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As theylooked up, they saw the beaming grins, the laughter and the pointing, at them.They just died. For thenext few weeks, each girl was penned with her dog. To keep things convenientfor the magnificent creatures, their bitches were clipped onto short chains inthe middle of the pens with automated milking teats available for her to dropinto so she could stay there for several days. Peddles were installed on thefloor of the pens and the dogs had already been trained to press these whenthey were horny. These triggered the girls shock collar and had her up,presenting herself and ready for se in an instant. Each one of them became thedog?s personal fuck-toy. When theythought that things could get no worse the dogs were treated with injections tolower their sex drives and measuring devices fitted to their balls. Thesedetected when each one spilled his doggy mess. The girl was freed from herleash but was told that milking machine would only work when the dog had come.They tried to hold. Alan stood up and said, "Yes, Mistress. I'll do my best Mistress. May I help you to undress, Mistress?" Not until you are naked," she replied, as severely as she could.Inside she just wanted to laugh at this man, ten years older than her and her boss at work, playing at being her ... what? Child? Servant? Sex toy? No, slave, that was it, slave.Meanwhile Alan had taken off his clothes quickly and Martha looked at him to see what kind of slave she had. He was a couple of inches taller than her and she guessed that he probably weighed about ten stone (140lbs) with a body which looked athletic and fit with good, masculine looking muscles and a mat of fine silky hair covering his chest. He had a flat belly and a nice small arse. His legs were also obviously well exercised and nicely proportioned. All in all a fine physical specimen.Finally she let her gaze rest on the proud soldier sticking out from the matt of hair at his belly. She had seen, and handled, the pricks of several of her.
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When she learned he was the Michael Westford, Duke of Lancashire, owner of the New World shipping line she batted her long black lashes at him, her green eyes doelike with curiosity. She explained how she needed passage back to the states, but her funds had run low. ‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance?’ He had narrowed his eyes and studied her knowingly, at which time she struggled to maintain eye contact, losing the battle nearly immediately. ‘I would do anything to get home,’ she said breathlessly, studying the knot of a tie at his neck. ‘Anything?’ He had lifted her face to him with a finger placed gently under her chin. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her cheeks glowed cranberry with her embarrassment, yet she persevered. ‘Anything,’ she whispered. ‘Verra well,’ was his only reply. So now, it was nearly time for… anything. He steered her through the smokey crowded dining and bar area, directing her to the back stairwell that ran along the back wall. They would be dining.

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