog.

A return to fairly normal living but with the slave thing hanging in the air was what Dan had in mind. The thought that Mary could turn slave mistress at any minute and demand he perform some humiliating chore or something would provide a constant frisson of sexual tension. Which would be exciting and fun.

Mary had him turn around and she reached up and snapped a small padlock through the eyelets of the collar either side of the buckle at the back, locking it shut. 'This is a permanent fixture, Dan. You might as well start getting used to it.'

'But... but.. What about when I got into the college tomorrow,' whined Dan? This was not good. This was a long way from normal living; wearing a slave collar all the time, even outside the house.

'Complaining again, are we Dan? Leave that with me. You'll see later. Now let's get all your stuff unpacked.'

One of the carrier bags contained underwear and socks. Dan counted out seven pairs of white cotton socks, followed by five pairs of what were definitely ladies white cotton bras, light soft trainer type ones, not with big heavy cups or under wiring, but definitely bras. A separate cellophane package contained seven neatly rolled pairs of what looked very like ladies cotton panties.

'Are you sure these are for me?'

'Are you questioning me, Slave?

'Sorry, Madam. It's just that...' Dan trailed off. He realised he couldn't keep questioning and querying his Mistress. She'd already said there would be consequences after his fun query in the shopping centre car park. He'd just have to bottle it up for now.

'Put on a knickers and bra. Let's see how they look. I think you should wear the knickers back to front. That way they will be better able to contain your manly package in front. And having the high cut side at the back will keep your buttocks nicely exposed. A bit like wearing a thong. As a bonus, there will be no visible panty line, which will be good for when you are at school.' Mary gave Dan a playful, but firm, slap on his bare ass as she said this.

Dan decided to knuckle down and do what he was told. He'd let her assumption that he'd be wearing a bra and panties to school could just slide by for now. Best avoid a big row on his first day as a slave. Let things settle down for now. Later on, maybe in the evening, he would make it clear to Mary that she was getting a little carried away with this slave thing. Taking things just a tad too far. He would convince her of the wisdom of adopting a reasonable and more realistic approach to mixing his slave life and his working life. After all, he thought, there has to be a bit of give and take if this thing is to work.

Never a man do today what he could postpone 'till tomorrow, Dan the master of avoidance strategy, the dodger of confrontation, went ahead and put on the bra first, fumbling a bit with the clasp at the back. It was okay. It sat flat across his chest, a bit like a very cut-off vest. Except it was clearly a bra. There was even a little satin bow between the two soft flattish cups. Mary adjusted the shoulder straps to ensure a snug fit. Dan's modest pecs sat snugly in the cups giving them a slight fullness. Definitely a bra.

The panties were also definitely panties. He couldn't pretend to even to himself, never mind anybody else, that they were just slim men's jockeys. The legs were cut too high for underpants, leaving only a small crotch in front. They had scalloped trim edging around the top of the legs and the waist with a little bow in front. Unlike the bras, they weren't just plain white cotton. A small pattern of tiny roses were dotted all over; very feminine. But the horror of horrors was that each of the seven panties had a different day of the week printed in large letters on the front.

As instructed by Mary, Dan put the panties on back to front. Even then, they didn't work too well with the cock cage. The cage was just too bulky and kept the panties from seating against the top of his thighs.

'You'll have to wear the right panties on the right day, Dan,' said Mary with a grin, as she tugged the crotch of the panties over and back unsuccessfully. 'If I see you are wearing Monday's on a Tuesday, it will be a punishable offence.'

'Yes, Madam.'

She gave up trying to get the panties to cover Dan's cage. 'Not to worry. We're going to get that cage off you later today, so you don't have to worry about it.' 'Bette is going to call by to do it. She's good at this stuff. I wouldn't know where to begin with that mechanical monster you are wearing.'