I notice something familiar about you as soon as I enter the room. I notice it from the top of the stairs, just after Mistress Larissa opens the heavy oak door and leads me inside. I see it even before you have a chance to see me for yourself. Unlike the four men shackled beside you, I sense something different about you, something special. I can't put my finger on it, not when I first walk in, so I follow Mistress down the steps to get a better look.
The room is quiet, so quiet I hear the click of my high heeled shoes upon the ancient stone floor. There's the sound of water too, from somewhere far off, perhaps a leaking pipe or the remnants of the earlier rain shower. It was warm upstairs, the humidity of the early evening still hanging heavy in the air, but the temperature turns cooler as soon as I step through the door. The view gets a lot better too.
Yes! You sense it too. You see something familiar about me as well. We both sense it. I see it in your eyes. I observe the way your body jumps as soon as you look up and notice when I am half way down the stairs. Do you recognize me? Do you know me? I wonder...
I continue down the steps in an attempt to solve the mystery. I must be careful where I place my feet, careful to keep my heels out of the numerous hazards in my path. The masonry is cracked. There is no railing. In some places a gap just the right size for my shoe opens between blocks. The dampness of the place leaves a wet slime on the wall; the floor makes everything around me look slippery.
We descend down the stairs into an unused room of the mansion. Perhaps it was once used for storage. Most certainly it was built as part of the original construction. The place looks like an ancient dudgeon, the kind of dudgeon I once toured in an old European castle. It looks like a place where a king might take his captured prisoners, where he could take his time to tease and torture them. A king maybe, but a queen better still! Your shackled form makes me consider the proper role of a Queen, and then I think about prisoners too. I also consider teasing and torture. I fantasize you as a prisoner and me as your sex-starved guard.
The temperature drops as we descend, but your presence serves to warm me. The others too, the four other men shackled upright beside you. Still, I feel a little cold. The room must be far below the surface. It is like entering a cave. It would certainly help if I was wearing a full set of clothing to keep me warm.
Mistress now begins the introductions. As soon as we get to the bottom of the stairs, she introduces you. Not with names, for captured slaves don't have names. She refers to you only as "her boys."
Boys? I like that! You could almost be boys, all five of you. So young, so innocent, but you are also most clearly men. Young men, still in your early 20s I take a guess, but then that's the way I prefer my men: Young. Naive. Maybe even virginal.
I suddenly remember. Yes! I think of School, back in college, and then I suddenly remember you. I knew there was something familiar about you. I was a teacher once, you know, and you were once a student. You used to be a student of mine, weren't you? That's right. Four years ago. Algebra class. Now I remember more clearly. You were most likely a sophomore at the time. That would make you, let me see, no more than 22 years old now. Young, yes, very nice. Indeed! You still are a boy...
My boy...
I wonder if you remember me. I would be surprised if you did. I looked different back then. Black plastic framed glasses. Hair bunched up in a bun at the top of my head. I probably looked the same as all your other teachers. Younger than most, but still a teacher, a teacher hired to teach young mean what they didn't want to learn. I also dressed a lot different back then too. More conservative, certainly, I usually wore a high necklined blouse and always a long skirt or pants. No way would I ever wear something like this to teach a class, to stand half clothed in front of a class full of male testosterone. The principle used to despise any teacher who showed even a hint of cleavage. She would have thrown me out the front door.
But I do remember you, boy. I remember you clearly. Those muscular biceps. That chiseled chest. And those lips that seem to be begging me to give them a deep, passionate kiss. I mean, have you taken a good look at yourself in the mirror lately? You are fucking hot! You were hot back then. You look just as hot now. A teacher isn't supposed to look at her students that way. She's supposed to remain ambivalent, as they say, but with you it proved impossible.
I recall you were the dream date of every girl in school. Handsome, tanned, body built like a tank. Didn't you also surf? And weren't you one of the star football players? Yes, I remember now. You had the girls chasing you all over. Sometimes I would hear them gossip about you in the hallway, those giggling young women, talking about the latest dance, hoping you would ask them out. Silly little girls! They wouldn't know what to do with a guy like you. I'm sure they wanted to do all sorts of things, after the dance, like in the back seat of your car. A girl can think some very naughty thoughts around a guy like you. I know I did!
You'll have to excuse me for not recognizing you from the top of the stairs, but that was a few years ago. Plus, you look a lot different now. Well, perhaps not so much different. Your face remains the same. So do your biceps and that head of long blond hair. I still like the way your hair covers your ears and almost touches your shoulders. It makes you look almost like a girl, but of course you clearly are no girl. Oh no, you're not! I can see that for myself. Of course there is one more difference between now and then. Back then, if I recall correctly, every day you walked into class wearing clothes. Not like you are now!
Mistress Larissa fails to notice my interest in you. She takes little notice, and instead introduces me to the rest of her boys. I pull my eyes away and recall the four other male studs standing beside you.
The rest of the selection looks very nice too. Yes, very nice! Real pieces of beef, prime steaks! But no, not steaks. For some reason I think of sausage. Yes, I think of sausage when I look at you. Five hunks of beef sausage. You could form the front line of a football team, the five of you. Mistress must provide excellent work out facilities. I suspect you each spend several hours every day lifting weights or running the treadmill. Or perhaps she works you in other ways too! I wonder?
Three brunettes and two blonds. I like that! A well rounded selection. I've always said a woman needs a bit of variety in her life. Handsome faces too, all of you! Chiseled chests. Strong arms and legs. You look like you could almost break out of those chains and shackles, break out of the thick bands of steal that securely hold each of your wrists and ankles to the heavy wood beams. Of course you cannot break free, of that I have no doubt, and of that I so much enjoy. It makes the scene so much more erotic, the thoughts going through my head more interesting. It also makes me feel so much more powerful, more in control, like I could take advantage and do to you whatever I wanted.
