When it finally came, it was more of a peep rather than a roar. A whimper, not a scream.
I've known for a while now I am Isabel's slave. Her sex slave, yes, but more than that... just her slave. Her's. Owned. To do with as she pleases.
But I always thought it was a choice I had made. That if I really wanted to, I could leave. It was all part of the kink of the situation, my willingness to participate in her domination and my submission.
It happened when I saw she was taking my few clothes out of a closet and putting them into a plastic bag to give to some charity. My underwear went in first, then my pants, shirts, etc. My interview clothes went in.
I haven't had an interview in two months, but I always felt that if I kept looking I might find something. This made it clear there was no point. No interview clothes means no job; no job means living at Isabel's, under her control.
I protested. Normally protesting or arguing would result in swift punishment, discipline. Not this time. Isabel took my leash and pulled me over to look at the clothes.
"What are you going to use those for?" She said. "What use do they have?"
"In case I need to go out!"
"I don't want you to go out. There is no need for you to leave the house."
"But... that's my interview suit!"
"No one is going to hire you, Marc. Haven't you figured that out yet? Your reputation out there is one of a drug addled lowlife degenerate. You would be lucky to get a job cleaning toilets at Walmart." Isabel was being remarkably patient with me.
I knew something had happened, I felt it. My life had spiraled downward in the last months, and it seemed I had hit rock bottom. My job search was going nowhere. No one returned calls, no one responded to my applications. I had almost given up myself.
"You have no place to go, don't you realize that? You don't need clothes because you literally have no other place to be."
"I don't want this any more, Isabel. I have to have some freedom, some independence. You can't keep me against my will."
Isabel looked me in the face with kind but sad eyes.
"You don't understand yet, do you? Yes, you can leave. Leave right now. Walk out the door. You have no car, no house, no bank account. You have no clothes. You would get down to the bottom of the hill, no further, before being arrested for public nudity and vagrancy."
It was true. What little money I had left had all been signed over to Isabel. I had no possessions except for the clothes that were now in a plastic bag outside the front door.
"And if you did get anywhere, where would you go?"
"My sister... Diane... she will take me..."
I flushed at the memory. Things were bad, really bad.
"Let me show you something, Marc."
Isabel took me over to her computer. She logged in and quickly brought up a web site.
"This web site is still private, but the moment you walk out the door, try to exert your independence, it goes live. It will be optimized to a number of search engines and pretty much every friend you ever thought you had will see it. Your family will see it as well, in all it's glory."
The photos went on and on. There was a complete record of every humiliating act I had ever degraded myself with at Isabel's direction, and it looked 10 times worse that anything I remembered.
"After this gets out? Your family will have disowned you, you will be unemployable as anything but a porn star and frankly, I can make sure that never happens."
She turned to me and took my face in her hand, gently.
"So you see, Marc, you really don't have a choice. Yes, you can leave any time you wish. But there will be nothing out there for you. Nothing. Every girl you've ever known including Val, Kim, even your own sister, will reject you like the scum you are. No job will be waiting for you. No money to buy even a cup of coffee. Not even clothes to make you warm. If you want to live at all, it is with me, serving me, in exactly the way I say."
I think I was crying at this point, tears streaming down my face, looking at her boots. Strangely, I still had a raging erection.
"Now. I want you to go into the basement, crawl into your cage, and lock yourself in."
"Yes, mistress," I said.
I crawled to the concrete, cold, bare basement, went into the heavy isolation cage, reached up to the padlock and clicked it shut.
I then curled up and cried; sobbing.
This is my life now. Complete slavery, against my will because there is, frankly, no longer any other life open to me.
I belong to Isabel.