My Berlin Summer Ch. 07

I awoke on one of four beds in a large shared bedroom. The others were unoccupied. Not knowing what I was allowed to do, I was too scared to leave the room and explore the area. Instead, I lay on my back, naked, wondering what course of events had brought me here, a slave girl completely subject to the whims and cruelties of her masters.

Sometime later, another girl came in. She was taller than I, with honey-blonde hair, and, only partially concealed by her brief garment, a body that men might kill to possess. But, of course, as she was a slave, they could have her body simply by snapping their fingers.

"Are you Jenny?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "... mistress."

"Oh, you don't need to bother with that," she said, smiling. "I'm a slave as much as you. My name is Michelle."

"You're an American?" I asked, guessing from her accent.

"Yes, I'm from Mississippi," she answered. "I heard there was a new American girl here. It can be awfully difficult to find your bearings here, so I thought I'd help you out."

And so Michelle explained to me the workings of Club Aphrodite. As Cristina had forewarned me, it was essentially a brothel, but one with the particular twist that all the girls were complete and utter slaves. Most of the patrons were wealthy businessmen who paid either annual membership fees (in the hundreds of thousands of dollars) or nightly fees (in the thousands of dollars) to come to the club in the evenings (or, occasionally, in the afternoons) and take advantage of all that it had to offer. This included a bar, a lounge, and a small dining area. The primary offering, of course, was its stable of slave girls, of which I was now the twelfth. Our duties were to wait on them, to bring them drinks and food, to dance for them, and, of course, to provide them with whatever sensuous pleasures they might care to imagine. We were completely at their disposal at all times, and could be simply ordered to our backs and raped on the floor. We could also be taken into one of the adjoining bedrooms, there to render longer services in private; for that, however, the clients would have to pay extra.

In addition, the club had its own peculiar system for disciplining its slave girls. We were continuously ranked in three categories - A, B, and C - based on several criteria: how often we were selected to perform in a private bedroom (thereby earning additional revenues for our masters), how satisfied our clients were with our performances, how obedient we were to our masters, and so on. The best, most pleasing girls were in category A, and the least pleasing girls, those most likely simply to be thrown over a table and raped from behind, were in category C. And the higher your category, the more privileges you were allowed. A girls were allowed to wear brief garments that, while highly revealing, at least allowed them to preserve their modesty; were given the lightest of chores; and were generally off-limits to club staff during the day. C girls, by contrast, remained completely nude at all times, were set to menial tasks such as scrubbing the floor, and were available to any staff members in any way at any time. The result was a constant competition in which the girls strove to outdo each other in obedience, sensuousness, and intimate skills, to be as hot, wet, and deliciously open as they could possibly be, in order to attract and hold the attention of our masters and our clients.

As the new girl, I was automatically at the bottom of the rankings, and would remain there until I learned how to be more pleasing.

Michelle also warned me about the treatment I would receive as a fresh piece of slave meat on my first night in the club.

That evening, after a light dinner, one of the guards escorted me into the main lounge area of the club. There, in one of the corners of the room, I was bent forward over a low, padded table and chained in place, my ankles attached to two legs of the table, my wrists bound to the opposite legs, my chin just hanging over the far edge. My belly and breasts were pressed against the surface of the table. Bound helplessly in this position, I knew my body was completely visible and open from behind. My mouth, too, was fixed in place, waiting to be put to use. I realized I was bound much as Cristina had bound me that first night in that other club in faraway Berlin, only then my body had been "off limits." Now, I knew, no such limits applied.

I thought about what Michelle had said. "The first night, a new slave girl is bound over a table, her mouth and body available for anyone to use. You will be used like an animal, or like a passive piece of captive flesh. What is more, the clients will be encouraged to beat your unprotected body with a whip. In general, they are not allowed to beat us unless we are disobedient, which doesn't happen very often. But your first night, there is no such protection. The goal is to humiliate you, to break down any resistance you may have, to make you wish to be allowed to please a man intimately rather than being brutally abused by him. All you can do is endure it."

My mouth was dry with fear. I saw a few people begin to drift into the lounge, sit at tables, and order drinks. They were served by naked or scantily clad slave girls. The clients were well-dressed men of all ages and, from what I could hear of their conversation, all nations. There were a couple of women, too, also expensively dressed. I wondered when my trials would begin, when they would begin to take advantage of my body, so helplessly and conveniently bound and positioned for their use. I thought about my slavery, about the humiliations I routinely endured, trying to arouse myself, to prepare my body for the multiple rapes I would suffer. I closed my eyes and imagined what it was like to spread my legs for a man, to welcome him inside me, to feel his merciless thrusts, and to make him moan with pleasure. I could feel the familiar warmth growing between my thighs, could feel myself becoming wet with anticipation.

I did not have long to wait.

A middle-aged, stocky man with graying hair walked over to where I was displayed. He said nothing; I was not the sort of girl with whom one made conversation. In college, young men would trip over themselves trying to entertain me with their wit and charm; here, such things were unnecessary, as I was only a slave girl, with no right to withhold her favors from a master. I wondered again what those college friends would think of me now, only two months removed from my final exams, naked and bound for the pleasure of men.

The man ran his hand over my back, bottom, and thighs, feeling the soft curves of my slave's body. He paused between my legs, feeling my arousal. I could not see him as he stood behind me, his hands idly caressing my body, relishing his mastery and my submission. Then suddenly he was inside me. I cried out in shock. He used me swiftly and casually, emptying himself inside me while I was still only mildly aroused. He walked in front of me, wiped himself off on my hair, and walked away. I could feel the traces of his usage beginning to drip down the inside of my thigh. I began to cry.

Of course, I had been used forcefully and unilaterally many times before, roughly pushed into position and made to endure a master's ruthless domination. But now, I realized, this was my life. Before, in training, I had known that I was preparing for something else, for the life of a slave girl; I had been in an intermediate state, completely subject to my masters, but aware that I would eventually move on to something else. Now, for the first time in my life, I had no future to look forward to. I was a sex slave in a Parisian brothel that I would never be able to escape, unless I were sold into some equally abject slavery. The hope Cristina had held out for me lay three years away - far too long to mean anything to me in my current predicament. From where I lay, strapped naked over a table, I could only see a string of days like this one running far into the future, days when I would be forced to serve men with my small, soft body, repeatedly paying the price of my once-secret desires.

Another man came over to where I was bound, opened his pants before me, and began to make use of me. I did my best to try to please him with my tongue, but he did not seem interested in how I might serve him, only in the pleasure he might forcibly take in my mouth. When he had satisfied himself, he remained in my mouth for a minute, waiting patiently as I swallowed, before withdrawing. Then he zipped up and walked away.

I will never forget that night for as long as I live. I soon lost count of the number of men who used my body for their unilateral pleasure, or the women who held my head between their legs so that I could attempt to please them with my tongue. There were more than a few who also chose to beat me with the whip left out for that purpose, making me cry out and beg to be raped until they finally chose to take from me the pleasure I so desperately wanted to give them. In my training, I had been taught to be a fantastically sensuous slave, armed with an arsenal of skills to tantalize, arouse, and satisfy both men and women. Here I could use none of them; I was chained in place, a passive receptacle for their pleasure, a bundle of soft, captive flesh set out for their sexual consumption. Gone were the fantasies of providing long and exquisite intimate services under the exacting commands of my master; instead I was simply beaten and taken by an unending succession of men who cared not at all for me as an individual slave girl, only for the parts of my body that were offered up for their convenience. I cried as I was repeatedly used, unnoticed by my rapists concerned only with the softness of my flesh and the warmth of my mouth, until I could cry no more. I heard men laugh as they discussed the qualities of my anatomy openly, but I was beyond humiliation. I knew then better than I had known before that I was a slave girl, and that this was the price I might have to pay for my slavery.

When the clients had finally left and the slave girls cleaned up the lounge area, I expected to be released and taken back to the slaves' wing. But no one came for me. I would be left to spend the night chained in place, contemplating my situation and my fate. I wondered if I would ever be released, or if I would be chained there night after night, suffering the same treatment.

I could not sleep, preoccupied as I was by the events of that day. I thought over and over again about the abuses I had endured and what they might imply for my future life. And before dawn, I had understood why new slaves were set out and used in that way. Never again could I have any doubts about my condition. I believed that I could sink no lower, that no slavery could be more abject and degrading than what I had just suffered. And I knew that, if I were unchained from that table and allowed to serve my masters, I would do everything in my power, would use all of my skills and all of the charms of my soft, captive body, to be the most beautiful, submissive, obedient, sensuous, and perfect slave I could be. Rather than rebel against my brutal treatment, I resolve to be a wonder to my masters.

I only prayed they would allow me the chance to show them what kind of slave girl they had bought.