The next morning I awoke feeling thoroughly refreshed and satisfied. I stretched luxuriously in my bed as images from the previous evening replayed in my mind; Tina's distended asshole being stretched wide by Mike's monstrous black cock, Amanda dressed as a schoolgirl being spanked hard by James as she lay helplessly strapped to the spanking bench, and Ella lashing her own pussy to orgasm. It had been a good party, one of the best ever.
As was my custom I started a bath running, then went and fetched Ella from her cage, walked her back on all fours to the bathroom, sat her in the corner as I bathed. Again I instructed her to soap my back - very much easier for her than it had been the day before, as she was not now blindfolded and had full use of her hands. After I had rinsed I stepped from the tub and handed her a soft towel.
"Dry me," I commanded, and she began to gently rub me with the towel. As she dried my crotch I felt the first stirrings of my cock, but I didn't do anything about it - for now.
When I was dry, I told her to strip off the black thigh-high stockings she still wore, now stained and streaked with sweat and various bodily fluids, and her high-heel shoes. I dropped the stockings into the waste basket.
"Remove your collar," I instructed, and she reluctantly did as I ordered.
I instructed her into the shower, and watched as she soaped herself and rinsed, to ensure she didn't arouse herself without clear directions to do so. She spent perhaps slightly too long washing her breasts and pubis, but with me watching she knew better than to explicitly play with herself. She still had red marks from where Mike and I had used the tawser the previous evening, but they hadn't broken the skin and would fade in a day or two. Then she massaged shampoo into lustrous black hair. As I watched her rubbing her hair and scalp, arms raised to her head, eyes closed, breasts jutting out, I thought again how magnificent she was. To think that she was my slave, utterly subservient to my will, that I could do anything with her or to her that I pleased. My cock twitched at the thought.
When she emerged I threw at her the towel she had used to dry me. There were plenty of clean towels, but why waste one on a slave?
"Dry yourself," I commanded, and she did as she was told, as she always did. I handed her the collar.
"What are the rules of the collar?" I asked her.
"Rule one: I will always address you as master, unless instructed to do otherwise," she said. She knew the rules well; "Rule two: I will obey every command instantly and without question. Rule three: I am the master's property, to do with as he wishes, to be used by him or anyone else he chooses in any way. Rule four: I will not orgasm without express permission from the master."
"And how do you feel without your collar?" I asked.
"Naked, master. Empty. Bereft."
"Then if you agree to the rules of the collar you may put it back on."
Immediately she did so, and as she fastened the buckle she seemed to relax slightly as she slipped back into her slave role. Wearing the collar she was freed of the burden of thought: she didn't have to think about when to eat, what to do, where to go, when to fuck, when to cum. She only had to do one thing: what she was told to do. But I enjoyed making her repeat the rules every so often, to re-enforce her willing submission and utter subjection to my will.
"On all fours," I said, "And carry the high-heels by their straps in your mouth."
"Yes, master," she said, and picked up the shoes by their straps in her teeth. I walked her through the bedroom, into the hall, and along to her dressing room.
"Place the shoes with the others," I told her, and she carefully dropped them from her mouth next to the rows upon rows of footwear; flat shoes, many pairs of high-heels, thigh-length latex boots, knee high buckled black leather boots, ballet pumps - shoes for every occasion, every scenario I could imagine, and I was adding to the collection all the time.
One wall was lined with shelves containing panties, stockings, hoods, collars, garter belts, socks of various lengths and all in various colours; the other wall had a clothes rail containing dozens of hangars holding corsets, skirts, blouses, jackets, full-body latex suits and every imaginable form of fetish-wear. Luckily I was very wealthy; if I constructed a scenario in my mind and needed something to fulfil it I just bought it from an online supplier, and with express delivery it arrived the next day.
I selected a fresh pair of black stockings, a suspender belt and a maid apron, and told her to dress. I watched hungrily as she rolled the stockings up her beautiful long legs, wrapped the suspender belt around her waist, and snapped the stockings to it, then I tied the apron in the small her back in a double-bow. I didn't give her any panties to wear; I wanted her holes immediately available at all times.
Then she crawled behind me back to the library, and waited passively as I fitted her with a mid-size buttplug and put individual clamps on her nipples - not vicious alligator clips, but tweezers with a collar which I could slide up or down to make them tighter or not-so-tight. This morning I went for a middle setting, so that they exerted a very noticeable pressure, but not so tight they would cut off the blood supply. They would become painful over hours of wear rather than being immediately agonising.
Then I walked her down - I was walking, she was crawling - to the cellar, and sat on the couch reading my emails as Ella took a cleaning spray and cloth from a small cupboard and began to thoroughly clean all the furniture, including the leather couches, vigorously scrubbing at the smear of dried cum where Amanda had wanked Mike to orgasm the night before.
My mobile rang.
"Stop and kneel," I instructed Ella, and she immediately dropped to her knees and crossed her arms in the small of her back. I accepted the call.
"Hello?" I said
"Hi," said a female voice on the other end of the line, "Is that Dan S---?"
"It is."
"Hi. My name is Sarah, and I'm a researcher for -----" She named an independent production company which made programmes to sell to the TV networks.
"Hi Sarah," I said, "Just give me a minute to get better reception." I got up and walked to the stairs. "Stay there," I said to Ella over my shoulder as I climbed the stairs.
"Oh I'm sorry," said Sarah, "Are you with someone? Is this not a good time?"
"No, it doesn't matter," I said. "What can I do for you, Sarah?"
"As I said I'm a researcher, and I'm currently working on a documentary about, er, alternative lifestyles."
"And how did you get my name, Sarah?"
"I've been to ---- --- a few times," Sarah said, naming one of London's biggest fetish and sex clubs, "And the owner suggested you as someone it might be good to talk to."
"And were you there in a professional or personal capacity?" I asked?
"Personal," she laughed, "But it was going there that gave me the idea for the documentary in the first place. So I pitched the idea to my boss, and she thought it was a good idea, told me to do some initial digging, contact a few people, see what happened."
"So what can I do for you?"
"Well I was told that you were a, um, dom who kept a slave." She didn't seem entirely comfortable talking about it, at least not to a total stranger she had just called out of the blue
"That is correct, I do."
"Great! I was wondering if we could maybe interview you and your, er, slave for the programme?"
"What's the angle?"
"Why people choose the lifestyles they do, what attracts them to it - especially the slaves who give up control to someone else. It's not meant to be salacious, but an honest and open look at a lifestyle most people know nothing about."
"I don't see why not. When?"
Sarah suggested the following Tuesday, a week away.
"And who will be coming?"
"The director, Tara Boyd, and a cameraman. They have an interview in London first thing, so it will probably be early or mid-afternoon by the time they get to you. Is that OK?"
"Fine. Just one condition though."
"Which is?"
"No exterior shots of my property. I don't want it to be identifiable where I live."
"Agreed."
I gave her the address, and she rang off.
"Looks like we're going to be famous," I said to Ella as I re-entered the cellar; "But in the meantime, get back to cleaning."
"Yes, master,' she said, and went back to spraying and scrubbing.
When she had finished cleaning I made some breakfast; muesli for me, and plain porridge without salt or sugar for Ella, followed by soft fruit and vitamin pills. I controlled her diet very carefully, both to control her weight and to keep her anal tract as clean and easy to flush as possible. She ate her porridge from a bowl on the floor with no spoon, putting her face into it and lapping it up, then picked pieces of fruit from a plate, also on the floor, with her teeth. Then I fed her the vitamin tablets, one at a time, following each with a sip of water.
After I had scrubbed her face clean I went to the library to do some work. Ella knelt besides the desk, arms behind her back, ready to serve - whether it was making me a cup of earl grey tea (black, no sugar), fetching a document from the printer, or sucking my cock on demand.
The screen on my computer was filled with flashing numbers as I monitored my Forex positions; other browser tabs contained pages of financial news, jobs figures, interest rate forecasts, mortgage rates in various countries, company results. I had worked in the City for many years before retiring to the country, for one of the big investment banks. The bonuses I'd earned had bought the house and ensured I'd never need to work again; what I did day-to-day was just for pin money and to stop myself getting bored. Still, on a good day I could make several thousand pounds and occasionally I called a position very right and made five or ten times that amount. I was rigorous about hedging, so that even when a trade went wrong I could usually unwind it without losing too much money. All in all I earned more than enough to ensure I could remain here forever, in this beautiful house deep in the Dorset countryside, with my willing slave girl and my perverted imagination.
"Play with yourself," I instructed Ella, not even looking at her, eyes still on the screen.
"Yes master," she replied. With one hand she began massaging her clit and pussy, with the other she started to stroke and squeeze her nipples, still held in the tweezer clamps.
"Put two fingers inside and fuck yourself with them."
"Yes master." She did as she was told, slipping two fingers all the way into her cunt and beginning to move them in and out. I swivelled in my chair and watched her for several minutes.
