Part 1: The Proposition.
They contacted me through the modelling site. I had been on it for the last year. To start with it was for fun and extra cash. Get on a train do a bondage modelling shoot or wear some fetish stuff then go home. Then when I lost my day job and the bills mounted I couldn't afford to be choosy any more.
Being straight and not bisexual made working for the gay photographers more difficult. They paid well but it was an unwritten rule that after they tied me up or put me in position they would 'accidentally' rub against me, or spend a little too much attention on tying my genitals up. Worse than that, the sleazier ones made it clear they could touch me in 'any way they wish' for their daily rate. I was 3 months in arrears on the mortgage. I had little choice.
They contacted me through the site for a whole day. £250 plus travelling. They told me it would be easy work, and they would propose further work with me then. It was going to be the first time I would be photographed by a couple, but it had to be better than the single gay semi-pro photographers getting photos for 'personal use.'
The taxi that they booked from the station for me knew where to go. Huge wrought iron gates opened and we must have driven half a mile until we got to the house - more of a mansion with outbuildings and stables. At least a few million pounds work with all the land as well, a real 'Country House'.
I was greeted at the door my a tall man in his forties with a short, "Come in please, this way." I was taken through the house down a huge hallway where a woman was stood behind a large mahogany desk. "Welcome." she said. I knew to sit. From what she emailed to me, they were a dominant couple, and you could certainly tell from their candour towards me. Although she was about forty years old, she still had the figure and cheekbones of a fashion model. 5'9 in flat shoes, and olive tanned skin made her Italian descent clear before you heard her accent.
"Thank you for coming", she said. "We have some very important things to talk to you about today, but first I will take you on a tour..."
I went along and they showed me the huge gardens and their fields which went on as far as the eye could see, their stables, barns and then took me inside the house. It was stunning but I wasn't really paying attention to the rich couples pride in their estate. Hey, I thought, 'if thats what they want to pay me to do, then fine'.
The house must have had between 15 to 20 bedrooms - I lost count, and lounges, and a ballroom. Stunning, but I was perplexed. I thought things were clearer when they opened a door in the library and we went into the basement. A bare-bricked corridor with a lot of closed and bolted doors ended with a set of double doors. With pride the man opened the doors, and switched a dim light to reveal a true 'dungeon' filled with devices and rings set in the brick walls, with displays of plethoras of whips, dildos, harnesses and things I could only guess.
As I had spent the last hour watching the figure of the woman in the tight black dress, and combined with this, I was glad that at least today would be relatively enjoyable! When I asked where they would like me to get undressed I was told however that "That would not be necessary today." and I was asked to follow them back to the office.
I was perplexed. Two hours showing me round, while they pay me. OK.... I thought. I am quite happy to take me money and go. At least this week after todays cash I will have enough to pay the minimum payments on some of my maxed out credit cards and eat. I needed more work like this though, so I did my best to please.
They told me that they had a proposition for me. A position had opened up at their estate. A full time job as their 'house boy' as she called it with a tiny smile. They told me that they had already credit checked me from my details, and they knew full well I was weeks away from bankruptcy. At 23 I would be bankrupt. I still was paying my student loans, I had £30,000 on credit cards and I could hardly make a minimum payment, and finally my mortgage for the house that was really too big for just me hadn't had the mortgage paid for four months. The mortgage company were going to make me homeless in a week.
They chose me from the photos they had seen of me on my profile and they told me that they even got other photographers to commission work for them of me - that was why I was being booked up. They knew I had few limits in the BDSM world, and I would be compliant even under the worst circumstances as the photographers would testify. The woman opened an envelope of a photo of me suspended by my cuffed wrists with clamped weights hanging from my nipples and penis. She smiled as she showed it to me saying "That was a particular request", and looking me in the eye.
She said I could expect more of that here. They made no bones about the fact that the houseboy position would be a lot of work. There was the house to keep up and keep in good repair, gardens and stables. Of course, they also made no bones about the fact that I would be used in literally any way they both wanted. The terms were not negotiable. They had strict rules. I could and would be used by them for their own desires as if I were their slave.
The last bit shocked me most. I would not leave the estate for a minimum of exactly five years, and be 'on duty' 24/7. But... astonishingly, on my acceptance they would clear all of my debts, and when I leave my mortgage would be paid in full. I would be a free man financially, and pretty much made with a paid for house at 28. I could start again with a clean slate. An unbelievable offer. Compared to what they own though, that amount of money was pretty much short change. They were serious and I had no reason to doubt the veracity of their offer. They had gone to great lengths to get this far already.
The papers they gave me to look over at home showed the full contract, underwritten by a solicitor. The next day I got the final 'red letter' from the mortgage company. I was stuffed. If I didn't sign away the next five years to them, I would lose everything. Five of the best years of my life though would be no good working for nothing in the outside world anyway...
I signed the papers, and as they asked I pre-wrote five years worth of letters to friends and family telling them about my 'round the world travels', which I was told would be periodically posted on my behalf so my friends and family did not worry since I would be allowed no contact with the outside world. I locked up my house for the last time and got in the waiting Mercedes. I guess they wanted to make sure I didn't chicken out, so they sent a car a hundred miles to get me.
When I arrived, the Mistress - what the instructions said she must be addressed as greeted me. I knew I must bow my head and never speak unless specifically spoken to and asked. She told me to follow her to my quarters.
I found out what the other rooms in the basement were - well at least one. She unbolted a the heavy door to reveal a small single bed and thin mattress. The wooden floor and brick walls were bare. A sink and toilet in one corner, and a wardrobe was all there was. No window. I guessed that when the house was built this would be the servant's quarters, but even then it was more like a prison cell. She told me to open the envelope on the bed and follow the instructions, and when I was ready to come back up the stairs.
Next to the sink was a box of disposable razors and shaving foam. I was to shave my whole body. Mistress disliked body hair, and this would how I would be expected to keep myself from here on in. It explained that I would find my 'uniform' in the wardrobe. I could almost see her smile as she knew the huge wardrobe was empty apart from one pair of tiny Speedos hanging on a hanger. Funny. At least it was summer and pretty warm.
Last of all I was to open the box at the bottom of the bed. I tentatively put the heavy leather cuffs around my wrists and fastened them with the tiny padlocks. Lastly, I put my hands behind my back and locked the cuffs together with the last bigger padlock. The click seemed to echo up and down the corridor.
I looked at my shaven body in the mirror, and I knew my stay at the Country House had only just begun. I turned and with a bowed head went out into the corridor and up the stairs.
story continues in The Country House - Part Two: My Slavery Begins
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