The Cost of My Dreams

The Cost of My Dreams Ch. 03 - The Temple of Persephone by LoyalHound

All characters are fictitious and are adults.

Caution:

It's a fairly minor incident, not representative of the whole story, so I don't think the story belongs in the Incest/Taboo category, but if an instance of

non-consensual adult sibling incest

would destresses you, don't read this story.

It was a few hours into the trip from Jacksonville to The Sharks when the two handlers awoke us for watering. They started with me at one end and Denise at the other. One of the handlers beckoned me to the door and had me kneel there as he opened the door and held a squeeze bottle filled with whitish liquid to my lips.

"Drink every drop and thank me when you're finished," he ordered. After I started sucking on the tip of the bottle, he started to squeeze, filling my mouth with semen flavored water. Just another ritual humiliation. Since the markets don't use this water internally, it was a reminder from our owners or more likely The Sharks that we were no longer human.

I've never found the tastes of natural semen offensive but this stuff tasted like a cheap imitation, like Saccharin instead of sugar. It tasted off. It was pointless to protest or resist, so I drank the flavored water without complaint and tried to smile as I said "Six Seven One Nine thanks her master for the gift of drink."

My handler stroked my face and said "I almost believe you mean that." He closed and latched the door and moved on to Erin while the other handler finished with Denise and moved on to Susan. They did skip over the Japanese woman, One Nine Seven Five, until the end when they had Susan explain to her what she had to do. Whatever she thought of the taste, One Nine Seven Five drank it like the rest of us and, after some coaching from Susan, managed to thank the handler in English.

Early next morning, probably around 4 AM, we were fed and watered again. We were each given a disposable bowl of slave kibble and a bottle of regular unflavored water. Rather than making us eat like dogs, as they had at the Jacksonville Slave Market, they gave us hand wipes and a spoon so we wouldn't mess ourselves too badly while we were in transit. We finally pulled into The Sharks around eight AM.

One of the handlers from Jacksonville, the one I thought of as the chief handler, since he seemed to be in charge, opened my kennel and motioned me out. He ordered "kneel and front hands," and I knelt with my knees spread, my back straight, and my arms extended with wrists crossed as though for binding. He unlocked and removed my wrist bands and passed them to the other handler, took hold of my leash, ordered me to stand and led me out of the truck into the receiving warehouse to a line of slave pads each of which was next to slave ring which had a chain with a locking anklet attached.

He led me to a particular pad and gestured and I move onto the pad facing him, squatted, and locked the anklet about my left ankle. I was about ready to drop into a slave spread when he ordered "present!" and I assumed the position, standing facing him with my legs spread and my hands laced behind my head, he removed my leash and stuck in in a utility pouch he carried. Then he ordered "slave spread" and I knelt with knees spread, back straight, head up and hands behind my neck.

My handler went back to the truck to brought us one at a time to the pads. When we were all unloaded and on our pads the handlers from Jacksonville and a receiving handler from The Sharks worked their way down the line, starting with me.

The receiving handler, a tall, heavyset man with dark hair took a clipboard from the chief handler from Jacksonville. He checked my transit tag and scanned my SIN chip, then signed off on the clip board and got a fresh collar off of a nearby table. The handler from Jacksonville ordered "collar," and I lifted my hair out of the way with my left hand while resting my right hand on my right thigh. He unlocked and remove my collar, passing it to the other handler from Jacksonville to be put in a bag he carried. The handler from The Sharks gave the clipboard back to the hander from Jacksonville and slipped a new collar around my neck. He closed it snuggly around my neck and I heard it lock with an unmistakable click. He scanned the collar and entered something on a tablet and then went behind me and checked the calibration for an attention shock. I was ordered back to slave spread and they moved on to Erin, who was kneeling on the pad to my left.

When everyone had been recollared, the chief handler from Jacksonville gave the receiving handler a copy of his paperwork and shock his hand. The two handlers from Jacksonville got back in the truck and the truck drove away.

The receiving handler, who I later learned was Master Crenshaw, gave us all an attention shock and said "Your owners believe you're are worthy of training at The Sharks Slave Training Academy for High Value Slaves. I hope you understand the privilege you have been granted. When you leave here, you will have the skills and training to anticipate and accommodate your master's orders and desires without hesitation, but you will also retain your active minds and will continue to practice and improve your technical and intellectual skills to better serve your masters."

"I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes. While I'm gone, you may talk quietly, but assume the down position and shut up if any handler approaches you" he concluded and walked away, leaving us shackled in the warehouse.

He returned with Mistress Forrest, a short, thin, hard locking black woman about forty. She used a button on her shocker to unlock all our anklets remotely and bid us remove our anklets, stand, and follow her. We did so while Master Crenshaw followed us. It was the first time since we were enslaved that we hadn't been led on a leash when we walked. Every one of us knew better than to veer off or fall behind of the woman in front of her.

Mistress Forrest took us to a small room with athletic mats of the floor and arranged us in three rows. I, Erin, and Angela facing front in the front row, Cheryl, Susan, and Denise facing front in the back row, and One Nine Seven Five in the middle facing Susan. Master Crenshaw went around and removed our ear tags and then Mistress Forrest started running us thru standard slave yoga positions while making us speak the mantras loudly and clearly. It was nothing we hadn't practiced before, but I promise you it's different when you're not just naked, you're slave naked and your collar isn't a prop, it's real, and you actually start experiencing attention shocks when you're not fast enough or screw up a move or forget a mantra. When we'd practiced before we had been playing at being slaves. The playing was over; we were slaves being trained.

The Japanese woman, One Nine Seven Five, needed assistance with slave yoga and Susan had been paired with her to help instruct her in what the positions were and what mantras were to be spoken with each position. One Nine Seven Five slowed us down but learned the positions quickly. By the end of the session, she was doing OK but was still having some trouble with the mantras. She was given some slack on that; the rest of us, not so much.

Then we were moved to larger classroom which had, in addition to slave mats, padded benches, ottomans, and mattresses. There were rails and lines of dildos of various sizes stuck to some of the walls and lying on some tables and there were two dozen older, ugly, low-grade slaves waiting for us. These were part of the herd of so-called commonplace slaves, mostly male, that The Sharks maintained. With suitable pharmaceuticals, these slaves are quite potent of if rather unskilled lovers. We were about to experience an extended session of what The Sharks calls the practical.

The horny juice had really started kicking in the previous night while we had traveled from Jacksonville to The Sharks. It had been quite distracting during slave yoga and was even more so now. They knew I hadn't had a problem giving a handler a blowjob on the way to Jacksonville Slave Market, so it made sense that they started by ordering me to administering a blowjob to one of the commonplace slaves while they critiqued me, having the others watch.

I took a deep breath and moved into position, repeating a couple mantras to myself: "I am a slave. I exist for the pleasure of my master. My every orifice is his, as is my tongue.," I repeated silently. This was what I'd signed up for. I'd already done it once as a slave. Just let the horny juice do its thing and go with the flow. You like giving blowjobs; finger yourself while you work. This is what slaves do. Open yourself to the experience. You are a slave; this is what slaves do.

The commonplace slave was naked, save for his collar, and I knelt before him. As directed by mistress Forrest, I started by kissing and licking his feet and toes. "I am a slave. I exist for the pleasure of my master," I repeated silently. I worked my way gradually up his legs until my hair was brushing his cock and balls. I rubbed my face against his cock, licked and kissed, fingered his balls and took him in my mouth. He caressed my face and head, eventually working his fingers into my hair and taking control of the movement of my head. His cock was small enough that I managed him easily while rubbing and fingering myself. I came before he did, but when he came, I held him in my mouth until Mistress Forrest directed me to open my mouth and show everyone the come on my tongue before she directed me to swallow it.

Then they started doing the others, in order, though they had Susan help with One Nine Seven Five. Susan had her repeat some mantras in Japanese aloud before One Nine Seven Five started her first blowjob as a slave and Susan also helped her lick the man's legs and balls. This was an instruction period that One Nine Seven Five could never have expected to experience, but she followed our example not just without complaint, but even showing enthusiasm once she got going. She could do this, aside from a little gagging at one point, and Susan had every right to be proud of her. Later, One Nine Seven Five would be instructed in managing her gag reflex but, for now, we moved on to vaginal sex.

The horny juice had its way with us and thank God it did. As recently as two days ago, we wouldn't have given these ugly slaves a second glance but with the horny juice flowing thru us and the fact of our own enslavement, their touch was fire. When I was directed to embrace and kiss several of the commonplace slaves, I repeated my mantras and applied myself to my masters' desires and my own. I was passed around several commonplace slaves and kissed and caressed. I panted and moaned and screamed with pleasure as I was bent over a bench and taken from behind. We were penetrated; our asses were lubricated and stretched with dildos; eventually we were also taken anally. No real instructions for this part, just breaking us in, getting us accustomed to our role. About the only fundamental we missed out on that session was licking pussy and we would soon enough get to that.

I remember one writer describing solders in combat as having entered the temple of Ares, a sacred space where they do things they would never do in their profane lives. We too had entered a sacred space, the temple of Persephone perhaps, where we would do and experience things we would never have consented to in our previous existence. We were not just available for the sexual gratification of free persons; we were to reveal in it. With the horny juice flowing thru me, I was eager to do so.

After the practical, we were taken to a hygiene room and given douches and enemas, permitted to shower, and were fed lunch, kneeling at the feet of commonplace slaves with our hands restrained behind us, eating from their fingers, licking those fingers after each morsel and drinking from squeeze bottles held in our mouths by the commonplace slaves. Just another reminder that we were now domesticated animals that must not just accommodate the least whim of our masters but be thankful for being allowed to do so. Then our hands were freed and we were required to brush our teeth and proceed to a testing room. That was where we met mistress Esmerelda.

In the testing room, there were a number computers with displays, keyboards, mice, and rods attached by usb cables to the computers on low tables with slave pads behind them, so a slave could kneel and use the computer. When we entered, the voice of a business-like woman spoke to us from no fixed source. "Slaves," it said "take a place behind a computer and log in by using the wand to tap your collar." It then spoke what I assume was the same message in Japanese. We took our positions and did as bid.

"You are about to be administered a test," the voice said. "If you fail to score an acceptable grade, you will receive a moderate correction." The voice then said some words in Japanese for the benefit of One Nine Seven Five.

"You have one hour. Begin," said the voice, and our consoles displayed a test I recognized as very similar to the comparative reading section of the LSAT, which I had taken after my undergraduate degree. It was a multiple-choice test based on a careful, not to shallow and not too deep reading of several passages. I watched the time tick down and managed it wisely, finishing a bit early as did most of the six. One Nine Seven Five's test completed perhaps a minute after ours. Then the voice spoke again.

"You have all achieved a satisfactory grade. Be advised, however, that your grades during your study periods will be compared to your capabilities. In the future, a passing grade may still earn you punishment if you do achieve the quality we believe you are capable of."

"I am Esmeralda," said the voice. "I am an artificial intelligence charged with monitoring your training, directing your intellectual training and testing, and enforcing rules. I am always awake; I am always watching; I can control your collars and administer discipline with them. I am guided in your training by human experts and the slave handlers of The Sharks. You will address me as Mistress Esmeralda and treat me with the same respect you would show a human master.

You will find your days here quite filled with both traditional slave training that will make you proper slaves and intellectual training that will require you to retain your sense of self and your mind. You will receive the practical at least once per day and, after your fist week, you will work as a serving slave at our private club where you will be available for the usage of guests. You will also be available for the use of any free person you are likely to meet here. Outside of training and your service at the club, you will not masturbate nor will you have sexual contact with any slave outside of your group. Within your group are permitted to provide sexual release to each other during your free play period."

Esmeralda then spoke in Japanese, presumably repeating the same information for One Nine Seven Five. A minute or two latter, Master Chamberlain appeared and led us to another room for our first session of obedience training.

And so the day went with obedience training, slave mantra repetition, a session of petplay training, and our first study assignments. By the time we ate dinner and reached our free play period, it was all we could do to watch some mindless video and try and make sense what had happened to us but still the horny juice plagued us. It was Denise and Angela who started in on each other first, kissing and caressing each other. We truly entered the Temple of Persephone by the time we were done, becoming slave sexual not just notionally but in fact. Everyone had ate and been et by the time we were done.

When I had kenneled myself for the night, I thought about the lessons we'd learned since being enslaved, not just from training but from being processed by the Jacksonville Slave Market. We could be paraded naked on a leash with our hands locked behind our backs in front of our former coworkers. We could have collars locked on us which we could not remove and which could be used to discipline us. We could be kenneled. We could be forced to relieve ourselves in public. We could be made to service any person our master's chose for us. We were slaves and we would do as slaves do.

I remembered skimming Beyond the Thirty-Fourth Amendment: The Origins and Doctrine of Modern American Slavery before deciding that the particular American Studies course that used the book wasn't worth the effort as an elective, even if it did meet a humanities credit requirement. According to the authors, the whole slave system, the mantras, the slave yoga, the ritual humiliations, the horny juice, and the standard training for slaves was so we would not just accept, but be content in our role and not believe we deserved anything more. Accept that we were animals and it was appropriate to treat us as such. No one, the book claimed, was happier than the slave who'd gone slave stupid. The point of The Sharks was to square the circle, making us accept our role but keeping us prepared for something more than mindless obedience and keeping us ready for a life after slavery.

I knelt at the computer terminal with the printed notes and my annotations and successfully completed the quiz. I saved a copy of the course certificate and spoke. "Mistress Esmerelda," I said, addressing the AI that monitored us constantly "This slave begs that you to verify that Six Seven One Nine has successfully completed three professional development hours in Engineering Ethics."

"Your progress has been noted, Six Seven One Nine. You are currently six professional development hours ahead of schedule. You are now ordered to continue to review and comment on the proposed changes to the Scorpio 7 mod 2 maintenance vehicle and to prepare for your continued instruction of Five Seven Seven One. It is further noted that you are to play at least two hours of chess with me at level 3 or level 4 difficulty by kennel time three days hence."

"Six Seven One Nine hears and hastens to obey"

I had a half hour left of study time, then a 25 minute individual session of obedience training with Slave Mistress Ann, a 25 minute session of private service with Master Crenshaw, and a 55 minute session of the practical with the rest of my group and assorted commonplace slaves, supervised by Master Chamberlain and Slave Mistress Ann. Then the eight of us would have a special session together before we'd break for hygiene and showers and then supper.

I was looking forward to both the personal use of Master Crenshaw and the practical as, even though they had reduced the dose of horny juice after we'd been broken in, the combination of horny juice and Mistress Esmerelda's rule against masturbation was frustrating. Just another trial for the initiates in the temple of Persephone. I was not looking forward to the special session, however.

It had been three weeks since we'd arrived at The Sharks and there had been a few surprises. The biggest surprise had come three days after our arrival, when Five Seven Seven One (the young women with the hair dyed so black it was like a hole in the universe and all the piercings) showed up in our group. She had spent a day getting acclimated in a seasoning house and was then told she'd been sold and got sent to The Sharks via the East Coast Local and the Jacksonville, Baltimore and City of Frederick Slave Markets. One Nine Seven Five truly did have a powerful protector, and the slave who had helped her was helped in turn. A few moments of human sympathy had just gotten the black-haired girl much improved prospects for her future, both as a slave and after her indenture ended. A tiny speck of human decency had not exactly saved her but had given her a future.