Finding a Home

By Ross Martin

Master Len bought her over the computer for six hundred dollars American. She arrived at Mascot airport, Sydney looking very muck like a typical forty-something housewife. He didn't recognize her at first because she had clothes on but then he saw the face. He saw her face and was at once relieved he hadn't been ripped off. It wasn't that he couldn't afford to lose six hundred US, which amounted to a grand Australian; it was the principal of the thing. He was also pleased she'd arrived safely with a suitcase full of personal items. Now they, as well as her, belonged to him. All he had to do was collect.

So, there she was, her short curly brown hair framing a semi-round face sporting a cute button nose, semi-high cheek-bones lightly powdered with pink to highlight them, and a wide north and south painted a deep crimson. She sighed, looked at her watch and waited. She didn't have any real idea what he looked like so that's all she could do. He in the meantime circled her from enough of a distance to appear to be looking for someone else. He didn't care much for the cotton dress with the ugly flower pattern she was wearing or her sensible black shoes. Still, it was a chance to see her presentable to the public rather than the way he'd originally seen her. Like in her nude photo, though, she was a little plump without being outright fat and her bum was nicely rounded without being over the top bulbous.

How long will she wait there? He wondered and, after three turns around her in which he made his decision to keep her, let the issue go.

"Come with me," he told her, picking up her suitcase and heading for the nearest exit. She only blinked the once before following. Whether she was disappointed at the sight of him or not didn't matter. She was now his property.

They got into a cab and he took here to his home across the Sydney Harbor Bridge. There, once the cabbie had been paid and the door closed to the outside world, Len pointed the way to the bathroom and told her to go shower.

While she did so, he went through her stuff. Among the items of interest was a collection of diaries, some with pictures, she'd begun when she was fifteen, an old leather belt with thick, heavy looking studs and a letter addressed to: "My new Owner."

He opened the letter and read it. He was not surprised to find it was written in a shaky hand. It began by informing him that she was an only child and that both her parents had passed away some five years ago. She had had two Masters prior to an Owner and the last one had given her up for a newer, prettier model. She prayed he would not do the same. She realized she was damaged goods but she hoped to still live out the rest of her life in the company of a true sadist who would beat her regularly and force her to suck cock when it pleased him to do so.

What then followed was the information in the ad. She was 5 foot 2 inches tall with mousy brown hair and an oddly curvy figure. She'd undergone some severe tortures in recent times and, once sold, expected to undergo more to her new Owner's discretion. She didn't have a safe word nor did she require one. Once paid for she was totally his – an object, not a human being.

He was not surprised to find only a few pieces of clothing in the suitcase. He was astonished, however, to discover that she had sold her home in Santa Barbara,, which she had inherited from, here parents, for a tidy two million and had given the money to the local SPCA. The six hundred he'd sent paid for her one way ticket. Now she was here, there'd be no going back for her, ever. She had made that clear.

She came out of the bathroom completely naked. He made her stand in the center of his lounge room as he looked her over. Yes, she didn't have any recent bruising anywhere. Yes, as per instructions, she had allowed her armpit and vaginal hair to grow wild. Her eyes were clear and her mouth free of ulcers and smelling mint fresh. There was a small fleur-de-lis on her right shoulder. At first he thought it was a tattoo but soon realized it had been burned into her flesh with a branding iron and had only a few moments ago been colored with red lipstick so it showed up. "What does this mean?" he asked her, grabbing her shoulder.

"French women who were convicted of crimes and sent to prison were once marked this way, Master."

"And why do you carry this mark?"

"My last Master had it done to remind me of my lowly status."

"I didn't see it in the photo."

"Sorry, Master."

Actually he was pleased to it and wondered if he would add to it in the future.

"How was it done?"

"I was tied to a wooden block, both my hands manacled against the wood, my arms out stretched. A spreader bar kept my legs apart. As the lit brazier was heating the brand, I was given a thorough canning on my backside. When the canning stopped, my then Master grabbed my arm tight and held it firm as the expert in such matters gave me a stick to bit down on and pressed home the red hot metal."

"Was it painful?"

"Oh, yes, Master. It was over quickly though but the expert had to slap me hard in the face so I wouldn't pass out."

"Anything else hidden from me you have failed to tell me about?" he asked her as he stuck two fingers up her anus.

"Nothing, Master," she said, her voice slightly more high-pitched than she had intended.

Len felt her cunt to find out what was lurking there. Sure enough, he encountered the eight large silver rings on her flaps he knew from their correspondence were part of her.

"Down on all fours," he told her and she complied. "Are you thirsty after your long trip?"

"Yes, Master."

He went into the kitchen, poured cold milk into a dog bowl and brought it out for her. He placed it in front of her with instructions not to use her hands. So, there she was using her tongue to lap it all up.

"You've done this before," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said, stopping her lapping long enough to answer.

"Good. Can you tell me what your last Master called you and why?"

She finished the milk and looked at him with an unusual smile on her face. She swayed a little for emphasis of certain body parts and said: "Well, Master, you know how I had made it clear to you that both Masters have worked me over rather extensively?"

"Yes. And so?"

"And so, despite the way I am nowadays, I would expect you to garner what pleasure you can in working them even more."

"And so I shall. Go on."

"You see, after so many pulls of the taffy the taffy does tend to stretch. Once they were tight 38s, now they're down to my belly button when I stand."

"Yes, I have seen," said Len, swatting the danglers with his hands, making them really swing and collide with each other.

"So, Master, he got to calling me Saggy Bags!"

"Saggy Bags?"

"Yes."

Len smiled warmly. When she'd come out of the shower, the first thing he'd noticed was how low her mammaries had sunk on her without bra and dress to prop them up. He knew that they would but he was still amazed. To some she'd be a freak, to others beyond repair but he had to wonder just how far she could still go or, putting it another way, how far they could still go.

"Have you any offspring?" he asked, swatting the dangling boobs some more.

"A girl to my first Master," she said. "Her name's Crumpet, she's twenty-one and she's servicing a men's club in London. Last I heard she'd been given her very own nipple rings."

"You must be proud."

"Yes, Master."

"Is she on the internet?"

"Yes, Master. She has her own web site."

"I will give you permission to internet your Crumpet once a week."

"Thank you, Master."

"For this privilege you will do what you are told at all times. You will always be naked in this place unless I saw otherwise and be prepared to take my member whenever I so wish it."

"Oh yes, Master."

Saggy Bags was not in the least disappointed to find out her new Master/Owner had a thick, heavy cock that was a strain for even her mouth to get around. That night, as he had tea at the table, she suckled happily on it and, when he had finished eating, he put the leftovers in a dish for her. While she ate on all fours, he stuck his dick up her cunt for a while and then reamed her asshole. She grunted a few times at both invasions as he happily leaned over and slapped her bags in response.

"Oh, Master!" she cried.

That night he cuffed her hands behind her back and spread her legs out with a spreader bar.

"You like animals, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes, Master."

"Do you like cats?"

"Oh, yes."

"Let's see how fond they are of you."

And so he had her in a corner, completely helpless, unable to close her legs and suddenly with her cunt flaps filled with feline crunchies. The cat, an old Tom, with long shaggy black hair, didn't seem to mind eating his food out of her with his sandpaper tongue before being put out. Saggy didn't mind, either.

It was warm enough that night not to have a blanket and it was fine with her to smell of cat. The main thing was she was in her new owner's bedroom and, if he wanted to clean her up and take her later in the night, well, he could do so. This gave her a sense of comfort and belonging.

The next day Master Len showed her his dungeon come cellar. It had, among other items, a work bench with straps and a wooden horse with a dildo and a butt plug. She was ordered up onto the bench, strapped down and her tits bounds up tight. It took some length of cord to do this but Len was patient. Then he set about canning them in a hard, merciless fashion.

"They may have been around the block a few times," he told her, "But this still hurts like hell doesn't it?"

"Yes, Master!" she sobbed loudly and a tear ran into her mouth. He kissed her lips softly and hit her sharply on the right nipple, making her struggle.

"Oh, Master!" she cried.

At the end of the week, Saggy was at the computer typing away to Crumpet.

Crumpet had a long, angular nose, her mother's semi-round face and cheek bones. She also had 38s with heavy nipples, heavier than Saggy's. Her 38s were prominent on her website together with them being manhandled in various ways.

"How are you going?" asked Saggy of her daughter.

"Fine, mom," she said.

"How are the men treating you?"

"Good. There's a new member, well he's been there about two months, whose member is so big and thick it feels like he'll rip me in two every time he fucks me."

"Oh, dear, I thought the club forbade fucking."

"It does. They've made an exception with him. You see, he's my boyfriend. We're engaged."

"Does he want you all to yourself?"

"Oh, yes. When we're married, we'll leave the club. He's building a nice home for us including a game room that will have everything."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks. How's life in Oz?"

"Can't complain, or my owner will punish me."

"And your tits?"

"He doesn't mind them. In fact, he loves them. I have the bruises and the welt to prove it."

"And he treats you like an animal, like property? He in fact bought you and now you live without clothes, and at his direction and discretion?"

"That's right, dear. And I couldn't be happier. He'll never let me go, I can see that, and he's cruel, so very cruel."

"But kind sometimes?"

"Oh, yes, sometimes. After he canned the life out of my bags he untied them and made me stick them in a bucket of ice water. Then he toweled them down and kissed them all over. It was wonderful."

"I've got to go. The club's meeting. I think this will be my second last attendance."

"Make it a good one."

"I'm sure they will."

"Off the internet," called Len, waiting for her to close out of the site and then kicking her off the chair. As she landed, he stepped on one of her tits and squashed it into the carpet.

"Suck on this," he said, offering her his cock and she had to shake off what he had just done to her in order to get on all fours to comply. Somehow she managed. She took it greedily and, as she sucked, he nudged her boobs with his foot, first one and then the other. The one that had been squashed made her whimper and shed a tear.

"I'll never trade you in," he told her. "You're my bitch. My Saggy Bags."

In gratitude for him having said so, and she was grateful, she put just a little bit more effort into her work.