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From: danawilliams7979@yahoo.com (DW)
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Subject: {ASSM} My Berlin Summer, Chapter 6 (MF/F, bd, nc, slavery)
Date: Fri, 25 Jan 2002 15:10:03 -0500
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This is the sixth chapter in a story about an American college student
who gets in over her head during a summer abroad.  The basic themes
are slavery, domination, humiliation, etc., with relatively less sex
than most such stories.  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.

This chapter initiates the "action theme" originally hinted at in the
introduction to the first chapter.  I realize that it is rather
implausible, but, I submit, not more so than many of the plot devices
that are found in this genre.

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 6:  The Auction

One evening after dinner I was summoned to Mistress Claudia's office.
I entered, walked to a position about one a half meters in front of
her, as I had been taught, and lowered myself gracefully to my knees. 
Weeks of training had brought to this simple act depths of
gracefulness and submissiveness that I had never before dreamed
possible.  My walk was now the walk of a confessed slave girl, my
bared hips swaying softly in mute offering.  My posture was erect and
proud, the curves of my rounded shoulders and soft breasts modifying
the line of my body.  I no longer wore the hesitant modesty of a new
slave girl, but displayed my body simply, openly, and beautifully for
my mistress's gaze.  Kneeling was not merely a simple physical act,
but a profound expression of my inner nature, a way of taking my
rightful place at her feet.

The attitudes of my body were not merely lessons I had memorized and
practiced, but were reflections of the person I had now become, or
rather that I had learned I had always been.  In accepting my slavery,
my inferiority to my masters and my availability for their use, I had
accepted not merely the necessity of following their orders, but more
significantly a new understanding of what I was.  I knew that, for the
type of girl I now was, it was only fitting that I display my naked
body casually, that I kneel unasked before a master, my thighs parted
to symbolize the exact nature of my submission.  And enough masters
had then put me to my back on the floor to impress on me the
unavoidable consequences of that submission.

Claudia was silent.  I could feel her gaze upon me as she walked
around my naked form.

"You have made tremendous progress," she finally said, standing before
me once again.

"Thank you, mistress," I answered.  "This slave is happy if she has
been pleasing to her mistress."  These words of self-abjection,
recently so foreign to me, now felt like second nature - not because
they had been practiced by rote, but because they reflected my new
station in life.

"Although your face and body leave something to be desired, you are
clearly one of the most intelligent, submissive, and eager slave girls
whom we have trained."

"Thank you, mistress," I said.  Her first comment had stung, but I
knew that, where sex slaves were concerned, I was no beauty, and was
average at best.  Back in Westwood, I had been one of the most
attractive girls on campus, able to tantalize men with little more
than a tight outfit and a casual smile, and I had made the most of
that talent.  Here, though, many of the slave girls were simply
stunning in their beauty.  Capturing and training a slave is an
expensive proposition; it made little sense to expend the effort on
any but the most prized girls available.

"And you are considerably more beautiful than when you arrived,"
Claudia continued.  "Your face and body are softer, more open, more
available, more submissive.  It is truly a transformation."

"Yes, mistress."  I did not know what else to say.  I supposed it was
true.

"The trainers also tell me that you are an avid student of the arts of
intimate pleasure," Claudia said.  "They say they have rarely seen a
girl so eager to improve her skills."  She lifted my chin with the
handle of her whip.  "Is this true, Jenny?"

"Yes, mistress," I answered.  "My greatest desire is to be pleasing to
my masters, as a slave.  I have tried to learn how to give them
pleasure with my mouth and body."  Inside, I burned with shame to hear
myself saying these words, to betray myself as a confessed slut or,
worse still, an eager sex slave.  But outwardly, I said them simply
and genuinely, because I knew them to be true.

"Do you think you are any good?" Claudia asked.

I didn't know what to say.  I thought the trainers had found me
satisfactory.  I knew from casual observation that I was selected more
often than most of the other girls to offer up my body for their use. 
"I hope so, mistress," I said.  Then, more boldly, I added, "Perhaps
you will let me serve you, mistress."

Claudia laughed.  "Not now, I'm a busy woman," she said.  "Overall,
however, I am extremely pleased with you."  I felt a warm glow of
pleasure in my belly.  A slave girl exists to be pleasing, and nothing
can give her such a sense of fulfillment as a master's praise.  "Of
course, you are still a new slave, and have much to learn," she
continued.

I remained silent.  I knew that in my life as a slave many things
would be demanded of me, services that I had probably not yet
imagined, that I might find even more deeply humiliating and degrading
than anything that I had yet suffered, that surely only the lowest of
sluts would even consider.  But I knew that I would embrace them,
because that was what I was for.

"But for now, you are ready to be sold," Claudia said.  I looked up,
startled.  "You see, this is a business.  We have increased your value
tremendously in the few weeks you have been here.  When you arrived,
you were a fresh, untrained capture, with a disposition to submit to
your masters, but little else.  Now you are an exquisite, tantalizing,
beautiful slut, trained to give men pleasures they can only exact from
a true slave.  But keeping you here a few more weeks will hardly
increase your value now."  I stared at her blankly, hearing the words
but not understanding their meaning.  "Now is the time for your
auction."

"Yes, mistress," I finally whispered.  Of course, I thought, as the
words sunk in.  I was a slave girl.  The mansion, the lessons, the
trainers, the routine of submission and rape - this was only a way
station, a training course.  At the end of it, I would be released to
my fate, which was to be an unconditional, helpless, absolutely
perfect pleasure slave.  I could be owned by anyone - anyone, that is,
with the money to buy me - and would have to obey immediately and
enthusiastically the least of his or her commands.  And the majority
of those commands would involve the use of my naked body to gratify my
masters' sexual urges.

"Do you have any questions?" Claudia asked.

"Whom am I to be sold to?" I said.  "What is going to happen to me?" 
Here, I felt secure.  Here, for the price of constant submission and
repeated rape, I was secure and fulfilled.  The thought of a new
master and a new life frightened me.

"First we will do your photo and video shoots," she explained.  "Then
we will distribute your package to our network of clients.  Some of
them will be interested, and some will not.  The interested ones will
come here to inspect you more closely, and then you will be auctioned
off."  She paused.  "As to who will buy you, we leave that to the whim
of the market."

I could feel tears welling up inside me.  So despite my faithful
service to Cristina, despite all my hours of practice and training
under Claudia's direction, there was no one who cared about me, except
as merchandise.  I was only a piece of captive female flesh, to be
bought and sold for the pleasures that could be extracted from it. 
"Yes, mistress," I said.  "Thank you, mistress."

"You are dismissed," she said.  

I lowered my head to the floor as I had been taught and tenderly,
lingeringly, kissed my mistress's feet, feeling my breasts graze the
carpet.  I raised myself again to my knees and then stood, turned, and
left the room.

 ***

The next morning I was excused from class for my "photo shoot."  One
room of the mansion had been transformed into a professional
photographer's studio.  All the shots were taken against a blank white
curtain.  Potential bidders were not interested in props and sets. 
All they would be interested in was my body.  In all the pictures, I
posed absolutely nude, save for my collar.

The photographer snapped his instructions in a friendly but
authoritative voice, casually ordering me to assume every humiliating
position a man might like to demand from a beautiful, naked girl.  He
made me crawl across the set, forward and backward and side to side,
my back arched and bottom raised invitingly, my head raised boldly,
lips suggestively pursed, or my head lowered, my hair a curtain before
my face.  I posed in all the positions of slave rape, on my back,
knees, or belly, or standing, bent over, grasping my ankles, my legs
always widely spread for an unseen master's convenience.  The
photographer took close-ups of my most intimate areas, forcing me to
display myself in the most degrading fashion for inspection by my
potential owners.  A master wants to know every detail of his slave
girl.

I went through my paces almost numbly, unable to accept what was being
done to me.  I was being marketed like any commodity, made to reveal
my charms as enticingly as possible to increase my desirability in the
market.  The feeling of deep, emotional submission to a master or
mistress, which is what had initially tempted me into slavery, was far
distant.  This side of slavery was purely a business matter, and I was
but a product.

At one point during the session, apparently irritated at my somewhat
leaden performance, the photographer positioned me on my knees, my
head to the floor, my hands clasped over my head.  I expected he
merely wanted to demonstrate to his audience this additional option
for exploiting my body and waited quietly for him to take his
pictures.  Instead, I found myself suddenly, brutally entered from
behind, and gasped in pain and surprise.  I felt his firm hands
grasping my breasts and hips, his body plunging into me forcefully. 
But instead of finishing with me quickly, he took his time, varying
his rhythm, arousing me pitilessly and unequivocally until, with his
final surge within me, I cried out in submission.  After withdrawing,
he pulled me up to a kneeling position by the hair and spun me around
in front of him.  Unbidden, I cleaned him with my mouth, hoping to
earn some modicum of acceptance in his eyes.

I understand perfectly what had happened.  I had been simply going
through the motions, passively obeying his orders, not desperately
seeking to please him as a slave girl should.  He, the photographer,
had seen this in my body, and had known how best to impress on me my
slavery.  I looked up at him with a kind of awe and gratitude.  In
making use of my body, he had reminded me of my place, my role in
life.  From that point, I adopted my poses with redoubled enthusiasm,
and my submission radiated from my body.  I hoped he was pleased with
me.

In the afternoon, I continued my newfound career as a nude model, this
time for a video session.  It was largely similar to the morning photo
shoot, except this time every instant was captured on film as I was
put through my humiliating paces.  Not only was my physical beauty on
display this time, but also my absolute obedience and docility as I
instantly complied with the orders given to me.  In addition to
assuming the many positions of submission and service that are second
nature to the slave girl, I was also compelled to lavish my attentions
on a variety of objects - kissing and licking the floor, on my knees,
or taking a whip handle in my mouth, my eyes half-closed in an ecstasy
of submission, or kneeling with my thighs and breasts wrapped around a
vertical pole, caressing it helplessly with my hands and lips.  I was
made to beg my unseen audience to allow me to serve them, to describe
in intimate detail the pleasures I could give them, to proclaim in
unconditional terms my desire to be taken, and mastered, and used as
only a slave girl could be used.  I was not, however, and to my
relief, made to display my sexual talents directly for the camera. 
Apparently the potential buyers would be left to speculate on my
ultimate worth as a vessel for their pleasure.  Of course, the photos
and video they would have left little to the imagination.

After the video shoot, I was allowed an unusual moment to relax as the
technicians gathered their equipment.  I sat against a wall, nude, my
knees drawn up against my chest in a vain effort to cover myself.  The
chain leash I had worn during the last part of the session still
dangled between my breasts and through my legs.  I stared blankly into
space.  Until a few weeks ago, only a few boyfriends had ever seen me
naked, and then only after weeks of pursuit, presents, and romantic
dinners.  Now I had been captured on hundreds of photos and hours of
videotape, not only completely naked, but ruthlessly exposed and
exploited as a purely sexual object.  I wondered who would see those
images - if they would filter back into the world I used to inhabit,
and if my friends and colleagues would see in that wanton, lascivious
slave girl the memory of their vanished friend Jennifer Nevins.  The
occasional beatings and the rapes and the sordid humiliations of my
slavery had, so far, taken place within the four walls of this
mansion, out of sight of the world.  But this, I knew, was the
beginning of a new chapter of my slavery, in which I would be publicly
available to any man or woman, the kind of girl who with a snap of the
fingers could be commanded to open her naked thighs for a master's
conquest.  At the moment, I felt neither pride nor arousal, only a
kind of numb sadness at the fate that awaited me.

After my "portfolio" had been shot, my life returned to something
approaching normal, insofar as the term could be applied to my
situation.  I took up my daily routine again the next day, and found
the trainers at least as harsh as they had been previously.  Perhaps
they knew that I would soon be leaving them, and wanted to ensure that
their student did not embarrass them in the outside world.  Or perhaps
they only wanted to make sure that they took maximum advantage of my
available body before it was claimed by a new master.  But scarcely a
day went by when I was not savagely used, often forced to serve two at
once, or tied down with my legs spread to endure a succession of cruel
masters.  At those times I was thankful that they let me cry, sobbing
face down into a cushion while men made quick use of my unprotected
body, wondering what I might have done to deserve this brutal
treatment.  But I knew that whether or not I deserved it was of no
consequence.  I was a slave, and these things might be done to me.

About a week after the photo and video sessions, I was summoned after
breakfast again to Claudia's office.  I entered and knelt before her,
without even thinking.  It was only natural that a slave should kneel
before her mistress.

"Your potential buyers will be here, today," she began.  "You will be
at their disposal for two hours each.  You will be absolutely,
completely perfect in your submission to them.  This evening, they
will make their initial bids.  Depending on the bids, you will either
have a new owner tonight, or we may repeat the process tomorrow.  Do
you understand me?"

I was too stunned to speak.  Only twelve hours from now people I had
never met before would be bidding for unconditional ownership rights
to my soft, naked body and every charm and attraction it might hold. 
And in the intervening hours, I would be forced to perform for them as
an absolute slave, using all of my talents to elicit as high a bid as
possible from them.

The whip snapped across the back of my shoulders.  "Slut!  Do you
understand me!"

"Yes, mistress," I quickly said.  "Forgive me, mistress."

Claudia glared at me.  "How much money we make on you depends on how
well you are able to excite the buyers' desire today.  You must be
beautiful, and tantalizing, and deeply sensuous, and utterly pleasing.
 All of the buyers are extremely interested in what they have seen so
far.  But that must be nothing compared to the delights you give them
today."

"Yes, mistress," I said.  "I will be absolutely obedient."

I was told there were four groups bidding on me, each of which had
sent one representative to the auction.  I would serve two of them in
the morning and two in the afternoon.  First, however, I was
"prepared" ... by being strapped down on my back over a table, another
slave girl between my knees lavishing her lips and tongue on me.  She
repeatedly brought me close to climax, each time denying me my
fulfillment, letting my helpless gasps and moans and pleas go
unheeded.  After what seemed like an eternity but was probably closer
to twenty minutes, I heard a trainer say, "I think she's had enough." 
I was unbound from the table and led toward the room where I would
serve the buyers, a leash attached to my collar and my hands cuffed
behind my back. I would go to my potential masters cruelly aroused,
desperate for them to have their way with my body.  In my current
state, I could be nothing other than a begging, eager slut.

I knelt on the hardwood floor, awaiting my first inspection, my hands
still cuffed behind my back, the leash dangling between my breasts and
draped over my left thigh.  Light flooded into the room from large
windows on two sides of the room.  Behind me was a simple bed on which
I could be forced to demonstrate my skills.  I thought about the last
thing Claudia had said to me this morning as I left her office. 
"Their goal is to utterly humiliate you.  They want to see how much
you can take."  I shuddered at the thought, wondering what she could
have meant.

I heard a hand on the door latch.  I swallowed.  

The door opened and a man looking exactly like a Japanese businessman
entered.  Or maybe that's what he was - a Japanese businessman, here
to conduct business.  He was on the young side of middle age, not
unattractive, in an expensive gray suit.  I imagined another setting,
where we were meeting across a conference room table, I clothed in
similarly expensive attire.  Then I realized where I was.

"You are Jenny?"  He spoke heavily accented, but perfectly clear
English.

"Yes, master," I answered.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one ... I think.  Is it past July 21st?"

"Yes, today is July 24.  Your birthday?"

"Yes, master," I said, fighting back a tear.  In the shock of my new
life, I had completely forgotten.

"Happy birthday," he said.  He was smiling.

"Thank you, master."

"How long have you been a slave?"

"A few weeks, master."

"What did you do before that?"

"I was a student at UCLA, master."  The memories began to get the
better of me.

"What did you study?"

"Political science, master.  I planned to go to law school."  

He laughed.  "Well, I see things have changed a great deal for you."

"Yes, master," I said, blushing with humiliation.  What a difference a
few weeks had meant.  I could not be farther from the fast track to
success than I was now - kneeling naked and bound for inspection
before a man capable of extracting any service he chose from me.

"Do you like being a slave?"

"Yes, master."  I knew the answer.

"What do you like most about slavery?"

"Giving pleasure to my masters."

Many of the questions were formulaic.  We had learned the answers to
them in our classes.  We existed to serve our masters.  We were
absolutely obedient.  We wanted nothing more than to please our
masters.  Our bodies were constantly available for use by our masters.
 Some of his questions were more probing, however.  How many
boyfriends had I had?  Had I served them well?  How would I serve them
if I saw them now?  What would I do if I could be free again?

Finally he reached into his briefcase and took out a whip.  He tossed
it across the room behind me.  "Fetch," he said.

I struggled toward the whip on my knees and bent my head down to pick
up its handle in my teeth.  I turned to face him.  "On your belly," he
said.  I lowered myself to my belly and squirmed back to him, my hands
still bound behind my back.  My breasts and thighs ached from rubbing
against the floor.  Finally I lay on my belly at his feet.  At a
motion of his hand, I struggled back up to my knees and offered him
the whip handle from between my lips.  He smiled.  He grasped the whip
handle and pushed it in and out of my mouth, simulating the act of
raping my mouth.  I closed my eyes and pretended I was in fact serving
a man, dedicating all the skills of my mouth and tongue to the inert
whip handle.  He withdrew the whip from my mouth and walked around
behind me, pushing my head to the floor, my bottom now raised high in
the air.  Then suddenly I was penetrated by the whip handle.  I could
feel its solid mass pushing in and out of me, tormenting my previously
aroused body and mocking my slave's body.  "You may relieve yourself
or not, as you choose," he said.  I steeled myself to resist, not
wishing to let him bring me to climax in such a degrading fashion. 
But as the whip continued its inexorable domination of my body, I
began to lose control over my feelings, my resistance already weakened
by the "preparation" I had undergone.  Finally I gasped my submission,
my hips shaking uncontrollably.  I pressed my face to the floor,
hoping to sink into it and vanish.

I felt the whip withdrawing from me.  The man came back in front of me
and pulled me back into a kneeling position by my hair.  Then he
replaced the whip handle in my mouth, forcing me to clean off the
evidence of my own submission.  Tears in my eyes, I obeyed.

"You are clearly a hot slut," he pronounced as I continued to suck on
the whip.  "That will make you easier to control."  I lowered my eyes,
shamed.  "Now let's see if you can beg to please a man."

He pulled the whip out of my mouth.  I looked up at him in
anticipation.  He wanted me to beg.

"Please, master, I beg to serve you," I began.  I leaned up and
forward with my body, presenting myself to him.  "Please let this
slave attempt to give you pleasure.  Let me take you in my mouth, or
between my legs, or anywhere you desire.  I will be hot, and wet, and
wonderful for you."  I half closed my eyes and licked my lips slowly. 
I let my hips pulse back and forth in anticipation.  "I beg to be
taken, and raped, and dominated, master.  I long to have you inside
me, to feel you having your way with my body, using me like the slut I
am."  I was only following his instructions, of course.  But I could
not deny that there was some truth to what I was saying.  I did want
to be raped, in part because Claudia had commanded me to serve this
man, but in part because my aroused body was aching to be had.

"You may begin with your mouth," he finally said.

"Thank you, master," I said as he opened his pants.  This, at least, I
knew how to do, I told myself.  I opened my mouth and began to
practice my trade, running my tongue along him, gently coaxing him
into my mouth, swirling my tongue as I had practiced in my classes.  I
knew I was a slave and that there was nothing I could do about that. 
I knew that, like it or not, this is what I had to look forward to. 
And at that moment, if I had to be a slave, I wanted only to be a good
slave, to demonstrate that I was worthy of interest and bidding.  I
found myself wanting desperately to please Claudia, to give this man
and the ones that would follow so much pleasure that I would bring a
high price.  I could feel myself slipping into that emotional ocean of
submission where nothing exists except the master, and the slave's
absolute desire to worship and serve him.

Then, without warning, he withdrew from me.  "What a slut," he said. 
I hoped I could detect a trace of affection in his voice.  "Turn
around and bend over."  Knowing what was coming next, and with part of
me hungering for it, I obeyed.  I felt his hand on me.  He could feel
how wet I was.  I resisted the urge to climax right then.  "You want
me to take you, don't you, slut?" he said.

"Yes, master," I gasped, trying to prevent my hips from pressing back
against him.  "Please, master.  Your slave begs you to take her. 
Please."

Then he plunged into me.  My body opened and enveloped him gratefully.
 His powerful, dominating strokes left me gasping for breath, my
breast heaving.  Then I felt him climax within me, and I let myself
over the edge, my hips jerking in helpless orgasm.

"Thank you, master," I said when he finally withdrew.  I had never
before been so truly thankful for a master's use, both physically and
emotionally.  Suddenly remembering my duty, I pulled myself back to my
knees and offered my mouth to clean him off, savoring the aftertaste
of his conquest.  Although I had been the captive victim of his
ruthless onslaught, I felt nothing but a surge of joy and gratitude.

I could feel the residue of his use dripping from my body onto the
hardwood floor.  He pointed down between my legs.  "Clean up after
yourself, slut," he ordered.  I looked up at him, questioningly.  My
hands were still bound behind my back.  He reached absent-mindedly for
his whip.  Without being asked again, I inched backward and leaned my
face down toward the small puddle that had formed on the floor.  With
my tongue and lips, I gathered the mixed liquids into my mouth and
swallowed.  I felt thoroughly humiliated.  But such humiliation, I
knew, was a simple attribute of my position in life.

Finally I returned to my kneeling position and looked up at my
potential owner.  "How may I serve you, master?" I asked.

Although he was only with me for about two hours, he found many other
ways.

And so the day progressed.  After the Japanese businessman was a
Russian one, and after the Russian was a light lunch, and after lunch
an English businessman.  Between buyers I was allowed to shower and
"freshen up," but then I was once again pitilessly aroused by a slave
girl kneeling between my legs.  I would go to each buyer a hot slut
begging to be used.  I am sure all the buyers were well aware of the
trick, but perhaps they expected it.  By mid-afternoon I had lost
count of the rapes, beatings, and other indignities I had suffered.  I
had been poked, prodded, and pinched in parts of my body I had
previously never dreamed of exposing to such attentions.  My hips and
thighs were sore from use, and the aftertaste of repeated violations
clung to the inside of my mouth.  I had passed through eager obedience
and enthusiastic service to emotional numbness.  I longed for my
classes in slavery, where I had been able to lose myself in striving
to be a model student.

I was kneeling for the fourth time on the hardwood floor, my hands
once again cuffed behind my back, a leash dangling between my uplifted
breasts, awaiting my master of the hour, my tears buried back in my
tear glands, unseen.  And then the door opened and in walked Cristina.

"Cristina," I blurted out instantly.  "What are you doing here?"  My
mind was racing.  She was here to buy me, to set me free from the
nightmare life of a slave girl.  No, she was here to buy me, but to
keep me as her personal sex slave, nude and chained at her feet.  Or
perhaps she was here to tell me that this was all an elaborate joke,
orchestrated by her to allow me to indulge my hidden desires, but now
completed, leaving me free to resume my old life.

She was silent.  She stood directly in front of me, her feet just
inches from my knees, and looked down into my eyes.  I had never
before realized how beautiful she was, her black hair cascading over
her shoulders, her powerful, black-clad figure towering over my soft,
white body.  "Cristina?" I asked hesitantly.

"You've definitely changed, Jenny," she finally began, strolling
slowly around my kneeling form.  "And for the better, if I may say so
myself."  She came to a stop in front of me again.  "Tell me, do you
enjoy being a slave?"

"No!" I said immediately.  "You would never imagine what I have to go
through, how many times I've been raped and beaten.  It's a living
nightmare!  Tell me this is all a joke."

"Actually, I could imagine quite well," she answered.  "Claudia has
brought me up to date on your accomplishments here."  I was silent. 
"Apparently you are one of the most eager and talented little slave
sluts she has ever had."  I lowered my eyes, blushing with shame. 
"Well?  Is that true?"

"Yes.  Yes, mistress," I said.  "But I only did it because I had to
..."

"We always have choices, my dear," Cristina said.  "Now bend down and
lick my boots like a good little slut."

Tears beginning to well up into my eyes, I obeyed.  I remembered the
first time I had bent over her boots like this.  It had seemed like
only a game, then.  Now, I feared, it was something much more real.

"I do have some news for you, Jenny," Cristina said.  "But I am not
here to free you, nor am I going to buy you, although that is why I am
ostensibly here.  In a few days, you will be an utter slave slut in
the absolute possession of one of the gentlemen who preceded me here
today."  I began to sob, my tears falling onto her boots where I
licked them up with my tongue.  To have momentarily believed freedom
might be at hand, only to have that hope dashed, was more than I could
bear.  "But first you will serve me like the slave you are.  I want to
see what you have learned."

Cristina walked around me and sat on the edge of the bed.  She leaned
forward, picked up the loose end of my leash, and tugged, drawing my
head forward between her legs.  I felt her hands clasping my soft
brown hair as she pulled my face and mouth closer to her body.  Weeks
ago I had stripped myself naked and fallen to my knees before her,
begging to be allowed to serve her.  Now that wish was being granted.

Delicately, I used my teeth to pull down her panties, alternating from
side to side until they were clear of her hips, then pulling them down
and over her high heels.  Then, taking a deep breath, I lifted my head
back under her short black skirt and dedicated myself to her pleasure.
 I used every trick and nuance I had learned, varying the rhythm, and
intensity, and location my tongue's caresses, hoping to show her that
I was, indeed, worthy of being owned.  Cristina lay back on the bed,
her hands still locked in my hair, no doubt relishing my helpless and
passionate service.

Finally I felt her thighs grip my head as I brought her to a long and
rolling climax.  I continued to lick and kiss at her until her hands
gently pulled me away.

"Did I please you, mistress?" I asked.  Cristina had left no doubt as
to the relationship between us.

"Yes, my dear," she answered.  I flushed with pride.  "You still have
a lot to learn, but you clearly have some talent.  And Claudia was
right - it's hard to find a slave so eager to please.  As long as you
keep up that zealousness, you'll do fine as a slave."

"Thank you, mistress," I said.  Although I was deeply ashamed of it, I
knew my ability to block out everything and focus on a master's
pleasure, to devote myself wholly and unreservedly to his or her
desires, would serve me well as a slave.  My life might depend on that
utter submissiveness.

"Now listen to me, Jenny," Cristina said seriously, leaning towards
me.  "What I'm going to tell you is very important, but you cannot
tell anyone else, for reasons that will soon be evident.  Do you
understand?"

"Yes, mistress," I said.  

"In case you had any doubts, you are here because I recommended you to
Claudia.  I am one of her 'talent scouts;' I identify young girls with
strong potential to be female slaves and test them."  I thought about
the day she had invited me to that first "bondage ball."  Slowly it
all started to make sense.  That had been a test.  Apparently I had
passed it.  "If they seem promising, Claudia takes it from there."

"Yes, mistress," I said blankly.  Cristina had chosen this life for
me.  I supposed I should have hated her for it, but I couldn't muster
the emotion.  She had only opened the door to this life of unremitting
sexual servitude; I had stepped through it.

"But I chose you for another reason," Cristina continued.  "I'm really
helping the German police investigate the white slavery and
prostitution industry.  We're trying to plant informants into the
organization, and I chose you.  We need girls on the inside who can
let us know what is going on and provide evidence when we finally
decide to nab someone.  For rather obvious reasons, we can't just
plant any old female agent; we don't need someone who can act like a
slave girl, we need someone who really is a slave girl, both
physically and emotionally.  Anything less and they would spot it
immediately."  She paused.  "That's where you come in."

"You want me to be a spy for you?" I stammered.  Slipping into the
life of a slave girl, completely free of worries and responsibilities
- apart from absolute obedience and exquisite sexual services, that is
- was something I was more than halfway resigned to.  This sounded
more complicated, and dangerous.

"After a fashion," Cristina said.  "Listen, Jenny, this is the deal. 
You can say no, and this is the last you'll ever hear from me.  You'll
be auctioned off tonight, and you'll spend the next ten years begging
men to use your soft little body in ways you've never imagined. 
Within three months you'll have lost your personality and you'll never
think any thoughts except how to be the most fantastic sex toy your
masters have ever seen.  And after ten years, who knows?  If you're
lucky, you'll be dumped on the street, turning tricks because it's the
only thing you can do.

"If you say yes, you spend your time listening to what goes on around
you, gathering evidence, and remembering it.  Periodically we'll send
in a client to pick up the information.  If we nail the people we want
and the operation ends, you're free to go.  You can go back to school
and go on with your life.  Even if we don't get them, we'll get you
out within three years.  We'll just buy you if we need to.

"That's your choice.  What'll it be?"

I thought rapidly.  Cristina was right.  Even if I could be contented
as a sex slave, how long could it last?  What could I look forward to
once my cheerful smile and young body were gone?  And what she was
offering seemed the best possible option.  I could continue to live
out my slave girl fantasy, but now it would have a happy ending; I
would be set free while still young enough to live another life.  And
who would suspect in me, the perfect, subservient, eager slave slut,
an informant?

"Yes, mistress," I said.  "I'll do it."

Cristina smiled.  "I knew you would.  You may be a sucker for
humiliation, but you're still smart."  She casually patted me on the
head.  "Tonight, you're going to be bought by the Brit who was in here
before me.  Don't ask how I know that.  Then you're going to be
shipped to a brothel in Paris.  You'll find out what that's like soon
enough.  You'll receive instructions from one of your clients.  The
code phrase is 'I like daffodils, but my favorite flower is the
chrysanthemum.'   If any client says that to you, he's one of us, and
you can trust him.  Do you understand?"

"I like daffodils, but my favorite flower is the chrysanthemum," I
repeated.  "Got it.  Mistress," I added.

"You were really meant to be a slave, Jenny.  It'll be a pity to set
you free when we're done."  She paused.  "Well, that's it for now.  We
still have an hour to spend in here or Claudia will get suspicious. 
I'm supposed to be test-driving you, you know.  Do you have any idea
how we could pass the time?"

 From the look on her face I could tell that she had an idea.  She
pushed down on my shoulders, forcing me to my back.  My wrists were
pinned uncomfortably in the small of my back.  She knelt above me, her
knees straddling my face, and lowered herself toward my waiting mouth.
 "You have a lot to learn, slut," she said.  "Maybe I can teach you
something."

 ***

When Cristina's time with me was up, I was once again allowed to clean
myself and was then summoned to serve at dinner.  The four buyers were
guests of the house, but I played no particular role in the evening's
activities.  Perhaps Claudia wanted them to taste the merits of her
other slave girls, to provoke their interest in a future purchase.  Or
perhaps my body was not being offered to them in order to communicate
that now, in order to have me, they would have to pay.  Of course,
they had had their way with my body repeatedly during the day, so it
would be something of an empty symbol.

After dinner I waited in the slave girls' common bedroom, waiting. 
Other girls tried to comfort me, but I had little patience for them. 
Did they not know what was happening to me?  I was being sold to the
highest bidder, who would then own me, completely and unconditionally.
 Here in the training house, our masters had been restrained by
commercial motivations - we were here to be trained, not to be
casually and arbitrarily abused.  But soon, a defenseless slave in the
wider world, anything might be demanded of me, any command might be
imposed on me.  I had not even a shred of clothing to protect my body
from the demands of my future masters.  I imagined being tied down and
raped by hundreds of men, one after the other, until passing out in
shock, only to be forcibly revived to endure my continuing torture. 
The only thing I had to hold onto was Cristina's promise.  Three years
and I would be free.  I did not know if I could endure that long.

Finally I was ordered to Claudia's office.  I entered and knelt before
her.  Standing next to her was the English man who had "tried me out"
earlier.

"Jenny, this is Mr. McGregor," Claudia said.  He made the high bid on
you, on behalf of his company, and he is now your owner."  The shock
must have been evident on my face.  "You may greet your new master,"
she finally said.

I remembered then what I was supposed to do.  I turned to him, bent
down, and began to kiss his feet.  "Thank you, master," I said.  "I
will be absolutely obedient and pleasing, master.  Thank you for
letting me be your slave."  I remembered what he had done to me that
afternoon.  He had been utterly commanding, and ruthless, and
dominant.  I had begged him to rape me and finally screamed out my
submission to him as he used me for the third time.  He had left me
with no doubts about what it meant to be his slave.

"Yes, I think she'll do nicely," he said to Claudia, ignoring my
efforts to please him.  Finally he indicated that I should stop.

"Jenny, you will sleep here tonight.  Tomorrow you will be transported
to your new home," Claudia said.  "You have been an excellent student
and have all the makings of a superb slut.  I wish you well."

"Thank you, mistress," I said.

"Do you have any questions?"

I don't know where I summoned the courage to ask.  "Mistress ... how
much did I cost?"

Claudia smiled and turned toward Mr. McGregor.  He laughed.  

"1.6 million dollars," he said.

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