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I, Slave

By: fastandsloppy



1. The Prospect

I was almost late for my appointment but I paused -- actually, hesitated would be a more accurate word, I suppose - to recheck the address. I was sitting in my mom's car, parked in a tidy, tree-lined office park, looking up at the squat, mirrored box of a building in front of me. It was numbered 9951, just like the email had said, but I decided to check the website for "Paragon Companions" on my phone's browser, just to be extra sure. Sure enough, the address was listed as 9951 Elm Crescent Parkway, suite 333. Yup, I was at the right place. And I was three minutes late... so far.

But still, I sat in the car, gulping air and fighting back panic attacks for five more minutes. Not for the first or last time I carefully considered my plan and acknowledged that it was probably an awful idea. However, I had my goals and, as my dad said, "the reason people fail to meet their goals was because they weren't willing to do whatever it takes to achieve them". So I thought of Princeton University, my future alma mater - if I could just get the money to attend. (And it was going to take a lot of money, let me tell you.) My options, which were always pretty limited, were now down to one and only one and it led through 9951 Elm Crescent Parkway, suite 333. Finally, I got out of the car and walked to the entrance, my mind screaming for me to turn away.

I paused at the building directory and confirmed the suite number. As I waited for the elevator I smoothed my cute little back dress against my thighs, abdomen and ass, pressing out any creases I'd picked up on the drive over. I felt the firmness of my flesh and the definition of my muscles. My recent yoga obsession and years of competitive gymnastics and had really paid off. If only my boobs hadn't gotten too big I might have even had a shot at a gymnastics scholarship. However, when the elevator arrived the confidence I sought from my own body rapidly evaporated. My hand was shaking again as I pushed the button for my floor.

I stepped out on three. There were doors to the offices to a dozen or so companies opening off the long, professionally bland hallway. I followed the ascending numbers to the very end of the corridor. There I found a set of incongruous double doors padded in quilted pink leather. "Paragon" was written across them in cursive, chrome lettering. Suite 333 read the brass placard mounted on the wall to the right.

I delayed one last time before entering; looking back over my shoulder, terrified one of my dad's friends might spot me and ask him what his little girl was doing going into a place like that. But there were no witnesses. The coast was clear. Nothing was holding me back but me. As I pushed inside I thought of the tree-lined campus of Princeton and its gothic stone buildings full of knowledge and success. And I thought of money: lots of money.

I entered. The foyer was sheathed in slabs of pink marble, furnished in pink leather furniture the same color as the double doors and softly lit with chrome lighting fixtures. A shapely brunette in a tight blouse and tiny skirt sat at the reception desk - an arc of tempered glass on twisted chrome struts. The receptionist was closer to my mom's age than mine, but more attractive than both of us put together. She raised her eyes from her computer monitor and looked a question at me.

"I... I have an appointment with Ms. Montrie," I said. My timid voice echoed around the pink stone room.

She nodded towards one of the pink leather doors that flanked her desk: the right one. "Go on in," she said.

I did. Inside was another reception area. A beautiful blonde sat at a similar desk, dressed in a slinky white dress that showed much of her ample cleavage. She looked me over dismissively for a brief second before asking: "Are you the four O'clock?"

"Yes."

"You're late," she told me. I could see she didn't approve of me for not being as tall or beautiful as she. I felt my spirit sink. If these were the girls they hired to work desk jobs how much more beautiful did you have to be to work as an escort? If it wouldn't have been so humiliating to retreat before those judgmental goddesses I would have backed out right then. But I didn't. I still hoped my preternaturally youthful appearance and my c-cup chest would be my saving grace. Some guys liked that combination.

"Go ahead, she's waiting," said the blonde impatiently. I obeyed and pushed through the last pink leather door.

Inside was a large, corner office. It was bigger than the two previous reception areas combined. It too was clad in pink marble and furnished in pink leather. A burbling fountain and soft, spacey music filled the echoing space with gentle sound. At a large teak desk in the corner formed by the two walls of tinted windows sat an older woman with faded red hair shot through with streaks of white. Her face was too smooth; stretched and softened with plastic surgery and Botox no doubt. She wore a scarlet dress that flaunted, rather than concealed her small chest. I felt relief that my boobs were at least bigger than the boss'.

That relief didn't last long.

"Oh for Christ's sake!" she grumbled as she looked me up and down. I felt myself blush.

"I'm..."

"I know who you are. Let me see your driver's license, kid. I'm not saying another goddamned thing until I know you're really old enough to even be here. You sure as hell don't look it."

That had been the exact reaction when I'd tried to "interview" at Tiggle Jitz, the strip club. The manager, a creepy old guy with some kind of obscure accent, had laughed in my face and told me to get out. He'd said I was too young looking. A girl like me was "like a red fucking flag to a motherfucking bull" he'd told me. He said that even though I was legally old enough, I looked too young; every state, county and local commissioner and "pain in the ass" moral guardian would be harassing him with recurring demands for documentation on not just me but all his girls. "I look at you and all I see is a lot of paperwork for myself," he'd said. However he gave me Ms. Montrie's email address and suggested she might have something for someone like me. I was not feeling encouraged as I dug my driver's license out of my little purse and handed it over.

Ms. Montrie looked the license over carefully, opening the blinds and turning it this way and that in the sunlight. Finally she handed it back, saying, "OK, looks real. So what do you want kid?"

"Mr. Arrentolf said you might have a job..."

"He's gotta be fucking kidding me. You look fifteen. How tall are you?"

"Five foot."

"You're too short, that's one problem. Plus you're meek as hell: oozing discomfort like a kid at a recital. I provide classy sophisticated companions for well paying clients. You? I wouldn't be surprised if you were still a virgin."

"I'm not," I said, which was true, if only barely. Cliff and I had finally done the deed on Prom Night a couple of months ago and three more times since. I'd meant to find other partners after we broke up - it was mutual, he was going off to work as a busboy at some mountain resort all summer and we figured we should call it quits - but I never got up the nerve to go trawling for sex partners. Now here I was trying to get a job as a call girl. I had honestly never expected my inexperience would be an issue, it's not like sex was difficult or anything.

"Well honey, I don't care if you were the biggest slut in the school marching band, you just ain't right for me. Sorry, kid."

I started weeping -- damn it. This was my last chance. "But I really need the money. I've been accepted to Princeton..."

"Good school," she said. "But it's hardly the only school. Can't you go somewhere cheaper?"

"Princeton is... I've always..." I paused to sob.

"Oh God, a goal," she said with derision. "Watch out for goals kid. They'll fuck you up. Once upon a time, I was going to be a great Broadway actress no matter what it took." She barked out a harsh laugh. "'Course, I'm doin' OK now, but this line of work ain't nobody's first choice. And do you really want to be a whore kid? Do you? Because, to be perfectly blunt, that's what we're talking about here."

"I'll do anything," I sobbed. "I need a lot of money. I don't know what else to do."

"Anything covers a lot of ground kid," she said, looking at me sadly now. "Yeah, I know what Arrentolf had in mind for you."

I didn't understand what she meant, but it sounded hopeful. "What?"

"I know of a job. It's not with my organization but I got contacts. You'd be perfect for it. But it's a long term thing: a four month commitment with no backing out. And seriously, I wouldn't be doing you any favors by setting you up for it, kid."

"What is it?" I said, a little pissed. If she knew about this job why didn't she suggest it right off? Why was she toying with me?

"A resort: a very, very exclusive resort in the Caribbean: bondage, S and M, that sort of thing. It's hard duty kid -- very hard - but it pays crazy good. Forty thousand a month: undocumented, so it's tax free. They'd love a timid little thing like you down there. They'd love to chew you up and spit you the fuck out."

" Forty thousand a month!?" I said. I could do anything for that kind of money, I assumed. "That's perfect!"

"Did you hear me? You're cool with BSDM stuff? They aren't fucking around down there. It's goddamned hard duty kid. You'd be a whole hell of a lot better off just going to a community college and waiting tables, maybe suck the occasional dick for book money."

I didn't tell her, but already had scholarships to a couple of state colleges. But I was accepted to Princeton, damn it. And suddenly, with a lead on a forty thousand a month job, it was really going to happen. I felt light as a feather. My heart was bursting with relief that my future had been saved. I didn't even think about the BSDM stuff. Frankly, I wasn't really sure what that entailed. Nor did I care.

"I'll do it!" I said.

"Shit kid, are you sure? Maybe think about..."

"No. This is the only way for me. I'll do it. What do I have to do next?"

She gave me a long hard look. Finally she shrugged, "The part of this job I fucking hate is watching naive little cunts like you make stupid mistakes for ridiculous fucking reasons. Princeton... fuck," she spat onto her pink shag carpet. "What do you need Princeton so fucking bad for anyway?"

"Just tell me what I have to do."

Ms. Montrie sighed. "I'll take a few pictures and forward them on. They'll be in touch with you in a few days... if they're interested."

"I thought you said I was perfect for this job?"

"You are. And I suppose they'll want you alright. But a sad old whore can hope, can't she?" She looked me over one more time before her face snapped back into its all-business coldness. "Now wiggle out of that dress and let me get a picture of your goddamned goodies."

2. The Interview

I was in my mom's car again. She was there too this time. She had driven me down to the Marriot by the airport to see me off on my new job. As expected, she was making things difficult.

"Do you have everything you need, sweetie?"

"Yes mother. We've been over this."

"Are you sure you don't want me walk you in?" she said.

"Jeez mom, no. I'm an adult. You'll embarrass me."

"I just don't like you going off for months at a time with a bunch of strangers."

"It's a job, mother, not a sleepover."

"Did you bring... um... did you bring... condoms?" She whispered the c word.

"Mo-ther! " I chided her. We never discussed sex. She was embarrassing the hell out of both of us.

"Well... it's a valid concern sweetie."

"Trust me mom. I can handle myself."

Mom started crying. "I just can't believe you're all grown up."

I leaned over and we hugged goodbye. Finally, I extracted myself and my suitcase from her car and we said our "I love yous". She was bawling like a baby as she pulled away. I watched her go, worried she'd plow into another car as she drove off, her vision clouded by tears. What's the deal with parents, anyway?

However, when I turned toward the towering hotel my annoyance at my mother's mothering was immediately replaced by terror of my new job.

I had got the email summoning me - that's the word it used, "summoned" - a week ago. The note had been terse and direct. My orientation was to take place at the airport Marriot. I was not to bring any luggage or companions. My final appraisal would take place and, if I passed, I would be off to my new situation that very afternoon. I was to tell everyone that I was working for "Far Horizon" cruise lines and would be gone on an extended tour with long periods of being out of contact. If I divulged any information about my real destination I would forfeit my wages and my job. It was all very clear.

The old suitcase I carried was full of ratty tee-shirts, grungy sheets and threadbare towels. My first stop was to find a dumpster and get rid of it. I had only brought it along for my mother's benefit since she would have thought it strange if I was leaving for four months without any luggage. As it was, she thought it odd I was only bringing one bag. "The cruise line supplies uniforms, towels and all that," I had told her. "I don't need a lot of extra crap."

After I had thrown my decoy luggage into a dumpster by the loading dock I went inside and walked to the registration desk. I gave them my name and told them I was here for the "Far Horizon Cruise Line orientation", just as I'd been told to do. I was handed a keycard and directed to room 1108. Once again I found myself alone in an elevator pushing a button for the top floor with my shaking hand.

I fretted as the elevator rose. I was going into this thing blind and it was starting to worry me. I had considered doing some research on bondage and whatnot in the weeks since my initial interview, but I kept putting it off until it just didn't get done. Frankly, I was worried what I might find out. I mean, obviously I knew that it involved being tied up, spanked and otherwise humiliated but what good would it do if I totally freaked myself out? I needed this job no matter what it entailed. I figured it would be better to go in as ignorant as possible and just deal with whatever happened until my time was up. Then I'd be sent home with one hundred and sixty thousand tax free dollars: next stop Princeton. People survived prison, special forces training and other horrible working conditions in the most god forsaken places on earth... surely I could handle a few months of being a sex toy for depraved rich guys. Heck, it would probably make me a stronger person in the long run. "Suffering builds character," as my dad liked to say.

I reached my floor and found room 1108. Not letting myself hesitate, I knocked at the door. There was no response. After trying again I slipped the key card into the slot. The click of the lock opening made me jump a little. I pushed the door open and called out a soft, "Hello?"

There was nobody there. Instead, there was a ring of video cameras on tripods with cables running to a computer sitting on a desk in the corner. The cameras were all arrayed around a cushioned stool. I approached, letting the door shut behind me.   "Sit on the stool," said a voice. It sounded loud, harsh and metallic, slurred to a low tone by a vocal pitch shifter.

I obeyed the voice.

"Why are you here?" demanded the voice.

"The job... at the, um, exclusive resort. Ms. Montrie..." 

"Tell me what you know about the job."

"Well... it's at an exclusive res..."

"Do not repeat yourself or hesitate," demanded the voice. "Now tell me what you know about the job."

"It involves bondage." I said. I tried to keep it steady, but my voice trembled as I spoke.

"Does that frighten you?"

Something about the authoritative force of the disembodied voice made me answer honestly without even thinking about it. "Yes."

The voice didn't bark another question at me right away. Instead I heard a long slow exhale come through the speakers. I got the distinct impression that he liked that answer.

I'd always been told that you should always ask questions at a job interview, so I decided the pause was a good time to pitch one. "Where is..."

"You will speak when spoken to. You will not ask questions. You will follow orders swiftly and without second guessing. When you are addressed you will end every response with the word 'Master'. IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Yes, Master." I was trembling at the force of his words.

"During this interview I will ask you three times if you still want this position. These will be the only times you will be given a choice in any aspect of your life until your term of service is fulfilled. Once you have agreed for the third time you belong to me for the term of your service. Changing your mind will not be an option. Is that understood?"

"Yes Master."

"Are you still interested in this position?"

"Yes Master."

"Remove your clothes."

"Yes Master." I said meekly as I stood to disrobe. I was trembling as I quickly kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned my blouse, slid off my skirt, unhooked my bra and dropped my panties to the floor. For the next few minutes he had me stretch and twist this way and that, displaying my lithe, nude body for the cameras. As I followed his orders I noticed a saucer of milk on the floor in front the camera directly ahead of me. Was there a kitty in here with me? I wanted to ask but was too terrified to do so.

"There is a sliver tray to your left with a black towel over it. Do you see it?"

"Yes Master."

"Remove the towel."

"Yes Master," I said as I stepped over to the credenza and picked up the towel. I gasped. Before me sat a large, pink vibrator ringed with rows of rubbery protrusions. Next to it sat a smaller black whatsit: some kind of three inch rubbery shaft. Next to that sat a small tube of KY jelly.

"Pick up the lubricant."

My heart was pounding in my chest as I obeyed. But I had made my first mistake.

"When you are addressed by a superior you will end every response with the word 'Master'. IS THAT CLEAR?" the voice reminded me. Anger charged his words.

"Yes Master. Sorry Master."

"Now lubricate your anus."

I had been assuming there would be some butt stuff during my time as a bondage girl and I had been dreading it. I'd never done anything like that before. I'd been hoping it would come up after I'd gotten used to my new lifestyle. I did not expect it to come up as the very first thing I was ordered to do. But what could I do? With another "Yes Master" I placed a generous squirt onto my finger and began swirling it around my butthole. I was surprised. It actually felt pretty good.

"Now, turn away from the camera, bend over and insert the black plug into your anus."

It was right here that I came closest to chickening out. I hesitated a moment too long and he barked the order at me more forcefully. With a simpering "Yes Master" I did as he said and bent over to push the black divot of rubber into my bottom. It felt weird and uncomfortable but also kind of sexy. Again, I was surprised.

"Now pick up the vibrator and turn it on."

"Yes Master," I said as I waddled over to the tray and took the scary pink monstrosity in my hand. I turned the knob at the back and it began to hum enthusiastically.

"Sit back on the stool with your legs open as wide as you can. Then fuck yourself with the vibrator."

"Yes..." (gulp) "...Master."

I did as ordered, opening my legs so the lips of my womanhood parted. I began slipping the knobby pink device up and down my crease, letting the buzzing thing tease me into wetness. I raised my left hand, tickling myself with my fingertips as I brought them up my torso to my breasts to linger on my soft feminine flesh and swirl around my hardening areolas. I let the purring machine drop to the gates of my sex and began to push it inside me. I felt the vibrating latex knobs as they poked and prodded my wet and sensitive flesh before slipping into my body, prying me open, filling me with wicked pleasure. Further and further, the machine disappeared inside me. I began twisting it, pumping it, rocking it back and forth to hit my g-spot as I thumbed the dial to a faster, more urgent buzz. I let a spare finger find my clit. I gasped aloud at the tsunami of pleasure I was raising within me.


I, Slave



A soft whir from the camera in front of me as it adjusted its focus temporarily interrupted my incipient orgasm. I wondered who was watching me debase myself with that obscene devise in that bland hotel room. I wondered how many eyes were looking at me squirming in pleasure atop my stool. For all I knew it might have been a live feed to millions of internet perverts all watching me while they pleasured themselves. My body felt hot at the thought of all those potential eyes drinking me in. I looked into the camera, right into it, to let them all know I was thinking about them just as they were thinking about me.

"I want you to come for me," said the voice.

"Yesss, ahhhh, Master," I was barely able to croak out as the climax took me. I came just as he had ordered it, as if his say-so was the little push that sent me into the most powerful orgasm of my young life. I shook and gasped as I struggled to stay on my perch, my own pleasure trying to pitch me to the floor as sure as a particularly ornery rodeo bull.

Finally I was done. I left the vibrator purring inside me. I had not been told I could remove it.

"Very good. You're performance pleases me."

"Thank you Master," I said with real emotion.

"You may remove the vibrator from your vagina."

"Yes Master," I said. I took it out and walked it over to the silver tray. I'd forgotten about the plug in my bottom until I moved from the stool. The voice didn't mention it, so it stayed in.

"I ask you for the second time: do you still want this position?"

"Yes Master," I sighed. Still full of post orgasmic euphoria, I felt I would do anything for that low, distorted voice.

"Very good. Now get on your hands and knees.

I did. The remotely controlled video cameras followed me to the carpet. The mysterious saucer of milk was directly before me.

"Now drink the milk in the saucer."

"Yes Master," I said. I moved forward and brought my mouth to the milk. It was a little warm. I drank it all, dipping my tongue into the opaque white fluid, slurping small mouthfuls with my pursed lips. I could hear the cameras panning up and down my naked body as I drank like an obedient pet. I began using more tongue as I stuck my ass into the air and purred with a low sensual hum. I could feel my sex growing wetter as I surrendered myself to the thrill of obedience.

"Stand up now."

"Yes Master." I stood looking steadily into the camera. I was feeling good. If all I had to do was to spend four months pleasuring myself and drinking milk like a cat this was going to be easy.

"Under the silver tray you will find a document. You are to sign it. This is your last chance to back out of this situation. Once you sign it your free will is curtailed for the duration of your employment. If you wish to back out you may do so at this time."

I went to the tray and scooted it aside. Underneath was a legal form several pages long. I picked it up and began reading it. It was the usual "party of the first part" legal mumbo jumbo and I tried to follow it but my mind was becoming disjointed. It was getting hard to focus.

"The milk you drank was drugged," announced the voice. "In a minute or two you will be unconscious. If you wish to sign the document and take the position, you should do so now. If you pass out without having signed the form you will wake up alone in this room and our offer will not be extended to you again."

"Yess Musterr," I slurred.

Panic sparked through my brain. He wanted me to sign this without reading it? My dad had a few choice words of wisdom about suckers who signed forms unread but I couldn't focus my mind to remember them. Swaying uncomfortably, I found a pen next to the silver tray and brought it to the dotted line on the last page. Biting my lip to steady myself, I signed carefully. I dropped the pen and stepped back, swaying uncomfortably on my feet as I struggled to focus on the voice's words.

"Congratulations. You are now my slave. You will be called number seventy seven and by no other name. You will answer in the appropriate manner when addressed as such. Is that clear?"

"Yessss..." I began, but the world was growing grainy and dim. I sagged onto my knees on the carpet. I was numb all over. What have I done? I thought in a last moment of clarity before my mind went dark. I tumbled forward, onto the carpet and out of my life of childish ease and freedom.

3. The (dis)Orientation

A headache woke me. Opening my eyes, I saw the rotating blades of a ceiling fan beating the air above me; beyond that, a cracked and dusty stucco ceiling. I was in a soft bed, alone in a dim room. The air was sweltering. Raising my head, I examined my room carefully. There was a crude oil painting of green fields and hills and another of a female saint. In the corner was a table with a sweaty pitcher of ice water and a glass. The sight of water made me realize my mouth and throat were painfully dry.

I climbed off the bed, poured a glass of water and drank it greedily. I drank so fast that errant drops of ice cold water escaped my lips to splash against my breasts and run down my flesh. It was only then that I realized I was nude. And it was the fact that I was nude that reminded me that I was a slave now. I looked around my room again. It was much nicer than I expected, for a slave I mean.

There was an envelope on the table next to the pitcher. The envelope said "77". I remembered that was my name -- my slave name. Feeling a little nervous at what I would find within, I opened it and removed the single typed sheet. Here's what it said:

"We regret to inform you that, upon further review, we have decided against accepting you as a member of our organization. We regret any inconvenience. A sum equivalent to your first month's pay with enough extra for taxi and airfare back to your previous life are in the center drawer of the desk by the door. Walk north on the street in front of this hotel until you get to the town square. You can get a taxi there that will take you to the airport. Good luck with your future endeavors."

"What the hell?" I said aloud. They were turning me down? Now? And where the hell was I? I opened the blinds and a small, dusty, third-world looking town sat outside baking in the sun. I spotted a faded flag flying on a crooked flag pole down the street but I didn't recognize it.

I turned back to the room and found the desk the note had referred to. I opened the center drawer and found a fat envelope. Inside was a stack of hundreds and a cashier's check for forty thousand dollars. I counted the cash it quickly. It totaled up to five thousand. Well, that was something. Not enough for Princeton, but something.

I sat back on the bed and drank another glass of water. I was confused: a little disappointed that I still didn't have enough money for college but also relieved that I wasn't going to be a sex slave for a third of a year. I wondered what had happened. Why had it been decided that I wasn't worthy? What was so wrong with me that I couldn't get anyone interested in paying me for sex? I might be tiny but I had a nice body. And I was cute. Everyone said I was cute.

And beside that, how the heck was I supposed to get home without any clothes?

I got up and poured a third glass of water before searching the room for clothes. The drawers were all empty but for a Spanish language bible. When I opened the wardrobe I found a single outfit hanging on the bar: navy blue jacket and jumper, white blouse, panties and a bra. On the bottom of the wardrobe were some patent leather shoes with a pair of white knee-highs rolled up in one of the shoes. It looked like a school girl's uniform. Perhaps that's the only kind of clothes that a bondage resort would have for a girl my size that wasn't leather or see-through; that was all I could figure.

The woozy heat of the close room was starting to get to me and having my hair resting on my neck wasn't helping so I sat and braided my straw blond locks into two ponytails. Then I put the school girl's uniform on and tucked my cash into my crotch, keeping a wad in my pocket for walking around money. After looking around the room one last time I opened to door and stepped into a dingy hallway that led to a dingy staircase down to a dingy little reception area. A milky eyed old man behind a desk watched me descend.

"Hello?" I said to him.

"Hola, senorita."

"Ummm... do you speak English?" I asked.

"Lo Siento. No hablo Ingles, senorita."

"Français?" I asked, wishing I'd taken four years of Spanish in school instead of French.

"Que?" he asked.

I sighed and walked out into the heat of the day.

I crossed the empty street to walk in the scant shade. There didn't seem to be anyone else outside: no children playing, no dogs barking, no sounds of traffic buzzing in the distance. It was a kind of eerie quiet unknown back in noisy old America. I wondered if there would really be taxis available to take me out of there. I was starting to panic a little.

As I walked I noticed a discomfort separate from the heat. My pussy ached a little. Was the pain from that oversized vibrator the voice had made me use on myself? Or had someone been "using" me when I was unconscious. I must have been unconscious a long time to get from home to wherever the heck I was. Were guys having sex with me all the while? I felt a chill despite the heat. Suddenly I was very relieved the job had fallen through. I was still bummed about Princeton but the reality of what I'd been willing to get myself into had been thrown into stark relief by that little twinge of vaginal pain.

But my ouchy lady parts and my general confusion as to what the heck was going on distracted me. I didn't even hear the van approach.

It was a white van. It was new and ran quiet. I didn't hear it approaching until it was almost along side. A pop of gravel under its wheels snapped me from my feeling of relief and pivoted my head around to see it slowing down. Honest to God, my first thought was that perhaps it was some kindly Samaritan pulling up to offer a girl a ride. That might have been the last time I ever assumed good motives in anyone.

The side door slid open quickly. Four pairs of eyes were staring at me from out of four black ski masks. They were predatory eyes. One of the masked strangers held a short shotgun. It was pointed at my face.

I looked left and right as I took a step back. Was anybody witnessing this? As I turned back to the van I saw that two of the men had jumped out and flanked me. One grabbed my arms and pulled them behind my back. The other threw a wicked punch right into my gut. I doubled over as the wind was knocked out of me. My ankles where grabbed. I was lifted and tossed into the van. The door slammed shut as the two men jumped back in. They were all laughing as the vehicle sped away.

"Please..." I began to gasp but the masked man who had punched me pulled out a huge hunting knife and held it to my throat.

"Shut up, slut," he said. He pulled off his mask.

"No..." I cried as they all removed their masks. I knew that if they were showing me their faces it was a bad sign, a terrible sign. They laughed at my mounting fear.

They were an odd set of guys. The two that had thrown me into the van were youngish and athletic; mid to late twenties, early thirties tops. The other two were doughy middle aged men. They said something to each other in German as they leered at me hungrily. That's when it struck me. I hadn't been dismissed from my prospective job, this was the job. I'd been set up to be a believably terrified plaything in the rape fantasy of these sick German jerks. You might think this made what came next easier to endure but you'd be wrong. To push oneself through the terror of what I'd been planning only to gain a last minute reprieve and then to have that reprieve ripped out from under you is disorienting and terrifying. Real fear remained clear on my face as my eyes grew wide with realization of what my new life was going to be like.

While I dealt with all this within the wailing tatters of my mind, hands were all over my flesh: ripping open my blouse to send the buttons pinging around the cabin and reaching up under my skirt to probe at my pussy. My actions were instinctual like an animal in a trap. I was screaming and begging, pleading with them to stop even though I knew they wouldn't.

One of the young ones pulled the wad of cash out of my panties and laughed as he tucked it into his pocket. The other tied my wrists together behind me with a zip tie. I cringed as the plastic bit into my flesh. I was crying now, sobbing as they handled me roughly. Penises were being pulled out of black slacks. My panties were pulled aside. Outside the lush, green countryside was flying by as the van sped through jungle clad hills. It was all so unreal.

"Shit, why do I always have to drive?" said a fifth man up front as he adjusted his review for a better view of the action in the back.

"Shut the fuck up Mark, you'll get your chance later."

I was on my knees. Someone held my bound wrists in their strong hands so my torso remained parallel to the carpeted floor. Fingers were teasing my labia, fumbling with my clitoris. I was whimpering but that only seemed to encourage them. One of the old guys was in front of me. His cock was out and it was already hard. He was slapping me in the face with it and pressing it against my tightly clenched mouth. Behind me, I could feel something firm pushing into my womanhood and filling my body with hard, thrusting flesh. There was more laughing. Some words exchanged in German.

"Open wide girlie," said a voice as something flat and metallic was held against my throat. "We'll make a brand new hole if we need to."

I opened my mouth reluctantly. Fists gripped my braids and pulled my head back as the old German's musky penis pushed past my lips and slid back along my tongue. He began pumping his cock in and out of my mouth in a rhythm disjointed from the other man taking me from behind. They spoke to each other in German in tones that left no doubt they were amused by my gasping sobs.

They started taking pictures: photos of me being skewered front and back; photos of my tear streaked face with a penis halfway in my mouth and a hand flashing a thumbs-up next to my head; close-up photos of my vagina being invaded by firm Teutonic cock.

Someone had the idea to turn me around. I struggled against them, trying to brace my trembling legs against the sides of the van, but it was hopeless. Soon I was facing the other German and his cock, now wet from my own insides, was bobbing sickly in my face. Soon I knew the taste of my own intimate depths as the stranger's tacky prick pushed into my mouth. I fought back the instinct to retch as he punished my face with a smelly fuck.

As I'd said before, I wasn't a virgin. I'd even fellated Cliff fairly frequently - it was so much safer than sex - but I'd always backed off and finished him with my hand whenever it became obvious he was getting close to climax. So when the middle aged German came in my mouth it was my first experience with the sensation of a hard cock vibrating insistently against my tongue before erupting in a slick/sticky flood of semen that filled my mouth and oozed from the corners of my lips.

"Swallow it bitch," said one of the younger, English speaking guys. I felt the flat of the knife blade press against my throat again.

I swallowed my first mouthful of semen. I gagged as I felt the vile stuff slide down my throat. There would eventually be a day when I'd crave that sensation - the ripe, salty taste, the fecund smell, the slimy feel -- but that would come later. At the time I was mortified, like I'd never be clean again. I let go a wailing sob as the now-flaccid prick dropped from my lips.

They all laughed.

The other German came inside me. I knew he hadn't worn a rubber. I imagined I could feel his sperm sluicing around in my womb, trying to get me pregnant and ruin my life the way dad had ruined my mother's. I was able to turn my head in time to see him scoot over to the side as he tucked his wet cock back into his slacks. I wondered if the two younger men would now take their turns at me. Apparently, they were wondering the same thing.

"We got time for a poke too, right?" asked one of them, the one with the icy blue eyes and heavy jaw.

"Doubt it Paolo," said the driver, Mark. "The chopper is just past this hill on the right."

"I think this little slut can manage," said the other younger guy. He had deep-set dark eyes, black curly hair and heavy five-o'clock shadow. He pulled out his cock and pointed his knife at me. "Suck us both off, slut, and be quick about it or we'll be sure to make your life a living hell."

I didn't doubt it. I opened my mouth, willing to do what they wanted if it meant a mote of safety. They laughed as they rolled me onto my back and pulled my face up towards their cocks. With none of the disquiet most men would feel about touching their privates or sharing a woman they began thrusting into my mouth together, stretching my lips with their fat heads as they pumped their pricks in tandem against my tongue.

I tried flicking my tongue against their shafts, trying to work them both to climax by sliding it between their erections, but there wasn't enough room in my overstuffed mouth. I tried pumping my face on their cocks but they grasped my blond braids and held my head tightly in place as they rammed me full. They called me horrible things as they abused me. I tried desperately to finish them. I didn't want my life to be a living hell. I'd made a mistake, a terrible, terrible mistake.

Finally the van skittered to a halt in a patch of gravel and the driver announced, "Times up!"

I had failed.

Two penises were pulled from my mouth, trailing long milky strands of precum. One of the men pushed me down against the carpeted floor and spat in my face. "You're gonna pay for your laziness you little bitch, just you wait."

I sobbed, "I'm sorry Master!"

They laughed. "We ain't your Master, slut. We're his lieutenants. You call us 'Sir'."

"Yeah, and we're the ones you need to fear. Your 'Master' is a fucking pussycat compared to us."

"Yes Sir," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"OK," said the blue eyed lieutenant. "Let's get this bitch ready for her ride."

They all laughed wickedly. My stomach turned.

A bag was pulled over my head and I was tossed out into the gravel. I was dragged a few feet and rolled over, face down in warm grass. My legs were held tight in strong hands as some kind of heavy braces were clamped around each of my calves. I didn't struggle. I knew it was pointless. Finally I was left alone, still lying in the grass.

I heard a helicopter power up and the blades of its rotors begin to whoosh through the air above me. I wondered when they'd load me on the vehicle. But as the downdraft began to beat at me violently and pull at my clothes they still hadn't picked me up. Then I could hear the chopper start to rise without me. Could they have forgotten? I felt a tug on my legs; a powerful pull that dragged me through the grass for a few feet before lifting me up into the air. The sack on my head fell away and I watched in horror as it fluttered down towards the rapidly retreating ground. The chopper banked towards the sea and I swung in a wide arch over the boundary of the green land and the blue water. I looked up and saw that the thick nylon cords holding my legs fastened to the struts under the helicopter.

As we raced out over the water, my shrieks mingled with the roar of the helicopter. Upside down and facing backwards, I watched as the land shrank away.

4. The Arrival

It's hard to judge time and distance when you're hanging upside down over the sea while the downdraft of a helicopter is pummeling your skin and tearing at your clothes. If I had to guess the distance of the flight I would say it felt like seven hundred million miles. If I had to guess how long it took, I would say two lifetimes. Whatever the truth of the matter, by the time it was over I was a different person. I knew pure terror and I was willing to do whatever it took to avoid it in the future. I just wanted to survive and I was beginning to doubt that I would.




I, Slave



I was, in short, ready to be a slave.

My hands were still tied behind me. After a short time aloft, the blouse and blazer of my ersatz schoolgirl uniform were pushed down by the wind and were snapping like tattered flags around my shoulders. My skirt beat my thighs raw until it ripped free and fluttered away down into the sea. After the green land had turned into a blue smear on the horizon and, finally, an indistinct gray line, the deep blue water beneath me grew lighter and greener. Suddenly, it gave way to sand and trees.

The pilot flew low over the land. I lived from breath to breath as I waited to be torn in half by a tall palm or dashed against an outcropping of rock. But when we banked over a clearing the resort compound -- my new home - finally swung into view below.

I saw a loose cluster of low buildings; all one or two stories tall with red tile roofs and stucco exteriors. Lawns and gardens filled the spaces between the structures and a jungle of palm trees ringed the area. On one of the bigger lawns, I saw a ring of people awaiting my arrival. There were about a dozen of them standing in the bright sun with a smaller group off to the side lounging under a canopy. The ring of people didn't look up as they cowered and shielded their faces from the helicopter's downdraft. I realized as we drew closer that they were women, nude women, awaiting my arrival. As I was lowered into their center they approached me and took me in their hands. I kicked at my leg braces as they released me at last.

I looked up, wanting to gaze into the other girl's faces, eager for a sly look or a gentle nod to let me know "Oh, it's not so bad. This is all just for show." But the empty eyes of the other women avoided mine entirely. They held me fast so I couldn't move at all. A raven haired woman with cold gray eyes approached. Her body was that of a goddess, with hard-sculpted abs and big, round breasts. She wore a see-though black mesh bodysuit and walked up gracefully in wicked black heels; no small feat on the soft lawn.

"You are Seventy-Seven?" she said tersely.

"Yes."

Her hands hand been at her side as she walked up and I hadn't noticed the riding crop. With a quick swish she snapped it up between my legs. I cried out in pain. A dozen feminine hands held me tighter as I squirmed.

"I am to be addressed as Mistress Black!"

"Yes, Mistress Black."

"What is your name, slave?"

"Seventy-Seven, Mistress Black."

"Open your mouth."

I obeyed. A plastic ball was shoved between my teeth. She leaned in to reach around my head and strap it on tightly. Her breasts pushed into my face as she did so. She regarded me coldly when she finished.

"The hood," she said to someone over my left shoulder and a black cloth bag was pulled down over my head.

My legs were bound tightly together and I was lifted and carried away. I felt the sun give way to shade and the hot, damp air give way to cool and dry as I was brought inside. I was placed on a thin cushion and I felt myself being enclosed in a box or casket. After the terrible noise of the ride over the sea it seemed so impossibly quiet. I sobbed briefly before falling asleep. I was completely exhausted.

I was awaked by the sound of whatever box I was in being opened. Strong masculine hands grabbed my arms and lifted me up. My ankles and wrists where unbound, my tattered clothes cut away until I was naked but for my hood and ball-gag.

I stood for a long time naked and hooded with my arms at my side. I heard no sound. Nothing kept me from moving. Nothing kept me from lifting my hood and peeking at my surroundings. But I was terrified and I was determined to do nothing until given permission or ordered directly. I did NOT want another upside down helicopter ride.

Time passed. I have no idea how much. Finally I heard a sigh in front of me and a voice spoke. It was a smooth baritone with a classy English accent. "Very pleasing. I think the girl is nearly broken. Wouldn't you agree, One?"

A woman's voice answered from behind me. A haughty contralto, it too was flavored with a pleasant English lilt. "Yes Master. She is most certainly ready."

"Very well. Let's see her face."

The bag was pulled from my head. I was in a dimly lit room paneled in mahogany, furnished in sienna leather and trimmed in gold. Before me sat a middle aged man sitting in a carved ebony throne and swaddled in a red satin robe. He was a big man, tall and thickly built. His head was shaven bald but his feathery gray eyebrows and elaborate curled mustaches made up for the deficit of hair on his scalp. His eyes were a piercing deep turquoise blue. They fixed me with an intense gaze.

"She's a pretty one. A little disheveled from the ride over, but she'll clean up nicely," he said. "Wouldn't you agree, One?"

The woman strode around in front of me. She had long straight hair so blond it was almost white. She wore a white bustier and white corset attached to sheer white hose by lacy white garters. Her shoes were white high heeled pumps. She wore no panties and her bare pubis showed a "I" tattooed in the dead center. She inspected me coldly while nodding her reluctant approval.

"So young... poor thing," said One with a dry laugh. "She'll be quite busy."

"Take her gag off," ordered the Master.

"One" unbuckled my ball gag. It felt so good to close my mouth again.

"What is your name?" asked One.

"I am Seventy-Seven, Mistress...," I made a guess at what to call this woman. Since the other Mistress was Mistress Black the choice seemed obvious. "Mistress White."

"Oh. We've got a clever one."

"Yes. Apparently she was something of a scholar," said the Master. "I certainly hope she doesn't get any smart ideas that might get her into trouble."

"Well, I for one hopes she gets into a little trouble. She looks delightful to punish. See how meek she is. She's about to tremble out of her own skin."

"Do not bore me with your wishes, One," growled the Master. "Just teach the new slave her positions so we may begin."

Mistress White had a riding crop, of course, and she wasn't afraid to use it as she brusquely showed me the basic positions of subservience. They were, basically: kneeling at ease, kneeling at attention, on hands and knees, forehead on floor with my butt in the air, on my back with my legs cast wide and a few variations of the previously listed poses. She taught me the positions and then barked orders for me to swap from one to the other as the Master watched intently. As always, I was a quick study.

"Very good, number One. Very, very good, Seventy-Seven. One might think you were born for this life."

I said nothing, I remained in the sitting kneeling position - "at ease", as it was called - with my eyes cast low. Mistress White snapped her riding crop across my breasts. "The Master has bestowed a complement on you. Thank him, you stupid girl!" she barked.

"Thank you Master. Very much, Master."

Master explained the rules of the resort. Essentially, it was this: I was to live to please him and what pleased him most was if his guests were pleased. I was to do whatever was ordered by the guests unless specifically instructed to do otherwise by The Master. The hierarchy at the resort was The Master at the top, then the guests, the two Mistresses and the four male lieutenants. Below all those people were the slaves like me. We were to do as we were told and keep quiet unless directly addressed. There was one other category of people around the resort, "the help" - gardeners, handymen, chefs, etc - but to us they did not exist. We were not to interact with them nor they with us. Never.

Master said that punishments would be severe and inventive. He said no more about that.

"Do you understand, Slave Seventy-Seven?"

"Yes Master. Thank you Master."

"Very good. One, get her ready."

Mistress White -- "One", as Master called her - ordered me into the position she called "present". It was the one where I rest on my elbows on a table, chair or whatever with my feet on the floor, my legs straight and wide. She had me "present" on a deeply padded ottoman so my butt was sticking way up into the air. The muscles in my legs, still sore from the flight over, ached as they stretched and strained to accept this new position. 

She began pouring warm oil onto my bottom, rubbing it into my skin and dipping her fingers inside my anus. Starting with a slick finger she probed into me then added more fingers as I squirmed silently beneath her invasion. The sensation was uncomfortable but also more than a little enticing. My mind reeled in a confused and impotent panic.

She backed off and moved around to stand over the ottoman where I rested my weight on my forearms and chin. I looked up. She was grinning at me with a wicked smirk. Before I could anticipate what new humiliations they were planning for me, she was throwing a leg over the ottoman to sit directly in front of me. Her bare vulva parted for me as she scooted up to my face. I could see and smell that she was wet.

A cupped palm slapped across my ass. I squirmed in terror. I knew what was coming. Sure enough, Master said, "Taste your Mistress, Seventy-Seven."

I hesitated. I'd never, never done anything like that before. Sure, my best friend Julie and I used to practice kissing when we were kids - what girl hasn't? - but that had been innocent exploration. To put my mouth on another woman's sex, well, it was a horrifying step. However Mistress White was not interested in my reluctance. She brought her riding crop behind my head and pulled me into her silky folds.

"You might was well learn to love this, slave. You'll be doing a lot of it," she said as my lips met hers.

So I began my first foray into cunnilingus. I kissed her lightly on her vulva but that was not enough for my Mistress. She reached forward and snapped me hard on my upturned ass with her riding crop as she faulted my technique. I extended my tongue and began tracing her labia and the damp creases between. Her pussy smelled of incipient sex and feminine desire, much like my recent taste of my own moisture on the German's cock. She cooed her approval as my tongue roamed her increasingly slippery folds. I moved to her clit and began working around and across it with my lips and tongue, doing what I thought might feel good for her. She melted back into the cushion of the ottoman; the silent shuddering of her body against my tongue was all the encouragement I required as I grew rapidly more invested in the business of granting pleasure to my superiors.

Thick fingers were on my womanhood: playing with my lips, testing my surprising wetness, dipping into my body and tickling up from my vagina to my anus. My hips swayed and rocked back as I gave myself over to the storm of pleasure. When Master's manhood entered my sex I came with a suddenness that shocked me. But when Master laughed and gently patted my bottom, it was as if God himself had smiled on me.

"Yes," he said. "She'll do quite well."

Master didn't grace my vagina with his presence for very long. Soon he was pushing at my sphincter with his fat, hard cock. I gasped in fear as he began to force me open. I nearly forgot to attend to Mistress White's clit as I struggled to accept him into my guts, but she corrected my lapse with a sharp slap of her riding crop across my lower back. I redoubled my efforts on her clit as Master pried me open with his shaft. Finally he began pumping into me more easily. From what was a blur of pain and discomfort a spectrum of intense pleasure bloomed within me. I felt myself slipping towards another climax. When he began spanking me with hard strokes of his hand while he penetrated me vigorously it was too much. I came again.   "She comes so easily, this one," said my Master with bemusement.

My Master climaxed. Seizing up suddenly and grasping my hips in both strong hands, his breath caught in his throat and his body rocked into me as he pumped my colon full of his essence. Mistress White held me firmly against her pubis as Master pumped the last of his shuddering pleasure into my body. When he was finished he backed away. Mistress White told me to stand as she pulled herself up off the ottoman.

"Clean her up and get her ready," said Master. I looked at him with big eyes, looking for another morsel of approval but he was cold now. He turned and left the room as he pulled on his robe.

"Pay attention slave," barked Mistress White as she hit me across the ass. "It's almost time for your initiation."

5. The Grooming

Mistress White walked me out through a set of heavy wooden doors and down a short hallway decorated to match The Master's chambers. We approached a lieutenant in black leather slacks and a tight black tee-shirt who stood on guard at the end of the corridor. He was one of the men from the van, the one with the dark eyes and black, curly hair. He smirked knowingly at Mistress White. She ignored him.

"Did the Big Guy notice we reserved first poke in the ass for him this time?"

"You haven't been fired, Ian," said Mistress White coldly. "So I suppose he must've."

Lieutenant Ian opened his mouth but thought better of it and said nothing. As we passed him and entered the room beyond I could feel his eyes boring into me, sizing me up for another foray into my flesh at some later time. My stomach gave a little lurch when I realized that I would have no recourse to stop him or his comrades when they came for me.

The room beyond was circular and dimly lit. Around the outer wall was a series of small, barred cages. They were all empty right now. Towards the center were racks and boxes and chains and what looked like iron grated lids to couple of dark oubliettes beneath the floor.

Mistress Black was waiting for us. She was lounging on a red suede chaise and reading a leather-bound book. On either side of the chaise, two nude women knelt at attention on the floor, facing away from her. They looked me over without emotion. One was a big-boned dirty blonde with a small face in a large head. The other was a scrawny, flat-nosed Asian with dull, inattentive eyes. Each had a little tattoo on their bare pubis. Big Bones had a "LXXI"; Flat Nose had a "LXVIII".

"Here's the new one," said Mistress White. "She's pretty obedient but she's clever, so watch her close."

Mistress Black hadn't looked up. She finished what she was reading and put the book down slowly. She said, "Clever? We'll just see about that."

"Stand up Twenty-Two," sneered White. "You may be a Mistress but I still outrank you." 

Black stood slowly. Her face was insolent but her voice obsequious. "As you command, Mistress White."

They stared at each other. White took two steps forward and slapped Black hard across the face. "I will have your respect," she said. Big Bones and Flat Nose cowered where they knelt, terrified the argument might end up involving them somehow.

Black lowered herself to her knees. "I apologize, my Mistress."

White put a foot forward. "My heel, Twenty-Two."

Black said nothing. She lowered herself to the floor and began wrapping her tongue around White's wickedly lofty heel. She licked and kissed it like she was fellating the thing.

"Enough," said White, pushing Black's face away with the tip of her pump. "You have work to do," she said nodding towards me. "Do it." She turned and left the room.

Mistress Black didn't get up off the floor until White was gone. As she rose she fixed me with a fierce stare. Her pale gray eyes looked almost white in the dim light. Her glare made me look away. On her feet again, she towered above me. She began walking in a tight orbit around me and extended a wickedly manicured fingernail to scratch latitudinal lines in my skin as she slowly circled me. The sensation provoked goose bumps across my flesh.

"She thinks she's in charge because she's Master's little princess," she said. "But I'm the one you need to worry about. She's too soft with you pigs, but not me. I run this stable and if you don't jump when I order you to, you are going to have a very hard life here. Do you understand that, Pig?"

"Yes, Mistress Black," I said. I tried to keep my voice from trembling.

"So, why are you here, Pig?"

"I need money for College, Mistress. Princeton, Mistress," I added proudly, stupidly.

"And you really think you're going to get out of here someday?" she asked softly.

I threw a panicked look at her. I saw the corner of her mouth twitch with a curtailed grin. Was she toying with me?

"If it pleases my Mistress," I said, looking straight ahead while struggling to keep my cool.

"Hmf," she grunted. She turned to the two kneeling women and said "Douche; enema; now!" They scurried off.

As I squirmed at the idea of those two douching me and giving me an enema, Mistress Black grabbed my jaw and pulled my face to hers. She spoke with spittle flecked intensity, saying, "I already don't like you lil' Miss Ivy League. You think you've got a great little plan, and you're just passing through on your way to some Princeton Paradise but you're too stupid to realize how far in over your head you are."

I tried looking fierce as I stared back but I felt a mounting anxiety welling up within me. When she held up a rubber contraption - a ball gag with a thick, veiny phallus projecting forward - I cowered back a step. She laughed. "Open your stupid mouth," she ordered.

I did as I was told. I accepted the dildo-ball-gag as she strapped it to my head. She sank down onto her chaise lounge, threw her legs wide and ordered me onto my hands and knees. I dared not resist as she pulled me to her. I watched in dreadful close-up as the shaft sticking from my mouth was guided into Mistress Black's gaping vagina. The wet, ruby-tinged flaps of her vulva slapped into my face as she began fucking me lustily. My nose was positioned perfectly to prod her clitoris on each thrust and she rode me to one vocal orgasm after another. Soon her thick, silky juices were running down my face and neck, dripping from my jaw line, streaking my breasts with rivulets of glossy slime.

Meanwhile, behind me, the two other slaves were cleaning me from the inside out. The douche wasn't so bad but I had to struggle desperately not to let go of gut-busting enema as Black wrapped her legs around my head and rode my face to a third orgasm. When she finally pushed me away and my two fellow slaves guided me to a chamber pot where I could release my bowels, the relief felt as divine as any orgasm.

"Very well," said Mistress Black to two slaves. "Take that thing out of her mouth. It's time for her bath."

The two slaves removed my gag and pulled me to my feet. As Mistress Black barked orders they bound me. My wrists were tied together in front of me, hooked to a cord hanging from the ceiling and hoisted up over my head. Leather cuffs were then attached to each of my ankles. The left was shackled to a ring bolt in the floor. The right was fastened to another strap hanging from the ceiling. This was raised until my leg was suspended above the level of my hips. It took a fearsome degree of concentration to keep for losing my balance. It was like yoga except that Mistress Black kept snapping me in the ass, breasts and vulva with a slim, yard long bamboo cane. It was painful. I clenched my tongue in my teeth to keep from crying out. Occasionally I tasted blood.

Trapped in that awkward position, I was bathed. The two girls soaped and rinsed every inch of my body with large sea-sponges and soapy, lavender scented water. Their touches on my quivering, straining muscles were pleasurable and mixed strangely with the awful cramps that were clawing up and down my legs. When Mistress Black snapped me in the back of my left knee with her cane, it buckled. I was left hanging in my bonds as she shouted at me, struck me and called me a clumsy pig. The other girls had to help me back onto my foot.




I, Slave



Next, still balanced in that horrible position, the two slaves started lathering my legs, pussy and armpits. Mistress Black produced a straight edged razor and held it up for me to see.

"Now hold still you stupid girl. If I accidently kill you I might get into trouble."

"Yes, Mistress Black," I grunted as every muscle in my body went taught in dreadful anticipation.

I concentrated with mind-numbing effort on remaining motionless as I was shaved. Mistress Black took her time, careful removing every hint of stubble with the long, sharp blade. Up and down my legs and across my armpits she scraped the lather off with practiced care. She finished by shaving my pussy bald. She never nicked me once. When she finished I was weeping silently.

Finally she gave the order I'd been hoping for: "Let her down." The tension on the straps was released and I dropped to the floor.

I was stood up and "clothed". White, thigh-high stockings were pulled onto my legs. White high heels were strapped onto my feet. That was it. I was ordered to kneel at attention and Mistress Black applied my makeup herself as the two slaves brushed out my hair. I expected Mistress Black would apply the makeup to a slutty effect, but her efforts were very subtle. If anything I looked even younger than usual.

The girls put a collar around my neck. A leash was attached to the back of the collar and run down the length of my back, through my ass crack and pussy. Mistress Black jerked me forward and I was led through a door and down a down a flight of steps. I had some difficulty with the four inch heels, especially with the leash biting into my delicate under parts. Mistress Black berated me for my clumsiness as I tottered along.

We followed a long, bland corridor to a small room with a round dais in which were planted two erect steel poles; they were about two yards tall and a yard and a half apart. At the top and base of each pole were shackles. I was strapped in by my wrists and ankles. My two fellow slaves didn't say a word to me as they turned and left the room. The lights went off. I was left alone and nude, tied spread eagle to the poles in the pitch black room. 

And I waited...

6. The Initiation

Time passed. One thing about being bound - whether it's simply manacled to a headboard or suspended upside down from the ceiling in an elaborate lattice of nylon cord - is that time loses meaning. Over the course of my slave career I can't tell you how many eternities I've spent tied up one way and another. Eventually, a good slave learns to deal with that weird temporal limbo and let the dull ache of physical constraint flow through you as you hold your mind in a zen state of stillness. Some poor girls never master the trick. They get twitchy, weird... sometimes they go completely nuts. Thank God I'd done so much yoga and gymnastics; it had given me a degree of mental and physical discipline that helped me endure. Sometimes I think that was the only thing that saved my sanity.

But as I waited alone in the dark on that first day, I was too panicked and the experience was still too new. I desperately tried to convince myself that Mistress Black was just trying to frighten me but when I began to wonder how anyone at home would find me, I realized the depth of my predicament. It was solely up to Master whether or not I would ever be free again. I cursed myself for my stupid, stubborn rush into this situation.

Eventually I wore myself out with worry and just hung there, waiting for something to happen. When, after I don't know how many hours, the ceiling groaned and began to slide apart I screamed in surprise.

I could hear a chuckle drift down from above.

"I hope my new acquisition's timidity doesn't discourage any of you gentlemen," said Master with a wry smile evident in his voice. That provoked several male belly laughs from his audience.

I looked up. After so long in the dark, the light flooding down onto me seemed impossibly bright. As I felt the platform begin to rise I looked around in a terrified squint. What horror next awaited me?

As I rose through the floor I could see my audience. Half a dozen men of various ages and races sat back in comfortable chairs watching me with critical eyes as more and more of my body came into view. By each man sat a slave girl, obediently kneeling at attention or, in one case, slowly fellating their Master d'jour. To my right The Master stood dressed in a black leather harness, his thick powerful body on display to intimidating effect. He looked tall and severe as he watched me rise to meet him. I didn't see the whip in his right hand.

With a soft clank, the platform stopped rising. Master turned towards the semi-circle of men and spoke. "Gentlemen, I am proud to present my newest recruit." Master paused for effect. I blushed from head to toe as every eye into the room inspected me. "She's an American girl. Not two days ago she was full of high spirits and bright dreams for the future. Now she is a mere fuck toy, worth only whatever pleasure you can derive from her subtle young body. Today, I invite you to witness her final transformation into my slave. Today, her last remaining shreds of will and hope will be scourged from her psyche. Are you ready to begin gentlemen?"

There was nodding from the men.

But, at last, I broke. "Please, no..." I pleaded.

"As you gentlemen can see, she is still not fully trained," said Master. In a swift movement, his arm flashed up and the cruel swipe of a whip's long leather lash bit across my breasts. I howled in pain.

"Please..." I sobbed.

He lashed me again, twice. I remained quiet that time. Two parallel welts rose across my heaving breasts, one across my ass.

Master turned back to his small audience. "Now that you've seen the goods, does anyone wish to change their final bid?"

Two men raised their hands. One was a pale, scrawny and greasy little man with thick round glasses and a limp comb-over, the other was rotund and hairy with swarthy skin and cruel hawk-eyes. Mistress White walked by and accepted folded sheets of paper from them.

Bids? I thought as I started to grow hysterical. He's selling me? I jerked my wrists and ankles against my manacles, trying against hope to escape, heedless of the fact that I didn't know any detail of where I was or how to get home. "No! Don't sell me. Please!" I wailed aloud again even though I knew I would be punished.

I was. His next flick of the whip lashed up between my legs and almost made me pass out from pain. I kept quiet after that except for the occasional sob.

Master turned to me. He looped the lash of his whip in his hand and prodded me in the abdomen with the pommel. "Say your name slave."

I broke down crying. I had a name, a real name. I wanted to shout it, to insist on my humanity, but I was so scared.

"WHAT IS YOUR NAME SLAVE?" Master demanded with a shout. He let the whip uncoil again and drew his arm back to strike me again.

"Seventy-Seven!" I cried out, adding hastily: "Master."

"Yes," he said calmly as he let his arm relax once gain. "Very good. You accept your name, slave?"

"Yes... Yes Master," I said. I could feel a dense slick of panic sweat flowing across my skin now.

"And you accept it forever?"

"Yes Master." I said weakly.

"Very good, Seventy-Seven," he said patting me gently on the cheek. Without turning he called out: "Twenty-Two!"

Mistress Black strode up with some kind of scary looking device on a sliver tray. It looked like a fountain pen crossed with a gun. The Master took it in hand and dropped to a knee in front of me. "This will hurt, dear." he said gently as he brought the thing to my pubis. Every muscle in my body tensed up.

I felt burning trail of fire being etched into my bare mound as he tattooed my new name onto me: "LXXVII". I wept as he marked me. The permanence of it shattered something within me forever. There was no turning back now. He moved around me to make the same mark in the small of my back. When I looked up and caught Mistress Black's eye she was giving me a taunting smile. I told you so, it seemed to say.

When he was done The Master moved around me again to speak to our audience. "Now gentlemen, we get to what you've been waiting for. Number One, who has won the auction?"

"Mr. Blue," said Mistress White. (As I would eventually find out, the usual policy at the resort was to use a guest's cabin as his name. The cabins were Blue, Red, Green, Black, Orange, Grey and Brown. Almost no one used their real names at the resort.)

There was a smattering of applause as the pale, scrawny little man with thick round glasses and a limp comb-over rose and bowed. Master beckoned him to come up to the dais and join us.

The Master turned to look at me. He said, "Mr. Blue has paid quite a bit of money to assist me with your transformation, Seventy-Seven. Don't you think you ought to thank him?" As he spoke his deep blue eyes held me, bored into me. His face was tight and glowering but his eyes held a special gift. Deep in the intricate weave of blue flecked with iridescent green that were his irises, a gentle psychic caress of understanding reached up and touched me. It's OK, he seemed to be saying. Trust me. It was a thin, tenuous lifeline to sanity and I clutched at it greedily from the depths of my hopelessness.

"Thank you very much, Master Blue," I said in a tiny, almost sub-vocal, voice. "Thank you for helping me."

The Master smiled. He liked my response. He liked me. I felt my heart flutter at this morsel of approval.

Mr. Blue blushed as his nostrils flared and his fingers twitched.

Mistress Black appeared again with her silver tray. This time there was a cloth on the tray and on that cloth were six heavy-duty, surgical steel needles. When I saw them I cowered back against my shackles. Mr. Blue giggled slightly as he saw my eyes pop wide in fear anew. He smiled a gummy smile.

It began. Master talked Mr. Blue through the process. As directed, he took my left nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I squirmed at his touch and at all the eyes watching him touch me. When my Master told him to squeeze my sensitive bud of pink skin I squirmed harder. I clenched my teeth, determined not to cry out or embarrass my Master. I tried, but I failed. When Mistress Black picked up the first steel needle and handed it to Mr. Blue a gasp escaped me. Then I lost control again.

"No," I begged uselessly. "Please don't. Please. I'll do anything. I'll do anything for you. Pleeeease..."

I was a bad slave, but Master let me beg. When I looked for pity from Mr. Blue I could see my terror had only aroused him.

He brought the tip of the needle to the base of my nipple. He poked me slightly and I cried out more from dread than from pain. Mr. Blue's forehead oozed sweat. His breathing was shallow and his pupils dilated as he continued. He pushed harder and the sharp steel lanced into my tender flesh. I screamed as I saw a fat bead of blood form on my nipple and run down my breast and abdomen. Mr. Blue paused, savoring the act. Slowly - so terribly slowly - he pushed it through, savoring each slight twitch of progress as he impaled my nipple on the shining spike. I wailed and begged, out of my head like an animal in a trap. Finally he was finished and a four inch steel needle stood imbedded through my nipple with twin seeps of deep red spawning a steady bloody trickle down my trembling body.

"Five to go, my dear," said The Master. I looked into his eyes for mercy. There was none, just an understanding that it had to be this way. I didn't understand, but I believed him. I braced for the next spike.

Mr. Blue went even slower piercing my right nipple and I whimpered and sobbed just as badly as I did for the first needle. After my nipples, my legs were unbound. Several girls were summoned to spread them wide for Mr. Blue to do my clit and labia. I passed out briefly when he pierced my clit. Mistress Black slapped me and spit in my face until I roused. I whimpered pathetically as they did my lips. I could feel the blood dribbling down my thighs as they let my feet drop back to the floor.

Finally, I was ordered to present my tongue to Mr. Blue. He took the tip between his fingers and thumb and readied himself to pierce me one last time. I held myself still as he tortured me with the slowest impalement yet. My eyes were blurry with tears as he stepped away but I could see he seemed deeply satisfied as he slouched back to his seat, his movements almost sleepy.

Mistress Black assisted Mistress White as she removed the needles and replaced them with surgical steel rings in my clit, labia and nipples. A stud was put through the hole in my tongue. A slender silver chain was attached between my nipples and from each nipple to my clit. It all hurt. Oh God it hurt.

I was left hanging between my posts with my body streaked with blood and crisscrossed by slender metal chains. But still, I was not done. 

Mistress Black strutted out with a piece of equipment. I stared at it in disbelief and terror. It was a low stool, only twelve inches high, but embedded in the center of the seat was a horrific iron phallus: nine inches tall, two and a half wide and girded with studs. I knew it was for me. When I was released from my shackles I felt no relief.

I was guided over the stool and told to sit. I lowered myself gingerly towards the shaft until Mistress Black got behind me and forced me down. My body protested as the cruel device filled me and pried me wide. When all of it was embedded deep within me Mistress Black bound my wrists together behind me and my ankles to two of the opposing legs of the stool. She moved around front and got to her hands and knees. I felt a click as she fastened a latch at the base of the studded iron dildo to my new clit ring. I whimpered in discomfort. Then the phallus started vibrating. I gasped as pleasure began to swamp the aching pain.

"Gentlemen," announced Master in a booming voice. "I present you with my newest delight, number Seventy-Seven."

There was applause, hearty applause. They liked me. I tried to look up at them but the pain from my new piercings and the pleasure from the vibrating seat were too much. I could not focus.

"Please, gentlemen, bestow your blessings on this slave. Join me in her baptism," said The Master. I looked at him though eyes that threatened to roll back into my head in the mounting ecstasy blossoming through my body. I saw he had his penis in his hand. It was so long, so fat; it reminded me of the iron shaft on my stool that now purred inside me. He was stroking it, offering it for me to take into my mouth. I did, doing my best to avoid the dull ache from my newly pierced tongue. He moved aside and pulled his manhood from my mouth. To my surprise I saw the other men now ringed me in, each with his cock in his hand, all stroking eagerly at my face. I gasped when I realized what they were up to.

They took turns at my face, pushing their cocks back into my mouth, fucking my face for a few strokes then letting the next man have a turn. Eventually my mouth was left empty and there was only a panorama of hands and cocks undulating before me. Mistress White was behind me; her fingers reaching into my mouth and prying my jaw open for the flood. With a twitch the first cock erupted and sprayed Mistress White and me with long jets of sticky, stringy sperm. Then another splashed back into my mouth and along my nose; then another and another. Soon my face was a glossy white mask of spunk. My eyes burned from the semen that seeped between my eyelids. My tongue was awash in the cum of half a dozen men. 

Blinded by the flows of genetic ooze, I felt feminine mouths roaming my flesh as my fellow slaves were set upon me to suck the jism from my skin and pass it into my mouth with frothy soul kisses. I choked back my disgust and drank mouthful after mouthful of the slimy mixture of semen, spit, sweat and blood. However, the pungent stink of sex and the feel of all those mouths working across my flesh inflamed my desire. Finally, the gentle tugging on my clit as I twisted gingerly on the purring iron dildo brought me to climax. Strands of pale filth stretched between my lips as I opened my mouth to groan. I shuddered on my stool, coming vividly and reluctantly as they all watched.

I heard the clapping fading away. My performance had been a hit. I looked up at The Master, searching for a look of approval, a nod, anything...

I wanted to be a good slave.

7. The Courtyard

I was left impaled on the purring stool as the men relaxed and enjoyed the spectacle of me desperately riding out orgasm after orgasm. The other slaves fetched cocktails and fed their masters hors d'oeuvres as the men laughed and placed large bets how long I'd last between climaxes. I fought back the urge to beg as the overwhelming waves of pleasure became a kind of torture. I bore it as best I could, like a good slave.

Finally the little party broke up and men began leaving with their girls in tow, retiring to their cabins for long nights of degradation and cruelty. One man stayed behind to speak privately to The Master. He was a hefty bald man with skin an impossibly dark shade of blue-black. They spoke in low tones. I could see by their glances and gestures they were discussing me. Finally they shook hands and Master summoned two of his lieutenants. He pointed at me as he spoke softly to them.

The Master and the dark man left and I was alone with the two lieutenants. It was the same two who'd pulled me into the van that morning. I suddenly realized I hadn't even spent an entire day in captivity yet. I was so tired. I felt like I had already lived a lifetime in bondage.

The lieutenant with the blue eyes and the heavy jaw, Paolo, turned off the purring phallus with a remote control as the other began to free me from the stool. I gasped a thank you but they only laughed.

"You wouldn't be thanking us if you knew what was coming next," said Lieutenant Paolo.

I whimpered involuntarily.

I was stood up. The lieutenants kept hold of my arms as my cramped legs struggled to bear my weight. A leash was attached to my collar and I was pushed stumbling down a series of richly paneled and decorated halls. The art works hanging on the walls were surprising enough to penetrate the weary panic of my mind. I think I saw what looked like a Klee, a Modigliani, a Turner, a Rembrandt. In any other situation I would have been thrilled to be in the same room with such a collection of great works. But as it was, I was mostly dreading what would be awaiting me at my eventual destination.

Finally I was thrust through a door into the open night air. I was in a courtyard about three yards to a side and paved in old, mossy bricks. In the center of the courtyard was a circular drain. Above, a quarter moon bathed the scene in ghostly light.

"Knees!" ordered the dark eyed lieutenant. I obeyed, getting onto my aching knees more rapidly that was comfortable as the other lieutenant walked up with an armful of rope.

I was bound again. My ankles and wrists all tied together behind me as I knelt on the hard paving stones of the courtyard floor. I was order to keep my thighs open. I adjusted my stance so my sex was fully visible to the watching lieutenants. Then they slipped a fat metal ring into my mouth and strapped it to my head. I bit down on the ring. It held my mouth wide open like a bite guard.

"OK slave, give us your tongue," said Ian, the dark eyed lieutenant.

I hesitated, looking up at them with wide, reluctant eyes. My tongue still hurt: a lot. I didn't want to give it to them.

Paolo pulled a pair of fold-down pliers from his back pocket and unfurled it in front of my face. "OK, bitch. I don't mind doing it the hard way, if that's what you want," he said.




I, Slave



I thrust my tongue out for him. They laughed.

"Well, I have this out now," he said, snapping the pliers twice. "Might as well use it."

I tasted the tang of oiled metal as he clamped it down on the tip of my tongue. I squirmed as he withdrew a long slender chain from his pocket and hooked one end to my tongue stud. He left the length of the chain hanging down my body from my mouth to the courtyard floor. It hurt.

"Perfect," said Paolo.

"Have fun, slut," laughed Ian.

Then they left.

I waited. Again, I don't know how long. I watched the moon shadows slide across the courtyard as I listened to the frogs and insects raise a riot of noise from the surrounding countryside. The sounds of nature helped. I focused on the slow rising and falling patterns of the metallic whirring of some particularly loud critter. My mind fell away, my pain subsided. I raised my face to the sky and got lost in the stars. As the ache in my muscles blurred into a kind of numbness, my mind expanded to fill the galaxy from one arm to the other. I gasped at the transcendence of the moment. It was my first experience with the intense mental freedom born of physical bondage. Sadly, it did not last long.

The door opened and the fat, blue-black skinned man stepped into the courtyard. With his dark blue pajamas and tinted glasses, he was barely visible in this light. The glowing ember at the end of his cigar was the only sure reference point by which to judge his approach. I watched it come nearer with intense trepidation.

He stood over me and took a drag on his cigar. He reached down with his chubby hand and grasped the tongue chain where it dangled between my breasts. With a deep laugh he pulled it forward, yanking my tongue forward. I winced as my eyes flashed wide in pain. He fumbled with his pajamas and pulled his cock free. Darker still than the flesh of his face and hands, it was a shape only suggested by a dim outline in the black night. I noticed he was flaccid. Holding his cock lightly in his giant paw he rocked back on his heals and widened his stance. I realized what he was up to but there was nothing I could do.

When his stream of urine hit me, I instinctually tried to recoil but the chain hooked to my tongue held me in check. He laughed as the stinging, stinking patter of his piss rained down on my helplessly upturned face and filled my mouth. I clamped my eyes tight and moaned helplessly from far back in my throat. He played with his stream as it petered out, splashing my hair and tits as his strong torrent decreased to weak spurts. I looked up at him with pathetic eyes as he tucked his penis back into his fly. As a goodbye of sorts he spat in my face and pushed me over on my side onto the urine soaked flagstones of the courtyard.

But do you know what? I didn't cry. As disgusted as I was; as mortified, shocked, and saddened as I felt, I did not break down. I lay next to the drain in a slowing retreating puddle of acrid piss and let the night and the buzzing sounds of nature swallow me up again. I was a slave. This was my life now. There was no point in getting maudlin about it, right?

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew the two lieutenants were standing over me and one of them was striking me on the butt with his foot, the force of something between and nudge and a kick. 

"Wake up slut," said one of them. I could tell by the voice it was Lieutenant Ian.

I felt the tension relax from the knots tying my wrists and ankles together. I wanted to curl up into a ball and go back to sleep, to escape this nightmare even if it meant sleeping all night on urine soaked bricks. But strong hands grabbed my wrists and hauled me to my feet.

"Sleeping in piss, huh?" asked Paolo as he rebound by wrists in front of me. "I hope you remember that when you're feeling all high and mighty at Princeton one day."

"Princeton," I said weakly, hopelessly and with great sadness. I had forgotten. One day and already I'd forgotten my goal. I was like an animal already, doing whatever it took to live from breath to breath.

"Shit, Ian, she's already off her rocker," laughed Paolo.

"Naw, she's just tired," said Ian. "But we'll wake her up. Get her ready."

I was pulled to my feet and marched to one of the arched alcoves that ringed the courtyard. My wrists were hooked to a cord that hung from a pulley the arch's keystone. The slack was pulled from the cord and I was hoisted until I was standing on my toes with my body pulled tight. That's when I saw Ian was holding a hose. He turned it on and cold, cold water under high pressure slammed into me.

It was difficult to stay on my feet as the water pummeled me. Frequently I lost contact with the ground and swung free in the chilling spray. They were very thorough with the hose. Every inch of me got rinsed, from the pale-yellow roots of the hair on the back of my head to the hidden crevices between my tiny toes. The lieutenants laughed as I squawked and sputtered. But I did not ask or beg for them to stop; I knew better.

Finally the water stopped. I was left dripping and shivering where I hung. The lieutenants drew close. I knew what was coming. I let my body hang limply as I waited for it to begin.

"You still owe us from this morning girlie," said Lieutenant Ian. He yanked his zipper down and withdrew his cock. I didn't look at it. I kept my eyes focused on his. I showed no emotion.

"She's gonna be all stretched out from spending so long on The Stool."

"She's young. I bet she's already snapped back into shape," he said. He reached down to run his palms down my thighs. Hooking his hands behind my knees he pulled my legs up and spread them wide. He moved close and I could feel his erection poking me in my pudenda, still aching from my tattoo. "Hold her legs for me," he said to his partner. "I'm gonna test her out."

Lieutenant Paolo got in close behind me. I could feel his erection firm beneath his slacks as it pushed against the aching tattoo in the small of my back. He took my legs in his hands as Lieutenant Ian reached down and slipped the firm tip of his cock down into the folds of my pussy. Sharp darts of pain caused me to flinch when he brushed the still-raw piercings in my clit and lips. This seemed to arouse both of them further. He found my vagina and he entered me with a steady push. I was still sore from the metal phallus that so recently had been humming inside me and I squirmed as he filled me with his flesh.

"How is it?" asked Lieutenant Paolo.

"Not bad. Not as tight as I'd hoped. She still needs a few hours to recover, I suppose."

"Wait, I know how to tighten her up."

I heard a zipper behind me. Soon I felt a hard prick poking down along the crease of my ass, searching for my anus. I gasped in terror as I realized what they were going to do. I strained at my bound wrists as if trying to lift myself out of this situation. My efforts only made them laugh.

He entered me. Alongside Lieutenant Ian, separated by a thin wall of tender inner flesh, Lieutenant Paolo's lubed cock slipped inside me. I was lifted on their two dicks as they pushed their manhoods in me to the hilt. The strain was released from my arms and shoulders and I sighed gratefully at the lapse in tension.

"Oh dude, she likes it!"

"Man, what a slut."

I wanted to protest. It was the feeling of not hanging from the arch that I liked, not those two cocks threatening to pull me apart from inside. But as they began undulating into me with a crushing, muscular rhythm I began to feel the aching throb of too much sex become a glowing bloom of ecstasy. They were so big and powerful. I was so helpless. As they pumped their fucks into me I had to time my breaths between the compaction of my body between theirs.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Pump that bitch. Stick it to her just like that," one would say.

"Oh Christ. That's it right there. Come on, a little harder," the other would respond.

It was almost funny, but I knew better than to laugh.

Finally they finished. They came together, their cocks trembling and pumping head to head inside me with only a bruised buffer of my flesh between them. I hadn't climaxed but the feeling of relief when they let me down and released my bonds was almost as good.

8. The Cell

I was marched from the courtyard. Passing through the doorway into a stairwell, I stumbled on nothing in particular. One of the lieutenants smacked me in the back of the head and told me to pay attention. I tried but my entire body ached, inside and out. I'd done ten years of competitive gymnastics and had never been as exhausted as I was at the end of my first day as a slave. And my mind was even wearier than my body, my thoughts remaining mercifully blank after a long day of terror and degradation. Eventually I would come to realize that exhaustion is the slave's best friend. When you're too tired to think you suffer no anxieties about whatever torments await you in your next client's suite and when you're too weary to string together a coherent thought the constant humiliations that are a slave's bread and butter have much less bite.

We started up the stairs, climbing up to a second floor. It felt to me like I was climbing Everest. Finally we reached a short corridor with six or eight heavy wood doors. I was led to the end and pushed inside.

The room was surprisingly large, about three yards by four. It had a very high ceiling and was brightly painted in a pastel pink with a wide but short window high up, near the ceiling. The light was from low wattage bulbs mounted in two sconces in the center of opposite walls. There was a comfortable looking single bed in one corner and a large, claw-foot bathtub in the opposite corner. The bathtub was full of clear, hot water. Above me a slowly turning ceiling fan stirred the warm, humid air.

The lieutenants shut the door behind me. There was no knob on my side. I checked the bed, it was firm but comfortable. I took a corner of the pillow and dipped it in the bathwater to see if it would dissolve away in a hiss of concentrated acid, but it didn't. The bath was merely a bath. The water smelled of roses.

It's odd, after only a day of being pushed around and treated like a beast I felt a weird reluctance to do anything without being directed to do so. So I sat on the edge of the bed and eyed the bathwater. It looked tempting. I bet it would feel really good on my aching muscles.

After several minutes I could hear the approach of high heels tic-tacking down the hall outside. As they drew closer I began to feel anxious at having taken my ease without permission. I jumped up from the bed and quickly smoothed the covers. They were a little moist where I'd sat (I was still damp from by recent hosing in the courtyard) but not wet enough to be visible. I lowered myself to the tiled floor as the footsteps halted outside my door. It swung open, revealing Mistress White who stood holding a tray. She was dressed in thigh high stockings, lacy, matching bra and panties and four inch pumps - all white, of course. Her face registered surprise when she found me kneeling on the floor.

"Are you afraid of the bath, Seventy-Seven?"

"I hadn't been told..." I began, but the thought sounded stupid as the sentence formed in my head. I realized my reluctance has been entirely instinctual. It was frightening how easily I had slipped into the thought patterns of a well disciplined pet. But that was neither here nor there. I was sure The Mistress wouldn't like it if I didn't finish my statement properly. "...I'm sorry, Mistress White," I said.

The Mistress smiled. "No, Seventy-Seven. Your behavior is most proper. It's just that most new slaves don't know to wait for permission."

"Thank you Mistress," I said. "Thank you most kindly."

"As your reward, you get to eat your meal of a plate instead of the floor," she said as she set the tray down next to me on the bed. There was a plate and a cup on the tray. The plate held about a cup and a half of fried rice with peas and cubes of tofu. The cup held some kind of thick protein shake.

"I didn't bring silverware," she told me. She pointed at the tray. "Eat."

I did. The terror of the day had left me no time to realize I hadn't eaten in... I didn't even know how long. But the sight and smell of food had reminded me and I was suddenly aching with hunger. I brought the plate to my face and scooped up mouthfuls of the flavorless rice and tofu, chased by gulps of flavorless but heavy and gritty shake.

"You really are a clever girl," said Mistress White. It made me feel warm inside to be complemented so delightfully by one of my betters. It was like the rush of a good report card or the satisfaction of another acceptance letter for a hard-to-get-into school.

"Thank you very much, Mistress." I put the plate and cup back on the tray.

"Yes, yes," she said dismissively. "Up on the bed now. Lay back. I need to check your piercings. Then we'll get you into that tub and get you loosened up and rested for tomorrow."

I moved the tray to the floor and lay on the bed. Mistress White checked my raw new tattoos and my tender, newly pierced nipples, vulva and tongue. She dabbed each with a Q-tip and antibiotic. She probed into my vagina and my rectum with her fingers. She asked if I was sore in there and I told her I was. However, I grew moist as her fingers penetrated me.

"Hmmm," she said. "Does my attention turn you on?"

"Yes, Mistress. I'm finding that it does, Mistress."

Her hands strayed across my flesh. Her glancing touch was by fingertips only and my skin danced and twitched as her gentle caress roamed across me. She was amazing: so beautiful, so articulate, so in control. She knew just how to touch my breasts, my thighs, my stomach to stoke a reluctant arousal from my spent body. I wanted her to take me and make love to me; me, who had never felt another woman's sensual touch before today. I wanted her more badly than I'd ever wanted any man. I looked into her eyes, mine large and pleading for sensual escalation from my Mistress.

Mistress White returned the look. She bit her lip as her nostrils flared. I watched as she fought back her burgeoning arousal and tried to cover it up by scratching the tip of her nose. "We need to have some time together, you and I," she said. "But now isn't that time. Now you need to get rested for tomorrow. There are quite a few gentlemen who are interested in reserving your time."

My heart sank. For a brief period I'd forgotten why I was here and had become totally entangled in my startling sapphic flight of fancy.

She helped me into the tub and left with the tray. The water was hot and fragrant with rose oil. The wet heat soaked into my aching muscles and bones as I lay watching the blades of the fan turning above me. From a corner of the window I could see stars in the black sky. I wondered if anyone was back at home, looking at those same stars and missing me.

Later, I don't know how much later but the water had gone from piping hot to barely lukewarm, I was awakened where I'd fallen asleep in the bathtub. I was helped up by two young women. The girls were naked but for a ball gags. They were overseen by Mistress Black. She made a point of swatting me across the stinging new tattoo on my bald pubis as I rose from the water. As I whimpered, she laughed and drew her riding crop back for another swat.

The slaves pulled me from the tub, carefully dried me with thick towels, attended to my piercings once again with some kind of antibacterial gel and finally laid me on the bed. For the next half hour they massaged me roughly as Mistress Black snapped orders at them and looked bored. Finally they left.

Exhausted, I fell spinning backwards into dreams of increasingly incredible levels of degradation.

9. The Master's Morning Regimen

My nightmares woke me. It was still dark. The strip of stars that had been visible between the bottom of my high window and the edge of the roof's deep eaves had turned to a pillowy mass of charcoal grey clouds. The tropical wail of insects and toads drifted in from the encircling jungle. The air was still, thick and warm. My body was still exhausted and sore but my mind churned uneasily. I remained in bed as my thoughts ran riot.

Specifically, I wondered about what one of the lieutenants had said. He'd taunted me, hoping I'd remember my degradation when I eventually got to Princeton. But, earlier, Mistress Black had told me I'd never leave this place. I tried to rectify the difference. Why would one or the other lie? Whose interest would it serve if my spirit was utterly broken? Whose interest would it serve if I maintained a spark of hope? Or maybe it was more a matter of one contingent not knowing the truth. What was the power structure here? Were the lieutenants more in-the-know than the Mistresses or vice-versa? What the hell was going on? I groaned aloud in confusion and panic. My thin, throaty wail echoed around my cell.

My thoughts ran along these lines for several hours as the clouds outside grew lighter and drew lower. The humidity increased until the air felt soupy. The heat got oppressive. I would have taken another bath but the spigot had no knobs. Drawing water was not a luxury afforded to slaves.

I began to hear voices. Male voices drifting up from somewhere below my window. The cadence didn't seem like English. I guessed it was Spanish or maybe Portuguese. Although I couldn't understand what was said I could feel a nervous energy in the voices. Eager to think of anything other than my own predicament I let myself grow curious. I stood and approached the window, straining to hear more clearly.

I tried to reach the bottom of the window sill, but it was well out of reach. A tall girl might be able to jump and catch the sill, but a five-foot-nothing little squirt like me was out of luck. I turned and faced my room. My mind turned the problem over in my head, looking for alternatives. 

I climbed on the edge of the tub. I reached out but it was too far from the window to make the grab. I put a hand on the wall. It felt solid. I knocked twice. It was solid: poured concrete. A little person might hit that wall with all their might and not make a sound. I looked at the tub, the corner, the window. Finally, I leapt. The ball of my foot hit the wall and I pushed out and up. Turning in mid air I was able to catch the bottom of the window with my hands and forearms. My nipples hurt as my new piercings ground against the concrete. I found myself hanging on the sill inspecting the screen: nothing fancy, just an aluminum mesh in a steel frame in a groove. I was able to slide it out of my way with my finger tips. I scooted up the wall and wiggled my head and shoulders out into the morning air. I paused, balanced on the sill on my tummy.

I looked down. Below me was a tangle of wickedly thorned bushes. I didn't recognize the plant but its mass of plum colored spikes that ran up the canes of its tangled tendrils foretold a painful landing and even more painful extraction if I decided to risk the drop. I looked up. The eaves were close enough to touch. They extended a yard from the outer wall of the building. To my right and left, similar windows showed as dark stripes in the structure's plain facade. I could see why they had not bothered to bar the windows. There would be no escape via this route.

Below, beyond the tangle of thorny vines, five shirtless men in khaki trousers were milling about while one of the lieutenants, a black one I hadn't seen before, spoke to them in Spanish. He spoke slowly and carefully. The men he was speaking to nodded their heads and lined up to each accept a handful of what looked like American currency. They were swarthy and scrawny: peasants. As they retreated to opposing corners of the grassy quadrangle the Black lieutenant stuffed a fat roll of money in a small pouch and left it sitting on the grass. He too withdrew to the edge of the lawn. They waited without speaking or moving while the clouds dropped lower and the air further congealed to the consistency of a steamy meringue.