After you arrive in Hell, tell Satan he owes me one for bringing you there.
“When we met, Martin told me that whenever he got bored with me, he would sell me to another master,” Helga said. “People who are into BDSM often flirt with the concept of ownership. How would you react if I said I signed an agreement granting Martin the authority to either lend me or sell me to a Mistress or Master?”
Sunlight dappled through the trees as I walked with Helga. Koen, my ex-husband, had come for me with his new wife and offered me a chance to go with them. I would be the slave of his new wife. The idea scared me to death. Helga would know what to do. While Koen and Jutta, his new wife, remained at the Ranch, Helga and I took a long walk. The gentle breeze did little to calm the internal debate raging between going back to Koen or stay here with Helga and Martin.
“Martin would not leave you, Mistress. He loves you.”
“He saved me, you know. I was a high priced call-girl once and hooked on cocaine. And he got me out. Away from the prostitution and the drugs. In my time of need, when everyone else had abandoned me, he stepped up and took responsibility for my well-being, giving me shelter and looking after my needs. I am not his wife, you know. He tells everyone I am his wife, but I am just his property. He filled me with meaning, igniting a fire within me and giving me a goal to strive towards. You want to know what my goal is?”
“To please Martin.” I said. It was obvious.
“Of course. But from the start, Martin made it clear that he would keep me until he was bored with me. He is a member of this secret club of Masters and Mistresses. They swap slaves if they have enough of them. Do you want to know what will happen to you, Sylvia, when he’s finished training you?”
Stunned, I could only stare at her, completely speechless and unable to react. “You are not serious, are you?”
“Of course I am. Don’t be naïve. Forget the books about being kidnapped to a harem in the Middle East. The rich people in the West are slave owners as well. I assure you there is a club of Masters that buy and sell their slaves whenever they see fit. I am not saying you couldn’t get out before that happened. The transaction will be with your consent. But you – like I did – will consent to non-consent. You may scream and protest when your new Master comes for you to pick you up, but you have already agreed to be sold long before that.”
“So Martin could sell you to someone else?” I asked Helga.
“Any day. Don’t be shocked. This is exactly what I need. I have to stay sharp, making the most of every opportunity, and going that extra mile to keep him happy and satisfied. Being kept on a short leash is a challenge I actually thrive upon; it keeps me on my toes.”
What I just heard left me completely speechless; I never in my wildest dreams would have thought Martin was capable of this. I may have suggested to Koen I was his property, but that was within the bounds of our safe roleplay. Despite any reservations I may have, I wholeheartedly believe that Helga’s tale of medieval practice is entirely truthful and accurate. I have never seen her this serious. Although it may have worked out well for her, I knew in my heart of hearts, with an absolute certainty, that this whole selling-me scheme did not match my temperament or desires. It didn’t scare me at all; instead, a surge of intense fear washed over me. Only now the full weight of my actions and their potential consequences crashed down upon me, revealing the reckless gamble I had been playing. Women often say that men are led by their dicks, but this woman who should have known better was led by her pussy. I am a stupid cunt.
Never in a million years would I have imagined I would ever go back to Koen. Or that Koen would have taken me back. And yet, here I was. The straps binding me to the inside of the van were so tight it felt impossible that I would survive the journey and arrive alive at my destination. If this is going to last ten hours or longer, I will surely faint before that. Jutta said nothing as we drove to the highway heading home. But not my home. Hers. It was getting dark outside. It had been a long day. Like mine, Jutta’s day had been long and emotionally exhausting. Every inch of my body was screaming in pain from the welts that Martin had expertly inflicted upon me. The bus swayed gently, and I felt the straps dig into my shoulders as I was strapped to the wooden framework inside.
I was scared. The idea of Koen being unfaithful was so alien to me, so utterly improbable, that it never even crossed my mind. It was impossible that he would dominate another woman. Yet here I was. Given to this woman I hardly knew. With Helga, it had been an instant attraction. The moment I laid eyes on her, I got wet. But Jutta was not even attractive. A bit on the plump side, probably had tasted too much of her own food in all these years she owned the hotel. An everyday face, not pretty, but not ugly either. She had always been an invisible woman to me. Countless women, far more attractive than Jutta, had attempted to entice my husband into infidelity, each attempt proving unsuccessful.
Still, she was the one he fucked this afternoon. In my heart, my fear overwhelmed me; it became increasingly clear that my husband would be my ex-husband in the near future. It hurt. I knew deep down that it was my own fault. Somehow, I never thought it would come this far. I had wagered upon his love for me. Koen would forgive me after I had come to my senses. I never considered the possibility that he would divorce me and trade me in for a younger model.
Knowing that Helga and Martin were in it for the long haul would have prevented me from leaving with Jutta and Koen. The memory of Helga’s warning—that Martin intended to sell me to the highest bidder upon the completion of my training—continued to haunt my thoughts. I had seen enough in the Ranch that I believed her. Perhaps you have read the Marketplace books by Laura Antoniou, (if you haven’t, you should). Life is nothing like those books. There was no doubt in my mind that there was some kind of swap system between a group of dominant men and their submissive women. I loved the dynamic on the Ranch, but the thought of being sold to some unknown dominant scared me. Perhaps it was the coward in me that chose for the safe option to go back to Koen. I understood him well enough to know his current tough-guy persona was just a facade.
The unexpected sound of Jutta’s voice, harsh and commanding, abruptly pierced my thoughts. “You are my slave now and there will be many times you will regret you chose to come with us and not staying with Martin. Women know deep down inside we can suffer way better and more than men. Men always have that protector instinct that prevents them from really hurting you. But guess what? I have tortured my own daughter. I hurt her in ways that you can’t even dream about in your worst nightmares, girl. And you know why? Because I loved her and she needed that. Newsflash. I don’t love you, whore.”
She waited. Having overtaken a couple of trucks that were visibly straining to maintain pace, the Transit engine unleashed a deafening, screaming roar as it strained to reach its top speed. If I had wanted to say something back, I wouldn’t have been able to because of the gag in my mouth. But I was too much taken aback by the venom in her voice.
“If you think you can wind me around your cheating little finger, think again, love. I hope Koen will be good Daddy Dom for me, but the moment he gave you to me, those gentle Dom moments are over for you. But you are in luck. I will give you whatever you need. Don’t worry, I’m not the resentful wife that hates his ex. I know you and Koen had a history together, but Koen and I have a future together, and you will not mess that up. Your best option right now is to please me as you have never pleased another woman before. I will ask the utmost from you, but that’s what you want, isn’t it, little slut?”
I could not speak, but I have not lost my ability to cry. And cry I did. I sobbed about lost opportunities, broken promises and undeniable self-pity. How deep had I dug the hole for myself that I had fallen into? I was afraid. What if the tables were turned? Would I not take out all my frustration on the woman who had stolen my husband? How cruel would I be? Should I be afraid? Should I fear for my life? Would I have to spend the rest of my life in a living hell?
The questions clawed at my throat. My voice was gone. Not only was I unable to speak to others, I could not even hold a conversation with myself in my mind. I never had a panic attack before. I completely freaked out when I suddenly felt intense fear. My heart had never beaten so fast before. My chest hurt and I couldn’t breathe. I was losing control and started shaking so hard my head banged into the wood behind me. I was going to die stark naked in this van. Even if I deserved to die, the knowledge that I would never again hold my children close, never again hear their voices, filled me with a despair I could barely bear.
I have no recollection of what happened next. Did I pass out or just lost my sense of detachment from reality? I did not see, but felt the gag removed from my mouth. From far away, I felt a soft hand caressing my face and hair. I heard a soothing voice that told me, “I’m here with you, sweetheart; you’re safe now. Shh, it’s going to be alright. Trust me, there’s nothing to fear from me. I promise to be there for you, and I will do it better than anyone else. Slave, I’ll give you precisely what you desire, no more, no less.”
I heard the words, but they made no sense to me.
She talked to me in a soft, calming voice, promising that everything will be okay and offering her warm embrace to make a child feel protected and loved. My heart rate slowed down from a trillion to a million beats per minute, leaving me drained and also fearful of another attack.
“Listen, I’m parked dangerously on the side of the road and we need to get out of here before the police show up next to us asking what the hell we’re doing here. I’m going to leave you alone for a minute until we find a parking spot and then I’ll come back, OK?” I couldn’t speak, just cry.
“Good Girl,” she said unruffled, patted my hip and hurried back to the cabin of the Transit. I couldn’t speak, so many emotions came up in me. They had to come out in tears, lots of tears. But unlike before, they weren’t just sad tears. My tears seemed to shield me from a heart attack, or panic attack, or whatever. A bundle of emotions I did not understand came out in a splitting headache. The fear was still so strong, overwhelming and paralysing. Every bump in the road resonated tenfold in my brain.
At long last, the loud engine stopped. Jutta came to the back and held my sobbing body without a word. Her soft, motherly breasts were crushing my little red striped titties. She kissed me softly, not a passionate kiss of a lover but a gentle kiss a mother would give her child to calm her down. She comforted me like only an experienced mother can. No words were exchanged, just feelings. So powerful that if I had tears left, I would have cried tears of joy. But my eyes had leaked their maximum.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice soft but sincere. Her kindness, in sharp contrast to her words earlier on, gave me new hope. She let go of me and grabbed a bottle of water. I was thirsty. I had to replenish my water balance so I could shed more tears.
“Listen, I know if master Koen was here, he would untie you from this rack and would cuddle you for the rest of the ride home. But I will not do that. I will make these ties just a bit more tight. I know that Master Koen gets home before we do, and you want to show him just what a good girl you have been, suffering for the only reason he said so? And even though it is too soon to ask of him to admit it right now, he will be so proud of you. Perhaps he will punish me for making you suffer more instead of releasing you now. So be it. But I want you to feel that joy and pride as we arrive. Now, I will give you two choices as a reward for being such a brave girl. The first is that I will leave your gag out of your mouth so you can speak freely the rest of the ride. The second is that I will allow you to pee in this plastic bucket.”
I was in awe of this woman. So many feelings fought for precedence. Relief that I would not be a plaything of his new wife who would make my life a living hell. Delight that she was strong enough to guide me. Wonder how my life would be bonded with hopefulness. Perhaps some of my buried wants and needs could surface without shame or oppression.
I felt a stronger urge to pee than to speak, making the choice obvious. I have had the experience of holding it until I reached the hotel – home? – before. I had no need for a repeat experience. She pushed the plastic bucket firmly between my already spread legs and I relieved myself. What a well-chosen word. Relief. Before she re-inserted my ball gag, she kissed me again. This time, there was nothing motherly in that kiss. It was the hungry kiss of a lover, full of promise and discovery. I was still smiling when the gag entered my mouth, effectively keeping my words in myself.
Like a good slave girl would.
