Tags: BDSM, F/m, non-consensual, femdom, slavery, Victorian fantasy, bondage, chains, chastity

Reggie was going to be a slave. He already knew the verdict, that he would be declared guilty and sentenced to slavery. That’s how it worked when you angered a noble as he had. So when it was finally Reggie’s turn to see the judge, his only goal was to keep the sentence as low as possible. He would beg, bow, and grovel on his knees. Whatever it took.

But when he closed his eyes Reggie could see the lady. The image of the growing fury he had seen when his eyes met hers never left his thoughts. It had been three days since the… incident. Long enough for Reggie to be processed, and long enough for the guards to learn that he was in jail for offending a lady instead of thieving, fighting, or drunkenness. A lot of prisoners got their feet whipped, it made it harder to escape if every step hurt, and everyone guilty of crimes against a noble got extra attention when it was their turn.  

“Prisoner number 17931!” came the call from the judge’s room. A silent moment passed before a hard shove pushed Reggie forward.

“That’s you, idiot.”

Reggie didn’t turn around. He knew what the big, unshaven guard looked like. And he had more important things to worry about. Like the fire at the bottom of his feat as he was forced to take steps faster than he would like. Stepping gingerly was hard enough when his ankles where shackled together and made considerably more difficult by the endless ache of his whipped soles and even moreso by the guard hurrying him further along.

“Come on now, we don’t have all day!” Demanded the court attendant as Reggie and the guard reached the door. The new man—clean shaven, tall and far better dressed—grabbed Reggie’s arm and pulled him the other man into the courtroom.

A prisoner’s garb was chains and stripes. Reggie’s shirt and trousers were white and gray, as the black had long since faded away. His chains ran up and down his back, binding shackles at his ankles and wrists to the iron collar at his throat.

Still, the young man intended to hold on to some dignity. He was well built, as unmaimed laborers tended to be. His short blonde hair and strong face had won him more than one encounter with women in the past. Reggie had meant to stand strong, with his head bowed. Back straight, head down. That’s what his dad had always said. Don’t look weak, and don’t look uppity. Back straight, head down.

Back straight, head down.

One quick look around the room and Reggie shrank in on himself. His shoulders slumped. His eyes fell further at the sight of the well-dressed, well-bred people in the room. Aristocrats. The upper class. The room wasn’t full, but he had glimpsed a sizeable group of them.

“Prisoner 17931,” declared the judge when Reggie was led to the stand. “Your name is—” there was a rustling of papers “—Reginald Smith, correct?”

“Yes sir,” Reggie said. “That’s me sir.”

“You stand accused of gross impropriety. Of looking inappropriately upon a lady of high standing, the Right Honourable Countess Charlotte Pressfield. How do you plead?”

She was a bloody countess?!

“I—well, that is sir I—It was a mistake sir.” This wasn’t quite how Reggie imagined things would go. He knew the courtroom wouldn’t be fair. Everyone knew the courtrooms weren’t fair. But he wasn’t expecting it to be so blunt. They were nobles! Where was the pomp and the ceremony?

Reggie looked up, keeping his eyes low as he could while he looked at the judge. A portly man. Bald, a severe and seemingly permanent frown etched into his stony face.

“So you admit to your crime and plead guilty.” No mercy in his voice or his face.

Reggie gulped. “It was an accident, sir.”

The judge stared down at Reggie, his nose turned up. “Really,” he said.

It was. It really was. Reggie had been working, laying down bricks with men he’d known and worked with for over a year now. They’d been on the edge of the wealthier parts of the city. Not quite where the nobility lived, but where the middlers did. The merchants and the artists. Rich folk without titles. Reggie’s gaze had wandered at the worst time. Distracted by a horse’s neigh, he had turned at exactly the wrong moment and met the gaze of a lady.

She’s beautiful had been Reggie’s first thought. Most ladies were. This one seemed of middling age, maybe as old as Reggie’s aunt. She had brown hair coiled up like fashion dictated. Her dress had been blue, a rich fabric that probably cost more than every bricklayer working with Reggie earned together in a year. Her powdered skin flawless and painted like no woman Reggie knew could ever hope to afford.

She was an arresting sight. A vision of wealth and beauty. And it wasn’t until Reggie met her eyes and saw her disdainful gaze turn to shock and then murderous fury that he realized he was staring. His own eyes widened in horror and he broke his gaze to turn away at almost the same instant she did.

Reggie had gone back to his work, desperate to move on and filled with futile hope that she would leave him be. Maybe her business was too pressing to bother with an insolent bricklayer. That happened to his mother once. She’d tripped in a noble’s path and the noble had just kicked her once and gone on his way.

But when the young man chanced a glance back to check, he saw he had no such luck. The woman was talking to a copper, pointing directly at him. It was then that he noticed for the first time the stiffness between his legs. Looking down, Reggie saw the little bulge visible in his pants. It wasn’t big, but it was there. His cock had grown hard at the sight of the woman. Had she seen that or was it just the eye contact that had angered her?

He thought then about running but dismissed it even before he saw John shake his head. Then came the copper’s rough grabbing. Then jail, the whippings and processing and stripping. And now he was here.

“Sir,” he said. “I beg you to have mercy. I didn’t mean to offend her ladyship. I swear. I didn’t mean to look. I was too stupid to realize who she was right away. I swear to you it was an accident.”

The judge’s stone face was unmoved. “That is irrelevant.” He banged his hammer on the desk. “Prisoner 17931 is hereby declared guilty of inappropriately looking upon a lady of high standing and sentenced to three years of unconditional slavery. The owner will be determined by lottery. Next case.”

Three years? For looking at her? That was beyond anything Reggie had imagined. His instinct was to protest, to yell out his innocence as loudly as he could. He felt a shout building in his throat, heard the noise start to erupt… and stopped himself. Reggie strangled the shout in his throat and forced himself to bow.

Three years of slavery. A terrible fate by anyone’s measure. But not the worst. Oh no, certainly not the worst he could have experienced.

Stories of insulted nobles and hellish punishments where everywhere, all the time. Reggie could count on his fingers the amount of people he knew that hadn’t lost a relative or a friend to the highest classes. Three years was a short sentence, as these things went. If he kept his head down and was lucky enough to be won by a master or mistress who wasn’t too cruel, he could get through this and still have a life when he got out.

The young man didn’t resist as he was taken by the arm and lead to the other side of the courtroom. He moved as fast as his pained feet allowed, trying not to irritate his guard. Another prisoner was brought in as he made it to the door. Reggie looked back to see a young woman he vaguely recognized from the waiting room. Brown haired, face filled with misery. Their eyes met, and Reggie could only sigh as he looked away.

He froze. It couldn’t be.

It was her. The Countess. The lady Reggie had stared at. She was in the courtroom, sitting not five feet from where he now stood. She wore a green dress, properly modest. Fine white lace covered its shoulders. Her hands were folded primly in her lap and covered up to her sleeves by white gloves to keep them clean. A feathered hat rested atop her immaculately styled hair.

To his horror, Reggie felt his manhood twinge upwards.

Reggie instantly snapped his gaze back to the ground. He would not make the same mistake twice. She hadn’t been looking at him and their eyes did not meet. They hadn’t! It looked like her gaze was rooted firmly on the judge. He thought… had she looked angry? It looked like she had been glaring, lips pursed, at the judge.

Why was she here?

For him. She had to be here for him. A pragmatic voice in the back of his head (and sounded suspiciously like Dad) told him not to be ridiculous. The lower classes were all the same to nobles. Surely Reggie’s accuser wouldn’t come to his trial.

Reggie couldn’t bring himself to believe that. This was no coincidence. She was here for him. Convicts sentenced to slavery where given to the nobility in a lottery. The methods differed. Drawing lots, spinning wheels, buying raffle tickets. Any aristocrat or person of means present had the opportunity. The Countess was hoping to win Reggie in the lottery and take his sentence into her own hands. That had to be it.

The door closed. Reggie was led through a hallway, happy the wood beneath his feet was so smooth. His mind worked furiously. The courtroom hadn’t been full, but it hadn’t been empty either. There were other nobles who would want their chance to obtain a new slave. Surely they wouldn’t just give Reggie to one over the others? That wasn’t how this worked. Right?
The odds were in Reggie’s favor now. They had to be. He wasn’t going to be fine. Three years was a long time to suffer slavery under any circumstance. But with only a little bit of luck Reggie would dodge the worst.

X*X*X
Some time later, far longer than Reggie would have liked, Countess Charlotte walked into the lottery room with the judge at her side.

Reggie was not in a good state. Upon being taken into the room he was chained to bolts in the ceiling and forced to stand on a wooden block with the world GUILTY carved into its face. It was a sturdy thing, barely wobbled at all. But the top had been carved into a neat grid of spikes. Reggie was forced to stand as evenly as he could, lest a one spike torment his already agonized feet even more.

There were four enslaved convicts ready to be won in lottery. Each was chained and standing on a block exactly like Reggie’s. All except Reggie were women. Instead of striped shirt and trousers, each of them wore a striped prison dress. To his left was a black-haired woman with a sullen look in her eye and a bit gag in her mouth. To his right was the woman with light brown hair whose trial had been after Reggie’s. Her eyes were downcast. To her her was a blonde woman on the verge of hysterics, glaring and sobbing in equal measure. Before each of their blocks were boards declaring their crimes and their sentences.

The nobles milled about, conversing with each other and inspecting the slaves as if this were any other day at market. For them it probably was. Reggie was careful not to look any of them in the eye or face. He kept his gaze beneath their necks as much as he could. There were six of them. Four men, two women. A couple of maids bound at the knees with hobble bands served them drinks and food. Guards lined the walls, keeping their distance from the aristocrats but close enough to rush in if anyone caused trouble. Not that any of the convicts were in any position to cause trouble.

At the head of the room was a prominent spinning wheel. Reggie had seen them before at carnivals. But those were games, this one would decide his fate. There were eight sections, each with a number attached. All of the aristocrats held a piece of paper with a number that matched one on the wheel.

Reggie was tired, more pained and more sore than he had ever been in his life. He was being inspected like meat at the market. One of the men, an older gentleman, had lingered in front of Reggie. One of the women had as well, spending entirely too long looking between Reggie’s legs for his taste.

But all other thoughts fled the Reggie’s mind when he saw the Judge and the Countess walking in his direction. The young man glimpsed his accuser’s expression and saw the aristocratic mask of indifference, the face they all wore. Nevertheless, he thought he could still see fury in her eyes and hoped he was imagining it. It was a hope that died a little more with each step she and the old man took in his direction, and then completely when they called over one of the guards and exchanged whispered words with him.

The guard hurried over to Reggie’s board, chalk in hand. He wrote something down, the sounds of the chalk ripping through Reggie’s mind.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have an announcement,” the judge declared. Reggie heard himself whimper. “The good Countess Pressfield has brought to my intention certain details of the crime against her that she has asked me to keep private.

Reggie’s eyes widened in horror. What? He thought back. The one detail that hadn’t come up was the bulge in his pants. His stiff cock. No one had mentioned it. Not the judge, or the guards. No one. Reggie had taken that to mean the Countess hadn’t seen it. Was he wrong? Had she simply chosen not to mention it until now?

“After consideration of these new details,” the judge continued, “I have come to realize that my initial sentencing of this criminal is rather inadequate for the depths of his crime. He will now spend five years enslaved, rather than three.”

“What?!” Reggie called in dismay and terror. They would really just do that? Change his sentence out of nowhere? Wouldn’t they at least pretend to keep the rules they set up fair? His thoughts were interrupted by a new burst of pain in his foot, the guard had struck him with a switch. Reggie cried out, then again as he shifted his feet over the spikes.

“Furthermore,” the judge continued as if Reggie had made no noise. “I am afraid this slave will no longer be available to win by lottery. He will instead be transferred directly to the custody and ownership of the Lady Charlotte herself. Now get him down from there.”

“No!” Reggie cried again. He wobbled on the wooden spikes, panicking too much to pay the pain in his feet any mind. Guards were coming over to get him down from the block. The lady turned her head ever so slightly, the expression amidst her crimson lips and shadowed eyes was unyielding. Reggie met her eyes for half an instant and turned away before it could be done. It was enough. He saw her cold gaze triumphant, and it terrified him more than anything else.

“Sir, please! Please don’t do this! I beg of you! It was an accident sir, I swear I didn’t mean to offend, please don’t—”

“Mr. Baker,” the judge’s voice was iron as he spoke to the guard. “If the convicts cannot remain silent, gag them.”

Reggie had no choice but to take the warning for what it was. His voice died in his throat just in time for the guards to begin unchaining him from the ceiling. The other aristocrats were murmuring to each other, evidently annoyed to see one of their potential prizes slip away. There was a family off to the side, two blondes who looked like siblings and a man who was surely their father. The rest of the nobles were older, even elderly. None raised any protest. The cloud if irritation was quick to fade away.  

There was physical relief when Reggie’s feet were taken off the wood spikes. He couldn’t bring himself to take any joy in it. His mind was overtaken by the sight of the guards handing his chains over to Lady Charlotte, whose disdainful gaze crashed down upon him.

“Eyes down, slave,” she hissed. Reggie complied and looked at the floor and the hem of her long green skirt. There was a jerk at his chains, then an insistent tug as the Lady pulled him along. Nothing too violent or harsh, that wouldn’t be dignified of her. They only traveled a few feet but her stride was quick and Reggie had to shuffle fast to keep up with her. He winced at every step and he almost stumbled into her when she stopped.  

Reggie’s new owner then snapped her fingers—which failed to make a snapping sound through her gloves—and pointed at the floor, just next to her. He turned to stand in the indicated position, only to be slapped full in the face. “On your knees, idiot slave. Get on your knees.”

Stunned, confused, angry, and terrified, Reggie could do no more than whisper a defeated “y-yes, Mistress,” and move to—

Another slap, in the same spot on his face. This one stung a dozen times more and caught him off balance. Now Reggie really did stumble down.

“Imbecile. Be silent.” Her voice was as disdainful as it was dismissive. Any vague, foolish hopes Reggie had nursed that his new master or mistress would be at least somewhat kind were well and truly dead. He didn’t dare look up, but he guessed the lady was no longer paying attention to him, focused instead on the next slave up for lottery. She was holding a one of the lottery tickets. Reggie might not be the only slave the Lady Charlotte went home with today.

Blood rushed through Reggie’s ears. The spot his mistress had slapped twice throbbed. Her gloves had softened the sting of the blow, but he knew his cheek was growing redder by the second. These sensations mingled together with the aches and pains that already tormented the young man. The stiffness of having been chained for so long and the waves of pain emanating from his whipped hands and feet.  

Reggie didn’t know how long he knelt by his mistress’s side. He suspected it was no longer than one hour, but it could have been more. It could have been even less than that. Minutes, though to him it felt like days. Reggie struggled not to sob. He fought to keep his face impassive, but he only managed a wide-eyed stare at the ground as he sagged in his chains.

And to Reggie’s complete shame and terror, his cock once again began to grow hard. Why? Why did this keep happening to him? What was wrong with him? What was it about this damnable noblewoman that aroused him?

The raffle started up a thousand miles away. Reggie could hear his fellow prisoners being given away to their betters, though only in the vaguest, most distant sense. He could hear cries of despair and begging mixed with jeers and the odd cheer at a winning ticket. It occurred to the young man that each of the women being given away with him that day had their own stories, their own horrible days that led them here. He did not think for an instant that any of them were real criminals.

Through it all Reggie’s head did not raise. Mistress Charlotte had ordered him to keep it down, and it was patently obvious that she would not tolerate any level of disobedience. Minutes in her presence was enough for Reggie to know how utterly absurd it would be to willingly defy her. He grew surer of that each time the Countess did not move to claim a new slave. She would jerk at his chains in annoyance, perhaps unconsciously, though it made little difference to Reggie’s chained, aching body.

He did work up the nerve to glance upwards every so often. Never for more than a brief second, and only with his eyes. It was enough for Reggie to see each of his fellow slaves progressively reach hands of their new owners. One woman was impossible to miss, bent over as she was only a few feet away from the young man. Her rump was practically next to his head. Another was forced down and resting her head between her master’s feet. Reggie could see her shaking.  

At long last, the judge announced the stock of enslaved criminals was exhausted. No one was left to be raffled off, and it was time for everyone to leave to enjoy their new slaves. Reggie had just enough time to see the last, a blonde woman, being given to an elderly looking lady in a gray-and-black dress, before he was dragged back to his feet. His mistress turned on her heel and began marching towards the exit. The young man barely made it upright without falling down, but he managed it and kept pace with Lady Charlotte. His eyes never wandered from the hem of her green skirts as they walked.

“You there!” The Countess’s voice was whip sharp. Reggie hoped she didn’t have any whips to match it. “Guard!”

“Yes, madame?”

“Here is my address—” Reggie heard rustling movement and understood his mistress was handing the man a card. “—I want my property delivered there as soon as possible. Am I understood? I will not make it home for some hours, and I expect the slave to be there waiting for me.”

“Yes, madame,” was the prompt answer. This was a man well used to dealing with the nobility. “I’ll see to it right away.”

“See that you do.” She handed the chains over, then stepped away. No words for Reggie. It seemed he was an afterthought after all. Maybe… maybe she was going to ignore him? Perhaps she just wanted to stuff him away and ensure he wouldn’t be around to bother her or any of her friends in the future. Could that be it?”

“That was Lady Charlotte, right?” asked a new voice. Another guard. “The Countess?”

“Yes.”

There was a low whistle. Then a friendly pat on Reggie’s shoulder. “You poor sod. You’re in for a rough time with that one.”

… shit.  

X*X*X

They stuffed him in a cage.  

Well, first they blindfolded him and stuck a thick gag into his mouth. Then they stuffed him feet first into a small cage. It was round, like a barrel with bars instead of walls. Reggie had to fold his legs and himself over them until he was hardly more than a human ball, and even then he could barely move at all. When the cage was locked, the pulled it up by the two leather straps attached to the top and carried him outside to him onto a cart with other caged slaves. It might have been a trick of the mind, but Reggie thought he recognized one of the muffled cries next to him as one of the women he had been raffled with. The blonde one who had gone last.

The familiar sounds of people milling about where all around. Scores of them went about their daily business. Almost none of them would pay the slave cart any mind. Why would they? It was a normal sight, one Reggie himself had done his best to ignore in the past. It rained a little, with drizzling drops popping through the cage and onto Reggie’s back. The series twists, turns, and movement of the cart was less miserable than waiting in the raffle room had been. A lack of looming lady over his head was making it considerably more bearable.

Reggie was the first delivery. The cart stopped and he could hear the men step onto the ground. He couldn’t stop himself from breathing harder. Nor could his ‘companions,’ the other captives. He heard womens’ muffled, gagged voices raise as the men approached the back of the cart, only to quiet when they realized they weren’t leaving just yet. Reggie was. The men were not overly gentle as they lifted Reggie’s cage up and carried him away, swaying in their hold. It was still drizzling rain onto the top of the cage, the pitter patter of raindrops a welcome distraction to lose oneself in. The men’s footsteps moved from cobbled pavement to wood. Then the raindrops disappeared, and Reggie felt the air around him grow warmer as he was carried indoors.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” came a maid’s voice. Reggie doubted it was a particularly important maid. Her voice lacked the authority of someone who ran the household. Instead it carried the subservience of a regular servant.

“Good evening,” said one of the guards. “This is the home of the Countess Charlotte Pressfield , correct?”

“That’s right. Is this the slave milady won today?”

“It is. Where do you want him?”

“In the salon. Right this way.”

Move movement. More swaying in the air. The maid’s footsteps were short and quick. She was probably hobbled. There had been a maid serving drinks at the raffle like that, with a leather band wrapped knitted into her skirt around her knees. One of the guards bumped into something, drawing a “careful!” from the maid, who got an apologetic grunt in response. More walking until at long last…

“Here we are, gentlement. Put him right there on the table. It’s been set for his arrival.”
… he was set down on a hard wood surface. Heat emanated off from one side. There was cackling wood. A fireplace. The men gave their farewells and left, leaving the new slave with the staff of his new home.

A moan erupted from the young man’s gagged mouth. Reggie ached at every bowed joint, hoping against hope he would be let out soon. This was his new prison. Would he ever get to leave this house? Even if he tried to escape, he didn’t even know where he was! They’d been in the cart for what seemed like forever and he’d stick out like a sore thumb in whatever wealthy neighborhood he was in. Then the realization came to him. He wasn’t supposed to know where he was. He was supposed to be lost.

Reggie whimpered in his gag and sagged in the cage. He was dimly aware of heavy footsteps leaving the room. Quick ones. Long strides. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t hobbled. Reggie suspected it was the head maid.

“Who’s this now?” Came an authoritative voice. “The one who disrespected her ladyship?”

“Yes, Ma’am. The poor boy’s in for a rough time.”

Why did people keep saying that?

There was a scoff. “Stupid boy, if you ask me. Don’t you go feeling sorry for him, Susan. The little idiot should’ve known better than to annoy his betters. You hear me boy?” She shook the cage and Reggie cried out again. “You brought this on yourself. Don’t you go looking for sympathy from anyone else.”

“Nph mmnph nn nccnnmnph!”

One more shake of the cage was her only response before she ignored Reggie and addressed the younger maid, Susan. How long is he going to be here? Did you ask the men how long his sentence is?” The woman in charge asked.

The maid hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was full of fear.. “I… I don’t know, ma’am. I’m sorry. I didn’t think to ask.”

She clearly expected punishment. After all, slaves weren’t the only ones who got whipped. But her superiors only huffed. “Just as well. It doesn’t really matter how long the sentence is. If the Mistress wants him gone, she’ll sell him. And if she wants to keep him around, she’ll tell the judge he threatened her and get his time extended.

“MMHNPH?!” Reggie exclaimed. He was ignored.

“Though between you and me, I expect he’ll be here for long time to come. I haven’t seen her ladyship get so worked up about someone in years.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, there’s no sense in standing around doing nothing. Start getting some tea ready, I’m sure Lady Charlotte will be back soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They took their leave, and Reggie was left with the sounds of a household. Servants moving about, their hobbled steps going past the salon, through the room, up the stairs. It was probably Susan who came back into the room for a moment to set something on another nearby table. The tea, apparently. Wouldn’t it get cold?

The answer came some time later, when another set of footsteps came in and set something new on the same table. Then again after another length of waiting. It appeared the servants simply had hot tea ready by making it regularly. Were they drinking the tea that went cold themselves?

Reggie could do nothing but try and get comfortable. He fidgeted on his screaming legs, trying to relieve whatever tension he could. His arms hurt almost as much. Was he going to be kept bound like this all the time? Would he even be able to walk or move when they finally let him out?

The room was suddenly still. Reggie’s breath came harder and faster, his heartbeat sped up. There were seconds where he didn’t understand why, until he realized the quiet that had settled over the house.

She was here.

Footsteps that could only belong to Countess Charlotte Pressfield—they came at a slower, more leisurely pace than the quick marching of the servants—drew close. It was her. It had to be her. If Reggie’s breath and heartbeat were fast before, they sped beyond belief now. The sound of it filled the air around Reggie’s head. Rushing blood pounded in his ears.
There was a sharp, sudden pain on Reggie’s arm. Then another. A crop. She was hitting him through the cage with the crop.

“Even gagged, you just can’t keep quiet, can you?” There was no mistaking the sharp tone. It was definitely the Countess. “Worthless idiot. Certainly worth less than I had to give that fool of a judge to ensure you ended up where you belong.” Another harsh blow was struck. “Your chatter will not be tolerated here, slave. You will be silent.”

Reggie fought to quiet himself. Difficult, with the waves of pain in his arm and the new knowledge that the judge had been paid to give him to his new mistress. Still he bit down on the gag and forced his breath to come in shallow. To keep from shaking her curled in on himself even tighter. His owner didn’t seem to be paying attention. The young man listened as she fell into a chair, its legs creaking as she did. The faint sound of a teacup being lifted followed seconds later. The Countess sipped at her tea, and time stretched itself longer than ever before as she did. He could picture her there, sitting calmly in her green dress and white gloves. Her impassive face made no expression in Reggie’s mind, and he suspected that was the same in real life.

Then she spoke.

“As my property, you will be expected to follow a set of rules at all times. I will tell you some of them now, once. And you will be severely punished if I am ever forced to repeat myself.”

Rules? Reggie could hardly believe his ears. It made sense of course, but hearing such a mundane term for the boundaries of his slavery seemed somehow wrong.

“The first rule,” said the Countess, “is that you are never to look at me above my knee. Should your eyes ever travel above them, you will be sent to my dungeon for a week of torture.”

A week for looking above her knee?! That was insane! Utterly balmy! Reggie felt his heart and breath speed up yet again, and once more forced himself to be calm lest he anger his owner even more. There was a terrible logic to it. Looking her in the eye had been the start of this whole mess. But even then, propriety only demanded not to look at her face. To force him to keep his gaze belong her knee… the ache in his neck grew even more at the thought.

And to his shock, Reggie felt himself disappointed. His mistress was rather beautiful that severe way. A part of him had been comforted to know he would be in the presence of that beauty in his slavery to her. But now he learned he would never be allowed to witness it above the knee.

“For the second rule. You are to experience no sexual relief without my express permission.” There was the sound of fabric rubbing on fabric as she leaned forward. “Don’t expect me to grant that permission, either.”

Reggie had no difficulty keeping his breath under control this time. The shock of her words and the frankness with which she spoke them had stolen it all away.

“Rule number three,” she continued, paying him no mind. “Whenever I am present, you have one minute—or sixty seconds, if you’re too stupid to know what a minute is—to grow aroused. I supposed a wanton slut like you won’t be having any difficulty with that. So in addition, you are strictly forbidden to grow aroused when I am absent.”

She paused long enough to take another sip of her tea. The still stunned Reggie was left to wait for more. It was all he could do. His shocked mind was empty of any other thoughts.

“I spent a considerable amount of time devising these rules. I find them to be a suitable punishment for your insolence. The members of my staff have been instructed to inform me of any failure on your part to follow them. Should another woman arouse your sluttish instincts, they will inform me. Should you fail to show me the proper respect when I am present, they will inform me.”

The Countess stood and leaned in closer than ever. Reggie could hear and almost feel her breath, inches away from his face. His breath sped up, and his heart hammered in his chest. A muffled shout escaped his throat when his mistress’s gloved hand grabbed him by the chin and forced his head up. Reggie could feel her inspecting his hidden face. Finally, and to his abject humiliation, Lady Charlotte’s hand left her slave’s chin and traveled down to his manhood. He whimpered as she grabbed hold, feeling it out.

Her grip tightened.

“You are mine, slut. Do you understand that? Your life is mine. Your body is my property. Your very mind belongs to me. And from now on, serving me is your only purpose in life. Your every thought and action will be entirely devoted to my pleasure. I am now everything to you.”

Tears burned in Reggie’s eyes and soaked into his blindfold. With deep, gasping breaths, he nodded to the impossibly resentful lady who owned him.

She gave his manhood a savage, painful squeeze, and Reggie whimpered one more time as his new life began.