The Enslavement of Muriel Macinley

The Enslavement of Muriel MacInley Ch 01

Thank you for looking at my story. This is the first instalment of the adventures of Muriel MacInley, and it necessarily includes some introductory material. It is often difficult for a writer to decide on a category, and readers might think this part rather tame to be classed as "non-com." Rest assured that in later chapters, Muriel's experiences will go beyond anything to which she has given her consent.

Like most authors I welcome your ratings and comments, which can be influential in my decisions about later chapters and future stories.

The Librarian

Slaves are made in many different ways, and many of them make stories that are interesting or exciting, or provide "improving" moral tales. Young brides, on their way to join their husbands in distant parts of the globe, are seized by pirates and sold in middle eastern harems. Barbaric tribes ransack one another's villages, carrying off the young men and women to be sold at the nearest port and shipped abroad. Young men and women from the UK's biggest cities, living in the direst poverty and squalor, are lured into drug-sodden brothels from which there is no escape.

Doubtless these are real scenarios, but for those of us living prosperous lives in England's suburbs, small towns or villages, they are found in novels, documentaries, or history books. There might be rumours about nail bars and massage parlours, but most people do not expect to encounter slave-traders in their local supermarkets or furniture stores.

For Muriel MacInley, the first point of contact was the local library, where she worked. She was not a qualified librarian, so her salary was a pittance and she lived simply in a humble studio flat above a nearby hairdressers. She had no car, but did enjoy walking and cycling in the surrounding countryside, and that was her only luxury. She had no real prospects of getting a better-paid job, but what she did have was ravishing good looks and a bust to die for. She was only twenty, and cherished the hope of monetizing her physical assets.

Muriel was not a particularly assertive, enterprising or industrious young lady, and she was afraid of meeting the wrong people. She might be lured into prostitution, for instance, or find herself working in the porn industry. She was too full-figured to be a catwalk model, and probably too young and pretty for the catalogues. So far, she had conceived no better plan than to hope that a rich and generous man would visit the library and fall for her charms. In the meantime she lived a rather lonely life, shunning advances from men of her own age. Unusually, for one so young, she had no surviving close family.

Taking the country as a whole, there were probably tens of thousands of attractive young women with no better plan than to wait to be "discovered." Muriel was beginning to wonder how she could set herself apart from the crowd, but her ideas- of starting a "blog" or becoming an "influencer" (and she barely knew the meanings of those words) were not particularly original. Then, much to her surprise, her plan came together.

Hans Gallant was a German aristocrat with business interests all over the UK, and had recently settled in Muriel's small market town. He spoke English with native fluency but a faint accent, which gave him a mildly exotic air in such provincial surroundings. He was about forty-five; impeccably groomed and dressed, reasonably handsome and endowed with a distinct air of authority that almost amounted to charisma.

On his first visit to the public library, Hans spotted Muriel tidying the shelves in the "Cookery" section, and asked her advice on books about tourism in France. He needed no such advice, and she was certainly not qualified to give it, but five minutes later she had agreed to have dinner with him that very evening. She wore her very best dress but decided to wear the minimum of make-up. He had seen her at work and liked her, so it made no sense to present him with something completely different.

Recruitment

The town boasted several very good restaurants, but Hans was careful to choose one which, although quite expensive, was welcoming and informal. They sat at a very small, almost intimate- table in a window alcove, although the curtains were closed so they could not avoid looking mainly at one another. They began with home-made paté and toast, and then he had roast pheasant while she went for the sea bass. As he was fairly new to the area she was able to talk about its attractions without over-taxing her intellect, so the conversation was fairly bland. She did make a joke about the recent appearance of a sex-shop on the fringes of the town centre. She was trying to signal that she was not unduly prim and proper.

He was too considerate to bring up anything that might be controversial enough to cause her to walk away before she had been properly fed. The make-or-break moment came as they enjoyed their desserts; lemon meringue pie for her and

crème brulée

for him. While she ate it with her fork he took her left hand in his. "You know," he said quietly, "you are the loveliest girl I've met in a long time. I hope we'll see more of one another."

She blushed, but did not withdraw her hand. "I'm sure you say that to all the girls, Hans. I'm just a girl you met this morning in the library. Have you tried the supermarket? But this is a lovely meal. I can't thank you enough for inviting me."

She squeezed his hand as if to indicate that her gratitude might take a more tangible form. He moved his grip to her wrist, as if moving from affection to control. "Tell me about your family, Muriel," he replied. "And do you have a boyfriend, or a fiancé?"

"My parents died years ago, and they had nothing, so I'm not an heiress, I'm afraid. And 'No' to your second question. How about you?"

He took a deep breath before answering, knowing that their relationship might well end there, before it had started. "I have no-one at the moment," he said bluntly. "I'm not really capable of normal relationships."

She was nonplussed by that, but he refused to say anymore until they were drinking their coffee. Then, assured that they would at least finish their meal together, he was more expansive. "I'm very controlling," he began. "I don't want an equal partner. I want someone I can use for my pleasure; someone who never argues, someone who never says no, who doesn't want a normal family life and children. In return she would get a life of luxury, freedom from anxiety, from having to make decisions, even about what to wear."

"So you want a slavegirl, Hans? You think I might be a suitable candidate? I presume that by 'a life of luxury' you don't mean, 'locked in a dungeon,' do you?"

"Dungeons have their uses, but I don't see them as places to live. I think a naked woman looks best in chains, but in luxurious, opulent surroundings. She should be seen as a pampered pet, living to both give and receive sexual pleasure, and all the other pleasures that money can buy. I'm probably mad, so if you want to run away now, this is your chance."

He could almost see the gears turning in Muriel's brain. She was not the quickest thinker in the world, or even in the town, but she had common sense and the ability to calculate where her best interests lay. Hans was an attractive man, and rich. He was old enough to be her father, but most very rich men were and it was unlikely that another like him would appear in her life in the foreseeable future. If his requirements were unorthodox, she had never imagined that she would be able to live a life of ease without giving anything in return. She could not pass up the opportunity to make a single decision that would change her life.

He was still holding her wrist, so she offered him the other one, and he took it. "I can't run," she replied. "I'm wearing heels. For me, they're more of a handicap than chains."

"We'll see. If you've finished your coffee, and eaten your mint, I'll pay the bill and call a taxi."

Contact

Hans inhabited a five-bedroomed detached house on the outskirts of town, over two hundred yards from the nearest neighbour. When she first saw it, that evening, the opulence of the interior took Muriel's breath away. The style was modern, but the sofas were huge, the carpets deep, and everywhere was kept very warm. One of the bedrooms was on the ground floor, with a four-poster, emperor-sized bed, and it was there that he used her body for the first time.

His seduction of Muriel might best be described as firm. He held her wrist in the taxi and when he led her into his home. Inside, there was no offer of drinks and no sitting around talking. She had used the toilet in the restaurant. He took her into the living room and held her against him, kissing her deeply as he pulled the zipper of her dress down quickly. Then his hands were on her bottom, grasping her buttocks and pulling them apart as his fingers grasped for her slit. A he pulled her closer she felt his erection through his thin trousers.

He move so quickly that she never had a moment to gather her thoughts. Her first impulse was to resist, not because she didn't want him, but because he was going so fast. She fought it down. She wanted a relationship with him, and he had warned her that it would not be a "normal" one. By coming home with him, she had surrendered to him, and she stuck with her decision.

He was very good at removing women's clothes. He pushed her back to let the dress fall to the floor, and the bra was off in a moment, with no fumbling with the hooks. She had deliberately chosen to wear very skimpy, flimsy panties, and they were simply torn away. She was proud of her legs and had decided not to cover them with tights. He pulled her close again and lifted her, and she kicked off her shoes. Then he swung her to the horizontal, and carried her into the downstairs bedroom, putting her down on her feet next to the bed.

He was still dressed in his shirt and trousers, so she reached forward and put her hand on his bulge, and he hesitated as she felt the shape of his erection. Then he spun her around, and with a piece of cord that he had picked up from somewhere, he crossed and bound her wrists behind her back. He did it so quickly that she at first assumed it was a symbolic tie from which she would easily escape. Later on, she realized that there was no chance of that, and he had done it so skilfully that her circulation was not impaired despite the security of the bondage.

If it took him only seconds to tie her up, he was even quicker removing his clothes. Then he was lying with her on the bed, feeling her breasts, kneading and sucking them. Whether he was doing it purely for pleasure, or to check for implants, she couldn't tell, but she was an all-natural girl. The bondage was frustrating, because she was getting excited enough now to want to grasp his penis, and possibly to cup his testicles. Instead she could feel the mattress- probably memory-foam- shaping itself around her arms and hands, so she could not even pull them out to one side.

Muriel could feel her own wetness now, but she shuddered as he checked her with his fingers. He had been lying half on top of her, half alongside, but now he moved into the missionary position and guided himself into her, and she tried to raise her hips to embed him deeper. His initial thrusts were slow but long, and he kept their mouths together, but he gradually accelerated, and then raised himself with one hand while using the other to tweak her nipples. When she started cumming he squeezed one hard, and sucked the other, and as her orgasm peaked he began to ejaculate, sighing with pleasure and dropping his weight onto her body.

It was Muriel's first vaginal orgasm. She had masturbated, of course, but a couple of fumbling attempts with boys had produced no result. Now she just wanted more, but was astonished when she realized that Hans was not going to soften when all his seed had been spilt. Instead he paused, still deep inside her, for just a minute or two before starting again, and this time she was quicker to cum. She had never had a multiple orgasm before, and had always suspected them to be an urban myth, but now she had two in quick succession.

If Muriel was still entertaining any doubts about Hans' "offer," her first time in bed with him dispelled them. She had never dreamt that she could feel such intense pleasure, such ecstasy, and whatever it cost her, she had to feel it again, and go on feeling it for as long as she could. If it cost her everything else- even her freedom- it was worth it. She had shaken, shuddered and struggled so much that she was exhausted and soaked with sweat, but he had not quite finished with her.

With her limp and panting below him, he grasped her by the waist and turned her over. Although he was not much bigger than Muriel he was far stronger, and it seemed to her to be as easy as a cook flipping a hamburger on a griddle. Then he spread her legs and, with his cock still hard and slick with their combined juices, he slid it into her anus. She cried out, for it hurt at first, and he grunted with the effort, but after a minute or two the pain subsided to a mildly stretched and "stuffed" feeling.

He pumped away for a few minutes before withdrawing, for he was not yet ready to cum again, and was only testing her. She thus remained, in that very limited sense, an anal virgin, and after giving her a couple of hearty slaps on her buttocks he went to the bathroom to wash himself, returning with a glass of water which he held up to her mouth. She realized then that she was not going to be untied just yet.

He lay beside her and kissed her. "That was very enjoyable," he said, and although in a way she was gratified, he did sound rather as if he'd just listened to a piece of music, or watched a tennis match.

"It was wonderful," she replied. "Everything about this evening has been wonderful. What should I call you?"

"What do you think?"

"I want to call you 'master,' if I may."

"Of course you may, but when there are other people about, 'Sir' would be safer. I think I'm ready for round two. You may blow me, this time."

He made no attempt to move Muriel into a suitable position, but she decided to play along with him, squirming down his body, licking and kissing him as she did so. She realized what she should have noticed before; that he was completely hairless below his eyelashes, so there was no pubic hair to tickle her or get in her way. Her problem was that she was an oral virgin, so she had only a theoretical knowledge of what to do. She had read a certain amount of pornography, and she had also given a couple of hand jobs, so she knew that she had to take as much of his length into her mouth as she could, and stretch the skin of his shaft.

As he was lying on his back, she was necessarily on her front, and gravity pulled her down onto his erection, once she had wriggled into the right spot. It was a strain to keep bobbing up and down without her hands to help her, and her bondage was now much more of a handicap. Most of the blowjobs that she had watched online were really hand jobs, with the woman just licking and sucking the tip- or

glans

- of the man's penis. Without hands, she felt that she needed to deep throat him, but for a total beginner that was a distant dream.

After some more wriggling and squirming, she managed to get just over half his length into her mouth, and was able by nodding her head to work him with her lips. She was very careful to keep her jaw wide open to avoid touching him with her teeth, so it was an effort to bring much pressure to bear. She tried to supplement her lips with her tongue, teasing the tiny lips at the very end. She had read somewhere that it was helpful to pull on the skin where the shaft joined the

glans

, and as she did that, rolling her tongue over the latter, she was rewarded with sighs of pleasure from him.

Getting the sense that she was doing well, she became totally absorbed in her task. She was not sure whether or not he would be able to cum again so soon, but if so she understood that she must suck out and swallow every drop. His man-juice was a precious gift, and to spit it out would be an intolerable rejection. In the end, however, he lost patience, pulled her up his body and entered her pussy, keeping her on top. She had been concentrating too hard on him to become aroused herself, and he needed a little more time than before, so in the end they came together again. Hitting the jackpot twice, she thought, must be a good omen.

His control was remarkable. She could accept that, after what was probably twenty years of shagging, he had mastered his own sexual responses and could last as long as the situation required. His control over her- a virtual stranger- was more surprising. The heroes of romantic novels were often described as playing women like musical instruments, but she had always assumed that they were more like pipe organs- all built differently- than pianos or violins. Perhaps he had used so many women for his pleasure that he was never surprised, in which case it was vital that she should learn quickly to please him so well that he would want to keep her with him.

He was certainly happy with their first evening together. He fetched a bottle of wine and they reclined against a heap of pillows to drink and chat, with him holding the glass to her lips. She was beginning to wonder when her wrists would be untied, and even thinking that she might be left with them behind her all night. It was a frightening prospect, but she nevertheless appreciated the way her bondage presented her breasts. Nature had endowed her with big, firm and shapely boobs, and now she had no way of covering them. They were fully exposed to his gaze and his hands, as if he had taken full possession of them. When he spoke to her, his eyes seemed to focus on her nipples as much as her face, pretty though it was. He rolled onto his side to face her.

"I have a modest proposal," he began. "It's Saturday today, and a bank holiday weekend, so you won't be back at work until Tuesday. That gives you two full days to get an impression of what life in my home is like. If you find it tolerable, you'll be back for future weekends. You must never be here on Wednesdays, because the cleaner and gardener come then, and I don't want you to meet them yet. If you become a full-time sex-slave, of course, you'll have to give in your notice. How much do you have to give?'

"Two weeks, master, but they might waive that. They're looking for voluntary redundancies, so I'd be doing them a favour."

"Well, that's good news, but we shouldn't get too far ahead of ourselves."

Acclimatization

Muriel might have thought that they were already getting ahead of themselves, having only met that very day. That conclusion would, however, have ignored her highly transactional approach to the relationship. Hans had opened up the prospect of a life free of boring, poorly paid work, and the end of living in a dark and dismal garret that always smelled of cheap shampoo. It meant great food, soft beds and, judging from the number of screens in all the rooms, unlimited entertainment. On the other hand, it also meant accepting sex on demand and submitting to frequent and lasting bondage.

The balance sheet was affected, obviously, by his sexual prowess, and the bondage had the effect of enabling her, to a certain extent, to lie back and enjoy his skills. There was never any doubt that she was going to accept his proposition, if indeed that option was open to her. Naked in his bed, hands still tied behind her back, it was not really a negotiation. He took her lack of dissent as a firm agreement, and she did not get to ask any questions.