I felt the whip withdrawing from me. The man came back in front of me and pulled me back into a kneeling position by my hair. Then he replaced the whip handle in my mouth, forcing me to clean off the evidence of my own submission. Tears in my eyes, I obeyed.

"You are clearly a hot slut," he pronounced as I continued to suck on the whip. "That will make you easier to control." I lowered my eyes, shamed. "Now let's see if you can beg to please a man."

He pulled the whip out of my mouth. I looked up at him in anticipation. He wanted me to beg.

"Please, master, I beg to serve you," I began. I leaned up and forward with my body, presenting myself to him. "Please let this slave attempt to give you pleasure. Let me take you in my mouth, or between my legs, or anywhere you desire. I will be hot, and wet, and wonderful for you." I half closed my eyes and licked my lips slowly. I let my hips pulse back and forth in anticipation. "I beg to be taken, and raped, and dominated, master. I long to have you inside me, to feel you having your way with my body, using me like the slut I am." I was only following his instructions, of course. But I could not deny that there was some truth to what I was saying. I did want to be raped, in part because Claudia had commanded me to serve this man, but in part because my aroused body was aching to be had.

"You may begin with your mouth," he finally said.

"Thank you, master," I said as he opened his pants. This, at least, I knew how to do, I told myself. I opened my mouth and began to practice my trade, running my tongue along him, gently coaxing him into my mouth, swirling my tongue as I had practiced in my classes. I knew I was a slave and that there was nothing I could do about that. I knew that, like it or not, this is what I had to look forward to. And at that moment, if I had to be a slave, I wanted only to be a good slave, to demonstrate that I was worthy of interest and bidding. I found myself wanting desperately to please Claudia, to give this man and the ones that would follow so much pleasure that I would bring a high price. I could feel myself slipping into that emotional ocean of submission where nothing exists except the master, and the slave's absolute desire to worship and serve him.

Then, without warning, he withdrew from me. "What a slut," he said. I hoped I could detect a trace of affection in his voice. "Turn around and bend over." Knowing what was coming next, and with part of me hungering for it, I obeyed. I felt his hand on me. He could feel how wet I was. I resisted the urge to climax right then. "You want me to take you, don't you, slut?" he said.

"Yes, master," I gasped, trying to prevent my hips from pressing back against him. "Please, master. Your slave begs you to take her. Please."

Then he plunged into me. My body opened and enveloped him gratefully. His powerful, dominating strokes left me gasping for breath, my breast heaving. Then I felt him climax within me, and I let myself over the edge, my hips jerking in helpless orgasm.

"Thank you, master," I said when he finally withdrew. I had never before been so truly thankful for a master's use, both physically and emotionally. Suddenly remembering my duty, I pulled myself back to my knees and offered my mouth to clean him off, savoring the aftertaste of his conquest. Although I had been the captive victim of his ruthless onslaught, I felt nothing but a surge of joy and gratitude.

I could feel the residue of his use dripping from my body onto the hardwood floor. He pointed down between my legs. "Clean up after yourself, slut," he ordered. I looked up at him, questioningly. My hands were still bound behind my back. He reached absent-mindedly for his whip. Without being asked again, I inched backward and leaned my face down toward the small puddle that had formed on the floor. With my tongue and lips, I gathered the mixed liquids into my mouth and swallowed. I felt thoroughly humiliated. But such humiliation, I knew, was a simple attribute of my position in life.

Finally I returned to my kneeling position and looked up at my potential owner. "How may I serve you, master?" I asked.

Although he was only with me for about two hours, he found many other ways.

And so the day progressed. After the Japanese businessman was a Russian one, and after the Russian was a light lunch, and after lunch an English businessman. Between buyers I was allowed to shower and "freshen up," but then I was once again pitilessly aroused by a slave girl kneeling between my legs. I would go to each buyer a hot slut begging to be used. I am sure all the buyers were well aware of the trick, but perhaps they expected it. By mid-afternoon I had lost count of the rapes, beatings, and other indignities I had suffered. I had been poked, prodded, and pinched in parts of my body I had previously never dreamed of exposing to such attentions. My hips and thighs were sore from use, and the aftertaste of repeated violations clung to the inside of my mouth. I had passed through eager obedience and enthusiastic service to emotional numbness. I longed for my classes in slavery, where I had been able to lose myself in striving to be a model student.

I was kneeling for the fourth time on the hardwood floor, my hands once again cuffed behind my back, a leash dangling between my uplifted breasts, awaiting my master of the hour, my tears buried back in my tear glands, unseen. And then the door opened and in walked Cristina.

"Cristina," I blurted out instantly. "What are you doing here?" My mind was racing. She was here to buy me, to set me free from the nightmare life of a slave girl. No, she was here to buy me, but to keep me as her personal sex slave, nude and chained at her feet. Or perhaps she was here to tell me that this was all an elaborate joke, orchestrated by her to allow me to indulge my hidden desires, but now completed, leaving me free to resume my old life.

She was silent. She stood directly in front of me, her feet just inches from my knees, and looked down into my eyes. I had never before realized how beautiful she was, her black hair cascading over her shoulders, her powerful, black-clad figure towering over my soft, white body. "Cristina?" I asked hesitantly.

"You've definitely changed, Jenny," she finally began, strolling slowly around my kneeling form. "And for the better, if I may say so myself." She came to a stop in front of me again. "Tell me, do you enjoy being a slave?"

"No!" I said immediately. "You would never imagine what I have to go through, how many times I've been raped and beaten. It's a living nightmare! Tell me this is all a joke."

"Actually, I could imagine quite well," she answered. "Claudia has brought me up to date on your accomplishments here." I was silent. "Apparently you are one of the most eager and talented little slave sluts she has ever had." I lowered my eyes, blushing with shame. "Well? Is that true?"

"Yes. Yes, mistress," I said. "But I only did it because I had to ..."

"We always have choices, my dear," Cristina said. "Now bend down and lick my boots like a good little slut."

Tears beginning to well up into my eyes, I obeyed. I remembered the first time I had bent over her boots like this. It had seemed like only a game, then. Now, I feared, it was something much more real.

"I do have some news for you, Jenny," Cristina said. "But I am not here to free you, nor am I going to buy you, although that is why I am ostensibly here. In a few days, you will be an utter slave slut in the absolute possession of one of the gentlemen who preceded me here today." I began to sob, my tears falling onto her boots where I licked them up with my tongue. To have momentarily believed freedom might be at hand, only to have that hope dashed, was more than I could bear. "But first you will serve me like the slave you are. I want to see what you have learned."