“It’s being agreed that you, Chloe Duchet, will give up to Sergei Romanov your rights to your sexual body for the period of two years, commencing on this day, 10/10/23. Passing the rights on to this man you enter into a master/slave relationship governed by the following rules:
“One,” he cleared his throat again, and then paused to light a smoke. Not until he’d puffed twice on the thin black stick did he continue. “You freely give yourself for sexual purposes to this master for a maximum of thirty hours per week.”
“Wait,” I raised my hand again. “I agreed on twenty.”
“The document states thirty,” the magistrate nodded toward the woman at my side.
I turned to my counsel. “It’s customary to give the maximum allowed, not minimums. Chances are it’ll average about twenty-two to twenty-five. But the masters all want the leeway to go over the allotted times, so they are not in violation of the terms.”
“But that is not what I asked for.”
“You won’t get it any other way,” she told me with a heavy sigh.
“All right.” I addressed my response to the entire room, and the magistrate started again.
“Is that agreed on, thirty hours maximum?”
“Yes.”
“For those hours, the contract holder will give you ample notice of his demand for your time, so you can arrange your priorities accordingly.
“Two, you will willingly in all situations submit to the sexual demands of the master and his agents or mounts. Activities allowed can include penetration of the mouth, vagina and anus by objects of the flesh, that is male penises, or by commonly used implements designed for such penetrations. Foreign objects not designed for such purposes will only be used if a separate agreement is reached between contract holder and slave. In addition, the subject of this contract agrees to submit to all other bodily sexual acts to include bondage, discipline for instruction, pleasure and punishment, water baths, enemas, multiple sexual partners and penetrations at one time. Methods of discipline authorized by this contract include the application of clamps and pincers, spanking, flogging, whipping on the flesh of the buttocks, thighs, back, breasts, belly and pubis. Implements authorized by this contract are leather goods specifically designed for punishment, bamboo and flexible canes, and wooden paddles. Discipline is to be administered in such a way as to not permanently mar the skin. Deep welts and cuts are forbidden.”
The magistrate cleared his throat, looked up at me, and then began again. “Three, alterations of flesh may include tattoos to cover no more than ten percent of the skin, applied to body parts at the discretion of the contract holder, though not to in anyway cover the face, unless a separate agreement is reached between the master and slave. Further alterations may include the piercing of nipples, navel, ears, nose and genitalia. No marks, cuts or other alterations may be made to the slave’s flesh.
“Four, administered under the supervision of this court, a metal rod with the insignia of the contract holder, heated at an open flame until it burns red, will be pressed to the skin of the slave’s upper left buttock for the purposes of leaving a permanent indication of slave status. No other branding will be allowed, except by a separate agreement between master and slave.”
My loins quivered at these words, as though the steel rod was waiting for me that instant. Sergei had said I’d be branded, though I hadn’t realized that he meant that literally. I closed my eyes for an instant imagining the act with a hunger burning a hot place in my belly.
“Five.” I was awakened from the momentary stupor by the sound of the man’s voice as he continued. “It’s agreed that all commonly outlawed sex acts will not be required of said slave, and would put the contract holder in violation of the agreement.
“Six, once this contract has been fully executed, said slave gives up all rights to initiate any other casual or contractual agreement that might conflict with this contract, i.e. commencing a sexual/physical relationship with another man or woman.
“Seven, in return for said slave’s services, said slave will receive 100,000 culiars, 1000 paid monthly, the remaining amount in one lump sum at the end of the term.
“And eight, should said contract holder determine that this slave is no longer of use to him, he is authorized to sell the contract to another party, as long as it means no less than a ten percent increase in the value of the contract for the slave. Should the contract holder be unable to sell this contract with the agreed terms, and still wishes to terminate the slave’s services to him, he may release the slave of their obligations and pay the contract in full.”
Each paragraph of the contract had the power with just its words to enslave me more as I let each phrase work on my brain and my body to take me into that desired place.
“Finally,” the magistrate continued, “any abandonment of the slave, or abuse may be brought before the authorized relations council for your sector to adjudicate, however it is to be understood by the slave…” At this point the magistrate took off his glasses, sat back in his seat and fixed one eye on me as if it would bore right through me. Rather than reading from the document before him, he spoke far more personally than was warranted. “You understand, Ms. Duchet, that in signing this document, you sign away many of your God-given and legal rights to do with your life and your body as you please. You place yourself outside the obligations and benefits of state law. This court cannot convene for you, argue on your behalf, or have any jurisdiction over any complaint or violation you might suffer. Save any act that directly threatens your life, you are at the whim and mercy of your master and the relations council.”
Stern stuff he spoke of and yet I knew I’d ignore his admonition. My heart was beating rapidly, feeling as if it was actually caught in my throat. I coughed, and turned to my counsel. She looked at me with the same severe and judgmental eye as the magistrate, although she knew full well that I wouldn’t change my mind. I turned my gaze back to the man before me.
“I do not advise any man or woman to take up this life, even though it has been sanctioned by our society as a means of meeting a need in the population. These contracts are pieces of paper,” he picked mine up and waved it towards me. “Signed or not, they do not in any way acknowledge the potential demeaning effect that this life may have on you and your future. You are young, Ms. Duchet.” He put the paper down and looked for something specific written there. “Just twenty-two?”
I nodded.
“The brand itself that will be applied to your body will for the rest of your life signify to future partnerships outside the trades that you have participated in such a contract, and that your body has been goods for sale and squander, that you will have, no doubt, been the sex partner of many men. Some would say that it indicates how little regard you have for yourself. It is not my place to discourage you from this choice, in fact, I go outside the bounds of my position to have this lecture.” He looked over at Sergei who sat impassively watching the proceedings, looking as if he couldn’t care less about the outcome. “But, I cannot in good conscience let you make this choice without stating my abhorrence of this way of life.”
He stopped speaking, letting the last of his words linger in the air like the putrid smoke that burned from the tobacco in his hand. There was utter quiet in the room. My mind was spinning, not because of his warning, but because I was so filled with expectation and desire. He was a fool to try talking me out of the decision, but I could see why, in a fatherly sort of way, he’d made a bid for my not taking up the pen.
“Is it your decision to sign this document?” he asked at last.
“Yes, it is, sir,” I replied, just a half smile on my face to indicate that I appreciated his attempt to sway me. Still, there was a haughtiness in my voice that mocked him as well.
Counsel leaned in to me. “You’re sure of this?”
“Yes.” I looked at her without a single degree of wavering. She sat back impassively and crossed her arms in front of her. “Is there some reason I should
not?” I whispered.
“You don’t want to be discouraged, do you?” she asked.
“No. But if there is something in this contract that is suspect, it’s your job to tell me.”
“There is nothing out of the ordinary, if that’s what you’re asking. As far as I can see there are no loopholes that jeopardize you in any untoward manner. Regardless, however, you’re playing with fire.”
I wanted fire. I wasn’t scared of that. Turning back to the magistrate, I repeated my intentions. “I’ll sign it now, if that’s what’s required.”
The man nodded to a clerk at the door, who removed the document from the magistrate’s table and laid it on the desk in front of me. With my counsel and the witnesses looking on I signed on every page, initialed each item, and gave my thumb print at the end to make the document fully legal. The clerk, taking the papers to the other side of the room where Sergei sat, had my master do the same.
When the signing was complete, the papers were returned to the magistrate’s desk, and then witnessed by the pair who had watched the ceremony so closely.
“It will be understood, Ms. Duchet, that while the spirit of the document begins this hour, this contract is not fully enforce for two weeks. The waiting period is available for you to reconsider your decision. During that time you will live under the terms of the contract following all it dictates at your master’s discretion. You will not be branded, however, until that last signature is made after this period is over. Please understand, that you are until then, protected by this court and have the opportunity to take full advantage of your option to rescind your signature. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir, it is.” Then, as if the man was tired of the proceedings and defeated, he stood. “Please rise,” he told me; and I did with my counselor standing with me.
“The manacles please,” the magistrate ordered from the clerk.
In the first of many surprises that would begin from that day, the court clerk approached me with chains that were wrapped around my waist, cuffs attached to my hands and affixed to the heavy chain that rested at my belly. A second set of cuffs and chains bound my ankles together so at best I could only walk in short steps.
The satisfaction of this act moved like an orgasm through me; though I admit my fear was as intense as it had been for days with the reality of my decision suddenly clear to me. At the same time, I was exhilarated, imagining the raw acts of debauchery that I’d have the pleasure to know.
Chapter Six
The alarm by my bed rang for minutes, not seconds before I slammed my hand against the vibrating appliance, squashing the button into its back, so the sound buzzer ceased to plague the air with its crazed roar. Six-thirty, I saw through one opened sleepy eye. I could call in sick was my first thought, the theme song of all the other excuses for not going to work that traipsed through my brain. Then, of course, it was meeting morning. I don’t show up, Max Gatov would have more ammunition to dismiss me. I ached everywhere, having crashed into bed just four hours before after spending nearly forty-eight at the ruthless hands of my master, Sergei. My initiation. I couldn’t think about that time now, at least not consciously, except that I was sure that the events since the contract signing would appear in my thoughts without effort every waking hour of the day.
Viewing myself in the bathroom mirror, I noticed all the marks that I’d missed the night before when I returned to my apartment too exhausted to pay much attention. Thin lines appeared on my breasts, looking like cat scratches. More on my belly and those on my thighs required the caressing of my hands to experience how they felt. The thin baton that left these reminders appeared in my mind, along with the swift arm that reared back with it in hand and came crashing down to deliver the punishment. Wincing at the memory, it still brought a steamy satisfaction between my legs. Moving my hand between my thighs, I discovered a pool of wet heat there. I drew my labia apart, looking at the pink without, the purple within, and the welt the small cane left just to the right of my clitoris. I could still hear the scream in my head and feel the pulsing throb that didn’t stop for nearly an hour. Though seeing that welt looking more civilized in daylight, it still had the power to create a delicious sensation of submission.
The skin there was sore and swollen, but not enough that I couldn’t play with myself, not enough that I couldn’t find a spot to soothe the engorged flesh and produced a profound orgasm. Just to take the edge off, I told myself. I imagined masturbating all day because thoughts of my first hours of slavery would never be far from my mind.
After cumming, I thought to turn around and see what remnants remained on my back side. There the reality set in anew. My bottom was a mass of thin red lines and roughed up skin and bruises. The effect took me off guard, not so subtle as my front side. I remembered being lashed on my ass. I remember the cane and how I howled, and how my ass had been worked hard with dildos, not cocks. I don’t remember everything, but I know that I’d withstood a good deal of pain, and like Rowena relished it. When I wasn’t being whipped I’d been bound by ropes and there were still some small indication of those ridges on my ankles and wrists—but they’d almost faded away.
On the way to work, I looked out of the train car at the whirring landscape, remembering how the two days and two nights had whirred by in a blur. There must have been something in the drugs Sergei gave me that made me woozy the whole time, but I still felt fully functional, fully able to appreciate the things I endured. Chained and tethered, I’d been taken from the courtroom into a holding cell where the bonds were unlocked just so my clothes could be removed. With the chains replaced, I recalled most how cold that cold steel felt against my skin. To protect me from the cold, a cape was zipped around me like a shroud from my manacled ankles to my shoulders. Once I was in the transferring wagon however, the cape was removed and my naked ass was on the cold steel seat. A strap pulled around me was buckled so in the event the vehicle lurched I wouldn’t be thrown off the slippery seat.
I had expected Sergei to take personal possession of me, and was surprised by this unexpected turn. It wasn’t until later that I learned that contract holders were required to first receive their slaves in their residences, one of many meaningless regulations aimed primarily at making sure that the trades remained out of public sight. The wagon drove me directly into a basement level garage at Sergei’s property. Helped from the vehicle, I was escorted up a long flight of stairs, and then another, to a lonely room where I waited.
Arriving at work I had to put thoughts of the last two days aside. There was a moment when I wondered what point it was to maintain my regular job when the 1000 a month, twice my pay from the newspaper, was more than enough to sustain my life comfortably. Something in me was not as dedicated as Rowena. I held on to the belief that while I would dally in the things of the flesh, I still needed the stimulation of friends and work. If I were to live only for my flesh, I was afraid for myself and my sanity, no different than my heroine feared for hers.
As I waited for the elevator, I sensed there was a smile on my face and a blush on my cheek. There was some kind of triumph knowing what marks my body bore. They were now covered with clothes, but if my peers could see them, what would they think? They would never have believed the woman I really was.
Up the elevator, to the left, I was surprised to see that the meeting had already started.
“Duchet, you’re joining us?” I heard Gatov’s sarcasm, as I slipped quietly into my seat.
“Did the time change?” I asked.
“Announced yesterday.”
Good, I was covered. “Maybe someone should have tellied the change to me,” I replied.
“That would have been a good idea,” Gatov said. He went on with the meeting while I, bruised, marked and aching from the soreness let the feel of my slave’s body settle with me. This I could tolerate, I was certain.
“Chloe, Chloe. Duchet.” Someone shook my arm and poked my side, their sharp voice penetrating through my nap. I looked up to s
ee Gatov. “I know I’m not a scintillating speaker, but certainly you could do better than that. I hope this isn’t a hangover from spirits.”
“No, no, I think I might be coming down with something,” I suggested to him. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Then perhaps you should forget the parties and get your rest.”
How fatherly, I thought. I might have said it aloud and sarcastically, but I held my tongue.
I worked on the telly, sitting at my machine until I was bleary eyed from editing copy. I ran across my intro to Rowena’s story there, and read some thinking I should take it out of the data bank. But ever more, my kindred sister reminded me of the bond we shared, the one soul that would understand the feelings that remained with me every minute, as the little wounds made my body twinge and occasionally shots of pain made me wince. She would have understood the private passion that was nurtured by those small pains. Part of me wished I could be collared right there in the city room for all to see. What would the stuffy Gatov think of me then?
It had been several days since I’d dived into Rowena’s journal and I realized how much I missed it. As I quickly went on to other things in my machine, I decided I needed another date with her soon, very soon, so I could share our common life.
Lunch, more work and then dinner. At six I was home in my apartment again and asleep in bed. Not until my third night back at home did I have time to read Rowena’s thoughts again.
12/12 - Some evenings I’m allowed to eat at Boheme’s dinner table, either with other guests, his other slaves or with him alone. After so many days, one after another in the torturous occupation of meeting my master’s fetish needs, this civilized activity seems a little absurd. And yet I relish every one of these opportunities to be with the man, even with the jealousies that sometimes arise when I see him affectionately stroking another submissive’s cheek, or running his hand up their thin dress to fondle their pubis.
Into the Dark Wilds Page 7