After the video shoot, I was allowed an unusual moment to relax as the technicians gathered their equipment. I sat against a wall, nude, my knees drawn up against my chest in a vain effort to cover myself. The chain leash I had worn during the last part of the session still dangled between my breasts and through my legs. I stared blankly into space. Until a few weeks ago, only a few boyfriends had ever seen me naked, and then only after weeks of pursuit, presents, and romantic dinners. Now I had been captured on hundreds of photos and hours of videotape, not only completely naked, but ruthlessly exposed and exploited as a purely sexual object. I wondered who would see those images - if they would filter back into the world I used to inhabit, and if my friends and colleagues would see in that wanton, lascivious slave girl the memory of their vanished friend Jennifer Nevins. The occasional beatings and the rapes and the sordid humiliations of my slavery had, so far, taken place within the four walls of this mansion, out of sight of the world. But this, I knew, was the beginning of a new chapter of my slavery, in which I would be publicly available to any man or woman, the kind of girl who with a snap of the fingers could be commanded to open her naked thighs for a master's conquest. At the moment, I felt neither pride nor arousal, only a kind of numb sadness at the fate that awaited me.
After my "portfolio" had been shot, my life returned to something approaching normal, insofar as the term could be applied to my situation. I took up my daily routine again the next day, and found the trainers at least as harsh as they had been previously. Perhaps they knew that I would soon be leaving them, and wanted to ensure that their student did not embarrass them in the outside world. Or perhaps they only wanted to make sure that they took maximum advantage of my available body before it was claimed by a new master. But scarcely a day went by when I was not savagely used, often forced to serve two at once, or tied down with my legs spread to endure a succession of cruel masters. At those times I was thankful that they let me cry, sobbing face down into a cushion while men made quick use of my unprotected body, wondering what I might have done to deserve this brutal treatment. But I knew that whether or not I deserved it was of no consequence. I was a slave, and these things might be done to me.
About a week after the photo and video sessions, I was summoned after breakfast again to Claudia's office. I entered and knelt before her, without even thinking. It was only natural that a slave should kneel before her mistress.
"Your potential buyers will be here, today," she began. "You will be at their disposal for two hours each. You will be absolutely, completely perfect in your submission to them. This evening, they will make their initial bids. Depending on the bids, you will either have a new owner tonight, or we may repeat the process tomorrow. Do you understand me?"
I was too stunned to speak. Only twelve hours from now people I had never met before would be bidding for unconditional ownership rights to my soft, naked body and every charm and attraction it might hold. And in the intervening hours, I would be forced to perform for them as an absolute slave, using all of my talents to elicit as high a bid as possible from them.
The whip snapped across the back of my shoulders. "Slut! Do you understand me!"
"Yes, mistress," I quickly said. "Forgive me, mistress."
Claudia glared at me. "How much money we make on you depends on how well you are able to excite the buyers' desire today. You must be beautiful, and tantalizing, and deeply sensuous, and utterly pleasing. All of the buyers are extremely interested in what they have seen so far. But that must be nothing compared to the delights you give them today."
"Yes, mistress," I said. "I will be absolutely obedient."
I was told there were four groups bidding on me, each of which had sent one representative to the auction. I would serve two of them in the morning and two in the afternoon. First, however, I was "prepared" ... by being strapped down on my back over a table, another slave girl between my knees lavishing her lips and tongue on me. She repeatedly brought me close to climax, each time denying me my fulfillment, letting my helpless gasps and moans and pleas go unheeded. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably closer to twenty minutes, I heard a trainer say, "I think she's had enough." I was unbound from the table and led toward the room where I would serve the buyers, a leash attached to my collar and my hands cuffed behind my back. I would go to my potential masters cruelly aroused, desperate for them to have their way with my body. In my current state, I could be nothing other than a begging, eager slut.
I knelt on the hardwood floor, awaiting my first inspection, my hands still cuffed behind my back, the leash dangling between my breasts and draped over my left thigh. Light flooded into the room from large windows on two sides of the room. Behind me was a simple bed on which I could be forced to demonstrate my skills. I thought about the last thing Claudia had said to me this morning as I left her office. "Their goal is to utterly humiliate you. They want to see how much you can take." I shuddered at the thought, wondering what she could have meant.
I heard a hand on the door latch. I swallowed.
The door opened and a man looking exactly like a Japanese businessman entered. Or maybe that's what he was - a Japanese businessman, here to conduct business. He was on the young side of middle age, not unattractive, in an expensive gray suit. I imagined another setting, where we were meeting across a conference room table, I clothed in similarly expensive attire. Then I realized where I was.
"You are Jenny?" He spoke heavily accented, but perfectly clear English.
"Yes, master," I answered.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-one ... I think. Is it past July 21st?"
"Yes, today is July 24. Your birthday?"
"Yes, master," I said, fighting back a tear. In the shock of my new life, I had completely forgotten.
"Happy birthday," he said. He was smiling.
"Thank you, master."
"How long have you been a slave?"
"A few weeks, master."
"What did you do before that?"
"I was a student at UCLA, master." The memories began to get the better of me.
"What did you study?"
"Political science, master. I planned to go to law school."
He laughed. "Well, I see things have changed a great deal for you."
"Yes, master," I said, blushing with humiliation. What a difference a few weeks had meant. I could not be farther from the fast track to success than I was now - kneeling naked and bound for inspection before a man capable of extracting any service he chose from me.
"Do you like being a slave?"
"Yes, master." I knew the answer.
"What do you like most about slavery?"
"Giving pleasure to my masters."
Many of the questions were formulaic. We had learned the answers to them in our classes. We existed to serve our masters. We were absolutely obedient. We wanted nothing more than to please our masters. Our bodies were constantly available for use by our masters. Some of his questions were more probing, however. How many boyfriends had I had? Had I served them well? How would I serve them if I saw them now? What would I do if I could be free again?
Finally he reached into his briefcase and took out a whip. He tossed it across the room behind me. "Fetch," he said.
I struggled toward the whip on my knees and bent my head down to pick up its handle in my teeth. I turned to face him. "On your belly," he said. I lowered myself to my belly and squirmed back to him, my hands still bound behind my back. My breasts and thighs ached from rubbing against the floor. Finally I lay on my belly at his feet. At a motion of his hand, I struggled back up to my knees and offered him the whip handle from between my lips. He smiled. He grasped the whip handle and pushed it in and out of my mouth, simulating the act of raping my mouth. I closed my eyes and pretended I was in fact serving a man, dedicating all the skills of my mouth and tongue to the inert whip handle. He withdrew the whip from my mouth and walked around behind me, pushing my head to the floor, my bottom now raised high in the air. Then suddenly I was penetrated by the whip handle. I could feel its solid mass pushing in and out of me, tormenting my previously aroused body and mocking my slave's body. "You may relieve yourself or not, as you choose," he said. I steeled myself to resist, not wishing to let him bring me to climax in such a degrading fashion. But as the whip continued its inexorable domination of my body, I began to lose control over my feelings, my resistance already weakened by the "preparation" I had undergone. Finally I gasped my submission, my hips shaking uncontrollably. I pressed my face to the floor, hoping to sink into it and vanish.