March 10, 2001

"Betrayal"

My latest fantasy...

Women had been allowed to own male slaves for a number of years and my wife, a very wealthy woman, owned hundreds to work her estate. Though there was nothing to stop her, she had not enslaved me. I had no rights under the law, I was completely dependant on her for money, but I was still free. We'd always had a good marriage and, she always told me, she wanted me for a husband, not a slave. I knew how fortunate I was. She could have had any man she chose simply by purchasing him, but she only wanted me... The slaves were just for labor.


All of this changed one day when my wife attended a slave auction. On the block that day was a tall muscular man with dark hair and eyes. Later it occurred to me that he looked much as I had when we first married. Well, he probably looked better, actually, but there were similarities. Age takes it's toll, however, and though I was still fit and looked younger than my actual age, I was not 20 like this boy. My wife wanted him. It wasn't any more complicated than that. She wanted him. I happened to be looking out the window when her limousine pulled up. The moment I saw her leading him from the back at the end of a leash, I knew there was a problem.


That evening she informed me that I would be sleeping in the guest room. "Just for tonight," she assured me, but I feared that wouldn't be the case. I'd never had a temper and, in all honesty, my wife's kindness had never given me a reason for one. For the first time in many years, certainly for the first time since my position in life had become so precarious, I raised my voice to her in challenge. She didn't respond. Instead, she gave me the coldest look I'd ever seen, turned on her heel and walked into our... Into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.


I slept in the guestroom the first part of that night. Sometime in the early hours, however, I was roused as several women, my wife's guards, pinned me to the bed. These women were experts with handling slaves and it took them only a moment to have me chained and gagged. I was marched from the room and down into the prison level beneath the house.


The overseers had never liked me, of course. I was the one male on the estate not subject to them. I had known better than to challenge them, of course. I usually just avoided them. Things were different now. I was stripped and thrown nude into a cell. They left the chains on and I stumbled to the concrete floor and hit my head. I blacked out.


Dawn came soon and I was roused. I was given a ragged, tattered shirt and workpants to wear and then was led away from the mansion to join a work crew at the very edge of the estate. Though I did not see her, my wife stood in the window of her bedroom, her new toy asleep in the bed behind her. She had told them that she wanted me far away and now she watched as I was taken away. She returned to her lover.


I joined a slave labor detachment digging a retaining pond in a deserted corner of the estate. I was old enough to remember the days when this would have been done in a couple of days with earthmoving equipment. I'd never given much thought to the fact that men were often used for that sort of task today. It was slower and inefficient, but it kept them busy and out of trouble. Women seemed to enjoy it as well. It was back breaking labor and the overseers never hesitated to, as they put it, "touch up my back with the whip," whether I was shirking or not.

This went on for weeks. I no longer slept in the prison beneath the mansion but in one of the slave barracks. Like the others, I slept chained to the bunk with nothing to look at but the bunk of another slave six inches from my face. I often dreamed of my comfortable bed back in the mansion and of the warm body I used to share it with.

One day I saw a car throwing up a cloud of dust as it sped down the access road which ran past the digging site. By itself, this was unusual. Slaves were marched here. Supplies were usually either carried on male backs or, if that was totally impossible, hauled by truck. I'd never seen a car out here. Soon, I recognized it as my wife's blue BMW Roadster. I hoped she was coming for me. To apologize and take me back. I hoped.


The BMW stopped and I saw my wife step from it. She was stunning as she had always been. Dark sunglasses, black leather pants and boots and a white blouse. I longed for her. As she strode confidently toward us all the other slaves fell on their faces in the dirt and mud. They knew the rules. I did too, but I kept my feet. I heard the overseer barking an order to me, commanding me to my knees, but still I stayed up. She drew back with her whip, but a motion from my wife's hand stayed her. My heart leapt!


My wife came up to me and, pushing her sunglasses down, looked me over. Instead of the apology and reconciliation I hoped for, her words sent chills through me. They dripped with contempt. I'd always thought of her as a kind mistress to her slaves. I'd never heard her use this tone with any of them.


"On your knees, slave," she ordered.


Trembling with fear or rage or both, I cursed her. I saw the look in her eyes harden before she put the sunglasses back in place. She nodded slightly to one of the overseers and then, just as she had in the hallway outside her bedroom weeks before, she turned on her heel and walked back to her car. By the time she reached it and drove away toward the mansion, the guards had already beaten me to the ground and were pummeling me with their boots. Bruised and bloody, several ribs broken, I passed out again. It was a mercy.


If I woke at all, I expected to find myself back in the barracks chained to my bunk. Instead, I was standing in darkness. I could feel my bare feet against concrete and assumed I was back in the prison. My arms were pulled up behind my back, forcing me to bend forward in a low bow. They were chained above me. This position combined with the agony from my ribs made breathing torture. I was left that way for what seemed like hours.


Finally, the light came on and, blinking against the brightness, I could see that I was indeed in a bare room within the prison. The door opened and I heard boot heels against the concrete. I looked up to see my wife. Still wearing what I had last seen her in. My wife had never cared for the Goddess worship many Owners imposed upon their slaves. Looking at her now, I wondered why. She was a Goddess.


Without a word, she kicked my legs out from under me. I fell, wrenching my shoulders out of their sockets. My scream echoed off the concrete walls. Taking a handful of my hair, she wrenched my head back and held a large hunting knife to my throat. She spat in my face.


"You stupid, worthless little shit. All the years I wasted on you... What did you think? That I would apologize to you? That I would humiliate myself in front of all those slaves? In front of my guards? ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS KNEEL! I had the goddamn leash ready for you. I'd have taken you back to the mansion. You could have been my personal slave for life. What am I going to do with you now?"


Gasping through the pain I begged, "Please..."


My wife backhanded me and I tasted blood in my mouth. She pulled my head back again, the knife to my throat.


"It's too late for that, asshole. I can't sell you... You'd be a living, breathing humiliation for me. I don't have any use for you... What does that leave? Tell me, slut! What does that leave?"


I was weeping now. "I'm... I'm sorry."


"I'm not," she said coldly, and drew the blade across my throat.


For a third and final time, she turned on her heel and left me, slamming the door behind her. She turned the light off and left me in the darkness.





 

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