"Very well. Now I will be the first to introduce you to your new condition."
"Yes, master," I said meekly, now knowing I was only moments away from my first slave rape. My body was beginning to lubricate itself in self-defense. "How may I serve you?"
"Turn away from me," he ordered. I obeyed, still kneeling. "Put your head to the floor. Put your hands behind your head." I was now fully open and exposed to him, my bound hands powerless to protect me from his impending assault. He made me wait what seemed like hours as I trembled naked on the floor of the limousine, awaiting my ravishment. Then suddenly he entered me and I gasped in shock. He made use of me rapidly, casually, brutally, demonstrating that I was but passive flesh available for his convenience, and then withdrew. He had aroused me with his usage of me, but it was over much too quickly for me to gain release. "You may thank me," he said.
"Thank you, master," I sobbed, not daring to break position. Then I felt another man penetrate me and subject me to his domineering thrusts, again using me quickly and casually. "Thank you, master," I repeated when he had finished with me, and awaited the third.
"I would prefer to make use of that mouth of hers," he said instead. Not sure what was expected of me, I turned to face him and raised myself to my knees.
"You may use me in any way you wish, master," I said. At a sign of encouragement, I opened his pants and lowered my head to his body. I had never before pleasured a man with my mouth, but I thought I could guess what I should do. He locked his hands in my hair and pulled my open mouth over his manhood, setting the pace I must keep. Soon he let out a moan and clutched my head to him, forcing me to swallow his seed. I almost gagged, but my fear at the potential consequences overcame my reflex. He withdrew from me. "Thank you, master," I managed to say. He cleaned himself off with my hair.
The leader of the three said, "That is all you are good for now. You had better hope that men find you satisfactory."
"Yes, master," I replied.
Then the men took to talking to themselves in rapid German, leaving their slave to kneel silently at their feet.
I cried softly during the car ride. I could think of nothing except the brutal rape I had just suffered, their casual, forceful handling of my body. The long, slow cycles of tantalizing, excruciating arousal that Cristina had put me through, the fantasy world of semi-consensual slavery that I had imagined for myself - these were long gone. Instead, I was kneeling, silently and in terror, before three men who had just used me for their ruthless, unilateral pleasure, treating my mouth as well as my body as only another place to find their release. The taste of that last ravishment remained thick and heavy in my mouth. I supposed I had better get used to it, I said to myself. It was a taste I was sure to know well in the days, weeks, and months ahead. No, this was clearly not the exotic, comfortable slavery I had imagined. But at the same time that I dreaded what masters might do to me, I understood that, on some level, I had asked for this. No one had made me accompany Cristina to that first party, semi-nude, a collar and leash on my neck. No one had forced me to beg Stefan to rape me that first night, or to offer my body up to Cristina after the dinner party. And I knew that there could be no slavery that was not total, unconditional, and abject, in which masters could not freely use my body in any way they saw fit.
I moaned softly as my the realization of my predicament sank in. This, then, was what I had to look forward to, for at least as long as my body continued to be of interest to masters - kneeling naked before men, my body still sore from their previous assaults, waiting submissively for them to see fit to take pleasure in my soft flesh once again. And I had to admit that part of me - a small part, but one I could not deny - almost reveled in that realization, that the slave girl in me had finally been recognized, brought out into the open, and cruelly enslaved, finally being forced to put her charms to use.
I wondered if Cristina knew what was happening to me, if she had somehow arranged for my abduction and enslavement, or had even sold the rights to my body to some dealer in women's flesh. If the latter, I wondered what she had gotten for me. Even if she were not involved, I felt sure that she would approve of this drastic change in my fortunes.
I wondered how long I could survive as a helpless slave, completely at the mercy of demanding masters. As a new slave, I expected I would provide at least some novelty value, a new plaything for a few hours of entertainment. But then perhaps they would tire of me, or at the least would become more and more exacting, continually demanding new depths of submission and service. I silently prayed that men would find me satisfactory, as my captor had said. But then I realized with a shock that it was not just a matter of others "finding" me satisfactory or not. I, though a slave, still must have some power to please masters, to make them desire my services, to stimulate their desire and, in so doing, provoke my own ravishment. If I wanted to survive, I would have to do everything in my power to make myself desirable, to anticipate the wants of my masters, to inflame them with lust and then satiate their urges with my soft, naked body. I knew the only assets at my disposal were my body and my ability to use it to please men and women, and that the quality of my life would depend directly on my success in encouraging them to humiliate, abuse, and debase me. And with a kind of calm, I realized that in succumbing to my submissive urges, in giving in to masters as the brazen slut I knew I could be, I was only heeding my own self-interest, following the course of action most likely to preserve my life in a tolerable fashion. If I was totally dependent on the whims of my masters, it was far better for them to find in me a willing, eager, sensuous slut than a reluctant, withdrawing, resisting woman attempting to preserve her dignity. Armed with this irrefutable justification, I was free to cast aside any vestiges of modesty or propriety I might of thought to keep, free to embrace my complete and abject subjection.
I looked up at my captor, a pleading look in my eyes. I begged silently for him to be kind to me. I knew at that moment I would do anything in my meager powers to please him. Unbidden, I lowered my head to his feet and began to lick at his shoes. Although I had performed this act of obeisance several times before, this was the first time I did so as a true slave, in complete recognition of the absolute power this man held over me, my body, and my very life. I abandoned myself completely to the worship of his feet, covering them with caresses of my tongue and tears from my eyes, hoping in this tiny way to be found pleasing. At that moment, I actually hoped that he would deign to make use of me again, if only for the security of knowing that he found me of interest.
Instead, he only reached down and stroked my hair, falling about his feet. "You'll make a good slave," he said. I moaned in appreciation, but continued licking his shoes.
Eventually the car pulled into the long driveway of another secluded mansion. A tug on my leash pulled me back up to my knees. I looked up at my master, expectantly. "This is your new home, slut," he said. This was real, then. I had not been abducted simply to serve as an evening's entertainment, thereafter to be returned to my accustomed life. This was, in fact, the beginning of a new life, a life I whose outlines I could only dimly imagine - a life to be spent at the feet of my masters, desperately hoping to please them with my nude body.
My captor led me up the stairs to the front door. I trailed behind him as Cristina had taught me, my eyes lowered submissively. He knocked on the door and I waited in expectant silence. The door swung open.