Nonetheless, the three slaves moved adroitly into the kitchen as though they were long-experienced slaves, and these discomforts were just part of the game they lived with. Perhaps, by then, the annoyances had become friends—a sign that there was a master who cared enough about them to have designed such delightful misery. Perhaps it was a sign of their profound acceptance of their subordinate status, that the pinching, squeezing, aching burden of their attire was something to guide them toward sexual pleasure—even now after an arduous day of physical endurance.
The three were quickly turned into kitchen slaves at the disposal of an experienced cook who, with the two maids, had served food the previous day. Following orders, the trio worked fast, setting the large dining room table for a full buffet brunch—amazing what kind of feast was still possible in these primitive circumstances.
Looking longingly at the food, they wondered how long it had been since they’d eaten. Their stomachs suddenly seemed so empty, they thought it had been days since they’d been fed, when it was really just a scant twenty-four hours. If they could have just one morsel to appease their hunger, but there wasn’t even a chance for them to sneak a bite or two with their mouths bridled and gagged.
Once the food was ready, they were ordered by one of the maids to wait for further instructions. They stood like statues in front of the dining room columns, their bodies alert and somewhat proud in their high heels. Despite their sore feet, they kept their elegant posture, displaying themselves for what would likely be another thorough inspection.
As the hungry guests straggled into the dining room, they generally ignored the three costumed slaves in order that they might satisfy their physical hunger. A couple of masters appraised them with haughty glares, but they were otherwise passed over. Even Erik, Matthew and a very tardy Jason seemed to have little use for them now.
Only after the bellies of these exhausted guests were full did they bother to acknowledge the presence of the costumed chattel.
There was the murmur of voices for a time, a few quick glances their way, and then Essex spoke first. “Present yourselves.”
Present? How was that? They had no instructions and didn’t know what to do. Waiting hesitantly for one of the others to make a move, their hesitation made them blush with embarrassment.
“Present yourselves!” Essex repeated.
They still didn’t move.
“Oh my? You’re not familiar with that command?” He chuckled. “Does this surprise me?” he mocked them gesturing haughtily as he strut in front of them. “How about if I suggest that you bow at my feet? Would you understand that?”
Answering his question without speaking, the three bounded toward the man and humbled themselves in a semi-circle at his feet.
“That’s better,” he gibed, “now, someone have at their asses.”
There were a few guests who seemed interested, but it was Darius who stepped forward with a long razor strap dangling from his hand. “Asses high!” he ordered.
The crouched three were already kneeling with their heads bent forward and resting on the floor. To answer Darius’ command, they raised their behinds, holding an uncomfortable position that would soon strain their thighs. Hopefully, this punishment would be brief.
Brief it might have been; but that hardly mattered when Darius drew back his muscled arm and began to pelt their asses with the thick strap. He gave them a vigorous workout until the three behinds bobbed and jiggled as a glowing crimson blush colored their skin, and each slave struggled to swallow the cries that threatened to escape beyond their mouthpieces.
When Darius ended the punishment, Essex returned to them. “Go to the posts and show off your buttocks until you’re ordered otherwise.”
Obeying quickly, they presented their asses, facing three pillars in the dining room, raising their hands high, and spreading their feet wide. The impact of the strap still stung, though the burn was beginning to melt into their flesh, leaving a lush and erotic charge of energy they’d not yet felt that day. They imagined more insult, now so accustomed to that treatment; but that was not the result.
Archibald Devane’s voice rose clearly about the background conversation, “My apologies for interrupting, but the boats will be arriving in a half an hour. They are scheduled to leave Marquis as soon as you’ve boarded.”
With their minds turned elsewhere, the houseguests moved rapidly out of the dining room to elsewhere in the house as they prepared to leave.
Having been the center of attention for these festivities, the three slaves found it strange to have the room—once so filled with sexual energy—now empty. No one paid a lick of attention to the trio, and in time, they wondered if even Erik, Jason and Matthew would return for them.
***
The house fell silent. No more voices, no more footfalls on the stairs, no more energetic commotion of friends chattering, and no more reverberating cries of lust.
Still in their costumes, still waiting, Sandra, Laney and Elise remained facing the tall fluted columns, noting how their bottoms had cooled and the effect of Darius’ punishment had vanished. For the first time in days, the sensually magic spell that had wrapped around the house and all their strange activities seemed to lift—at least for a time—like clouds parting to reveal the sun. A few worried thoughts paced through Laney’s mind. With her anxiety rising, she wished she could whisper her concerns to the women on either side of her. They must be as apprehensive as she was, although there was no way to communicate but through their weary eyes.
Just as Laney was about to pull out of her pose, there were shuffling sounds behind them. All three tensed, not knowing who was entering the room; then they eased when they felt their master’s familiar hands draw them away from the columns. Laney’s gag, and Elise and Sandra’s bridles were removed, along with the most intense of the clamps on their nipples and clits. Their binding attire remained, as well as the anal plugs and high heels, but with the physical tension of the more extreme tortures absent, the three were able to relax.
As soon as they moved into the living room, it was immediately obvious that it had changed—yet again, almost as though it shifted shapes when no one was looking. The room now appeared much as it had before the onslaught of guests arrived on the island: a few scattered couches and chairs before the fireplace, even the deck of cards sitting on the table they used frequently in the first few days. And the book—Christian Barth’s missal of S&M treachery—lay on the mantle next to the clock.
Devane was in the room when the six entered, though he was on his way to the front door. Hearing the rustling of feet behind him, he turned back as if he had something to say.
“The boats have left, taking all but my personal friends back to port.” No one replied to his remark, so the old man added smiling, “Well then, I’ll leave you be.” He started toward the door again.
“Barth!” Erik suddenly exclaimed.
The old man hesitated but he didn’t turn around and he didn’t stop.
Unfazed by his lack of response, Erik called again, “Christian Barth.” His voice was louder and the timbre of his message more commanding.
Devane stopped, turning to him slowly. “I am Archibald Devane, Mr. Priestly.”
“No, you’re Christian Barth,” Erik said, quite sure of himself.
“What makes you say so?” Devane asked.
“What my gut tells me,” Erik replied. “Do you deny it?”
The old man considered for a moment, while his eyes filled with a mirthful rapture. “No, of course I don’t deny the truth.”
Laney, Sandra and Elise nearly convulsed as the startling information settled on them. Their eyes opened wide in fear. Even Jason and Matthew appeared stunned. Apparently this surprising bombshell was something Erik found out totally on his own. Perhaps it had just come to him—one of those unexpected jolts out of the blue. It left them all jolted now.
“You’ve used us, sir, for your merry pleasures,” Erik went on, with a clear accusation
in his voice.
“And your pleasure as well, I might add,” the old man quipped.
“But this was your plan: to allow us access to your house, deliver us your book, and then see what crudities we’d devise for the entertainment of yourself, and finally your friends. Is that not so?”
“My world speaks for itself, Mr. Priestly. I did not cause the storm that damaged your boat. I did not steer it in this direction—that would be akin to playing God, who I am not. The fact that you appeared here, accepted my hospitality, and then submerged yourselves in my own personal fascination with sadomasochism, I don’t consider that my doing—but yours.”
“I can agree on an overt level. But I also believe that you directed more of what transpired here than you let on, Mr. Barth—the first manipulation being the lie about your identity.”
The old man snickered. “True. I’m a shrewd man. A little mysticism never hurts to entice the minds of impressionable people.”
“So, you hand out that journal of your imaginings to everyone? It’s an obvious blueprint of your bizarre desires.”
“Which became your desires, my friend. Or are you trying to disown your last week, making your behavior my fault?” Barth eyed him with contempt as the physical shell of an old man became more like that of a robust master. “My book is a blueprint for the truth about Master/slave relationships. I may have led you to the water, but I did not make you drink. You lapped the darkness freely, and let it quench your thirst. Until you came here, you didn’t even know what your longing was about.”
“But…” Erik narrowed his eyes on Barth, “is that longing something real, or simply a product of this place?” he stared around looking suspicious of everything he saw.
“Oh, sir, that I cannot say. You’ll have to answer that for yourselves.”
They looked on with wondering faces, as Erik tried to move the argument, though he found little ammunition left to load his guns. Even so, something malevolent burned inside him—and that something seemed to fire Jason and Matthew as their previous musings on the subject returned to them with curious clarity.
Devane—Christian Barth let them off the hook. “Yes, I’ll agree, I devised this past twenty-four hours quite meticulously. I’m not sure novices could have pulled off the event without some assistance, so I made sure the slave presentation went according to plan. I would hardly bring my friends here unless I could guarantee the show they expected. You think that is devious, I suppose it is, but I did not see any of you throwing off the game in disgust or boredom.”
Barth’s points only stirred the angry fires in all three men, but it gave them no words to counter with.
“Of course, now that it’s over, you can leave, if you like. Your boat was made seaworthy over the last few hours. The ocean is manageable, and should remain calm. There are no storms in sight. You can pack up your belongings and leave right now, or you can wait until morning. It makes no difference to me, or…” he stopped.
“Or what else, Barth?” Matthew asked.
He old man snickered, “Or, you can stay and finish the book. There’s a chapter left. That is, of course, if you have the guts to see it through. As I see it, gentlemen, slaves,” he nodded to them all, “there is undeniably one thing about your experience that is fact, no matter how hard you might try to deny it or ignore its impact on you, it will never leave you. If you leave now, you’ll always wonder, there will always be a question about that final chapter. If you go now, the opportunity will be lost. Sure, you could try to reclaim it in another venue, but there is no place in this world like Marquis Island, and no time like the present moment. The choice to stay or go is yours.”
He’d said all that he would say; and having made his point clear, he turned again and left the house without another objection from the six who were standing motionless near the hearth.
Chapter Eleven
Once Christian Barth left the house, Jason, Matthew and Erik disappeared from the living room going in different directions without explaining their behavior. The three slaves were tossed into a void of attitude and feeling, left alone in costumes that seemed to be increasingly more annoying with each second that ticked by on the mantle clock. Though the aggravation produced by their garments hurried them into this frustrating and nonsensical in-between, it also submerged them headlong toward their sordid sexual cravings.
Then, as though it were a homing beacon, the book lying on the mantle engaged their minds, luring them back under the spell that had so completely named their days and their hours spent in bondage. It had defined their feelings, their sex, every second of their lives for nearly two weeks. And now, Christian Barth come to life? His words both in the book and in person left them terrified, even as their power to seduce drew them to this mysterious man.
An hour passed in silent vigil with the three too terrified to speak, when Laney, strutting on her spiked high heels, finally moved to the fireplace and rested her hand on the cover of Barth’s slim leather book, perhaps hoping she might divine the contents of the last chapter through osmosis.
“I don’t want to know what it says,” Sandra said plainly.
“No?” Laney looked a little bewildered.
“Would it make a difference if you knew what it said, or not?” Elise asked.
“Of course it wouldn’t,” Sandra declared, “haven’t we moved with everything that book has said? Hasn’t it been imperative that we take each step it suggested? Has it mattered what that step was?”
“I’m not arguing,” Laney defended herself, “I’m just curious.”
“I don’t want to know,” Sandra repeated. “If we hear it read, and I have a feeling that we will, I want it to be a surprise, another shock. I already know I won’t go where it leads, if I know what it says in advance, my mind starts to meditate on the message. It means more coming directly from our masters. Don’t fuck with the process, Laney.”
“Well, it’s all a moot point, Sandra,” Elise said in exasperation. “The masters of the house seem a bit disturbed.”
She wasn’t looking toward the kitchen, and when a voice boomed out, Elise turned in shock. “The masters of this house are just fine!” Matthew swept into the room with flashing eyes alarming them all by the swiftness of his return.
“And who gave you permission to talk like a bunch of magpies?” Erik added as the three masters moved in tandem to the head of the fireplace. The shape, the size, and even the feel of the room altered the minute their energies rocketed through what felt like a cavernous hollow.
Jason’s eyes beamed at his fiancée, “On the floor, slave.”
With Erik and Matthew pinning their brides with the same furious power, the two women hit the floor in humbled poses without having to be ordered.
“Nothing’s changed because we left you for an hour,” Matthew said. “I’d suggest you remember that, or we’ll freshen the burn on your behinds with a bit of the crop—and reapply your clamps.”
“Your job now is to clean this house,” Erik moved on briskly. “We’ll leave it the way we found it, despite the fact that we had some assistance in disrupting its order. When you’re finished, slaves, you’ll join us in the library. Get going!” The trio of slaves scrambled to their feet, stumbling as they tried to right themselves. “And for God’s sake take off those heels, or you’ll kill yourselves!” Erik added.
***
They had been ordered to strip off their costumes and appear naked in the library, wearing their original collars. The bands seemed more snug now than the many they’d been forced to wear in the last three days. But their feel was oddly comforting.
The mood of the room was overflowing with sexual energy stronger than any they’d experienced on Marquis. Knowing this was the last chapter, outlining the last cruel rite in their training as chattel, deemed the occasion potentially dangerous, and the sense of danger fed their lust. Regardless of their expectations, however, whatever finale Barth outlined in his book would have to surpass in intensity the other ac
ts of perversion he prescribed. They were accustomed to extremes and expected nothing less.
The three sat again in straight-backed armless chairs. Their legs were ordered spread; and their hands were clasped uncomfortably behind the wood struts at their backs. There were no handcuffs, chains, or ropes to keep them bound, only their fear and the desire that billowed from their anxiously aroused bellies. All three were wet where their pussies parted, Sandra so liquid that her juices stained the fabric seat of her chair.
As before, Matthew and Jason remained on the sidelines observing the drama with detached expressions; though there was something in their eyes, another deeper level of darkness that drove home the grave nature of their purpose. And Erik, a vision of calmness and clarity, read again, as he strolled around the circle.
Chapter Seven—Body Alterations: Branding, Piercing, Tattoos and Cutting
Sandra shrieked hearing those words while the other two slaves listened to the revelation with their stomachs suddenly tensing with alarm. For a moment, it seemed as though they’d all stopped breathing, though they listened with open ears.
“A slave, having made their choice, and giving themselves to the negated life of submission becomes the property of her master, no different than any other property he might own. She is bound to him by her own decision, and, as such, will be subject to all decisions that he makes for her. There is no question in the matter; it is simply a fact of the arrangement. Chattel is property, livestock is property, nothing more or less. Thus, what happens to the slave from this point is totally dictated by the property owner, and as such, many masters including myself find a certain finality associated with leaving their mark on the chattel’s body as proof of their sovereignty over the submissive livestock. In turn, the mark becomes that last, and very important acknowledgement by the slave that they are no longer free to govern themselves but are owned and have no rights. It is a symbol of their choice, a physical reminder to the slave that is undeniable, that can’t be washed away or altered. The more permanent the alteration, the more resounding the statement.
The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis Page 13