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From: danawilliams7979@yahoo.com (DW)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 3 Feb 2002 16:15:13 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} My Berlin Summer, Chapter 7 (MF/F, bd, nc, slavery)
Date: Sun,  3 Feb 2002 19:10:09 -0500
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This is the seventh chapter in our story about an American college
student who is enticed and then abducted into a life of slavery during
a summer abroad.  This chapter accelerates Jenny's transition from an
innocent submissive into a slave girl.  The basic themes are slavery,
domination, humiliation, etc.  The influences will be obvious to many.
 Earlier chapters were posted to alt.sex.stories,
alt.sex.stories.bondage, alt.sex.stores.moderated,
www.storiesonline.net, and www.geocities.com/mrdjian.

Feedback is always welcome at danawilliams7979@yahoo.com.  I greatly
appreciate the messages I have received from readers; nothing is quite
so inspiring as praise.  The pace of publication may slow down a bit
due to other demands, but there should be a new chapter every week or
two.

Please feel free to save and distribute copies as you wish, so long as
you maintain proper attribution.  You don't need my permission to
archive the story on a Web site, but please do let me know if you do
so.

***

My Berlin Summer
by Dana Williams

Chapter 7:  Paris

The next morning, after our group exercise and shower and one final
breakfast eaten naked and on all fours from a bowl on the tiled
kitchen floor, I was allowed to say good-bye to my fellow slave girls
before being "shipped."  We kissed and hugged, tears in our eyes. 
After spending weeks together, virtually all of the time with no
clothing other than our collars, it seemed completely natural to clasp
another girl's naked body to my chest.  Here, although we had been
unequivocally taught our slavery, we had shared a routine and a set of
experiences.  Now, I expected, I would never see any of my sisters in
slavery again.

I would be transported to Paris in a simple minivan with tinted
windows.  I was consigned to two drivers who would see that I arrived
at my destination undamaged, Mr. McGregor flying to Paris separately. 
Claudia did not deign to see me off.  No doubt, having pocketed her
profit on me, I was gone from her mind, another foolish girl made to
pay for her secret desires.  I wore nothing except my collar, now
adorned with a small brass tag indicating my new owner, the bracelets
that held my wrists together behind my back, and a twelve-inch chain
that joined my ankles together.  The drivers, I would later learn, did
not have the keys to my bonds - presumably so that I could not wheedle
them into unchaining me, in case I had any notions of escaping en
route.  I noted that the slack in the ankle chain left me enough
latitude to open my knees and thighs for them, either on my back or on
my knees.  I expected this was a collateral benefit of their
occupation.

I was placed on the first bench seat behind the drivers, a long, loose
chain padlocked to my collar and to the inside of the van for extra
security.  The back door was locked and could only be opened from the
outside,  I had no chance of escape.  I would be delivered to my new
owners, a new slave for their amusement and pleasure.

One of the drivers, a young, stocky, black-haired man whose name I
would learn as Eddy, sat next to me while his colleague Karl drove. 
"What a pretty little slut you are," he said as he started to caress
my breasts with his small but strong hands.  "So young, and innocent
... but I can tell you love being a slut, don't you.  You love
spreading your legs for men, don't you, slut.  You love having it in
your mouth, in your slutty lips, tasting it, swallowing it, don't
you."

His hand was now between my thighs, probing my body.  I was still dry
from fear, but I could feel my body beginning to respond,
uncontrollably.  I knew where this was going, and while I had no
desire to be raped in the back seat of a van, I knew that there was
nothing I could do about it, and I would be better off complying with
this man's wishes.  I did not want an unfavorable report to arrive
with me in Paris.  "Yes, master," I whispered as sensuously as I
could.  "I love being a slut.  Please use me like the slut I am.  Let
me take you in my mouth and please you like you've never been pleased
before."  I licked my lips.  As a slave, I had learned early on to
adapt my behavior to the preferences of the master, to intuit quickly
whether he wanted a hot, eager slut to be enjoyed or a reserved,
reluctant girl to be forcibly put to her back and dominated.  This, I
had been told, was one of my particular skills as a slave.  I closed
my eyes and let myself indulge in his impatient caresses between my
legs, willing myself to become hot and wet for him.  Bound as I was,
there was little he could expect me to do for him, at least until he
positioned me appropriately.

Soon he pulled me down from the seat and put me on my knees in front
of him, and began to open his pants.  My body still sore from the
abuses I had suffered the day before, I decided I would do my best to
satiate him with my mouth, to give my bruises more time to heal.  I
lowered my head to him and plunged into my work with abandon, moaning
with apparent satisfaction as I practiced my skills.  But before I
could complete my task, he withdrew from me and pushed me down on my
back.  My wrists ached, trapped in the small of my back against the
rough carpet of the van, as he brought his weight on top of and inside
me, pressing my thighs back against the floor.  Even though I was sore
inside, my body welcomed his entrance into me.  But after the work I
had done with my mouth, he was unable to last very long inside me, and
he climaxed before I was able to achieve more than a moderate arousal.
 He withdrew, buckled his pants, and pushed me back onto my seat.  I
could feel a damp spot spreading on the vinyl seat.

"She's really hot, Karl," he called up to the front seat.  "I bet you
can't wait to get a piece of that nice juicy ass."  I felt like I had
been slapped.  As a new slave, I still hated being reduced to my
anatomical essentials.  But I knew that was where most if not all of
my value lay.

"Just let me get out of town and I'll take a turn," Karl answered.  As
I awaited the inevitable, Eddy casually ran his hands over my body,
fondling his new toy.  I moaned softly in appreciation, trying to
please him.  "You want it again already, don't you, slut?" he said. 
"Well, you won't have to wait long."

I didn't.  About fifteen minutes later, the van pulled over by the
side of the Autobahn.  The two men changed places, Karl coming back to
enjoy the entertainment available for the ride, Eddy easing the van
back onto the road.  Karl was older, taller, and less of a talker than
Eddy.  He wasted no time with my mouth, dumping me unceremoniously on
my belly on the bench seat, my breasts crushed against the vinyl
surface, my body open to him as a slave, before entering me from
behind.  He took his time, seemingly trying to arouse me, so I let my
mind go and let myself revel in his deep, powerful thrusts, forcibly
impressing on me my status as the helpless victim of his pleasure. 
Finally I felt him press himself against me, and I cried out in my own
helpless orgasm.  I hoped I would not be punished.  But he didn't seem
to mind, even smiling down at me as I cleaned him with my mouth, his
hands playing with my hair.  "We're going to have a nice trip, aren't
we," he said.

I nodded as I could, my mouth still occupied by his manhood.

Now that my training was over, it seemed, there was little to pass my
time other than actual service.  Eddy and Karl were seeming
indefatigable - certainly more impressive than any of my boyfriends. 
Perhaps it was a product of their generally monotonous occupation.  Or
perhaps it was a natural product of having a naked, bound sex slave
constantly available to them in the back seat, willing and ready to
indulge their every desire.  In any case, somewhere in the former West
Germany I lost count of how many times they had put me to their uses. 
After having exploited my more conventional uses, they had each used
their hands to bring themselves to climax, aiming at my wide-open
mouth or at my breasts and body.  They had wiped some of their
ejaculations into my mouth for me to taste and swallow, but the
remainder was drying on my body and in my hair, out of reach of my
bound hands, an abject reminder of my miserable condition.  Through it
all, I attempted to maintain my eager, willing, slutty demeanor,
knowing that was what would please them the most.  But inside I was
crying silently, wondering if this was to be how I would pass all my
days.  Since the first time Karl had taken advantage of me, I could no
longer be aroused by my abuse.  Instead, I felt a mixture of soreness
and boredom, hoping my rapists would tire of me so I could rest my
mouth and body.

At night we stopped by the road for a few hours to rest, and after
having me serve both of them at once, apparently for a change of pace,
they stretched out on the two bench seats to rest.  I was left lying
curled up on the floor of the van, my hands still uncomfortably bound
behind my back.  Once they were asleep, I lifted my head and looked
about the van, wondering if I had any chance at escape.  But the rear
door was still locked, and chained as I was, I could not reach the
front doors.  I resigned myself to my fate and lay back down on the
hard floor.  I wished I had been given a pillow or blanket.  When I
had been free, I had taken those small comforts for granted.  Now, I
knew, I could take nothing for granted.  Finally I drifted off to a
fitful sleep.

When I awoke, it was still dark.  I felt a tug on the chain attached
to my collar.  Unable to resist, I followed it, lifting my head toward
the seat.  Eddy was pulling my head towards his lap.  He put his hands
in my hair and guided my face down toward him.  I opened my mouth and
began licking and kissing at him.  "Yes, master," I sobbed, and
continued my work.

When he was finished with me, after I had swallowed submissively and
cleaned him off, he pushed me back onto the floor, where I landed hard
on my left shoulder, unable to break my fall with my hands bound
behind me.  I lay there, wide awake, unable to cry.

We arrived in Paris early the next morning.  It was a warm, overcast
day, the city's nineteenth-century apartment buildings gray against
the gray sky.  I pressed my nose to the window, trying to make out
landmarks I had only seen in pictures:  Beaubourg, Notre Dame, the
spire of the Sainte Chapelle, the Louvre.  I thought I recognized
them, but I could not be sure.  I had often fantasized about visiting
Paris - in fact, I had been planning to at the end of my summer in
Berlin - but I had never imagined I would see the City of Light as a
piece of merchandise being delivered, a naked, bound, abused pleasure
slave peering out from behind tinted windows.

We parked on a side street so that Eddy and Karl could make use of my
aching body one last time, and then we drove up a large avenue that I
later learned was the Champs Elysees, turned into a side street, and
turned again through a gate and into a large courtyard.  They opened
the rear door, unlocked the chain attaching my collar to the inside of
the van, and led me out onto the flagstones of the courtyard.  I could
barely walk from having been chained for the entire trip, and because
of the short chain attaching my ankles.  Eddy's hand was still
exploring my body as they escorted me to a large doorway.  We were met
by a young, casually dressed man whose name was Felix.  Despite my
fatigue, my aches, and the poor appearance I am sure I made, still
covered with the stains of the previous twenty-four hours' abuses, I
still wanted to make a good first impression.  I sank to my knees on
the hard stone and opened my thighs as best I could.  Felix smiled. 
He talked briefly with Karl, exchanged documents, compared me to a
picture he had of me, and checked the tag on my collar.  Then he
thanked my two couriers, who returned to their van.  Looking back at
us, Eddy called out, "She's a real hot one, that one.  A real
first-class slut."

Felix looked down on me, still on my knees.  "Are you a first-class
slut, Jenny?" he asked.

"Yes, master," I answered.  "I live only to please my masters.  I want
nothing more than to serve them with my body."  He seemed like a
reasonable person.  I wanted desperately for him to like me, at least
to treat me as a human being rather than as the real-life sex doll I
had been for the last day.

"Well, we'll see about that," he said, attaching a leash to my collar.
 He led me into the building, shuffling along after him as best as I
could.

Felix led me to a wing of the building that he introduced as the slave
quarters.  The rooms in this section only had windows on the interior
courtyard, and entrance and exit were controlled by two sets of locked
doors.  Inside, he turned me over to a slave girl named Helene, a
French girl who spoke English with only a mild accent.  English, I
took it, was the international language of the pleasure slave
industry.  After unlocking my wrists and ankles, removing my leash,
and giving me strict instructions to obey Helene's every word, he left
me.

Helene wore a one-piece, nearly opaque, light blue piece of lingerie
that hung from thin straps over her shoulders and came down to
mid-thigh.  Although it was cut low in front and back, slit high on
her hips, and obviously the only thing that she was wearing, I was
deeply envious of her.  Since being abducted, I had never been granted
permission to wear clothing, except in a training situation.  Now I
was appearing before her nude and disheveled, the traces of the
previous days' degradations still apparent on my body and in my hair. 
Surely she must think me the lowest type of slut, I thought.

Helene showed me where to shower and clean myself up, which I did, and
gave me a brief tour of the slaves' wing.  Unlike the relatively
friendly atmosphere of the training center I had just left, here the
various girls seemed sullen and unfriendly - an impression that would
only be strengthened during my stay in my new home.  Soon enough, I
heard an intercom system paging Helene and Jenny.  She accompanied me
to the double gates of the slaves' wing, where I was met by Felix
again.  He reattached a leash to my collar and led me through a maze
of corridors to a sumptuous corner office, appointed with heavy wood
furniture and dark red curtains.

When Felix stopped, I knelt on the hardwood floor, awaiting
instructions.  Behind the desk was a large, imposing man with gray
hair and sharp, almost crooked features.  He finished reading some
papers, rose, and walked around the desk in front of me.  At his side
materialized Mr. McGregor, who had so thoroughly humiliated me only
two days before.

"Well, Jenny," his voice boomed in the large room, "do you know why
you are here?"

"I have been purchased by a new owner, master," I answered.  "I am
here to obey his every command."

He smiled.  "Claudia does such a wonderful job training her girls,
doesn't she, Colin?"

Mr. McGregor answered, "Yes, but this one is particularly remarkable. 
You would think she didn't even need training."

"So I hear, so I hear," the large man said, turning back to me.  "I am
Philippe Arnaud, although you will refer to me as Monsieur Arnaud or,
when addressing me, as master.  This is a business, and I run it.  Do
you know what kind of business it is?"

"No, master," I said, not wanting to make a mistake.

"Surely you must have some idea."

I thought for a moment.  "A business where girls such as I are used as
slaves," I ventured.

"The business of pleasure.  My business is pleasure.  My customers
come here seeking pleasures they can find nowhere else, and I make
sure they get them.  And you are the key to that business.  The
pleasure they seek is the kind of exquisite, absolute satisfaction
they can only get from a trained, sensuous slave girl.  You are here
to give them that pleasure.  As long as you do so, you will be treated
well.  If you should fail in the slightest, you will be punished, or
discarded."  I listened quietly.  This was essentially what I had
expected.  I took the time to subtly and continually adjust my
position, drawing attention to my charms, to my soft, uplifted breasts
and to my open, inviting thighs.  I knew I was attractive, that men
desired my body.  I wanted M. Arnaud to desire it as well.  "Do you
understand?"

"Yes, master," I replied readily.  "I will be absolutely obedient."  

"Sometimes slave girls come here who are resolved to be obedient, but
are really only playing a game, going through the motions without
really embracing their slavery.  They are constantly scheming, looking
for ways to get ahead and make their lives easier, only pretending to
live for their masters."  He looked into my eyes.  "Are you such a
girl?"

I looked down at the floor.  "No, master," I whispered.  "I am a true
slave, a natural slave, a girl who desires nothing more than to please
her masters in any way she can."

"Well, we shall see," he said simply.

He made a brief motion with his hand.  Felix tugged on my leash,
drawing me to my feet, and led me over to a corner of the room.  Above
my head, an overhanging beam jutted out from the wall.  A ring was set
in the bottom face of the beam.  I wondered what was going on.  Then
Felix quickly cuffed my hands together in front of me and attached
them to a long chain, which he looped through the ring and pulled down
on the other side.  He was incredibly strong despite his moderate
build.  I felt the tension on the chain pulling my feet off the
ground.  My toes could barely graze the floor.  The steel cuffs bit
into my wrists.

Then I realized what was happening.  I was to be whipped.

"This is only a demonstration," I heard M. Arnaud saying behind me. 
"This is to let you know what awaits you should you ever be in the
least displeasing."  He paused.  "You may thank me."

"Thank you, master," I said, my voice trembling.  I wondered how many
times I would be struck.  I had felt switches and whips in training,
but only to correct lapses in my concentration or technique.  I had
never been subjected to a sustained, disciplinary beating.

M. Arnaud walked in front of me and help up a whip in front of me.  It
was long and black, with thick, heavy blades.  He pressed the handle
to my mouth.  I licked and kissed it, almost instinctively.  I hoped
to mollify him with my eager obedience, to soften the blows that would
follow.

He walked behind me again.  I tried to steel myself for the blow. 
Then I heard the hiss of the air behind me, and my back exploded in
pain.  I screamed despite myself.  Then the whip fell again.  And
again.  It fell on my back, my bottom, the back of my thighs, the
front of my thighs, my belly, my breasts, and my shoulders.  The
blades of the whip were too large and heavy to bite into my skin and
draw blood, but their weight made it feel like I was being struck with
clubs.  I quickly lost count of the blows in the haze of pain that
followed.  In retrospect, I realized I was probably only whipped ten
or fifteen times.  But in my mind, the beating lasted an eternity.  I
screamed and begged for it to end, promising to do anything, anything
at all to make it stop, but knowing that, as a slave, anything could
already be demanded of me, and what was demanded now was that I scream
in agony.  My body twisted in the air.  I remember seeing Mr. McGregor
and Felix and wondering at how calmly they looked on.  I begged them
all to rape me, to let me please them, to exact from me the price of
my slavery.  But they were impassive.

Finally the blows seemed to stop for longer than usual.  I was hanging
from my wrists, sobbing, my body alive with pain.  I know there are
people for whom physical pain is erotic and stimulating, the elixir
that fires their arousal.  I am not one of them.  As a slave girl, I
knew that I was subject to the whip, that I might be beaten for any
disobedience, or even for no reason at all, and I knew that was only
fitting, for I was a slave.  But I could never enjoy the actual pain
of the beating.  I would gladly have served a hundred men in
succession rather than undergo the torture I had just experienced.

When Felix released my wrists, I could only collapse on the floor.  I
dragged myself on my belly over to M. Arnaud's feet and frantically
began kissing them.  "Please, master," I begged.  "Let me please you. 
Take me any way you want.  Have your way with my body.  Let me serve
you."  I was desperate to prove my worth to him, thinking that could
spare me another beating.

"Remember, Jenny, that was a warning," he said as I continued to lick
his shoes.

"Yes, master," I said.  "Thank you, master."  I expected to be raped
then and there.  Instead, he pulled me up to a kneeling position by my
hair.  I kept my knees as far as apart as I could, in terror.  I would
do nothing that might earn me the slightest disapproval.  He put his
hands to my neck and unlocked the collar that had been there since I
had first been abducted.  An instant later, he replaced it with
another - a smooth, gleaming, gold-colored collar engraved with my
name and the name of my owner:  Club Aphrodite.

Felix accompanied me back to the slaves' wing where, thankfully, I was
allowed to sleep for a few hours.

I awoke on one of four beds in a large shared bedroom.  The others
were unoccupied.  Not knowing what I was allowed to do, I was too
scared to leave the room and explore the area.  Instead, I lay on my
back, naked, wondering what course of events had brought me here, a
slave girl completely subject to the whims and cruelties of her
masters.

Sometime later, another girl came in.  She was taller than I, with
honey-blonde hair, and, only partially concealed by her brief garment,
a body that men might kill to possess.  But, of course, as she was a
slave, they could have her body simply by snapping their fingers.

"Are you Jenny?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "... mistress."

"Oh, you don't need to bother with that," she said, smiling.  "I'm a
slave as much as you.  My name is Michelle."

"You're an American?" I asked, guessing from her accent.

"Yes, I'm from Mississippi," she answered.  "I heard there was a new
American girl here.  It can be awfully difficult to find your bearings
here, so I thought I'd help you out."

And so Michelle explained to me the workings of Club Aphrodite.  As
Cristina had forewarned me, it was essentially a brothel, but one with
the particular twist that all the girls were complete and utter
slaves.  Most of the patrons were wealthy businessmen who paid either
annual membership fees (in the hundreds of thousands of dollars) or
nightly fees (in the thousands of dollars) to come to the club in the
evenings (or, occasionally, in the afternoons) and take advantage of
all that it had to offer.  This included a bar, a lounge, and a small
dining area.  The primary offering, of course, was its stable of slave
girls, of which I was now the twelfth.  Our duties were to wait on
them, to bring them drinks and food, to dance for them, and, of
course, to provide them with whatever sensuous pleasures they might
care to imagine.  We were completely at their disposal at all times,
and could be simply ordered to our backs and raped on the floor.  We
could also be taken into one of the adjoining bedrooms, there to
render longer services in private; for that, however, the clients
would have to pay extra.

In addition, the club had its own peculiar system for disciplining its
slave girls.  We were continuously ranked in three categories - A, B,
and C - based on several criteria:  how often we were selected to
perform in a private bedroom (thereby earning additional revenues for
our masters), how satisfied our clients were with our performances,
how obedient we were to our masters, and so on.  The best, most
pleasing girls were in category A, and the least pleasing girls, those
most likely simply to be thrown over a table and raped from behind,
were in category C.  And the higher your category, the more privileges
you were allowed.  A girls were allowed to wear brief garments that,
while highly revealing, at least allowed them to preserve their
modesty; were given the lightest of chores; and were generally
off-limits to club staff during the day.  C girls, by contrast,
remained completely nude at all times, were set to menial tasks such
as scrubbing the floor, and were available to any staff members in any
way at any time.  The result was a constant competition in which the
girls strove to outdo each other in obedience, sensuousness, and
intimate skills, to be as hot, wet, and deliciously open as they could
possibly be, in order to attract and hold the attention of our masters
and our clients.

As the new girl, I was automatically at the bottom of the rankings,
and would remain there until I learned how to be more pleasing.

Michelle also warned me about the treatment I would receive as a fresh
piece of slave meat on my first night in the club.

That evening, after a light dinner, one of the guards escorted me into
the main lounge area of the club.  There, in one of the corners of the
room, I was bent forward over a low, padded table and chained in
place, my ankles attached to two legs of the table, my wrists bound to
the opposite legs, my chin just hanging over the far edge.  My belly
and breasts were pressed against the surface of the table.  Bound
helplessly in this position, I knew my body was completely visible and
open from behind.  My mouth, too, was fixed in place, waiting to be
put to use.  I realized I was bound much as Cristina had bound me that
first night in that other club in faraway Berlin, only then my body
had been "off limits."  Now, I knew, no such limits applied.

I thought about what Michelle had said.  "The first night, a new slave
girl is bound over a table, her mouth and body available for anyone to
use.  You will be used like an animal, or like a passive piece of
captive flesh.  What is more, the clients will be encouraged to beat
your unprotected body with a whip.  In general, they are not allowed
to beat us unless we are disobedient, which doesn't happen very often.
 But your first night, there is no such protection.  The goal is to
humiliate you, to break down any resistance you may have, to make you
wish to be allowed to please a man intimately rather than being
brutally abused by him.  All you can do is endure it."

My mouth was dry with fear.  I saw a few people begin to drift into
the lounge, sit at tables, and order drinks.  They were served by
naked or scantily clad slave girls.  The clients were well-dressed men
of all ages and, from what I could hear of their conversation, all
nations.  There were a couple of women, too, also expensively dressed.
 I wondered when my trials would begin, when they would begin to take
advantage of my body, so helplessly and conveniently bound and
positioned for their use.  I thought about my slavery, about the
humiliations I routinely endured, trying to arouse myself, to prepare
my body for the multiple rapes I would suffer.  I closed my eyes and
imagined what it was like to spread my legs for a man, to welcome him
inside me, to feel his merciless thrusts, and to make him moan with
pleasure.  I could feel the familiar warmth growing between my thighs,
could feel myself becoming wet with anticipation.

I did not have long to wait.

A middle-aged, stocky man with graying hair walked over to where I was
displayed.  He said nothing; I was not the sort of girl with whom one
made conversation.  In college, young men would trip over themselves
trying to entertain me with their wit and charm; here, such things
were unnecessary, as I was only a slave girl, with no right to
withhold her favors from a master.  I wondered again what those
college friends would think of me now, only two months removed from my
final exams, naked and bound for the pleasure of men.

The man ran his hand over my back, bottom, and thighs, feeling the
soft curves of my slave's body.  He paused between my legs, feeling my
arousal.  I could not see him as he stood behind me, his hands idly
caressing my body, relishing his mastery and my submission.  Then
suddenly he was inside me.  I cried out in shock.  He used me swiftly
and casually, emptying himself inside me while I was still only mildly
aroused.  He walked in front of me, wiped himself off on my hair, and
walked away.  I could feel the traces of his usage beginning to drip
down the inside of my thigh.  I began to cry.

Of course, I had been used forcefully and unilaterally many times
before, roughly pushed into position and made to endure a master's
ruthless domination.  But now, I realized, this was my life.  Before,
in training, I had known that I was preparing for something else, for
the life of a slave girl; I had been in an intermediate state,
completely subject to my masters, but aware that I would eventually
move on to something else.  Now, for the first time in my life, I had
no future to look forward to.  I was a sex slave in a Parisian brothel
that I would never be able to escape, unless I were sold into some
equally abject slavery.  The hope Cristina had held out for me lay
three years away - far too long to mean anything to me in my current
predicament.  From where I lay, strapped naked over a table, I could
only see a string of days like this one running far into the future,
days when I would be forced to serve men with my small, soft body,
repeatedly paying the price of my once-secret desires.

Another man came over to where I was bound, opened his pants before
me, and began to make use of me.  I did my best to try to please him
with my tongue, but he did not seem interested in how I might serve
him, only in the pleasure he might forcibly take in my mouth.  When he
had satisfied himself, he remained in my mouth for a minute, waiting
patiently as I swallowed, before withdrawing.  Then he zipped up and
walked away.

I will never forget that night for as long as I live.  I soon lost
count of the number of men who used my body for their unilateral
pleasure, or the women who held my head between their legs so that I
could attempt to please them with my tongue.  There were more than a
few who also chose to beat me with the whip left out for that purpose,
making me cry out and beg to be raped until they finally chose to take
from me the pleasure I so desperately wanted to give them.  In my
training, I had been taught to be a fantastically sensuous slave,
armed with an arsenal of skills to tantalize, arouse, and satisfy both
men and women.  Here I could use none of them; I was chained in place,
a passive receptacle for their pleasure, a bundle of soft, captive
flesh set out for their sexual consumption.  Gone were the fantasies
of providing long and exquisite intimate services under the exacting
commands of my master; instead I was simply beaten and taken by an
unending succession of men who cared not at all for me as an
individual slave girl, only for the parts of my body that were offered
up for their convenience.  I cried as I was repeatedly used, unnoticed
by my rapists concerned only with the softness of my flesh and the
warmth of my mouth, until I could cry no more.  I heard men laugh as
they discussed the qualities of my anatomy openly, but I was beyond
humiliation.  I knew then better than I had known before that I was a
slave girl, and that this was the price I might have to pay for my
slavery.

When the clients had finally left and the slave girls cleaned up the
lounge area, I expected to be released and taken back to the slaves'
wing.  But no one came for me.  I would be left to spend the night
chained in place, contemplating my situation and my fate.  I wondered
if I would ever be released, or if I would be chained there night
after night, suffering the same treatment.

I could not sleep, preoccupied as I was by the events of that day.  I
thought over and over again about the abuses I had endured and what
they might imply for my future life.  And before dawn, I had
understood why new slaves were set out and used in that way.  Never
again could I have any doubts about my condition.  I believed that I
could sink no lower, that no slavery could be more abject and
degrading than what I had just suffered.  And I knew that, if I were
unchained from that table and allowed to serve my masters, I would do
everything in my power, would use all of my skills and all of the
charms of my soft, captive body, to be the most beautiful, submissive,
obedient, sensuous, and perfect slave I could be.  Rather than rebel
against my brutal treatment, I resolve to be a wonder to my masters.

I only prayed they would allow me the chance to show them what kind of
slave girl they had bought.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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