Harem Mansion Pt 01 Cogito

I am a slave. No, not just a slave. I am a sex slave.

I didn't know whether or not I was dead. I knew that I existed -- that much was obvious, because otherwise, I couldn't wonder whether I was alive. But I didn't know who or what I was. I didn't know what I looked like. In fact, I didn't know anything about myself, except for one thing. I knew that I was a slave. I wasn't even entirely sure what that meant yet, but I knew it was true. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I wasn't sure yet whether this was because something had impaired my senses, or because there was literally nothing for me to see, nothing that existed I could hear, no body of mine that even existed to move in the first place. For all I knew, I was just a consciousness floating in a cloud of nothing.

And so I wondered whether I was dead. Maybe this was the afterlife and I was condemned to spend eternity questioning my own existence. My existence as what? As a person? No, I wasn't a person, I was much less than a person. My consciousness faded. As I descended back into the murk of nonexistence, I clung desperately to the only thought that rattled my confused mind.

I am a slave.

-

The next time I woke up something was different. I could see, and I knew now that something did indeed exist for me to see. My vision focused on a polaroid picture. Within the frame appeared an oil painting of a man. He looked dignified but somewhat odd -- he had a mess of curly dark hair, he wore a pitch black tunic that covered all but his face, and he stared at me with an expression I can only describe as a condescending kind of generosity, as though he had given me some sort of gift but he knew I didn't deserve it.

I know this man. This is Rene Descartes.

...

How did I know that?

I realized that my memory was returning to me, although only in chunks. I could remember virtually any information I had learned in school, but I couldn't remember anything about myself -- except, apparently, that I had gone to school. At the same time, I noticed that the picture was affixed to a much larger picture, a shockingly realistic painting of a woman. I blinked. In the split second before my eyes shut, I saw that the painting blinked as well. I shut one eye. So did she.

Ah. So that's what I look like.

I was staring at a full length mirror. The woman in it was obviously me. I was lying flat on a bland white surface, which I guess was a mattress. Apparently the mirror was affixed to the ceiling. I was proud to see that I was gorgeous, but also dismayed at what I was wearing. I wasn't nude, but there was nothing on my body which you could properly call "clothes." I didn't want to look at myself anymore. Instead, I trained my eyes around the rest of the room.

I couldn't see much from my vantage point. My bed was flush with a wall to my left. There was another wall further away on my right, and a third one in front of me. Given the shape of the room I could see, it seemed very likely that there was a fourth wall behind me, but of course I had no way to confirm that. The walls were all white and mostly featureless, like a space station.

Or a padded cell.

The one to my left was completely blank. The one to my right seemed to have some sort of posters or plaques on it, but I couldn't really tell. The wall in front of me had an apparatus installed in the center, but again, I couldn't figure out what it was. In the space between my bed and that wall, there was a toilet, which made me wonder what I was supposed to do if I had to pee while I was stuck in bed. Aside from that, the room looked entirely bare.

Just like my body.

There was no fighting it anymore. There was nothing to look at but myself.

I stared straight up. I wasn't sure where exactly to start, so I figured I would just begin with my scalp and move downward until I hit my toes. As I noticed earlier, I was pretty stunning - my hair was silky and smooth, and even though I had just woken up on a strange bed, it didn't look like I needed to mess with it to make it pretty. My eyes were bright and wide, the sort of eyes which have nothing to hide. I was almost inclined to stare into them so I could look at something beautiful rather than the horrors below, but I knew I'd have to come to terms with reality at some point. My mouth was wide open as well, but I couldn't have shut it if I wanted to. There was a strap lying across my cheeks, in the middle of which was a ring that held my mouth open against my will. My jaw ached. I stuck my tongue out through the ring, just to see if it could be done. Maddeningly, I had full control of the interior of my mouth, but I couldn't do anything about the fact that it was wrenched open. Moving down, there was a curious metal ring encircling my neck. For a brief moment, I couldn't understand what it was, but it struck me --

I'm wearing a collar. I was right to think I was a slave, or I wouldn't be wearing a collar.

I couldn't even feel the collar on my neck. It was fitted too perfectly, as though it had been molded onto me instead of strapped on. It was perfectly smooth stainless steel. On either side of it, there was a thin metal pole which attached to the railings on the bed. I understood at once what the purpose was. I wasn't afforded the freedom to move my head in any direction, not even a millimeter. I couldn't understand the reason whoever put me here wanted that. My arms were at my sides, parallel with my torso, and around my wrists were attached two metal rings. Just like my collar, they fit onto my body too well for me to feel them. These were stuck to the bedframe as well, and when I tried to wiggle my wrists, I found that they were fully paralyzed. My fingers were free, and I could just barely bend my elbow a bit, but aside from that I was trapped. I skipped ahead to see that the same cuffs were attached to my ankles. Someone really didn't want me to get up. My breasts were full and round. I didn't feel that they were unusually large or anything like that, but they were the proper shape that they drew men's attention.

I suppose I got too much attention from the wrong man.

My stomach was flat, my skin smooth and hairless, but what drew my attention were the words painted on my stomach. Someone had written WORTHLESS WHORE in bright red capital letters. The handwriting was scratchy, sloppy, as though I wasn't even deserving of a more graciously written insult. As frightened as I was, this made me feel a pang of something else -- disappointment. I felt hurt that someone thought this way about me, and almost as much as I wanted to be freed, I wanted those words scrubbed off of me. Underneath that, I expected to see my pussy, but I was surprised to see a metal belt wrapped around my waist. There was a padlock in front of it, and extending downwards from that was a metal band that covered my vagina. I could feel it turning back up under me and attaching to the other side.

I know what this is. I'm wearing a chastity belt.

Seeing the belt struck me with three thoughts at once. First, I didn't get why I was wearing it at all. It's not as though I could've touched myself even if I wanted to. But that thought made me realize that I actually really, really wanted to. I was ashamed to think that maybe seeing myself in my current state made me horny, but this didn't feel like normal horniness. Something in my pussy was burning, begging me to rub it out, and the fact I couldn't made me feel even more powerless. Finally, I recognized a severe pressure in my holes. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it was invasive, as though there was something in me that wasn't meant to be there. In my pussy, I felt a long, thick rod, the base of which was aligned with the entrance to my vagina and the tip of which almost kissed my womb. In my anus, I felt an even wider but much shorter intrusion with a flare at its base.

These are sex toys. Someone put sex toys inside of me without my consent.

I had plenty of time to mull over the implications of that. For minutes on end, I had nothing to do but stare at this distorted image of myself, something beautiful that had been twisted by the machinations of what I can only assume was a sick pervert. I was horrified. I figured this is exactly what he wanted -- he wanted me to understand my place. He wanted me to see what I was now, and he wanted me to see that there was nothing I could do about it. I was revolted, but there was little I could do besides look at my own tainted body, coming to terms with my new lot in life. Just as I started to wonder how long he was going to continue this torture, I felt a prick in my neck, and the whole room went fuzzy. Soon I slipped back into the dark.

-

The next time I woke up, I was blind again. I could feel the texture of the thing covering my eyes -- it was just a towel, a simple towel, lying across my eyes. On any other day, I could simply lift up my hand and pull it off, but now my right to see was taken by no more than a small piece of fabric. I realized then how helpless I truly was.

"Are you awake yet?" It was a woman's voice. I was surprised.

A woman abducted me? Not a man?

This fact disheartened me. I already tried resigning myself to being a man's sex slave, but having to serve a woman was something entirely different, because I had never had sex with or had any interest in women before. Still, I was happy to find that I wasn't entirely abandoned. There was someone here with me, and even if she tormented me, I was confident that she would keep me alive. That was one of the few comforts in this strange place.

Comforts? How could I describe any of this as comfortable?

I couldn't answer her, of course, because my mouth was still gagged. But I tried anyway. I made a grotesque moaning sound. When I heard it, I couldn't believe it was my own voice.

"Good." She didn't sound perturbed at all. "You have many questions. You can't ask them and I wouldn't answer them right now anyway, so forget about them. You want to know what's going on and where you are and why you're here. All of those things are not important because you are still putting yourself first in your mind. What you should be thinking about instead is what I want you to do, and how you can obey me."

"Right now, you are missing many privileges. You do not have the privilege to see, speak, or move. These privileges are to be earned through obedience. Make the right choices now, and I will restore your privilege to sight. If you agree to this, tap your finger once. If not, tap your finger twice."

I didn't really want to agree to obeying this woman, but I knew that she would keep me in the dark until I did. It was interesting that she presented it as a choice when it clearly wasn't. I tapped my finger once.

"Good girl. Now you're starting to learn your place. You are a slave. You've probably figured that out already, but you might not understand exactly what it means."

It's like you're reading my mind.

"A slave is a human that is also property. It is different from other humans because it cannot choose its own behavior. It can only choose to do what its owner demands. A slave with the power to disobey ceases to be a slave. For this reason, that power is stripped from you. You are imprisoned here and there are several failsafes in place to force you to obey. The sooner you accept this, the less painful your life here will be."

There was just a touch of sadness when she said that last sentence. It felt odd -- did this woman, apparently my new mistress, regret what she'd done to me? If so, why not set me free?

"I understand this must be very difficult for you. My job is to make sure that your transition from person into property is as simple as possible. Right now, you haven't been adequately trained to understand that you no longer make choices. I am going to remove your agency gradually, at the same pace as I return your privileges. The first step is for you to give it up yourself. Make this easy for yourself. Tap your finger once and consent to being a slave. I can't formally begin training you until you do"

I was stunned. All this talk about how I wasn't allowed to make choices for myself anymore, and suddenly she's giving me the power to make what's probably the most important choice of my life? Well, no, not really. She was really giving me the choice between being a slave and lying in this bed until I die. So she wanted me to give my consent, but she didn't want to risk that I might say no. What exactly was she playing at?

I knew there was nothing I could do. As much as I wanted to be free, that wasn't an option. I could choose to lie here and die, or give up everything but survive. My finger felt heavy. I didn't want to lose my freedom and subject myself to whatever tortures she would surely inflict on me, but the only alternative was worse. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do -- but I tapped my finger, sealing my own fate.

"Good. I'm glad you're sensible enough for that. There's one more thing you have to do -- prove your devotion by drinking this."

I couldn't see whatever she was holding, so I was naturally worried. I considered spitting it out, but I knew she'd get me to drink it eventually anyway, and I really wanted to get my vision back. A moment later, I could feel something warm and slightly thicker than water drip down my tongue. It was excessively sweet, and I could feel a sort of residue build up on my tongue before dissolving. It felt strange to drink something without moving my lips, letting it simply build up in the back of my throat until I swallowed. I wanted to know what she was putting in my body and whether it was dangerous, but I had no way to ask and rather doubted she'd answer me anyway. I simply drank it, knowing full well that it might change me.

"You didn't spit it out. That was the right choice."

My eyes adjusted as she removed the towel from my face. I finally got a good look at my own captor, and in spite of everything, I was actually grateful that she gave me the right to see. I realized that, even though I agreed to her terms, she wasn't actually bound to them. She could have lied and kept me in the dark, but I guess she valued my trust too much for that.

The woman staring down at me didn't look anything like what I pictured. She was much younger than I expected -- early 20s? -- and her expression was gentler than her tone of voice suggested. She had straight black hair shaped into a pixie cut. Her eyes were shaped like almonds, which was funny, because her skin was exactly the color of almonds as well. Her lips were full and her body was svelte. What shocked me most of all, though, was that she was wearing the same uniform as me, sans the cuffs on my wrists and ankles.

This isn't my owner. This is a fellow slave.

The thought comforted and disturbed me at the same time. It was nice to know that I wasn't really alone, that there was someone else experiencing the same ordeal that I was -- and yet, if my owner had other slaves, that made me more expendable. Just how many of us were there? I was more desperate to speak than ever before, but I couldn't. I was grateful to have my eyes back, but I longed to use my mouth. I would have done anything to speak.

The girl ran her fingers through my hair. I felt her blunt demeanor melt away, replaced by a kind of sad camaraderie, and I realized she must have been in this position herself sometime before. Her beauty struck me the same as my own did when I stared into the mirror. I changed my mind. I wished she was my mistress, instead of the obscure figure who must exist but who I knew nothing about yet. I stared straight at her, hoping to convey a sense of sisterhood with nothing but my eyes.

"My name is Kiru. My job is to train you."

Kiru brushed my hair one final time. I tried, with little success, to press my head into her hand. It was comforting. I felt a prick in my neck. Just as my sight had been given to me, it was being taken away again. I heard her say something as I floated back into the dark.

"You have beautiful eyes."

-

The next time I woke up, a couple things were different. For the first time, I remembered my own past. But that could wait, because there was something even more exciting -- the restraints keeping me stuck to the bed were gone.

I sat up and stretched. It was the most fulfilling stretch I'd ever had in my life. I knew then that I really would obey, because I didn't want to give up the right to do this ever again. A thin layer of drool dripped down my chin. I was still wearing the gag. I could stretch my arms, but I couldn't pull my hands apart. The personalized cuffs were gone, but they were replaced by a pair of rough handcuffs that hurt when they pressed into my skin. Similarly, my ankle cuffs weren't connected to the bed, but there was a chain holding them together which prevented me from moving my feet too far apart.

I earned the right to get out of bed, but I still need to earn the right to get out of the restraints.

I was annoyed that my captor still kept me partially bound, but I was frankly more excited to finally explore my surroundings. The wall behind the bed was totally bare, as I suspected, so I didn't waste any time on it. I turned toward the wall that was behind me earlier. It looked pretty much like I imagined it. It was blank except for a door directly in the middle. The door had two panels, one large one in the middle and one small slit directly at my eye height. The large panel appeared to open only from the outside. The slit, however, had a little knob that I could use to slide it out of place. As minor an amenity as this was, I still felt it was uncharacteristically generous of my kidnapper. I slid it open and looked out, but all I could see was a long hallway with a number of cells that looked identical to mine. I looked into the distance and I couldn't see the end of the hallway. The same question struck me as before.

How many slaves are living here?

Up until now, I had assumed I was just a victim of a single nutter, and that I would be his personal sex toy. But now I realized that whatever I was involved in was a massive operation. I knew nothing for certain, of course, but my mind wandered to books and movies about kidnapped women taken to facilities and getting processed before being sold to the highest bidder.

It actually made a lot of sense when I thought about what brought me here. I had just completed college and I was broke. There weren't many jobs available for people with my degree, so I scoured the internet for anything and everything that I could find. Eventually I found a job listing in the hospitality field which offered to pay for room, board, and every meal in addition to the regular salary. The offer of instant financial independence was too hard to resist. I applied for the position immediately, which I guess was the biggest mistake of my life.

I vaguely remember going to some building in my hometown multiple times, and tested on something different each time. It seemed like they wanted to know every little thing about me. They conducted IQ tests, exams on every feasible subject, physical aptitude tests, cotillion exams, and all sorts of other things. It should have been a red flag when they took my measurements before even offering me the position, but I was so excited that I didn't even notice the discrepancy. I have to admit it felt pretty good -- every time I cam back, there were fewer and fewer applicants, and I figured out that the sheer breadth of my abilities was knocking out all of the competition. I figured for the job they wanted someone smart, strong, and capable. Now I realize those are just the qualities most attractive to whoever was buying me.

I decided not to think about my past too much longer. For one, remembering the time I was free made me sad, but for some reason I couldn't place, it also just felt wrong, like drinking spoiled milk. I shut the slot in the door. As I did, my eye drew to something in the upper corner of the room which I hadn't noticed before: a security camera. This whole time, someone was watching me. The implications freaked me out so much that I chose to ignore it altogether.