The Cost of My Dreams Ch. 03

Five Seven Seven One was far from stupid. She had, at least in her own mind, been too smart for her shit high school. I know because part of my study time, and Erin's, was devoted to being her tutor in calculus and physics. Erin and I had the right to administer discipline to her but rarely needed to. Properly challenged, she was a most enthusiastic and willing student, nor were we her only teachers.

With the aid of other slaves and outside experts she was also studying English literature. She was now answering essay questions on Heart of Darkness, without access to the internet or any study guild for the novella, other than her text books, which would be scored at a university under contract.

Susan continued to instruct One Nine Seven Five in English and immersion was making One Nine Seven Five quite proficient. One thing One Nine Seven Five insisted on was that her only name was One Nine Seven Five. She refused to let us use her original name, nor would she accept a nickname. Call it a minor rebellion. She wouldn't stain the life of her free self by using her free name. If the slave handlers named her One Nine Seven Five, so be it. That was her name and she would have no other. Given the power and resources of her protector, no one wanted to force the issue.

Five Seven Seven One was more flexible. She too didn't want us to use her original name, but she suggested we come up with a nickname to be used among ourselves. We eventually settled on Twilight as her nickname, which was unoriginal but she was happy to answer to it. The Sharks maintained her striking dye job but removed some of her hardware, leaving her with only a single set of ear piercings, her septum piercing, and her nipple piercings. Everything else was being left to close.

Our relation with the commonplace slaves were rather weird, as they were sometimes our masters, directing our daily humiliations and using us for their pleasure, and sometimes beneath our notice, doing chores and maintaining the school. There really wasn't enough work for them in maintenance activities, but a certain number were required for our sexual instruction. Instructing some of these slaves, the ones who hadn't gone completely slave stupid, in various topics was a part many trainee slave's study assignments.

Most of the commonplace slaves were older, and some had voluntarily extended their indenture at The Sharks because they had nowhere else to go and nothing in their lives after a lifetime of slavery. They were well, if strictly, treated and the benefit of being used for our sexual instruction was something that such low graded slaves would not normally have ever experienced.

Of course, not all high value slaves have a high slave grade. It is our intelligence, education, and experience, not just our attractiveness and our sexual responsiveness, that makes a slave high value. Some of the high value slaves were both ugly and whatever the opposite of sensual is. Still, they must be trained to anticipate and instantly accommodate the desires of their masters, insofar as slaves with their low grade are able to do so. As a group, however, the trainee slaves were out of the commonplace slaves' league.

Our relationship with Slave Mistress Ann, Slave Mistress Phyllis, and the other slave mistresses was not weird; they were in charge of us with full right to discipline us even though they were slaves who must obey the masters without question. Slave Mistress Ann and Slave Mistress Phyllis were in their thirties and were both graded prime. They had spent most of their adult lives as slaves and they were often involved in our obedience training and the practical, demonstrating particular techniques. It was these two who taught me how to read the desires of a master or mistress, even from their stance. I had thought that was impossible but, after the first week, I could do it too.

Esmeralda often made us dispense minor corrections on our colleagues, usually as a spanking administered from one slave to another. I was on both the giving and the receiving end of more than one of them. On one occasion, for instance, I was disciplined for failure to work to my supposed capacity.

My own studies had, sad to say, included essay questions on Edwards' "Personal Narrative", which I had last seen in high school. I've had occasion to reread "Sinners" and even read a couple of Edwards' other sermons out of curiosity, but I wouldn't have touched "Personal Narrative" again on a bet. Unfortunately, I'd done it to myself. All of my talk about the temple of Persephone had probably caused Mistress Esmeralda to make a half assed association with Edwards' preoccupation with the sovereignty of God so "Personal Narrative" it was. The temple of Persephone is an analogy, a model for an existence where the rules of the civilized society I was once part of don't apply. In no way did I mean to imply a worship of my masters and mistresses, even if that was inherent in some of the mantras we repeated. Masters and mistresses are no more smart or wise or infallible than any other human and are in no way comparable to God or Gods, so any comparison of the two is utterly wrongheaded.

Since I had previously administered two such spankings to Twilight, it was probably only fair she administer a mild correction to me. Fair or not, it was the will of mistress Esmeralda and therefore of The Sharks. I could appeal to a human overseer, but that sort of appeal would probably get me an additional punishment. I believe the assignment to have been stupid, but it wasn't harmful, so it was an order that would be affirmed on appeal.

Esmeralda assigned an appointment for punishment at the start of our free play period. I approached Twilight at the scheduled time and said "Twilight, Mistress Esmerelda has ordered me to request you administer a mild correction to me using your bare hand."

"So Mistress Esmeralda informed me. What's this for, anyway?" she asked.

"I only scored a B on my essay questions for 'Personal Narrative'. Accordingly, I must be corrected to encourage me to do better in future."

"As hard as you push me, I really expected better of you. You know what's required of you."

"Yes, I should have done better, but have you ever read the 'Personal Narrative'? Your eyes would glaze over."

"Whatever, come with me to the spanking chair," she said, grabbing a printout from her study area and walking to a straight-backed chair near the wall.

I followed her and said "I accept that I have got this coming and that it is appropriate that you administer it. I would remember that Esmeralda never stops watching, however."

She showed me the printout and said "Could you please stop trying to always be in charge? I'm giving you exactly what Esmeralda specified in her instructions."

I said "Might I suggest," before she interrupted me.

"Don't try and micromanage your own spanking! I think I can actually spank you without your guidance. Embrace your slavery for once and let me take care of this, alright?"

Well, she did have a point. In my own way, I'm as self-centered as Denise or Angela, but in my case, it takes the form of thinking no one can do without my help. "I apologize, Twilight. Please, ah, please forgive me for ah, always..."

"Always acting like the world would fall apart without your guidance."

Ouch, "Yea, that. I apologize for that."

"And would you like an extra five spanks to make that apology stick?"

"Yes, it that's necessary to convince you my apology is sincere."

"Mistress Esmeralda, did you register what Six Seven One Nine just agreed to?"

"An additional five spanks are authorized for this correction," said Esmeralda.

Twilight sat in the chair and I lay myself in the lap of this eighteen-year-old for correction. That alone was humiliating enough. It was like being spanked by a younger sibling. She warmed my behind with some light and moderate spanks, then administered a spanking that left me moaning, sore, and red, but only caused me to cry a little.

I said "Six Seven One Nine thanks you for the instruction of your bare hand that she may better serve her masters," and she helped me stand and hugged me and held me for a bit, comforting me. After a minute, I started kissing her shoulders and said "Six Seven One Nine would like to demonstrate how truly grateful she is, if that would be alright with Twilight."

She made no objection as I pushed her against the wall and started kissing her in earnest. I was a long time caressing her before working my way down her body, helping her to a slave mat and starting to lick, her pleasure being the point of this. Because of Esmeralda's rule against masturbation, I was afraid to rub or finger myself, but I was happy to served her pleasure, because sometimes that's the price if you want to be in charge.

During free play, I was able to email my family and friends, though the emails were subject to review before they were transmitted and could, and on one occasion did, result in not just censorship but a correction with the tawse. Most of the details of my training were not to be discussed, nor would I have been anxious to discuss what a good little slave I was becoming, so I mostly discussed the study portion of my training and my interactions with the rest of the group during free play.

Our photos from Jacksonville had, of course, been released to the public and the lives of all of us six astronaut slaves made the tabloids. Headline like "Real PhDs Are Also Real Slaves" and "Why Smart Girls Thrive in the Collar" accompanied the pictures. Erin and I were depicted as airheads who needed a master to take care of us. Denise and Angela were depicted as mean girls who needed a master to keep them in line. Cruelest of all, Susan and Cheryl were depicted as also rans who needed a master to provide them with the encouragement to meet their potential. Basically, we were all depicted as belonging in the collar in wasn't it a shame that most of our indentures would end in a few months?

Tabloid reporters hunted down our former friends, school mates and teachers. They'd sussed out my experiment with horny juice. They dug up sex stories written by Cheryl on various forums, some of which were first person stories of slavery. They found photos of Susan in bondage posted online. They also went sniffing after our families. Erin's younger brother got exactly the treatment he deserved from the Tabloids.

You see, The Sharks believes in regular service of cocks and pussy as a reminder for slaves of their true condition. But they don't just believe in genitals in general, they believe particular genitals attached to people the slave knew when they were free, as long as the owner of said genitals was willing to pass an interview and background check, sign a contract and an NDA, and endure a period of quarantine onsite prior to having their way with us. I believe they also charged room and board for the quarantine, which would be quite expensive. Erin's younger brother was such a visitor.

Erin's adult younger brother had never measured up to her standard and stopped trying at some point. He actually lost his job because he was unavailable during the quarantine period prior to his visit with her.

On the first day of his visit, he showed up during the practical and put Erin thru her paces in front of us: Display, present, slave fours, etc. He ended by having her kneel in front of a bench and bend over it, offering her rear to him. The instructor showed him how to use the grease gun to lubricate her ass and he took her anally with little preliminary, dominating her and making her like it as he had no doubt long wanted to do, but without achieving the effect he desired. Oh, she came all right; with the horny juice and her slave training, that was a given, but when he finished and she thanked him for the gift of his seed, his expression was puzzled because he had gotten what he asked for but that was not quite what he wanted. She treated him exactly the same as she would have treated any other master and some part of him recognized it.

When you're in the temple of Persephone, there's nothing special about anal sex and he was no different from any other man or woman who had had her during the practical. So he could fuck her up the ass; so could any number of other men or should I say males as I don't think he was much of a man.

The second day of his visit she gave him a blowjob under the direction of Slave Mistress Phyllis. Per her direction, Erin fingered and rubbed herself during the exercise and the humiliation of blowing her brother may have made the whole thing hotter for her. She managed to come pretty much the same time he did, which showed a good deal of control on her part. Erin showed him his come in her mouth, same as she would for any other master. She swallowed it at his command. When she thanked him for the gift of his seed, he lost it and slapped her. He was promptly ejected by security and an account of the encounter, complete with video, given to the press.

What a loser. Just because she succeeded more than him didn't mean he was a failure, except he made it so and now everyone knew it. I can't imagine his parents were pleased with him. Nor was that the end of it. As I found out later, this little experience would come back to bite him in a big way.

Erin, Susan, and I did really well in our training. By the third week, I was enjoying it. Not everything about it, but any modesty or inhibition I had once had were long gone. The pet play, the obedience training, the mindless repetition of mantras, the work as a serving slave in the highly restricted club run by the school, the academic training, and the practical left me content, except for that frustrating horniness that never let up. I liked locking myself in my kennel at the end of the day, knowing I was one day closer to completing training and mostly satisfied with my accomplishments for the day. I was starting to be proud to be a trainee of The Sharks.

I was less thrilled with the physical changes wrought by the horny juice. While they were carefully managing our doses and the variety of horny juice they were using was supposed to minimize the breast growth side effect, it was clear that my own bust had firmed and grown. I liked having A cup breasts but horny juice was part of the program. I hoped I would like having larger breasts when I got used to them, same as I liked locking myself in a kennel for the evening.

Cheryl did well in the slave instruction, but constantly struggled with the study portion of her training. Granted they pushed us pretty hard, but she seemed to be having trouble concentrating. The Sharks had other trainee slaves tutor her and she managed, with some struggled, to achieve her study goals.

Denise and Angela, on the other hand, were crushing the study sessions. Their problem was that they were often too slow to anticipate and obey their masters, for which they were often corrected. After three weeks at The Sharks, notwithstanding their high slave grades, they were still too self-centered to meet their slave potential.

Nothing so reminded me of how slavery had changed me then my service in the club. When I worked the club, the first question in my mind when I saw any member or guest was how I might best serve him or her. Thanks to my training, I often knew, just from their stance, what they wanted, and I was eager to give a patron what they desired.

The club had several areas, including an informal area where I often served as kitten slave, an easy service where you lie around, display yourself, accept affection from the guests, rub up against any guest who seems to want it, and attend to their sexual desires. There were also gaming rooms, a bar and restaurant area, and a variety of private rooms, some of which could be used casually and some of which could be reserved.

What happened in the club stayed in the club, though none of our members would want to show weakness in front of their colleagues in any case. In the private rooms, however, the fetishes flowed like water, though even there it was more among the guests, not the members. A surprising number of our patrons liked being dominated and even humiliated in various ways. Quite a few liked being spanked, though my most interesting case involved the public spanking of a particular guest when I became, in effect, an evangelist of the Temple of Persephone.

I was getting ready to serve in the club during late lunch when two women showed up, who I will call Mistress Alpha and Mistress Epsilon. Mistress Alpha was fortyish, had a national reputation and was wealthy beyond any normal person's dreams. Anything she wanted she could get, including membership in our club, which was extremely exclusive. She was, I learned later, a major stockholder in The Sharks.

I had been scheduled for a session of kitten play in the casual area of the club. However, when Mistress Alpha requested my actual human service in the restaurant area, her request was accommodated without question.

When Mistress Alpha entered the club, she was clearly in charge. Mistress Epsilon entered with her as her guest and the phrase, "all hat and no cattle" entered my mind just looking at her. Mistress Epsilon was quite pretty and fashionable and was, I was told, a student at an Ivy League university but she just didn't seem all that bright. She was also Mistress Alpha's paramour.

Mistress Epsilon seemed very nervous when I fetched their wine. I poured each glass as I knelt before each woman, extending their wine glasses to each of them in turn. Then I placed the bottle on their table and knelt awaiting further instructions.

"Six Seven One Nine, kneel directly to Epsilon's left, facing her left leg," said Mistress Alpha. I did so, kneeling close to Mistress Epsilon, facing her left leg as she sat her chair and Mistress Alpha said "Epsilon, pet her hair. She won't bite."

Mistress Epsilon leaned over and put her hands in my hair, stroking lightly. I smiled and leaned forward, supporting myself on my hands and rubbing my head again Mistress Epsilon's left leg. "You see," said Mistress Alpha "Six Seven One Nine is here to accommodate you and is pleased to do so. Slave spread for Epsilon," she ordered.

I knelt back keeping my knees spread, as I habitually do now when kneeling, and laced my fingers together behind my neck. "Look at her closely," said Mistress Alpha. "She is happy to be put on display. She will serve you however you like."

Mistress Epsilon looked at me curiously. She had clearly come from a state that where they didn't approve of slavery and had little experience dealing with slaves. Mistress Alpha laughed and Mistress Epsilon blushed and leaned over and tentatively caressed my breasts. My nipples stiffened.

Mistress Epsilon removed her hands, leaned back and asked "What's it like, being a slave?"

A common question for which I had a practiced answer. "Mistress, it's difficult to explain because it's not something one does, it's something one is," I answered. "It's an identity. It's an entire way of life. It's knowing that the most important thing in one's life is pleasing one's masters, but being confident that, most of the time, one can do so. It's being eager to do things one would not choose to do because that is what the master wills or what the life requires of one. It is knowing one's life is not one's own. It's existing for the pleasure of others. It's something one has to experience to understand, mistress."

Epsilon slipped a hand underneath the top of her skirt and started to rub herself as she listened to me and I said "Six Seven One Nine begs to serve your pleasure."

"Serve my pleasure instead by answering our questions," said Mistress Alpha. "Epsilon is quite curious about slavery, but she's hardly alone in that. It seems to have become an obsession with young women lately. Do you have any ideas on how she might safely satisfy her curiosity?"