The New Slave
(Part 4 of The Lost Bet)
This story is a continuation of “The Lost Bet” and “Daughter of a Slave.” If you have not read those stories, I would urge you to do so before continuing.
I have been asked by the owners to write about my experience in the community. Specifically, I am to write down my feelings about the things that have happened to me. I am sure this will end up with the psychologists who live and work here and I must overcome any urge I have to keep my thoughts, emotions, and self-evaluation from them. If they think I have misled them, and they are very good at reading people, I am sure I will be whipped. I know, psychologists don’t whip people for hiding their feelings but Masters certainly whip slaves for that and I am a slave.
I live in a community where children are raised to be either slaves or masters from the time they are out of diapers. The third generation of slaves and owners are adults now so that means two generations of children have been born and raised here. I am not one of them, however; I was brought here by my lover who I met in college. I think back to the person I was then and I cringe. I was selfish and petty. I was more interested in a social life and finding a husband who would pamper me than in my studies. I never dreamed that women could live like this, let alone thrive. I look around at the slaves who were born here and I can tell the difference between them and the others like me from the outside. We are stiff and wooden while they are relaxed and natural. What I have to think about and work hard at, they do as easily as breathing.
I was not the first slave brought here from the outside, but I was one of the first. The community has been recruiting some of the top men in every scientific and engineering discipline for the last ten years and has expanded greatly. I was told that it started with just forty people, twenty owners and twenty slaves. Sixty-five years after it was founded, the community has a population of close to one thousand. In order to keep pace with the growth of the male population from the recruiting, the children of owners were allowed to recruit women to be slaves in the community while they attended college. The balance hasn’t been restored but it is getting closer to being fifty-fifty.
How does one recruit someone for slavery? I can’t speak about the others but in my case, I was so convinced of my own superiority that I believed that I could control any man and any situation. But I had never met a man who was a real master and was used to being obeyed without question or hesitation. I was used to getting my own way and I didn’t care what I did to achieve my own goals. If I hurt someone, my feeling was that the person should not have got in my way. I don’t think I was particularly happy, but I was not depressed, either. Perhaps a more accurate description was that I was drifting while I took advantage of every opportunity that presented itself to satisfy my own needs. Obviously that is no longer the case. Or perhaps it is not obvious so I should probably explain how I ended up here first.
My name was Julie. Rob, my lover and the son of one of the owners, was a senior at MIT majoring in computer science. My parents were responsible for me attending Harvard because they were both graduates and I was what they call a legacy admission. At the time, I was a nineteen year old sophomore still taking general studies because I knew that as soon as I declared a major I would have to really work to stay in school. Harvard would tolerate a lot when the parents were graduates and rich donors, but only up to a point. So when my lover said he was going to take a year off at home before going to graduate school in Berkeley, I began to panic. He was wealthy and handsome, smart and funny, and a real wonder in bed. I had already slept with five different guys when I met him and I was honest with him about it. He shared with me that he had made love with three different women, two back home and one he dated his junior year. Never did he mention that the two back home were slaves. So I couldn’t imagine what next year would be like without him around.
“Rob, why don’t I come home with you?” I asked him.
He looked at me funny for a moment. “I don’t think you would like it there.”
“Well, the women there are, uh, I’m not sure how to explain it. They just have a different outlook than you.”
“I’m sure we would get along. Look, you know I can’t figure out what I want to do. Maybe a year with you in Florida would be just the thing for me. It would really give me time to think about what I want to do with my life.” What I was really thinking was that it would give me time to get him to marry me. I was trying to counteract the out of sight, out of mind syndrome.
“Julie, I don’t think you understand how different it is,” he said. “You and they are one hundred and eighty degrees from each other. Complete opposites. I don’t think you would be happy.”
“Well, how about if we try it over the summer? Then if it isn’t working out, I can come back in the fall.”
“Let me see what I can do. I have to talk to my father about it.”
I took that as acceptance of my plan. A few days later, he told me that everything was all set. He had me call my parents and let them know I was going to Florida. When it came time for finals a few weeks later, I did not spend a lot of time studying, figuring that this was going to be my last semester. As a result, my grades were horrible. I no longer had the choice to come back in the fall but that didn’t bother me at all.
Rob had arranged to have all of his things shipped home so he only had one small suitcase with enough stuff for an overnight and his laptop. However the concept of traveling light was not one that I embraced. I had to figure out how to cram a summer’s worth of clothes into two large suitcases. Rob kept telling me that I didn’t need to take so much stuff, that I would be given everything I needed once we got to his home. But I was pretty sure that they didn’t have a lot of designer clothes at his house outside Davie, Florida.
We left the day after graduation. I was surprised that his family didn’t come up to Boston for the ceremony but he told me that his mother never travels and his father was busy. When we landed in Ft. Lauderdale, a car met us. The driver put our bags in the back and we got in for the drive to his home. After we left the airport, Rob asked the driver to pull into a station so he could use the rest room. I was surprised when the driver pulled around to the side without using one of the spaces out front and even more surprised when the driver got out with Rob. Somehow, they triggered the release of some gas and as it filled the car, I yanked at the door handle trying to open it but couldn’t.
When I woke up, I was lying on the floor of a small room and I was famished and thirsty. I started to roll over when I felt the chain pull me back. My hands went to my throat and I felt the steel collar locked around it. A chain was attached to it that was also locked to a ring in the floor. It was long enough that I could stand so when I was on my feet I took a look around. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all gray cement without windows. One bare light bulb shone overhead, high in the ceiling. There was a single door without a handle on the wall opposite where I was chained. In the ceiling were vents and there was a hole in the floor in one corner that was about a foot in diameter. I started yelling and pulling at the chain, trying to free it from the ring in the floor. When I was exhausted and sweaty from trying to free myself, and my voice was hoarse from screaming, I sat down with my back to the wall and thought. Clearly I had been set up and Rob was part of it. But I could not understand why he was doing this to me.
It was some hours later that Rob entered the room. I had been dozing off but I woke up when I heard the bolt in the door slide back and the door open. I jumped to my feet and starting yelling at him to release me. I screamed at him that he was going to jail if I wasn’t freed this instant. He just stood there, out of my reach, and let me holler at him. After several minutes of watching him stand impassively, I quieted down.
“I think you know now,” he began, “that you won’t get what you want by screaming at me. I need to explain things to you and I want you to listen carefully. First, no one knows you are here. You have been sedated for the last two weeks. One week ago, you sent an e-mail to your parents explaining that things were not working out here and you were coming home. You gave them your flight information and asked them to pick you up at the airport.
“One of the women who lives here and looks remarkably like you boarded a plane in Ft. Lauderdale a week ago. She used your identification and I was with her as she checked in at the ticket counter. She made a scene when one of the bags was deemed to be overweight and you paid the additional fee with your credit card. Her being upset was done on purpose so the agent would remember her.
“Once you boarded the plane, you complained constantly about the service, proclaiming loudly that you would never fly this airline again. The attendants and passengers will all remember the spoiled little rich girl who stalked off the plane in Atlanta. She was met there by one of the owners, changed her clothes and appearance in a rest room, and flew back here with him using a different identification; one we created for a non-existent person. As far as anyone knows, you disappeared in Atlanta. I was questioned by the police a few days ago, and the next day by the FBI. The police, your parents, the airline, everyone believes you got off that plane in Atlanta and disappeared. Wherever anyone is searching for you, it isn’t here.”
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.
“You will become part of this community. No, we are not getting married because we don’t recognize that sort of marriage here. This community is very special. It has been here a long time, almost seventy-five years, and it has flourished. But here there are only two types of people. There are the men who are the owners and there are the women who are owned. Every woman inside this compound is a slave. You, being a woman in this compound, are also a slave. The only difference between you and them is that you have not learned it yet.”
I looked at him unbelieving. It just wasn’t possible that in this day and age someone could be kidnapped into slavery. But all I could say was to ask him if he was serious.
“Yes, very serious. I’ll bet you are hungry and thirsty. Would you like something?”
I shook my head, still not believing what was going on, and then I realized he might interpret it as me not wanting food and water. “Yes, please. I would like something to eat.”
“I’ll have it brought in but first, I need you to remove all of your clothes and jewelry.”
“You want me to strip for you, after you kidnapped me and told me I’m a slave. You have got to be kidding. No way.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”
He turned to go out the door and I stopped him. “What about some water?” I asked.
“Of course. As soon as you are naked, I will be happy to get you something to drink.”
I turned my back to him as an answer. I heard the door open and close, and I heard the bolt thrown to lock it. Not that it was necessary because I could not reach the door while I was chained. I sat back down with my back to the wall and cried. Eventually, I had no more tears so I lay down and went to sleep.
I don’t know how long it was before he came back but when he did, I was dizzy from hunger and thirst. My mouth was dry and I hadn’t needed to urinate since I woke so I knew I was dehydrated. When he came back in, he was carrying a tray with fruit, bread, cheese, and a pitcher of ice water. He set it down on the floor outside my reach and asked me if I was ready to eat. Still sitting on the floor, I shook my head no so he turned and left, locking the door behind him but leaving the tray on the floor. I crawled as far as the chain on my neck would let me but I wasn’t close to reaching it. I lay down with my feet toward the tray, hoping I could move it closer with my toe but it was a couple inches beyond the reach of my foot. I moved back against the wall and stared at the food for a long time, before I turned my back to it so I couldn’t see it. Soon after, I went back to sleep.
After one more period of waking and one more of sleep, I heard the bolt being thrown and sat up. I had noticed that the tray had been removed while I slept and thought that if I did not get water soon, I would die. My choice seemed clear to me, either strip myself or die of thirst. I was surprised however when the man entered carrying the tray of food and water. It wasn’t Rob, but someone older, about thirty or thirty-five. I hoped that he didn’t know the condition Rob had placed on obtaining food but that was quickly dashed.
“Would you like some food and water?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” I croaked, my dry throat barely making a sound.
“You know what you have to do first.”
Oh, God, what was happening to me? If it had been Rob, I would have undressed, rationalizing it by telling myself he had already seen me naked. But to do it in front of a stranger was different. My mind thought of this as surrender. When I didn’t respond, he turned to take the tray away with him.
“Wait,” I called out, hoping he would hear me across the room my voice was so faint.
He turned, still holding the tray and waited. I kicked off my shoes and stood up. I took off my jacket and was going to drop it when he told me to throw it toward the door. I did as he said and then unbuttoned my skirt, sliding it down my legs and stepping out of it. It landed near my jacket. I had to force my hands to unbutton the blouse I wore. They felt numb and stiff as I fiddled with the buttons. When it was open, I shrugged it off my shoulders and it joined the pile near the door. I was standing before a stranger wearing bra and panties and a steel collar.
“Isn’t that enough?” I pleaded with him but he just shook his head no. My hands went behind my back to unhook my bra. It took me a long time after I unsnapped it to slide the straps down my arms, but it too went into the pile. I pushed my panties down to my ankles and stood up, trying to cover myself with my hands as I kicked the panties across the room.
He just stood there looking at me then told me to stand up straight, put my hands on my head and turn around slowly. If I wanted the food, I had to do as he said. So I lifted my hands to my head and blushing with shame, I turned slowly. I felt my nipples grow hard as I displayed myself for him. I tried to convince myself that it was the exposure to the air that made them hard and not that an incredibly handsome man was examining my naked body. I completed my turn and lowered my head because I could not look at him looking at me. He had me kneel down with my back to the wall and he set the tray down and pushed it forward with his foot until it was inside my reach. Then he turned and left, slamming the bolt on the door when it closed.
I crawled over to the food, the chain jangling behind me. I knelt in front of the tray and took a long drink of water before devouring the food. Then I finished off the water and went back to the wall to sit down, my knees drawn up to my chin and my arms around my legs. For a long time, I just rocked forward and back, my head tapping against the wall to remind me that this was real and not a dream.
From that time on, the food was delivered while I slept. I would wake up, the old tray was gone, and a new one was placed within my reach.
Eventually, I figured out that the hole in the corner was my toilet and it was always with a great deal of embarrassment that I squatted over it. I don’t know how long I was locked up, maybe a couple of weeks at least, and I felt I was starting to go crazy. The bulb always shone so I could not tell night from day. The meals came and I ate. I would spend time trying to free the chain from the ring in the floor but all of my efforts came to naught. I began talking to myself and realized I was losing my mind. Then I started alternating between crying and screaming. I tried to stay awake to see who would bring my food but as long as I was awake, the door never opened.
Then one day when I woke up, Rob was sitting with his back to the door watching me. I was lying on my side facing the door using my arm as a pillow. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was a delusion or not. “Is that really you,” I asked.
“Yes, you are not seeing things,” he answered.
“Please, why are you keeping me here?”
“We are keeping you here until you are ready for your training.”
“My training?” I asked.
“Yes. Until you are ready to be trained to be a slave.”
“I don’t want to be trained as a slave. I want to go home.”
“I know you are not ready for training yet. As for going home, you will probably never leave this compound again. You will be here for the rest of your life.”
Then he stood up and went out the door, leaving me alone again. Once again the routine began; food delivered as I slept, no contact with anyone, and nothing in the room to hold my attention for more than a few moments. By now I had given up trying to loosen the chain. The other problem was that I stank. It had been weeks since I had a bath. My hair was a tangled mess and I was unable to undo the knots in it with my fingers. The other thing that changed was my food. While I had been getting fruits, vegetables, cheese, and bread, now I got a thin porridge made of some kind of grain. It was basically tasteless and it did not take long for me to tire of it. One day when I woke up, I saw the bowl of porridge on the floor and lost control. I picked up the bowl and threw it across the room. The next time I woke up, the mess had been cleaned up and a new bowl of porridge was on the floor with my water. Resigning myself to the inevitable, I ate the porridge, drank the water, and then called out to no one that I was ready to be trained as a slave.
The next time I woke up, Rob was sitting on the floor watching me sleep. I sat up and looked at him before I spoke. “I’m ready,” I said.
“Ready for what?” he asked.
“To be trained.”
“Trained? As what?”
I swallowed hard. “As a slave.”
“Slaves address free men as master.”
“I’m ready to be trained as a slave, Master.” I could not believe the words were coming out of my mouth, but I was so desperate to escape the room that I would have done anything.
Rob stood up and walked closer, keeping his eyes on me. “I don’t think you are ready. I don’t believe you are sincere.”
I panicked at the idea of being left alone again in the room. I crawled over to him and put my head down at his feet. “Please, Master, let me train as a slave.”
“Do you beg it?”
“Yes, Master, I beg it. I beg to be a slave. Please train me, Master.” I was whimpering and crying, afraid that he would turn me down and I would be left alone again.
“I will consider it,” he said, turning away and starting for the door.
“No, Master, wait,” I cried. “Master, please, I want to learn how to serve you. Master, I beg you to make me a slave.” I crawled after him as far as my chain would let me.
“Very well. Go stand with your face to the wall. Put your hands behind your back.”
I jumped up and raced just the two or three steps it took. I stood against the wall with my breasts touching it. He approached me and it was all I could do to keep my face to the wall and not look at him. I knew when I begged for training that he had broken me. My will was nothing against his.
He crossed my wrists and tied them together with leather he took from his pocket. Then he unlocked the chain from my collar and turned me around to face him. He looked down at my face for a moment then raped my mouth with his kiss. Naked, collared, and wrists bound, I leaned into him and returned the kiss. At that moment all I could think about was how strong he was and how his body felt against mine.
He broke off the kiss and took me by the arm. He led me out of the room and I found myself in hallway that was long and wide with ten or twelve heavy doors on each side. I learned later that only four of the rooms were cells like mine, the others being living quarters for owners, workrooms, or conference rooms. He pulled me down the hallway as I struggled to keep up with him. We came to a foyer and he led me outside. I started to panic as he opened the door because I was naked and bound, but he never let me slow him. We went down about ten wide stone steps and I got my first look at the compound.
There were two large buildings, each about two hundred feet and wide facing each other. Each one was four stories tall and had gabled roofs. There were smaller buildings, cottages really, in between and around the two large buildings. In the distance I could see other buildings, equipment sheds, some buildings that looked like office buildings but which I learned later were laboratories, and a large barn. I saw about forty people walking around, half of them naked slaves and the other half clothed men. The women were all beautiful and moved with a cat-like grace, completely comfortable with their nudity. On the ones who were close enough, I could see steel collars like mine around their necks.
He took me to a platform set up between two buildings. On it there was some kind of device for securing a person. There were four other men present and two slaves kneeling with their knees spread wide and their hands on their thighs palms up. I was led up the steps to the platform and made to stand with my back to the device. My hands were untied and I was pushed back against the curving backrest. Bands secured my hands above my head and also went across my waist, thighs, and ankles so I was held completely immobile.
One of the men went down the steps at the back of the platform and took a branding iron from a fire pit. When I realized what they were going to do, I screamed. Then I was branded on my right thigh. God, it hurt and I was crying and screaming from the pain as they pressed the hot iron into my thigh. I caught the smell of burning flesh as they held the iron until it carved a cursive S in my leg. Looking at it later, I couldn’t help but think how feminine it was but at that moment, all I could do cry. I was released from the rack and my hands were secured behind my back with steel manacles. The two slaves kneeling by the platform took me to the building that served as the slave quarters.
Once there, a chastity belt was locked onto me and I was put in a cage that prevented me from standing or stretching out my legs. I was still crying and didn’t put up any resistance to what they were doing.
Rob came to see me later that afternoon. He knelt down by my cage and I turned my head away from him. He ordered me to look at him but I refused. He got up and took some kind of a prod off the wall. I wasn’t watching as he turned it on and stuck it through the bars touching my hip with the tip. A strong electric current shot through me and I began screaming again. He let me carry on for a few minutes then told me to be quiet. When I continued sobbing, he touched me again, this time on my breast. I cried out in agony but this time, he didn’t let me carry on. Again he told me to be quiet and look at him and this time, I clamped my jaws shut and turned toward him.
“You will be released from the cage when your brand heals, about a week from today. You will remain in the chastity belt until we are sure you are disease free. Once you are removed from the cage, your training will begin. Most of the women here have had six years of training, from their twelfth to their eighteenth birthdays. You will get about six months to prove your value. You are not the first woman we have brought from the outside; over the last five years, men coming back from college have brought six women into the community to be slaves, but each one of them did so willingly. You are the first to be enslaved against her will. You are an experiment and there is considerable doubt about whether it will be successful or not. But we have been actively recruiting some of the best brains in the world for the last fifteen years and have reached an imbalance between the number of owners and slaves. We need to bring women into the community faster then we could otherwise and you were chosen to be the test case.
“In the last seventy-five years, more scientific breakthroughs in biology, chemistry, physics, medicine, and engineering have originated here than any other facility in world. We do more in theoretical mathematics in a month than most universities do in a year. We have a higher concentration of geniuses than anywhere else in the world. And they all work in an environment that is conducive to maximizing their talents. We use slaves to free us from all of the mundane and trivial chores that one must often do for oneself. We also use slaves for sexual release as often as is necessary. We also have unlimited funding. All of that research had generated billions of dollars in royalties so that today our annual budget for operations is larger than the annual budget for all but thirteen countries. If we were a Fortune 500 company, we would be ranked as the sixth largest for annual revenue but we are far and away the largest based on assets because of the way the trust fund is set up that pays for everything.
“And your role in all of this will be to please men. If you are lucky, you will find your one true master who will teach you the meaning of your slavery and the joy of being a woman. But even if you do not find him, you will be expected to serve men flawlessly. If you don’t, you will be punished. You have not yet sampled the whip but you will soon. You have experienced the prod but on a low setting. I can increase your pain from the prod by five times what you have experienced. I can paralyze you with the prod if I choose to.
“You will also be expected to bear children. Your sons will grow up to be owners and masters, your daughters will be slaves. And one more thing. You are no longer Julie. After your training, someone may see fit to give you a name, but until then, you are just another slave undergoing training. If you wish a name, work hard and you may, I repeat may, earn one. I wish you well, slave.”
He stood up and walked away and with him all of my hopes and dreams went with him. Marriage to a successful man, a big house, private schools for the kids, and life of leisure all went poof. I was naked, caged, branded, and collared. I was, as he said, going to be whipped when I made mistakes. I would serve many men and so they could take pleasure from my body and the decision to do so would always be theirs and never again mine.
A week later, I was removed from the cage and had my first shower in weeks. I was allowed to stand under a stream of cold water while I washed myself under the eyes of the slave assigned as my trainer and one of the owners. I should also mention that when slaves showered they finished with a chemical spray administered while they raised their arms straight up and spread their legs wide so the spray could reach every corner of their bodies. The spray had replaced sun block in the compound over twenty years ago and worked until the next shower. It blocked ultraviolet so effectively that all of the slaves had natural complexions, without the darkening of the skin associated with exposure to the sun. The spray was used on every slave despite her race. Since the advent of the spray, there had not been a single case of melanoma in the compound despite the women working naked outside in the Florida sunshine.
The owner attached a leash to my collar and led me to the infirmary where I was given a physical. I was also given an injection that would prevent pregnancy for six months and the hair under my arms and everything below my waist was permanently removed. I later learned that this form of birth control was one of the medical breakthroughs developed in the compound. I had heard that the FDA had allowed the drug to go to human trial while I was in college but in the outside world it was still experimental. However they had been using it for ten years and had proven it to be safe and effective.
After my physical, I was taken back to the slave quarters and turned over to my trainer. She was about thirty years old but looked like she was nineteen or twenty. For the next six months, she would be my mistress as I underwent training. She was allowed a switch, much like the riding crop that I used in horseback riding. While flimsy looking, I soon found out that it would create a great deal of pain. Whenever I did something less than perfectly I was whipped with it. At first, it seemed like I was getting whipped every ten minutes or so but as I acquired the skills she was teaching me, she used it less and less.
I was smart, albeit unmotivated in college. Now I was smart and highly motivated because of the switch that my trainer used on me. After the first week of training, I was given a clean bill of health and the chastity device was removed. As the training continued, I found myself thinking more and more about sex. I was in an almost constant state of arousal as she taught me how to please men; how to walk and crawl, how to kneel, and how to touch them to increase their pleasure. It became a real distraction and I had trouble keeping focused on her lessons. As that happened, she began using the switch more often. I saw what was happening and talked with her about it. She was sympathetic, but brutally honest.
“What man would want you now? You are clumsy and unskilled. He can have his pick of hundreds of women who are more skilled than you. If you want to be used by men then you have to learn how to appeal to them. A glance, a posture, or a subtle movement of your body are all ways that can suggest the delight he will find in your body. But if you cannot communicate that to him, how will he ever know?”
She was absolutely correct and I could see it in the video she used to help me learn. She would do something, anything, and I would repeat it. Then she would put the two images side by side on screen and point out the slight differences between what she did and what I did. Her lesson finally registered and I regained my focus on my lessons.
Shortly after that, when I was caged for the night, I began thinking about the differences between her and me. She had used the term pleasure slave to distinguish the slave who owners find magnificent from an ordinary slave who they find satisfactory. Could I really become a pleasure slave or was I destined to live out my life working in the fields and spending my nights caged and alone. The sudden awareness that it was important to me to be desired was a revelation. Not because I hadn’t always wanted that but what was new was the motivation. I had always presented myself as desirable, but I did it as a form of manipulation so I could get my own way. Now I was thinking how nice it would be if someone found me desirable because of the pleasure I could give him. I recognized that for my needs to be met I could not think about them but would have to concentrate on meeting the needs of the men who collectively owned me. Only in that way could I get the relief I so desperately craved.
After six weeks of training, my trainer thought it was time for a different kind of lesson. She attached me to what she called the rape rack. It was basically a table that had my head slightly lower than my feet, which were held wide apart. My bottom was half on and half off the edge of the table while my ankles were fastened to shelves extending from the end of the table. The shelves were adjustable in that they could be spread open or closed to any degree. I was strapped to it and my legs spread wide apart so that all a man had to do was walk between my legs and stick his penis inside me. The table’s height was adjustable to accommodate the man using me. I was also hooded so I did not see the men who used me. Then I was gang raped. No, not actually raped, not by the standards of the community, because a slave did not have the right to refuse any man intercourse. Before the first man took me, several of the men who would use me gathered around the table and began touching me in different places. I began to squirm, not because I wanted to avoid their touches but because of how it made me feel. I felt my nipple taken gently between the teeth of someone and pulled slightly while two others caressed the inside of my thighs. Someone started kissing my neck and as soon as the man on one side released my nipple a man on the other side began playing with my other one using his tongue. I was going mad with my need. I wanted them to fuck me, I wanted to surrender to them but they kept caressing and kissing me with no one making a move to use me.
My voice was muffled by the hood but the words came out clear enough. “Please, Masters, your slave begs you to take pleasure from her body.” As I said it, I really meant it and I lifted my hips as much as I could to signal my sincerity. Then I felt one of them enter me and begin to pump me with his cock. I cried out in pleasure, my mind blank as I experienced my first orgasm as a slave. When he finished he stepped back and another man took his place. Before he penetrated me, I begged him to teach me my slavery. On and on it went, one man after another fucking me after I begged them to use me. My vagina was sore and the intercourse began to become painful but that did not prevent me from climaxing over and over again.
During that time my mind literally shut down. All that I could tell of reality was my pussy, the cock inside it, and the non-stop pleasure I was getting as the orgasms blended together into one never ending climax. I was told later that my body had been twitching and jerking with spasms for over two hours to the point that they became concerned for me. But my trainer assured the men that everything was all right and that they could continue. When it was over, I was as limp as a rag doll and drenched in sweat. I could feel the semen leaking from my abused pussy despite being tilted downward. The hood was removed and my trainer stood beside me and looked down at my face. She waited a long time before she spoke to me to allow my mind to recover and perceive the things around me.
“And what did you learn from this?” she asked me.
It took me several more moments before I could answer but finally I told her that I learned I serve all men, that any and all of them are my masters. I learned that I was truly slave and more importantly, truly a woman. I told her that if my owners wanted I would spend the rest of my life on the rape rack or, if they preferred remain locked in the chastity device and celibate because I learned that I am under their control. But then I added laughing that I hoped they did not choose the latter. She laughed and released me from the rack and helped me to my feet. I was taken to a cage and locked inside to rest and recover.
I should mention that it was no longer necessary to bind my hands behind me to prevent masturbation. Earlier in my training, my trainer caught me playing with myself one morning. She summoned an owner and my wrists were manacled then the chain was hooked to a hoist and I was pulled up until my feet left the floor. Then I was whipped for half an hour as my body twisted and swung from the force of every stroke. I had learned the lesson painfully and was never again tempted to masturbate without permission. It was yet another lesson that my body was not my own but the property of others and they were determined to make sure that I understood that. The lesson of the whip, wielded by a strong man, had taught me well.
I was allowed a full day to recover from my time on the rape rack. When my trainer got me out the following morning, we started again right away with my training. This time when she put the images of herself and me side by side, it was difficult to detect a difference. I marveled at myself, the way I moved and my posture. My gestures and facial expressions had also undergone a dramatic change. When I saw myself in the video, I saw a slave, completely owned and submissive to the will of her masters. More importantly, I now felt it in my heart instead of just my head. I had accepted the fact that I was a slave on an intellectual level but had never really undergone the emotional transformation. But having begged men to take me and use me for their pleasure, and having received pleasure in return, I now felt rather than just knew that I was a slave.
At the end of six months, I was tested by being given to one of the owners who kept me chained in a cottage for several days. During that time I did everything for him from cooking his meals, cleaning his clothes, cleaning the cottage, and offering myself to him for his pleasure. After the test I was taken to the council where he reported on the quality of my training which he found satisfactory. Then I was taken to another room and whipped severely. I was told that it was my final lesson; that an owner did not need a reason to whip me but could merely because he decided how to use his property.
When it was over, I was assigned duties in the laundry room of the mansion and spent my days washing and ironing the clothes of the men who owned me. Nights I was kept caged in the slave quarters. Occasionally one of the men would use me as I took his clothes to his room to put them away but mainly my company was the other slaves I worked with in the laundry. I often thought of Rob who brought me here. I knew that he kept a slave in his quarters because his clothes were delivered to her and she would put them away. From the look of her, she had found her one true master and I was happy for her.
I don’t know if I will ever find my one true master or not, but if I don’t, it will be okay. I have a purpose in life now, something that I never had as a free woman. I think of that immature girl, drifting from one relationship to the next with no idea what a real relationship was, trying to manipulate people and selfish to an extreme degree. My masters would not allow a woman like that to exist in the compound. Indeed they had crushed her ego and then rebuilt it with their own design. And every day I silently thanked them for doing that.
One more thing before I turn this in to the psychologist. No one has seen fit to give me a name yet. I still have hope that someday I will have a name but like everything else that concerns me it is completely outside my control.
End of part 4
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