Muriel Macinley Ii: Pleasure Slave

Muriel MacInley II: Pleasure Slave

This is the second part of the story of Muriel, but if you didn't read the first, I don't think you will have any difficulty picking it up. The main character is an assistant librarian in a small English town, who is physically very attractive, but lacking in qualifications and with no ambition but to meet a rich and generous man. Hans is that man, but he soon reveals to her that, if he is to keep her, she must become his pleasure slave. Seeing it as her only chance to escape her humdrum existence, she accepts his proposition. The first part tells the story of her seduction and enslavement, covering only the first day of a bank holiday weekend. He has told her that she will return to work, and her own home, for the working weeks, and live with him as his sex-slave at the weekends.

Thank you for your interest in my work. If you choose to read it, a rating would be very welcome, and any comments would be very much appreciated.

Domestic Bliss

Having been seduced and put in chains, Muriel had two full days to get used to her new situation. She now knew that she had not found a lifetime sugar-daddy, but that she would probably always have a sugar-daddy, or possibly a sugar-mummy. She did not think deeply about the future so long as the present was satisfactory, and although it went a long way beyond what she had expected, she had decided that it was. Hans kept her restrained twenty-four seven, and after the first day he always fed her. She never showered herself, never cleaned her own teeth, and never administered her own enemas.

Such tasks, for a slave-owner, might have seemed demeaning, but Hans conducted himself with such an air of authority that they seemed more to demonstrate his mastery over her. He was very willing to talk about what he was doing and why. "You will not be a general-purpose slave who'll be used for sex and other odd jobs as they arise. You won't be peeling potatoes in the scullery between blowing the master of the house and eating out his wife's maid. You'll be a pleasure slave, and everything you do will be associated with giving or receiving sexual pleasure. That might involve a broader range of activities than you expect."

He did not enlarge on that then, but during the weekend she learnt more and more about what sex-slavery meant to him and, she hoped, to those with whom he associated. "Obviously, your first duty is to give your master or mistress sexual pleasure directly, with your three holes, your tongue and lips, and your tits and buttocks. Some might use your feet and hands; probably a minority. In your passive role, think of yourself as a sex doll, but warmer, wetter, and with apertures that can tighten around and caress anything that's put into them."

As he spoke, Muriel was lying across his knee, turned slightly to face him so that her locked wrists were not pressing against his legs. He had some of the fingers of one hand in her mouth, and his other hand was resting between her legs, the thumb just pushing lightly into her slit. Her head was on a thick cushion, and she felt very comfortable- even pampered- but also aroused. She found that she enjoyed the feel of his fingers brushing her lips, and despite her inexperience she tried to lick them as sensuously as she could, hoping to encourage him to leave them where they were.

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying, but she knew that it was important to her. "Many of us are aroused by the sight, sounds and feel of a slave's pleasure. It's almost literally music to our ears. It's a hackneyed truism to talk about playing a girl like a violin, but it's hackneyed because it's appropriate. Cross your ankles and let me open you up."

She complied as well as she could, rolling more onto her back. Her hands, locked together but pulled a little way up towards her shoulders, were over his crotch, and through the thin material of his chinos she could feel his erection. She wondered why he wore clothes in the house when it was so warm and she was naked at all times, but she guessed that he saw nudity as a mark of her servitude.

Despite her inexperience- for she had been his slave for only twenty-four hours- she thought she knew what to expect, and he did not surprise her. He used his little finger and thumb to hold her wide open while he just teased the skin around her clitoris, without touching it directly. At first, it seemed to her that if she was a violin, he was playing her

pizzicato

, tapping with his fingertips. He really needed both hands, but the other, now extracted from her mouth, was on one of her breasts, playing with the nipple and circling it with a fingertip. Her areolas were neat and well-defined circles, and they were very knobbly, as if dotted with mini-nipples, and she felt that she was getting little pleasure signals from each one as it was touched.

With her entire vulva now soaked and dripping, Hans began to "stir" her clitoral mound with his fingers, occasionally passing them over the bud itself. She was on the brink of cumming when she heard him conclude his remarks. "Very few sex-slaves would exchange their roles for any other calling," he told her. "What could be better than a life of giving and receiving sexual pleasure?"

Under different circumstances, Muriel might have probed deeper. If sex-slaves lived such blissful lives, why were they kept in chains? Although he had never picked one up, why were there whips hanging from convenient hooks in most of the rooms? Just then, however, she was overwhelmed by the first of a series of orgasms, twisting and writhing on his knee so he had to hold tight to her breast and clamp his hand against her sex. She thrashed and squirmed uncontrollably until he lost his grip, and then, as she lay panting across his knee, she began to feel less like a guitar, and more like a violin, or perhaps, as he turned her slightly away from him, a cello.

During the next half-hour he continued to play with her nipples, alternating between the two, but she squeezed them much harder during her climaxes, hurting her just enough to make her wonder about the relationship between pleasure and pain. She knew about nipple clamps, but had never thought they had any erotic function except for sadists and masochists. It was, however, the gentle stroking of her labia and clitoris with is fingers that suggested the analogy with stringed instruments, and which was largely responsible for the series of racking, all-consuming orgasms that convulsed her body.

Showing Restraint

As promised, Hans kept Muriel until Tuesday morning, and he spent much of the time trying her in various kinds of bondage, looking for the ways that best displayed her curvaceous body. She found some methods more comfortable than others. Her least favourite involved his heaviest chains, and yards of them. It meant removing her standard cuffs and collar and replacing them with thick, crudely-finished and cumbersome irons for which he had antique and rusty padlocks. They could have been simply locked together, but he used lengths of old chain that seemed more suitable for mooring ships, to restrain her in various positions.

Although with rope and/or standard cuffs he liked her with her hands locked behind her back and her ankles hobbled, in the vintage chains he gave her the freedom to take longer strides and use her hands in front of her body. She bore, however, such a weight of metal that she could only stand erect with difficulty, and take no more than a handful of steps before having to find refuge on a sofa or the floor. Resting some of the chain on a surface eased the burden, but when lying down she was always on some of the links, so no position was completely comfortable.

Hans obviously liked the heavy metal bondage, and when he locked her into it he warned that that she would not be released until he had cum in all her holes and between her breasts. Given his apparently super-human virility, that might have meant no more than a couple of hours, but he was in no hurry. He let her eat lunch on the sofa, and tried, with the aid of a straw, to let her blow him and drink her coffee at the same time. It worked, at best, as a novelty, and it was not until the drinks had been set aside that he was able to ejaculate into her mouth and throat.

Hans did not seem to mind a few red marks on her body, so she had to put up with lying on the chains as he used her for vaginal and anal sex. He liked the ironmongery enough to change her position after lunch. Earlier, she had been in what is generally known as

sirik

, with a long loop of chain running through rings on her collar (which seemed to her more like a small cangue) and her wrist and ankle irons, allowing her to stand upright if she could bear the weight.

In practice, the links were too rough, rusty and heavy to run freely through the rings, so moving her limbs in relation to one another was very hard work. She was, however, able to walk on all fours without too much difficulty, and it was that freedom which he now took away from her, moving her wrists behind her back. He preferred them there anyway, because they could not then obstruct his view of her breasts, and by Tuesday she had formed the impression that, had it been possible, he would have kept them there all the time.

As it was, he had to find ways to relieve the strain on her shoulders, and to give her arms some basic exercise. After the heavy chains, and an evening spent hogtied in ropes, she spent the night spread out in an "X" on the bed. That did not seem to give her much scope for exercise, but he not only used her in the missionary position before they slept, in the small hours, and the morning, but he also fingered her to a long series of orgasms, and as she bucked and writhed she fought her chains with every ounce of the strength in her muscles. It would have been difficult to think of a more effective way of exercising them.

For much of Monday, Hans kept Muriel in armbinders. He had only two available at the house, and his favourite was a pointed leatherette number with a zip instead of the more common lace-up fastening. It was narrow, and when closed from the bottom it gradually drew her elbows together until they were only a couple of inches apart. Thereafter, with some elasticity in its structure, it gradually overcame their resistance until they were touching.

The pull on her shoulders naturally pushed her chest outwards, an effect that was exaggerated by the straps that criss-crossed her breasts, acting like a bra. Her nipples cried out to be clamped, but all he did was to tie lengths of cotton around their bases, adding a little bit of sensitivity when he brushed them with his hands and fingers, as he did at every opportunity.

After lunch he exchanged the pointed armbinder for a square version. It held her arms folded behind her back, and had a similar arrangement of straps. It was a relief to no longer have her elbows forced together, and she also found it more comfortable to lie on when he was using her body. Both binders ruled out intermammary sex because of their straps, but she was deliciously vulnerable to all other forms of exploitation. With the square binder he tried spanking her, but only enough to make her bottom smart and feel hot, and she found that it made her next orgasm even more intense.

Hans liked to keep her bound for long periods, and he was soon complaining that he lacked the time to try her in as many ties as he would have liked. He was also short of some materials; leather thongs in particular, and a semi-liquid rubber that could enclose her hands and wrists. He seemed to have endless possibilities in mind, but he never suggested keeping her beyond her promised release on Tuesday morning.

The constant, restrictive bondage was a surprise to Muriel, who had expected that most days would be like the first morning, when she had been only lightly chained and free to explore the house and garden. In the armbinders he took her out twice, but each time on a lead and with her ankles so closely hobbled that she could only make good progress by jumping, which was very tiring. She told herself that the régime would ease over time. She could not imagine him going to so much trouble for weeks and months.

Besides, she was not unhappy in restraints, even if they were not always entirely comfortable. They rendered her almost completely free of responsibilities. She could sometimes just about reach his penis or his balls, or poke his bottom as he lay against her, but they were very much optional extras. In their everyday life she never had to wonder if it was common to cross her legs, or whether she should be the one to pour the coffee, or whether she should pass all the condiments when he asked for the salt. She just had to sit or lie there and take what was coming, and it was usually something nice.

About the bonds themselves, she had mixed feelings. After hours in tight straps or heavy chains she could feel overtired, and her arms and shoulders got mildly sore. That effect was much milder than she anticipated, and she wondered whether he had given her something to help her joints and muscles to relax. On the other hand, she was fascinated by the contrasts between soft flesh and hard metal, between skin, leather, rubber and rope. The grinding of chain on the floor when she crawled was surprisingly erotic. When she was being used for sex, any feeling of restriction, and any sound associated with restraints, seemed to enhance the experience for her.

He only gagged her twice during the weekend, and not for very long. On both occasions he used a panel gag with a penis insert and a breather hole, strapped in place and padlocked behind her head. He did it to keep her quiet when he was watching a TV programme that was important to him, but the main object, probably, was to test her gag reflex. It was a relief to both of them to find that she didn't have one, but it could have been treated, apparently. She knew that he was making an impressive list of treatments and equipment to be obtained.

It was the list, which he did not keep secret, that convinced her that he was part of some kind of group, with many members and an established infrastructure. What he needed would, apparently, be delivered on the next working day, so it would be available for her next weekend visit. He measured her wrists, ankles and throat carefully, so she knew that it would include a custom-made collar and cuff set. He also remarked that he was ordering "claim patches", but in the meantime he had a generic version that would secure his title for the time being.

He used that on the Monday evening, with her sitting on the sofa, hands locked behind her and ankles close together. He appeared with a bowl and various cloths and sponges, almost as if he was going to wash her feet, and in a sense he was. He sponged her left sole with something called "Pre-application fluid," which was probably Isopropyl (rubbing) alcohol, and then showed her something that looked like a stick-on label but was both thicker and sealed in opaque film. He stripped away one layer, and applied the patch to the sole, positioning it very carefully and smoothing it down firmly.

"It might smart a bit," he told her, "but you need to keep it on, and your feet off the floor, for about half an hour. After that you can walk on it, and after another hour, I remove the patch."

It did sting, which, as she was being etched with acid, was not surprising. It also contained painkillers, but was formulated for less sensitive parts of the body. Only pleasure slaves were etched on the soles of their feet. With others, the patch was usually applied to a buttock, although some slaves were branded. Muriel knew nothing about that then, but it hurt for about twenty minutes, and he gave her some wine to help, since he was at pains to emphasise that she was not being punished.

After the first half hour it felt slightly sore and itchy, and his cure for that was to give her a pair of sandals, replace her ankle lock with a hobble chain, and take her out for a shuffle in the garden. It was still very warm and the light was just beginning to fade, so it felt quite romantic, and he took her to the summerhouse in the shrubbery to use her body for his pleasure. It was almost dark when they returned to the house, and he sat her down, stripped off the patch, and fetched a mirror to let her see the results.

She expected to see some kind of marking, but nevertheless felt a rush of adrenalin as she saw the QR code, about an inch and a half square, etched permanently into her flesh. Considering it was a fresh acid burn it was remarkably clear, and Hans used a reader on his 'phone before accessing a web page on his laptop, tapping away for a few minutes before closing it and speaking to her.

"Don't try reading it yourself," he told her. "Any attempt is recorded, with a place and date stamp. With the info that I've just inputted, it shows that you are my property, with the date and place of your enslavement. There's a registration number, and a few details about you that I've supplied, to make you identifiable. Next time, I'll have a patch that's personal to you, with more vital statistics, and that will give access to a folder in which all your personal information will be stored."

"May I ask, where is it stored, master?" she asked.

"I've no idea where the server is, if that's what you're asking," he replied. "Now remember, if any free person asks to see your brand, even in a public place, you must show it, and allow it to be read. If they ask, it almost certainly means they have the right to see it."

For the final night of her stay, Muriel was spread out again, and exercised just as thoroughly, although this time he used her mouth when he woke up in the night. They had an early start in the morning, because although she was going to work he still insisted on the full routine, complete with enemas, and she was fed her breakfast in bondage. He released her at the last minute, locking a thin chain around her waist to act as a reminder. She got her clothes back, and he took her home in time for her to change for work. Their arrangement was that he would pick her up at the library when she finished work on Friday, which would be at four o'clock.

Target

Muriel's work was not very taxing, mentally or physically, so it didn't matter very much that she was tired and listless. She tried to understand why she felt that way, because despite the strictness of her bondage she had slept well. If she was ever to serve as a full-time pleasure slave she would need more strength and stamina. She recognized that her feelings probably arose partly from the sudden change of circumstances. The morning started with her as a helpless sex-slave, naked and in chains, and at nine o'clock she was a fully-dressed assistant librarian, trying to pretend that she had spent the weekend catching up on TV programmes and walking in the countryside.

It was a quiet day, as was to be expected after a bank holiday weekend. There was a reasonable crop of returns in the morning for her to re-shelve, and a teacher came in with a small class just before lunch. In the early afternoon there was a stranger- a man in his thirties- browsing the biographies, and Muriel fancied that he was watching her from the corner of his eye. She used her mobile phone- returned to with her clothes- to photograph him surreptitiously, intending to show Hans the result when they met at the weekend.

She became more suspicious when he asked her to recommend books on quantum physics. Hans' feigned interest in French tourism had been more convincing, and more likely to lead to further conversation. The newcomer's clumsy attempts to probe her personal life led to her beating a hasty retreat to the staff room, but she was not overly concerned. Being such a lovely girl with a stunning figure, there was no need to assume that every man who tried his luck was a slave hunter and/or trader.