Why not, thought Jenny. "OK, go ahead."
"You should never stand up when you're in the presence of a non-slave unless told to do so. If you are told to stand, you must stand like this." The older slave stood, spread her feet about two feet apart, and bent over at the waist so that her torso was parallel with the ground. Then she crossed her wrists behind her back. "You should try this for a while," she said. "At first, standing like this for a long time can be uncomfortable."
"Is this the position you're in when you get punished?" Jenny asked a bit nervously.
"Not usually," replied the older woman. "Besides, you'll know what's coming long before you get punished. You should keep your head up when you're bent over like this. That's the hardest part."
"How long have you been here?" Jenny suddenly asked. The older slave immediately assumed the sitting position she had first showed Jenny and, without making eye contact, said, "I'm not allowed to talk about that. You'll see that there are some things you mustn't talk about." There was a note of fear in her voice. "You're master will be here in a few hours. When he comes in, make sure you're sitting." The older slave got up to leave.
"Wait," said Jenny, "I didn't mean..." she stumbled over her words for a moment, "I'm sorry I asked you that." Jenny was apprehensive at being left alone. She also thought the older slave would have more helpful information. "Please don't go. I mean, if there's anything else I should know, that you can tell me, I'd like to hear it."
The older slave squatted down again. "I'll tell you what I can." She paused a moment. "You know what kind of slave you are, right?"
"A sex slave," Jenny answered quietly, and she again heard her friends saying, "Open wiiiiide."
"That's right. You're not a virgin or a lesbian, are you?"
"No, I'm not a virgin and I'm certainly not a lesbian," said Jenny.
"Good. That will make things a little easier. Your master's job is mostly to train you about sex. He'll expect you give him a blow job or do something sexual every time he sees you. I should warn you up front that he will probably have a really big cock. All of the masters here have big dicks, as far as I know. Don't panic the first time he tells you to blow him. He knows you haven't had any training yet and he isn't going to demand perfection from the start. But don't hold back anything. Just let yourself go and do everything he says."
"Will he beat me if I don't do well enough the first time?" asked Jenny.
"If you're so worried about your tail being on the business end of a cane or a strap, you shouldn't have gambled your freedom. Or are you one of those girls that gets turned on by punishment?"
"No, no, that's not me at all," said Jenny quickly. "Is that what they usually use, a cane or a strap? What's a cane?"
The older slave couldn't tell whether Jenny had a child's fear of punishment or was a submissive that wanted abuse. She had seen both types. Whichever type they were, they seemed to get punished more than the other slaves.
"For summary punishment, your master will probably use a cane or a strap. A cane is a long, thin piece of wood or plastic. But I shouldn't say more because all of that is up to your master. If you'll let me tell you what to expect, I'll tell you what I can. Otherwise, I have to go."
"Please tell me," said Jenny, almost pleading, "I promise I won't say anything else."
Right, thought the older slave. "As I was saying, just do whatever your master tells you. He'll lead you through everything, step by step. And remember, you're a slave. That will be hard to get used to at first, but you will. If you obey, behave like a slave, and keep quiet, you'll get along."
Jenny thought about asking what other things were used to punish slaves, but decided to leave well enough alone. She couldn't think of anything else to ask about, though, and after a minute of silence the older slave got up and left. Jenny went to the bathroom, then lay down on the blankets and began waiting for her master. She spent most of the wait crying.
CHAPTER II
Jenny was trembling uncontrollably as two large men, one on either side, dragged her into the room where slaves were punished. Her hands were already cuffed together in front of her. One of the men attached a wire hanging from the ceiling to the short chain that connected her handcuffs. The wire then ascended, and along with it Jenny's hands until she was standing on her toes. Next her feet were bound to the floor, to keep her in place. Without further ado, one of the men began whipping her front with a long, slender leather whip that tore away a hundred tiny pieces of flesh with each stroke. After the whip landed, the other man struck her bare bottom with a smooth, heavy strap. Jenny wailed and screamed as the whip and the strap alternately struck her. The louder she screamed, the more intensely the men went about their work until it became difficult to tell where one scream stopped and the next started. The man with the whip was slowly working his way down the front of her body and had just reached the place where her waistband would be, when a female voice whispered in her ear.
"Hey, sweetie, wake up. Wake up, honey."
Jenny awoke suddenly and would have sat bolt upright if the older slave who awakened her didn't have her arm around Jenny's waist. Jenny's breathing was short and fast, her heart beat like a hummingbird's, and her mind could still see the two men beating her front and back.
"Calm down, sweetie," the older woman said, holding Jenny very close. "You always thrash about in your sleep like that?" The older slave's tone was very gentle. She hovered over Jenny and lightly brushed away some hair that had fallen across the girl's face.
Jenny barely heard the older slave's words, but she did hear the word thrash.
"What – what did you say about – about thrashing?" asked Jenny in a disoriented voice.
"Just that you started flailing around when I tried to wake you. You have really pretty hair," the older slave said softly. "The rest of you–" at this point the older woman ran a finger lightly over Jenny's skin, just about where the next lash of the whip would have fallen, "is really pretty too."
Gawd, maybe this slave was beating me in my sleep, thought Jenny. Then she recovered a bit and lay back on the blankets. No, no, she thought, that can't be it. Christ, I've never had a dream like that. I've only been here a few hours and I'm already losing it. I wonder what they do with slaves that go mental? Do they have a little asylum for them? Maybe they have some sneaky way of getting rid of them.
As Jenny was pondering the fate of lunatic slaves, she became aware of the woman next to her. Jenny had never been this close to a naked woman before and, from Jenny's point of view, the older slave was getting much too friendly. "I – I have to go the bathroom," said Jenny a bit hesitantly. The older slave let Jenny get up.
There was no bathroom door to close, so Jenny had to go in public, so to speak. The older slave came over to the doorway and watched. Fortunately, Jenny did have to go, a little, and as she did the older slave spoke to her.
"Your master will be here in a few minutes. He'll give you a few orders, then he'll take you to your room. Remember how I told you to sit. Don't look up at him. Just look straight ahead. One way you must be able to recognize him is by his voice. Got that?"
Jenny nodded silently as she got up from the toilet.
"OK, fold up the blankets and sit down."
After Jenny had sat down, with her feet under her, the older slave sat down herself. Her back was perfectly straight, and she sat completely motionless. Jenny thought the older slave looked more like a statue than a human.
"Don't look at me," the older slave said without moving her lips. "Sit up straight and look straight ahead."
The older slave's demeanor had changed so much, and so quickly, that Jenny felt apprehensive about her master's arrival. The two of them waited for quite a long time. Jenny thought it had to be at least half an hour before she heard a door open and then footsteps, obviously a man's, approach. When the door swung open, Jenny found herself staring at the legs of what she thought must be a very large man. He was wearing dark slacks, but beyond that Jenny c
ould tell nothing else about him.
"Is this the new slave?" he asked. His voice was low, but not what Jenny would call deep, nor was it mean or menacing.
"Yes, sir," replied the older slave. Jenny could sense that the man in the dark slacks turned toward her.
"You are a slave," the slacks began. "Your owner is DiMarco Slaveholders. Your owner has appointed me to be your master. When you address me, you shall say 'Yes, master' or 'No, master.' I am the only one you shall call master. All other non-slaves you will address as 'sir' or 'miss.' Do you understand?"
"Yes, master," Jenny replied quietly.
"You shall obey my commands without question or hesitation. You shall speak only when spoken to. If you do those two things, you shall become the slave I want you to be. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, master," Jenny said again. Jenny was trying to take some measure of her master from his voice, and his slacks, alone. It wasn't much to go on. He didn't sound threatening or cruel, but Jenny wished she could get a glimpse of him.
The master was Maurice Tirpitz. He was, like all of DiMarcos' masters, a large man, but not heavy. He stood about 6' 3" and weighed just under two hundred pounds. He had been a trainer at DiMarcos' for seven years, which was twice as long as most trainers lasted. He had a way of turning young women into slaves. He wasn't quite sure himself why he was so successful, but he put it down to attitude. He enjoyed his work, but more importantly he believed that if he could make a woman become a slave in her heart, then she would need enslavement far more than any master would need her. Indeed, nearly all of the women consigned to him had gone on to serve DiMarcos obediently and profitably. He was highly valued by his employer and well paid for his services.
"Good," said Maurice in reply to Jenny's two words. He turned to the older slave. "Do you have everything you need?"
"Yes, sir," the older slave said.
"Very well," said Maurice, "I will be back in fifteen minutes." He turned on his heel, and walked out. It was only then that Jenny realized she had been naked in front of a total stranger without even thinking about it. Maybe I have a slave gene, she thought.
As soon as Jenny heard the door close behind her master, the older slave stood up and instructed Jenny to do the same. "I have to cut your hair. All slaves wear short hair." Jenny had shoulder-length, light brown hair. It was quite pretty and she regretted having to lose it. When Jenny hesitated at bit, the older slave reassured her. "Don't worry, I cut hair for most of the slaves here. It's one of my regular jobs. I think you'll look good with short hair."
I think I'd look good with my friends, thought Jenny.
The older slave spread out some newspapers that were stacked in a corner and had Jenny sit, in her slave position, in the middle of the papers. Then the barber took up her shears, her scissors, and her comb and knelt behind Jenny. The hair at first fell on the paper in large clumps, but when the scissors were put to use Jenny could tell that the older slave was trying to make the haircut look good.
"You're quite lucky," said the older slave. "Your master is one of the best DiMarcos has. I know several slaves he has trained. Most of them worship him."
"You've got to be kidding," said Jenny dryly. "I can't believe any slave would even like her master. Worship him? Unbelievable."
"No, it's true. I guess it sounds strange, but when my master was done with me I was very fond of him. Your master, though, commands real admiration."
"You were fond of your master?" asked Jenny incredulously.
"Yes, I was very fond of him. There was nothing I wouldn't do for him. I was very sad when my training ended."
What kind of cuckoo house is this, wondered Jenny to herself. Or is all this just a mind game? Are they trying to convince me that being a sex slave, against all reason, is the good life?
"I know it sounds a little crazy, but you'll see," said the barber.
A little crazy? Only a little crazy? Jenny thought she now knew where they kept the slaves who were mental. They kept them everywhere. Maybe that's what happened to women here. They go mad and end up believing that sex slavery is wonderful.
"Do you like being a slave?" Jenny asked. "I mean, is the sex ever good or anything like that?"
"At first I didn't like it much at all. I don't think I ever really liked it, I mean liked it enough to look forward to working. But sometimes the sex was very good, and my girlfriend is the best."
Jenny could hardly believe her ears. "Your girlfriend? You have a girlfriend? You mean a friend girlfriend or a, I mean, ah, the other kind of girlfriend?"
The older slave seemed, to Jenny, to be completely oblivious to Jenny's mounting amazement. "I mean," said the older slave, "the girlfriend I have been sleeping with for years, the girlfriend I'm going to sleep with tonight. I can't say any more about it, though, since it's up to your master to handle that."
"Oh, so a master can order his slave to take a girlfriend?" Jenny was now convinced she was in a nut house.
"Not exactly, but something very close to that. I'm done with your hair. Help me fold up the newspapers. Then you can wait for your master."
Jenny was happy to end this conversation. Now she was not only worried about being beaten, she was worried that her sanity would be gone long before her three plus years of slavery ended. Jenny had copied down the conditions under which a slave lived, as required before she was allowed to gamble her freedom, but she was quite sure none of those conditions said anything about sleeping with a woman. She had lived in the same city all her life and had heard about DiMarcos' since she was a little girl. She knew DiMarcos' could throw a wild orgy, that the slaves had to do what they were told, and with whom they were told to do it, but she never imagined that any slave slept with a woman. This, she decided, must be incorrect. A guy might get excited watching two women play with each other, though Jenny could not understand why, but why would he get excited knowing that slaves were sleeping together?
After the papers had been folded up, Jenny sat down. The older slave, rather than sitting, fetched a tape measure. "I need to get some measurements," she said. First she measured Jenny's neck, then her wrists, and finally her ankles.
"For my collar and bracelets?" asked Jenny.
"Yep," was the simple reply, and the older slave disappeared out the door. She was back in less than three minutes with a bright yellow collar and bracelets. "I have to make sure they fit. Your master will actually put them on." She tested Jenny's new wardrobe for fit. Satisfied that things fit well enough, she placed the collar and bracelets neatly on the floor in front of Jenny. Then she stood up. "My job's done. I'm to wait outside until your master returns. You're on your own."
On my own? Yeah, right, thought Jenny. Just like a Sunday afternoon in the park with nothing particular to do. The older slave went out the door, but Jenny could not see whether she remained outside the door or not. In a few minutes, she could hear that her master was returning.
"Ready?" Jenny heard him ask. "Yes, sir," was the reply.
"Go, then," said Jenny's master. In another moment he was standing in front of her.
"Pick up the collar and hold it out in front of you," Maurice said. When Jenny did, Maurice took the collar from her.
"Do you know how a slave is supposed to stand?"
"Yes, master," answered Jenny.
"Then stand up."
Jenny did, and Maurice slipped the collar around her neck. He fastened it in the rear with a pin, which was then held in place by a small metal ring. The collar had a larger ring in front.
"Put on the bracelets so that the rings face inward." Jenny did as her master bid. "Now stand up again."
This time, when Jenny put her hands behind her back, the rings of her wrist bracelets were attached together.
"Now stand up straight." When Jenny did so, Maurice attached a leash to the front ring in Jenny's collar. Jenny didn't look straight at her master, but did give him a quick glance. He looked to be about thirty, she thought. "It's probably unnecessary to sa
y so, but when I have you on a leash you are to follow me."
Maurice's tone was such that Jenny had only a small urge to say, "Well, duh." She followed him through what seemed to be an endless maze of hallways and doors, until they entered a very large room. It was as big as an airplane hangar, perhaps bigger. There were three clusters of what appeared to be small blockhouses in the larger room. Each cluster looked to have about ten rooms. Jenny couldn't help but notice that there was no one else to be seen. Maurice led Jenny to one of the clusters, and then to the entrance of one of the rooms. He stopped in front of a numeric keypad long enough to key in some information, during which time Jenny was able to see a bit of him in profile. Then he led Jenny inside. The room didn't have a door. Rather, two walls overlapped each other, like the entrance to a bathroom. There was a chair against the wall outside the room, but when Jenny entered she could see there was no furniture. In fact, it was very similar to the room she had just left.
All the time Jenny had been following her master, she had been trying to get another glimpse of his face. He was too tall, and too broad, for her to see anything but his back. She had seen a bit of him outside the room, but now she thought she might see him face to face again, and a bit longer. Before he turned around, however, he ordered her stand, that is stand like a slave. Bent over, she could see nothing. He unhooked her wrists, then ordered her to sit.
"Take off the leash," he said and as she did she could tell that he was taking off something too. From the clothes that ended up on the floor, she could tell he had taken off everything.
Here we go, she thought to herself. Tomorrow's headline reads, "Jenny begins life as sex slave."
"Stand," said Maurice, and again she was bent over at the waist, expecting her master to be inside her any moment. Instead, Maurice inspected her rather carefully, running his hands over her, though there was certainly nothing sexual in it. He did touch her breasts, briefly, and put a few inches of one finger inside her, but busier hands than Maurice's had been over her before.
"What is your name?" he asked.
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