A Favour for a Friend

A Favour for a Friend

Part 3. Chris

'Oh, my God!' I almost cried out in surprise, but caught myself in time and stayed motionless and silent on my knees, hands clasped behind my back and eyes fixed on the floor. Master James' voice droned on, but I couldn't listen. Thoughts were racing through my brain, blocking out everything. 'Oh, God! It wasn't his fault, he's completely innocent. God, what a bitch I've been. What shall I do, what shall I do!' I stole a glance at the boy on my left, but Nick was as usual staring emptily at the floor, barely keeping his submissive position, shoulders sagging, a picture of complete despair.

I'd been so angry. There I was, one minute a happy teenager from a wealthy family, popular at school, loved at home, and the next a miserable slavegirl with no future but ten years of hard work and sexual abuse. And only because that lousy creep had been fooling around with drugs. How could he be so stupid, how could anyone? And dragging his friends into it? I hadn't done anything, nothing at all, just accepted a lift from that idiot! It was so bloody unfair and all of it Nick's fault.

My thoughts drifted back through the last fourteen weeks, the longest in my life. God, they felt like years! I knew that it was no bed of roses to be a slave. Just take my own Rosie. Enslaved at sixteen for shoplifting she was a birthday present when I turned fifteen. At least she got a kind mistress, had only been caned three, or was it four, times in two years, but I did slap her face if she made minor mistakes and ordered her across my knees for a handspanking if she made me real angry, or sometimes just because I was in a bad mood. Of course she didn't have much fun, always working with the other family slaves when I was at school or serving me when at home. She had to dress and undress me, wash me, keep my room and clothes tidy, and when I'd friends over she was constantly kept on her toes to make us comfortable. Yet she did watch TV with me or listened to music, surfed the net, played a game. I shared my secrets with her, giggling hysterically, almost like two ordinary teenage girls. Perhaps it wasn't very pleasant to have to kneel beside my chair or sleep on the floor beside my bed, rolled into a blanket. But she wasn't chained, dressed decently, in shorts and t-shirt, my mother insisted on that, and wasn't sexually abused. At least not by Dad, but my creep of a brother never missed an opportunity to get his hands under her shirt or down her shorts whenever he could get away with it.

Altogether not unbearable or so I thought until arriving at the training camp. We'd been locked up in small holding cells after they arrested us late at night, brought before the judge, tried and convicted, stripped and collared before lunch. I had ten minutes to cry goodbye to Mum and Dad before they chained us in transport vans and drove off to the camps, girls and boys separately. One of the other girls whispered that I was lucky to be enslaved on a transport day. New slaves were collected once a month, so some of them had been waiting in the cramped cells for weeks with absolutely nothing to do, only let out to the bathroom twice a day. We drove around for hours, collecting girls from different town jails, until fifty naked bodies were crammed together, side by side on our aching knees. When we finally reached our destination most of us were moaning with pain and the air stifling hot and humid. The doors were opened, but instead of the male guards and drivers, who'd used every opportunity to fondle this awesome selection of bare teenage flesh, a group of female handlers stood ready to unload the cargo. Rather plain girls, who looked about twenty, dressed in crisp khaki shirts, trousers and short boots, probably recruited from farming families, judging from their plump, muscular bodies and weathered complexions. They worked quickly and efficiently, releasing us from the van and prodding us out to line up in a bleak square, surrounded by low buildings, still hobbled and handcuffed.

Still stunned by the quick turn of events I was shivering with fear and cold. Nothing happened, we just stood there, sniffling and whimpering. The slave handlers walked up and down behind the line, slapping viciously looking leather straps against their trousers and occasionally hitting a bare arse, hissing an order to stand straight, stop fidgeting or crying. At last another van drove up and another batch of naked girls stumbled out. When they, too, were lined up, three mature women in black uniforms, long boots and peaked caps marched out from one of the buildings. "Welcome to the State Slave Training Centre". One of them addressed us in a clear and commanding voice. "I'm the chief warden and these are my assistants. You won't see much of us during your stay. If you do, it may be because you've earned a severe punishment. For your sake I hope not". Her cold eyes roamed the line. "Our handlers, of whom you've already met a few, will be in charge of your training. I sincerely advise you to listen attentively, follow orders obediently and learn quickly. They're authorised to speed your training and correct minor deficiencies with their straps. We use those here in order not to damage the goods before sale, but, trust me, a strap hurts just as much as a whip when swung by an expert. You'll presently have a taste. The training programme is carefully planned to lead you through a number of stages towards graduation as perfect slaves, beginning with physical endurance training. After that follows courses in attitude adjustment, serving, cleaning and cooking, body service, and more advanced duties. You'll be kept naked throughout your stay, as part of your training and to save costs. You're not allowed to speak, except when acknowledging an order, asking absolutely necessary questions or as part of your training, and during an R & R period of one hour before bedtime. Handlers are addressed as 'Miss', wardens as 'Ma'am".

She paused to scrutinise our ranks again. "Now a demonstration of the penalties you can expect, followed by shearing and shaving, bath, and medical inspection, during which you'll receive the standard implants for tracking and destroying runaway slaves". She waved a short stick at the end of line. "The first ten, three steps forward". The girls hesitated for a moment, but a few slaps to their bare bottoms sent them on their way. Ten handlers uncuffed their hands and relieved them of the hobbles, wrenched their arms up their backs and frogmarched them across the square to a long horizontal beam from which dangled a number chains with leather cuffs. The slavegirls were expertly restrained and the chains adjusted to force them on tiptoe, facing us. At a nod from the chief warden, the handlers simultaneously slammed their straps across their shoulders. A chorus of pitiful screams rose when the straps fell again across first ten pairs of bare buttocks, then the back of the slaves' thighs. The handlers calmly stepped round to deliver another three slaps, across their breasts, stomachs and upper thighs. All ten girls were screaming and babbling incoherently, but the noise subsided to sobbing when the wardens went along the row, slapping their faces hard, yelling at them to stop. The chief turned to the rest of us, horrified waiting our turn. "You were given a clear order to keep silent. These disobedient slaves will now be punished". She nodded to two handlers, who grabbed the first girl's ankles and heaved her legs up horizontally. She cried out in alarm and pain when her cuffed wrists took her weight. "Shut up!" The warden slapped her face and turned back to us. "As I said, we take care not to mark your hide, at least not where it may be noticed". She raised her stick and brought it down on the sole of the poor girl's left foot. The leg jumped, but the handler kept it straight while the stick hit the tender skin another five times. Amazingly, the slave managed not to cry out again, not even when her other foot got the same treatment.

When the remaining nine offenders had suffered they were let down to stand shifting their undoubtedly aching feet. "Take them away. Next ten", came a curt order. The punished girls stumbled after a handler towards one of the buildings while another ten girls took their place. I was in the fifth batch. The brutal extra punishment had made its mark, none of us uttered a sound during the strapping, apart from muffled whimpers and moans. I'd tried bracing myself for the coming ordeal, but nothing could prepare me for the shock when leather hit my unblemished skin for the first time in my life. Tears welled in my eyes and I bit my lower lip, tasting blood, but managed not to cry out, not even when white hot pain shot through my breasts.

Cradling my flaming mounds I stumbled after the handler to enter a bare room with raw cement floor and walls. The ten girls, who'd been strapped just before us, were under the apparently cold spray in a large shower area. The handler pointed to a wooden bench. "Cut your hair short, nothing below the ears, and shave your mounds. You have ten minutes, help your neighbour". I froze for a moment, looking at the piles of hair littering the floor. It had to happen, no slavegirls were allowed long hair, but to lose my own! I was awakened from my stupor by a hand on my shoulder. With a rueful smile the girl behind me was offering a pair of scissors. 'Quick', she mouthed soundlessly and sat down on the bench, shaking her long blonde mane. It came almost to her slim waist and, even dirty and tangled as it was, it seemed such a shame to ruin it, but she mouthed: 'Hurry', and I began cutting as straight around her head as I could. Two minutes later the pile on the floor had turned blonde and I took a closer look to make sure that it was as short as ordered. She nodded impatiently and spread her legs, pointing at the lavish bush of pubic hair. I knelt to use the scissors again, yelping when a strap slapped across my exposed back. "Faster", one of the handlers urged. I clipped frantically and was handed a safety razor to finish the job, exposing a set of large pussy lips and a long, protruding clit. My new fellow jumped up and showed me on the bench, took the scissors and with a few cuts made half my thick, shoulder length mane of auburn hair drop away. She nudged my legs apart, nodding when the sparse tuft of hair was revealed and quickly scraped it away with the razor.

"Shower, get a move on!", a handler shouted, slapping the nearest bare rump when the next ten frehsly strapped girls came stumbling in. The blonde dragged me away, avoiding the swinging straps. Other slaves were not that lucky, especially not those who hadn't finished clipping and shaving. I shrank back from the freezing spray, but was hauled in and handed a bottle of shampoo while my partner knelt to soap up my feet. Resigned, I began washing her short hair. Her hands slid up my legs, nudging me to part them. It wasn't the first time I'd been intimate with another girl, Rosie had washed me often enough, but this was a complete stranger, not my personal slave. Then it struck home. I was a slave and so was she. Washing a mistress or, God forbid, a master would soon be one of my daily duties, and not always a pleasant one. How many times hadn't I slapped Rosie's face when I got soap in my eyes or found the water too cold or too hot?

My reverie was interrupted by a new shout. "Next room, get a move on". Shivering and dripping, we were driven into a large bare hall. At the far end white-coated persons were working around a number of trestle-tables. Most of the girls, who'd been strapped before us, were kneeling upright on the cement floor, hands on their heads. The handler ordered us to do the same and I felt the blonde girl touching my arm briefly when we sank down beside each other. We seemed to be waiting for hours and I was trembling with cold, fatigue and shock when a handler finally beckoned. I tried to get up, but stumbled on my cramped legs and would have fallen if my neighbour hadn't caught and then supported me to the far end of the hall. Here a bored looking young man told me to stand straight, raise my arms, squat down, bend over, open my mouth while he examined me. Then I was told to hop on the table while he felt my pulse, took my blood pressure, listened to my lungs, stuck a needle into my arm for a couple of blood samples. Finally I was ordered to lie down, raise my feet and grab the back of my thighs to spread them. I complied, blushing, but told myself that he must be a doctor. My pussy lips were parted, my clit pinched and then a finger penetrated my vagina. "Hey, how old is he?" One of the handlers told him. "Really! Well, she's a virgin". The finger was withdrawn, only to be pressed up my arse. "Here as well, if I'm not mistaken". He slapped my buttocks. "Keep those legs open, girl. I'm putting up your tracking devices". I saw him attach something to a long flexible plastic tube which a moment later was worming its way up my arsehole and further into my intestines. It didn't hurt, but I could feel it and was overwhelmed by a deep feeling of hopelessness. I really was a slave! A piece of property, to be destroyed if I dared rebel against my fate. Tears were welling in my eyes and I turned my head to avoid watching, and saw the blonde getting off the next table, smiling encouragingly. I blinked away my tears and sent a weak smile back. The tube was withdrawn and my rump received another slap. "All done. Hop down. Fit and well, excellent specimen, but in need of some physical training". "She'll get that, Sir", the handler answered and told me to stand still while she clipped a metal disk to my collar. "You're no. 243 while here. Now off you go". She pointed to a door at the far end, beside the door to the shower.

The next room was a dormitory with fifty iron bedsteads along the walls. "Find your number, sit down and keep silent". I walked along and saw the blonde girl beckoning from a bed. A closer look revealed two numbers painted on the frame, 243 and 244. The girl smiled, patting the thin mattress beside her and I sank wearily down, apparently we were bedmates. An arm came over my shoulders and I was held tight against another naked body. Once again we waited for a long time, but at least not on our knees. At last all the beds were occupied and a handler called: "Rise and stand at the foot of the bed, feet apart and hands on your head. You assume that position as soon as a warden or handler enters". The nude girls jumped to their feet and the chief warden entered. "We've finished for today. Your training starts tomorrow at six. Dinner's served in the hall. You have thirty minutes to eat and do your things. After that you go back to your beds and stay there. A bell indicates the beginning and end of your R & R period. This dorm is under constant electronic surveillance. If a single word is spoken outside the allowed period, all of you will be severely punished". She nodded curtly, turned on her heel and left. "Get a move on and don't forget to pee. You won't be let out until tomorrow". One of the handlers smacked her strap impatiently against the doorframe.

We filed out to find ten containers lined up on the floor. "Take a spoon and kneel down, ten at each and eat. You can drink some water in the shower-room. Hurry up". We looked hesitatingly at each other and once again the blonde took the initiative, dragged me down beside her, pressed one of the plastic spoons into my hand and bowed over the bowl to scoop up the grey substance. It was slave porridge, lukewarm and almost tasteless. I'd tried it at home, just for fun, but now found myself eating ravenously, realising that I'd had nothing since the fateful party last night. 'Yes, only last night. Less than twentyfour hours ago I was a happy and carefree, and free girl'. Once again I had to take a grip of myself in order not to break down sobbing. Eventually all of us were eating hungrily in spite of the bland food and the humiliation. When I'd had my fill, I looked up to see my bedmate already finished. We rose together and went to the shower. The blonde unceremoniously squatted over one of the drain holes to let loose a stream of piss and, when she saw me hesitating, waved impatiently to make me join her. We washed our hands and faces at a long trough along one wall and used one of the toothbrushes hanging in chains beside the taps.

Back on the bed we watched the other girls come back and a handler close the door. At the sound of a bell, the blonde turned eagerly: "At last! Hi, I'm Danielle, Danny for short". "Chris". "Christine I guess. God, it's been a long day!" "Yes". I couldn't contain myself any longer and began sobbing helplessly, tears flowing freely. Danny caught my head and pressed it to her ample bosom. "Yeah, just you cry, dear, just you cry". She held me while I cried out my heart until there were no tears left and I freed myself. "Sorry that I'm such a chicken, but it's so horrible!" "Do you want to tell me about it?" Danny held my hand and listened patiently to the sad story of my sudden fall from wealth to slavery. "Yeah, pretty tough, but you'll get trough". "But ten years! I'll be a slave for ten years!" "Tough, but you'll still be young and pretty when you're free again. How old are you?" "Seventeen". "I'm two years older, close to forty when I've served my sentence". "Twenty years! You got twenty, for what?" "Attempted manslaughter". I stared. "You tried to kill someone!" "My swine of a stepfather. He was raping my sister, she's fourteen, and I hit him on the head with a baseball bat". "Oh, my God!" "Yeah. He raped me five years ago and he's been doing me ever since". "But how could he? I mean, your mother...". "She's a slut, a drunken slut. As long as he kept her in booze and banged her a couple of times a week, he could do whatever he bloody liked". "Oh!" "Yeah, guess you didn't know about things like that, but that's how it is, for some of us at least". "I'm so sorry". "Don't be, not your fault, dear, and at least he got life, so he won't rape her again". "But why? I mean you were just defending your sister?" "Sure, but it's assault anyway. Had it been her, it'd been self-defence, but she couldn't, could she, poor little darling. I just hope that our next 'stepfather' won't fancy her". I was too stunned to think of an answer, but was saved by the bell. Danny put a finger to her lips and drew me down beside her, covering our naked bodies with the thin blanket. I hesitated for a moment, but then snuggled close and fell asleep in her arms. We were still entwined when the bell called us up the next morning. Me from an exhausted sleep, which left me first bewildered and then panicked when the reality of my new life came back, but Danny's tender hug and a kiss brought me to my senses and I got up, determined to face whatever might come.

The physical endurance training was just that. After a couple of slave biscuits and a cup of tepid tea for breakfast we were chased to the showers, to wash and relieve ourselves, a hundred naked and frightened girls milling around. Once again still dripping and shivering we were ordered to line up four abreast and march around the barren hall to start the process of hardening the tender soles of our feet, preparing for the coming years as barefoot slavegirls. We marched or ran, for days, weeks, first on the concrete floor in the hall, then outside on the rougher ground of the square and then on gravel paths surrounding the training centre. Every two hours for the first weeks we were allowed an hour's rest, but still in training. They were spent it in the customary slave positions, standing straight, hands behind the head and feet apart, kneeling with hands clasped behind the back, forehead to the ground or head raised and toes pressed into the ground. Hour after hour, day after day, walking or forced into strained positions. Pure hell at first, but we did get used to it.

For attitude adjustment we were divided into groups of ten, each with a handler acting as tutor. We learned to read her body language, anticipate her wishes. Repeat after repeat turned us into something like zombies, erased conscious thought from the mind, to be replaced by automatic responses to a future masters' or mistress' will, even if he or she didn't speak out loud what they wanted. After that came endless hours of housecleaning, washing, ironing, basic cooking, serving at table, in a sitting room, accompanying a mistress when shopping, relaxing at a café, meeting friends in the street, going to parties, entertaining at home. We learned to move gracefully, yet as unobtrusively as possible, whether our ankles were chained or unfettered, drop to our knees whenever a free person passed by, prostrate ourselves when acknowledging an order or silently seeking permission to speak. We knelt for hours beside an imagined chair, offering a filled cup, or rolled into a ball with a weight on our backs, simulating a master's feet. For body service we were paired with our bedmates. Simple clothes were issued and we spent days dressing and undressing each other, washing each other, massaging each others' naked bodies, painting each others' toenails, setting each others' hair. We learned how undress a pair of tired feet, lick them clean, suck the toes, and rub them gently.

When we after two months reached the last stages of our training, we were near perfect specimens of the submissive female. Our bodies were toned and hardened, our minds set solely on serving. We had, if not forgotten, then erased our former lives from conscious thought. Families and friends would hardly recognise the naked, collared girl, if she appeared before them now, on her knees, hands clasped rigidly behind her back, breasts thrust out and eyes downcast. We could hardly recognise ourselves as it was.

Throughout the training the handlers were constantly in attendance, instructing, demonstrating, correcting. Competent and professional, they clearly knew what they were doing and how to get results. We were terrified of them in the beginning, but even if they were cold and remote, there were no sadists among them. The straps came down frequently, especially during the first weeks, but only to encourage a slavegirl to do better. None of the handlers seemed to enjoy that part of their work. To them this was a job like any other, demanding, often boring. They worked in shifts, seven days a week, from we were called up at six in the morning until we stumbled to bed at eight at night, and were housed in one of the buildings surrounding the square. Three of them were identical, with training hall, shower room and dormitory for a hundred girls. The fourth housed offices and rooms for the handlers. On our endless barefoot walks around the compound we could see them relaxing on the lawns or frolicking in the great pool, obviously enjoying themselves and their freedom. Sometimes they had boys visiting. As told, we saw very little of the three wardens apart from occasional inspections of our progress, with praise to the handlers for their efforts. None of the girls from my group did anything to warrant a severe punishment, but twice we saw another of the two groups kneeling in the square where one of their number was dangling from her wrists while a cane hit the soles of her feet again and again. The poor girl was left hanging there for the rest of the day.

After spending more than two months in the nude, a hundred girls bathing, urinating and defecating together, sleeping naked with Danny under the same blanket I couldn't imagine anything that would make me embarrassed. Until the last two weeks of the training, that is. Keeping precise track of time was difficult, one nightmarish day seemed to flow into the next, but twice I'd seen the girls from the other slave blocks loaded on transport vans, only to be replaced with a new batch, so I knew that it must be our turn next. Not that I cared much about the future, surviving in the present took all my strength. Especially girls like me, from affluent families, who'd been cherished by their parents and friends, pampered by the house slaves, living a carefree life, had a hard time adjusting. For others, less privileged, used to a life in squalid, overcrowded homes, where harsh words and frequent slaps were the order of the day, had less trouble. It was my luck to be paired with Danny. During the first weeks she listened patiently to my whining, held my sob-wracked body, let me cry out my heart night after night, without making similar demands of her own. Eventually I realised what I'd been doing and apologised for being so selfish, only to be told not to be silly. After that we used the free hour talking about ourselves, our former lives, our interests, could even joke and giggle together, almost forgetting the bleak surroundings. During the endless days a smile and brief touch, the thought of the coming evening kept me going. She saved my sanity. Without Danny's support I'd gone mad or at least suffered more than one severe punishment.

As usual, no one had told us about the next part of the training when we one morning found strange equipment along three sides of the hall. It seemed ominous that the chief warden for once was present. The handlers divided us into four groups to line up at the walls. "You've now reached the final part of your training. So far you've done very well and I have no doubt that you'll enjoy these last two weeks here. Fulfilling her owner's sexual needs is one of the most important tasks for a slavegirl and undoubtedly the most pleasant. Most of you have already enjoyed the pleasures of sex and all of you have at least tried pleasing yourselves, I'm sure. But your owners won't want a clumsy and inexperienced amateur. They expect their slavegirls to perform a perfect oral service and to find a well trained vagina or rectum stimulating their penises. You'll learn that here". She turned to the first group. "Kneel by the sucking benches". The twentyfive girls knew better than to hesitate and jumped to position themselves in front of a row of low sawhorses. On each of them was mounted a very lifelike replica of a penis, complete with ballsack. "First lesson is hand-stimulation, caressing of scrotum and masturbation of the penis. I'm quite sure that all of you have done that before, so you can just begin. The handlers will advise and correct you". Twentyfive pairs of hands shot up to fondle the strange objects and five handlers stepped forward to watch closely. The chief warden looked on for a couple of minutes, then turned to the next group. "Any virgins among you, step forward. We don't want to lower your sale value". None of the girls moved. "Good. First step is simple penetration. Mount the penises". Another row of sawhorses were lined up, these with a medium size replica of an erect cock mounted on top. The girls looked doubtfully at them, but as one swung a leg over the horse, slowly impaling themselves. "Ride them up and down to get used to the feeling. You'll find them a bit different from what you've already had up your vaginas, unless you've tried a dildo". Most of the girls were blushing all over their naked bodies, but dutifully raised and lowered their crotches.

"Next". The chief warden turned again. "Anal penetration". Her eyes roamed the third group. "Those of you who've already experienced that, step forward". Six girls followed orders. "Same procedure as your fellows, but use the lubricant first". The girls dipped their fingers in the jars nailed to yet another row of sawhorses equipped with fake penises. "Spread your arsecheeks and mount them". Six bare legs were swung over the horses, six bare arses were opened and six puckered holes touched the penetrators reluctantly. "That's right, don't hurt yourselves. It takes some training, but you'll soon be able to take a penis there, even if it's rammed up dry and quick". The girls sank slowly down, gasping and moaning. "Good. See how easy it is, now ride. The rest of you, mount up". When all twentyfive girls were hard at work, raising and lowering themselves like so many real horse-riders, the chief warden turned to our group. "I don't have to tell what you'll be training. Twelve of you, down on the floor on your backs, the others begin pleasing your good fellows as you very well know a woman wants to be pleased". Danny and I were as usual standing beside each other and she gave a push to make me lie down. A moment later I felt her hands on my thighs and her tongue parting my vaginal lips. Had it been another of the girls, I'd been deeply embarrassed, but she knew my naked body so well already, having washed it countless times and held it in her arms every night for weeks. I closed my eyes and gave myself up to the sweet caresses, soon squirming and moaning like I dimly heard the girls on either side of me doing. "On this first day you're allowed to reach orgasm, but later you must train to contain yourselves. Good slavegirls never come, unless their owners expressly allow them". The chief warden's words had hardly registered when I exploded in the most nerveshattering orgasm I'd ever experienced.

Not that I had that much experience. My mother always avoided the subject of sex, so what I knew I'd learned from my friends. Most of them were just as shy about it as I, so what we shared was mostly hysterical giggling over sex sites on the net and fantasies about boys, but a Swedish exchange student had a more relaxed attitude. She actually knew what she was talking about, had learnt about it at school back home and could take the subject seriously. From her I learned, in theory at least, how a girl and a boy can enjoy each other, without actual intercourse, and, far from theoretically, how a girl can please herself. Compared to the rest of us she was a fantastic bold and yet very nice girl. So it didn't feel wrong or even odd when she calmly bared first her own and then my breasts to demonstrate how to stimulate the nipples, or when she dropped her jeans and panties to show me her pussy. One thing led to another and we did end up licking each other. Unfortunately that was just before she went back home, so we only did it three or four times, but she had a wonderful tongue. I never got further with a boy than some clumsy petting on the back seat, but I did finger myself. Not often, I didn't want my mother to know and wasn't sure if Rosie wouldn't rat on me, accidentally perhaps, so I only did it when she was asleep and never dared even think of making her lick me.

When I came to my senses again Danny was kissing my breasts. One of the handlers crouched beside us. "Use your lips, nibble her, but don't bite". "Yes, Miss". I felt the nubbins stiffen and her hot breath on my hide, still damp after my sexual high. "OK, change places". And on it went, I licked Danny, she sucked my clit, I kissed her breasts, she licked up my legs from toes to crotch. The handlers were thorough and clinical as always, but the chief warden was right, of course it felt nice and I had another two orgasms before we stopped to eat the two slave biscuits and have the drink of water that was our lunch. After that we were paired with other girls to repeat the routines over and over again. By then I'd become used to it and felt weary rather than aroused, and not embarrassed at all. Not even when we were taught to rim arse. I didn't like licking another girl's brown hole, but I learnt it, even to force my tongue into it too, and had to admit to myself that it felt good when she did me in the same way. So when we at last stumbled to bed that night, just as tired as the previous days, or perhaps even more exhausted, I'd survived, again. It was lucky, though, that I happened to be in the girl/girl group. "I don't think I could've started with the dildo training", I told Danny. The other three groups had been worked just as relentlessly as us, but changing places every now and then, so all those girls spent the entire day with a fake cock in one of their orifices. "Rubbish, dear, of course you could, and at least you'll be spared the fucking, being a virgin". "I don't think I'd mind that as much as getting one of those things up my arse. It must be terrible!" I shuddered. "Not really, weird, but you'll get used to that too". "You've tried it?" "Of course, that swine just loved to take me there". I sighed. "It's so gross. I hope I'll be bought by a woman". "A closet lesbian, are you?" She grinned and hugged me. "If it's with you, so yes. I love you, Danny". She hugged me closer. "And I you, darling, but we'll soon be parted and never see each other again". "Don't say that! It's so horrible. I can't manage without you". "Of course you can. You're a strong girl. It won't be worse than this. One day at a time and before you know it, your ten years are up and you're free again". "I hope so and I promise to find you then, whereever you are, and make my dad buy you". She kissed me. "Thanks, darling, but I don't think that'll be possible". "It will and I'll do it, if it's the last thing I do". She shook her head sadly.

I did survive and I did learn to take it up the arse, even to suck it clean again, and to suck balls and cock. The handlers made sure of that, even went as far as making us suck and fuck their fingers to feel if we did it well. We learned that a virgin can train her cunt muscles on a finger or two, stuck up very carefully. Oh, yes we came out of as well trained sluts, who'd left all inhibitions behind, even accepted the most degrading task of a slave, to drink her mistress' piss. During the last week we did it all over again, but now in various kinds of bondage. We sucked cock on our knees, hands cuffed behind us, wriggled around in tight bondage, pleasing another girl, were hogtied, frogtied, spread, hung up in wrists or ankles and fucked by the handlers with a dildo.

We didn't get any certificates when we graduated, but on the last evening the chief warden told us that we were the best group she'd trained so far. I don't know, but in some weird way I felt proud. We even got a reward, a piece of chocolate and were allowed longer free time to say our goodbyes. I felt terrible parting with Danny, but managed not to cry, only kissed her tenderly when called among the first to go. I did cry, though, in the transport van, cried from loss, from despair and fear of the future.

The next days went by in a blur. We were delivered to the auction house, locked up in cells, but with soft beds and warm blankets, allowed complete rest for three days, not that I got much, missing Danny so terribly, and finally washed and groomed carefully before going for auction. Our hair was cut in better shape, our pubes shaven and plucked, our nails polished, and we were given a light coating of baby oil.

Finally I stood on my little podium, arms raised and ankle chained, naked and vulnerable. I'd been there before, more than once, with my class and when I bought Rosie. I even went once with some friends just for fun, ogling the poor girls, and boys not least. It never occurred to us how humiliating it was for the naked displays. Now I learned that too. All those men, old, fat and ugly, who pawed me, touched my most private parts. It was horrible! And that little creep of a brother I've got and some of his slimy friends showed up. "Hi, Sis". They were suddenly in front of me. "How's things?" The imbecile grinned lewdly, knowing very well that I couldn't answer, only send him a devastating look of pure hatred. "I got your room, you know, and Rosie in my bed. It took only a few slaps to teach her not to go ratting to Mum. Juicy piece of arse that girl's got, and what a mouth! You learned to suck cock, Sis?" He nudged his friends and took a step closer. "You juicy too, Sis?" I almost shouted at him when his dirty paws reached for my pussy, but saw a guard watching us and kept silent. He parted my nether lips and stuck a finger up my tunnel. "Liked that, Sis?" He grinned again and pinched my clit. "She's getting wet, the slut", he told the other creeps. "Yeah, and how's her arse?" One of them reached round to ram a finger up my other hole. "They open them up, you know", a third answered, "Or you'd hurt yourself". "That so?". Another finger joined the first. "Yeah, but not too much. Gonna be great doing her there". My brother stepped back again. "Sure. You see, Sis, your kind and considerate little brother's gonna save you from them nasty old men. Me and me friends' pooled our savings to buy you. Now ain't that nice of us?" I could only stare, hardly believing my ears. 'That deranged creep. No!' "You'll be staying with me buddy". He slapped a fat, pimpled boy on the shoulder. "He's living alone with his dad, who's always away on business, so no one will disrupt our fun. Great, eh, Sis?" Tears of rage were welling in my eyes. "Crying are you? Because of your brother's great kindness. No need, you'll get plenty of opportunity to show your gratitude when we take you three at the time, one in each of your nice little holes". They burst out laughing and went off, making high fives.

I was still crying when that bitch Eileen came up to tell what she'd planned to do to Nick and me. After that I didn't take much notice of what was going on, not even when I was sold, but did register that Eileen went into hysterics because someone overbid her. Not that it cheered me up, I was sure that the creeps had bought me. After the most miserable night of my life it only got worse when they started making holes in us next day. At least we were anaesthetised, but it was horrible anyway and I cried most of the night, of pain and self-pity. Here I was, an ugly, mutilated slavegirl, who'd spend the next ten years of her life being raped by her own brother and a gang of sex-crazy underage boys.

So, when I met Nick in the van next morning, looking so damned cheerful, I got mad. That miserable idiot caused me all this and now he had the nerve to grin! It only got worse when we were delivered to the same house. Not even the fact that my brother didn't get me could make me change my mind. It was still horrible and Nick's fault. I could never forgive him, but I could get my own back, couldn't I?

Master James wasn't cruel on that first day, at least not to me, just cold and demanding, but the boys were used very brutally. Pete was almost too cheerful next morning, chasing me out of bed with cries of "Rise and shine!" and "Ladies first!". The boys gave me as much privacy as possible under the circumstances, keeping away from the bathroom until I'd finished and were careful not to stare openly at my naked body. I cooked some porridge and Pete coaxed Nick to tell what he knew about our master. It didn't sound too bad and at last I realised that he'd saved me from a worse fate. Not that it made me feel much better, but I did listen to Pete's reasoning that we had to stick together and forget the past, so in the end we went to work in a more friendly atmosphere. I still treated Nick coldly, brushing off his pathetic attempts of making excuses, but I did talk to him during the few breaks we had.

But that changed abruptly when he came to the slaveroom where Pete and I were relaxing after another long day, talking quietly about our training. "I'm sorry, Chris, but the master wants you in his bedroom". "But you told us that he's gay!" "I'm sure he is, but…". "But you talked him into trying a girl, didn't you, to spare yourself?" "Chris, I'd never…". "You're a miserable little shit. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!", I spat at him and shuffled out, with his cry of, "Chris, please!", following me to the bedroom, where I found Master James sitting naked in an armchair. He ordered me on my knees to suck him. In spite of all my training I'd actually never touched male genitalia in my life, but I took a deep breath, sank down and went to work, licking up and down the shaft, fondling his ballsack, peeling back the foreskin to use my tongue on the purple head and finally, when the meat had grown hard and throbbing, took it into my mouth. Trying to remember what I'd learned, I swirled my tongue around it, pressed it against the roof of my mouth, bobbed my head up and down as if it was a lollipop and at last tried to take it down my throat. I'd done fine with the training dildo, but the live meat felt very different, gagging me, and I had to withdraw, retching. The master aimed a kick at my chest. "Not much of a cocksucker, are you?", he sneered, "Get on the bed, arse up". "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir", I mumbled and scrambled away, shivering with fear. 'Oh, God, he'll take my virginity!' "Spread those legs". "Yes, Sir". I felt him parting my arsecheeks and press a finger up my other hole. "Hmm, tight". 'Oh, God, not there!' He turned away and a moment later something cold and wet was spread in my crack. He was lubricating me, carefully filling the narrow tunnel. At last I felt him pressing against my sphincter and tried relaxing it to let him in. It wasn't much different from a dildo, but I could feel it throbbing when he slowly slid back and forth, banging his nuts against my locked pussy. He took his time and I used all my skills to massage the member, until it at last convulsed and sent spurt after spurt into my bowels. 'Not as bad as the boys said', I'd time to think, before the staff was withdrawn. "Clean me". I knew, of course, but had hoped to avoid it and stared in horror at the slimy thing, covered in lubricant, sperm and my own shit. Already retching, just at the thought of what I had to taste, I opened my mouth. "On second thought, why bother. You're not worth much, but at least you can cook a decent meal. Get out". Relieved and humiliated I crept away.

"Was it very bad? Please let me help you". Nick was waiting for me when I stumbled in, sperm and shit running down the back of my thighs. That did it! I raved and cursed him, slapped his face and called him all the dirty names I could think of. He didn't even try to defend himself, just stood there like a wet poodle, mumbling how sorry he was, until Pete interfered and dragged me off to the bathroom. After that I refused to speak to him and did my utmost to show contempt. Pete tried arguing with me, but I was adamant and at last he gave up and let my bad mood spread to all three of us. Not that we had much time for talking. The master kept us hard at work, demanding every nook and cranny cleaned until the whole house was sparkling and the garden turned into a showpiece. He didn't use any of us for sex again. Not surprisingly, because on our third day as his slaves Steve turned up, and they made no secret that they were lovers. Bad enough as it was for Nick to have me glaring and sulking whenever we saw each other, his brother made it even worse when he turned a cold shoulder instead of giving him a kind word, and just treated him as a slave. Before our first week was out, the bright and cheerful boy we'd known were walking around as if asleep, never uttering a word, just working mechanically.

"Sentences reduced…That girl and her gang enslaved…Moving abroad…Had to convince the authorities that I'm a hard master…Can't free you, but give you better conditions…Continue your education…Near normal lives". I came out of my reverie to register the master's words and for the first time saw him smiling to us. "As a beginning, you can take off those chains and get dressed". He took three plastic bags and dropped one on the floor in front of each of us. I stared, hardly trusting my ears. 'Clothes, for the first time in more than three months!' "Hey, are you there?" The master snapped his fingers and Pete woke up from his stupor to answer for all of us. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. I don't know what to say, Sir. Thank you, Sir, thank you". "That's quite enough. Now buzz off. No work today, apart from a meal or two, and from now on the same for all of us". He threw a key to Pete, who caught it and rose, dragging Nick with him.

I followed slowly to find Pete dressing Nick, who as usual just stood passively, letting it happen. "Nick! I'm sorry". I knelt in front of him, kissing his feet. "Can you forgive me?" He didn't move or seem to understand what was happening. 'Oh God! What shall I do?'