Weeks later, she was still wondering.

Every day since her forced slavery had begun took on a horrible familiarity. She was woken early, released from her night-time confinement, and sprayed from head to foot in sunblock, before being set to work.

Apart from cleaning the villa from top to bottom, most of her jobs were outside, under the watchful, and leering, eye of Roberto, the boyish gardener and handyman. He clearly enjoyed having the naked and chained woman sweat and strain as she tried to avoid the lash of his whip. He gave her what she suspected were entirely spurious jobs, selected only for the extreme physical exertion required to fulfil them.

She had to cut the extensive lawns surrounding the property using an ancient, rusting and very heavy manual lawnmower, despite the fact that there was a perfectly good sit-on petrol machine in the shed. Roberto would sit in the shade of a nearby tree and watch the naked slave struggle back and forth in front of him, stroking the front of his shorts, occasionally jumping up and giving her a whack across the back or buttocks if she stumbled or slowed her pace.

Another job she was given was to dig over and weed the flower beds, using only a small hand fork, forcing her to bend over or kneel on the bare soil, making her hands and knees filthy. She had to blink the sweat out of her eyes as it trickled down her face, wiping her brow with her forearm, but only when she saw that Roberto wasn’t looking in her direction, in case he punished her for slacking.

As the days went by, he became more creative in devising her schedule. One day, he decided that he would build a rockery in one corner of the garden. In order to do this, Isabel had to take a wheelbarrow to a nearby quarry, about a quarter of a mile away, load it with suitable rocks, and wheel it back, all under the blazing sun.

She traipsed back and forth to the quarry. Ensuring that the wheelbarrow was fully loaded, Roberto could then ‘encourage’ the slave with frequent application of the whip when she slowed while pushing the great weight uphill. When they arrived back at the site of the proposed rockery, Roberto would examine the rocks with a critical eye, as if he had not seen them before and, more often than not, reject them, forcing Isabel to take them all the way back to the quarry and replace them.

Eventually, the remaining loose rocks in the quarry were deemed to be unsuitable, and Isabel was given a pickaxe and set to breaking the larger boulders into more acceptable sizes. Despite all this backbreaking work over many days, she never actually saw Roberto arrange the stones and, eventually, the idea seemed to be simply abandoned, with Isabel being put to other work.

When her day’s work in the garden was finished, Isabel had to become the house-slave, preparing food and drinks, or serving them in the dining room, on the veranda, or by the pool. This last was the worst, as Francesco, Natalia and Olivia lazed around in swimming shorts and bikinis, enjoying the kind of relaxation which Isabel had imagined she would be having, and which she now so envied.

But her days acting as domestic slave were short-lived. As someone who had always been fastidious about personal hygiene, Isabel was horrified by not being allowed to wash, and quickly became filthy and malodorous from her days working under the hot Mediterranean sun, leaving her with a disgusting coating of dirt, rancid suncream, and dried sweat.

Francesco had added to her degradation by variously spraying his cum on her stomach and back, over her breasts and in her face. Now she had gobbets of his dried ejaculate in her lank, greasy hair, which no amount of picking could fully expunge.

While she was forced to clean the toilets, she was not allowed to use them, having instead to squat on the grass or in the bushes. The inevitable dribbles and skid marks just added to the foul smell which now accompanied her.

As a consequence, she was thrown out of the house, and spent her evenings alone, chained to the tree. Her days now consisted of only outdoor work - hard, repetitive, menial labour under the leering attention of the young stud, which left her exhausted and covered in sweat when, as the sun dipped below the horizon, she was finally allowed to stop.

It took only a few days of this treatment for her to decide that these horrible people were intent on keeping her as a slave for good. She knew she couldn’t go on, she had to escape these crazy, perverted sickos. Her problem was that she was always under the watchful gaze of at least one of them, unless she was safely chained to something immovable.

Her chance finally came one blisteringly hot afternoon, as she laboriously pushed the decrepit lawnmower over the vast expanse of parched grass. Roberto was supposed to be supervising her, but she noticed that he was sitting under a tree, suspiciously still and quiet. She approached him nervously, noticing several empty beer bottles on the grass, and watched his chest rise and fall slowly and regularly, his baseball cap having fallen over his eyes. A gentle snore came from him, and Isabel knew he was asleep.

She pushed the heavy contraption as far away from him, and as close to the gate to the road, as possible. With one last look back to check he had not woken up, she took a deep breath, plucked up her courage, and ran through the gate and down the dirt track as fast as the chain between her ankles would allow.

She finally stopped, gasping for air, when she could go no further. Her legs were like jelly, her head pounding, and her feet sore from the stones she had stood on. She looked behind, and was relieved to see no pursuit, but staggered on, desperate to put more distance between her and her jailers.

At last, she saw another house by the road and gratefully made her way to the front door, banging on it with the last of her energy. She sank to her knees, unable to stand any longer, sweat dripping from her nose onto the step. Eventually, the door opened.

“Hello, can I h-oh my God!” the middle-aged woman inside said as she looked down at the naked, chained girl kneeling on her doorstep. “What is going on? Who are you?”

“Please, you’ve got to help me!” Isabel gasped. “I’m being held prisoner at the villa up the road! Please call the police!”

“At the Moltiverdi place? Are you sure?” the woman asked in confusion.

“Yes,” Isabel confirmed, “they keep me as their slave, beating me, forcing me to… do unspeakable things. Please! I’m begging you!”

“You’d better come in,” the woman finally said, helping Isabel to her feet and leading her inside. She sat her down on a hard-back chair, gave her a glass of water, then went to the phone.

“Oh, hello,” she said after it had rung for a while, “this is Sophia Taglia here. I don’t know quite how to tell you this, but I have a young woman with me who says that she has been held prisoner by Signor Moltiverdi and his staff for…” She looked at Isabel inquiringly. “How long have you been there?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, “over a week, I’m sure.”

“And how did they get you there?” Sophia asked, looking at her sceptically for the first time.

“I… I went there willingly,” Isabel answered, knowing how weak this would sound, “but then, they tricked me! Francesco put me in these chains and they whipped me!”

“She says she’s been there a week, and she is in chains, naked,” Sophia explained into the phone, then listened for a while. “You’ll come and pick her up? Okay, good, we’ll expect you soon.” She put the phone down and turned to Isabel.

“They say they will be here shortly and will take care of you,” she said with a reassuring smile.

“Thank you so much,” Isabel said with relief, “would it be possible to have a shower?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” Sophia responded with a frown, “your current state is probably material evidence you should preserve.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Isabel agreed reluctantly, having the beautiful dream of being clean snatched away. She fell into silence as the woman seemed eager to continue with whatever she was doing before. She sat and watched her writing studiously, feeling very self-conscious about her nakedness and the filthy state of her body. The awkward silence stretched out to fill the few minutes before there was a knock on the door. Sophia got up and went out of the room.

“Well, my little runaway!” When she heard the voice, Isabel’s blood ran cold, and she looked up to see Roberto standing over her. Her stomach lurched, and she had to fight to stop herself being physically sick in shock and fear.

“So what’s going on, Roberto?” Sophia asked. “Who is this woman and why is she in chains?”

“She’s Francesco’s girlfriend, Mrs Taglia,” Roberto replied calmly, seemingly unconcerned by the other woman’s involvement, “they like to play some… interesting games. She’s English, and you know how they are into bondage and corporal punishment!”

Isabel wanted to protest that she was not ‘into’ being whipped and cruelly mistreated, but then she saw the leather flogger hanging in open sight at Roberto’s waist. She realised that the woman she had come to must be in league with her captors, and she could expect no help from her. This nightmare just gets worse, she thought.

“You young people are into such weird things,” Sophia sighed, shaking her head, “it’s beyond me! I think you’d better take her away, her dirty feet have already made a mess on my floor.”

“Yes, sorry about that, Mrs Taglia,” Roberto apologised, “I’ll get this slave to clean it up for you, if you like. In fact, she could clean the whole house.”

“No, don’t worry,” the woman replied, “the filthy slut would probably just do a bad job anyway.” Roberto nodded his head in agreement and, taking up Isabel’s chain, led her back out into the bright sunshine.

Roberto had driven down in a beaten up old truck and, dropping the tailgate, he pushed Isabel onto the dusty flatbed.

“You’re lucky it’s me and not Olivia that answered the phone, slave,” he snarled as he jumped up and stood over the girl, cowering on her hands and knees, “she would most certainly punish you very, very severely for trying to escape. Perhaps I should take you to her anyway?”

“No, no, please, Dominus!” Isabel wailed in terror. “Please don’t! I’ll do anything!” He looked down at her, an evil smile slowly spreading on his face.

“Perhaps there is something you can do to appease me,” he said, unfastening his shorts and pulling them down. Isabel saw his eager erection and knew what was expected of her. Moments later, he had her exactly where he had always wanted her, which was on her knees with her lips around his cock.

The young Italian received his first-ever blow job with rapturous enjoyment. But, eager to enjoy all that this wonderful, possibly fleeting opportunity could provide, he didn’t wait for her to finish him off. He pulled out and pushed her down on her back before falling on her, his hands groping and mauling her breasts. He pulled her legs up until her shackled feet were around her ears and thrust into her with all the youthful enthusiasm and vigour he could muster, drawing a scream of surprise, a little pain, and lustful enjoyment from the helpless woman beneath him.

He banged her for all he was worth, putting all his considerable energy into it. Isabel, for her part, could do little but grunt as each forceful thrust drove the breath from her lungs. The chain on her wrists rattled against the metal floor of the pickup as her arms flailed above her head, rapping out the frantic rhythm of their coupling. Her grunts changed to gasps of pleasure, growing louder as he drove her wild, ending with screams as she reached the most intense orgasm. He came at the same time, and his exhausted body slumped onto hers.

“You’re a good fuck, slave,” he grinned a few minutes later as he looked down at her, filthy and dishevelled, “we must do this again.” He jumped down and got into the driver’s seat and, as they drove away, Isabel saw the woman she had hoped would be her saviour watching from her front room, shaking her head in disapproval.

From that day forward, she found herself having to satisfy young Roberto as he used her to explore the lengths and depths of his sexual imagination. When he began to run out of ideas, he explored the darker reaches of the Internet for new ways in which to take advantage of this readily available resource. Isabel told herself that she only went along with these depraved acts because she feared that he would betray her to Olivia if she didn’t. But, reluctantly, she admitted to herself that she was also taking sexual gratification from her degradation.

As days turned into weeks, Isabel lost all track of time. Each day was a fog of exhaustion, hunger and thirst, as well as physical and sexual abuse. She tried to shut down when Francesco or Roberto groped and mauled, poked and prodded her, hoping to minimise the trauma. But each degrading violation invariably resulted in unsought, unwanted orgasm as her body responded automatically, defying any mental control. The result was a deep feeling of shame, and a further reduction of her already depleted resources of energy.

And so, her life of pain and pleasure, hard work and hard sex, went on through the hot Italian summer. Every day, she sweated and toiled under the merciless sun, punished and abused by Francesco and his enthusiastic staff. Every night, she slept under the stars, cold and alone. Every morning, she woke in darkness on the hard ground, resigned to going through the torment again…

Except today. Today, she awoke and felt softness beneath her, smelt clean, fresh bedding, and felt warm sun on her body. She opened her eyes and realised that she was inside for the first time in she didn’t know how long, lying on a bed. As she sat up, she saw that the chains were gone, and all that remained of her shackles was a ghostly white reminder, a break in the deep overall tan she had acquired. When she brought her hands to her throat, she found the collar had also been removed.

Sniffing her fingers, then her arms, and then her hair, she realised that, instead of the foul smell she had acquired over the weeks, she smelled of soap, and lavender, and perfume. She struggled to understand how all these changes could have occurred without her knowing but, for the moment, she decided to forget the ‘how’ and just revel in her new freedom and cleanliness.

Suddenly, a noise from the door startled her and, instinctively, she scrambled off the bed and knelt on the floor, eyes downcast.

“Oh good, Isabel, you’re awake,” she heard Francesco saying as he walked towards her, “why don’t you come downstairs for some breakfast?” She risked a glance up at him and saw that he was smiling pleasantly, holding out his hand.

“Dominus?” she asked in confusion. “I… I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

“Oh, darling, don’t be worried,” he said affably, helping her up, “we are not playing slaves any
more.”

“Playing?” Isabel asked slowly. “How… How long was I…?”

“Just over two months,” Francesco replied matter-of-factly.

“Two months?!” she exclaimed in horror. “That wasn’t a game, that was a prison sentence! I’ve been tortured and abused by everyone! How could you do this to me?!”

“I thought you enjoyed it,” he said calmly, “you certainly had plenty of sex, and you enjoyed that, didn’t you?” His accusatory tone made Isabel suspect he knew about Roberto. She wondered why she was suddenly feeling guilty, as if being raped by the young gardener was a betrayal on her part. Seeing the flash of anger on her lover’s face, though, she hastily dropped any thought of further protestation for fear that he might turn on her.

“We are only here for another couple of weeks, so I thought it was time you had a proper holiday. Why don’t you put on your bikini and we’ll eat out on the terrace that you have so assiduously been cleaning for the last couple of months?”

Wearing clothes, even something as simple and skimpy as her red bikini, which was little more than three scraps of material joined together by strings, felt strange after being naked for so long. Once dressed, she allowed herself to be led out and plied with food and drink. She found herself pampered, not only by Francesco, but by all the others as well, who were very friendly for the rest of her stay. She still found it disconcerting, though, knowing that they would abuse her cruelly again, given the chance.

“I hope we weren’t too rough with you,” Olivia explained later, clearly talking for all of them, “but Francesco said he thought you would enjoy the whole experience more if it was really intense.” Isabel didn’t reply but just smiled, disbelieving the sincerity of the non-apology, yet unsure of her own feelings about the matter.

The final two weeks of her time in Sicily were just as she had originally hoped. Her cuts and bruises quickly healed and the gaps in her tan soon filled in as she finally got to sunbathe by the pool, something that, while a slave, she had dreamt about for so long.

* * * * *

After such a life-changing experience, Isabel was amazed by how little her life actually changed.

She went back to her job at Morris, Shepherd & Turner and, once she had batted away the questions about her ‘long holiday’ in Italy, including questions about her relationship with Francesco, everything returned to normal. She was given a promotion and a salary increase, which she thought well-deserved, given that she had submitted herself to abject slavery for the good of the company. But her day-to-day activities and her office friendships just resumed as if nothing had happened.

Shortly after her return, Francesco left on an extended business trip to Southeast Asia. He had been away for a month and Isabel missed him desperately, despite frequent Skype calls. She thought of him and her Sicilian adventure all the time.

She wasn’t sure if it was her safe return from that or his current absence, but she now looked back fondly on what had, objectively, been weeks of torment, torture and abuse. She frequently found herself fantasising about being back in chains, being whipped and used for sex. As she lay in bed at night, overcome by loneliness, she enjoyed multiple onanistic orgasms, but afterwards she wondered what she had become.

“Could I have a word, Isabel?” She looked up and saw Mr Morris standing in front of her desk, looking worried. Wondering what was wrong, she stood up and moved towards his office.

“No, we need to go up to HR on the second floor,” he said. Now worried herself, Isabel followed him out. As they rode up in the lift in silence, she wondered if she was going to get the sack. They went down the corridor to the end office which had “Human Resources” on the door. To Isabel’s surprise the office next door had a sign she had never seen before, reading “Wellness Centre”. Mr Morris stopped and turned to her.

“Good news, Isabel,” he said, although his face looked anything but happy, “as you know, we have been having financial difficulties, but they are now over. The firm has been bought by Francesco Moltiverdi.”

“That’s excellent!” Isabel exclaimed excitedly. “I hope I had some small part in that.” Mr Morris continued to look extremely uncomfortable.

“He had a few demands,” the executive continued, “this Wellness Centre for one thing. He also wanted some very specific working conditions and dress code.”

“A dress code?” Isabel asked in confusion. “For a firm of accountants? I hope the staff won’t find it too onerous.” Mr Morris looked even more uncomfortable, almost squirming under her gaze.

“The… er… working conditions and dress code only apply to you,” he murmured. As Isabel stared at him in bewilderment, he opened the door to the Wellness Centre and took her inside.

Isabel couldn’t believe her eyes. In the large office, formerly used to house a number of clerks, she saw a cage, a St Andrew’s cross, a pillory and a stocks. On the walls were racks of whips, floggers and canes as well as chains and manacles hanging from iron rings. There were also chains hanging from the ceiling, and a bed with, she noticed, chains and manacles at each corner. She turned to her boss in alarm and disbelief.

“You’d better read this,” he said, handing her a piece of paper, “it’s a memo that will go out to all staff in the next hour. I’m sorry, Isabel, we had no choice but to agree.” With that, he turned and scuttled out of the room, clearly relieved that his task was over. With her heart beating like a drum, Isabel opened the folded paper and read its contents.

To all members of staff

Following the acquisition of the firm by Moltiverdi Holdings, we are pleased to announce a new staff facility, the Wellness Centre. This will be run by a manager brought in from the parent company, Ms Agnelli. The Wellness Centre will provide staff with the benefits of stress relief and personal exercise, as well as offering unique opportunities for personal fulfilment.

Ms Agnelli will be assisted by Isabel Matthews, who is demoted to the new position of Company Slave, effective immediately. She will be under the control of Ms Agnelli, who will be responsible for feeding, toileting and exercising her, as well as administering any punishments she deems appropriate.

The company slave will be dressed only in slave chains and will be available in the Wellness Centre on the second floor. She will be available to all members of staff for whatever form of stress relief they desire. As we are an equal opportunities company, this naturally applies to female as well as male members of staff.

The company slave is available during office hours on a first-come first-served basis. Please phone Ms Agnelli on extension 357 to check that the slave is not currently servicing another member of staff. Book time spent in the Wellness Centre on your timesheet to the HR Department with a project code of “Wellness”. Up to 4 hours per week per member of staff will be bookable to this code during office hours.

Please note that the company slave is also available in the Wellness Centre at evenings and weekends. Please arrange with Ms Agnelli if you wish to use her.

When she had finished reading the note, Isabel found that her hands were shaking and she was struggling for breath. She read it again, slowly and, as she stared at the cage in front of her, her imagination took over.

She imagined herself in the cage, naked, on her hands and knees, the iron collar and cuffs weighing her down. She looks out at a group of her co-workers, who stare back at her, pointing and laughing, passing comment:

“What a slut!”… “Who’d have thought that sweet, innocent Isabel would be into this kind of kinky shit?”… “I’d heard that some women were into being abused and humiliated, but I thought it was just lies spread around by misogynist creeps who like to tie up girls. Clearly, I was wrong!”…

The scene in her mind’s eye dissolved, replaced by one in which she is kneeling on the floor. Her back is arched, her chest thrust forward, the unnatural position caused by the cruelly tight binding of her arms behind her back, limbs fused from wrist to elbow.

Standing over her is Derek, the only man in the office who always made her feel uncomfortable, the one who couldn’t stop himself from staring at her cleavage when talking to her, the one she caught leering at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. He holds his cock in his hand, jerking off, until he spurts his cum across her breasts and into her face.

Grabbing her, he drives his thumb and forefinger into her cheeks, prising apart her jaws. He puts his already-limp dick into her mouth. “Suck it, cunt” he growls…

Again the image faded, and now she saw herself facing the wall, struggling against the straps which hold her against the studded leather surface of the St Andrew’s cross, to no avail. There is a swish and a crack. She screams as the whip tears the skin on her back. She sobs, begging for mercy, but the response is a mirthless laugh. “There is no mercy, slave, not here, not for you.” She recognises the voice. It is Mr Morris…

“Well, hello again, Isabel.” The stunned employee spun around and looked up to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway.

“Olivia?” she managed to stammer. “What are you doing here?” The Italian girl was dressed in a black latex catsuit, wearing stilettos and holding a riding crop against her leg

“Can’t you guess, darling?” she smiled. “My full name is Olivia Agnelli, and I am your new Company Mistress. Francesco told me he was buying this place and I suggested he might like to have a little fun with his girlfriend.”

Isabel stared at the young beauty in disbelief.

“What?!” she exclaimed. “You can’t be serious! Where is Francesco? I need to talk to him! I can’t do this in front of all my work colleagues! They’re my friends! It would be just too humiliating! I know I let you get away with this in Italy, but it is not happening again, not here!”

“He’s in Japan,” Olivia replied, “he sends his apologies for missing this, but he’s still tied up on business over there. Actually, what he told me is that he has a number of young, nubile Japanese women tied up, helping him perfect his Shibari rope technique. I’m sure he’ll come back and see you… eventually. In the meantime, I’m in charge and this will be your new workplace.”

“How long do you intend to keep me here?” Isabel asked desperately, remembering the two months she had endured in Sicily.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Olivia said thoughtfully, “Francesco usually sells on his acquisitions after a few months… maybe a year or so. His control of the firm would end at that point, so I guess that would be the time he would release you. Of course, he might include you as part of the deal with the new owners… then, who knows?”

The sexy Italian girl smiled, then closed the door, locking it and putting the key into her cleavage.

“Anyway, let’s not worry about that right now. You get undressed, and I can get you into your slave chains, ready for your first client. Quickly now, I’m sure they will all be keen to explore their new staff benefit!”

Isabel stared at the girl open-mouthed. This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Francesco couldn’t… wouldn’t… six months?… a year?! No, it was just him playing with her mind, trying to make her think it was for real, so she would get hot on the prospect of being so degraded and humiliated. He would appear in just a moment and tell her he was joking… wouldn’t he?

“Don’t keep me waiting, slave,” Olivia growled, flexing the riding crop threateningly.

Suddenly aware of the immediate danger posed by the sadistic dominatrix wielding the crop, Isabel instantly forgot the long term and hastily began to unbutton her blouse…