My Berlin Summer Ch. 09

On rare occasions, one of us slave girls might be rented out for a night at a location other than the club, presumably at some significant expense to the client. This was primarily done for clients who could not risk accidental discovery at the club - men, or women, whose political, business, or other connections would not permit them to be seen indulging in the soft, captive flesh of girls such as I. As a new slave girl I had understandably few of these appointments, but as the months wore on my talents, such as they were, became more and more familiar among the types of people who had the means to command them, and, for better or for worse, I became more and more desirable a property for the evening.

One night in October I was told that I had been reserved for the evening by one of these "special" clients. We were typically escorted to these appointments under tight security, and this time was no exception. I made the trip in the back of an unmarked van, my wrists and ankles secured by inflexible, cold steel handcuffs, my mouth filled with a hard rubber ball gag, my eyes blindfolded so I would not know where I was being taken. Apart from my bonds and, of course, the collar I always wore, I was completely nude. Two guards accompanied me in the back of the van, one seated on either side of me. One occupied himself on the way with caressing my body, first casually across my breasts and belly, then between my legs, intimately and implacably, bringing me to a forced arousal but, of course, leaving me unsatisfied. I would be delivered to my master of the evening hot, wet, and desperate for a man's attentions. I was frustrated, but I also recognized the logic in this practice. Men liked their slave girls to be helplessly aroused, squirming on their naked bellies and begging to be raped. And if that is what they wanted, then that is what they should get. I was only a slave girl; who was I to question a master's desires?

When the van finally stopped, my ankles were uncuffed and I was helped out of the van and up a few steps into a building, one guard holding each of my arms to direct me. Then they released my arms and I lowered myself to my knees, spreading them widely and lifting my breasts prettily. I had no idea who might be watching me, and had no wish to be displeasing in the slightest.

One of the guards crouched down beside me and removed my handcuffs, then my gag, and finally the blindfold. I blinked my eyes against the sudden light. I was in the anteroom of a somewhat spare but well-decorated house. A middle-aged woman wearing what appeared to be some sort of servant's costume stood before me, looking down at me disapprovingly. No doubt she saw in me a wanton, shameful slave slut, a girl whose every curve proved she existed solely to provide indescribable sexual pleasures to men. I lowered my eyes, embarrassed. At the time, I would not have contested that description of me.

The woman bent down and attached a long, thin chain leash to my collar. Once I had been terribly humiliated to be led on a leash like a dog; now I accepted it without a moment's thought. She tugged on the leash and began to lead me up a staircase. I rose to my feet to follow. Instantly she spun around and slapped me, hard, on my left cheek. I stumbled and fell to the ground. "You will crawl like the dog you are, slut!" she yelled at me. She kicked at me as I lay on my side. I hurried to rise to all fours.

"This slave begs your forgiveness, mistress," I said, staring at the floor. If she had been a man, I would have covered her feet and legs with kisses, hoping to distract his anger and encourage him to take my body in punishment. But I knew such wiles would not work with this woman. I trembled, hoping not to be struck again. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched up the stairs, leaving me to scramble after her on all fours.

The guards waited below. I knew that they would remain until the morning to provide additional security. A slave girl is too valuable a possession to be left unguarded overnight.

On the second floor, the woman led me into a large room with a bed, a large wardrobe, and a pair of armchairs. The floors were of wood, smooth and hard. I hoped that I would be allowed to perform my services on the bed and not on the floor's uncomfortable surface. These are the things that slave girls hope for.

She left me kneeling on the floor, facing the door, the leash dangling between my breasts and over my left thigh as I knelt. I remained there, nearly motionless. I had not been given permission to do otherwise. I wondered what my master would be like, what he would demand of me. I hoped he would not hurt me.

After a time, a tall, thin, grey-haired man entered the room. He was wearing a long, dark blue bathrobe, slippers, and apparently nothing else. I put my head down and kissed the floor before his feet. "I beg to serve you, master," I said, not rising from the floor.

"As you were," he said. I rose again to my knees. "Spread your knees wider," he commanded. I obeyed. "Thrust out your breasts," he said. I pushed them forward even more than before, and pulled my shoulders back for emphasis. When a slave girl kneels, it is usually in a position of relative relaxation, retaining freedom of motion in all directions. Now my body was rigid, my knees as far apart as my body could bear, my breasts straining forward for my master's attention. I hoped he liked what he saw.

"I hear you are the hottest new pony in my friend M. Arnaud's stable," he said after contemplating my body for a minute.

"My hope is to be pleasing to my masters," I said in reply. "I hope that they have found me acceptable."

"Oh, I'm sure I will find you more than acceptable," he said. He paused. "If not, you will be beaten."

I shuddered. At the club, I was beaten relatively infrequently, thanks no doubt to my careful attention to my duties and to the pleasure of my masters. I had no desire to feel the whip. "I will be absolutely obedient, master," I said. "I hope that my body will prove satisfactory."

The man walked over to the dresser and returned with a whip in his hand. He held its handle to my lips. I licked and kissed it, fervently and submissively. In California I would never have kissed a boyfriend with the passion I lavished on the instrument of my domination. But then I had not been a slave girl. Now I was.

Apparently satisfied with my performance, he withdrew the whip from my lips. "On all fours," he said. I obeyed instantly, my head lowered submissively. "Lift your head," he said. I did so. "Now turn and crawl to the other side of the room." I crawled, maintaining the position I had been taught - back arched, bottom high, thighs spread. Even in the most humiliating positions, a slave girl must always display her body to maximum advantage. "Now pick up the end of your leash and bring it to me." I knew what he wanted. I turned and retraced my steps to where the end of the leash lay on the floor. I bent down my head and picked it up in my teeth before continuing back to my master's feet. I lifted my head to present the leash to him. He took it from my mouth and stroked my hair. "What a good little slave," he said.

"Crawl backward two meters," he continued. I did so. "On your belly, spread your arms and legs" he said. I obeyed, my body vulnerably and openly stretched before him. "On your back." I rolled to my back, keeping my arms and legs wide. I had not been given permission to close them. "Grasp your ankles." I did so, drawing them up over my head, opening my body even more widely, brazenly presenting my charms for his view and potential usage. I held the position as he seemed to consider my form.

He continued to put me through my paces, making me open and display my body in ways that can only be demanded of an absolutely compliant slave girl. I hoped he liked what he saw. On top of the arousal that had been forced upon me during the ride in the van, I was becoming increasingly excited by this man's simple, strict domination of me. As both a natural submissive and a trained slave girl, I was conditioned to respond to mastery, to become heated in being compelled to obey another's will. Although he had hardly touched me, I knew that the services he was already commanding me to perform were profoundly sensual, and could only culminate in my absolute ravishment, in the kind of sexual conquest that only a slave can suffer at the hands of a master. And as a slave, I longed for that conquest, I longed to feel his body exerting its will over me and inside me.

Suddenly I grew bold. "Please, master," I said, uninvited, now on my belly, grasping my ankles behind my body, "let me please you! I beg to serve you, as a slave."

Suddenly I felt the whip burn into the flesh of my back. "You were not asked to speak, slave," he said coldly. I lay on the floor, silent, tears forming in my eyes from the pain. But I expected my pleadings were not completely wasted. Hopefully now he knew how desperate I was, how much I longed for my rape. And such knowledge, I knew from experience, generally has its effect on a man.

Finally he positioned me again on my back, my knees lifted and my thighs widely spread. I was completely open to him as a slave, and I knew my body was more than ready to accept his entry. He swiftly pulled my wrists first inside my thighs and then outside my ankles and chained them in place with a pair of steel manacles. Bound as I was, I was powerless to close my knees. Nor did I want to.

"Now you may beg to be raped, slave," he said as he crouched down by me and removed his robe.

"Please, master," I cried out. "Your slave begs to be raped. Take me, overwhelm me, use me for your pleasure, make me serve you as a slave."

But first he toyed with me a while longer, using his hands to heighten my arousal even further, but mercilessly preventing me from achieving climax. He also crouched above my face and used my mouth to prepare himself. I greedily licked at him with my tongue, thankful for the chance to give him pleasure. Finally, as I continued to beg him to have pity on me, he saw fit to enter me, and I cried out my gratitude as he had his way with my body, using me unilaterally as a debased, submitted slave.

I thanked him repeatedly, tears in my eyes, when he finally withdrew from me. He took a blanket from the bed and spread it on the floor next to me, and then rolled me onto my side on the blanket. He left me chained as I was, my arms still threaded inside my thighs and cuffed to the outsides of my ankles, unable to close my knees. Although the position was uncomfortable, I was by then accustomed to the rigors of bondage. I was grateful for the blanket, that I would not have to sleep on the hard wood floor. Soon I could hear him drifting off to sleep.

I lay there, awake, my mind still clouded with sex, thinking how wonderful it was to be a slave, and to be at the mercy of men. I hoped only that the master was pleased with his slave. Eventually I, too, fell asleep.

I awoke with a start. I was being casually turned onto my front, my wrists and ankles still chained together as before. In this position, my hips were unavoidably propped up on my knees, my body open and vulnerable from behind. With no way to support myself, my head was pressed against the blanket. Suddenly I felt myself entered from behind, held in place by firm hands on my hips. I felt his powerful strokes filling my body, finally surging as he emptied himself in me yet again. I felt him unlock the manacles joining my wrists to my ankles, only to join my wrists together again behind my back. He gave me brief instructions, and then returned to his bed, leaving me once again wide-eyed to contemplate my situation.

Earlier I had been thoroughly and ruthlessly dominated, forced to display myself as a slave and to beg repeatedly for the privilege of serving my master. Now I had been used as a simple physical convenience, a piece of captive flesh within which a man might find satisfaction for his basic urges. These were both unavoidable aspects of being a slave girl, I knew. In the morning I would have to experience a third.

As I had been commanded, I awoke shortly after dawn, while the man was still sleeping. In the gray morning light, I rose to my feet and, using my teeth as my hands were still bound behind my back, drew back the covers from the bed. Then I knelt beside my master's body and lowered my head to him, gently licking at him with my tongue. I could feel him stiffen and took him into my mouth, closing my eyes to focus exclusively on giving him pleasure. I could hear his body stirring as he awoke, and felt his hands searching for and finding my hair. He seemed content. I continued my work as he gained consciousness, slowly increasing the depth and intensity of my motions, until he locked his hands in my hair and took over the rhythm, forcing me down upon him at an increasing speed. He burst within me and I swallowed him greedily, not because I liked the taste in itself, but because I wanted desperately to demonstrate to him my absolutely, unconditional submission, my utter willingness to please him in any way. I continued to clean him with my tongue as he withdrew from my mouth.

"Did I please master?" I dared to ask.

"Yes, you did," he said gently. "You are quite a wonderful slave," he added.

"Thank you, master," I said with genuine gratitude. "I am happy if I have been pleasing."

"Yes," he said. "I can see that you are happy." He turned to an intercom by the head of the bed and pushed a button. "Marie!" he called. "Come fetch the slave!" Then he rose from the bed and went into the bathroom to take a shower and begin his day, seemingly without a thought for the slave girl he had so thoroughly dominated and used.

The same servant woman soon entered the room and, without a word, led me by my leash out and down the stairs. I remembered to crawl behind her on hands and knees, not daring to lift my head for fear of being struck. The two guards from the club were waiting for me. "Were you well used, little slut?" one of them asked.

I could not lie to a master. "Yes, master," I said. "I was used as what I am, a slave girl."

Then I was gagged, blindfolded, and bound as I had been on entering the house, and escorted back out to the waiting van. Now that I had served the customer, there were of course no prohibitions on what the guards might do with me during the ride back, and I spent it on my knees before them, still blindfolded, but with my gag conveniently removed, so that my mouth might be put to its most appropriate use.

The guards talked among themselves in French during the trip back to the club. I had studied French in middle school and high school, and could make out some of their conversation - a talent I had never revealed to my masters. I gathered they were familiar with the client who had rented me for the night, and that he was a prominent and powerful individual, one who often enjoyed the services of the club's slave girls, in exchange for some service that he provided to the club. The nature of those services had something to do with police protection for its business operations. I became more interested in the conversation, but took care to hide my interest with the contented moans of a sex slave being permitted to practice her arts on a master. But soon the topic shifted instead to me, and the qualities and shortcomings of my body and my sexual techniques, as they observed my efforts to please them. I blushed to hear myself described as a hot, juicy slave slut, a girl who loved nothing more than being thrown to her back and raped, or having her mouth occupied with pleasing a master.

As the van turned into the courtyard of the club, they finally allowed me to desist in my services. The man I had most recently been occupied with patted me on the head and said, "Hopefully she'll be the one we take to M. Roget's next time. Her mouth almost makes the trip worthwhile."

M. Roget. That was his name.

The next time my external contact paid me a visit, I dutifully informed him of everything that I had learned. He had changed his method of interrogation; instead of taking my statement and then rewarding himself with my body, he now forced me to give my report as he made use of me. But this time, when I told him about M. Roget, he abruptly stopped and, while remaining inside me, asked me a number of pointed questions. I answered as I could, pinned helplessly under him, my wrists bound to the corners of the bed where he had tied them. I described M. Roget as well as I could remember. Finally he seemed contented and, seeming only then to remember what I was good for, finished with me and withdrew.

"You did a good job, Jenny," he said as he was getting dressed. "And not just with your body this time."

As it turned out, the guards did get to escort me to M. Roget's several times over the next several weeks. Each time I left the house completely devastated, utterly ravished, dominated, and conquered, my body sore from the night's exertions but also glowing with the lingering ecstasy of a slave girl who has found fulfillment in her absolute sexual servitude. It was in this state of arousal and contentment that I invariably served the guards on the way back to the club, seeking in my service to them to prolong the feeling of blissful submission that was all a slave girl could aspire to.

It was late in November when, during one of his periodic visits, my contact let slip that the investigation was close to a major breakthrough. I did not dare ask what that might mean for my personal situation, but it did give me a glimmer of hope that I might soon be released from the enforced servitude to which I was growing ever more accustomed. Yes, hope. For although I was learning more and more about the helpless raptures of the pleasure slave, forced to experience both the depths of submission and the heights of ecstasy, I still held the belief - though less and less often - that being a slave was somehow an accident of fate, a cruel detour on my life's path, an injustice that had torn from me a bright future. In a man's arms, overpowered and ravished, I knew that no life suited me better than that of a naked, collared slave; but curled up on my bed late at night, trying to put aside the memories of the evening's abuses so that I might sleep, there were still times my eyes filled with tears on thinking of the degradations and humiliations to which I had been reduced. And I still remembered the promise Cristina had made to me, that someday I might be free once again, no longer available to any man at the snap of his fingers, no longer a casual convenience for his primitive lusts.

From that day I awaited with eager anticipation - and with a sense of inexplicable dread - the moment of my liberation.

But that was not what lay in store for me.

Instead, one morning I was summoned to M. Arnaud's office. I had rarely seen him since the first day I had been summarily beaten, a fortune I ascribed to my generally exemplary level of service and submissiveness. However, when I knelt before him, his eyes were hard. I swallowed in fear. I was a naked slave girl at the feet of her master, and he did not seem pleased with me.

"What are you?" he began.

"A slave girl, master," I whispered.

"Who is your master?"

"You are, master." I squirmed, uncomfortably. I hoped he would allow me to placate him with my body.

"Are you absolutely obedient?"

"Yes, master," I answered. "I beg to be able to demonstrate my obedience and submission to you, master."

"We shall see," he said.

He made a motion, and a guard appeared from behind me and pulled me to my feet by my arms. He pushed me, stumbling, toward the corner where I had been so cruelly whipped on my first day in Paris. Soon I was bound as I had been before, my wrists chained high above my head, my feet barely reaching the floor. I was terrified.