by John Savage
A slavegirl for Christmas was the perfect present for Athena, a gift from her father who had been struggling to think of something to give the young woman who already had everything. After all, he knew his daughter was kinky and sadistic, as well as dominant and lesbian, and so it was not a major effort to find a suitable, beautiful young woman who was prepared to agree to a one-year contract to serve his daughter’s every whim and desire – for a very large amount of money, of course.
But would Danila, the slavegirl, be able to last the year? Constant restraints, handcuffs, tight ropes and spankings from the first day were, perhaps, more than she could take. And there was worse, much worse. How long could she stand the suffering?
The library was dark, and when Horace switched on the lights, it took Athena a few seconds to take in what was in the room. In addition to the numerous bookshelves, comfortable reading chairs, coffee tables and a fireplace, there was a woman. Athena, immediately taking an interest, approached the woman.
The first item that struck her was that the woman was topless and was displaying a very nice set of breasts – young and firm and large enough without being overly so. Second item she noticed was that the woman was quite beautiful. The long black hair, the dark eyes and the slight Mediterranean cast to her features and skin tone suggested her ancestry was derived from somewhere in Italy. Item three: the woman was not speaking because someone had put a chain gag through her mouth. It was simply a small length of chain, large enough to push the tongue down and tight enough to just begin to cut into the corners of the mouth. Athena knew that the woman could make noises, and even, perhaps, form misshapen but intelligible words, but that gag would make speech difficult. It was also the type of gag that one would use not only to quiet speech, but also to punish the wearer with its discomfort.
It was upon seeing the gag that Athena noted the woman, who was sitting calmly on the edge of a chair, was holding her arms behind her. A quick glance confirmed what Athena had suspected: her arms were bound, in this case with two pair of handcuffs, one on the wrists and one on the arms just above the elbows.
To fill in the rest of the scene: the woman was wearing a pair of hot pants, very short, very tight black velvet and, along with the pantyhose, displaying her nice legs very well. Another pair of handcuffs was locked upon her ankles, which helped to explain why the shackled woman had not simply gotten up and walked away.
Athena studied the woman’s eyes for a while. She saw intelligence there, an awareness of her helpless condition, and, just perhaps, a tinge of fear. At least, this woman was a bit nervous, the taut status of her nipples attested to that. Fear does that to a woman’s nipples.
Once she had taken in the full scene of the lovely young woman and her restraints, Athena turned to her father and lifted one eyebrow in question.
“She is yours,” he told her, trying to hold in his amusement at her puzzled expression. “I mean that literally. I am giving you possession of this young woman as a slave. You may do with her as you wish. But,” he lifted a warning finger, “you will not harm her and, at the end of her contract, she will be set free. That will take place on this date next year.”
The frown was turning into a smile on Athena’s face. “You mean anything?” she said. Then she turned her attention back to the woman. Reaching out, she touched the left breasts lightly, playing with the taut nipple with her fingers. Immediately the woman who had been labeled a “slave,” reacted. But instead of backing away from the touch, she leaned forward as if eager for more. Athena saw in her eyes what she wanted to see: lust. This was undoubtedly a lesbian. Or a damned good actress/whore.
“I can take her away?” Athena asked. “For a whole year?”
“That is what I said. Your mother and I wanted you to have a present that you would enjoy.”
Athena was not aware that the tip of her tongue was protruding and licking her lips. Her fingers, which had not left the area of that rigid nipple, took it between thumb and forefinger and squeezed hard enough to make the woman whine.
Aware that she was not alone and should perhaps not display too much sadism to her father, she let go of the rigid flesh and stood back.
“Does she have an apartment or something,” Athena went on, “or can I keep her in my apartment.”
“She is yours. She is a slavegirl. You keep her wherever you wish. You order her to do whatever you want. You can even punish her – if needed. But I remind you: no damage is to be done to her. No whipmarks that won’t fade, no branding, no cutting parts off – you know what I’m talking about. You can cause her pain but not damage the goods.”
He was looking at Athena but speaking such that the women knew the message was for both of them.
“Her name is Danila, by the way. But I expect you’ll just call her ‘slave’.”
Athena took the couple steps to reach her father, put her arms around him, and hugged him. “You are a very understanding father,” she whispered in his ear. “I will have such fun with her.”