Defeat, Rebirth

I once told truth to power, and power became my Owner.

It told me to back down, to sit down, to shut up. Instead I tried to stand up, to fight for what was right for our neighborhood and our community. But nobody backed me up, so I lost that fight.

I tried to stand, but every time they would push me back down. They told me my place was on my knees. They told me they were my trainers and to call them Sir. They showed me their place was in my mouth.

I tried to fight, at first. For my own dignity, I felt I had to fight. But at the slightest disobedience, even the slightest hesitation, their hands would rain down on me, making me feel the shame of defeat over and over again. The Owner looks on as his cruel tutors make me choose: be bad, be a brat, and be slapped by their hands; or Be Good and receive the slaps instead from their massive, merciless cocks.

I learn the lesson well. I stop fighting. I make it easier on myself and preserve some shred of my comfort and sanity. Why do things the hard way when it won't matter in the end anyway?

My trainers teach me the way I am to be: to Be Good. I told them i would, and I have, avoiding punishment or harsh treatment. It makes me proud that I have been able to escape from something, at least, even though I know in my bones that I will never escape from slavery..

They use their belts to choke me, to tug me all around the space. They teach me to crawl, and to come to heel, and to present myself for use. They use me constantly and in time they tell me I have earned my collar, and they keep me on an elegant black leash.

I expand my mastery of the art of avoiding punishment, avoiding any dissatisfaction with my trainers. I listen well and learn quickly, I understand what they each like and how to give it to them. For the most part, I avoid being disciplined. I drink their cum again and again and learn the unique taste of each.

In time they take more from me. They cuff me to a cold, grating pipe in the basement and they break in my pussy. They break me, they take me, over and over again. They make me scream and cry and moan and sob. They show me how to Be Good, and they make me feel like a fucking whore.

I am a fucking whore. Someone the Owner only refers to as "The Tycoon" pays for the pleasure of training my ass. He performs this task with ruthless zeal, gaping me and shaping me into his plaything. I can't help but fight, tensing up and resisting despite myself. I'm afraid he'll punish me, but he tells me he likes it better the more I try to stop him. I try, but he shows me that I cannot stop him.

After my time with the Tycoon, my trainers tell me I am almost ready to graduate. They tell me that I have mastered their basic, individual curriculum, and they begin to use me two, three, four at a time. So many I can't keep count or even distinguish one from the other after hours of brutal instruction. My mind leaves my body for hours, days, at a time. For forever, knowing only their rough bodies and rougher treatment.

They stretch my holes, they praise me and tell me I am on the home stretch. They teach me the gentle art of pleasing them in synch with another slave whore. It helps, after everything I have experienced so far, to have a fellow traveler on her knees beside me. I see our trainers slap her around, conquer her, possess her, and I see my own devastation, my own subordination reflected in her. It comforts me to know I am not alone. The Owner -- our Owner -- eventually takes over the last of our training. We are eager to show him that we learned our lessons well, to earn a spot within his Harem.

He trains us, and I'm terrified of displeasing him. I can't escape the constant fear of letting him down, of letting down all my trainers who have worked so hard to shape me into a rare and valuable tool for him. I fear his anger, his punishment. I am on high alert, responsive and enthusiastic in my obedience. My new whore-sister supports me in this, and I support her, and at the end I am shocked by the intensity of my joy when he tells us what good girls we were.

Our training complete, we take our places in his Harem. Owner graces me with a soft, comfortable bed, and a room shared with six other whores, two to a bed in two bunkbeds. My training partner becomes my bedmate. We find solace in one another's arms at night, and in solidarity with our sister-slaves, but every day I experience the reality of life as a thing. I live in Owner's house, and I rarely see the trainers now. Instead, Owner uses me as often as he wants, and he begins to pimp me out in earnest. I service his friends, clients, contacts, his favored subordinates. I service people whose identities I never question nor find out. Sometimes they pay me, sometimes I'm just a favor for a favor. I would rather die than reflect badly on Owner and his training program.

I learn to take pride in the value of my body, and of my training. I am a valuable commodity to Owner, and this makes me too proud to say. I keep myself as healthy as I can and as pretty as I can to maximize my worth to him. My slave-sisters support me in this journey, and I support them in turn.

I am addicted to his validation. "Good whore" he says, after I earn him a fortune in one evening performing with my sisters in front of distinguished guests with money to spend. My body is sore for months afterwards but the pain reminds me of how Good I was, what a a Good job we all did.

He takes our holes and has his way with them any time, all the time. He strokes my hair and tells me I'm so good, tells me I've learned well the sharp edge and stunning impact of his training. He tells me he's proud of me, and that I have taken to heart the heart of what he wanted to show us: that we are nothing but our use to him, and we have nothing to give him but our obedience.

I give him mine, and he blesses me with his attention, with his body, with pain, with cum painting my pretty face, my body, filling me up deep inside my mouth and throat and cunt and pussy. I am his Good whore, his toy, his tool, his pet, his obedient little bitch.

I have never been happier.