Slavegirl: Sandra’s Story

The man who had brought me left, taking the chair with him. I struggled around to get on my side so I could see something besides green carpet. Then a voice came from behind me.

“Welcome,” was all it said. A man’s voice, cultured and speaking English. I rolled onto my stomach and then onto my right side so I could see who was addressing me. That put me closer to the fire, but the heat felt good against my bare skin.

The man was sitting in one of the chairs facing the fireplace. He was middle-aged, with temples turning gray but otherwise black hair. His features were slender, the nose sharp and the chin somewhat pointed. But it was his eyes that caught my attention. They were dark, almost totally black, like forest pools in shadow. He sat there with his hands forming a steeple before him as he studied me. My first impression was that I was looking at one of the photos or paintings of Dracula. Or at least what people think he looked like. And I don’t mean Bela Lugosi.

For a long time we stared at each other. I know he was aware of my rather sexy body, but he seemed to only look to my eyes. It was disconcerting in a way that he did not stare at my protruding breasts or pubic triangle like most men will. His eyes were almost hypnotic the way they held mine.

“I see,” he finally said, “that they used a chain to gag you. I do not have the key for that lock, but it matters not. What you have to say matters little. As a courtesy, I will tell you briefly about your new status, then you will be taken away to be cleaned and prepared.”

He rose and went to a sideboard where he poured himself a drink, brandy, I figured from the shape of the glass.

“I have bought you.”

It was a simple statement and one that puzzled me. I mean, I had barely gotten used to the idea that I was a prisoner in the normal sense. Now here was this man telling me that he had purchased me?

“I paid good money for you, though that is of little import to you. You are now a slave of Count Alucard. My property, to speak more formally.” He took a sip. “You were convicted of a crime,” he went on. “Are you guilty? Well, never mind; it makes no difference.” He ignored my shaking of my head. “You are my toy now, to use, abuse and eventually, when I tire of you, to be cast aside.”

I protested with a whine. Damn that chain! I would have given him a piece of my mind had I the ability to speak.

He settled back into the chair, looking very much like a satisfied and confident man. “I think it only fair to tell you that I am a sadist.” He took another sip, perhaps to give that statement time to sink in. “I enjoy causing pain in beautiful women. It is to me a beautiful thing to see a woman writhe in agony and give vent to her suffering in screams.”

I was shocked! This man was impossible. Everything that was happening to me was impossible! Part of me kept expecting him to break into a big grin and tell me that it was all a joke and I could go home.

“I would be nice if you were one of those women who likes pain,” he continued, “but I don’t think you are. I am looking forward to hearing your screams.”

Then I believed him. It sank into my mind that he was being sadistic in the way he teased and tormented me with nothing more than words. He was enjoying my mental suffering as I lay there, filled with fear over what he was saying. Not to mention my physical suffering from overly tight ropes and that damned chain gag.

“You have a new life now. It will be one of constant restraints and frequent anguish, not to mention sexual use and abuse. Your old life and even your old name are gone. I shall call you…” He paused in consideration. “I shall call you ‘Willow’. No real reason for that name. I just like it. You, of course, will address me as ‘Master’.”

Bullshit! This guy was way the hell out in left field. Certifiably coo-coo. Funny farm material.

He was off on some kind of macho, male-ego mental trip. The trouble was he had my body and I was forced to be on that same trip with him.

“Well, I’ll have you fixed up now. You aren’t, by any chance, a virgin, are you? No, I guess not. A body like that was made for sex and little else. No way you could stay a virgin looking like you do.”

He rose and went to the desk where he pressed a button and the man with the wheel chair came back in. I was picked up and placed in the chair again and wheeled out. I did not even have the chance to say one “fuck you” to the man who thought he was my “Master”.