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.