Our classes in sexual technique would also vary, some days being devoted to the art of pleasing women rather than men. This was a subject in which I had had no experience at all, never having been attracted to members of my own sex prior to the night I first longed to serve Cristina as a slave. But after my initial hesitation, and encouraged by the whips the trainers kept close at hand, I quickly learned to apply my mouth as zealously to serving a woman's pleasure as a man's. In accepting my slavery, I had to accept that I was completely at the mercy of any master who might own me, and could be called on just as easily to serve women as men. And realizing that such services were as intrinsic and natural an aspect of my slavery as was spreading my soft thighs before a man, I overcame my earlier inhibitions and was even able to take pride in my growing skills. Sexual preference, I learned, was only something that had meaning for people entitled to preferences; as a slave, I knew that any wishes and inclinations of my own that I might have were simply meaningless.
Some days I was raped repeatedly, sometimes used quickly and casually, a mere convenience to be taken advantage of, sometimes allowed to practice my newfound skills and even to yield in helpless rapture to my rapist; other days would pass without my being put to such degrading uses. On those days when I was not taken and thrown to the floor, or pushed to my knees before a man, I would wonder despairingly if I were any good as a slave, or if perhaps all my efforts to please my masters were in vain; on the days when men did see fit to kick apart my legs and claim the tender flesh that lay between them, I would rest contented that, for one more day at least, I had been found worthy of enslavement.
In the evenings, we would perform chores about the house, cook dinner, and serve our masters and their occasional guests at the table; these domestic tasks, too, were a natural part of the life of a slave girl. Afterward, we would clear the table, clean up, and offer up our bodies for the convenience or entertainment of the masters. At these times, I noticed there would be a kind of silent, unspoken competition among us slaves for the attention of our masters, something I am sure we would scarcely have dared admit to ourselves, but was nevertheless apparent in our postures, in our attitudes, in the way we subtly employed all the tricks and wiles we had learned to draw attention to our bodies and communicate the silent promise of unutterable delights. And when I was selected from among the available slave flesh to be the object of uninhibited, unfettered lust, I always felt a rush of both pride and arousal. Being chosen, even if only for a casual slave rape, was in itself an affirmation of my value, of my desirability, and I knew that that was now the only measure of my existence.
There were times that I remembered my earlier life, only days or weeks removed from my current state, and then I would cry with humiliation and remorse, thinking of everything that had been stolen from me, or rather that I had given up in accepting this new life as a slave. There were times I remembered Cristina, and wondered if she remembered me - if she knew what had happened to me, if she regretted not claiming me when she had the opportunity. I wondered if now, after having learned something of how a slave can be pleasing to a master or mistress, she would be able to resist the offer I had once made of my body, or if she would order me to take my place, kneeling between her legs to serve her pleasure. I wondered if anyone in the world cared any longer for me, or if I were simply a piece of merchandise, tailored and honed to serve a particular and suitable purpose, with a certain value, to be sold, consumed, and discarded. Then I would lie awake sobbing into my pillow. But even then I wondered if this life was somehow deeply right for me, if it was what I was good for, what I had been meant to be.
We will never know if it were somehow foreordained that we would become the people we are today, or if our lives are simply the product of conscious choice and random chance accumulated over many years. Was I a true slave who had only now found her ultimate fulfillment, or just another young woman who had taken a now-forgotten first step down the slippery slope that led me to where I was now, bound naked to a bed in a slave training house, my body still sore from my masters' uses, the taste of their domination still in my mouth?
Chapter 6: The Auction
One evening after dinner I was summoned to Mistress Claudia's office. I entered, walked to a position about one a half meters in front of her, as I had been taught, and lowered myself gracefully to my knees. Weeks of training had brought to this simple act depths of gracefulness and submissiveness that I had never before dreamed possible. My walk was now the walk of a confessed slave girl, my bared hips swaying softly in mute offering. My posture was erect and proud, the curves of my rounded shoulders and soft breasts modifying the line of my body. I no longer wore the hesitant modesty of a new slave girl, but displayed my body simply, openly, and beautifully for my mistress's gaze. Kneeling was not merely a simple physical act, but a profound expression of my inner nature, a way of taking my rightful place at her feet.
The attitudes of my body were not merely lessons I had memorized and practiced, but were reflections of the person I had now become, or rather that I had learned I had always been. In accepting my slavery, my inferiority to my masters and my availability for their use, I had accepted not merely the necessity of following their orders, but more significantly a new understanding of what I was. I knew that, for the type of girl I now was, it was only fitting that I display my naked body casually, that I kneel unasked before a master, my thighs parted to symbolize the exact nature of my submission. And enough masters had then put me to my back on the floor to impress on me the unavoidable consequences of that submission.
Claudia was silent. I could feel her gaze upon me as she walked around my naked form.
"You have made tremendous progress," she finally said, standing before me once again.
"Thank you, mistress," I answered. "This slave is happy if she has been pleasing to her mistress." These words of self-abjection, recently so foreign to me, now felt like second nature - not because they had been practiced by rote, but because they reflected my new station in life.
"Although your face and body leave something to be desired, you are clearly one of the most intelligent, submissive, and eager slave girls whom we have trained."
"Thank you, mistress," I said. Her first comment had stung, but I knew that, where sex slaves were concerned, I was no beauty, and was average at best. Back in Westwood, I had been one of the most attractive girls on campus, able to tantalize men with little more than a tight outfit and a casual smile, and I had made the most of that talent. Here, though, many of the slave girls were simply stunning in their beauty. Capturing and training a slave is an expensive proposition; it made little sense to expend the effort on any but the most prized girls available.
"And you are considerably more beautiful than when you arrived," Claudia continued. "Your face and body are softer, more open, more available, more submissive. It is truly a transformation."
"Yes, mistress." I did not know what else to say. I supposed it was true.
"The trainers also tell me that you are an avid student of the arts of intimate pleasure," Claudia said. "They say they have rarely seen a girl so eager to improve her skills." She lifted my chin with the handle of her whip. "Is this true, Jenny?"
"Yes, mistress," I answered. "My greatest desire is to be pleasing to my masters, as a slave. I have tried to learn how to give them pleasure with my mouth and body." Inside, I burned with shame to hear myself saying these words, to betray myself as a confessed slut or, worse still, an eager sex slave. But outwardly, I said them simply and genuinely, because I knew them to be true.