This is my second story about the experiences of a girl who is forced into slavery. It's not terribly imaginative, but hopefully some of you will like it. If you liked "My Berlin Summer," it's probably worth your time to read this one. Unlike "My Berlin Summer," this one is in only one part, because I find I have neither the time nor the creativity for longer efforts. Please send any feedback to danawilliams7979@yahoo.com. If you would like to post the story on a site, please let me know. *** The First Day by Dana Williams There were tears in my eyes. I was glad that I was not wearing makeup. Had my tears ruined my makeup, I was sure I would have been beaten. Girls such as I, I had learned, could be beaten for far less. On the other hand, perhaps the men preferred their girls to ascend the block in such a state of obvious distress. Perhaps the buyers found such innocence appealing. I did not know. I knew only that I had to obey. I had been captured only two weeks earlier, in the fall of my home city, where I had been born and had spent my nineteen years of life. The assault had been sudden and unexpected, the enemy soldiers suddenly pouring through the streets and knocking down doors. I had been quickly collared, my hands bound roughly behind my back, and thrown onto a waiting wagon to be transported to my fate. In the back of the wagon were fifteen or so other girls and young women. I knew several of them from school or other settings. Some were married; most, including me, were not. All were highly attractive, or so I thought, at least. We had been found worthy of being abducted and taken away. I flushed with a moment of pride, only to feel a chill as I thought of the obvious reasons why we might have been chosen. Some of the women had had their clothing torn and, their hands tied as mine, were unable to conceal their bodies. Thankfully, I had not been so abused. The block was a broad wooden platform, about six feet high. We were outside, in bright daylight, in one of the principal plazas of the capital city of our conquerors. I was kneeling with the other girls in the dirt behind the platform. There was nowhere I could go. A chain connected the collar around my neck to the collars of the girls on my left and right. The guards stood to either side of us, their whips hanging by their sides. We no longer gave them any reason to use them. I did not know how many people were on the other side of the block, watching the proceedings with idleinterest or with commercial intentions. We had been told very little about our fate. We had only been told that if we obeyed, we would survive. I had already seen girls beaten within an inch of their lives for failing to obey a single command. I had no wish to feel the leather on my soft, unprotected back and thighs again. The last two weeks had been easily the worst of my life. Torn away from my home and family, I had been given a crash course in the demands of my new existence. I had learned to obey without question the commands of my captors, to eat from a bowl on the floor, to beg to lick and kiss their feet, to remove my clothes at the slightest gesture. As captives from an enemy city, we knew we had no recourse, no court to which we could appeal. Even were the fortunes of war to be reversed and our home armies to triumph one day, we could not hope to be returned to our previous stations; the transition to our new condition was a one-way trip. Once a girl has been taught to kneel at the feet of men, there is no other future available to her. The girl on my left was released from the holding chain and drawn up to a standing position. A chain leash was attached to her collar and used to lead her to the steps mounting the back of the wooden platform. She, too, had been crying. For the last two weeks, she had been one of our captors' "favorites." I had heard them pull her from her kennel at any hour and use her in the corridor, her soft back or belly pressed against the cold tile flooring. I had heard her cries of pain and humiliation as they exerted their dominance over her, using her unilaterally for their brutal pleasure. She had not been the only one to be so abused. I, luckily, had been spared such intimate attentions, but I was only too aware of why: as a virgin, I was being "saved" for my eventual owner. It was he who would claim rights to my soft flesh. I heard the crack of the whip as the woman before me walked back and forth on the block, displaying herself brazenly for the crowd. I saw the auctioneer fondling her body possessively and heard his voice booming out, but I could not focus enough to understand his words. I knew a little of the language of this state, my schoolbook learning supplemented by the commands I had been taught over the last two weeks, but in my current state of distress my vocabulary failed me. A guard unclipped my collar from the chain and attached a chain leash in its place. He pulled me to a standing position by the leash. I kept my eyes down as I had been trained. All morning we had been displayed along one side of the plaza, our wrists chained above our heads to rings set high in a stone wall. There was enough slack in the chains for us to turn about and display our bodies fully for the potential buyers. Of course, they were not limited to the use of their eyes, but were also permitted to explore our bodies fully with their hands. I blushed, remembering the humiliating caresses and examinations I had suffered, and even more at the way some of them had made my body respond. Surely my friends would have been shocked to see my body squirm in the chains as it had that morning. But the men were merciless, and I had had nothing with which to protect myself. The woman before me was now descending the stairs on the side of the platform, her head in her hands, sobbing. It was my turn. The guard led me up the stairs, where he handed the end of my leash to the auctioneer. I was naked, alone, and afraid. I was about to be sold. The auctioneer reached around my body and rudely fondled my right breast as he spoke. I did not understand many the words, but I guessed he was reading them my basic description: 19 years of age, five foot six, dark brown hair, brown eyes, illiterate. Virgin. Before two weeks ago, I had never been naked before a man. Now it had become a regular part of my condition. While we were sometimes permitted clothes - thin and revealing as they might be - it went without saying that we would be auctioned off completely nude, save for our collars. Men would pay for the use of our naked bodies, so it was only fair that they should be able to see what they were buying. I dared not lift my head, but by lifting my eyes slightly I guessed that there were two hundred people in the crowd. Most were men, though some were women or children. Most looked on dispassionately, even distractedly. Didn't they care? I was going to be sold! But, I knew, I was nothing to them, just another naked girl to be had for a pittance. "Sex slave," I heard the auctioneer call out as he cracked the whip, indicating that I would soon have to perform for the audience. There were two words I knew. But I had never heard them applied to me with such momentous finality as they were now, my naked, collared body in full view of the hundreds of people who might own me just a few minutes from now. Of course, I had known that I was a slave, and had been able to guess that I was the sort of slave whose primary purpose was to give long, uninhibited, unconditional pleasures to men, the kind of girl whose place was on her back before a man, her legs spread invitingly, or on her belly, her hips raised high in the air, or her widely-spread knees, her lips open and her eyes closed. Apparently men had considered my face, and breasts, and belly, and thighs, and determined that I was the sort of girl worth having, at least for a few minutes' casual rape, or for longer, more elaborate pleasures I had not yet been trained to give. But it still came as a shock to hear those words so casually applied to me, here, on the block, so vulnerably exposed, so helpless. It was as if everything about me, my entire existence, could be summed up in those two words, "sex slave." But now, of course, it could. That was all I was, or could hope to be. The whip cracked again, this time across my back. I realized I had missed a command. The auctioneer repeated it: "Kneel!" I swiftly knelt on the wooden platform, my knees spread, my breasts lifted prominently, my head lowered submissively. "Crawl!" he ordered. I lowered myself to my hands and knees and crawled from one side of the block to the other, my back arched and my hips high as I had been trained, my head still down. I could hear numbers being called out from the crowd, but in my confusion I could not make any sense of them. I hoped that I would bring a good price, if for no other reason than to provide some validation to my miserable existence. I am not a slave!, I thought to myself as I rolled on my side on the block in response to a command. I do not want to be at the beck and call of a man, subject to his every whim and desire, forced to lend him the pleasure of my body at his least command, nothing more than a vessel for his sexual urges. My tears flowed faster as I wept at my cruel fate. Yet here I was, displaying myself naked before a square full of bidders, now pursing and licking my lips like the cheapest of whores. The auctioneer placed the handle of his whip before my mouth, and I sucked on it greedily, mimicking the service that I had never performed but would no doubt come to know only too well. I knew the penalty for failing to perform, and had no wish to suffer it. As the crowd laughed at my attempts to satisfy the inanimate object, the auctioneer made a comment I partially understood - something about my being "eager" to have "the real thing" in my mouth. A voice from the front of the crowd asked a question. The auctioneer seemed to agree, and then positioned me on my knees with my head to the floor, my hands clasped behind my neck. I knew I could move from this position only at my own peril. He paused for dramatic effect, letting the crowd take in the sight of my naked body so wantonly presented to view. Then he began to touch me between the legs, and soon I was reduced to a quivering mass of flesh on the platform's surface, my knees pressed tightly together. I could not help it if my body behaved that way! But the audience had apparently like what it had seen. Amid the laughter I heard more bids being called. The auctioneer ordered me to kneel and lift my head, forcing me to look into the eyes of the people who had just witnessed my utter humiliation. I knew now that I was a slave - just a trivial, vulnerable, available bundle of captive, naked flesh to be sold to and carried off by the highest bidder. I sobbed openly as the bidding came to a climax. Then suddenly it was over and I was being led down the stairs on the right side of the block. I had no idea who had bought me, or what kind of slavery lay in wait for me. I shuddered. I was about to meet my first master as a slave always does, naked and on her knees. I found myself wondering how long I would remain a virgin, and how my master would choose to first make use of my body. Waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs was a large, imposing man, a head and shoulders taller than I and with hands that no doubt could have snapped my neck. I felt terribly small, and vulnerable, and naked. I sank to my knees and spread them widely, hoping to satisfy this man who, I feared, was now my absolute master. A guard removed the steel collar that had encircled my neck for the past two weeks and, an instant later, the new man snapped a new collar in its place. I had just been transferred from one owner to the next as so much property. I realized that a new girl had not yet ascended the block to suffer the treatment I had just endured. Then, once again leashed, I found myself being led back onto the stage I had just departed, this time by my new master. He pushed me to the front of the platform, again forcing me to display my body to the crowd. He was making some kind of announcement. It had something to do with that evening, and with me, and he was inviting everyone to take part. I had only the faintest inkling of what lay in store for me, but that was enough to make me shudder with dread. Then he pointed to his feet, and I threw myself to my belly on the wooden surface, licking and kissing at his boots. The crowd laughed, and he repeated his invitation. Then he grabbed me by my long brown hair and unceremoniously conducted me from the block. I heard the next girl beginning to climb the stairs behind the platform. My new master marched me through the streets naked, allowing all the passers-by to enjoy the sight of my body. I had spent much of the past two weeks naked, but that had been in the relatively restricted confines of a training center; I was not yet used to the casual appraisals of any person who happened to pass me in the street. Luckily, it was only a few blocks before we arrived at my new home. My heart sank. I could tell from the decorations on the front windows - which clearly depicted naked women in the process of satisfying the lusts of powerful men - what kind of establishment it was. It was a brothel but, more than that, one in which the women called upon to perform sexual services were all slaves and, as such, could be compelled to perform in any manner the clients chose to command. Here I would not be available and subject to a single master, which I had dreaded enough in itself; instead, I would be the common property of any men who might take a fancy to my body, providing them for a reasonable fee with intimate delights I could barely suspect at the time. I looked up at my master, tears in my eyes. He laughed and shoved me forcibly through the door. Once inside, all eyes turned to look at me. There were several men, who were apparently employed by the establishment, as well as several girls, all collared and dressed in highly revealing garments that seemed only to accentuate their vulnerability and sexuality. I was highly conscious of my complete nudity. I hoped I would soon be permitted to wear clothing, no matter how scanty it might be. A tall, muscular woman with a regal bearing appeared from the other side of the room and strode directly towards me. "On your knees, slut," she commanded me, in my native tongue. She spoke with the accent of the city in which I found myself a slave, but her command of the language was excellent. I sank to my knees in terror, hoping to be found pleasing. She kicked my knees even further apart, calling attention to my helpless openness. "Another cheap slut like the rest," she said, apparently for my benefit. She grasped me by the hair and pulled my head down to the floor, where I, unbidden, began to lick at her boots, offering her my submission in exchange for my life. Part of me rebelled at this rapid acquiescence in my situation, but my dominating motives were of fear. I knew that I was powerless to prevent anything that my owners might choose to inflict on me, and I hoped only that they might show me some tiny particle of mercy. "That's enough, slut," she said after a minute or so. "Sarah! Melanie! Get the new slut ready for tonight!" Two of the slave girls came over to me and, leading me by the leash still attached to my collar, took me through a door and into what were apparently the rooms for slave preparation. There they bathed me, shaved any hair from my body, and applied makeup and perfume to me. They were also from my home city, but had been captured several months earlier while traveling, before the current conflict had broken out. We whispered furtively in our native tongue, as they warned me of what my new life would be like. This was, indeed, a brothel, or a "pleasure club" as it was called, where any of the girls could be rented for a fee that depended on the length of usage and the services that would be demanded. In the large front room we would serve food and drinks to the clients and otherwise wait on them, doing our best to attract their attentions and stimulate their desires; then, when a client wished to make use of a girl, he would pay her fee at the bar and take her into a small, private room, there to subject her to whatever discipline and abuse he chose. As slaves, we, of course, could not object to any services that were demanded of us, but must exert all of our charm and skill to satisfy our masters of the hour, or face an unsatisfactory report and a consequent beating. I was only the eleventh girl at this club, which was one of the more popular in the city, which meant that on a busy night one girl might be used up to fifteen or twenty times. Sarah and Melanie quickly educated me on the things we must do to survive; one said, matter-of-factly, "you'll learn to satisfy as many of them as you can with your mouth; it's easier that way than taking all of them between the legs." I was in utter shock and despair. I could hardly imagine surviving a single night of such utter degradation, let alone weeks or months. You learn to adapt, my new friends consoled me; pleasing men and avoiding punishment become your constant occupation and concern, they explained, and soon it seems completely natural, as if it were your sole and true purpose in life. Never, I resolved to myself, would I let that happen to me. Whips and chains might make me a slave, but I would never willingly consent to be the helpless sexual plaything of any man who could afford the use of my body. They also warned me of the particularly brutal humiliation I would suffer that evening as both a new girl in the club and a virgin. But nothing they said prepared me for the realities of what I would endure. After I had been suitably prepared and cleaned - both inside and out, in ways I had never before experienced - I was given a light dinner and allowed to rest as the club's main room filled with expectant customers. There was a cover charge this evening, but in compensation each entrant was given a single ticket for a lottery that would be held shortly - a lottery in which I was the unfortunate and unwilling prize. These were men who had seen me perform on the auction block only a few hours before, or who had heard from their friends that there was a particularly tasty piece of slave flesh to be had this evening, and had come to see the festivities and try their luck. When the room was largely full, and the other slaves were busy delivering food and drinks to the tables, I was led out onto the floor, my hands chained behind my back, wearing something resembling the traditional folk costume of my home city, including an ornamented blouse and a long, flowing skirt. I had been made up to look like an innocent schoolgirl, which is what I had been only a few weeks before. The crowd cheered lustily. Though I could make out only some of the words they were saying, I understood their intentions only too well. Holding me close to him by the chain leash attached to my collar, the club owner made a brief speech to his assembled guests. He said something along the lines of having found a young girl from my city who, having become convinced of the superiority of the one in which she now found myself, wanted nothing more than the opportunity to serve her citizens in some capacity, and humbly begged to be allowed a trial. At one point the audience bellowed out a hearty chorus of "Yes!," which I took as a sign that they were willing to accept my services. Then my wrists were released, only to be bound again above my head to a ring dangling from the low ceiling. I was then forced to endure the humiliation of being stripped naked before a room that now counted more than one hundred men. One by one, the club owner's knife shredded the garments that hung about my body, leaving them in shreds to flutter to the floor, until I wore only the thin, revealing undergarments that barely concealed my breasts and my intimacies. I was blushing furiously, not only at my near-nudity but also at the feeling of warmth that was beginning to collect in my belly. Then with two final strokes, these final veils were casually ripped away, leaving my body open and exposed to the gazes of the men who could soon lay claim to my body. The throaty cheers from the floor sounded strangely distant, as if I were but a spectator in my own humiliation. Then my wrists were released from the chains and I was thrust to my knees on the floor, facing the crowd that was now standing to have a better look at my body. Kneeling, bent over, and naked, I recited the plea that had been taught to me by rote that afternoon: "Please, masters, this naked slut begs to be allowed to serve you. Please beat me, rape me, use me in any other way that gives you pleasure. I beg you to find me worthy of being kept as your most miserable sex slave." My mind rebelled at saying those hated words, but I knew the consequences if I failed to do so: I would be beaten, tortured, and raped anyway. This way, at least, if I could entertain the crowd and convince my masters that I was worth keeping, I might have a marginally easier slavery. The club owner asked the audience a question. "Yes!" they shouted back, presumably having decided to grant me my wish of abject sexual abuse. He then brought me a large bowl full of the lottery tickets, covered with a cloth so that I could not see inside. I knew the part I must play now. I reached under the cloth and felt around among the tickets. I stalled for a moment, knowing that after I selected one, I might only have a few seconds of innocence left before being thrown to my back and raped in full view of the crowd. Finally I grasped one of the tickets, pulled it out, kissed it meekly, and handed it to my master. He read the number out, to great shouting. Then, to my surprise, he ordered me to select another ticket. After I had done so, he had me choose a third. I wondered how many men would be allowed to make use of me tonight, and hoped that I would survive more or less unharmed. But after the third, he indicated that I should cease. I continued to kneel on the small stage, maintaining the beautiful, vulnerable, submissive pose I had been taught, wondering what the next few minutes would be like. I was scared, but part of me was also shamefully excited. Then I felt my head jerked upward by a hand in my hair. A new man was looking down at me greedily. I guessed that he would be my first rapist. He led me by the hair to another part of the stage and threw me face forward over a heavy, wide, padded bar at about waist height. I felt my ankles being chained to the legs of the bar on one side, my wrists to the legs on the other side.. I was handled roughly, like an animal, which was all I was to them. Bent over and stretched out as I was, my body was completely open from behind, ready to be exploited by a man. I realized in shock that I was about to be raped in public, before more than one hundred people. Tears of shame began to form in my eyes. I waited, my body tense, for the inevitable assault. I felt the man positioning himself at the entrance to my vagina, rubbing himself against me. I could feel that I was wet. He made a comment to the crowd, no doubt calling attention to my weakness. I heard several people call out the word "slut." That word I had been taught. He continued to play with me, drawing out these last moments before my virginity would be cruelly ripped from me and I would become only another slave slut fit for the uses of men. I could feel my hips push back toward him involuntarily, my body betraying myself. He laughed. Then suddenly, without warning, he plunged deep within me, drawing a high-pitched scream from my lips. After only a moment's pause to savor his triumph, he began to make use of me, roughly and unilaterally, forcing me to endure his repeated, powerful assaults on my soft flesh. I moaned in pain, but I was glad that my body had prepared itself for him, helping to at least ease his passage somewhat. Distantly I could hear the jokes and laughter of the crowd at the tables, no doubt sorry to have lost the chance to claim my body for their own, but at the same time enjoying the spectacle of a pretty, naked slave girl being taught her purpose in life for the first time. I found myself wondering how many times I would be raped before my masters tired of me and disposed of me, however it is that slave girls are disposed of. Had I known the number, I could have begun counting then, and at least that first rape would have meant one less to endure in the future. But I knew that men might keep me and amuse themselves with me for as long as they chose, so long as I was able to convince them that I was worth keeping. I was brought back to the present by the sensation of the man swelling inside me. He clutched my hips more closely to him, and then I felt his semen erupting inside me, his powerful surges seeming to teach me my place as a mere vessel for his pleasure. After a moment he withdrew to great applause and descended from the stage without a backward glance for the slave he had just deflowered. Still bent over the cruel bar, I sobbed openly, hating the cruel fate that had brought me to this place. But my work for the night was hardly done. Two guards came and repositioned me on the padded bar. This time my wrists were chained to rings at either end of the bar and my collar to a ring directly in its center. In this position, I was bent over with my back parallel to the ground, my arms widely spread, and my weight on my shoulders and arms. It was not comfortable, but not intolerable. My body was still open to assault from behind, though not as brazenly as it had been before. My head extended over the edge of the bar, unsupported. Then I realized why I was being positioned this way. A guard pulled my head back by the hair and roughly forced a gag into my mouth. I did not resist for fear of being beaten. Once it had been buckled behind my head, I tried to feel it out with my tongue. It was a ring gag, its metal frame in the shape of the letter "O" keeping my teeth widely separated, but leaving my tongue free behind. Now I knew why I had been forced to choose that second lottery ticket; my virgin mouth was being gambled away as well as my vagina. I had known that this was a service that men enjoyed extracting from their slaves, and had even seen it performed under duress by some of the other slaves during the last two weeks. But somehow it had never occurred to me that I, too, might be used in such a base and humiliating way. I found myself wondering what the man would taste like. I did not have long to wait. This time, as I was taken from the front, I was able to see my rapist's manhood as he approached. Chained as I was, I could do nothing to escape, but could only watch almost as a spectator as he brought it to my forcibly opened lips and thrust inside me. I gagged as it pressed against my throat, but he kept himself inside my mouth until I was able to control my reflexes. Then, like the man before him, he began to make use of me, taking pleasure in the soft, wet, helplessness of my mouth. He held my head in his hands and looked down into my tear-filled eyes and laughed as he savored his victory. I found myself licking at him feebly, almost instinctively, as he thrust in and out of my mouth. Then he pulled my head tightly to his body and I felt him pulsing in my mouth, the semen this time collecting at the back of my mouth where I desperately tried to swallow it before I choked. When he withdrew from me, more semen dribbled over my lips and onto the floor, the gag preventing me from keeping it in my mouth. This time, I did not even hear the cheers of the crowd. I had been used as a convenience, as a soft, warm object where men might satiate their physical urges. I wished that I could die. I had some inkling of what the third lottery ticket could signify, but I stubbornly kept it banished from my mind. Instead, I remained where my masters had chained me, helpless, naked, and available. Then I found myself released from the heavy, padded bar that had been the scene of my torments, and once again pushed down on my hands and knees. Thankfully, the cruel gag was removed from my mouth. A third man was standing before me. He made me look up at him and said something to me in his language. I did not understand, but that did not matter. I was a slave girl. It only mattered that my body be pleasing to men. My hands were braceleted behind my neck and there joined to a ring on my collar. Deprived of the use of my hands and arms, my head was forced to the hard wooden floor. I felt hands drawing my hips up as high as possibly, accentuating the arch in my back and opening my body again from behind. I felt a long, wooden bar being attached first to my left ankle, then to my right, keeping my legs widely, uncomfortably spread. I could not even close my legs, so completely was I at the mercy of these men. Then I felt a cold cream being rubbed around the entrance to my anus, and even just inside that narrow passageway. My mind screamed in humiliation and fear. Only two weeks removed from my previously sheltered existence, I had resolutely refused to acknowledge that men might take pleasure not only in my vagina and my mouth, but also in that more secret, shameful, and private area I preferred not even to think about. I heard laughter from the crowd as I began to sob loudly again. Surely they would have pity on me! Surely someone would come to the defense of a poor, innocent girl being subjected to such terrible depredations! But I knew there was no way out for me, no savior who would come to my aid. I would suffer the fate of any other nameless sex slave, being used for everything she was worth. I let out a scream of real pain as my third rapist forced himself into my body. I was thankful for the lubrication, but I was still unprepared for the sharp, savage pain. He gave me a moment to reconcile myself to the new situation, and then began to thrust himself in and out of my tight bottom, his moans of pleasure ample evidence of his satisfaction. I was glad I had been cleaned on the inside as well as the outside, which I expected would now become a part of my daily routine. I hoped the man would finish with me quickly. However, for whatever reason, he chose to take his time with me, changing his rhythm or pausing often to stretch out my humiliation, even caressing me between the legs from time to time, forcing me to squirm in arousal, to my shame and the audience's delight. Finally he could control himself no longer and emptied himself deep in my body. He slapped me playfully on the bottom as he withdrew, seemingly contented with my performance. I collapsed to the floor. No more tears came to my eyes. I no longer cared that I was still exhibited nude on a stage before a crowd of complete strangers, who had just witnessed my public introduction to the realities of sexual slavery in all its varieties. I only felt relief that it was over, that all the lottery winners had been satisfied with their prize and that I was still alive. I felt my wrists and ankles being released from their bonds, and felt strong hands carrying me through the main club floor and into a small room. I was laid down on a low, simple bed, my collar attached to a ring in the wall by a chain. I heard the club owner making an announcement outside, and more cheering. I did not understand. Lying there alone, I tried to reflect on my new life. In the space of a single day, I had been publicly exhibited, sold naked from an auction block, and publicly raped in more ways than I had imagined possible in a pleasure club, where I would undoubtedly continue to be one of the attractions. But I was still alive, and that was something to be thankful for. Apparently the men had found me satisfactory, at least as a suitable source of a few moment's sensual enjoyment, which meant that I could hope to survive a few more weeks or months. And something inside me, something I could only barely admit to myself, felt a spark of excitement at my own degrading subjugation. Perhaps it was only as a naked slave girl, but here I had commanded the attention of a room full of men, here I had been found worthy of keeping, if only as an object of sensual pleasure. I wondered if something in me wanted this, wanted to me bound helplessly and ruthlessly exploited by strong, uninhibited men. I was jarred from my thoughts by a man rudely, brusquely striding through the door. I attempted to cover myself with my hands, but he slapped them away easily, towering over me. "What are you doing here?" I asked in my home tongue, having assumed that my labors for the evening were at an end. "I am next one," he said, grinning. He knew enough of my language to apprise me of the situation. Then I realized what the sounds outside were. They were the club owner continuing to draw lots, choosing which men would have rights to my body this evening. I wondered how many there would be, or if they would simply continue until the men had lost interest. The intruder had left the door wide open. That way, I supposed, the other clients could keep track of the performances of their newest plaything and better decide whether they, too, would like to make use of her. Faced with the inevitable, I rolled to my back and spread my legs widely, as I imagined he would want me. As much as I hated being raped, I had even less wish to be beaten as an uncooperative slave. The man smiled. "Slut," he said. "Yes, master," I answered. He was quick with me, but not too rough. As the evening wore on and one man replaced another, I found myself acquiescing more and more in the role of a helpless slave girl, even beginning to anticipate the demands that my clients would make upon me. Now that I knew that my services would continue for as long as the men in the club had the inclination to enjoy them, I gave up hope of once again becoming master of my own body, and submitted myself to them with the willingness of one who truly has no choice. And for the first time I truly noticed the strength, and simplicity, and confidence of these men, utterly secure in the knowledge that they were my superiors and that I was but a toy for their pleasure, absolutely uncaring for my welfare. I knew they measured me solely as a sex slave, and that try as I might I could never make them see me as anything else, and as a result I found myself hoping desperately that they would find me adequate as a sex slave, even trying with my thighs or my mouth to give them more pleasure than they were simply taking from me. I heard more than one man groan in unanticipated pleasure, and I blushed with pride to hear them. And even more than pride in my newfound ability to please men, drowning out the deep soreness in my body caused by their repeated assaults, I began to feel something else, a semi-conscious sense that perhaps this was the right place for a girl such as I, chained naked to a bed at the mercy of these powerful, dominant, uncaring men. Now that I was a naked slave, it seemed to my overwhelmed mind that there could be no other way to relate to them, no other option than the absolutely bondage in which I found myself. And as one of the men took me from behind, my hips propped up by cushions for his convenience, this sense of acceptance flooded through my mind, washing aside my pride and self-consciousness and reducing me for that instant to a simple, grateful slave girl as my body shuddered with its first orgasm. My master of the moment laughed and continued to make use of me, forcing me to climax again before he finished with me. "Slut" and "slave," I heard the voices say through the open door, as the onlookers pronounced their judgments on my performance. The next man chose to lie on his back on the bed, compelling me to mount him and serve his pleasure by writhing on top of him, and despite my intense embarrassment over having been made to orgasm as a helpless slave girl, once again I lost control over my body and, my hips thrustly wildly, cried out my grateful submission to my unknown master. It was well after midnight when the succession of men finally ceased as the club emptied out for the night. There were probably about thirty men in all. The same tall, intimidating woman who had greeted me on my arrival at the club entered the room and looked down on my naked, sweaty body, her face a blend of contempt and amusement. "I see you enjoyed yourself, slut," she sneered, having no doubt heard of my rapid acquiescence in my abuse. "Yes, mistress," I whispered. "Well, that's good," she said. "There's nothing the clients like more than an enthusiastic lay." "Yes, mistress," I said. "I did my best to please them," I added, hoping for some word of praise. "You sluts always do," she said. She put her hand between my legs and smiled. I was still wet. She wiped her hand off in my soft brown hair and left the room, turning off the lamp as she left. It must have taken me hours to cry myself to sleep that night as I reflected on the rapes I had suffered, the humiliating eagerness with which my body had eventually embraced my use, and the future that no doubt lay in store for me. I wanted to escape from this new life, but I knew I had no chance of that. Not only was I chained naked to my bed, but outside was a city where I would be instantly recognized as an escaped slave girl and returned to my current owner, having earned a savage beating in the process. No, there would be no escape for me. I would spend my days becoming ever more adept at the arts of pleasing men, my nights practicing those arts on any man who took an interest in my body. The open horizons I had enjoyed only a few weeks before had narrowed down to the body of the master who would claim me at any given moment, whom I would have to desperately seek to please in any way that I could. I felt my belly grow warm at the thought. Silently, I cursed myself for being too weak to resist. I knew in my mind there was nothing so low and worthless as the slave girl who willingly gives herself to her masters, reveling in her powerlessness and taking pleasure in her absolute domination by strong men. But my body told me that, more likely than not, I was that girl, and that the weeks ahead would only weaken my mental independence and bind me ever more tightly to my fate, until I became a helpless, groveling slave girl who would crawl on her belly and lick the dust of a man's boots to earn a touch from his hand. By the time I fell asleep, I was still dreading the next day, but I was looking forward to it as well.
Review This Story || Email Author: Dana Williams