Another man came over to where I was bound, opened his pants before me, and began to make use of me. I did my best to try to please him with my tongue, but he did not seem interested in how I might serve him, only in the pleasure he might forcibly take in my mouth. When he had satisfied himself, he remained in my mouth for a minute, waiting patiently as I swallowed, before withdrawing. Then he zipped up and walked away.
I will never forget that night for as long as I live. I soon lost count of the number of men who used my body for their unilateral pleasure, or the women who held my head between their legs so that I could attempt to please them with my tongue. There were more than a few who also chose to beat me with the whip left out for that purpose, making me cry out and beg to be raped until they finally chose to take from me the pleasure I so desperately wanted to give them. In my training, I had been taught to be a fantastically sensuous slave, armed with an arsenal of skills to tantalize, arouse, and satisfy both men and women. Here I could use none of them; I was chained in place, a passive receptacle for their pleasure, a bundle of soft, captive flesh set out for their sexual consumption. Gone were the fantasies of providing long and exquisite intimate services under the exacting commands of my master; instead I was simply beaten and taken by an unending succession of men who cared not at all for me as an individual slave girl, only for the parts of my body that were offered up for their convenience. I cried as I was repeatedly used, unnoticed by my rapists concerned only with the softness of my flesh and the warmth of my mouth, until I could cry no more. I heard men laugh as they discussed the qualities of my anatomy openly, but I was beyond humiliation. I knew then better than I had known before that I was a slave girl, and that this was the price I might have to pay for my slavery.
When the clients had finally left and the slave girls cleaned up the lounge area, I expected to be released and taken back to the slaves' wing. But no one came for me. I would be left to spend the night chained in place, contemplating my situation and my fate. I wondered if I would ever be released, or if I would be chained there night after night, suffering the same treatment.
I could not sleep, preoccupied as I was by the events of that day. I thought over and over again about the abuses I had endured and what they might imply for my future life. And before dawn, I had understood why new slaves were set out and used in that way. Never again could I have any doubts about my condition. I believed that I could sink no lower, that no slavery could be more abject and degrading than what I had just suffered. And I knew that, if I were unchained from that table and allowed to serve my masters, I would do everything in my power, would use all of my skills and all of the charms of my soft, captive body, to be the most beautiful, submissive, obedient, sensuous, and perfect slave I could be. Rather than rebel against my brutal treatment, I resolve to be a wonder to my masters.
I only prayed they would allow me the chance to show them what kind of slave girl they had bought.
Chapter 8: My New Life
From that night, my fortunes had nowhere to go but up. And beginning the next morning, my lot did begin to improve. I was unchained in the morning and allowed to shower, eat, and rest in the slaves' quarters. For breakfast and lunch, unless we were called to perform our services elsewhere, we were allowed to eat as we chose from a small kitchen stocked with an assortment of healthy foods - cereal, skim milk, juices, fruit, fresh bread, raw vegetables, and so on. That first day, I was set to no menial chores, instead being allowed to rest and recover from the previous night's exertions. Though they were strict, our overseers were not unnecessarily cruel. The treatment I had suffered my first night was a ritual debasement imposed on every new slave girl, intended primarily to instruct her in her status and motivate her to be pleasing; they were sufficiently confident in its effectiveness that they saw no need to subject me to further abuse, but preferred to let their newest asset restore her strength and desirability.
Some of the other girls introduced themselves to me. Besides Michelle, there were two other Americans: Annabelle, from a liberal arts college in the Northeast, and Laura, who had been a model in New York. Once again I found myself in the awkward position of being one of the less attractive girls in a group. I knew that I would have to compensate for my face and body - certainly attractive, but not in the caliber of some of the girls around me - with absolute submissiveness and a fervent desire to please.
Despite our disparate backgrounds, all of the girls I met shared one thing in common - a hidden interest in submission that eventually led to our introduction into actual slavery. Apparently the type of slavers whom we had encountered, who seemed to operate in countries across the globe, were only interested in girls whose psychological profiles indicated that they could be molded into willing, helpless slaves. Of course, this made perfect sense. What man, presented with a reluctant, fearful slave girl, cowed into submission by beatings and threats, would not prefer an eager, submissive slave slut, desperate to please, willingly opening her thighs before him for his pleasure? I knew that I fell into that category, and I suspected that my new colleagues did as well.
In the evening, I was put to work in the club again - not, as I had feared, bound again over the same table to be used like so much captive flesh, but instead put to the more mundane task of waiting tables. Of course, as I had been instructed prior to going out onto the floor, I was to consider any client my absolute master, and was to comply immediately with any demands he made upon my body. My absolute nudity, especially compared with some of the girls who had been permitted clothing, revealing as it was, only reinforced my availability. But I was grateful nonetheless for this improvement in my condition. I was confident that, on my own two feet or kneeling before a client, I knew how to please a man. I was confident that my masters would find me an acceptable slave, and that I could count on my skills and my intrinsic submissiveness to protect me from the beatings and abuses that I could still feel in my sore body.
By watching the other girls, I quickly learned how to behave when serving clients in the club. We were to be elegant and unobtrusive, taking their orders and delivering their drinks and food, but at the same time were to subtly and sensuously offer the additional services that could be commanded of a slave girl. "How else may I serve you, master?" and "Does master desire anything else from this slave?" were phrases that I would use with a client who seemed more interested in drink and conversation than in intimate services; "This slave begs to please you" or "This slave begs to be raped" would be more appropriate with a client whose gaze was drawn to my naked breasts and thighs. I also learned the silent, non-verbal but highly communicative signals that slave girls might resort to - lowering my eyes, licking my parted lips, spreading my thighs, or pushing my breasts up and forward, so that a master might choose to reach out and caress them. I knew it was in my interests to draw attention, to make myself desirable, to be the kind of girl that a man might order to her knees before him, or might drag off to a private room, there to put her through her paces. And knowing that to be my station, I could not help myself from truly wanting to be found desirable, to be put on my back and used like the slave I was, to be allowed to cry out my submission in the arms of a master.