Prince of Slaves

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Travel

Charles rolled over and peered at the glow of the digital clock. Three thirty-seven in the morning and still not anywhere near sleep. Lillian had told him to “Be ready for anything.” His bags were packed, his last day at the restaurant was well past him and he’d dipped into his savings to pay the rent for three months. He’d also referred all calls for web page design to a hungry competitor. So he was ready. Or so he thought.

The first few days he left messages on Lillian’s machine but never got a response. Charles knew he shouldn’t have called but this inactivity drove him nuts. He settled down somewhat after that and established a routine of television watching and street gazing. Nights were the worst. He lay in bed, thinking he’d hear a mysterious knock on the door or the crash of a battering ram as strangers dragged him away. Of course, nothing like that happened. As the days wore on he replayed his final conversation with Lillian from early last week, hoping to catch some hint in her words or nuance in her voice that he originally missed.

“Don’t script any fantasies in your mind. You’ll be disappointed when they don’t come true. Take care of your personal business for at least two months. And just hang in there. Be ready for anything.”

How long was he supposed to wait? Lillian never told him if those two unknown ladies, Daphne or Tamera, had given him their stamp of approval. How could they when they hadn’t met him yet anyway? And how was he to be contacted? Late night phone call? Anonymous letter?

Nearly four-thirty now. Looked like another washout. Charles turned away from the clock and closed his eyes.



Behind Charles’s apartment ran a long alley. On its far side was a tall, cinder gray block wall with a space just wide enough for a person to walk through. A shopping center with a grocery store, pizza parlor, doughnut shop and numerous clothing and shoe stores occupied the other side. To house all the merchants, two long buildings formed a rough L-shape with a gap big enough to drive delivery trucks through at the corner of the L. Unfriendly, monolithic faded red brick faced a large back parking lot that no one used, except the trucks when turning around, or the apartment residents when they employed it as a shortcut to the shopping center.

Charles had used that route many times since he moved in and did so again that morning. His destination was the doughnut shop for an early breakfast. But that route suddenly changed.

Halfway across the parking lot a cool wind picked up, blowing through the gap between the buildings. He paused, turned his back on it to light a cigarette and didn’t see the dark color van roll up next to him. A figure leapt out from the already opened sliding door. Charles caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired woman who gripped his arms with a strength equal to his own. His cigarette and lighter dropped, his shoes dully thudded across the van door rail guard and across shaggy carpet.

“You sure took your own sweet - “ Charles began.

“Shut up!” The woman slapped him hard across the face, then stuffed a wad of cloth in his mouth. Another woman from the front of the van came back and the door slid shut. She crossed Charles’s wrists behind him while the tall woman roped them together. Then, with quick, quiet efficiency, they worked separately on him, one tying his legs, the other his arms. The second woman finished off the gag, pulling a white cloth tight between Charles’s lips while the tall woman tied another one around his eyes. Those same hands roved down to test his gag.

“Tamera, you can make it tighter than this,” the tall woman said with a hint of a southern accent.

“Well, he’s a rookie,” Tamera replied, her own voice young and vibrant. “I didn’t want to overdo it.”

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”

The gag was unknotted; a firm tug pulled Charles’s lips back further, then retied.

Fingers lingered over Charles’s apple-rounded cheeks. “Oh, yes. I see what you mean, Daphne. That’s much better,” Tamera said. “Too bad we can’t keep him like this forever.”

“Now, now. Back to work.”

“Oh, alright.”

Both women gave him an affectionate pat on the ass and then left him alone. The engine started and they rolled out on the early morning streets.

“No one does that silent glide with the van better than you,” Daphne said.

“Ash is so jealous of it,” Tamera replied. “You got your routine worked out for the next stop?”

“Of course.” Daphne’s voice went up a little. “`Hello, I’m collecting signatures for the Save the Seals Foundation.’“ Her voice dropped back down. “That’ll get me in the door with this one, no problem. I’ll signal you when everything’s ready.”

Charles guessed it was about a half hour after he’d been trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey when the van stopped, pointed slightly uphill. A door quickly opened and closed.

Wherever they were it was quiet. A few dim birdcalls drifted into the van. Charles moaned and flexed against the ropes.

“Take it easy, pretty boy,” Tamera called back. “Save that energy for later. You’ll need it. Ah, here we go.”

The van started up, turned sharply, leveled flat out, then stopped again. Tamera left the engine on as she got out. Soon, the sliding door opened.

Charles lifted his head on hearing the thump and grunt next to him. Something heavy was dragged further back into the van.

“I’m not used to watching two subs at the same time,” Tamera said.

“Would you rather be at the Iron Maiden answering two-hundred phone calls a day? You might even get one customer to show up,” Daphne said.

“Good point.”

“I thought you’d agree.”

The door slid shut, then both of the cab doors opened. Charles was able to peek from underneath his blindfold and saw both ladies take their seats up front, Daphne now behind the wheel.

The van backed up, then accelerated down the hill. A few more stops and starts followed, then a sustained increase in speed, heading to who knew where.

Beside Charles came a soft moan. He slowly angled his head until his restricted eyesight revealed who lay beside him.

A woman, dressed in tennis shoes, white socks, tan shorts and a light blue t-shirt. Ropes that wound around her ankles, knees and above and below her breasts immobilized her like Charles. A white cloth gag covered the lower half of her face and another of the same material blindfolded her. Medium length, sandy colored hair fell across her neck and a little over the blindfold too. Even at this angle Charles could tell she was a small thing. Petite. But her breasts and hips were just right.

“Hey! You little wiseass.”

Shit, Tamera caught him.

The tied up woman whimpered, probably thinking she was the one in trouble. But Charles knew better.

Tamera made her way back, hoisted Charles’s head by his hair and pulled a loose hood around him. The covering fell down to his neck, this time a guarantee Charles couldn’t see anything. Damn.

“You’re going to be a lively one, I can tell,” Tamera said, and patted his cheek. Her hand felt his rock hard erection. “Now I know what kind of carrot to put at the end of your stick.”



A short time later the van stopped again. A window was rolled down, then Daphne announced in a clear voice: “We’re back with the goods.”

A distant buzz and something unlatched and whirred. The ride turned bumpy. Cobblestones? Then a quick turn to the left and the unmistakable sound of an automatic garage door.

The van rocked a little when Tamera and Daphne came back to collect the “goods”. Charles’s legs were untied, then he was guided through the sliding door. Smooth pavement under his shoes, a firm pair of hands on his shoulders. A few steps, then he uncertainly climbed a short, carpeted flight of stairs. The firm hands spun him around, followed by a long walk with many turns.

“Hold still,” Daphne said. She untied him and removed the hood, blindfold and gag.

Charles found himself in a windowless, bare white room, in fact little bigger than a walk-in closet. The only features were the air vent and single light mounted flush on the ceiling. And the room was sound proofed.

“Strip,” Daphne commanded.

Charles didn’t argue. Daphne was an imposing figure, almost as tall as himself with well defined arm muscles. Long, brown hair framed a pretty, but forbidding face. Late twenties, Charles guessed. Blue jeans covered flared hips and long legs. He dumped his clothes on the floor between them.

“Where am I?” Charles said.

“Didn’t the gag teach you anything?” Daphne snapped. “You don’t look that dumb.”

Off to a flying start.

“Hold your arms straight out to the sides,” she said.

Charles did so, feeling like Christ on the cross. With business like alacrity, Daphne circled him, her hands probing his body, squeezing his arms, kneading the stomach and ass, testing the strength in his legs.

“Muscles are kind of soft. You need to exercise more.”

“I try. It’s not as often as I’d like.”

Daphne grabbed his face. “There you go with that mouth again. Did I ask you a question?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then shut up.”

She went on with the inspection. “I suppose it’s too much to ask if you’ve done any regular stretching like yoga.”

Charles opened his mouth to answer, then closed it.

“Good, you’re finally learning. Any stretching?”

“No, uh, ma’am.”

Daphne gave a tight smile at the honorific. “Your Lillian’s product alright. She’s good.”

She pointed at his clothes. Charles got the hint and offered them to her. Her smile widened just the barest amount. “You could be too.”

Daphne took his clothes away and shut the door.

Locked in a cube. Charles paced in a circle and was reminded of a play he’d seen some years back on an arty cable channel. A man was trapped in a room about this size and strange people visited him, discussing philosophy, art, reality. Walls became doors and then walls again as the strange people entered and left. The man tried to leave with them several times but they always pushed him back in the room, or “the cube”. A little spooked, Charles ran his hands along the walls, testing for secret entrances, but there weren’t any. The walls were walls and the outline of the door remained in its place. But the people who ran this place were grounded in their own fantastic reality.

A wizened, little man in a suit with thick glasses entered next. Behind him followed a beautiful blonde woman, naked and collared. The woman set up a small table and placed a thin briefcase on top. The man sat on a tripod chair with a canvass seat. The woman left and the man opened a briefcase.

“Alright, Charles Ryan, let’s get started. Sign these.” He shoved a pile of papers at Charles with print so small he had to squint to read them.

“They’re just standard releases,” the man said. “You could read them word for word and we’d be here an hour. Mainly they’re authorizing a background check, medical records, the usual.”

Oh, well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Charles leaned over and scribbled his signature.

“Good. Now, I want you to list any relatives or friends to contact in case of an emergency.” He provided a blank piece of paper.

Charles definitely didn’t want his parents contacted. He put down his sister Erin and a lady friend from the restaurant.

“Excellent. Last thing. Turn around and bend over. Oh, c’mon, boy. I’m not going to r**e you.”

Slowly, Charles turned around and bent down, but with his eye back on the man who made some notes on a pad. “Place your hands on the far wall and spread your legs, like you’re going to be frisked.”

Charles straightened and placed his palms flat against the wall. He heard the man get up and open the door. Charles looked back and saw the collared woman come in with a whip in hand. Without any warm up she laced Charles’s back, ass and legs. Charles cried out on the first stroke, then grit his teeth for the others. After what seemed like a million searing lashes the woman left and the man shut the door again. This time he got very close to Charles, lightly touching a welt here and there. Some more scribbling, then he resumed his seat.

“Alright turn around. Daphne and Tamera have been watching you for the last week. They think you’ve got potential. And you showed some spunk in the van, although that thing with the blindfold could have gone either way.” He reviewed the signed papers and seemed satisfied. “So, you’re going to be taken to a ranch outside of Flagstaff. You’ll be tested, trained and, if your good enough, be allowed to display the mark of Ash House.” He paused. “Here’s your one chance to ask questions.”

Now they want him to think? Charles wrenched his thoughts into some kind of order. “How long will I be there?”

“The process is still being refined. It usually takes two months, but I’ve seen it go longer.”

“What about my clothes? Am I going to travel naked?”

“We’re a practical operation. You’ll be given something to wear when you leave. But clothes will be the least of your worries. Anything else?”

“Yes. May I have a drink? That gag made me thirsty. And I need to go to the bathroom.”

The man smiled for the first time. “I’ll have some water brought. And something to relieve yourself in.” He got up, knocked once on the door. The blonde slave came in and folded up the table and chair. The man stood with his briefcase, looking very much like a life insurance salesman. “I’m Ash Hennington’s secretary, Mr. Smith. If you get any doubts about this, any at all, and want to be let out, knock on the door and ask for me. But remember this; Lillian Wade has an eye for people. Her recommendation of you went a long way.”



Charles got the hidden meaning of Mr. Smith’s comment about Lillian – don’t let her down. He hung on to that thought while all the others of his doubting on getting involved in this pseudo world crashed through his mind.

The blonde attended to his needs. She brought water and a pot to piss in. Also food, things needed for a sponge bath, but nothing to read, and no talking at all. How long he was in that room Charles didn’t know. A day, maybe two since he fell asleep when the light suddenly went out.

He was on his back when the light came back on and he shielded his eyes from the glare. Daphne came in and Charles struggled to his knees.

“Hold still,” she said. A wide, leather collar went around his neck and locked in back. She threw a bundle on the floor. “Put these on.”

Charles stepped into a gray jumpsuit that zipped up the back, and a pair of leather sandals. Daphne motioned for him to turn around then zipped up the jumpsuit. She buckled a pair of leather cuffs on his wrists behind him, locking them close together, then hooked her fingers through the heavy ring of his collar. “Come, Charles.”

They stepped into a wide hallway that led to a marble foyer. Deep night showed its dark face through the picture windows set on either side of what Charles guessed was the front door. A blue van, this one with smoked windows all around, waited outside.

Tamera came into the foyer leading the woman abductee on a leash. The woman’s hair was up in a bun and she wore the same kind of jumpsuit as Charles, but her restrictions were more severe. Along with the collar and cuffs on her wrists, another pair wrapped her upper arms, joined by a rope. The restraints pulled her shoulders back so even through the bulky jumpsuit her tiny breasts stood out. A black, half mask of some kind of dull spandex reached over the bridge of her nose and clung to her lower face. A small, triangular hole allowed her to breathe. A bulge at the mouth indicated a gag under the material. Her eyes were red.

“Trouble?” Daphne asked.

“Nothing I didn’t expect,” Tamera answered. “She started up with her SAM act so I put a stop to it.” She turned to the woman. “The rules are different here, rookie. Any more of that s**t and you’ll find yourself hitching a ride back. Clear?”

The woman quickly nodded her head.

They loaded the “goods” in the van. Charles had his hands brought around in front and chained to an eyebolt sticking out of the van floor. The woman sat next to him and her hands were brought around in front too, although she wasn’t allowed as much play in her chain as Charles.

Daphne and Tamera loaded suitcases in the back. Charles took advantage of the opportunity to get a bearing on their surroundings.

The house was set on a rise, which gave a view of the street over a brick wall. A wrought iron gate with the letter “A” in it protected the house from unwanted visitors. The cobblestone driveway split into two, one part going right and up, as Charles faced it, ending underneath an awning at the front door where the van was now, the other going down the side of the house, where Charles assumed he and his fellow trainee were first taken. The all white stucco stood out in the darkness, it’s dark red tile roof providing a segue to the night overhead. A manicured lawn sloped down to the wall.

Daphne got behind the wheel, Tamera on the passenger side. She cast a doubtful look at them. “I don’t know about these two. You sure this is a good idea?”

“Why do you think we’re heading to the ranch in the off season?” Daphne said. “No one else is there now. No distractions.”



They reached Victorville at sunrise and kept right on going into the climbing sun. The old AM radio played rock music that eventually gave way to static and then silence when Tamera turned it off.

The woman next to Charles sniffled a couple of times when they reached the freeway, but otherwise remained stock still. Her head was free to turn about but she kept it straight ahead. Charles snuck a couple of looks at her, a bit older than him with small, delicate hands. A band of faded skin on a finger where a wedding ring might have been.

They got off the interstate in a truck stop called Spring City, a halfway point between Los Angeles and the state border. Several other cars were there, mainly to fill up and allow people to get a snack and stretch their legs.

Daphne parked the van in back, next to the rest rooms. “Time for a pit stop, children,” she announced. “Ladies first.” She came back and unlocked the woman but didn’t remove her half mask. She quickly glanced around, then led the woman the short ten feet to the ladies room.

Tamera sat herself next to Charles. She stroked his hair in a friendly fashion but her voice contained an edge. “Having a man come out to the ranch is new to us, Charles. We think we’ve covered just about everything but we can’t be with you all the time on the road, like Daphne is with Abigail. So you’re on the honor system. But if I find out you’re taking advantage of it, in even the slightest way, you’re going back. So, go do your stuff and then fetch drinks for us all. Be back in here in ten minutes.”

Tamera left the collar and cuffs on him and turned him loose. She pressed a five dollar bill in his hand and a list of the wanted drinks. He “did his stuff” as Tamera commanded and heard Daphne say she wanted to fill up the gas tank. The van moved away from the rest rooms.

There weren’t any towels. Charles dried his hands on the jumpsuit and noticed both cuffs were in the open. He paused at the restroom door and brought his sleeves down as far as possible to cover the cuffs. There wasn’t anything he could do about the collar.

He quickly strode to the snack area. Thank goodness there weren’t many people around. His sore joints protested against the rediscovered movement. The sun beat down. Charles wiped the sweat from his brow.

The cool air inside welcomed Charles. A middle-aged woman behind the counter, her face lined with the desert wind, gave him a quick glance while she rang up another sale. When Charles selected the drinks and put them on the counter he noticed the woman wore a thin, silver chain with a small gold whip dangling from it. He stared at it until the woman waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Charles shook his head. “Sorry. I was...”

“Looking at my necklace? Are you heading for Flagstaff?”

“Uh, why yes.”

“So, you’re the male trainee we’ve heard about? You’re in for an interesting time. They’ve never trained a man before. Daphne asked me to keep an eye out for you.”

Charles stumbled out with the drinks in his arms. Ash House had a slave out here? How many other secret eyes were watching?

He kept his sights on people as he assisted with the fill up. Suddenly, they all took on new significance, their innocent actions now filled with secret intent. He was thankful when he climbed back into the van, behind the protective smoked glass.

Their hands were chained to the floor again. Abigail’s gag was removed and they both were given straws to sip their drinks. Neither lady engaged them in conversation, although Tamera did shoot a pointed look at Charles and he was suddenly alarmed at what the woman behind the counter might have reported to her. He hadn’t done anything wrong. At least he didn’t think so, but who knows what she said? As the miles silently rolled past, he gripped his drink tighter to prevent his hands from shaking.