The trainer barked out a short, authoritative command in a language I did not understand. I looked at him in shock, not understanding what was required of me. I was standing before him, naked. In his left hand was one end of a six-foot, light chain leash. The other end was attached to a choke collar around my neck. In his right hand was a long, flexible switch.
Suddenly the switch flashed across my back and a sharp downward tug on the leash pulled me down to my knees. I cried out in pain. The trainer kicked my knees apart and repeated the same monosyllabic command.
Then he shouted another command, again one I didn't understand. This one had two syllables and began with a hard "k" sound. I was again struck by the switch, but this time there was no tug on the leash to instruct me. I decided that I was to supposed to guess what this command meant, and tried rising to my feet. For my pains I was greeted with three more blows from the switch, and a brutal tug on the leash and took my breath away and threw me onto my belly on the hardwood floor. I lay there, not daring to move, my face and breasts literally pressed against the floor. In an attempt to pacify my trainer, I spread my legs as widely as possible. That at least seemed expected of me more often than not. The switch was really not that terribly painful, but my back was smarting from the multiple blows.
I heard the second, two-syllable command again, this time in a calmer voice. I decided that it probably meant "belly," or something to that effect. In any case, I was apparently not being beaten again, for the moment at least.
I heard a gruff, single-syllable command. It sounded slightly familiar, so I rose to my knees, hoping to have guessed right. Instead, a pull and a twist on the leash turned me onto my back on the hard floor. The switch burned across my stomach, and then on my thighs. Again I spread my legs in a belated attempt to placate the trainer. Even if I was slow to learn the trainer's commands, I would do everything in my power to convince him of my utter obedience and eagerness to please. I found myself hoping that he would rape me - anything to give me a chance to show my worth to him. An instant later I hated myself for the thought. Yes, I had been kidnapped and forced to obey the dictates of my abductors. But there was no need for me to crave their abuses.
My thoughts were interrupted by a two-syllable command, again beginning with a hard "k" sound. I instantly rolled over onto my belly, my hands at my sides, and spread my legs widely. I held my breath, waiting for the whistle of the switch. But this time I was not beaten. I had guessed right. Perhaps I could learn to be a good slave. Perhaps I would survive. Instead of using the switch on me, the trainer pushed his shoe in front of my face. I instantly kissed it, and then began licking the shoe as sensuously as I knew how. I knew that if I learned quickly, I would not be beaten. I resolved to be the best student the school had ever known - even if it as a student of the arts of female slavery.
This was the most difficult class, Valerie had warned me, even worse than the afternoon sessions in rendering prolonged and humiliating sexual services. In this class, we were trained exactly as animals - with commands we could not understand, leashes, choke collars, and whips. We were being taught our new place in society, in which we no longer even counted as persons, but merely as a particularly attractive form of animal property. Each day the set of commands would change, although they might be repeated at long intervals. The semantic content of the commands was largely constant from day to day, consisting largely of the basic commands by which a slave girl may be put through her paces - kneeling, on her belly or back, standing, bent over, grasping her ankles, and so on - but each day we would have to learn which verbal signal corresponded to each position or task. One of the by-products of the sessions is that we were being taught this basic set of commands in a number of languages, but sometimes the "language" of the day was pure nonsense, concocted solely for the benefit of our training. It was almost impossible for a girl not to emerge from the session with several red stripes across her back and thighs, and more importantly with a desperate eagerness to please her trainer. I knew I would be no exception.
Valerie had prepared me for the day's activities as we chatted briefly in the showers earlier in the morning. That morning, my first in the mansion, I was awakened by a natural-light alarm at a time I guess to be around 7:30. I looked around me and saw the beds I had dimly made out the night before. There were six other girls in the room, all nude and chained like me to their beds. All were stunningly beautiful. These slavers, I concluded, knew what they were doing.
A man entered the room and made the rounds of our beds, releasing us from our leashes. We followed him down a corridor and down a flight of stairs into a large exercise room. None of the girls seemed in the least concerned with her complete nudity. I gathered that that was something that we slaves quickly grew accustomed to. Once in the exercise room, each of us was given a card describing our workout routine for the morning. The man briefly explained what it meant to me. His manner was completely matter-of-fact, as if he were entirely used to managing a group of naked, enslaved beauties. But of course, I realized, he was entirely used to it. At the same time, I realized that my beauty, and availability, in all likelihood meant very little to these men. Before, I had been able to influence men with so little as a short skirt, a smile, and a touch of my hand on their arm. Now, completely naked, my body at their disposal, I was utterly powerless. Whatever they might want, they would have from me, simply by snapping their fingers.
The exercises were largely aerobic, with some stretching and a small amount of weight training. I gathered that our bodies were being carefully toned and exercised to make sure we were in optimum physical condition. Masters would want their slaves to be both excruciatingly attractive and physically fit, and could enforce their will upon us.
After the exercise period, we entered an large, adjacent rest room where we showered in a large, communal shower. That was when the other girls, including Valerie, introduced themselves to me. They had been in the mansion anywhere from one to seven weeks. Their stories were similar to mine. All had shown some interest in slavery, whether by attending a fetish night at a club, role-playing in an online chat room, or simply allowing a boyfriend to tie them up, and shortly thereafter had been forcibly abducted and brought here. They were resigned to their fate, although hardly enthusiastic about it - there was little appealing, one remarked, in attending training classes all day and being periodically raped as a diversion. They knew no more than I about the fate that would await us once we "graduated" from this school. But about one thing there was no doubt at all: we were, truly, slave girls, in the fullest sense of the term. We were completely subject to the whims and desires of our masters, from the most mundane to the most exquisitely sensuous, and could expect nothing in return.
After cleaning and drying ourselves, we were allowed to proceed to the kitchen back on the ground floor, where we were served breakfast. "Served" is perhaps not the most appropriate word, in that we were required to eat on all fours, not using our hands, from bowls on the floor containing hot oatmeal and water. On my hands and knees, my hair falling about my face, my breasts depending from my body, I lowered by head to the floor and lapped up the food and water with my tongue. Glancing to my left and right, I saw that the other girls were eating and drinking comfortably. I supposed that they had grown used to this particular humiliation. I expected that I, too, would become accustomed to it.
