Slaves Don't Need Visas Ch. 33

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33. Arbek’s return

The following morning, the sun rose over Ngalawa Bay, marking the day Arbek was due to return on the next flight from England. After a night of restless anticipation, the sun streamed through the window, casting harsh light across the room. Melissa stirred, the metal cuffs clinking softly as she shifted on the bed. Her first thought was the pressing need to relieve herself, but her second was the absence of Markus beside her.

"Markus?" she called out, her voice tinged with urgency. No response came, only the distant, rhythmic sound of the ocean outside. Worry crept in as she wondered why Markus had left her chained, her need to pee sharpening her unease.

Her need to pee sharpened as the minutes passed. She called out, louder this time, “Markus? Are you there?” The door creaked, footsteps neared, and she let out a breath—tense until his voice answered.

"It's me," Markus's voice came from the hallway, calm and reassuring. He appeared in the doorway, a paper bag in one hand, a bottle of orange juice in the other. His expression was soft, almost apologetic. "I wanted to let you sleep in. I've been out to get some things for breakfast."

Melissa sighed, "Please, Markus, can you unchain me? I need to use the bathroom."

"Oh, right, sorry about that," he said, setting down his purchases and moving quickly to her side. He fumbled with the keys, the cuffs unlocking with a series of clicks that echoed in the quiet room.

As soon as her hands were free, Melissa rubbed her wrists, feeling the indentations where the metal had been. She stood, her movements stiff from the night's restraint, and walked to the bathroom without another word, the urgency in her step clear.

When she returned, Markus had laid out the breakfast items on the small table. Fresh bread, an assortment of cold cuts, and a bowl of eggs greeted her. He had even placed a clean towel on her chair. He was making coffee.

"Did you sleep well?" Markus asked, his voice hopeful as he poured juice into glasses.

Melissa sat down, her gaze drifting from the food to Markus. "As well as one can when chained to a bed," she replied, her tone carrying a mix of sarcasm and resignation.

Markus looked down, a shadow crossing his face. "I'm sorry about that, Mel. I just... I'm trying to adjust, to find a balance."

She picked up a piece of bread, her appetite not as keen as it should have been after a night in restraints. "Balance? Markus, how long are you going to keep this up? You can't expect me to just accept this as my new life."

He met her eyes, his own filled with a conflict he couldn't hide. "I know, and I'm sorry. I bought these things because I wanted to do something nice for you. I thought maybe if we could have some normal moments..."

"Normal?" Melissa cut in, her voice rising slightly. "Is this what normal looks like to you? Me, chained at night, naked all day?"

Markus reached across the table, his hand hovering near hers before he pulled it back, respecting her space. "I'm trying, Mel. I want us to have a chance. I know the situation is not ideal right now."

She looked at him, the complexity of her emotions showing in her eyes. "Not ideal!? I'm grateful for this nice breakfast, but you have to start treating me like a human again."

He nodded, his breakfast now seeming less appealing. "I understand. I'll... I'll think about what you said. But for now, let's just try to have a good morning, okay?"

Melissa sighed, taking a bite of bread, the act feeling mundane yet significant. "Okay, Markus. But think hard about what I said. Please. You have to loosen your grip on me."

They ate in a silence that was neither comfortable nor entirely tense, each lost in their thoughts, the sound of chewing and the distant waves filling the space between them.

—

Suddenly they heard hard, insistent knocks on the door. Markus sighed at the interruption of this intimate moment. He got up from the bed and went to the entrance.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

“It’s me! Arbek! Open up!” The answer came.

With a bad feeling, Markus opened the door, “Hey Arbek, what’s up?”

—

Arbek pushed through the door into Markus’s hut, his jaw tight with anger. Zahara followed, her steps steady behind him, her gaze flicking over the room as they entered. She had been with him on the flight from England, her calm demeanor had been a strong contrast to his urgency during the tense hours on the trip. Now, as they crossed the threshold together, her eyes quickly assessed the room. She saw Markus’s startled expression and Melissa’s desperate hope. "Where's Melissa?" Arbek demanded.

Markus was taken aback. He stepped back but quickly regained his composure. "Arbek, let's talk about this calmly—"

"Calmly?" Arbek cut in, his voice rising. "You've enslaved her, Markus!"

Melissa stepped out from the back. Her face was tense. She nodded quickly, “Yes, Arbek, please.”

Markus’s tone sharpened, “She’s mine now, legally. I paid for her. You don’t get a say.”

Arbek’s hands tensed at his sides, “Maybe not legally, but it’s wrong.”

Markus, now defensive, responded, "You left her to be repossessed. I stepped in when you failed her."

Arbek winced at the truth in Markus's words but didn't back down. "I made a mistake, but it doesn't justify what you've done. Melissa, do you want to leave with me?"

Melissa nodded fervently, "Yes, please, Arbek."

Markus's voice hardened, "She's legally mine now, Arbek. I paid for her. You have no say here."

Arbek clenched his fists, "Legally here, maybe. But this isn't right. Let's work this out. You can't keep her like this."

Markus paused, considering. "What do you suggest? I'm not just going to let her go after everything."

Arbek, trying to negotiate, said, "Give her some freedom. Let her decide if she wants to stay with you, without the collar, without the chains."

He paused as the reality of his situation sank in. His voice was soft with concern, "But if she decides to go back, what happens to me? I could get into trouble for everything that’s happened here."

Arbek's gaze lingered on the subtle marks on Melissa's wrists from where cuffs had once been, remnants of Markus's control. Seeing Markus's genuine worry, he calmed down. His tone became more measured.

"That's between you and the authorities back home, Markus. Letting her go is the right thing to do. You should do it. If there are crimes to answer for, you'll have to deal with them, but that's on you, not her."

Markus looked conflicted, his grip on control loosening. He stepped closer to Melissa, his hand reaching out to gently hold her arm, a gesture that was both possessive and protective.

"I... I didn't think it would come to this."

Arbek held his gaze, firm but empathetic. "It's time to make amends for that, Markus. Let Melissa go. It's the only way to start setting things right."

Zahara, who had been observing, interjected with a calm voice, "Arbek, think about this. If you try to take her, Markus could call the police. It's illegal here to help a slave escape."

Arbek looked at Zahara, then back at Markus, his resolve still firm. He glanced at Melissa, noting how the light from the window seemed to dance on her exposed skin.

"I'll take that risk. But Markus, think about what you're doing. This isn't love; it's imprisonment."

Markus, now feeling cornered, raised his voice, "Don't lecture me about love, Arbek. You were the one who got her into this mess in the first place. It was you who enslaved her! Without me, she’d be auctioned off and lost forever. She stays with me!"

Arbek's face flushed with anger, but he tried one last time for diplomacy. "I'll go to the embassy. They will help us!"

Zahara, seeing the tension escalate, added, "The embassy can't change local laws, Arbek. That’s not how they work. It's a waste of time."

Arbek shook his head, "There are international laws, universal human rights."

Zahara countered, "Not here. This is not England. Grabesh hasn’t signed up to any of those treaties."

Arbek shook his head, his brow furrowing in stubborn defiance. "There are international laws, universal human rights," he insisted, his voice rising with a fervor that betrayed his ignorance. He’d never paid much attention to politics—back in England, he’d barely skimmed the news, let alone studied a place like Grabesh. To him, the world was supposed to work like the stories he’d grown up with: good guys win, bad guys lose, and someone, somewhere, always steps in to make things right. "The embassy—they’ve got to help," he pressed. "Justice has to mean something, doesn’t it? They can’t just let this happen!"

Zahara’s eyes narrowed, her calm unshaken by his outburst. "Not here. This isn’t England, Arbek. Grabesh doesn’t play by those rules—it never has. They don’t care about Human Rights."

Markus, feeling the situation slipping, pulled out his phone, his hand hovering over it, "Arbek, you really want to go down this path? I'll call the police. They'll arrest you for trying to steal my slave."

Arbek's eyes flicked to Markus's phone, then back to Melissa. "Is that what you want, Markus? To live with the knowledge you're keeping her against her will?"

Markus hesitated, his face a storm of emotions. "I... I just want her to be with me."

Arbek stepped forward, his voice soft but firm. "Then let her choose, Markus. Without coercion, without chains. If she chooses to stay, so be it. But if not, you have to let her go."

Markus looked from Arbek to Melissa, his grip on the phone loosening. Before he could respond, Arbek took Melissa's arm. "Come with me, Melissa."

Markus's anger flared, "You can't do this!" But his words were more a shout of frustration than a command.

Zahara, sensing the shift, warned quietly, "This isn't going to end well, Arbek."

Ignoring her, Arbek led Melissa towards the door. His eyes locked on Markus, daring him to act. "I'm taking her out of here, Markus. If you want to call the police, do it. But you're not the good guy here."

As they stepped out, Melissa felt the warm air on her skin, a sensation of freedom. Markus stood there, phone in hand, caught between what he’d done and what might come next. The door shut behind Arbek and Melissa, leaving him and Zahara in the quiet hut.

—

Markus was overwhelmed and upset by what had just happened. He needed to collect himself, calm down, and think about what to do next.

Zahara had stayed behind. She looked over at him thoughtfully, then walked over, sat next to him, and asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

"No," Markus admitted, his voice a mix of confusion and desperation. "What am I supposed to do now? I never wanted this to end like this."

Zahara watched him, her eyes calculating beneath a veneer of sympathy. "Markus, you need to understand, the embassy can't do anything to you here. You've legally purchased Melissa. She's yours."

He looked up, searching her eyes for guidance. "But I didn't want to own her like this. I thought... I thought I could save her."

"You did save her," Zahara said, her tone soothing. "Without you, she might be in a brothel somewhere, being worked from dusk till dawn."

"Yeah, but then I couldn't let go of her. I wanted her for myself. Now I've lost her forever."

Zahara shook her head, her expression softening. "You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment. With that collar around her neck, it's clear to everyone she's your property. It's not just a piece of metal; it's a legal document here. Arbek can't just take her from you. It's not as simple as he thinks. There's still a lot you can do."

Markus ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear. "So, what? I just keep her against her will?"

"No, no," Zahara said quickly, her voice gentle. "I'm not saying that. What I'm suggesting is you maintain control. If you want to free her, let it be on your terms, not forced by others like Arbek."

"But how can I do that?" Markus asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"By securing your rights," Zahara explained. "How can Arbek even get her out of the country with that collar on? No one will help him remove it. They know the law. They know it’s illegal to do so."

Markus's eyes widened with a mix of hope and conflict. "So, what should I do now?"

"Call the police," Zahara advised, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Facilitating the escape of a slave is a felony here. The law is on your side. They'll help you bring her back. This way, you can decide what happens next, whether that's freedom or something else, on your terms."

Markus stood up, pacing the small space of the hut, his mind racing. "I don't know, Zahara. This feels wrong."

Zahara's voice took on a soothing, almost hypnotic tone. "You need to think about protecting yourself, your future. You have to be the one who gives her her freedom. If you let Arbek take her from you, it's you who looks bad, and he looks like the hero who saved her. Think about it. He's the one who got her into this slavery mess, and he'll come out as the hero. You saved her, and you'll be seen as the villain. You could even face legal repercussions back home. You acted to save her, but now, you need to act to save yourself."

"I just wanted her to be with me, not to... not to own her," Markus said, his voice trailing off.

"I understand," Zahara replied, her tone empathetic. "We all want to be loved, Markus. There's nothing wrong with that. And you've done something wonderful by rescuing her from being auctioned off. She is better off now because of you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Melissa would be in big trouble without you."

"Thanks, Zahara, for understanding," Markus said.

"It might feel wrong to you to call the police right now," Zahara conceded, standing to meet his gaze, "but doing nothing will work against you. It’s a hard decision, I know. But you have to make it. Make sure you are in control of the situation. Call the police, secure her return. Then, if you decide freedom is what you want for her, you can do it on your terms. You can make sure it happens in a way that doesn’t destroy you at home."

"Thanks, Zahara," Markus said, his voice heavy with the weight of his decision. "I need to think about this."

"Take your time, Markus," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "But remember, the longer you wait, the more complicated this gets. Time is not on your side here."

Markus nodded, Zahara’s words gnawing at his indecision, her calm insistence slicing through the fog of his doubt. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, until her unwavering gaze and the echoes of ‘Make sure you are in control of the situation’ and ‘Secure her return’ snapped something loose inside him.

He snatched his phone from the table and dialed the police with unsteady fingers. “This is Markus Wagner,” he said, his voice low, hardening with resolve. “My slave, Melissa Maurer, was just stolen from my hut by a man named Arbek. He took her minutes ago—I want her back. Please find her.” He talked to the police and gave them details. Zahara watched him with faint nods of approval that encouraged him as he reported the events to the police.

After the call, Markus stood in the hut. He put the phone down with an unsteady hand. Zahara’s steady eyes followed him. Markus felt a pinch of guilt in his chest. The room felt close, and a twinge of guilt tightened his chest. He’d just called the police—on Arbek, on Melissa, the woman he’d risked everything to save. What have I done? He thought, his fingers curling into his palm as if to crush the doubt. This wasn’t the plan—her in chains, him summoning the law to drag her back. He’d wanted her trust, her love, not this cold, legal tug-of-war.

But then his mind flashed to moments ago, Arbek bursting in, his voice raw with accusation, pulling Melissa from his arms as if she’d never belonged there. She’d gone with him—willingly, her eyes pleading for freedom, not for him. After all he’d done—pouring his savings into her rescue, shielding her from a fate in some brothel—she’d still chosen to run. Zahara’s voice slithered through his thoughts: You have to maintain control, or you lose everything. He saw the pensioners’ weathered faces, their warnings ringing clear—masters who faltered lost more than their slaves; they lost their own lives as they’d known them. Horst’s words lingered: What happens in Grabesh doesn’t stay in Grabesh. If he let her go now, let Arbek snatch her away, what would he be left with? He’d be seen as a fool at best and back home likely a criminal.

Then, the guilt gave way to a rising swell of resolve. She’d forced this, hadn’t she? He hadn’t sought this fight, this harsh reclaiming, but her flight left him no choice. The law was on his side—Grabesh recognized her as his, collar and all, and he’d use it. His jaw tightened, the doubt smoldering into ash as a cold certainty took root: he wasn’t the villain; he was the one who’d acted when Arbek hadn’t. His shoulders squared, his hand steadying as he glanced at Zahara, her nod a quiet affirmation. He’d bring her back—not out of spite, but because it was the only way to hold what was his, to protect their future, however tangled it had become.

—

Arbek and Melissa burst through the door of the hut, the familiar scents of home now tinged with urgency. Arbek's room was just down the hall, but safety felt fleeting. Melissa's breath came in quick gasps, her eyes wide with both relief and fear, the steel collar securely locked to her neck.

Tariq heard the commotion. He emerged from the living area, with Amina close behind, visibly concerned. Arbek explained to them what had happened.

"You've really stirred the pot, Arbek," Tariq said, his voice low but sharp. "Markus isn't going to let this go."

Amina moved to Melissa, her touch gentle as she offered her a cloth to cover herself. "Melissa, are you okay? We need to think of a plan, and fast."

Melissa grasped the cloth, her hands trembling. "I'm just glad to be out of there, but what now? This collar..." She touched the steel around her neck, her voice trailing off with despair.

Arbek paced, his mind racing. "We need to get that off her. Now."

Tariq shook his head, his expression one of reluctant wisdom. "Cutting it off is too risky. It's steel, and it's too close to her neck. We don't have the tools, and even if we did, we could hurt her. We'd need a professional, but no blacksmith would do it. It's a felony to help a slave escape here."

Amina looked between them, her eyes reflecting the complexity of their situation. "And we can't go to jail for this. We like you, Melissa, but we have our limits."

Arbek was frustrated, "So, what do we do? Just wait for Markus to call the police on us?"

"We can't stay here," Tariq decided, his tone serious. "If Markus comes, we need to be gone. But where do we go? There's no resistance to slavery here that I know of."

Amina added, "We could try to cover her up, make her less noticeable, but that collar... it's just too obvious."

Arbek sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Maybe we should just run. Head to the coast, find a boat or something."

Tariq considered this, then shook his head. "That's a death sentence. We don't know these waters, and without local help, it's madness. Plus, with that collar, any local who sees her will know what's going on."

Melissa's voice was quiet but firm. "I can't live like this, Arbek. We have to do something."

Arbek looked at her, his resolve hardening. "Maybe... maybe we can get to the embassy. They have to do something. They can't let this continue."

Tariq interjected, "The embassy might listen, but they have to operate within Grabesian laws. They can't force Markus to release you."

Amina, trying to offer some hope, said, "We can at least get them to document this, right? For when we're back in England?"

The room fell silent, each of them grappling with the reality of their situation. Then Arbek spoke, his voice heavy, "What about a blacksmith? Bribing one to get the collar off?"

Tariq's eyes met Arbek's, considering the idea. "It's dangerous, but it might be our only real option. However, we don't have much money right now."

"We'll have to find a way," Arbek said, his voice determined but tinged with uncertainty. "I'll get the money somehow, I just don't know how yet."

Amina added, "While you're trying to get the money for the blacksmith, you should also take Melissa to the embassy. We need them to document her enslavement. If Markus doesn't want trouble back home, this might pressure him."

Arbek nodded, then turned to Tariq. "Has her passport arrived yet? Remember, when she was freed from the Health Office, we applied for her stuff to be returned from the airport."

Tariq shook his head. "No, her stuff hasn't arrived yet."

Arbek considered this, then said, "We should still go to the embassy. Even without her passport, they can document this. Her collar identifies her, and we can take her picture for identification. Plus, she's chipped, and the medical database has her as Melissa Maurer."

Tariq agreed, "Right. It's worth a shot. Even if we can't get the collar off immediately, having the embassy's documentation could give us leverage against Markus. Back in England, this could prove he’s keeping her against her will—enough to get him arrested when he goes back."

—

The sun was high, casting harsh shadows across the bus stop where Arbek and Melissa waited, their hope dwindling with each passing moment. Melissa knelt beside Arbek, her skin prickled in the warm breeze. They were both tense, their eyes scanning for the bus that would take them to the embassy, their only glimmer of hope in this oppressive land.

Two police officers approached, their uniforms crisp in the sunlight, badges glinting. With years of experience under their belt, they keenly spotted the only white slave at the only bus stop of Ngalawa Bay. And, just as described, she was accompanied by a young Grabesian man. One of the officers, a stern-looking man with a mustache, spoke first, "Your name, sir?"

Arbek, trying to keep his voice steady, responded, "Kofi Abena."

The second officer, younger and more observant, didn't bother with Arbek's lie. He knelt beside Melissa to read the inscription on her collar. "Melissa Maurer, property of Markus Wagner," he announced, his voice devoid of emotion, while also noticing the yellow ear tag that had been in her description.

The older officer nodded, his expression hardening. "This is the slave we're looking for. You're under arrest for stealing a slave."

Arbek's heart sank, his plan unraveling before him. "Officer, this is a misunderstanding—"

"No misunderstanding," the younger officer interrupted, pulling out handcuffs. "You're coming with us."

Melissa's eyes met Arbek's, a silent apology passing between them. The officers cuffed Arbek. They were separated; Arbek was led away to the police station for processing, his eyes lingering on Melissa until they were out of sight. Melissa’s hands were bound behind her with a zip tie.

—

At Markus's hut, the officers knocked on the door, waiting patiently. Markus opened the door, his face a mix of surprise and hope.

"Mr. Wagner, we've recovered your slave," the mustached officer informed him, stepping aside to reveal Melissa kneeling behind him, naked, her hands bound and leashed by a rope knotted to her collar.

Markus stood before the police officers with their crisp uniforms. He glanced at Melissa kneeling beside the other officer. Her escape attempt was a sharp contrast to the submissive attitude the locals expected of slaves. Here, control is everything, he thought, recalling Horst and Werner’s warnings about maintaining order and the pensioners’ stories of masters who lost everything by being undisciplined. The weight of that expectation settled on him, pushing aside his guilt with a cold certainty that he had to act decisively or risk losing not just Melissa but his own standing in this foreign land.

"Melissa!" Markus exclaimed, his voice breaking with emotion. He rushed forward, pulled her up and embraced her despite her zip tied hands, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her close. "I was afraid I'd lose you forever."

Melissa stood rigid in his embrace with her hands held behind her by the zip ties. Her eyes stared blankly over Markus's shoulder, her mind elsewhere, planning, hoping.

Markus watched as the officers filled in some paperwork and asked him to sign off on it. The officer handed Melissa back to him by giving him the end of her leash. Her wrists were still zip-tied. For a moment, guilt twisted in his gut—the same guilt that had haunted him since he first bought her, the nagging voice that whispered this wasn’t what he’d intended. But as he saw her standing there, returned to him by the law, a new thought took root: She tried to escape. After all I did for her, she still ran. The memory of Zahara’s words echoed in his mind—You have to maintain control, or you lose everything. The weight of Grabesh’s norms pressed down on him, and he felt a surge of resolve. If he didn’t assert his rights now, he risked losing not just Melissa but all kinds of legal problems that the pensioners had warned him about. He steeled himself, pushing the guilt aside, convincing himself that firmness was necessary, not just for him but for the sake of their future together. It was his duty to act decisively.

"Thank you, officers," Markus said. "I'll handle it from here."

The officers nodded and left, satisfied that they had done their duty. Markus led Melissa inside and closed the door behind them.

—

Markus led Melissa inside. He closed the door with a trembling hand. His chest tightened as he glanced at her—her blank stare, the red marks on her wrists. He’d gotten her back, but at what cost? The victory felt hollow, a weight pressing harder than her silence.

Melissa looked at Markus. Her return by the police on a leash and with zip-tied wrists had made her uncomfortably aware how much power Markus had over her. How real his power was as her legal owner.

“I was so worried,” he began, his voice soft, almost trembling with relief. But as she pulled away, her eyes flashing with defiance, he felt a sting of anger. “Why would you run, Mel?” he asked, his tone shifting to frustration. “After everything I did for you?”

Melissa’s voice was cold. “You think keeping me chained and naked is doing me a favor?”

For a moment, Markus’s face crumpled, guilt washing over him. She’s right, he thought, his stomach churning. But then he remembered Zahara’s words, the pensioners’ stories, the law’s approval of his ownership. “No,” he said, his voice hardening, “I saved you from being auctioned off. You promised to try with me, and now you’ve broken that promise.” He stepped closer, his resolve firming. “You can’t run again, Mel. I need your word on that.”

"Markus, please," she murmured, her voice strained from the tension of the ties, "can you take these off?"

Markus nodded, grabbed a pair of scissors and reached behind her to fumble with the zip ties. There was a moment of struggle before the plastic finally gave way, but then it snapped open under his touch.

Markus gave her another hug. She hadn’t been away for long, but he had missed her so much. The thought he may have lost her forever had been a sting in his heart. He held her tightly. His heart raced with relief, but as he felt her collar under his fingers, cold clarity washed over him. His hands tightened briefly, then relaxed, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before it hardened into something else—determination. He stepped back, his jaw set, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the faint defiance in her gaze. She tried to leave me, he thought.

Her betrayal steeled him. He pushed his guilt aside. He decided then and there that he couldn’t let her challenge his authority again.

Melissa rubbed her wrists. She felt the deep indentations where the zip ties had bitten into her skin. She avoided Markus's gaze. Her mind raced with the implications of her situation. Her mind was a whirlwind, processing the reality that her attempt to break free had failed. She had taken her best chance at escape, and yet, here she was, returned to Markus by the authorities, right back to where she started.

"Melissa, you promised," Markus began, his voice soft but with an underlying firmness. "When I saved you from being auctioned off, you agreed to be my slave. That was the condition under which I bought you."

She looked at him, her eyes burning with a mix of defeat and defiance. "I didn't choose this, Markus. I was enslaved, repossessed, sold, and now... I’m being brought back to you like lost property. I don't belong to you, no matter what that collar says."

Markus sighed, the joy of her return fading into the reality of their situation. “I know I’ve messed this up somehow—I thought your promise meant we could fix it together, but I’m the one breaking us now, aren’t I?”

Melissa's heart ached for Arbek, who had been willing to risk everything for her freedom. "What will happen to him?" she asked, her voice trembling with concern.

"He'll be charged with theft, attempting to steal a slave," Markus replied, his tone regretful. "But I could have a word with the police. I might be able to make things easier for him."

His words felt like a negotiation for her compliance, a carrot dangled before her. Melissa turned away, her gaze fixed on the door through which she had hoped to escape. "In exchange for what?"

Markus moved closer, his hand gently touching her shoulder. "For your promise not to run away again. That you will try to make this work with me."

Melissa stepped out of his reach, her body language speaking volumes of her rejection. "I can promise not to try to run again, Markus. But love... that's not something I can control or promise."

Markus's face fell, the power he felt moments ago now a heavy burden. He knew he couldn't force love. "I'll give you some space," he said, his voice low. "But remember, Mel, I'm not your enemy. I'm trying to make the best of this."

As Markus left the room to give her the space she needed, Melissa sank onto the bed. Her fingers traced her collar, her silent jailer made of steel. She was back where she started, but now Arbek was in a jail cell because of her. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, her freedom further away than ever.

Her mind wandered through her options, each less appealing than the last. She thought of the embassy, now out of reach with Arbek's arrest. She considered Markus's words, the life he promised, but it was a life in a cage. She needed to think, to plan, but her thoughts were muddled by the fear of what might happen to Arbek, and the fear of what Markus might do next.

After some time, Markus returned, his demeanor changed, more composed, perhaps trying to mend the rift between them. "I'll talk to the police about Arbek," he said. "But I want his word that he will respect my rights to you. I’ll look into this tomorrow."

Melissa looked up, a flicker of relief passing through her eyes, quickly masked by her ongoing distress. "And what about me? Am I to be your prisoner forever?"

"No," Markus replied, sitting beside her but maintaining a respectful distance. "I want you to choose to be here with me. But until you're ready to do that willingly, we need to find some middle ground."

She eyed him skeptically, her trust in him eroded by everything that had happened. "Middle ground? With this on?" She touched her collar, the symbol of her enslavement.

Markus nodded, his expression one of conflict. "Yes, with that on, for now. But we can work on other aspects of our life together. Maybe... maybe we can live more like equals here. I'll listen to you, Mel. I want to understand what you need."

—

The late afternoon sun hung low over Ngalawa Bay, casting a golden shimmer across the pool’s surface, transforming it into a mirror of light that danced with each gentle ripple. Palm trees swayed lazily in the warm breeze. Melissa sat on the pool’s edge, her bare legs dangling in the cool water, her naked skin catching the last rays of daylight. The steel collar around her neck glinted faintly, a cold, unyielding reminder of her captivity, its weight pressing against her flesh with every breath. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes fixed on the small waves her toes made, each ripple a fleeting distraction from the despair that clung to her like the damp sand beneath her feet.

The failed escape attempt with Arbek weighed heavily on her mind, a bitter taste of hope snatched away by the iron grip of Grabesh’s laws. She had felt the thrill of possibility, the fleeting belief that freedom was within reach as they had fled Markus’s hut. But now she was back here, returned to Markus like lost property, and her wrists still bore the faint red marks from the zip ties that had bound her hands behind her back. The humiliation of it all burned in her chest, a fire she couldn’t extinguish.

Nearby, the laughter of Kaya and Liana echoed from the beach volleyball court, a sound so light and carefree it felt like a mockery of her predicament. But their game ended abruptly as they noticed her solitude, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange of concern. With a shared nod, they abandoned the volleyball, its bright orange surface forgotten in the sand, and approached her, their bare feet padding softly against the warm ground.

“Hey, Melissa,” Kaya said, her voice warm but tinged with worry as she knelt beside her, the water lapping at the edge of the pool just inches from where they sat. Her dark eyes searched Melissa’s face, reading the sadness etched there. “You look like you’ve lost your best friend. What’s wrong?”

Melissa glanced up, her water-blue eyes clouded with grief, her voice heavy with the weight of her failure. “It’s... uhm… just... Arbek tried to help me escape this morning. We almost made it, but the police caught us. Now he’s in jail, and I’m back here, chained to Markus again. It’s hopeless.” Her words faltered, a sob catching in her throat as she looked back at the water, her fingers digging into the pool’s edge.

Liana settled on Melissa’s other side. Her lean frame folded gracefully onto the sand, her expression a mix of curiosity and empathy. “We heard something from Horst and Werner,” she said gently. “They said there was a big fuss, that Arbek took you from Markus’s place. That must’ve been scary.”

Melissa nodded, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders, the ends brushing against her collar as she moved. “It was,” she admitted. “For a moment, I thought I’d be free. But now... now I’m right back where I started. Worse, even. Arbek’s locked up because of me, and I feel so guilty. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work.” Her gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers traced the faint red lines left by the zip ties.

Kaya shifted closer, her voice warm but pragmatic. “Don’t beat yourself up, Melissa. That escape? It was brave, but it’s never going to work. Masters always get what they want in the end. With Markus, the best thing you can do is give him what he wants willingly, with a smile. It gets you into his good graces. If you’re confrontational, he’ll punish you, and he’ll still take what he wants anyway.”

Melissa looked at Kaya, skepticism narrowing her eyes, her voice tinged with hopelessness. “You really think that’s all I can do? Just smile and obey? I can’t stand being subordinate to him, Kaya. I miss being free, making my own choices. This isn’t me—it’s like I’ve lost everything.”

Liana nodded, her dark eyes reflecting a lifetime of submission, her voice soft but firm. “It’s not about what you want, Melissa. It’s about what keeps you safe. When Werner or Horst want something, we give it to them with a smile. If we were to make a fuss, it would be worse. They’ll get it anyway, and we’ll be the ones hurting. Maybe you can find ways to make Markus happy, like being quick to do his chores or agreeing when he asks for... you know, other things.”

Kaya smiled reassuringly, “Exactly. That thing with the vibrator, it sounds awful to you because you’re new, but masters like to see us enjoy it, or at least pretend we do. It makes them feel good about themselves. Don’t fight it too much—it’s not about you, it’s about him. The chains at night? That’s just him making sure you stay put. Some masters do that, but if you show you’re no trouble, he might ease up. I used to be chained a lot when I was with other masters, but now our masters trust us because we never push back.”

Melissa sighed, her voice heavy with the weight of her lost liberty, a concept foreign to her companions. “I can’t just accept this. I was free once, Kaya, Liana. I miss that so much. This feels like I’m nothing but his property now.”

Liana paused, her fingers brushing the sand as she considered Melissa’s words, her expression a mix of confusion and pity. “We don’t know what that’s like, Melissa, being free. This is all we’ve ever known. But fighting it? That’s hopeless. If slaves could escape, there wouldn’t be an entire slave population here. Masters always win. They have the power, the law, everything. Your best bet is to make Markus think you’re happy with him. Smile, obey, and you might get some peace.”

Kaya nodded, “Yeah, you’re not just his slave when you’re with us. You’re our friend, and we want you safe. But freedom? That’s not something you can have here. Stick close to Markus, show him you know your place, and maybe he’ll treat you better. It’s the only way.”

Melissa looked at them, a flicker of gratitude mixed with frustration in her eyes, her voice softening but insistent. “I appreciate that, really. Your advice—it helps for now, as a survival tactic. But in the long run, I want my freedom back. I can’t live like this forever. Isn’t there any way, any hope at all, that I could escape this?”

Liana’s tone turned serious, her eyes locking with Melissa’s, a warning born of resignation. “No, Melissa. There isn’t. We’ve heard stories, rumors of slaves who tried to run. They’re always caught. And then the screws are tightened on them. If there was a way out, don’t you think we’d all use it to free ourselves? But there is none. Masters always get what they want. They show us their power by making us wear collars, keeping us naked and having us kneel before them. Do you need any more proof that they can do with us as they please? We’re better off giving it to them with a smile than fighting and getting hurt for nothing.”

Kaya’s voice was firm, her words a final blow to Melissa’s hope. “It’s not hopeless for surviving, Melissa. But escaping? That’s a dream. Like Liana said, free people are powerful. They can whip us and chain us any time they wish. It is best to do as they say. Don’t challenge them, Melissa. Focus on making Markus happy—smile, agree, do what he asks. Over time, he might give you more, like less chaining or better tasks. But freedom? That’s not in the cards here. You’re collared, naked and owned. Accept it, and you’ll suffer less.”

Melissa managed a small, bitter smile, the spark of defiance still alive in her eyes, her voice a whisper of unresolved determination. “I’ll take your advice for now, to get by. But I can’t give up on being free. I have to believe there’s a way, even if you don’t.”

—

In the evening, Markus called Melissa to him. "Mel, we need to continue with the training from yesterday. It’s important for us, for you to learn to relax around me, to trust me."

Melissa sighed, but her protest was a faint echo of yesterday’s defiance. It was now dulled by the weight of her failed escape. "Markus, do we really have to do this again? It’s... invasive."

"It’s about trust, Mel," Markus said, his tone softening into persuasion, though his eyes held a new certainty. "If you want me to trust you, you need to trust me—to let me in, to feel close to me. This is how we get there."

Her gaze darted to the door, the window—anywhere but him. The sting of Arbek’s arrest and her return, being bound and leashed by the police, pressed against her chest like a stone. She followed him into the bedroom.

Markus placed a towel on the bed, an almost familiar ritual now that she would comply with in acknowledgement of his triumph over her escape attempt today. "Kneel here," he instructed, his voice steady, expectant.

He retrieved the vibrator and lube from the nightstand and handed them to her with a nod that carried more authority than the night before. Melissa took them, her fingers trembling not from exhaustion but from the crushing realization that her best shot at freedom had failed. She applied the lube, her movements mechanical, handing the bottle back to Markus with a glance that pleaded for reprieve, met only by his resolute stare.

"Mel, please," Markus urged, his voice softer but insistent.

With a sigh heavy with defeat, she switched on the vibrator. She knelt, legs spread on the towel, and pressed it to herself. Her body reacted despite her reluctance, primed from yesterday’s iteration of this exercise.

Markus watched, his gaze intense, a quiet boldness in his posture. "Look at me, Mel," he said, his voice low but commanding. "I want us to share this—look at me."

Her breath hitched, the demand piercing through her haze of resignation. She lifted her eyes to his, locking gazes, and the connection was immediate, visceral. The vibrations pulsed, igniting warmth in her core, but the eye contact turned it into something more—an invasion, a connection at a deeper, a primal, level. Her mind pushed against this forced closeness. He wasn’t just taking her physically—it felt like he was reaching deeper, prying into a part of her she’d kept hidden.

Her breathing deepened, her chest tightening as the pleasure built, unwanted yet relentless. She couldn’t look away—his eyes held hers, drawing her into a shared intimacy that felt like chains tightening around her spirit. Her thighs quivered, her body teetering on the edge, and as the orgasm crested, it crashed through her with a force that stole her breath. Her gasp was silent, her eyes wide with the raw vulnerability of it, locked with his. The pleasure was sharp, undeniable, but laced with the bitter taste of defeat—her most private moment, hijacked by his will.

"That was beautiful, Mel," Markus whispered as he leaned in, kissing her softly.

He took the vibrator from her shaking hand, setting it aside. "Now, kneel up with your legs spread," he instructed, his tone calm but edged with new confidence.

Melissa sighed. She complied, kneeling up, legs parted, her eyes averted as the humiliation settled deeper. Markus sat on the bed’s edge, his fingers sliding between her legs with a boldness absent the previous night. The police had returned her to him, bound and leashed—a living testament to his ownership—and it emboldened him now. He didn’t rush this time; his fingers lingered, exploring her vagina with a deliberate slowness, tracing the slick, soft undulating folds of her vaginal walls, the subtle, nuanced resistance against his fingers from the delicate corrugations in her warm vagina. He savored the texture, the warmth, imagining how those same contours would feel against his penis, the lust building in him as he claimed this intimate space as his right.

He withdrew his fingers from her vagina and kissed her on the mouth.

"You’re wet," he murmured, satisfaction curling his lips, his fingers withdrawing only after he’d indulged fully in the sensation. "You did well, Mel. You can relax now."

Melissa sank back onto her heels, her body still tingling, her mind a tumult of defeat and violation. After all that had happened today, here she was again—forced to bare her soul through forced pleasure, her most private area probed at his leisure. The closeness Markus craved was an intrusion she couldn’t repel, and the weight of her failure pressed her down, heavier than the chains he’d soon fasten.

—

Markus felt a surge of lust, raw and unbridled, ignited by the sight of Melissa kneeling before him, her body still trembling from the vibrator’s hum. The memory of her being returned to him, bound and leashed, had been tangible proof of his ownership that erased yesterday’s doubts.

This wasn’t just desire—it was the thrill that he owned her. He owned Melissa, the woman he loved, and today’s events had proven it.

He shed his clothes with deliberate care. Melissa lay on the bed. Her skin was flushed from the earlier act. Her breath was shallow. Markus knelt beside her, his hands tracing her thighs with a slow, possessive touch, savoring the warmth of her flesh. He paused and gazed at her, his victory etched in the way he lingered—bold, unhurried, a master admiring his reclaimed prize.

Melissa’s thoughts raced over the day. Arbek’s arrest gnawed at her, a guilt tied to the freedom she’d almost had. This wasn’t just sex—it was Markus showing she was his, a captive to do with as he pleased. Her body tensed as his fingers roamed, her skin prickling under his touch, but she didn’t pull away. Resistance had failed her; all she had left was compliance.

Markus leaned in, his kisses fierce yet measured, claiming her lips, her neck, her collarbone. He positioned himself between her legs. He spread her thighs with a gentleness that belied his intent.

He pressed the tip of his penis against her vagina. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed into her, sliding in easily, her slickness a testament to the arousal from the previous exercise. The sensation of entering her sent a thrill through him, his lust sharpened by the knowledge that she was his, inescapably his.

"Open your eyes, Mel," he whispered. His voice was soft but a command, a lover’s tone wrapped in ownership.

She hesitated, her lids fluttering shut against the intrusion, but his insistence pulled her back. Reluctantly, she met his gaze, and the connection pierced her—a raw, unyielding tether that sank into her core. His eyes held hers, demanding she share this moment, stripping away the last veil of her autonomy. It wasn’t just her body he took; it was her spirit, forced into an intimacy she couldn’t refuse.

For Melissa, this moment felt like defeat. The act of sex now felt like Markus’s victory over her. Despite her best efforts, she was still his property. She was his to provide him with sexual satisfaction. The ease of his entry was a bitter reminder that even her arousal was his to command, her vagina yielding to his will. Now, as Markus moved with confidence and dominance, she felt his triumph over her. In this country she was his. And she would remain his until he decided otherwise.

Markus moved with confidence, his thrusts deliberate, savoring the control he’d fought to reclaim. Her breathing quickened, her flesh responded despite her mind’s protest, a reluctant warmth brought forward by his rhythm. For him, the sex was a thrill, a feeling of sexual dominion over her reclaimed body; for her, it was a surrender. After all her efforts today, she’d been dragged back, and now the feeling of his penis moving in her vagina was proof how it had all been in vain.

Just as before, Markus made eye contact with her, amplifying the sensations until they overwhelmed her. Her climax came, her body shuddered under his watchful gaze while her mind recoiled from the closeness he craved.

The pleasure hit, unwanted, a quiet nudge of the agency she’d lost. As it eased, Markus finished, his release strong, spilling his semen into her with an inevitability that she as his captive had to accept.

They lay side by side afterward, sweat slicking their skin, in silence, hearing only their breaths. Markus’s hand rested on her hip, a possessive linger, while Melissa stared at the ceiling, her body spent. The day’s failures pressed a quiet ache into her core.

—

Melissa knew what was coming next. The cold inevitability of it twisted in her gut, but the sting of her failed escape and Arbek’s arrest fueled a flicker of resistance she couldn’t suppress.

"Markus, can we skip the chains tonight?" she asked, her voice small but edged with a raw plea.
Markus turned to look at her, his expression firm, unyielding. "You tried to escape, Mel. You've proven you can't be trusted. You need to earn that trust back. Behave well from now on."

His words landed like a fresh wound, cutting deeper than the metal she dreaded. Melissa’s voice cracked, "Markus, no—please, not after today." She tugged faintly at her wrists, a fleeting, desperate gesture against the invisible bonds already tightening around her, then sighed, the futility crashing over her like a wave. Her shoulders slumped, and she extended her hands towards him, the fight draining out of her as resignation took hold.

"I need to clean up first," she murmured, gesturing towards the leakage, her tone flat with defeat. Markus nodded, his impatience clear. "Hurry then."

She returned quickly. As she lay back on the bed, Markus was ready with the shackles, holding them out with eyes that allowed no argument. The cuffs clicked tight around her wrists with a cold finality and were pulled over her head.

[hoggle123]

Dear Reader,

Thanks for reading this far. If you've read the entire story up to here from the first chapter, you have read 314 pages!

As usual, what did you like, what didn't you like?

Let me know what you think and don't forget to enter a rating at the poll at the top!

[lovethissite]

Hoggle: Well done. Keep up the good work.

[cardman314]

Is Markus finally going to grow a "pair". He's still not sure of himself yet. Maybe he could rent her out to a BDSM club for a weekend to wake her up and show her that things really could be much worse. I'm reminded of the line from and old Janis Joplin song, "Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose." This chapter is heading in the right direction. She needs to own up to her situation being her own fault by deciding to defraud airport customs. She has to stop playing the victim. Love the story.

[hoggle123]

Is Markus finally going to grow a "pair". He's still not sure of himself yet.

Markus isn't really 'big balls' just yet. Turning from what he started out as to a proper slave master is quite a transformation. In earlier drafts of this chapter I had him more sure of himself, but that didn't seem consistent with his character. So on the one side he has learned to be more assertive in this chapter, but I've put in a few more doubts as part of his old self still coming through.

Maybe he could rent her out to a BDSM club for a weekend to wake her up and show her that things really could be much worse.

Something along those lines might happen.

This chapter is heading in the right direction. She needs to own up to her situation being her own fault by deciding to defraud airport customs. She has to stop playing the victim. Love the story.

Thanks!

[CommodorRaptr]

I'm hoping that Melissa takes Kaya's advice and at least pretends to be a good slave to Markus. Maybe Kaya could even come over and show her how it's done. Also is it possible for you to include some illustrations like you did a few times in past chapters? Those were neat.