February 5th
When they said today was going to be busy, they weren't kidding. I am tired and sore, but in a good way. I'm not much of a gym rat, mostly because I don't have the time or money, but there is a certain exhilaration you get from a thorough workout. That's how I feel now.
I was awakened by a guard. The guy in his 30s that I was referring to as the elder guard yesterday.
I don't know any of their names, except for Robert last night which was pure chance. It doesn't really matter since I'm not allowed to speak anyways. It was startling to wake up and have some strange guy standing over you. Yet, I quickly adjusted, remembering where I was.
He permitted me to use the toilet and wash my hands. Once again, it was strange to have a man watching me, but I guess I'll just have to adjust.
He laid out 2 bowls on the floor. This time I didn't need prompting. I knelt down and ate my breakfast like a good doggie. It was kind of of a granola and fruit mix. Tasty, and more importantly, not oatmeal. I was even getting better at lapping up my water.
Like the previous morning, he was mostly quiet, except for the occasional command.
He attached a leash to my collar, led me out of the room and down the corridor. Along the way, I saw two other young naked women being led on leash in the same direction as me. One was the blonde I briefly saw last night, and the other was Asian.
We arrived at the showers, the same shower as the previous day. There were two additional women already there, a Latino, and a blonde woman in her mid to late 30s. This group shower was apparently simply part of the morning routine, because none of the women gave any indication of being nervous or outraged. All of the women were beautiful in their own way, which ironically made me self-conscious. And except for the lady in her late 30s, the other 3 were like me in their late teens or early 20s.
The blonde in her 30s and the young Latino had already been placed in the stainless steel handcuffs, and their hands were bound to the hook above them.
The men worked with a practiced ease, saying little to one another. The girls seemed to accept this treatment as well, as there were no signs of resistance.
The Asian girl who was ahead of me was led to a shower spot, and stood patiently next to the girls already bound to the overhead hooks. She made no motion as the steel cuffs were placed on her wrists, and her hands were raised up into the hook, trapping her. Her collar was removed, and then they left her hanging.
Meanwhile, the young blonde and I stood back and watched. We each had a guard who had us on a leash. We could also see there were two more hooks, and we awaited our turn to be strung up like a meat carcass.
This was terrifying yesterday. Yet today, this was just how slaves were washed. While it was nice to be among other young women again, our mutual acquiescence to our male captors reinforced the belief that this was just the new norm.
Not that I was any better than the others. When my time came, I stood still as they placed the cuffs on me. I allowed them to bind me to the hook, which fully exposed my unprotected body.
The men acted in an assembly line fashion. One of the men washed us, and shaved us if necessary. A second dried us off and reattached our collar and leather cuffs. A third applied a skin lotion that soothed any bruises such as a red bottom, and made our skin smooth and shiny. The fourth man brushed our hair and gave us a final inspection for stray hairs, etc. They worked their way down the line. One girl was washed, unhooked, and then handed off to the next man. It worked because all of us girls accepted being treated as products, and patiently awaited our own turn to be manhandled.
Likewise, the guys were completely professional. Even though they were touching us naked women all over our bodies, and all of us were attractive, they didn't appear to be aroused. They had done it all before, and had no problem treating us like livestock.
It dawned on me that there were 4 men, and 5 women, which told me that one of us was submitting without any need for supervision. That person soon became apparent.
Our leashes were reattached, except for the woman in her mid to late 30s, and we were led out of the room.
I noticed as we were walking that there was a mark on the right shoulder blade of the unleashed blonde. It was somewhat faded, telling me it was at least a few years old. It wasn't a tattoo, and appeared to be a burn mark. Yet, this was no accident, there was a distinct pattern, a symbol. I nearly gasped when it dawned on me. This was a brand. She had been branded like livestock.
We walked in an orderly, single-file manner to wherever the men were guiding us. As it turns out, it was a studio space.
To my surprise, though apparently no one else, the men all left the room. The elder blonde stepped forward, appearing to be an instructor.
"OK bitches, let's pick up where we left off yesterday, practicing our slave positions. You, Brunette..." she pointed at me. "... just follow me and learn."
"Liz. My name is Liz."
"No one gives a shit what your name is bitch, and no one gave you permission to speak. Shut up, and follow my lead."
So much for women's solidarity. I kept my mouth shut, realizing there were no allies here.
"Let's start with Bara." Our instructor, and the other girls, lay face down, crossed their wrists behind their back, and crossed their ankles. I followed suit.
"Good Brunette," The instructor called out to me. "Now just keep your head down, look to your left. Always keep your head down. There is no reason for you to be aware of what's happening. You are an object waiting for a man to use you."
We held that position for 10 to 15 minutes. It was certainly not strenuous, but it was uncomfortable on the hardwood floor. It really did give the sense that we were waiting, waiting for a man to use us.
"Next position, Bracelets." We all changed position, so that we were kneeling up with our legs spread wide, hands clasped behind our backs, and staring ahead.
"Shoulders back Brunette. I want to see your tits out. You too Blondie, you know your melons are what men want to see."
I was caught off guard by a woman using such crude terms. Yet, I suppose that was the point. We were learning to objectify ourselves. And to be fair, the blonde's D-cup breasts are impressive.
I suppose if I did yoga, or some form of exercise, I wouldn't have much trouble holding a pose. However, my arms and shoulders were already feeling the tension as we held this position for at least 15 minutes.
"Next position, Belly." Once again I followed the others' example, laying face down, arms at my side, legs spread wide, and head down. Technically, it was an easy pose to hold. However, it was more humiliating. It's only purpose was to make yourself exposed and vulnerable, waiting for a man to use you.
For the next couple hours we rotated through a series of slave positions. Sometimes the elder blonde, as I started to call her in my head, would repeat a position just to keep us on our toes, and to reinforce knowing the poses. Most of the position names made sense, such as: Hair, Collaring, Leading, Leash, Run Command, Slave Lips, Table, Tower, Walk, and Whipping. This last one filled me with a particular dread. If they were training us for what position to take for a whipping, it meant that there would be more whippings. I suppose I suspected that, but it didn't help for it to be confirmed.
Then there were the unusual names which I had to repeat in my head to remember them.
Apparently there is a whole culture for the enslavement of women. One that I am being indoctrinated into. That's not comforting. How else do you explain names such as: Bara, Nadu, She-Sleen, or Sula.
Equally confusing were the terms that could mean anything. For example, Obedience. Weren't all the positions a demonstration of obedience? And then, there was Slaver's Kiss, which is nothing like Slave Lips, and closer to the position for a whipping. Perhaps I'm just thinking too much. A quality that is clearly not valued in a slave.
This doesn't sound all that intense. Alternatively kneeling, laying down, bending over, and stretching out. Yet my muscles tensed up, and the hardwood floor was unforgiving. It became increasingly hard to hold each position for 10 to 15 minutes.
It was like a form of meditation. I had to concentrate on holding each pose, making me focus on my muscles, my breathing, and the slightest movement. I was memorizing each position, the name, and where each part of my body should be. I internalized what each pose meant.
For example, the positions Hair and Leading were relatively easy to adopt. It's just bending over with your arms behind your back. Yet, as your core muscles begin to tighten, and your back becomes sore, how do you maintain the proper height? Is your hair flowing down properly? You want to be positioned perfectly so a master can easily seize your hair or grab you by the collar. That was just it. I wanted to entice a master to claim me.
There was even an element of competitiveness. The other girls were all so beautiful. They looked so serene, elegant, and yes, docile, as they adopted the various poses. Their features were amplified in a manner that highlighted their beauty. I instinctively wanted to show that I belonged, that I could convince a man to choose me over them.
It occurs to me that it was similar to yesterday's whipping. I was managing my physical discomfort by embracing my submission. Was my pussy properly exposed? Were my shoulders back to present my tits? Was my backside raised enough to expose my cunt so a man could easily mount me? Were my wrists and ankles positioned correctly to be easily shackled? I was constantly thinking of how to demonstrate that I was a good slave. It never occurred to me that I should be thinking about what I want. I only thought about what others, my masters, would want from me.
We got a break from our exercises as two of the guards entered the studio. One being my elder guard. "OK bitches, lunch time."
Ordinarily, one would think men would be surprised, or at least aroused by 5 naked women kneeling with their head down, ass up, and legs spread in a whipping position. Not our guards. They had seen it all before.
Initially, I was kind of resentful. We are doing all this work to please them, and they didn't even care. Yet, I calmed down from my internal turmoil. I was a slave, and I will be used when, and however they see fit. My duty was to be ready, and to accept it.
