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MasterCaneman -> Kept, Part Four (6/1/2013 7:05:51 AM)
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Kept, Part Four
Caneman 2013
All characters, names, and situations depicted are fictional. Any similarity to persons, names, and institutions are coincidental and unintended.
Note: this part is not properly edited, so there may be a few continuity/context issues. Enjoy.
Master Francis was Mary's first real "Owner" in the scene. Kinky Guy and the auction house didn't really
count. They were more middlemen than anything else. The first only liked to play the game for awhile
when he could, and the latter was merely in the purpose of making money. He wasn't a gentle man with
her by any means. While not overtly cruel, he expected instant obedience and gratification from his
properties with no questions asked. He was not into "training" or "discipline" in the classic sense. When
a girl displeased him, he'd usually send her to her room for a time-out. Three strikes, and it was back on
the market for her. No arguments, no discussions.
English-girl, and Number One were gone by the end of that week. As promised, the first one's new
owner picked her up the next morning. It was actually two owners, a married couple, which would
severely limit her ability to finagle her way into a more lucrative position. One was simply put on the
bus headed for destination unknown. Where, he never told them, but she never saw her again. The day-
to-day details of her life were rather trivial when he returned his harem to normal discipline. Instead of
going about nude, they were permitted to use the wardrobe, which turned out to be a communal closet
with different outfits, shoes, and boots to satisfy his desires.
While many of the outfits were more or less one size fits all, each girl had their "own" articles that he'd
gotten for them. In addition to what she had with her, there were a number of pieces that fit her better,
and with a reduced number of girls, there was more to go around. When not doing "kinky" things, the
normal uniform was a pair of tights, a top, and a pair of low-heeled boots or sandals, depending on the
weather. Master Frank wasn't stupid, he couldn't expect them to wear nothing but stripper outfits and
fetish gear on a daily basis. And since each were expected to do real work around the house, it simply
wasn't practical.
Once the weather broke, they were also expected to help out in the yard. While he had a professional
service come by, there was nothing to stop him from having the girls keep the walks and drive swept up
and other light tasks. Before she could do this, Mary needed to fitted with his collar. Now, to those in
the scene, a "Collar" is almost like a wedding ring, but in Master Frank's stable, it merely was a visible
symbol that he owned them. But they still were special in their own right. Not in their symbolism, but
their function. Each was hand-crafted of stainless steel with a gold-lined inner surface. At several points
there were flat electrodes and there was a tiny transceiver inside the structure. "It's like a mix of those
bark collars and a house-arrest anklet," Number Five explained after Mary had received hers. "Master's
company works with the space program and the military, and he can get stuff that isn't out there yet. If
you go past the fence," she said, pointing to a decorative wall surrounding the main yard, "It sends a
signal to the house and then it starts to send out little shocks every few seconds. The farther you go, the
worse it gets. The big thing about them is they have a GPS in them, and if you make a run for it, his
guards'll find you. You don't want to ever do that."
Five told her about a girl who had been there just three months prior. She was an experienced
contractee, about halfway through her term. She seemed to fit right in, no issues. Mary learned that
before this girl arrived, the women had been allowed to go off the property, to shop, run errands,
mundane tasks. The collars were not too bizarre to be taken as anything other than risque jewelry at the
most. This girl had been named Number Eight, and everything seemed okay until she started seeing a
guy on the outside. Even though she knew her collar was a tracking unit, for some reason she chose to
ignore it and even went so far as to stay out overnight.
"He was furious at her. First of all, she violated one of the biggest conditions of the contract, no
unauthorized physical contact. Second, she risked outing him to the community. These people are about
as conservative as it comes, and in addition to that, his company would be in trouble with the
government and lose those contracts. Lastly, she could have brought back a disease, or her guy could've
tried to visit her here and you can imagine what a regular dude would think seeing this, right?" she
chuckled. Five had become more amiable once the incident had passed. Six had asked for removal and
placement elsewhere, and he had brought in no new girls since then. "Luckily, he was able to have a
word with the guy's employer, and managed to get his offered a job on the other side of the country or
something like that. Eight was quarantined and examined, and he sent her to one of the brothels he has
interests in."
In the auction house's dungeon, Mary had heard about the brothel system before. The owners would
contract the girls, work them in one area for a few months, and then move them to another area of the
country. They weren't cheap and tawdry places, either, more along the lines of the Nevada brothels. In
some cases they were, and she wouldn't have minded going to one of those. Even in that scutty hole, the
girls who'd done it were housed a little better and treated well. "They only have to be charged once a
month, and they have to come off for twenty-four hours for that. You'll be confined to your room for
that time, but he arranged that around your period," she giggled. "It does make for a nice break from
the day to day for a week."
The problem was, whenever you put any number of females together for a period of time, there's an
unfortunate chance they'll start to synchronize their periods. Master Frank solved this by rotating his
harem regularly. That way he could satisfy his fetish for buying and selling slaves while at the same time
always having a new face and personality to experience. That's kinda how this whole problem started,
when he stopped doing that. I've been here more than a year, so I suppose I'll be packing my bags soon
too. So what I'm saying is, don't bother trying to make friends. And don't go past the wall," she
giggled again, as she ground out the joint they'd been smoking.
Back in the writer's apartment, he was finally able to type this all down, which made it easier to follow
her conversation. "Once the bullshit was over, he actually turned out to be a pretty cool guy. From then
on, he only kept four girls at a time. We had a schedule to be ready for service if he was home, but there
were some weeks his business kept him away. Master Jason largely kept to himself, after all, he wasn't
into women. He did keep an eye on things, with his slaves. They were the guards, by the way. Too bad,
because they were absolute hunks," she smiled. "Nice guys though, as long as you toed the line. They
had authority to punish us if we screwed up when he wasn't there, but that rarely happened. Most of the
time, they patrolled the grounds at night, and don't get me wrong, they weren't pansies. I think both
had been military guys, and Master Jason armed them. Scary dudes if you came across them at night, let
me tell you."
"Did anything happen while you were living there?" he asked. If there was, and the outside authorities
got involved, he had a way to prove at least some of what she was saying. While some of the things she
said seemed plausible, he just couldn't shake the possibility this was all made-up. It wouldn't have been
the first time someone tried to do this to him. The last one was a guy who claimed to be a UFO
abductee, and he made it sound so convincing the writer had started to think he was on his way to a
Pulitzer. It took months for him to prove it, but the man was a fraud, setting up the background in
order to promote a book he was planning on publishing. She smiled and shook her head.
"No, and even if there was, I wouldn't tell you. From the look on your face I can tell you're trying to get
something by asking something else. I'd learned that one before I contracted out. Nice try, though," she
smiled. By now she'd pulled up a blanket around her, and it was pretty much certain she was staying the
night, even if only on the couch. Pity, he thought, she was a very attractive woman. He put down that
thought and refocued on his work.
The winter turned into spring, and then summer, and Mary found herself the "top" girl by attrition.
While still a regular on his sex schedule, her duties meant she would instruct and direct the new girls
until they were used to the routine, settle disputes between the girls, make sure the others performed
their assigned tasks. Top girl didn't mean she was the favorite, just that she knew more about the drill
than the others. When he'd given her the role, he'd also let her know in no uncertain terms that it would
be her last duty for him. He was taking no more chances of a repeat of what happened when she first
arrived. He asked her what she wished to do when the time came.
"You've been a good servant, Three, and I like to reward those who do well. I prefer to manage this
myself, rather than send you back to the auction houses. There are a couple options that are available.
You remember Mr. Larsen from last month?" he asked. Mary nodded. The man was a supplier of parts
for one of Master's companies, and into the scene as well. From they way they interacted, they were
clearly friends from a long time back. Larsen had asked for and received her usage that night, and she
had actually quite enjoyed herself with him. There was no kink involved, simply an evening of casual sex
and massage. "He expressed some interest in acquiring your services, but there are a number of
conditions. You'd have to agree to a longer term with him before he'd consider." They were sitting in his
home office, he dressed in his casual clothes, she in the standard uniform of the top girl, white blouse,
black pants, and riding boots.
"Another option is a mutual friend in Nevada who is always looking for new girls to round out her
stable. As you can imagine, you'd be a prostitute down there, which might be a better fit for you. She's
tough but fair, and you could make some very good money after paying down your debt. She wouldn't
extend your contract, but at the same time, you would have to use any tips towards buying your way
out. You are a slave, after all. The third one is probably the least appealing of all. He's another business
partner of mine, rather ruthless, and he wants to bring an American girl back to his home in England.
He's into ponygirls and things like that, and frankly I don't see you doing that. The advantage there is,
because he's such a rough customer, he offers to pay off the contract early for you, so after you're done
with him, you'd be free to go. Sleep on it, and tell me tomorrow," he said, dismissing her from his
office.
She definitely had some thinking to do. Larsen was another very wealthy man, that she knew, but she
was getting a little tired of doing it with an older man. Master Frank, while still good in bed, still
needed a measure of assistance from time to time in order to fully be pleasured, and she wasn't sure she
wanted to have to keep doing that. Another downside was the fact the man was still married, and she'd
most likely be relegated to a small apartment to wait for when he wanted service. While there were
upsides to this, such as living in the real world again, the problem was that it meant she would be able
to be tracked down that much easier. Here, she had the luxury of the protection of a very powerful man,
who could afford the best in lawyers, protection, and retribution, should it be required.
Her old clients had to have freaked out when she dropped out of sight. Many of them had a lot to lose,
and a few would have no qualms about having her put down in order to keep their secrets. It was the
main reason she stayed on. That, and for the first time in a long time she was experiencing something
akin to "normalcy" in her life. "I discovered after I was taken into the auction house that I was hooked
on coke. Not hard, but getting there," Mary sighed, taking a hit off of her cigarette. It was apparent to
the writer he had a houseguest for the night whether he liked it or not. She asked for and received a
clean t-shirt, and he'd given her a pillow and blanket.
"That's the reason they held the chicks for at least three weeks. Half needed to detox from something, at
least that's what I saw. Made it easier to separate the headcases too. Yeah, it was hard for me to believe
it too, but I'd never had any structure in my life until then. Master Frank would let us have a little wine,
maybe a shot. His nephew would treat us to a little bud once in awhile, but that was it." The writer was
sitting across from her, his fingers occasionally tapping the keys as she spoke. "I didn't think I was ready
for the 'real world' just yet. Sure, a few months before and I'd have booked out of there in a flash,
especially with what that bitch was doing. But all I had to do was remember the people I used to hang
out with and what they were capable of..."
Mary definitely had some thinking to do. Master Frank had given her some material on all three options.
Many owners networked among themselves to see what was on the market at the moment. They'd give
each other their requirements, and if one had a slave that fit, would wheel and deal that girl to get what
they wanted. The choices was quickly reduced to the Madam and Mr. Larsen. English Leather (her pet
name for him) was simply too extreme and too far away, not to mention the need for a passport and
other items that could put her on the radar again.
There would be a similar problem with The Madam as regards to licensing and testing, but that could be
dealt with. Larsen would have been ideal, but her hunch was right about being a kept on the side. While
she craved true freedom again, for the moment being held the way she was protected her. The Madam
would have professional protection round the clock, not so much with Larsen. He would be her sole
sexual partner, while the woman's offer promised much more. As a working hooker, she was well aware
of what she might expect, especially since she'd be marketed in the S&M niche.
Hers was very detailed regarding what would be expected, how often, and what would be provided.
Outfits and equipment would be included, medical care, other perks. Even limited opportunities for
travel, although the file indicated it would be strictly controlled. Larsen offered almost as much freedom
as her old life, but it would be in a city less than a day's travel from her old stomping grounds. The
Madam won. When she was next called to serve him, she told him what she wished to do.
The discussion had been delayed a few days due to his business commitments, and the next time she
was able to see him was on her scheduled session. He was very particular about how she was to appear
to him and what he wished to do. Sometimes it was simple intercourse, no bondage or pain. Other
times were what she'd expected, rough and hard. That evening promised to be one of those nights.
She'd turned the keys over to Seven, who would probably become the next top girl when she left and
went to the wardrobe room.
Her outfit for the evening was simple: a pair of platform ankle boots that locked, wrist cuffs, and a
harness. From past experience, this meant her service would be a little rougher than usual. Master didn't
like having his sheets torn from heels and hardware, so she'd most likely not spend the night. She went
to his room and knocked on the door. "Come in, Three," came his voice. He was bare-chested, wearing a
custom-made pair of silk trousers and knee boots. She exaggerated her strut as she entered, keeping
her eyes narrowed and focused solely on him. He made a signal with his hand and she sank to her knees
before him, her hands crossed behind her back and her head low.
"You do that so very well, Three. I will miss that about you, I must admit. Before we begin, have you
made your decision?" he asked, watching her intently.
"Yes, Master, I have. I have chosen to take the offer from your madam friend. No offense to your other
gentlemen friends, but I think I would be much happier there," she said. No she wouldn't. She knew
what kind of workload a chick in a Nevada brothel had, but the benefits were better than the others.
While it was clear that she wouldn't be working for but a fraction of what the "regulars" would make,
the tips would add up, and it was assured that they would be hers.
Mary knew that The Madam would make back her money in a very short time, and the rest would be
pure profit, otherwise she wouldn't offer what she did. The housing would be at least as good as here,
she'd have some free time (monitored, of course), and the chance to get out of this lifestyle much
sooner. The downside was that she'd be expected to work in the lifetyle in order to do it.
Madam's list of demands was very detailed as to her possible duties. Ten to twelve hour shifts when on,
acceptance of being used in very degrading manners, pain, and rougher intercourse than the normal
Nevada prostitute would accept as part of their job. While she wouldn't have to supply her own
wardrobe, it meant that she'd be wearing what the customers wanted, or nothing at all. And Madam
was explicit about the kinds of customers she could expect. Old, fat, and flabby men who spent too
much time looking at porn. Arrogant dickheads with inflated senses of worth and ridiculous handles.
On the flip side, she'd also get a chance to dish out some of the medicine she'd been receiving. She'd get
to play at being a dominatrix as well, but again, she'd be expected to do things that normally only
crackheads would agree to. There would be men who would pay to eat her wastes, grovel in filthy
women's clothes at her feet, act like babies. The list went on for several pages, but the part she
concentrated on was the early escape clause. She'd agreed to a three-year contract which assured her of
a guaranteed ten grand no matter what. She'd been with Master Frank for only six months now, and
while it had been good, she still wanted out.
Mary had perked up a little when the writer served some coffee. "Let me just go back to something you
said before, hon. You said that if at any time you wanted out, all you had to do was say it and they'd
turn you loose, no question asked, right? If you wanted out of that life then, why didn't you just do it?"
She chuckled as she lit another cigarette. "Because if I did that, I'd be right back to where I was the night
I ran away. I do believe that any of my owners would have done that. They had too much to lose if they
held someone against their will. Yeah, some of the chicks did do just that. I'd be given back my stuff and
allowed to walk away. Literally. Master Frank lived way the hell out in the country, and this is what they
did to "walkaways". They'd blindfold them and drive them about twenty or thirty miles away and let the
off. After that, they're on their own."
"I had less than three hundred bucks in cash, a dead cellphone, and one outfit that was halfway
presentable in the real world. I'd also have a shitload of people who would have liked to see my
disappear for good, too. Fear. Fear of that is what kept me there and doing what I did." The writer
paused to contemplate what she said. Despite having talked with other people in the scene, he'd never
known them to possess what one would call real fear. "And I'd also be on the hook to the people who
brought me into this lifestyle, too. The contract I signed had parts to it that assured they'd get paid
back no matter what. So the easy choice was to take the trip to Nevada..."
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