Alison pulled the car into one of the slots marked ‘Visitor’ and killed the engine. In front of her stretched a complex which she knew held both offices and laboratories. She stepped from the car; her colleague, Jon, did likewise. The two of them worked for a regional newspaper: Jon was a journalist; Alison took photos. She liked the fact that her work brought her into contact with so many different types of people and paid well enough that she could pursue her art in her spare time both in Britain and overseas. Alison never anticipated having her work in a Magnum Photos collection: a lot of what she shot for work was of people shaking hands or fancy dress winners at summer fetes. However, she did hope that her abstract images using plant forms and recently, a little more daringly she felt, even the curves of her own body, would eventually attract some buyers. A small resort in Mexico she had discovered the previous summer had turned out to be the perfect location for her artistic work and she was looking forward to returning later this year.

“The Aristotle Building.” Alison noted, nodding to the large sign ending in the company’s logo: the letters AKP under a bearded face that she assumed represented the man himself.

Jon laughed. “Yes. Sounds rather pretentious, but the man who developed this place was actually called Aristotle, Aristotle Khrysos.”

“Khrysos? No relation of Eva Khrysos, the sculptress?”

“Yes, they’re … they were cousins. Aristotle disappeared a year ago; presumed dead.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Didn’t Eva have a show in town?”

“Yes, I went and shot it; Amelia was reporting on it, of course. You ought to have gone, the statues are incredible. This time it was her ‘Hippotigris’, however you pronounce that, exhibition. All zebra-striped women with these fantastic hair styles. They look so real, you know what I mean, fantastical yes, but looking like real women. You thought any minute they were going to break into a run across the place.”

“Sounds interesting.” Jon responded in that tone that Alison knew well meant he had no real interest in it and was just being polite.

Alison took her bag from the back of the car. These days when everything was digital it had reduced what the average photographer had to carry around, but Alison retained a bulky camera bag almost to declare her profession; perhaps, too, as some kind of talisman.

“Did you see the Hopkins fight?” Jon asked Alison as she locked the car and they headed to the entrance.

Alison laughed. “You know I’m not into boxing. I did wonder why you looked tired.”

“Oh, I just got into watching some old Ali stuff, lost track of the time, you can’t beat it. Didn’t I lend you ‘When We Were Kings’? Great movie.”

Alison had always wondered about her colleague’s interest in boxing. He was a slender lanky man in his late twenties who always wore incredibly unfashionable glasses that he seemed to think made him look serious. All his features looked stretched, his cheeks were long; his fingers always reminded her of spatulas. Sometimes he even appeared malnourished. She guessed that in a real fight between them she would come out on top, even though she was more than a head shorter than him. Alison had long ago surmised that this was the reason why he looked up to boxers, especially the heavier ones, so much. She imagined a lot of this went back to his teenage years. While Jon certainly behaved like a professional, his private life appeared to be stuck a decade or so in the past. She guessed he had simply not yet stopped being like one of those boys at school who obsessed over the World Wrestling Whatever or dreamed of being Conan.

They had almost reached the door when Alison put her hand on Jon’s arm to stop him plunging in. “You were going on so much about that Russian martial arts squad in the car that you haven’t told me why we are here.”

“Oh yes, sure. Well, the main reason is simply that the AKP is a cutting edge pharmaceutical company that is a big employer round here. A couple of their new products have just been licensed for sale across the EU, which means more jobs here.”

“Wasn’t there some kind of leak here last month?”

Jon nodded. “One reason why I think they were more than happy to have an interview, show us that this place is safe. They make the headlines from time-to-time. Back in the 1980s Aristotle himself put out an assurance that they only used human and not animal test subjects. Their biggest achievement in the past couple of years has been vrahosimine.”

“Vrahosimine?”

“Yes a kind of variant of viagra, apparently suitable for men or women. It apparently has beneficial psychological effects as well as physical ones for treating sexual disfunction. Apparently it is still undergoing trials before it’s licensed.”

“So it’s a pill that makes you mentally aroused as well as physically.”

“Yes, surely you saw that stuff from the US about the proposal for the brand name to be ‘Hard and Horny’?” Jon laughed.

“That story probably got binned by the spam filter on my computer.”

“Sure.”

“Right, so this will be a standard kind of PR piece with them telling us how good they are for the local economy and showing us how tight their safety systems are.”

“Pretty much, though there are some tougher questions I am going to ask, like about this island the company owns off Belize.”

“Sounds nice: a company perk for tired executives?”

“Perhaps.”

“Or you’re thinking some kind of secret base where they do all the sinister stuff?”

“Probably the first, but it’s always worth asking.”

These days journalists hardly ever penetrated through into the national media as the result of breaking a story, it had more to do with who they were related to or went to school with. However, Alison had to acknowledge that, Jon, for all his gawkiness, seemed to retain that old-fashioned desire to reveal something to the public more than which celebrity was dating which others.

They now walked on and the blue-tinted glass doors opened in front of them. They stepped into marble-floored reception area. The receptionist was stunning. She wore a short coral shade dress that was pinned on one shoulder by a complex gold broach. A bracelet snaked around her left forearm. Her hair was stacked upon her hair in a complex chignon. Alison wondered if this was an affectation to fit in with the Ancient Greek references of the company or whether the style had been the choice of the woman herself.

“Welcome to AKP.” The receptionist said with a forceful tone and a broad smile.

“Jon, Jonathan Hobson and Alison Cowdrey to see Mr. Neale.”

“Yes, that is correct.” The receptionist responded as if they were answering a test. “Wait there, Ms. Brand will collect you.”

The receptionist gestured to a corner with leather sofas and a coffee table spread across with the usual clutch of corporate publications. Standing close by was a dark stone statue of a man dressed in a toga; he had a broad faced with a full beard and thick hair that looked like flames licking up his skull. Alison wondered if this was the original Aristotle or his modern name sake, perhaps it was meant to represent both. She had heard of doctors who had a God complex and could easily imagine that there were scientists who likened themselves to great thinkers of the past.

Jon went over to the water cooler and fetched a plastic glass full for each of them. Alison took a sip. It tasted surprisingly sweet, but tasty and refreshing all the same. Seeing some residue at the bottom of her empty glass she assumed it had not been ordinary water at all, probably some energy drink the company was promoting. For some moments, like Jon, Alison sat gazing around the foyer.

“Of course, Aristotle was a great philosopher but he had views that many would challenge today: that people were born to certain roles. Notably he believed that certain people were born to be slaves.” Jon said, his voice startling Alison a little as it sounded louder, perhaps even more forceful than his usual tone.

“Oh, okay, well, I guess it was the times.” Alison wondered a little at not challenging that view, she felt she just had to accept it. “He probably did not consider women to be full citizens either.”

“No.” Jon said simply. “Well, they were, they are different from men, you know.”

Alison found she saw nothing wrong in his statement. “They can be better than men, you know, in different ways.”

“Sure, in being feminine.”

“Yes, feminine.” Alison agreed, wondering why that description seemed at once both the correct thing and yet also challenging.

As she thought more about it, she realised it was challenging her, not something to challenge Jon with. Was she feminine or was she simply a masculine woman? Her clothes: trainers, jeans, a long-sleeved teeshirt style top and a jacket pretty much fitted the description of what Jon was wearing too. Alison wondered why she was having these thoughts now. Her attention was snapped back by the sound of heels clicking across the stone floor. She looked up to see a very striking woman who she took to be Ms. Brand.

Ms. Brand was a woman in her twenties, though her clothing made her look severe and thus older. She stood as tall as Jon, though Alison quickly determined that that was because of the height of the heels and platforms of her court shoes. It had surprised her not only how acceptable what would have once been termed ‘stripper shoes’ had become in the mainstream, but how they had so easily transferred over into the business world. She supposed it was the result of the strange cultural hybrid Britain was experiencing. It was a hybrid of the revival of 1980s power dressing to fit the economic-political scene and the now popular post-feminist attitudes around exaggerating the female form. Thinking these things, seemed to make sense, though Alison realised it was making her head throb.

Like her shoes, the rest of Ms. Brand’s outfit was like an exaggeration of a 1950s style. All her clothes were tight black leather imprinted with a tiny criss-cross pattern. She wore a knee-length pencil skirt from under which her dark seamed-stockinged legs emerged. Her dress jacket pulled her waist in tightly and had wide lapels. The blouse beneath was of luminescent white silk. Her lipstick and her nail varnish were a brilliant red and her eyes were shaded with dark copper tones. Her very dark brown hair had been crafted skilfully into an impressive victory rolls style.

“Mr. Hobson, Miss. Cowdrey.”

“Yes.” Jon said, jumping up and offering his hand; Ms. Brand did not shake it, but took a step back.

“If you’ll accompany me, Mr. Neale is ready to see you.”

Feeling a little griped at the reception they had received, Alison muttered, “Do you like our owl?”

Jon chuckled at the movie reference but shot her a warning glance. “Neale’s the CEO; we’ve had an upgrade, don’t mess with it.”

“Sure.”

Ms. Brand halted her stride across the lobby. “Minerva, has the cleaning squad done the lobby?” She asked the receptionist.

“No, Ms. Brand. They’re on the third floor.”

“Get them down here, I want this place done thoroughly, twice, before we have any more visitors.”

“Yes, Ms. Brand.”

“You have a strict cleaning routine.” Jon noted in the tone that Alison knew he was fishing for more; she wondered if this was about the ‘leak’ and hoped that she had not trod in something she should not have done.

“Yes, we have, Mr. Hobson.” Was the only response Jon received.

Jon did not press the issue and Alison was uncertain whether it was not that important or whether he did not expect this Ms. Brand to be the one that could provide the answers he was looking for. Soon they were in the lift and then being led into a large office which was brightly, if discreetly, lit to compensate, Alison noted, for not having any windows. She would have to work with this artificial lighting, assuming she was to take the shots in here, but that would make it a little easier as the levels would not vary.

As they were shown in, Neale rose, shook their hands and motioned for them to take the seats in front of his desk. Alison imagined Jon had the precise details on this man but she was left to guess that Neale was in his late forties. He had an angular face with high cheekbones and large, dark brown eyes. He wore an expensive blue suit and a tie with an abstract pattern. Jon set his tiny MP3 recorder running in front of him and glanced at the questions he had written on to his smartphone. He and Neale went through the usual niceties and background questions before moving on to what Alison felt was the meat of the interview.

“Your company has bought Brightwater Caye off the coast of Belize and keep it as a private island.” Jon asked. “Why is that?”

“In part to protect it from development; it acts as a kind of reserve. Many of the islands, right across the Caribbean, are being impacted upon by tourism, this is one that will be exempt from such development. Only a small number of our employees are on the island at any time.”

Alison wondered if there was something corrupt or sinister about AKP owning an island or whether in fact this was just going to be standard, if rather uninteresting story about a local business. She knew that, often, even on the national dailies many stories were not particularly that exciting, so that did not matter. Jon started producing figures about how many AKP employees had actually transferred to this Brightwater Caye. Alison wondered if it was something like a …, like a…, well, she tried to pin down what she had been thinking: something about tax, but now she could not place it.

As Alison sat there she felt increasingly strange, as if she was experiencing the onset of some illness. However, she realised it was not an unpleasant sensation and wondered if her blood sugar had fallen low or that she had been working so hard that the side effects of fatigue were kicking in. Her nipples felt incredibly sensitive and then aroused, quickly pressing firmly against her bra. Her pussy lips were unfolding and she could sense the tell-tale moisture developing there. Surprisingly her clitoris which could take time to come alive even when she was in the midst of a full-on sex session, she felt quickly emerging from its hood.

Alison tried to concentrate and focus on Mr. Neale and the questions Jon was asking him. Harry Neale was certainly not her type. He was too full of himself and she knew he would treat her in a patronising way even if she became his lover. Where had that thought come from? Alison battled to stop herself imagining this man naked but she found her thoughts running away with her. Soon her mind was filling with a daydream of him straddling her and thrusting his cock into her as she begged for more. Begged for more? Alison had never begged for anything from anyone and in sex was more likely to insist than even ask.

Beside her Jon seemed to be a little restless himself. Alison wondered if it was something about this place. She had heard of ‘sick buildings’ or perhaps it was some chemical that had got out. Maybe it was something Neale was experimenting with. She would not put it passed an arrogant sod like him not to try out something like pheromones in the air conditioning to make sure his secretaries were suitably amenable to his sexual advances. She was sure Jon would get to the bottom of it. Jon was excellent at his job; she had so much she could learn from him. Alison felt she had not given Jon the kind of support he needed. She contested his opinions too often, she realised, rather than accepting that, in fact, of course, he knew best. She knew Jon was single at the moment and she began to think maybe she should ask him on a date. That felt wrong, he should ask her. Perhaps if she dressed a little more sexily, wore tight shiny leggings or a short skirt, he might begin to see her in a different way.

Now Alison’s fantasies began to fix on Jon. Beside him Harry was nothing. Jon was strong and forceful, the kind of man she liked, the kind of man she would do anything for. She shot glances at him and then looked more boldly. Was it her imagination or was he more muscled than she remembered? It was hard to tell in the baggy clothes he wore, but she was coming to think that beneath them was a strong, toned body, the kind she could really enjoy, the kind of man she could serve. Yes, that was it: serve, service; that was what she needed to do for Jon. Quickly her mind filled with images of him naked, standing over her. She knew what he would enjoy having her knelt in front of him, her tongue wrapped around his large, hard cock, easing it into her mouth. What man could refuse that? Alison began planning to suggest it when they got back to the car.

Something on Neale’s desk bleeped and Alison’s attention was snatched back to him for the moment. He picked up a headset and put it on around his ear.

“Yes, yes, I understand, I am in an interview at the moment, but I will come immediately.” Neale said hurriedly.

The executive removed the headset and shone his smile on Jon and Alison.

“I am sorry; an alarm has sounded in laboratory 2. It’s procedure, an executive has to be alerted and attend. It won’t take five minutes.”

“It’d better not, Neale. You’ve still got questions to answer.” Jon snapped.

Alison looked at her colleague, admiring the strength in his voice, his forceful manner with the weaker man. She so wanted to show her appreciation to him and wondered why she had never thought of doing it before. She ran her tongue around her lips and let one hand drape between her thighs. She so wanted to thrust her fingers into her pussy and her nipples were straining to be fondled with. Her top felt so tight. Was it the right thing to have worn? It did not seem to fit her anyway. Surely the main reason why Jon did not pay attention to her was because she dressed far too dully, she did not make enough of her womanly assets. She needed tops that showed off rather than restrained her breasts, long boots that emphasised her shapely legs, short tight skirts that made her sex easily available. How else was she going to stand out to a man, a proper man who would come and take over her life, would dominate every aspect of it?

Neale pressed a button and moments later Ms. Brand re-entered the room. Alison realised she had let her daydreams run away with her and had lost focus on what was going on around her. In some respects she felt it was rather unprofessional, but more forcefully the sense that it was not only something to be embarrassed about, but in fact to embrace, filled her mind.

“Ms. Brand, a situation seems to be developing here; another one. With that alarm, I am needed, so please take Mr. Hobson and Miss. Cowdrey, or whatever their names are becoming, to the freshening- up room and see that they have precisely everything they need. Then get Blythe up here, I want him to personally supervise a thorough, and I mean thorough, cleaning of every public area of this building before he is allowed to leave.”

Alison admired Neale’s commands, but she knew they were nothing beside the strength of Jon when he was in full flow.

“Yes, take us to this refreshing area, woman.” Jon said, jumping to his feet.

Jon looked to be outgrowing his clothes something that pleased Alison as now she could begin to make out his musculature against the teeshirt he wore. She knew that under it, he had a great body and it was good for everyone to be aware of that fact. Passively, Alison followed on behind Ms. Brand and Jon; oblivious to her leaving all her photographic equipment behind.

The ‘freshening-up’ room that they soon reached was luxurious, like a hotel lounge. It was circular with various rooms around the walls and a huge screen television currently showing r&b videos, which Alison did not remember liking, but now seemed so good. She gazed rather vacantly at the singer as he was surrounded by scantily clad women shaking their bodies and found herself imagining herself being involved in the making of such a video. As she did she realised how aroused she was and glancing around she saw one of the doors marked with the symbol designating it as being the one for women. Once Alison would have questioned sneaking off to the toilet simply to relieve the arousal she felt, but for some reason here it appeared to make perfect sense. She realised Jon had gone and had an inkling he was doing something similar. That pleased her as it suggested he had indeed had felt the growing excitement between them. Once she had sated her current urge she would be better equipped to come back and find out from him what she needed to do to take their relationship much further.

As Alison approached the door marked for females it opened and she stepped through, oblivious to how it closed with a sound like something sealing behind her. Rather than the standard set of toilets she had anticipated, Alison found herself in a room not much smaller than the one she had just left and similarly well appointed. It too was circular with cubicles around a quarter of the circle; what turned out to be showers next to them, and then chambers like changing rooms next to those. In the last quadrant of the circumference were extensive make-up mirrors with marble seats in front of them. In the middle of the room was a large plinth with a set of sculptures standing atop it; it was ringed by four curved couches. Set into the plinth were numerous drawers.

Alison guessed she should expect no less from a company as substantial as AKP especially, she imagined, when they had to woo corporate sponsors. Alison found herself drawn to the sculptures. They seemed to be of something like marble, perhaps the genuine article. They showed a variety of types of women. While they were stone, they were dressed in real clothes. One was attired just like Ms. Brand: that statue, or was it really a mannequin, standing, looking imperious. Another had a woman appearing rather blank, her manner matched by the bland clothes she wore almost like a light version of overalls. There was a woman looking like a warrior princess, her hair in numerous plaits; she was wearing heavy boots, a cloak, what looked like a corset, perhaps even a breastplate and a kilted skirt. Beside her was a woman dressed like a Greek goddess: elegant with her hair pinned up and a long sweeping dress that seemed sensual, but her demeanour was arrogant, dismissive even. The next statue showed what Alison imagined to be a ditzy woman dressed in an outfit the cross between a cheerleader and a Californian beach babe.

It was the next statue which made Alison stop. This one was not standing, rather she was kneeling, her thighs spread with her hands wearing long gloves, resting on them as if to draw the eye in towards her sex. Her legs wore stunning, long leather boots which reached well up her thigh; Alison found herself wishing she owned a pair like them. The statue’s head was tilted as if gazing upwards to man standing over her, her lips were pursed as if awaiting a cock to be eased between them. Alison did not question such thoughts, they seemed completely appropriate. The statue was strapped into something that looked like a leather harness. Alison could see how perfect it was, showing the woman to her best. She stepped closer and ran her fingers down the leather, from the collar at the statue’s throat to the straps that attached it to the half-bra which presented her breasts so perfectly. Alison noted, that like herself the statue’s nipples were hard and erect.

From the half-bra, straps ran to the smooth metal ring over statue’s navel. From it more leather straps ran horizontally around the back, to hold the harness in place. Two others reached down to the broad leather belt at her waist and the thong panties below. These were slit to reveal her sculptured pussy beneath. Alison’s mind coursed with the thought of dressing like this, she yearned to be able to wear such perfect clothes. Rather desperately she pulled open the drawers beneath the statue and gasped as she found that they held sets of the harness, the boots, too, in various sizes. Any thought of why she was supposed to be here or what was proper or improper to do had gone in that instant from her mind.

Quivering, Alison sifted through the smooth leather clothes, eager to find some that fitted her. Satisfied that she had done, she took the harness and boots over to one of the changing rooms and went inside. She shed her jacket and then awkwardly pulled her top off. Beneath her breasts were very uncomfortable as if their bra had shrunk. Her hair seemed a mess, unlike the neat shoulder-length style she thought she had had when she had dressed this morning. Surely it was darker too. Alison released it from the scrunchy and she felt it fall down her back. As she reached to take off her trainers and then her jeans, Alison noted how smooth her skin felt and how tanned it looked. Alison had to admit that sunbathing was her guilty pleasure and she would have been proud to have come back from a holiday with a rich deep tan like this. Any concerns faded quickly, in large part because Alison felt hornier than ever. Her sensible light cotton panties were sodden and she quickly removed them. The air on her naked, now hairless pussy felt delicious and Alison had to hold back from thrusting her fingers deep inside her sex. She promised herself that as a reward once she was in these clothes.

Quickly Alison clambered into the leather harness, buckling the leather straps criss-crossing her body, tight. She admired herself in the mirror, liking the way the half bra showed off her large firm, tanned breasts with their bullet nipples and large dark areolas. She loved buckling the leather collar closed at her neck. She tugged on the metal ring at the front of it, thinking of being led on a leash, then, in that instant, knowing she was born to be a slave. It was clear to her now, as she was turned on by the sexy outfit she wore, that she was a good, proper slave and to try to pretend anything else, was wrong. She rolled up the long leather gloves and eased them on to each arm, pulling them on so they stretched to her elbow. She realised the metal rings at her wrist matched those on her belt, if her master chose to restrain her. Pleased that she had recognised her true identity, Alison quickly sat on the bench and eased and zipped her legs into the wonderfully long leather boots, then rising on their sharp heels and high platforms to strut back and forth in front of the mirror until the urge to play with herself took over.

Alison strode from the changing room, unashamed, proud in fact, of how she looked. She slumped on the couch opposite the statue she now so closely resembled. She rubbed her nipples, delighted at last that they could get proper attention and her fingers slid into her soaked pussy, thrusting back and forth. Alison threw back her head, her eyes closed as she dreamed of herself just like the statue as her master, strong and dominant, came to her with his erect cock ready to be enclosed in her full lips. Quickly an orgasm overcame Alison and she was left shuddering and grunting with pleasure. As her chest heaved in air, she was reminded of the tight leather harness as it constrained her ecstatic body.

“And what do we have in this room?”

Dimly Alison became aware that she was no longer alone. She opened her eyes to see a woman with wild red hair; dressed in a sleeveless shearling jerkin and heavy leather breeches.

“Who is this curvy, raven-haired Latina beauty: Alyssa I presume?” As Alyssa focused she realised it was Ms. Brand speaking.

“The last three slaves: snow-white skin and blonde hair.”

“Dagmar, it’s the last element of free will, I suppose. They select the precise nature of what they become even if they have no control over which category they fall into.”

“I thought this one become like you or like me.” Dagmar said.

The redhead laughed deeply. “We never know what hides deep inside. Khrysos was great; he unlocked truth for many of us.”

Alyssa felt cowed by the redhead. There was a strength about her, not only in her muscled limbs, but in her whole manner.

“You know it was never intentional, Dagmar. What Dr. Khrysos stumbled across was pure accident. It was another mistake that there was the leakage today. I told Mr. Neale that it was too early to have visitors coming here.”

Dagmar laughed. “I am happy to flog the one who made the mistake.”

“Temper yourself Dagmar, there is a whole batch of new employees we have to process as a result of this latest accident.”

“Well, if some are like this Alyssa, then they’ll like a good thwack.” Dagmar chuckled.

“Bring her. She can be shipped out with the other one. She looks particularly suited to spending the rest of her life on a tropical caye. Once they have gone then it’s going to be down to me and Mr. Neale to work out a new story for what has happened.”

Dagmar laughed again. Alyssa struggled to take in all that she had heard, not much of it made sense, but she guessed slaves were not required to make sense of the world, simply to obey. The best thing seemed to be to show to whichever of the two women was going to command her what a wonderfully sexy and compliant slave she was. She slid from the couch on to her knees, loving how her long boots protected her legs. She bowed her head but otherwise adopted the pose the statue held.

Then Dagmar reached forward and clipped a leash to Alyssa’s collar and she shuddered in this physical recognition of what she was.

“Slave Alyssa, come.”

Alyssa’s body began to thrum and shudder as she misinterpreted the command and began climbing quickly to orgasm.

“Dagmar, you’ve done it again, remember: always say ‘follow’.” Ms. Brand chided.

“Slave, follow.” Dagmar repeated and jerked on the leash.

Weak from her orgasm, delighted that her body could be commanded to act that way, Alyssa staggered to her feet. She was led from the room back into the lounge she had come from. However, the woman she had been when in there the previous time seemed to be very distant, dreamlike, unrelated to what she was now. Then she saw him, the most perfect, powerful man who she knew she had to have as her master. He was standing with two other men but Alyssa paid them little attention.

“They’ve both finished at around the same time. That’s good.” Ms. Brand said.

“Yes, what a surprise it’s turned out to be. You never would have predicted this result from what they looked like when they came in. This one’s become one of your barbarian chieftain types, calls himself Jo-Nath.” One of the men said.

“That kind of name is to be expected.”

“Much better.” Dagmar noted

Alyssa ran her eyes over Jo-Nath. He was a head taller than the men around him who, she realised must be his servants. His hair was blond and long. His body was muscled, with strong arms emerging from the sleeveless leather jerkin which barely closed over his broad chest. A wide belt sat on his waist and below was a leather kilt, that, Alyssa was pleased to see, did little to conceal his large manhood. Alyssa yearned to take him into her mouth so she could show him what a wonderful slave she could be. As she began imagining sliding between his strong thighs, she found herself walking forward. No-one here was important except her master.

“They seem well matched.” Ms. Brand said. “Dagmar, let her go. If we give the chieftain his first slave it should keep him quiet while we are waiting for the others to process. Then we can fly them all out together.”

Dagmar caught up with Alyssa who had almost reached the extent of her leash. She was happy as Dagmar led her over to Jo-Nath and handed him the leash.

“Lord, your first slave, this one is called Alyssa, she is devoted to you and will serve you well.”

Now Alyssa knelt once more, as demurely as she could though she was eager to feel her master’s body. She could almost sense his eyes running over her. When he pulled back his kilt and nudged his hard cock against her face, Alyssa felt delight, recognising that she was accepted as this wonderful master’s slave. She needed no command to know what to do and she parted her full lips to draw the delightfully warm and smooth flesh of her master into her mouth. Now she looked up at him, seeking to gauge how well she was doing by his reactions. Alyssa slid her wet lips back and forth along her master’s shaft before wrapping her tongue around its head and rolling it gently then more firmly. She felt joyful as, soon, her master was grunting like a rutting boar, grasping her head in his strong hands and steering her mouth to give him the greatest pleasure. Then he climaxed, bucking his thighs into her shoulders, his hot jism squirting to the back of Alyssa’s throat. Gladly she drunk down the salty, sticky juice as if it was a fine wine, pleased that her master had so gifted her.

Jo-Nath was not finished and Alyssa was compliant as he walked behind her and pushed her down on all fours. She felt privileged as he slid her fingers between her booted thighs and then through the open slit of her leather thong to where her pussy was already so hot and wet. He felt there for some moments before taking his fingers back. Then he thrust into her. The length and thickness of her master’s cock was a pleasant surprise and Alyssa struggled not to cum immediately. Jo-Nath grasped a swatch of her long black hair and held it like reins as he thrust vigorously, pushing his hard flesh deeper into her, almost as if he was riding her. Alyssa loved being used this way and let out long, loud moans of pleasure, oblivious of anyone watching, focused simply on pleasuring her master. Then he came, firing more of his juice deep into her, groaning aloud as he shuddered his pleasure. In that moment, Alyssa achieved orgasm and slumped to the floor quivering in ecstasy as she slid from her owner’s cock. She lay on the floor, panting, shuddering; weak from what had been brought from her.

“She will do.” Jo-Nath said and Alyssa found them lovely words.

Alyssa recovered herself and knelt up. In moments she felt the leash being removed from her collar but then it was replaced by a slender chain which, as she glanced briefly she saw to her pleasure that it was grasped firmly by her master.

“Lord Jo-Nath, will you step this way, please. There is a car waiting to take you to the airport.” Ms. Brand explained. “Your fief awaits you out on Brightwater Caye.”

“Good.” Jo-Nath said tersely.

As she stood in a response to a tug on her chain, Alyssa knew that her master expected all women to be in servile roles and Ms. Brand’s outfit seemed out of place. However, her tone was properly deferential and he followed the direction. As they descended in a lift, Alyssa fell to her knees at her master’s feet and only rose when he led her by the chain. Soon they were in a car which had clearly been designed for owners and slaves to travel together and Alyssa found herself lounging on the leather-covered cushions at her master’s feet, a position that she felt was very natural. Knowing that the extent of a slave’s concern was in simply serving her master as best she could, she had no interest in where they were going.

Soon the car journey was at an end and Alyssa was led by her chain across a small hangar to a private aircraft, not that she considered these facts much; she was very much preoccupied with admiring the strength of her master’s thighs and hoping he would use her again once they were on board the plane. She followed where led and then as directed. She was belted into a single seat opposite her master but he still held her chain. Soon they were airborne. Alyssa’s master was brought drinks. He poured some into a bowl at his feet and released, Alyssa crawled to the bowl and drank the wine by lapping it, something she initially found difficult but it became easier with practice. Alyssa knew that collared and leashed, drinking like an animal she was being subjugated, but her submissive personality loved that knowledge and she was glad that she was able to fulfil her proper role so well. Alyssa’s pussy was wet as she realised that her being a slave was something not simply what she was; it was not going to change. This was her function: to pleasure her master and be as sexy and obedient as she could.

From the floor, Alyssa looked up adoringly at Master and was excited when he gestured for her to stand. His cock emerged, one more pushing back his kilt. Alyssa yielded willingly as his strong hands lifted her legs and spread them wide apart so they were hanging down either side of his seat. Grasping under her arms, Master lifted, turned and thrust Alyssa on and off his cock as if she was some kind of sexual device. Alyssa was breathless and moaned her pleasure as master used her this way. She toyed with her erect nipples and palmed her clitoris whenever she could, not wanting the sex to end. Finally Master thrust her down on to him hard and he jerked violently raising Alyssa up on his strong thighs. She tittered and gasped as she felt his hot jism squirting deep into her. With his release Alyssa could do nothing but orgasm herself and lolled backwards, pinned still to her owner as she shuddered with pleasure, taken further by the sight of her body, both constrained and revealed by its harness, her harness, her slave harness.

Master slid Alyssa to the floor and she curled up sleeping, still collared, still with the chain that he held. Not that Alyssa had any desire to try to leave Master, but it felt so good that everyone could see that she was nothing but his body slave.