by Alan Horn
Roseann
The woman was naked too, but she was exotically and erotically different. The first thing I noticed was the huge ring in her nose. It was gold in color, at least a quarter inch in thickness, and partly covered her upper lip. It must have weighed a pound. It nearly filled her nostrils. There was a light chain depending from it. It looked to be four feet long and had a large ring on it end like a handle to lead her by or fasten her to something. It was a perfect sign of her slave status. If everything else on her was gone, everyone who saw this ring and its leash would know she was a slave or pet. It made her the most erotic sight I had ever seen. She also wore large gold rings in her nipples, and labia, somewhat smaller.
Her legs were shackled. Steel bands joined with a short chain. She wore high heeled sandals. I would like to have shoes again. The collar on her neck was daunting. It was twice as high as those of the other women. It had writing on the front but I was too far away to read it. She turned enough that I could see that her wrists too wore steel manacles locked to the back of her collar. I wondered how she could raise her arms high enough to reach the collar. She wore a tight steel band around the narrowest part of her waist. Two chains hung down her back from her bracelets, connected to her waistband. She was smiling and chatting with everyone like a gracious hostess.
I stared at her collar. It was ugly. It was beautiful. It had rounded edges. It was of thick, shining steel. It was as wide as it could be without limiting the motion of her head. It fit like a glove, snug so it wouldn't chafe and in contact at every point of its circumference. The heavy rings hanging front and back were of similar heroic proportion. It was wonderful. It claimed her nakedness and transformed her. Without it she was a beautiful woman in chains. With it she could be nothing but a gorgeous slave that her master owned and commanded. No woman wearing such a collar could be anything but a prized possession. Nor, I thought, would she want to be. I lusted after one just like it.
The collar I wore was pedestrian, loose, just locked and could be easily taken from my neck. It chafed, it was loose on me. Of course it held me fast, but that was irrelevant. I could see the rivets holding that wonderful solid piece of steel around her neck. It was permanent. My eyes flashed back and forth between her nose ring and her collar. The restraints on her limbs held her captive, but it was what was above her shoulders that made her slave.
No matter if she wore clothing, the nose ring and collar were always visible symbols of her slavery. They made me wet with lust. I wanted her and I wanted to be her. I knew she was the perfect woman. She was sexy and submissive. She filled all who beheld her with lust and passion. She was available to whoever held her leash. I wanted to look like that. I was just playing a slave now. She was a complete, total, irrevocable slave. I wanted a master to hold me in such a heavy grasp also. I knew I was a natural, total slave and I wanted all who saw me to know it too.
Our trainers led us close to the women. The man holding our leash said, “Roseann, these two are Regina and Elizabeth.” She smiled at us and said, “Hello, glad to meet you. I'm here to answer your questions and prepare you for the rest of the program. Here, tonight, you can ask me any questions you like. So, you can see my piercings and the rings I wear in my body. I am also more chained than you. Soon all the collared women in this room will be just like me. You will hate the rings when they are first put in you. But this will soon change. I love mine. They make me hot and aroused every time I move and they sway in me. Also, most free men and women find them sexy. Of course they make you more submissive. They allow anyone at all to control you and they make handy places to fasten or leash you. But, on the whole I like them a lot.”
Roseann turned around, shuffling her feet to the clatter of chain. She said, “look at my hands. See how they lock to my collar. This is not uncomfortable now. The masters trained my arms by fastening my wrists as high on my back as possible. They left them there most of the time, and kept raising them until I could reach my collar. This makes you almost completely helpless. Much more so than your handcuffs. This way has the advantage that it is comfortable for me to lay on my back. I have to sleep this way all the time, now.
The chains hanging down fasten to my waistband. See how they run through the ring on my belt and a large ring joins them? When my master unlocks my hands from my collar I can do simple tasks. but the chains keep me from reaching above my head or more than a foot in front of my waist. This is the most freedom I will ever have, again. if my master wants me more restrained, all he has to do is lock the joining ring to my collar. Then the chains hold my hands at the small of my back.”
She continued, “All my bands are snug so there is no rubbing and there are no keys, just rivets. I have actually come to like that. Once you realize you can't get free, you can relax and enjoy life. Any questions about my hardware?”
“Roseann,” I asked, “ can you wash your hair, and go to the bath, and things like that wearing those chains?” “Oh, yes, dear. They are well designed. They allow you to reach every part of your body. So long as the wrist chins are not locked. If they are then you will need help. I've always gotten it done, though sometimes I have to beg for help.”
I asked,” Aren't you frightened of being always under someone's control?”
Roseann answered, “ At first, but after you realize its no different than how you are now, it doesn't matter. What matters is your treatment. And, for me, that was much better after my enslavement.”
Liz asked, “ How is life better as a slave?”
Roseann said, “Sex, lots and lots of sex. I usually have six or seven great orgasms and one or two tremendous orgasms every day. I have them with men, with women, with slaves, and, of course, with the whip. I am always treated well by my masters, and I love them all. I think they love me too, partly as a sex object, partly as a clever pet. I never have to worry about what to wear. No politics, no shopping, don't care or even know what the neighbors think. I never even see money, no boring jobs just to eat, I don't worry about what to do next, or meeting obnoxious people. I just exist to give pleasure to my master and his friends. Its a free existence living in bondage! No one else cares what you think and you only need to pay attention and obey your Master.”
I asked, “What will happen to us now and how long until we are through with this training?”
Roseann smiled and said, “After this party you will all get your brands and fitted like me. Some of the girls in this room have already gotten them and are still learning their new limits. Then your training will take about two months. Then you will meet your new Master.”
“Branded,” they both exclaimed, “like an animal? Does it hurt ”
Roseann, calmly replied, “You are now the property of others, slaves like me. Masters will do what they want to you. Look at my left thigh, see the mark. It is a Crown, showing I am enslaved by the Crown. It is a permanent mark of your enslavement. It does hurt, but only for a little while. After you outfitting then your training will begin. You will be trained in groups. You will graduate as soon as you master the curriculum. There is no way to fail, but some leave sooner than others.”
Roseann continued, “Every training day will begin and end with orgasms from the whip. The whipping is to remind you that you are slave and to teach you to orgasm to the whip. You will learn to love and fear the whip and to obey every command with grace. And always remember to smile, yes smile. It makes your Masters happy and you earn a whipping anytime you are without a smile on your face.
After your morning whipping you will freshen up and eat. Each day will include exercise to keep you fit and to teach you the positions you will need to know. You will learn how to kiss and stimulate a sex partner. How to service a man using all your orifices. How to bring a woman to a tremendous orgasm with your mouth and fingers.
You will learn to orgasm yourselves through oral, vaginal and anal intercourse. How to use sex toys to bring others to climax. You will learn to wear a wide variety of sex toys. Like butt plugs, chastity bel
ts, a wide variety of gags, blindfolds, and hoods. You will learn how to walk on a leash, submit to a master, kiss their feet, and all the skills of a pony girl and pet girl.
You will learn belly dance, and yes this much your chains will permit you. Throughout all your training, you will learn to move with grace and sensuousness. You will learn to arouse and stimulate your masters with your every motion, every breath. You will become the one in control of those things that matter. In everything else you must be obedient. You will learn to drive men and women mad with passion. That is what being a sex slave is all about.”
I said, “Thank you Roseann. I don't have a choice about being a slave, but your words have made it seem better than before. How does a Master find us? Is there an auction or something?”
Roseann said, "Nothing like that. The Doctor chooses where you go. I don't know how he chooses."
"Who is your Master, Roseann? Do you like him? Is he nice to you?", I asked.
"Why, it's Dr, Benoit. I thought you knew. I was the first girl in the program. His guinea pig, so to speak. I love him. But he is not 'nice' to me. He is my Master. I must follow all the rules you will and he is strict with me. I think he's good for me. I am much more focused. Since I've belonged to him I have learned to be a much better gardener and cook. I guess I should say I am in love with him."
Liz looked at her in disbelief and said, “What about freedom, voting, women's liberation. I wanted to change the world. Now I'm going to be a scullery maid and sex slave. I feel cheated.”
I looked at my friend and said, “Liz, remember you are serving a life sentence here. You weren't going to do any of those things anyway. This, at least, lets us live in a better home, and maybe, we get all the sex we want. Also, your master may let you garden and cook like Roseann.”
Liz,, said, “Hey, that's right. OK I'll try it.”
I laughed, “That's the spirit. Let's do it.”
The man holding their lead said, “That's enough. Come on.” He led Liz and I across the room to a vacant couch. As they walked, I saw two more women equipped identical to Roseann. I stared at them and recognized them as a pair I had seen only yesterday. Then they were only handcuffed and collared as she was. “so soon,” I thought. I don't know why girls aren't born wearing chains. We all seem to get them soon enough.
I thought Roseann was speaking of the future, but now she knew she was being literal. I felt heat swelling in my belly as I stared at the two girls. They were erotic and beautiful. In fact, all the girls here were beautiful, but these two were stunning with their chains and rings. I imagined the rings must arouse them at every motion. I could see these sway as the women moved. Their faces were serious and concerned but broke into smiles as the men led them around the room.
Our trainers led Liz and I to a small table and bent over so our breasts rested on the table. It was low enough so that our asses were higher than our shoulders. They told us to spread our legs then not to move. Our trainers started stroking us with their whips. So soft they didn't hurt at all. The men increased the strength of the strokes but kept the pace slow. After a few minutes of this slow whipping. I began to feel my body heat up. My skin felt like it was glowing with heat, but it didn't hurt. My belly was getting hot. Then I felt my trainer start to stroke my labia lips with his fingers. Feather light strokes running up one side then down the other. They were spreading my love juices all over my cunt. The whipping and finger actions went on together. Like the strings and percussion instruments blending into a lifting harmony for my senses. I heard a moan and realized it was me. The gentle stroking and soft impacts led to a huge orgasm. When I opened my eyes I saw interested trainers and envious slaves surrounding us.
Liz and I seemed to have gone off together for she was just opening her eyes and smiling at me.
Chapter 11 - Marked
Our trainers got us off the table and led us away on shaky legs, both of them murmuring, “Good girl,” to us.
They unlocked the chain linking us from my collar. A light chain leash took its place. One man took hold of the leash and the other took the chain still locked to Liz's collar., They both said, “Heel.” and led us out of the room. When we reached our room, I saw Liz taken inside and my trainer led me past it.
We entered a small, hot room. There was a black metal machine in the center of the room and a red hot brazier in the corner.
I balked when I saw the brazier, but two men grabbed me and dragged me the rest of the way into the room. One said, “That's right, honey. We're going to brand you.”
I screamed and fought, but they were too strong and with my hands cuffed behind me, I had no chance of stopping them. They lifted me and carried me to the machine. Its use became clear as the metal bars clamped down on my left leg and they strapped my right ankle high and to the side. I continued to scream and plead, but they ignored me. The light haired man went to the brazier and pulled the glowing iron from the coals. He walked up to me and said, ”This will hurt, scream all you want. Afterwards you can rest.” He pressed the red hot brand into my upper left thigh and held it for 5 full seconds. I screamed at the pain and the knowledge I was forever branded slave. I fainted.
I awoke to a burning pain in my thigh and it took me a moment to realize where I was. I jerked as I remembered my branding. I raised my legs as far as possible. I could just see the mark on my thigh. It was a stylized crown with three points. I heard Liz stirring on the next bed. And said, “Liz, can you hear me, how do you feel?”
Liz replied , “Regina, I...I'm branded! I'm locked down to the bed. I can't move.”
I said, “Liz, I'm branded too. I don't think we can ever get them off. We're marked for life.”
The door opened and Dr. Benoit entered. He walked over between the girl's beds and checked their brands. He said, “excellent. These are clear and crisp. You will be proud of the way they look.” Then he unlocked me from the bed, had me stand, and then sit in a wheelchair. He wheeled me out of the room and took me to a workshop that stank of hot metal and oil.
Chapter 12 - Chained
I was sat on a stool with my collar chained to a pillar. After much measuring of my ankles and legs it was clear I was going to get shackled first. I watched the smith work, turning a plain length of steel into a work of art any girl would be proud to wear. I judged it beautiful but wished it would decorate another. They lifted my right leg and placed my ankle in the opened circlet of steel. A large vise closed it. I felt its snug grip on my ankle stop short of discomfort. The smith's hammer sung its song and I prayed his aim would be true. When he finished the rivets held the anklet snug on my ankle. A padlock held a short chain to the anklet. He ordered me to stand and the fit checked. The smith judged it good and started on my other anklet.
The other anklet was soon snug. They joined it to the right with a foot of gleaming chain and a second padlock. I was stood up and the new anklet was also found to be good. They unlocked me from the pillar and the smith took my cuffed arm by the bicep and walked me around the shop.
I felt more like a slave than ever. Hobbled like an errant horse and clumsy in my shackles. I would have fallen several times if the smith had not caught me. There was not enough chain for a decent step, but plenty to snag a toe. These shackles were permanent. There was no key. Only a smith could free me. No man would ever want me free to run or kick. No woman would ever be able to free me. I would wear these shaming, limiting, clanking symbols of my slavery forever.
I cared not for my lost freedom. My shackles were forged with care and enhanced my look. If I must be a slave, at least these made me beautiful. I was happy to be a slave. My loins were aflame with submissive heat and I could feel my juices running down my leg. I left a glistening trail behind me on the floor. I apologized to the smith, “I'm sorry I'm making such a mess.”
“Not surprised. Most of you girls make a puddle when you're ironed. Seems to tickle the fancy of many a pretty girl.”
They handled me like a dumb animal. They spoke few words.
The men rearranged me as they needed to do their work. They removed the chain from my ankles and strapped me face up on a strange 'X' shaped table. I had a huge leather ball strapped in my mouth. They rolled large tools up to the table and used then to fit gleaming bands around my wrists and neck.
I watched the irons grip my wrists, and the smith took as much care with their appearance as he had with my ankles. The bands were a solid length of curved metal with upturned ends. The edges rounded and smooth. They slipped around my limb then were squeezed closed by a large vise. When the ends met, they inserted rivets and hammered them flat. There were two rivets in each cuff and they were flat to the surface. They filed and polished the rivets until there was a single flat surface. They pushed a thick, open ring through a hole and welded it shut with a hammer and anvil.
One of the men held my collar up so I could see it. It was wide, gleaming silver, curved out of a single piece of steel. There was no hinge. The opening was just wide enough to slide around my neck. It had a thick staple welded to the center with a large, thick steel ring. There were words engraved around the staple. They read “REGINA -Property of Royal Correctional Service-$1,000 Reward -Return to any Police Station.” I read them with mixed emotions. Joy that no one would ever be able to separate me from my Master. Acceptance that escape was even less likely. Anyone who saw the collar would turn me in and there was no way I could remove the collar without a smith's help.