Slave Academy

Ch. 05: A Lesson Taught, A Lesson Learned

Well, I tried. I made the best escape attempt I could; it wasn't my fault that the cop I thought was rescuing me was really in cahoots with the slavers and used me in the back of his squad car, just to make sure I got the message.

I'm going to be getting a lot of messages, I have a feeling, now that I've been recaptured and returned. I've been put in a cell, my chained wrists suspended from a ceiling hook and my ankles shackled to bolts in the floor, and I'm waiting to see how I'm going to be punished for my transgression. I don't have long to wait.

After a couple of hours, two slave captains, neither of them Master Marco, enter my cell without saying a word. One of them tightens the wheel device that puts tension on my body, so now I'm stretched out as far as they can get me, standing on tiptoe. Then the other blindfolds me. I wait an agonizing few minutes for something to happen. Then they start to methodically whip me, front and back, taking turns. The lash they're using has wide, soft, flat leather blades, so as not to cut or mark my skin—mustn't damage the merchandise—but it hurts like hell, the way they wield it. I never know where the next slash is coming from, or landing on: they strike my breasts, my ass, my pussy, my thighs, pretty much all of me below the neck and above the ankles.

The pain is allowed to fade slightly before another blow lands on me, and pretty soon I'm floating in a state between exquisite agony and exquisite euphoria. After a while, they take me down and chain me spread-eagled on my back on the bed in my cell. One of them shoves a vibrator into my pussy and a plug up my ass, gags me and hooks up electric clamps to my nipples and my clit. Nothing happens for a while, then the clamps and vibrator kick in, and I arch on the bed, screaming behind the gag. I'm still blindfolded, and before they leave me there, the trainers put silicone plugs in my ears: so basically I'm without sensory input, nothing to focus on except the random sensations being inflicted on my nipples and clit and cunt and ass. I'm sore and aching from the whipping, and the shocks are painful enough to make me scream and tremble, but I also still have that warm glowing feeling where my skin was struck.

It's a lesson, of course. I'm being taught that I'm nothing but fuckmeat, that I must be punished for running away. But they're not trying to get me to respond, they're trying to break me. And they're going to succeed. They've been doing this sort of thing for decades here, capturing girls and turning them into salable slaves. Some of them, like me, rebel and try to escape. But the funny thing is, I tried to escape because it was something I felt I should do when I had the chance, not necessarily something I wanted to do.

I have no idea how long I'm left like this, but when a trainer comes in again I'm limp and unresistant and exhausted. He pulls the vibrator out of my pussy and immediately shoves his cock into me; again, it's the only thing I can focus on. Even the irregular jolts of electricity still shocking my nipples can't distract me from the sensation of his huge cock pushing into me. I just lie there unmoving: I'm too exhausted and also the restraints stretch my body out so that I can't move. This seems to be what's intended: I try to concentrate merely on breathing, and I am incredibly aware of his cock slamming my pussy. He can do whatever he wants with me: but he comes quickly, with no concern for my response, just rapes me silently and efficiently, to satisfy himself, and pulls out.

Over the next days, I have no idea of time. I'm regularly beaten, chained, even locked in a cramped metal box like a dog's kennel, where I can't stretch out and am kept in the dark. I find that this kennel terrifies me more than even being whipped or shocked with electrodes, and I'll do anything I'm told to avoid being locked in it. Gradually, though, I begin to stop fighting my captors; the metal box is changed for a small recess in the stone wall of the cell area, with a metal grate over the front like the bars on a cage. It's a little bigger than the feared box: I can sit up or lie down with my knees drawn up, and I'm grateful for the extra comfort, if you can call it that.

I'm also starved for at least a day or two, allowed only water, then I'm fed only porridge that I have to lap up from a dish on the floor. I'm so hungry by the time the porridge comes along that I don't protest, not even inwardly. I'm not allowed to be on my feet: I'm always either on the bed or other piece of apparatus, or on my hands and knees, ordered to move around on all fours like a dog; any other tidbit of food I'm given, I have to eat straight from a trainer's hand.

Before I'm fed, I'm always used hard, so that I begin to associate being fed with being fucked, all to make me as dependent on masters as they can make me. I'm still being beaten, at random intervals; sometimes with the whip I know so well, sometimes with a riding crop across my back and thighs, once or twice with a thick leather belt that snapped on my ass and stung like hell. And I find myself trying to please, eagerly; I'm being trained like an animal, with treats and punishments. And it's working.

I'm fucked continually, of course, by trainers, male slave trainees and even, occasionally, a favored client who's allowed to contribute to my lessons. None of them are gentle with me, and that's the point: to demonstrate that I have no choice but to submit. Sometimes I'm taken to another room and bent over a wooden sawhorse-type frame, padded with leather, where I'm used by one man after another. They come up behind me, shove their dicks into my cunt or my ass and drill me until I scream. Other times I'm fastened on my back to an X-shaped frame, also padded; the X shape allows me to be used by two or three men at once.

When I'm not actually being fucked, I always have something stuck up my cunt or my ass, or both: a vibrator, a dildo, a butt plug. I'm also wearing a set of chains that hook to my steel collar, then divide, one to each wrist and a single chain that runs to my feet and hooks to both ankles.

I've been used dozens of times since being recaptured: my cunt and ass and mouth respond now to the slightest touch, even the sound of a man's voice is enough to get me instantly wet. If I'm standing and I hear a man's voice, whether he's addressing me or not, I drop to my knees like a conditioned reflex. I've been broken completely. I'm a blank slate: not yet a slave, but no longer an independently thinking person. I wait to be commanded, and I respond instantly and as perfectly as I can. I'm being taught perfect obedience, which is what the trainers have told me all along would be my greatest test and greatest pleasure. I follow commands automatically, I don't even think about obeying; I just do it.

As I've been gradually broken, the multiples increase, until I'm being used by many men at a time: in my cunt, my ass, my mouth, between my breasts, with a cock in each hand. It's all part of breaking me, forcing my will out of me, so that all I have left is the burning desire to please. And it's effective: I feel myself more a slave every day, every hour, every time I'm used, feel my will slipping away into a well-trained obedience. I'm a fucktoy for men to do with as they please, nothing but a dedicated piece of prime fuckmeat; I had been told that since the night I was brought here, but now it sounds real and true. My body is no longer my own, it belongs to men who want to use it.

Then all of a sudden, I'm not being used at all. I'm chained to the bed on my back, legs wide apart, collar and wrists hooked to the head of the bed. But no one uses me; I don't even see a man, and I writhe on the bed, moaning with desire. I can't believe how desperately I want to be fucked; then I realize this is part of the punishment and training both. I'm being taught how much I now need to have a cock in me, and how this is entirely arbitrary, at the pleasure of men, to use me or not use me as they choose. Being fucked is not my right; it's the right of men to fuck me, and my duty to serve them.

The next day I'm allowed to stand on my feet for the first time in it seems like forever, but is probably only a couple of weeks. I've been showered and groomed, and I look at myself in the wall-length mirror just beyond the bars of my cage: naked as usual, my perfect, creamy skin gleaming in the soft light; my hair, clean and shiny, hangs to my waist in rippling red-blonde waves. I don't need or use makeup, but my eyes have been expertly enhanced by the resident beautician, with shadow, liner and mascara, and pale peach lipstick to make my lips look full and wet.

I'm wearing all my slave things: steel collar around my neck, matching shackles on wrists and ankles. My pierced nipples and clit and pussy lips are enhanced by the gleaming steel that transfixes my flesh, and the ring in my nose is connected by a fine, strong chain to the chain that links my nipples. And to complete the picture of slavery, the brand on my left thigh stands out against my pale, smooth skin. I'm satisfied to look at myself, even proud: that girl in the mirror is no longer the girl that was a student and a dancer and all the rest. She's a slave, and she knows it, and she loves it.

Master Marco comes in; I haven't seen him since the day I was recaptured, and of course I go instantly to my knees. He gives me the command "Down!", and I bend over, forehead touching the floor, breasts just brushing it, ass in the air and back arched, in full prostration. He sits in the chair and watches me for a while, but I do not speak or dare to break position, not without a further command.

"It had to be done," he says at last, very gently. "You were too strong; slaves can be strong, as masters will it, but in a very different way. So you needed to be broken before we could go forward. We'll restore some of that delightful spirit of yours over the next few weeks, but you had to be brought down completely first. Now we can work to build you up again, only this time as nothing but a slave. A perfect slave. Nothing remains of the girl you were except your body, and that body has been trained to perfection. Your mind too, now. Buyers don't want stupid, mindless robots, but they don't want undisciplined sluts who think too much either. It's a very fine line, and we must be doing something right, since we've been turning out superior product for over forty years."

He pauses, then snaps his fingers, and I instantly assume the position I've been taught masters prefer their slaves to take at that gesture—sitting back on my heels, knees spread, breasts displayed, hands behind my back; but I don't look up at him and I don't speak...I haven't been given permission to.

"We're having our big fall auction soon; if you continue to progress as you have, you'll be put on the block then. I think that will work better for you than selling you privately, though we've already had offers. Being auctioned off does wonders for a girl, believe me. You'll be surprised... Anyway, we send out pictures and details of the lots to any client we think might be interested. Film too, of each girl in action. Some clients are too busy to make it to the auction in person, and will want to bid over the phone or leave an absentee bid, so the prospectus is very helpful for them in making a decision on what girl to bid on.

"It will go pretty quickly: you'll be brought out in front of the bidders, the auctioneer will present you, and then he'll start the bidding on you. Sometimes a bidder will ask to see you perform right there, and one of the slave captains will put you through your paces. We don't allow bidders to use the merchandise; they can handle you during the pre-auction inspection the day before, or ask to see you used by staff, to better judge what they're willing to spend for you, but no more than that."

Head bent, eyes cast down, I think about it. It turns me on incredibly to imagine myself displayed naked on a stage before a roomful of men who are appraising me and deciding whether to buy me, perhaps being used by one of the handsome slave captains right there in front of them all. Who will the one be, the master who leads me away with him as his property, his possession? And I realize that I'm only curious; I'm no longer afraid or angry.

Master Marco continues. "You'll fetch a very good price, no question about that. You're extremely pretty, you're well educated and you have a lot of vitality. You're a fantastic fuck, and any man would want to put you under bondage. Hard to predict who'll buy you, though. It could be a man who wants one slave to serve him perfectly and completely, or a man who has a private collection of slaves and thinks you'll be a good addition. Some men buy slaves to earn money for them: the slave must submit to anyone he says, and he's paid for her use. We have buyers from commercial brothels, where you'll service anyone who pays to use you, and buyers from corporate stables, where you'll entertain anyone the company wants to please and court. Sometimes we get buyers from offshore oil rigs or tankers or freighters, who need an on-board slut to keep the men happy while they're out at sea. Certain resorts, too, like to have a room service menu of luscious sluts on hand for their special guests. Once we even had an order from an Antarctic expedition, for two slaves for the scientists who were down there for six months at a stretch. Needless to say, they didn't go naked around the camp!"

He leans forward and pinches my nipples, then snaps his fingers and points to the bed. That command means "prepare to be fucked, slave." I'm immediately on my back, legs spread and belly already quivering, eager and ready to be used. He undresses unhurriedly, then, naked, kneels between my legs, strokes my thighs, lightly, fingers moving to my soft inner thighs. He's stroking a slave, an animal, not a person; he slips a hand behind my knee and pushes up, and obediently I raise both knees, spreading them wide as I do so. He begins to toy with my pussy lips, flicking them, tugging on them, spreading them apart so that he can get a fingertip right inside my clit hood, to move against my little pink pearl. Which is already swelling, the nerve that feeds it too, both throbbing at his practiced touch.

He's got a powerful, rock-hard body, muscled, with just enough chest hair; I can see how hard his cock is, and how big, but he takes his time—this is a test, and he's never used me before, so I want to be as perfect as I can be for him, the hottest piece of slave ass he's ever had. Still taking his time, he pushes my knees farther apart, then he moves down between my legs, his hands under my ass lifting me, his shoulders under my thighs, his mouth nibbling on my smooth bare mound. I arch under the feel of his tongue snaking its way inside me, flicking my clit; he bites my pussy lips, drawing them into his mouth with his teeth, sucking on them less and less gently. I moan and begin to move, but he commands me to be silent and lie still, and I obey, with difficulty.

He kisses and licks his way up my belly, his mouth against my flanks and hipbones, biting my breasts, tongue moving on my nipple rings, his cock like a hot log against my thighs and belly, until he's poised above me, between my legs again, and his hands pin my wrists at my shoulders. He mounts me, his crotch pressing against mine as he starts to grind insistently against my mound.

Then he reaches down to take his cock in his hand and position it at the dripping wet entrance to my cunt, sliding the head of it up and down along the line of my slit but not entering me yet. I look up at him, then down my body to where we're about to be connected. His dick is huge and beautiful, not overly long but plenty long enough, thick and heavy, and, obedient slave that I am, I can't wait for it to stuff me.

He doesn't hold back much longer. He punches straight into me in one single move, spearing me on his cock, holding my upper arms in a fierce grip to keep me motionless. He thrusts for a while, not allowing me to move, which is almost impossible for me by now. But he knows exactly what he's doing: his cock slides in and almost out of my cunt, plunging deeper every time, until he's sunk in me all the way up to his balls.

Then finally he gives me permission to move and make noise, and I lift my hips and squirm under him as he moves inside me, filling me up, stretching my cunt walls out. He's very skilled, and he times his motion to mine so that neither of us come too soon but just get hotter and more urgent with every move. He pulls back suddenly, so that the head of his dick is just outside my cunt, poking at me, teasing me until I beg for him to take me and use me hard.

Finally he settles into the saddle and gets down to work. He scoops his hands under my shoulder blades to hold my body tight to his, and begins to stroke into me, long and hard and slow. I'm being completely, totally fucked, the way a woman should be. His hips are driving his cock like a battering ram, slamming as deep inside me as he can get. I moan with each thrust, gasping, and I wrap my legs around him to allow him complete access, loving the sensations exploding in my body. Well, he's not the slavemaster for nothing...I wonder how many slaves he's trained and used like this.

And now I know that I was truly meant to be what I've finally become: a slave. A slave being used by a man. I'm collared and branded and ringed with steel like an animal. I've been broken like an animal too, conditioned to obey a man's commands: slaves aren't persons, they're property, and the thought of myself as property turns me on like nothing else.

My fate is set: I'm going to be sold to a master, someone who's going to own me completely, someone who'll do whatever he wants to me, someone I must obey or be punished for it. I tried to deny my nature, but the trainers here were wiser, and they knew what I really wanted to be all long, needed to be, what I was built to be.

I joyfully redouble my efforts under him, my naked body writhing and pushing against his as he drills me, my softness against his rock-solid muscles. Another lesson: a man masters a woman through superior strength as well as nature, but a woman's submission to his mastery gives them both incredible pleasure. I've learned that well, and I learned it the hard way.

He's plowing into me now, powerfully, steadily, his driving motion bringing him up tight and hard against my clit, his cock invisible, completely hidden in my depths. I rock in sync with his motion, pushing back against his crotch, to keep the pressure on my clit, to keep his dick as far inside me as possible, and then I feel myself coming around and under him as he pounds me like a piece of meat. I cry out as the orgasm starts to build, and he gives an enormous final thrust that almost splits me in two and floods my cunt with hot wetness, coming inside me as my own climax rips me apart, screaming with pleasure.

I'm trembling and my cunt is vibrating like a doorbell, waves of warm sensation engulfing me, every nerve exploding. He's still coming, and he pushes down with both hands on the top of my head to force my body further down against him and keep me from moving. Delirious and gasping, I feel him pumping himself dry into me. He rests his full weight on top of my body, and I writhe slowly under him, getting the last little excruciatingly wonderful sensations out of us both. Everything about being fucked is delicious, but this part is almost as good as coming, or the first thrust of a man's hard cock into my softness. It's all good.

And then he slips out of me and tugs on my nose ring, and that's even better. It all makes me feel incredibly submissive, being used like this, wanting to please, knowing that I have. I lift my hips to him, mutely pleading to be taken again, and he laughs and pinches my breast.