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From: danawilliams7979@yahoo.com (DW)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 6 Mar 2002 01:57:32 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} My Berlin Summer, Chapter 11 (MF/F, bd, nc, slavery)
Date: Wed,  6 Mar 2002 04:10:06 -0500
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This is the eleventh chapter in our story about an American college
student who is enticed and then abducted into a life of slavery during
a summer abroad.  The influences will be obvious to many.  Earlier
chapters were posted to alt.sex.stories, alt.sex.stories.bondage,
alt.sex.stories.moderated, www.storiesonline.net,
www.geocities.com/mrdjian, and www.bdsmlibrary.com.  This is the last
chapter in the story, but a brief epilogue will follow.

Feedback is always welcome at danawilliams7979@yahoo.com.  I greatly
appreciate the messages I have received from readers.

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 11:  The Revolution

This idyll of blissful servitude came to a violent end early one cool
morning in January.

That night, I had been fortunate enough to be the slave girl selected
by the master to serve his pleasure.  As usual, he had put me to a
variety of the specialized uses to which a slave such as I must be
accustomed, finally cuffing my wrists to my ankles and taking me from
behind, making me scream repeatedly in submission and ecstasy.  Then
he unbound my wrists and ankles, chained me to the foot of his bed by
the collar, and climbed into bed to sleep.

I lay awake for a time.  The passage of the new year inspired in me
another round of reflection on how my life had changed.  Every new
year prior to this one, I had looked forward to new experiences,
accomplishments, and horizons.  As a popular, bright, hard-working
student at a prestigious university, I had had a world of
possibilities open to me.  Each new year I had regretted the
opportunities not taken in the previous twelve months and resolved to
seek them out in the next twelve months.  Now, though, I lay chained
naked at the foot of my master's bed, a helpless but willing captive
to his sexual depredations.  By the standards of my previous life, I
was now the lowest of the low - not only a wanton slut who would beg
on her back for a man to take her, but worse than that a confessed
slave who willingly accepted the loss of her rights and freedoms in
exchange for the purity of absolute submission.

And this year, I truly had nothing to look forward to.  My life, from
this point forward, would be nothing more than a continuation of the
daily routine of absolute obedience and sexual exploitation that I had
lived for the past several months.  My master might tire of me and
sell me to a new owner, but that would be little more than a change of
decor; in essence, my life would remain one of perfect and constant
sexual service to my master and any men or women he might choose to
make me available to, completely devoid of any choices or preferences
of my own.  I must offer up my thighs or my tongue to anyone on a
moment's notice, routinely delivering pleasures that I had once
reserved for a small handful of boyfriends, or that I had never
intended to provide to any man.  I knew all the ways in which a slave
girl might be used, and blushed at how many of them had brought me to
helpless ecstasy.

I felt a momentary, profound sadness at the life I had left behind.  I
supposed that as long as I lived I would feel moments like this.  But
they were fewer than they had once been, and I did not know at that
moment if I would have voluntarily given up my slavery for the freedom
I had once known.

I awoke with a start.  It was still dark out, although there seemed to
be a shade of pre-dawn gray light filtering through the light
curtains.  I thought perhaps my master had summoned me to his bed to
enjoy my naked body once again, but he was still sound asleep.  Then I
heard the sounds of men running through the building, of hammering on
doors, of furious commands being shouted in Arabic.  I was scared, but
I dared not wake my master, who was by habit a deep sleeper -
especially after having thoroughly made use of one of his slave girls.
 I was chained to the foot of his bed, nude.  There was little I could
do.

He woke up when the door of the room burst open and four men rushed
in, wearing assorted, mis-matching military fatigues and carrying what
looked like automatic rifles.  My master jumped out of the bed and
started toward the bathroom door, but they intercepted him before he
could get that far.  A moment later, I saw them tie my beloved
master's hands together behind his back and begin to march him out of
the room.  I wondered what kind of men these might be, that they could
assault the compound of one of the country's favored sons and treat
him so.

As two of the men led David out of the room, another spied me huddled
against the bed, my legs drawn up to my chest in a futile effort to
cover my nudity.  He smiled, said something to the others, and walked
over to me, pulling me to my feet by my arm.  The chain on my neck
would not let me stand upright, forcing me to bend over in a
humiliating posture.  I heard laughing from the men.  They forced my
master to produce the key to my chain and unlocked it from the bed,
leaving it on my collar as a leash.  Then they tied my hands behind my
back and led me out of the room behind my master.  I noticed they had
draped his robe over his shoulders and belted it in front to protect
his modesty.  I, however, was marched through the halls completely
nude save for my collar and bonds.  I walked as gracefully as I could
despite being led by a leash, my hips swaying and my breasts thrust
forward as I had been taught.  I had no idea what these men might do
to me, but I desperately wanted to interest them in my body, to make
them see me as a sex toy with which they might amuse themselves.  The
alternatives, it seemed, could be much worse.

We were marched through the breaking dawn light outside and across the
compound to the central building, which I knew from the times we had
served at my master's parties or business meetings.  There, in the
large main dining room, a kind of makeshift command center had been
set up.  There were twenty or thirty of the irregular soldiers in the
room, and others drifted in or out.  Against one wall, bound and under
guard, were the regular inhabitants of the compound - guards,
servants, wives, and children.  We were brought to one end of the
room, where the apparent leader of the attackers had seated himself at
one end of the central dining table.  He was thin and bearded, with a
rifle slung across his shoulders and a wild look in his eye.

First he spoke briefly with David, and then two guards escorted him
over to the wall with the other prisoners.  Then it was my turn.  I
lowered myself to my knees and spread them as widely as possible.  He
had probably never known a slave girl such as I.  I would use every
device I knew to win his interest.

"You are American?" he said in heavily accented English.

"Yes ... master," I said.  He smiled.

"You American girls - you are all sluts," he said.  "Yes?"

"Yes, master," I said, not wanting to contradict him.  "I am a slut,
master."

"All you want is sex.  Always sex," he said.  "You come here and you
seduce our men with your slutty bodies."

I was afraid where this was leading.  "Yes, master," I said.

"Sluts like you are a disgrace and a threat to our nation," he said
bitterly.  "We should kill you all."

My eyes went wild with fear.  I did the only thing I knew how to do. 
I prostrated myself before him, falling onto my side and squirming
over to him, where I began to kiss at his feet frantically.  "No,
master," I pleaded.  "Please don't kill me.  Let me serve you instead.
 Let me serve you and your men with my body.  You can use me any way
you want.  I know I'm a worthless slut, but think of the pleasure you
could have with me."

He looked down at me.  "You disgust me, flaunting your body, begging
to be raped.  You Americans are weak.  I despise you."

But he did not stop me from licking and kissing his feet and ankles. 
I looked up at him from where I lay, naked and bound, at his feet. 
"Yes, I am weak, and you are right to despise me.  But why kill me,
even if you hate me?  Would it not be a sweeter victory to take
advantage of my weakness, to enslave me and make me your own, or to
give me to your men as one of the spoils of your conquest?  If it is
Americans you hate, what would be better than taking their girls and
using us for your amusement, kicking our legs apart and raping us, or
forcing us to serve you in ways you would never demand from your own
women?  And no matter how you abuse me, I will remain your devoted
slave, always ready to please you or anyone you choose.  Why throw
away such a chance to demonstrate your superiority over us, to put us
in chains and make us beg for your touch?"

I could feel him softening, and I was sure it had more to do with the
sight of a pretty, naked girl, bound at his feet, desperately
attempting to please him, than with any arguments I might make.  He
said something to an associate, who laughed and pointed at me.

"Think about all the ways you can use me," I said.  "Think of all the
ways you can humiliate me, or bind me, or take pleasure from my body. 
Imagine putting me on all fours and taking me from behind, or kneeling
me at your feet to please you with my mouth, or bending me over a
table and raping me.  Think of all the things you can do with a naked,
helpless slave.  I offer you all those things and more, in exchange
for my life.  And when you tire of me, you can always kill me then, or
sell me to someone else in exchange for something you do value."

He turned to his associate and said something, apparently a joke. 
Then he turned back to me and said, "OK, we'll give you an audition. 
If he's satisfied," he said, pointing to the man by his side, "you can
live."

"Thank you, thank you, master," I said.  I turned my body slightly and
began kissing the feet of the man I must now please.  "How may I serve
you, master," I asked.  "May I please you with my mouth?" I begged,
licking and parting my lips as I knelt back on my heels, lifting my
breasts to bring them to his attention.  "Or do you want me on my
back, or on my belly?"

In response, he unbuttoned his pants and smiled.  "Thank you, master,"
I said, and knelt up off my heels to begin my work.  With my hands
bound behind me I was somewhat limited in my techniques, but I
expected I could do enough with my lips and tongue to bring this man
pleasure he had never known from his girlfriends, wives, or
prostitutes.  After all, I was a trained pleasure slave.  I moaned in
apparent pleasure as I bobbed my head up and down, closing my eyes to
focus the physical sensations of intimate service.  Never before had I
pleasured a man in such fear for my life.  Nothing existed in the
world for me but his manhood, which I worshipped passionately with all
the offerings of a slave girl.  I felt him stiffen and prepared for
his climax.  But then he pulled my head off of him, pulled me to my
feet, and threw my upper body over the dining table.  I felt my body
crushed against the table as he entered me, powerfully and
triumphantly, the force of his body impressing on me my inferiority,
my identity as a mere instrument for the fulfillment of his pleasure. 
He held my hips tightly as he spent himself in me, as I gasped and
moaned more in relief than in anything else.  When he withdrew from
me, I turned and sank to my knees before him, taking him once again
lovingly into my mouth.  I raised my eyes to him, hoping to see in
them a clue to my fate.

He stroked my hair approvingly as I continued to clean him, lovingly
coaxing every drop from him.  When I was finished I leaned my head
against his thigh and asked, "Did I please master?"  The man looked at
the commander and said a few words.

"You have been found acceptable for use by my men," he said.  

"Thank you, master!" I said, covering his feet with kisses once again.
 "Thank you.  I will be a perfect, obedient slave to them, master."

"My men have worked hard and have had little in the way of comforts,"
he continued.  "It will be fitting that they take pleasure from the
body of our defeated enemy.  As long as you are pleasing, you will be
allowed to live.  If you fail in the slightest, you will be killed, or
worse."

"Thank you, master," I repeated.  "I will be a marvel to you and your
men."

Two guards lifted me by the arms and conducted me to an adjacent room,
then being used as a kind of refreshment room, where food and drinks
ransacked from the grounds were available and a TV was playing.  The
eyes of the soldiers already in the room fixed themselves on my naked
body when I was brought in.  I knew I would have to satisfy all of
them, and many more, but I was deeply grateful for the chance.  I was
a slave girl, and pleasing men was the sole object of my existence. 
The punishment the commander had intended to mete out to me was
nothing more than my rightful station in life, open and available for
the uses of men.

After some discussion about how best to make use of their unexpected
prize, I was tied on my back over a small table, my ankles roped to
the two legs on one side and my wrists to the legs on the other side. 
My legs were wide open for assault from the front, and in addition, my
head hung back over the far edge of the table.  I was sure I was not a
particularly attractive sight, but I knew I was an inviting target for
the men's lusts.  Quickly one of the men positioned himself in front
of me and began to take advantage of my vulnerable position.  Bound as
I was, I could do little to participate in my rape, but I could still
use my inner muscles to massage him.  I closed my eyes and moaned in
an expert simulation of a slave girl's rapture, hoping by that means
to further excite my attacker.  But although I began solely as a
stratagem to please my master of the moment, I soon felt myself
becoming truly heated, and was ashamed to feel my body responding to
its brutal, casual usage.  As a slave, I knew myself subject to this
kind of unilateral, disciplinary use, simply bound for the masters'
convenience and used as a passive vessel for their pleasure.  And I
knew that this was a perfectly appropriate use of me, a natural
expression of my submission and their dominance.  So by the time my
rapist clutched me to him and climaxed within me, my cries were more
real than fake, and I was disappointed to feel him leave me.

However, I was not long to be left unattended.  A moment later,
another man had taken his place.  My head hanging over the table as it
was, I could not see him as he made use of me, but could only lose
myself in the physical sensations of my ravishment.  And then I was
interrupted by another man who had positioned himself in front of my
face, where my mouth hung open invitingly.  He quickly began to make
use of my mouth and throat as I licked at him greedily.  In this
position, it was less a matter of me pleasing him with my mouth than
of him simply having his way with me, taking advantage of the curve of
my throat to plunge deeply within me, but I did what I could with lips
and tongue to increase his pleasure.  The intense humiliation of being
bound helplessly and used simultaneously by two unknown assailants
pushed me to the brink of climax, and my body began to shake in
helpless orgasm.  I heard the men laugh.  I was sure I was confirming
all of their prejudices about American women - that we were wanton
sluts who wanted nothing more than to be tied up and raped.  But while
I knew it was not true of most of my sisters back home, I knew equally
well that it was true of me.

Those two men were replaced by others, and others still as the morning
wore on.  I was joined in that room by David's three other slave
girls, who were tied in a variety of positions where they might be
freely available to the men, and I could soon hear their gasps and
moans mingled with my own.  One or two were crying as they were
forcibly entered and made use of, but even they could not help their
bodies from responding to the men.

We remained in place for the majority of the day as the rebel
commander let all of his men enjoy the prize of the day's successful
assault, but eventually the stream of soldiers trickled down,
presumably as they returned to the duties of war.  I learned then and
over the next days that these men were part of a large rebel force
that was seeking to overthrow the now-corrupt aristocracy of oil
barons who essentially owned the small principality.  They were not
Islamic fundamentalists, as I am sure they were portrayed by the
Western media, but were closer to secular nationalists, upset more at
American support for the oiled class than at any attacks on religious
values or traditions - although they were more than ready to accept
the support of religious zealots as well.  At the moment, they had
engaged in a series of surprise attacks on government and aristocracy
strongholds, and were waiting uneasily as the larger surrounding
nations - and the United States, with its nearby bases in Saudi Arabia
- decided how to respond.

That night, I was reassured to find myself summoned to the bed of the
local commander, upstairs in the master bedroom on the second floor. 
I was allowed to drink some water, eat some food, and take a shower to
make myself more presentable for my new master, as I now saw him.  I
never found out what happened to David, or to the other prisoners I
had last seen lined up against the wall of the main dining room.

I entered the commander's room completely naked, wearing only my
collar, a chain leash, and the thin ropes that held my wrists together
behind my back.  He first looped my leash through the bedframe and
locked it in place, but I was surprised when, instead of simply
kicking my legs apart and tasting the fruits of my submission, he
untied my wrists and invited me to join him on the bed.  I think, for
all his skill and experience in leading men, he was unsure about how
to use a slave girl.  I undressed him slowly, licking and kissing at
his body, finally taking him into my mouth and lavishing my talents on
him slowly and lingeringly.  He reared up, holding my head in place
with his hands, and I gazed up at his face as I swallowed, continuing
to caress him with my tongue, hoping to see some trace of contentment
or pleasure in his eyes.  I think he was pleased with his girl.

He made me sleep, bound once again, on the floor by his bed, and in
the early morning he jerked on my leash to command me back onto its
surface.  This time, after letting me lick and kiss at him, he rolled
me over onto my back, thrust my legs apart, and plunged into me
violently, abusing me as the American slut he so hated, but also
forcing me to cry out in joy, a vanquished slave girl responding
helplessly to her master.

I spent the next two weeks in that one building, most of it in another
second-floor bedroom where the soldiers could make use of me when not
engaged in their more bellicose pursuits.  I would be chained by my
leash to the bedframe to prevent escape, but otherwise was left free,
unless one of my rapists chose to tie me up in some fashion using the
handcuffs and ropes available.  Some of the men seemed experts in the
arts of abusing a helpless, naked girl, tying me in positions that
both caused me pain and opened me up creatively for their
exploitation, or cruelly arousing me with their caresses or with
physical implements and then refusing to let me achieve satisfaction. 
But for the most part, they were relatively unimaginative, the vast
majority preferring either to have me serve them with my mouth,
kneeling before them, or to push me over onto my belly and breasts and
take me from behind like a dog.  Whatever their tastes, of course, I
knew to serve them with absolute obedience and with all the intimate
techniques that I had learned.  I knew that I was still under threat
of death, should I fail to be pleasing.

For the first few days I could still hear the moans or cries of the
other slave girls, similarly employed in other rooms on the second
floor, but soon they were transferred to other groups of troops for
their comfort and amusement, either as gifts from one commander to
another or, perhaps, in exchange for guns and ammunition.  At the
beginning, too, there was a constant stream of men demanding my body,
which I of course gave to them freely, but that began to tail off
during the first week; as the commander told me later, he feared that
my constant availability was making his men soft, and from that point
he would only grant rights to my body as a reward for specific
accomplishments.

Most nights I spent in his room, chained on the floor by his bed after
having served him, but there were also nights when he allowed me to
remain in the bed after he had made use of me.  Then I would kiss and
caress him gently as he fell asleep, and he would awake to find my
lips and tongue warm and wet on his body, attempting to show a slave's
gratitude for the kindness he showed me.  Although each night he
seemed to try out some new way of dominating and abusing me, using his
new sex toy to experiment in the many pleasures that can be extracted
from a naked, willing girl, there was also something innocent in him,
in the almost naive joy he took each time he thrust my knees apart and
entered me, once again establishing his dominion over my body.  For my
part, I did everything in my humble powers to bring him the pleasures
a man may enjoy from a woman, not only because I feared him as the
master of my fate, but even a little because of that innocence.

The end came quickly at the end of those two weeks.  I was lying in
his arms in bed, asleep, when we were both awakened by the low
throbbing of helicopters.  He sprang up and grabbed his rifle, but
then two windows burst in and the room was filled with a sudden flash
of light, sound, and smoke.  I was knocked off the bed into a corner
of the room, where I curled up in shock and fear; my master was thrown
to the floor, dazed.  Suddenly heavily armed men in uniforms burst in
through both windows, releasing the ropes they had used to descend
from their helicopters, instinctively covering the room and its
entrances with their weapons.  These were professionals, the real
soldiers, I knew.  Two of them quickly cuffed my master, and two came
over to me, covering me with their guns.

"Please, masters," I said, struggling to my knees and opening them
instinctively, "don't hurt me.  I'll do whatever you want."

"You're an American?" one said in a flat Midwestern accent.

"Yes, master."

"What are you doing here?"

I swallowed.  "I'm a slave girl ... a sex slave.  I've been held here by
these men."

"OK, don't worry," he said matter-of-factly.  "We'll get you out of
here."  He fetched a pair of pincers from another soldier, which they
used to cut the padlock holding my leash in place.  They cuffed my
hands behind my back with plastic cuffs as a precaution, and then one
of the men lifted me up and began to carry me down out of the room and
down the stairs.  He handled me casually, but I noticed he could not
resist brushing a hand over my breasts as I lay helplessly in my arms.

I never saw my previous master again.

The ground floor and the surrounding area had already been secured by
other American soldiers.  Outside the building, two large helicopters
were idling.  I was carried to one of them, already almost full with
men, and handed in.

"Wow, who sent us this present?" one of the men asked, sounding like
no more than a high school kid.

"Just get her back to the base and take her to see a doctor," my
escort said before leaving.  "She says she's an American, but we'd
better be sure before we take those cuffs off."

All the bench seats inside the helicopter were taken, so I knelt on
the hard metal flooring.  Without thinking, I opened my knees and
lifted my breasts appealingly.  I blushed, realizing that I was posing
as a slave.  But I remained in that position, not knowing what my
status was, whether I was allowed to assume another position, whether
these men, too, would take advantage of my naked, unprotected body for
their sport.

One of the men leaned over to me.  "I'm Lieutenant Shipman," he said. 
"U.S. Army.  Who are you and what the hell is going on?"

"My name is Jenny, master," I said.  "I used to be Jennifer Nevins.  I
went to UCLA.  I'm a ... a slave girl.  A sex slave."  I began to cry
with shame and humiliation.  "I was captured and kept here, and I had
to serve the men with my body, over and over again."

"It's OK now, Jenny," the officer said.  "And don't call me master. 
We're getting you out of here, and we'll take you to see a doctor, and
soon you'll be on your way back home and all of this will be over."

"What's going on?" I asked.  "Why did you come here?"

"This was a surprise raid to capture the leaders of the rebel movement
here," he said.  "We hit six different compounds simultaneously
tonight.  If everything went as well as it did here, the revolution
should be over by tomorrow."  He paused.  "We had no idea we'd find
you."

The helicopter began to rise into the air.  I was crying steadily by
now.  "You mean it's all over?  I'm not a slave any more?  I can go
home?"  I had dreamed about this moment, but for months now had never
expected it to happen.  And now that it had come, I did not know
whether I preferred it to remaining a helpless pleasure slave.

"You're not a slave any more, Jenny," he answered.  "It's over."

My mind was mixed with both elation and sadness.  Elation, of course,
that I would be free, that I could go about my life as I chose, that
my future had been given back to me.  Never again would I have to kiss
the whip that was about to beat me, never would I be tied up to be
used like a piece of furniture, never would I have to spread my knees
helplessly before a man, begging to be raped.  But it also meant that
I would never again know the exquisite rapture of the overpowered,
overwhelmed, ravished slave, held in place by her master's body and
forced to experience the unconditional surrender of her body.  Never
would I have the absolute security of gazing into a master's eyes as I
swallowed and knowing that I had brought him pleasure he could only
find in a slave, and had thereby fulfilled my purpose in life.  Never
could I spread my knees before a man and beg to be raped as the slave
I suspected I might still be.

"Please, lieutenant," I said.  "Let me thank you.  Let me thank you
and your men in the only way I know how, with my body.  Let me serve
you and give you pleasure, let me give my body to you so that you may
use it in any way you desire."

Lieutenant Shipman looked at me harshly.  "I don't know what's wrong
with you, slut, but you know I can't allow that."

"Please, sir," I begged.  "I've spent two weeks being raped and abused
hundreds of times by men who hated me and wanted nothing more than to
humiliate me.  You are the first men who have done anything good for
me.  Why should they be able to make use of me, and not you?  I would
gladly give you the usage of my body, if you would accept it, to show
you my gratitude.  I have nothing else to give you.  I'm begging you."
 I adjusted my position slightly, bringing attention to my breasts, my
belly, and the curve of my thighs as they extended toward my intimate
regions.  He was only a man, after all.

The man next to the lieutenant whispered in his ear, smiling.  "Very
well," he finally said.  "We'll see what we can do when we get back to
base."

I spent the remainder of that day in a room partitioned off from the
large warehouse that had been converted into a barracks for the
Special Forces who had been assigned to this mission.  After eating
and showering, and affirming once more that I did, truly and
desperately, want to be the unit's slave for that day, I retired to
"my" room, which had been equipped with a bunk and a few sleeping
bags.  There I awaited the men as, one by one, they came to take
advantage of the eager slut they had so fortuitously discovered on
their raid.  I was still nude except for the collar and leash, which I
hoped would inspire them to treat me as what I still knew myself to
be, a slave, and I told each man that I would serve him in any way he
chose, no matter how depraved or unusual he might think it.  A
majority, of course, could not resist the thought of having a naked,
chained girl kneel at their feet and please them with her mouth, which
of course I did happily.  Only a few showed any inclination to tie me
helplessly and subject me to something approaching the brutal rapes I
had so often suffered.  But whatever they demanded or, more often,
asked for politely, I performed with all of the beauty,
submissiveness, and gratitude I knew possible.  They had given me the
gift of freedom; I wanted to leave them with the gift of a perfect
slave girl, which so few men have had the pleasure of enjoying.

After I had served their pleasure, even repeatedly for some of them, I
was dressed in spare army clothes and taken to the logistics center to
arrange transportation back to the United States.  The day's delay was
ascribed to an illness that was attested to by the unit's physician. 
I felt uncomfortable wearing "normal" clothes, clothes that did not
clearly reveal my body, that could not be simply torn away, and that
shielded my body from casual rape.  I had grown so accustomed to being
sexually available that I almost wanted to tear off my clothes and
kneel before the men around me, proclaiming myself their inferior and
their plaything.  After some haggling, it was arranged that I would be
taken in a jeep to the nearest American consulate two hundred miles
away, where air travel to Los Angeles could be arranged.

I thanked my liberators once more - saving a passionate kiss for
Lieutenant Shipman for last - and bid them farewell.  The next day I
was on a plane to Los Angeles by way of London.  I did not know what
would await me there.

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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