Then the men took to talking to themselves in rapid German, leaving their slave to kneel silently at their feet.

I cried softly during the car ride. I could think of nothing except the brutal rape I had just suffered, their casual, forceful handling of my body. The long, slow cycles of tantalizing, excruciating arousal that Cristina had put me through, the fantasy world of semi-consensual slavery that I had imagined for myself - these were long gone. Instead, I was kneeling, silently and in terror, before three men who had just used me for their ruthless, unilateral pleasure, treating my mouth as well as my body as only another place to find their release. The taste of that last ravishment remained thick and heavy in my mouth. I supposed I had better get used to it, I said to myself. It was a taste I was sure to know well in the days, weeks, and months ahead. No, this was clearly not the exotic, comfortable slavery I had imagined. But at the same time that I dreaded what masters might do to me, I understood that, on some level, I had asked for this. No one had made me accompany Cristina to that first party, semi-nude, a collar and leash on my neck. No one had forced me to beg Stefan to rape me that first night, or to offer my body up to Cristina after the dinner party. And I knew that there could be no slavery that was not total, unconditional, and abject, in which masters could not freely use my body in any way they saw fit.

I moaned softly as my the realization of my predicament sank in. This, then, was what I had to look forward to, for at least as long as my body continued to be of interest to masters - kneeling naked before men, my body still sore from their previous assaults, waiting submissively for them to see fit to take pleasure in my soft flesh once again. And I had to admit that part of me - a small part, but one I could not deny - almost reveled in that realization, that the slave girl in me had finally been recognized, brought out into the open, and cruelly enslaved, finally being forced to put her charms to use.

I wondered if Cristina knew what was happening to me, if she had somehow arranged for my abduction and enslavement, or had even sold the rights to my body to some dealer in women's flesh. If the latter, I wondered what she had gotten for me. Even if she were not involved, I felt sure that she would approve of this drastic change in my fortunes.

I wondered how long I could survive as a helpless slave, completely at the mercy of demanding masters. As a new slave, I expected I would provide at least some novelty value, a new plaything for a few hours of entertainment. But then perhaps they would tire of me, or at the least would become more and more exacting, continually demanding new depths of submission and service. I silently prayed that men would find me satisfactory, as my captor had said. But then I realized with a shock that it was not just a matter of others "finding" me satisfactory or not. I, though a slave, still must have some power to please masters, to make them desire my services, to stimulate their desire and, in so doing, provoke my own ravishment. If I wanted to survive, I would have to do everything in my power to make myself desirable, to anticipate the wants of my masters, to inflame them with lust and then satiate their urges with my soft, naked body. I knew the only assets at my disposal were my body and my ability to use it to please men and women, and that the quality of my life would depend directly on my success in encouraging them to humiliate, abuse, and debase me. And with a kind of calm, I realized that in succumbing to my submissive urges, in giving in to masters as the brazen slut I knew I could be, I was only heeding my own self-interest, following the course of action most likely to preserve my life in a tolerable fashion. If I was totally dependent on the whims of my masters, it was far better for them to find in me a willing, eager, sensuous slut than a reluctant, withdrawing, resisting woman attempting to preserve her dignity. Armed with this irrefutable justification, I was free to cast aside any vestiges of modesty or propriety I might of thought to keep, free to embrace my complete and abject subjection.

I looked up at my captor, a pleading look in my eyes. I begged silently for him to be kind to me. I knew at that moment I would do anything in my meager powers to please him. Unbidden, I lowered my head to his feet and began to lick at his shoes. Although I had performed this act of obeisance several times before, this was the first time I did so as a true slave, in complete recognition of the absolute power this man held over me, my body, and my very life. I abandoned myself completely to the worship of his feet, covering them with caresses of my tongue and tears from my eyes, hoping in this tiny way to be found pleasing. At that moment, I actually hoped that he would deign to make use of me again, if only for the security of knowing that he found me of interest.

Instead, he only reached down and stroked my hair, falling about his feet. "You'll make a good slave," he said. I moaned in appreciation, but continued licking his shoes.

Eventually the car pulled into the long driveway of another secluded mansion. A tug on my leash pulled me back up to my knees. I looked up at my master, expectantly. "This is your new home, slut," he said. This was real, then. I had not been abducted simply to serve as an evening's entertainment, thereafter to be returned to my accustomed life. This was, in fact, the beginning of a new life, a life I whose outlines I could only dimly imagine - a life to be spent at the feet of my masters, desperately hoping to please them with my nude body.

My captor led me up the stairs to the front door. I trailed behind him as Cristina had taught me, my eyes lowered submissively. He knocked on the door and I waited in expectant silence. The door swung open.

A tall, black-haired woman stood in the doorway. She looked at ease in a crisp blue business shirt and grey slacks. She seemed about forty, her face hard but not wrinkled, her hair flecked with grey. I looked into her eyes for a moment. Then I lowered my eyes and knelt before her, my knees wide.

"Here's the slut," my captor said. I reddened at the verbal slap.

"How was she?" the woman asked.

"Remarkable," he answered. "I've never seen a new girl so eager to please." I wanted to die on the spot. The humiliation of being raped by three men in the back of a limousine paled next to the humiliation of having my secret, submissive nature exposed.

"Is this true?" the woman asked me, lifting my chin with her hand.

"Are you eager to please?"

Tears welled up in my eyes. "Yes, mistress," I whispered. "I exist only to please my masters." I took refuge in the thought that I was only trying to say what she would want to hear, but I knew that was a lie.

"Then we will get along wonderfully, my dear," she said. She took the end of my leash in her hand and led me into the house. My captor, the first man who used me as a slave, patted me affectionately on the bottom and turned to leave.

She led me into a large, almost empty room that seemed more appropriate to a Kreuzberg loft than to a rural mansion. She stopped and turned toward me. Instantly I knelt before her, my knees open, my chest thrust forward. I hoped she found my body pleasing. I wondered what she would demand of me - if I would be forced to please her as I had pleased the men in the car.

"I take it you understand what has happened to you," she began. "You are now a slave - a sex slave, in fact. We know that you have secretly desired to be a slave, and now we are simply granting you that desire."

There was no way I could argue with that. Hadn't I gone willingly both to the club and to the party, there to serve as a slave? Hadn't I begged Stefan and Cristina to put me to use as a slave? "What is going to happen to me?" was all I could ask.