She smiled. "Yes, of course, but really, why are you a slave?"

I wondered what she expected me to say, what the right answer was. Was it because three men had broken into my apartment the night before and abducted me, a knife at my throat? Was it because I had been tricked into attending a club with Cristina? Or was it something deeper, more primordial, more unconscious? "I am a slave because I exist to serve and to please masters, mistress," I finally managed to say.

"Get up and kneel before me," Claudia ordered. I obeyed silently, my eyes lowered to the floor. "You are clearly trying to please me, which is to be commended. But you are not telling the truth. As a slave, you exist to serve your masters. That goes without saying. But it does not explain why you are a slave."

I wracked my brain for the answer. I began to panic. I knew I was a slave - that was now abundantly clear to me - but I knew it was not simply a matter of being abducted and raped the night before, of wearing a collar around my neck, of kneeling naked before my mistress. All these things felt unutterably right for me, but they were all simply consequences of my identity as a slave. A slave was simply what I was. It was not a matter of choice or historical explanation. It was part of my inmost nature.

"I am a slave because that is what I am, mistress," I said, softly but clearly. "I do not know how long I have been a slave, or why I became a slave, or if perhaps I have always been a slave. I only know that in every fiber of my being, I exist to serve my masters, to please them in any way that I can, asking nothing, accepting everything." I stopped, confused and scandalized. I could hear a couple of the other girls laughing, softly. What had I been saying? Was this really the logical conclusion of everything I knew about myself? I knew that this woman held the power of life or death over me, and that I would do anything necessary to satisfy her. But was I really a true slave, deep in my heart?

"A touching speech, slave," Claudia said. "Of course, you know almost nothing of what it is to be a slave. But you will learn. You may take your seat."

I got up and took my place again, my eyes lowered to avoid the gaze of my fellow slave girls. I felt I was constantly being tricked into crossing boundary after boundary, surrendering more and more of my previous identity and sinking deeper and deeper into the identity of an abject slave girl. I tried to tell myself that I had said those words simply to satisfy my mistress and avoid the punishments she surely could inflict on me, but at the same time I knew that was a lie.

As the class continued, I became more and more fascinated by Claudia and the power she held over us. She moved from one girl to the next, asking probing questions about our fantasies, our desires, our earlier relationships, and our feelings, drawing out our secret thoughts and confessions. One girl recounted her seemingly innocent introduction to submission years before in a brief experiment with a boyfriend, shuddering as she recalled the unexpected thrill she had felt being naked, bound, and powerless for the first time. Claudia forced another girl to describe, in excruciating detail, the sensations, thoughts, and emotions she experienced when pleasing a man with her mouth - everything from the physical sensations on her lips and tongue, to the constant mental anticipation of the master's desires, to the deeply submissive emotional charge she felt as he consummated his domination of her. I could feel the other girls almost squirming with uncomfortable recognition of their own experiences, and with silent but unmistakable arousal. She did not ask me any questions after the beginning of the class, presumably leaving me to listen to my fellow slave girls and absorb their lessons. By the end of the class, I was in awe of this quietly powerful woman, of her ability to make us explore the depths of our own submission, to confess our slavery not only explicitly but also with a level of detail and conviction that could not simply be denied after the class had ended. Each girl said things that, try as she might, could not be unsaid, and left the room knowing herself even more a slave than when she had entered it.

After class, we were permitted to eat lunch, this time from a buffet of salads and sandwiches, which we were allowed to eat with our hands, kneeling on the floor. I assumed this was because it was easier for our masters for us to eat this way, and the ritual humiliation we had suffered at breakfast, eating on hands and knees from bowls on the floor, exposing our bodies as slaves to any passers by, would be limited to that meal. After lunch, we were given time to ourselves, which we took advantage of in the inner courtyard of the mansion, enjoying the warm air and sunshine of the early summer. Of course, although there was no prescribed activity at this time, we were still under the absolute command of our masters. On separate occasions two of the trainers came outside and called one or another of the girls to them. I watched in fascination as they were made to please the men, intimately and unreservedly, in full view of the rest of us. After being forced to these degrading services, each rejoined our little circle, a little short of breath, but without ceremony, as if this were a completely ordinary occurrence. And, of course, it was. We were slaves, and sex slaves at that. This is what we existed for.

At one point my trainer from the obedience class approached our group where we were sitting on the grass, chatting softly. All the girls turned toward him and knelt in the position we all knew so well. He approached me and, putting his hand in my hair, lifted my head to look at him.

"You did well this morning," he said. "Not bad for a new slave."

I flushed with pride. A man had found me pleasing! "Thank you, master," I said. "I will endeavor to learn as quickly as possible." He put his hand down by my face, where I could lick and kiss at it. I did so, my eyes half closed, reveling in my submission.

"You are a hot little slut," he said, smiling. I blushed, but did not refute him, continuing to lick at his hand. Then he barked out a command, one I recognized from the morning's lesson. I instantly lay on my back and spread my legs, lifting my knees into the air. This was clearly a position for slave rape. The thought sprang to my mind that this was the first time I would be had "normally," as it were - my previous uses having been from behind, or with my mouth.

But he did not instantly plunge into my waiting body. "You may beg," he said.

I opened my eyes in shock. He would make me beg? I would have none of that, I told myself. I could be commanded, abused, raped, and humiliated, but that was beyond my control. I would not beg to be put to sexual service. And yet it felt so fitting - there I was, a naked slave before him, my legs wide in anticipation, my thighs warm with arousal. This morning I had crawled at his feet, desperate to obey his every command. Now he was giving me the opportunity to fulfill my utter submission, and perhaps even to release the tensions that had built up in me all morning as my slavery had been impressed upon me.

"I beg you to have me," I heard a voice saying, wondering where it could be coming from. "I beg to be used, as a slave." He laughed, and then suddenly he entered me. I clutched him with my arms and my body. This was the first time my body was not simply being used as a passive convenience. I knew I was only a new, inexperienced slave, but I would try anything in my power to please this master. I caressed him with my whole body, trying to melt into him, to be warm, soft, and open for him. I felt him inside me, not just physically but also mentally and emotionally, driving into me the necessity, the absolute rightness of my submission. I felt my arousal increasing, and wondered if I would be punished for allowing myself to reach my climax. I focused on his pleasure instead, on his mastery, and finally felt him surge within me. And in that instant, as he consummated his domination of me, some hidden dam within me burst open, and I felt myself swept away on some powerful and unknown current, my body yielding to him as I had never believed possible. I heard a girl crying out her submission, and wondered who it could be. But I knew it was I.