Message-ID: <34933asstr$1011989403@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: danawilliams7979@yahoo.com (DW) X-Original-Message-ID: <30a9bd57.0201241852.442121ee@posting.google.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: 25 Jan 2002 02:52:36 GMT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 24 Jan 2002 18:52:35 -0800 Subject: {ASSM} My Berlin Summer, Chapter 6 (MF/F, bd, nc, slavery) Date: Fri, 25 Jan 2002 15:10:03 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw 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. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+