We rose from the couch and kissed, passionately. She was good at it; well, so am I.

She immediately reached into my sleep shorts and started groping my swelling cock.  

I gently pulled her hand away, saying, "There's time for that, my dear. The good thing about making love. versus just having sex, is that there's always time to play, to build the excitement and the intimacy. We can learn about each other. And from each other."  

Again, I think I had introduced her to some new concepts. As a slave for many years, she had always put her current Master's needs first, full speed ahead.

"Yes, Master," she said. I looked askew at her. "I mean, yes, Mister Brandt. We can slow down. But I do want you very badly."  

She looked achingly beautiful in the warm glow of the flickering fireplace. Her wrists and ankles still bore bondage cuffs, her neck the slave collar.  

"Let's start by getting these off you,” I said.

The collar unbuckled easily enough, but the streamlined, custom-made cuffs needed a special tool. I had seen these in the past.  

"That's okay," she said. "You could use them to tie me up later if you wish. Consensually."  

She spoke the last word carefully, as if stepping through a minefield. She was getting used to the concept. 

"And you could bind me, as well," I told her with a smile. "It would be fun to be under your power for a while. Consensually. But first ...” 

With a grin and a surge of passion, I picked her up under her armpits and playfully dumped her on her back on the sumptuous bedspread. She laughed like a child at the sudden action.

I kissed her again, starting with her mouth, but moved to her neck, her breasts, her belly, unfastening the buttons on her shirt—well, my shirt—as I traveled down her body. Her nipples were hard, her breath rapid; she was not faking her arousal.  

All the while, her hands were caressing my head and back. My hands were exploring every inch of her marvelous body within my reach. She seemed to enjoy my loving touch.

Eventually, I pulled her to the edge of the bed, knelt on the floor between her legs, scooped her thighs up on my biceps, and started to lick her lovely pussy.  

She let out a gasp; perhaps this was a new or uncommon thing for her, and I asked if she was okay with it.

"Yes, Mister Brandt," she replied. "The women slaves are sometimes made to do this to each other so the Masters can watch, but..."  

"Ah, but never by a man. Just relax, sweetheart. I'm not a woman, but I've been told I'm pretty good at this."  

I started back in, swirling my tongue around her labia.

"Yes, you are," she said with a little laugh, “uh, sweetheart."  

I chuckled at her trying out a new vocabulary and went to work again with my tongue and fingers, now focusing on her clit.

She began to relax at the rare joy of accepting pleasure rather than doling it out, I could feel her body reacting, hear her throat rumbling. With her head rocking from side to side, she started mumbling phrases of passion in several languages.

After a solid, writhing orgasm on her part—a fairly rare occurrence for a slave, I gathered—I moved her to the middle of the bed, stripped us of our minimal clothing, and prepared to enter her, my cock solid as stone.

"No," she said. "Do not do that. Please stop."  

I was stunned, and asked her why. Was she hurt? Was there a problem?  

Her voice trembled a bit.  

"You said that I could say 'no.' As a free woman, I had a choice. In this room. For this night."

I stood up, obviously frustrated, my retreating penis bobbing in the breeze. She saw my face, still wet from her womanly juices, and cowered a bit, her arms moving up to protect her face from a potential attack.  

"Goddammit, Callista. Very, well, woman, I will keep my word.”  

My voice deepened into the ominous range; I could not resist the dramatic touch.

“But be aware, there will be consequences for your actions."  

She whimpered, softly. I leaned in. "You will sleep on the couch, and I will take the bed. I'm going to the bathroom to take a cold shower; you can..."  

I was going to tell her to go to hell, but her face was such a mix of emotions that simply I softened it to  “... do whatever the blazes you want."  

I stormed into the bathroom to cool off. 

When came back in, wearing a guest robe I had found there, she had put her collar back on. She was kneeling on the floor in a submissive position I'm sure her Masters had taught her; butt on her heels, knees spread wide, back straight, palms upright on her thighs.  

(In the old sexy Gor novels, I think this was called the “nadu” slave pose.)  

Her head was bowed, her eyes focused on a riding crop that lay in front of her on the carpet.  

"Forgive this slave, Master. You are angry. I obviously did wrong. I await your punishment."  

I picked up the crop and sat on the couch across from her.

I considered what to do; with one command from me, and with just a small scoot forward on her part, she could be sucking my cock, like the slave she had been trained to be. Then I could push her onto her back and fuck the bitch.

I could order her to do that.  

Perhaps I should do that.  

Would it be kinder to her? To treat her as she was expecting, as she was conditioned to be treated? 

Instead, I took a deep breath and asked, "Callista, why did you say 'no?' Why did you stop our lovemaking?"  

Quietly she said, "I thought that is what I was supposed to do, Master. A free woman saying 'no,' sir."  

Aargh. This was difficult. 

"A free woman can say 'no,' Callista. It doesn't mean she has to. Or is expected to." 

She said nothing. I used the tip of the crop to raise her chin to face me. "Is there another reason you said 'no?' The truth, woman. Please. I have been kind to you. I deserve that."  

She hesitated, her eyes darted around the room, and then the words spilled out quickly.

"I wanted to see if you would stop. If you were telling me the truth. About free men and free women. I am sorry, Master. You are angry. I do not understand all this."  

She cast her eyes down again, tears welling up in them. 

I sighed. "Again, Callista, I am not your Master. My name is 'Brandt.' I am frustrated—very frustrated—but not angry. Look at me. Look at me."  

I dropped the whip and knelt down with her, trying to make her understand.  

"You say you lick the pussies of other girls in the view of the men to entertain them. Do you do it to each other in private? To pleasure and comfort each other?"  

"Yes, Master. We are not supposed to, but we do, sometimes."  

"And if you pleasured a fellow slave girl and she flatly refused to do the same, or at least give you a hug and a thank you, would you like that?"  

She said no. I asked her why.  

"Unless she had a good reason to refuse,” she replied, “that would be rude. Unkind."  

"Because you are friends? And friends are kind to each other?" 

"Well, yes..." 

Her eyes suddenly swelled in recognition. "Are you saying that we are friends? You and I? A man and a slave-woman?"  

By George, I think she finally got it!  

"Yes, Callista. Free men and women can be both lovers and friends. Look, you and I just met, but I try to start every relationship like ours by assuming that we are friends. At least before the other person proves otherwise."  

I held her by her shoulders and asked slowly and plainly, "Callista. Do you want to make love with me tonight? You can say yes, or you can say no. There is no right or wrong answer."  

She let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, I would very much like that."  

We stood up and she took the initiative by pulling open my robe. I had my shorts on underneath.  

"You wear too many clothes, Mister Brandt," she chided with a smile.  

"I am sorry for that, Miss Callista," I joked as she pushed the robe back over my shoulders and onto the floor.  

"Perhaps,” I continued, “you need to teach me the errors of my ways. You might have to restrain me to do it. I do recall an offer to tie me down…" 

She scooped up the riding crop, guided me to the bed, pushed me down on it, and pulled off my shorts.  

"I may just do that. But I fear you will enjoy my 'punishments' too much."  

She climbed on top of me and started showing off her own impressive oral skills.

====================== 

Six months later, at Brandt’s office in New York:  

I was between missions, filing reports at my desk late in the afternoon. I was bored as hell, and getting ready to leave for the day.  

Pamela, our perfectly lovely office assistant, popped her head in and, with an odd smile on her face, told me that I had an unexpected visitor. We don't get many of those; our crime-fighting organization is pretty private and self-contained.  

In walked Callista, looking radiant and self-assured in a smartly-styled business suit that was conservative enough to pass muster in a metropolitan office, but must have turned a few heads out on the street. She had lightened her glorious mane of hair.

The legs showing under the perhaps-a-bit-too-short skirt were damn near perfect, just as I remembered. And when she shed her jacket, the exposed cleavage was a visual delight, as well.  

She was lovelier than I recalled. Certainly, more confident. She closed my office door behind her and leaned against it, posing seductively.  

"Does that thing lock?" she asked, breathlessly. 

I rose from the desk quickly, though not as quickly as my cock was rising. I swept her in my arms, and we kissed with the passion of long-separated lovers who had once shared an intimate, perilous adventure.  

“Yes, but...” I replied. I glanced around at my office. No bed, not even a couch. I wasn’t going to welcome her back into my life on the floor of this spartan room. “I have a better idea.”  

I took her hand and led her up the hallway. Pamela was just leaving by the front door.  

“I’ll lock up,” she said with a smile. “Everyone’s gone. You’ll have the place to yourself.” She glanced at the bulge in my pants. 

“Have fun, you lucky stiff," she called out over her shoulder as she exited.

I took Callista into the studio apartment the agency keeps on-site for informants we’re trying to hide, or for catnaps when we’re monitoring long-term operations abroad, like the one I had involved Callista in.

Throwing herself onto the queen-sized bed, my companion smiled and whispered the same words she had greeted me with, half a year previously.  

"I will be your slave for the night. Use me in any way you wish. My name is Callista, which means 'most beautiful' in Spanish."  

--------------- 

After that initial night of passion back in Governor Ramos’ mansion—and an even better one the night after that, once we had learned each other's sexual rhythms—she had asked me about my world and if she might have a place in it. I had not confided in her, but she suspected I was secretly there to put a stop to the villain’s slave trade, not help him expand it.  

I was able to sneak Callista out of the mansion on the third day and get her to the Presidential Palace in the capital city. Between the two of us, we had enough evidence for the federal authorities there to immediately raid and close down the Governor's sex-slave operation, apprehending most of his co-conspirators as well.

Callista, as the senior woman among the slaves, was instrumental in helping the other girls heal and adjust to free life. Most were returned to their families scattered around the continent, with sufficient funds, taken from Ramos' own coffers, to start anew. 

Some, like Callista, elected to come to the United States. Her mastery of many languages—and my company’s glowing recommendation—got her a job with an international refugee and anti-trafficking organization. We were both busy travelers; we had not seen each other in months.

We made up for lost time in that little workplace love-nest. Our first go-round was a bit eager and frenetic, with me pumping her vigorously, our clothes only halfway discarded. After a shower—always warm and soapy fun with her—Callista took control for the second bout. 

A couple of times back in that mansion, Callista had shackled me to the bed, as she had promised, then enjoyed taking "advantage” of me, riding my face and then my cock for our mutual delight. She loved to tease me and build my sexual fervor to heights I had never experienced, before giving me my reward. 

(I had returned the favor during our stay there. Although the woman had been roughly bound and violated countless times as a slave, being restrained and loved by a caring man rather than a cruel Master was an eye-opening pleasure for her, especially when I introduced her to the idea of gentle roll-play.)

Here in New York, Callista used restraints she had brought with her, on me.  

Now, she lay alongside my eagle-spread body, kissing me, nibbling at my nipples, stroking my cock and balls, slowly building the sexual tension in my loins. With her training in the erotic arts—and her affection for me—I knew this was going to be fantastic.  

"Thank you, Brandt," she said, finally dropping the 'Mister.'  

"I have not been with another man since we arrived in the States. One day, I will find a good man up here and make him a good wife. I know it is not you; settling down is not in your spirit. Not yet. But I do have one favor to ask, sweetheart.” 

 I laughed at that. She asked what was funny.  

"I am totally at your mercy, woman,” I pointed out, tugging at my restraints. “You do have an absolute perfect sense of timing.”  

"Oh, that!" she chuckled. "You will get your orgasm regardless. But this is a good time to ask, no?"  

Chucking, I told her to go ahead.  

"Two of my friends from the mansion are here in New York. Lucia and Valeria were sex slaves with me for a short period there at the end. Their families back home are the ones who sold them into slavery, so they can’t go back. I am helping them start new lives here."  

She showed me a recent photo on her phone of the two; a busty, dark girl and an athletic, lighter-skinned young woman. Each was dressed in jeans and tee shirts on the street in Times Square. They were smiling and obviously happy to be free.  

I remembered them from my time at the mansion. Each had been forced to dance at the opening night party for us assembled men, before being bound and led away for further debauchery.

Callista showed me a short video of the two, taken back in the mansion; nude except for the tiniest of white thongs, they were oiling up each other's bodies.

In another clip, obviously an audition tape for prospective buyers, they were kissing and sliding their now-naked bodies against each other. Their marvelous young skins glistened in soft light as they caressed each other. You could hear the growl and snicker of their captors in the background, behind the camera.

"Like me, before I met you," Callista softly told me, "they have never known the pleasure of being with a good, decent man. Only the pain and degradation from evil ones.  

“I have told them all about you, Brandt, my dear. They are both eighteen, of legal age here. Would you grant them the boon of taking them to your bed for a night and showing them how a proper, free man makes love to a proper, free woman?"  

Wow. I was stunned. 

"One at a time? Or together?" I asked, stalling while trying to wrap my head around what she was asking.  

"Any way you want to, dear," she replied. "But I think they would learn more by sharing you and watching each other with you."  

"And you'd be...where?"  

She chuckled.  

"I think I should be there as well. To guide them and protect them."

She displayed a marvelous smile, loving and relaxed. And playful.

"And to protect you. After six months of celibacy, they are very...shall we say...eager. They are strong young women; they could get carried away and injure my hero."  

She was slowly pumping my erect cock, using my pre-cum for lubricant. She was also preparing to cycle a modestly-sized anal probe in and out of my waiting asshole. She knew my buttons.

I certainly would have agreed to her request regardless, but how in the name of all that's holy could I possibly have said 'no'?  

Really, people!  

"And if I am there with you and the girls," she whispered, "I could also show them how a free woman makes love to another free woman. And how threesomes work. Or foursomes."

Damn, woman!  

“And fivesomes," she added, "if you would wish to bring a friend. I think your assistant, Pamela, who helped me set up this surprise today, would be interested.” 

Oh, would she now?  

“Tell you what, Callista,” I said with a slight shake in my voice, "you’d need to give me a couple of days to recover from this session if we’re going to do all that.” 

“You don’t have to give me your answer now,” my Latina sex-pot said. “You can tell me after I let you come. If I let you come, sweetheart.

"After all," she cooed in a devilish, definitely not slave-like, way, "perhaps I should make you start retaining all of your juices, for the four of us to enjoy in the near future.”  

With that, she bent over to swirl her tongue around the head of my stone-hard cock in the beginning of what I knew would be an utterly exquisite, slow, teasing blowjob. 

Damn, I love my life.