To her intense relief, Miles, her Master, chuckled and told her that the house was unoccupied. As he helped her from the car, she gazed in awe at the building.

       Built of mellow red brick and at least two centuries old, the three story house bathed in the late afternoon sun, its tall windows sparkling and reflecting the lush grass and trees of the grounds which stretched in all directions around its bulk, while to each side of the main building, lower, single storeyed levels suggested stables and storage areas.

       “Come on.” Her Master gripped her left arm and walked her to the front door, then unlocked it and pushed her inside.

       The entrance hall, long, wide and thickly carpeted was elegantly furnished with comfortable looking leather chairs and settees.  Hazel stared around in fascination, wishing she could ask where she was and why.

       Her eye caught sight of strange slots in the ceiling, one on each side of the room, leading up to and, apparently, through into the rooms beyond the closed doors, but could make no sense of what they might be for.

       Her Master pushed her over to a tall, narrow cupboard just inside the main door and snapped, “Kneel, slave, and do not move.”

       Hazel hesitated, but with her wrists handcuffed and his hand gripping her arm, realised the futility of resistance.

       She knelt as ordered and watched as he opened the cupboard.

       Inside, chains glittered and she swallowed nervously as he seized one of the dangling lengths and pulled it forwards.

       With a soft rattle, the chain glided towards her and her eyes opened wide as she saw that it was attached at its upper end to a sort of car that slid in the ceiling track.

       The lower end reached to within an inch of the floor and terminated in an open padlock,          an open padlock that her Master immediately snapped into the ring at the left side of her slave collar.

       Tethered by gleaming chain that hung in a loop to her collar, Hazel was astonished as her Master explained casually, “The track in the ceiling goes to every room in the building, so that you can be sent wherever you’re wanted with no fear of you escaping, slave. Follow me.”  He walked off, leaving her on her knees, dumbfounded at his arrogance and filled with horror at finding herself chained.

       Realising that she was not following, he turned and frowned. “I gave you an order, slave,” he said coldly, but Hazel was too shocked to obey. “Very well, slave. Then you will learn the penalty for disobedience,” he said as he strode back to the cupboard.

       He reached in, then turned back to Hazel and she gave a shriek of terror as she saw that he held a thin, flexible riding crop in his hand.

       She scrambled awkwardly to her feet and tried to run, but the chain at her collar allowed her to get no farther than the front door before it reached the end of the track, bringing her flight to an end with a cruel tug at her collar.

       Jerked to a halt, Hazel stared wildly at her unmoving Master and the evil crop tapping against his palm. “Come here, slave,” he snapped, “Kneel at my feet and place your forehead on the carpet.”

       Hazel tugged wildly at her tethering chain, but only succeeded in jarring her neck. Her Master growled, “You have five seconds to carry out my order. You are here as a slave and you will obey as one. If you do not, you will be cropped until you learn obedience. Now, come here.”

       His tone crackled with a force and a menace that he had never used with her before and her eyes filled with horrified tears as she realised that he meant every terrifying word.

       She stumbled forward, sobbing, and threw herself to her knees, thrusting her head down until she was in the position ordered, her entire body trembling wildly and praying that he would not beat her.

       “That’s better,” his voice was merciless. “As a new and untrained slave, your punishment will be light, this time. Three strokes. If you move, I shall begin again. As often as necessary.”

       Behind her quivering, upraised buttocks, the crop rose then fell, with a sharp crack, upon her soft flesh.

       Hazel screamed in agonised disbelief as furious heat erupted across her bottom and fell forward onto her belly, her cuffed hands attempting to reach her smarting flesh.

       “Resume your position, slave,” the icy voice cut through her screams. “I shall not tell you again.”

       Sobbing with pain and shock, Hazel knew she must obey or risk further punishment and with a despairing effort, managed to twist herself back onto her knees and force her head down to the carpet, presenting her stinging buttocks to his crop.

       “You are learning, slave,” her Master’s mocking voice sent shudders through her bowed body. “Disobedience by a slave is never tolerated and you would be wise to remember that. I shall now begin your punishment again, as I promised.”

       Knowing that she was powerless to stop him cropping her, Hazel clenched her teeth in anticipation, summoning up all the courage she could muster to try to hold her position and obey his order.

       She feared that if she failed, she would be cropped again and again until she did as he wished.

       The crop hissed down and she squealed into her gag, fighting to stay still as red heat flared in her buttocks.

       The second and third strokes cracked across her naked, cowering flesh, turning her whole bottom into a tingling, smarting mass of furious heat and Hazel wept in misery and growing shame, for, despite her pain and despair and her efforts to deny it, she was horribly conscious of a growing wetness and warmth between her thighs.

       She was becoming aroused by the punishment and although her brain sent message after message to her treacherous body, she could not prevent the insidious spread of unwanted heat into her belly and sex.

       As the fourth and final stroke painted her buttocks with a line of scarlet, Hazel sobbed in anguish, unable to understand her own reaction to her cropping and totally confused by the desire seething in her belly.

       A hard hand forced its way between her thighs and Hazel froze in horror as fingers discovered her shame, sliding easily in the slick wetness of her humiliating arousal.

       “Excellent, slave,” her Master’s cruel chuckle brought red spots of colour to her cheeks. “Just as I thought, you are a true slave and a natural submissive, as I realised the moment I first saw you. Here, in my Bondage Hotel, those qualities will be most valuable as you are trained to serve me and my guests. Now, get on your feet and follow me and I shall show you what will be expected of you.”

       As she struggled to her feet, Hazel’s brain whirled to the sheerly awful revelation that he had planned to enslave her from the very first time they had met, almost four months before.

       Not only that, but she had actively assisted him at every stage of what she now saw to be a very carefully planned scheme.

       The first time he tied her wrists, his insistence on spreadeagling her when they made love, his purchase of bondage magazines and leather cuffs, the use of the vibrator to drive her into a sexual frenzy...all, she now saw, designed to produce the end result of her complete subjugation and enslavement.

       In her innocence, she had trusted him completely, never imagining that his encouragement of her enjoyment of bondage and the sexual pleasure it gave her  was merely a prelude to the locking of a steel collar about her throat and the beginning of a new life as an authentic and helpless slave.

       Hazel flushed redly as she imagined how he must have laughed to find her pierced and ringed and padlocked when he returned from his seminar, then groaned as she remembered the thrill of kneeling before him and locking her slave collar on her own neck.

       He had even told her that, once collared, she would be enslaved and no longer in control of her own destiny, but she had not really believed him.

       She believed him now, but it was too late.

       Collared, handcuffed, tethered by a chain leash, she was utterly helpless...and subject to cruel punishment if she disobeyed his orders.

       How could she have been so blind?

       All the warning signs were there, but, somehow, in the excitement and pleasure of arousal and lovemaking, she had not seen them.

       Now, she was a slave in what her Master called his Bondage Hotel.

       What did it all mean?

       What would she have to do?

       He said she was a natural submissive, but was she?

       True, she loved to be tied up and made to climax by him, but what had he meant when he said she would have to serve him and his guests?

       Surely, he couldn’t mean...?

       But what if he did?

       If she tried to refuse, would she be cropped?

       Even worse, if she was cropped, would her body betray her and become shamefully aroused…again?  

       These worries flashed through Hazel’s brain in seconds. As her Master strode over to the first closed door to his left, she knew she had no choice but to follow as he had ordered, her obedience assured by the crop he still held in his right hand.

       Her tethering chain tightened as she walked nervously forward, but then the car slid in its ceiling track and she entered a beautifully decorated and comfortably furnished room, with a well stocked bar in one corner.

       “The lounge,” her Master announced. “This is where you will serve drinks to the guests.”

       Hazel looked around, her belly churning with anxiety and arousal as she saw that the ceiling track split into a fan shape, allowing her to reach every corner of the lounge.

       It told her that she would have to serve as a tethered slave and she could only imagine what his guests would make of her collar.

       A shocking thought struck her.

       What if she was made to serve stark naked, with her ringed labia padlocked and on show?

       Before she had time to panic, her Master turned and said, “Come, slave.” She had to go with him.

       The second room was a dining room with only five tables, each easily reached by one of the ceiling tracks.

       “You will serve meals here, slave.” Hazel nodded dumbly, realising that she was not only to be a slave, but a hard working one.

       The third room, a small study, held computers, fax machines, a photocopier and several telephones.

       “Many of my guests are businessmen,” he told her. “They need to keep in touch, so may require you to serve drinks in here.”

       The fourth room was a large library and as Hazel checked the ever present tracks in the ceiling, she shivered to see that most, perhaps all, of the books and magazines, bore titles which related to bondage, slavery and the training of slaves.

       If they were an indication of the tastes of her Master’s guests, she could expect no sympathy for her plight from that quarter.

       Her Master waved his arm expansively. “This is one of the most extensive collections of bondage erotica in Europe,” he told her, “So, you may rest assured that your training will be to the highest standard.”

       His confidence was of little comfort to Hazel, who remembered all too clearly the stringent bondage and extreme vulnerability of the slave-girls pictured in her bondage magazines.

       At the time, she had thoroughly enjoyed their helpless exposure and aroused herself with fantasies of her own body bound in similar ways...but that had been before she became a slave.

       The reality was less pleasurable, because she knew that she could be just as tightly bound but that, unlike her fantasies, she would not be able to free herself by simply changing her mind.

       She would have to endure her bondage for as long as her Master pleased...and she was well aware that it pleased him to leave her tied for lengthy periods.

       Ushered from the library and to the foot of the sweeping staircase, her spirits sank as she saw the infuriating ceiling track leading upwards and realised that she would not have to be released from her tether.

       On the first floor, there were four magnificent suites, each with a superbly appointed lounge, large bedroom complete with four poster bed, small study and luxurious bathroom and in each, the track split to allow a tethered girl to reach all of the areas.

       The second floor held only two even larger suites and these, her Master told her, belonged to himself and his partner.

       When not required elsewhere in the hotel, Hazel would spend much time there. She shivered as he slid back two solid bolts on the outside of a small, heavy door in the corner of his bedroom and showed her a simply furnished room containing a basin, single wooden armchair, small television and narrow wooden bed with ornately carved wooden posts at each corner.

       “These are your quarters, slave,” he told her, “As you see, they are simple, but perfectly adequate. Look out of the window.”

       Hazel went to the small window and looked down.

       It was a sheer drop and she found herself staring down at a rectangular courtyard, surrounded on the other three sides by single storey buildings, the only access through a curved archway opposite where she stood.

       “The only door to this room is the one we came through,” he reminded her. “And the bolts are on the outside. I trust you get the picture.”

       Hazel nodded miserably.

       The room was a prison and she was the prisoner.

       “Good,” he chuckled, “Now, come with me and we shall tour the rest of the hotel facilities.”

       Downstairs once more, Hazel stared in astonishment at the indoor swimming pool, Jacuzzi and sauna in the first outbuilding, then at the fully fitted gymnasium with its wall bars, exercise bicycles, fitness and weight training machines and static running track in the second.

       That astonishment, however, faded to insignificance when she was faced with the contents of the room on the left side of the archway.

       Entered through two massively thick doors, it was windowless, dimly lit and, so her Master assured her, totally soundproof.

       As it needed to be, for it was fitted out as a bondage dungeon.

       Iron rings dotted the side walls, others, inset into the floor, could be lifted to act as securing points. From pulleys dangling from the roof, ropes and chains descended while, in the body of the room stood the unmistakable, frightening shapes of a stretching rack, two adjustable pillories and a tall, vertical “X” frame, all festooned with broad leather straps designed to hold a victim utterly secure.

       Stunned, Hazel stared in horror at a rack of whips and crops on the end wall, her belly quailing at the thought that they might be used on her.

       Her Master moved towards the whips, but, thankfully for Hazel, his attention was concentrated elsewhere.

       “Come here, slave,” he commanded. She went reluctantly to his side, her tethering chain clinking softly as she shivered in fear.

       On the waist high shelf in front of him and on the wall behind, a whole range of black leather bondage equipment was neatly laid out and her eyes opened wide to the display of cuffs of all sizes, gags of many different types, blindfolds, hoods, collars, straps and other, to her, unidentifiable items of leather bondage restraints.

       Her belly began to roll and lurch with a mixture of fear and arousal, because there was no trace of doubt in her mind that she would be made to wear much of what she saw before her and she could not help imagining how it would feel to be bound by the strong, shining leather.

       She turned to stare numbly at the rack and the pillories and the “X” frame and gave a soft whimper as her brain pictured her naked body clamped in the devices as a shadowy figure explored and investigated her, enjoying total power over her and forcing her to respond unconditionally to his will.

       Her Master chuckled, knowing exactly what was in her mind. “Patience, slave,” he told her, “They are not going anywhere and neither are you. There is plenty of time for you to find out just how...efficient my toys are. Unless, of course, you’d care to try them right now...?”

       Hazel stared at him and shook her head vigorously, appalled by the offer and the immediate arousal she felt.

       “No? Ah well, kneel there, then and I will replace those handcuffs with something more suitable and permanent.”

       Acutely conscious of the crop still in his hand, Hazel went to her knees and gave a great shudder of despair as he reached underneath the shelf and pulled out a box identical to the one which had contained her slave collar.

       He opened it and took out a pair of gleaming steel wrist cuffs and she moaned softly as he told her, “These match your collar, slave. I had them made at the same time. Part of a set, you know. They will look good on you and will hold you quite easily when I clip them together.”

       Hazel didn’t doubt it for a moment and her eyes filled with tears of misery as she realised that the cuffs, like her collar, would not be removable...at least, not by her.

       He moved behind her and snapped them on her wrists, then removed her handcuffs.

       Linked by steel, only an inch apart, her wrists were no less secure than when she had been handcuffed and she knew there was no point in trying to escape.

       Her despair grew deeper as he took a second pair of cuffs from the box and snapped them on her ankles then linked them together.

       Now, she could not even get up, let alone walk or try to run away and had to face the horrible fact that her new bonds removed even the smallest chance of escape.

       He bent down and in a single movement, tore the tape from her lips.

       “You may speak, slave. What do you think of my Bondage Hotel, then, now that you have seen almost everything?”

       Hazel licked her tingling lips, angry protests at his treatment of her hovering on the tip of her tongue. Protests that she never made, for one look at his determined face and cold eyes told her that she would be wasting her breath. Wasting her breath and, much more serious, annoying the Master who had cropped her, locked steel cuffs on her limbs and held a riding crop in his hand...a crop he had used once and would not hesitate to use again.

       Hazel choked back her anger and spoke softly as befitted, she hoped, a humble slave.

       “Master?” she began, “Wh...What is this place and...and must I r...r...really serve you and your g...guests as a sl...slave?”

       “Of course,” he replied calmly. “That is what you are and will remain. As for this place, it is my latest business venture, The Bondage Hotel, where men and women who enjoy bondage and domination can come to live out their desires.  If, they can afford it.”

       Hazel gaped at him and stammered, “B...But...what about m...me?”

       “Well, what about you?” he repeated. “You are a slave and will serve my guests however they wish. They will have paid a great deal of money to come here and will, naturally, expect to enjoy unrestricted use of the hotel facilities. You are simply one of those facilities, as is the other slave who will be joining us in a fortnight.”

       His words and casual tone took Hazel’s breath away and she fought to regain control of her reeling brain as she learned of the horrifying part she was to play.