Aboard the Englishman's private jet, she was unpacked and dressed in a short gold silk dress, cuffed, collared and chained. The cavernous interior contained just one seat... and no windows. For safety, the stewardess attached her chains to the rear bulkhead and warned her not to get sick. A few minutes after takeoff, the stewardess returned, released the chain grasps and dragged the Englishman's new acquisition forward to attend to him.
He was seated in the luxurious chair, clad in black leather. On the table beside him rested a variety of implements for punishment.
"Slavegirl, lick my boots clean!"
Her eyes, steel grey, met his, ice blue. The battle of wills had begun. Her stare, direct and challenging, was the slap of the gauntlet to begin the duel. She shook her head.
He seized the chain from her collar, wrapped it in his fist and pulled her sharply towards him.
"Slavegirl, you will clean my boots!"
Steel met ice once more. She shook her head once more.
"Slavegirl, when I am done with you you will beg to be allowed to be permitted the honour of licking shit from my boots!"
He grabbed the spiked paddle, seized her roughly. The first blow, shockingly, was across her face. The second followed an instant later across her rump. Still she made no noise. She lowered her gaze and prepared for the onslaught.
Blow after blow rained down on her backside, her flanks, her back, her shoulders, her thighs... she lost count of how many times he struck her. His arm was strong, his aim accurate, but there was no real fire in the strokes. The silk took much of the cut out of it. She was almost disappointed, for she had endured much more skilled punishment at Omar's. Still, she supposed that masters had to learn how to treat new slaves, just as slaves had to learn how to serve new masters.
Her daydreams were interrupted by a much harder stroke of the whip. She gritted her teeth and endured the last few.
"Are you ready to lick my boots clean now, slavegirl?"
She'd been ready before, of course. Omar didn't let you get onto the auction block unless you were exquisitely skilled at all the usual, predictable duties the unimaginative masters required of slaves. As she bent her tongue to the task she tried hard to hide her disappointment. She had hoped for so much more.
After she had licked his boots clean, he signalled the stewardess with a snap of his fingers.
"Take this slavegirl away and prepare her. I will utilise her shortly, but first I require that she entertain and arouse me."
The stewardess obviously knew his preferences, for she took the new acquisition back to the rear compartment and draped her in a series of seven diaphanous veils.
"You know how to dance, don't you bitch?"
She nodded, thrilling to the words, the tone of voice. Such a shame that the master seemed less dominant than his servants!
"Well, his lordship is a lot older than he looks and needs an unreasonable amount of pump-priming to get the blood flowing. So you'd better make it good. He's spent a ridiculous amount of money on your skinny arse and you'd better give him his money's worth. If you don't, I'll spreadeagle you and lash your cunt to ribbons myself. And I'm a damn site better at it than he is. Understand?"
Steel grey eyes lowered, she nodded.
He was still seated in his chair when she returned. He feigned disinterest, but no-one who had paid as much as he had could really be ambivalent about the goods. His eyes were glittering with lust.
She knew she could dance. She knew she could provoke, engage, inflame. Although the woman's threats had sent a delicious shiver through her, she wsn't about to let a stewardess show her up, or tie her down. She began the dance, wrapped in so many layers that she looked virginal and pure, almost like a nun. The first veil dropped, and a little sauciness crept into her expression. The second, and the sauciness turned into a hint of wickedness and sin... but all in a pure and unspoilt way. Not a whore, or a slut, but a woman ready to embark upon a voyage of erotic discovery, if only she could find someone to lead her...
He was breathing hard, very hard. She really was the most exquisite slavegirl he had ever seen, let alone owned! But she had too many rebellious tendencies, which puzzled him. Omar wasn't one to let a girl out the door without full submission and training. The third veil fell, and he mused no more. The sights being revealed to his avid gaze were not new to him, yet she managed to show him each tiny hint of flesh as if he were the first ever to see her exposed ankle, her bare midriff, her slender calf...
As the veils continued to fall, her master's breathing continued to get heavier and heavier. She was pleased that she was going to get one over on that stewardess- there was no shortage of blood rushing to the groin there, he looked like he was nursing an uncomfortable erection in those black leather trousers! Time to really turn up the heat. She wondered if he'd make it to the end of the dance before coming.
Her breasts! Magnificient! Not huge saggy tits but the breasts of a trim, slim, thoroughbred! Only one more veil to go! He kept his hands well away from his throbbing erection, to come would involve a huge loss of face before a slavegirl! Got to keep control! Got to remain in charge... god, she's going to step out of the last veil... this is stupid, I've seen her naked before, how can she make it seem that I am the very first? Got to keep control... got to... got to... ARGH!!!!!
She stepped out of the final veil and granted him the first glimpse of the gates of heaven. He fell back into the chair, gasping. For a second she thought he has just climaxed. Then she noticed that his lips had gone blue and that he wasn't breathing any more. She yelped, recoiled in shock, took a step backward as the hostess rushed to his aid.
"Massive heart attack." the stewardess pronounced, and closed his bulging eyes.