My Berlin Summer
by Dana Williams
Chapter 10: My New Master
Later that day my new master's representatives arrived to collect their new
property. Three men took delivery in the lobby of the building that had been my
home for the past several months, briefly inspecting my naked, bruised body and
comparing me to a series of photographs before signing the documents indicating
receipt of goods. I was then bound hand and foot and gagged, before one of the
men effortlessly lifted me to his shoulder and carried me into the courtyard, to
deposit me on the floor of a large van. My mind was still numb. I expected to
be raped in the car, but I could register neither fear nor anticipation. I
wanted nothing more than to rest, recover from the beating I had received that
morning, and come to terms with this sudden change in my fortunes.
To my surprise, I was not put to work entertaining my keepers during the car
ride to a small airfield outside the city. I wondered if my new master had
given instructions that I was not to be abused, and if perhaps that meant that
my slavery would be lighter and more tolerable than it had been in the club.
There, I had been only so much captive slave flesh from which pleasure could be
forcibly extracted; where I was headed, perhaps I would be a valued possession,
a girl whose comfort might be somewhat protected, if only to ensure the
perfection of her services to her master. I knew the slavery I was headed
toward could be nothing if not unconditional. No man, I realized, would buy me
for any purpose other than to keep me and exploit me as a perfectly obedient
pleasure slave. But there are many ways to treat a slave girl; perhaps one way
was to treat her gently, so that she might be even more thankful to and
dependent on her master.
The van drove onto the tarmac of the airfield. In the back, I was lifted and
placed into a large, padded trunk. I was buckled in place with my legs drawn up
to fit into the confined space. The lid was closed and secured and my world
went black. I could then feel the trunk being lowered from the van and rolled,
it seemed, across the concrete. Then it was lifted and carried up a series of
steps, presumably into the plane that would take me to my new life. My heart
was pounding, but I knew I had nothing to fear - other than, of course, the
perils that a slave girl routinely faces. Someone had paid a large amount of
money for absolute ownership of my body, my talents, and my complete submission,
and he would ensure that I arrived safely in his keeping.
Once the plane was airborne, the trunk was opened and I was lifted out of it and
placed on the floor. I struggled to my knees and knelt before my three guards,
the only people in the passenger cabin of the small jet. I spread my knees and
lifted my breasts as I had done so many times, hoping they were satisfied with
me. I would gladly have served them with my body, but they showed surprisingly
little interest in my naked, helpless form. One of the men reached behind my
head and unbuckled the straps of my gag.
"Thank you, master," I said. "How may I serve you, master?" I expected the gag
had been released for a reason - a price I would gladly pay to be relieved of
its discomfort.
"Lie down, and rest," he said, tossing a pillow to the floor where I might lie
on it. "Your master wants you to be fresh and rested when you arrive."
"Yes, master," I said, turning to my side on the floor of the plane. I did not
ask who my master might be. I was a slave. If the masters wanted me to know,
they would tell me. My place was only to listen, obey, and serve.
It was nighttime when we landed several hours later, but the air was still warm
when we exited the plane. While I had been secretly smuggled aboard the plane
outside Paris - slavery being illegal in France - I was surprised to be simply
carried out of the plane by one of the guards, my naked, bound body draped over
his shoulder. He carried me down the staircase from the plane and another
hundred meters or so to a waiting stretch limousine. Perhaps this was a private
airfield, or perhaps I was simply in a place where naked slave girls were not
such an unusual occurrence. If the latter, any chance I might have of ever
escaping my slave status would be significantly reduced. But I was already
becoming resigned to a life as a sex slave.
The car drove for close to an hour. I could make out little of the surroundings
in the moonless night. I wondered what my new master would be like, and what he
would expect of me. Would he want a hot, eager slave slut, ready to throw
herself at his feet and split her legs widely, begging to be raped? Or perhaps
a shy, reluctant girl to be forcibly bent to his will and compelled to serve him
unquestioningly? Or did he want an All-American college girl whom he could
dress up in cheerleader costumes, that she must then remove sensuously in the
privacy of his chambers? I did not know. All I could do was be myself - a
deeply submissive slave girl, willing to do anything to please her master. I
hoped that would be enough for him.
The driver used a magnetic card to pass through a tall iron gate, and then we
turned into a long driveway that led to a small but elegant stone mansion. It
seemed in the light from its windows like a modern version of an old English
university building, like one of the Oxford or Cambridge colleges refreshed with
a contemporary architect's clean lines. I had little time to appreciate its
appearance before being once again lifted onto the guard's shoulder, carried
into the entranceway, and unceremoniously deposited on the floor. My hands and
feet still bound by steel cuffs, I pushed myself up onto my knees and assumed
the position of a trained pleasure slave, looking about me for the face of my
master.
Instead, I looked up into the eyes of a beautiful, young woman wearing a flowing
silk dress - and a steel collar about her throat. "Welcome," she said in an
upper-class British accent. "I am Charlotte, and as I am sure you have
realized, I am a slave girl, every bit as much as you." Yes, she was a slave
girl. The thin, short garment of silk was obviously all she wore, and could do
little to hide the sweet curves of her young, soft body. I could see why she
had been chosen for slavery, her body almost crying out to be taken and
dominated by a master. If I had been a man I was sure I could not have resisted
her, but would have torn off her dress and thrown her to the floor. I wondered
if I might inspire those same reactions in men. I shuddered to think of the
passions to which I was subject.
"Yes, mistress," I said. As the new slave girl, I assumed I must treat any
other girls as my superiors.
"There is no hierarchy among slaves here, Jenny," Charlotte said. "We are not
to devote our energies to any pursuits other than pleasing our master." After a
pause, she continued. "I am to see that you are cleaned and prepared to meet
the master."
The guards unchained my wrists and ankles, leaving me absolutely nude; my
previous collar had been left behind, in Paris. I expected I would be wearing a
new collar soon. Jenny led me up a spiral staircase and down a hall to a large,
almost opulent bathroom with a circular marble tub already filled with hot
water. I entered the bath and luxuriated for a moment before she reminded me
that the master was waiting. Not wanting to cause the least displeasure, I
hurriedly cleaned myself and toweled off. There was no makeup available. I
would present myself to my master purely as I was, without cosmetics or any
other artifice.
When I was ready, Charlotte led me back down the hallway, past the stairs, and
into a large bedroom. She left me, and there I knelt, my thighs spread and my
eyes cast down as she had instructed. I knew I would do anything in my power to
be pleasing. I desperately wanted my master to be pleased with his girl, and
feared the consequences of any disappointment. I thought about how far I had
come from Los Angeles, where I had simply assumed that men liked me and wanted
me. Then I could count on them to attempt to please me. Now it was I, naked
and on my knees, who must beg for the chance to serve them.
I heard footsteps, but forced myself to keep my eyes on the floor. A moment
later there was a man standing before me.
"On your hands and knees," he said. The British accent sounded familiar. I
obeyed in a second. "Kiss my feet," he said. I lowered my head to his feet and
kissed them lightly, then tenderly, then passionately. I moaned softly as a
sign of the arousal I experienced simply from kissing the feet of my master. It
was a common slave girl's device to entice a master, but it was also something I
felt deep inside me. "Lift your head," he said. I did so. I was still on all
fours, now looking ahead at his knees and thighs. I felt his hands lifting my
hair off my neck. I was momentarily confused. Then I felt the cold steel
collar lock into place about my neck. I had been collared, like a dog. But
instead of being insulted, I felt secure in the collar. I knew that I was worth
enough for a man to buy and own me, and the collar was the ultimate symbol of my
value as a slave.
"Kneel," he commanded. I looked up into his eyes.
"David!" I must have shouted, throwing myself to my belly before him, clasping
his ankles and calves with my hands as I once again kissed his feet, fervently
and passionately this time. It was the Arabian playboy who had so often claimed
me during the months in Paris, who had known so well how to make me scream in
pleasure and in submission. He had bought me! Perhaps he even cared about me.
But even if he had no feelings for me, even if he had bought me solely because
he had found my sexual services to be satisfactory, had judged my soft thighs
worthy of being spread before him, I was still grateful, because I knew what
delights might await me under his power. He was a powerful, unconditional,
absolute master, of course, one who knew how to make a slave girl crawl to him
and beg to be used, but at the same time he could make that same girl happier to
be a slave than she would have ever have imagined possible.
Then he dragged me back to my knees by my hair and slapped me across the face,
throwing my body sideways and to the floor. "You are a common slave slut," he
said. "Do not insult my name by letting it pass your lips."
"I'm sorry, master," I pleaded, still lying on my side where I had fallen.
"Forgive me, master. I am only a worthless slave girl. Let me demonstrate to
you my absolute submissiveness. Let me serve you as a slave, in any way you
desire."
He crouched down, rudely spun me only my belly, and lifted my hips into the air.
An instant later I felt him deep inside me as he subjected me to his swift,
disciplinary rape. He had no thought for my pleasure, but used me brutally,
casually, and unilaterally, exerting the primitive dominance of a master over
his slave. But even being used in this way, my body welcomed him, and I could
feel myself heating up as he had his way with me, unavoidably responding both
physically and emotionally to my complete ravishment. When he finished with me
and let me slump to the floor, defeated, I immediately rolled to my knees and
took him in my mouth to clean him and to show my utter submission, my desperate
eagerness to give pleasure, and my impatience to be used again.
It was not long before he fulfilled that desire, and it was many times and in
many ways that my master compelled his new slave to serve him that night. On my
back, my ankles bound to my wrists high above my head; leaning forward over the
bed, my wrists bound behind my back; on my knees before him, forced to hold
myself open for him with my hands; or writhing on top of him, at his command, my
hands behind my back; he extracted from me many times over the price of my
slavery. That night he allowed me to sleep on the floor by his bed, chained by
my collar to the foot of the bed. As I learned, I was extended that courtesy so
that he would have the convenience of summoning me onto the bed in the middle of
the night, there to continue my intimate services. And in the morning, I even
dared to perform the task that M. Roget had first demanded of me, allowing him
to awaken in the gentle morning light already bathing in the warmth and softness
of his new slave's mouth. He smiled, locked his hands in my soft hair, and
forcibly guided me to complete my task, holding me to him even as I swallowed in
submissive ecstasy.
"Thank you for buying me, master," I said when he finally released me,
continuing to kiss at his stomach and chest, my hair draped over his body. I
expected he would want to begin his day and would have no more time to pass with
his slave girl, but I wanted to whet his appetite for later. I was truly
grateful that if I were consigned to a lifetime of slavery, at least some of it
would be spent in his arms.
"You will have ample opportunity to thank me more fully," he answered. "In time
you may come to curse the day that you came into my possession."
"I fear this slave must beg to differ, master," I said, pausing in my
ministrations to look up into his eyes. "You may beat me, rape me, abuse me in
any way, but I will remain your devoted slave." And at the moment, I meant it.
"Of course you will," David said. "That is why I bought you."
I spent that first day learning about my new surroundings, under the tutelage of
the other slave girls David owned: Charlotte, a university student he had met
in England, seduced, and enslaved; Deirdre, an American from Virginia, radiantly
blonde and long-legged; and Tamara, a Canadian from British Columbia,
brown-haired and athletic. I gathered David's taste in girls ran to
innocent-seeming, fresh-faced young women capable of intense devotion to their
masters, girls who could not only be trained to accept their slavery, but could
be gradually but inexorably compelled to love their abject condition. Charlotte
had been in his keeping the longest, for close to three years, and seemed to be
his favorite; once selected and purchased, he showed no signs of tiring of a
girl, rather spending months and years teasing out her inner submissiveness,
drawing her ever more completely into his power.
We were detained in David's "country house" outside the capital of the small
principality in which he was a prominent citizen. The compound included several
buildings and stretched over close to a hundred acres of carefully tended
gardens in what was otherwise largely a desert region, a testament to his and
his family's wealth. The entire complex was surrounded by a high, electrified
fence, with only two gates, each manned by armed guards. The security was
primarily designed to maintain his family's privacy, but of course also served
to deter any attempt we slave girls might make to escape. We had the run of the
building in which we were housed and a small portion of the grounds, but were
not allowed in most areas of the compound, particularly in the buildings where
David's three wives lived and raised their children. I learned that his wives
were all well-educated but traditional women from the local aristocracy, and
that he was both a devoted husband and father. But when it was a woman he
wanted, he turned instead to his small stable of white slave girls. And for
this, it seems, we were uniformly hated by his wives. They might feel relieved
that it was on us that he imposed his powerful urges and desires, but at the
same time we clearly represented the corrupt Western world that they hated. In
the thin silk garments that we were permitted, which we must, of course, remove
at a moment's notice, we were visibly the sort of wanton, degraded sluts that
were so offensive to their traditional morals. It may have been for our benefit
and protection that we were forbidden from seeing them.
It was a great relief to find that we were not made sexually available to the
various servants, guards, and other members of the complex. While we must of
course obey the commands of any free person immediately and absolutely - under
threat of being whipped - David reserved the use of our bodies to himself, and
to those he specifically designated. I do not think this was out of any
particular graciousness on his part, but rather from a desire to keep us in a
perpetual state of arousal and anticipation, letting our sexual needs grow over
time so that, when we were finally given the chance to serve him, we would be
particularly helpless and desperate to be pleasing. There were times, however,
when we might be given either to a particular staff member, or when we might as
a group be thrown to them for their general amusement, either as a reward for
good service or simply as a diversion. He was a generous employer, and the
services of his slaves were one way in which he compensated his employees.
In addition, we were also called on to serve at dinners or parties that David
would host for his friends or business associates. At these affairs, we would
first perform such standard tasks as greeting guests, taking their coats,
serving drinks, and waiting at table - dressed, of course, in brief, sheer
garments that readily displayed our charms, and more than hinted at our eventual
availability for other, more intimate services. Then, as the evening wore on,
our roles would change, and we would be commanded to remove our clothing so that
we might, now completely nude, serve as the object of various games and
diversions, in which our bodies were invariably the prize. Sometimes, on these
nights, I would be used repeatedly by different men, as had been the routine in
Paris. But here, at least, these occasions were the exception rather than the
rule, and I found that I even looked forward to them, because they allowed me to
most fully display and indulge my submissiveness, my ever-growing desire to
serve, and obey, and give pleasure, with no thought for myself, seeking
validation solely in the look of contentment I might see on a master's face as I
brought him to climax with my mouth or body.
After the first few nights, each of which David devoted to reducing me to a
helpless, conquered, dominated slave girl, begging her master for the privilege
of his use, I discovered that I enjoyed no special standing among the girls, but
would simply be selected when the master's whims turned toward my particular
appearance or talents. David was a connoisseur of slaves, and on different
occasions his tastes might require a different delicacy to satiate his appetite.
Generally we would be used in the evening, although on occasion he might summon
one of us to his chambers during the day, or even simply accost a girl where she
was, stripping off her flimsy garment and throwing her to his feet. When I was
so chosen, it would only take an instant for my body to become ready to receive
him. In fact, during that entire period I lived in a continuous state of mild
arousal, brought on by my awareness of my constant vulnerability and by my
ever-increasing submissiveness.
As Cristina had predicted, I found myself daydreaming of being used by my master
or by his friends, or even being subjected to some particularly cruel and
demeaning form of rape, or thinking of new ways that I might use my body to
please him the next time he gave me the opportunity. But even though it ran
counter to everything I had believed for the first two decades of my life, I was
not unhappy at this change in my emotional makeup, at this deepening of the
psychological bonds that enslaved me even more than the collar I wore about my
neck or the armed guards who barred my access to the outside world. In Paris I
had been exposed to the brutal economic reality of being a slave girl, of having
my body repeatedly sold at a price set to maximize the profits taken by my
masters, and despite the sexual gratification I could sometimes find in the arms
of my clients, there were still times when I bitterly wept over my fate. But
now it was as if I had been restored to the romantic notion of slavery that had
initially exerted its magnetic attraction over me. Even when David commanded me
to strip myself naked and open my thighs for the amusement of a visiting
businessman whom he wished to entertain, I knew that it was indirectly my master
that I was serving, and when I was granted to a guest for the night, I knew it
was because it brought pleasure to my master. I am sure that David had no more
concern for me than one might have for a preferred toy, a possession to be
enjoyed and then forgotten, at least until he next had occasion for it. And yet
I know that I loved him, in a way and with a passion that I had never expected
to know.
