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Prologue
Readers of a curious disposition may find it of interest to know something of the source of the text they now hold in their hands. Let me simply say that the information was bequeathed to me by a friend, a man who devoted his adult life to educating the young, spending much of his career in the European school which I have here named Von Hoffman’s.
Toward the end of his life, aware of the illness which was soon to claim him, my friend requested that I take possession of a large quantity of his private papers. Naturally I acceded to this, little suspecting what they might contain.
It was only after his funeral that I opened the first of the many boxes. Initially, I took the contents to be nothing more than records, souvenirs and keepsakes of his teaching career. But as I began to study the papers, I was shocked to discover my old friend’s secret; that for many years he had been one of the leading lights of a secret society of white slave traders, complicit in the abduction and sale of hundreds of western girls.
Box after box detailed the selection, capture and training of young women, and their sale as sex slaves. At first, I tried to tell myself that it was an elaborate fantasy – but the cumulative effect of the diaries, photographs and videotapes left me unable to deny the truth.
This discovery plunged me into a dilemma. Clearly my friend had entrusted this material to me in order to avoid its discovery by the authorities after his demise. Yet if I honoured his wishes, would I become complicit in his past crimes – and perhaps the future crimes of his associates?
Delving deeper into the files, I recognised some names and faces from newspapers of years past. How many mysterious disappearances and presumed deaths could be explained by these records, I wondered. Dozens? Hundreds?
You can well imagine that the question of what to do with the records caused me a number of sleepless nights. Yet in the end, I decided to honour my friend’s memory. I saw nothing to be gained from posthumously destroying the reputation of a well-liked and respected member of the community. It certainly would not help any of the girls; their fate was long since sealed. And I must confess that as I read through his files, I became increasingly fascinated by this secret world of pleasure and pain.
So, not without some trepidation, I have decided to offer one of these tales to you, the reader. In doing so, I have naturally edited the materials for publication. Chapters are variously compiled from the records of James, Natalie’s primary trainer, and from the diary that the girl herself was obliged by her masters to keep – though I will admit to having tidied much of the grammar, for Natalie herself is no great writer. Descriptive passages draw on filmed material, much of it recorded in secret, of the girl’s encounters.
Similarly, I have changed the names of all participants, as well as removing any references that might accurately date the events. No doubt this will encourage many to treat this volume as a work of fiction. Perhaps it is better that way. But that does not change what has happened to Natalie and her fellow students.
I have a photograph of her on my desk as I write, a full length image taken shortly after her arrival at the school. It shows an attractive girl in her late teens, clad in a crisp school uniform. She is slender, but has well formed breasts that push the thin fabric of her cotton blouse forward nicely. The blouse is short sleeved, revealing her slim arms, and tight, hugging her figure closely. A striped tie hangs between her breasts. She wears sandals with heavily built up heels that give a pleasing lift to her posture as she stands. Perhaps best of all, her pleated navy skirt is cut short well above the knee, allowing an unimpeded view of her slender, shapely legs.
Her face, too, is worthy of close study. She is not, perhaps, especially beautiful, but her regular features, pouting lips and cutely snubbed nose round off a delightful package. She stands with her eyes downcast, clearly self-conscious, as though trying to avoid the camera’s gaze. It is a pretty picture indeed, and one you could be forgiven for lingering over. But what of the others?
For there are other images in the file, photos in which Natalie is naked: kneeling, her knees splayed, breasts and cunt exposed; leaning forward, her lips parting to receive the erect cock being presented for her to suck; bound on all fours, her pretty face stained with tears, twisting in her bonds; a close up of Natalie’s bottom, a series of weals across the cheeks, marks left by a whip or a cane.
Perhaps these images of a girl undergoing slave training shock or appal you. If so, treat this book as a fiction, and you will sleep easier. But perhaps they intrigue or excite you. Perhaps you wonder what it would be like to be Natalie’s master, to train her to serve your every whim and desire. Perhaps you will be sufficiently intrigued by her tale to delve into old newspaper records, seeking stories of unsolved disappearances in a bid to guess the true identities of Natalie, or Penny, or Joanna. If so, know that these girls are among hundreds to have passed through Von Hoffman’s school. What follows is Natalie’s story; it is one of many.
The first time I heard of Von Hoffman’s was a few weeks after my seventeenth birthday. I was aware that my aunt and uncle had been considering different options for my education, as my school results had been poor. They had not involved me in these discussions, and I had not pressed the point. I suppose I could have made a fuss, but in truth I doubted I would miss my present school, where I had been unhappy since my parents’ death.
In any case, it would in all probability have made no difference. My aunt would have listened sympathetically, but she deferred in almost all decisions to my uncle, who was prone to lose his temper when challenged.
I had lived with them for a little over a year. Growing up, I had been largely happy; the only child from a loving middle class home, I had benefitted from loving, financially secure parents. I had done reasonably well at school, and from the start of my teens had dated regularly, if not seriously. All that changed when my parents had been killed in a road accident when I was fifteen. Devastated by the loss, I was sent to live with my only other relatives. Though I recalled my aunt with affection from my childhood, I had seen little of her since her marriage to a man who proved to be stern and remote. Thrown reluctantly into an unfamiliar school, away from my friends, I had become a lonely young woman, disinclined to form new social contacts or apply herself at school.
Occasionally, boys would still approach me for a date, but I would decline listlessly. Boys no longer held much appeal for me. I had romantic fantasies, of course, usually involving an older man, strong and commanding, who would carry me away to love and protect me. Looking back, it seems obvious that I was dreaming of a replacement for my lost father. In a way, I suppose that is what I ended up with.
That was before I had heard of Von Hoffman’s. On that day, which would change my life forever, I returned home as usual, to find a stranger with my aunt and uncle. The manner in which all three fell silent as I entered the room me wonder if they had been discussing me.
“Come in, Natalie,” my uncle said, in a tone that made an invitation sound like an order. “There is someone here you must meet.”
I did come in, dropping my bag at the doorway. I was dressed casually in t-shirt and jeans. I stood before the three of them, looking at our visitor uncertainly. He was in his early forties, I guessed, wearing a dark suit. An open briefcase was on the coffee table, and some official looking forms and papers were strewn about.
“This is James, Natalie,” my aunt said. “He’s from...” But my uncle raised his hand, and she immediately fell silent.
The stranger rose to his feet and stepped toward me. I realised he was tall, just over six feet, and seemed well built beneath his suit. I instinctively fell back slightly; though he had not made any overtly aggressive move, I could not help feeling a little threatened.
“Hello, Natalie,” he said. “I’m very pleased to meet you at last.” He had a deep, powerful voice, and something in his mien suggested he was used to being obeyed.
“Hello,” I replied and was annoyed to hear my voice tremble slightly. This seemed to amuse him.
“My name is James,” he continued. “I’m a teacher at a school in Europe. Your uncle contacted us about you coming to study with us for a while. How would you feel about that?”
I shrugged, unsure. “OK, I suppose. Maybe.”
“Good!” He smiled, icily. “I have to tell you, Natalie, that Von Hoffman’s is one of the most exclusive girls’ schools in Europe. We take only a select few pupils every year. But your uncle managed to persuade me to come and meet you, and I must say, you are every bit as charming as your picture.”
I shifted my weight onto my other foot, starting to feel uncomfortable. “What picture?” I asked.
James seemed unsurprised by my question. He reached into the briefcase and pulled out a photograph. “Your uncle sent us this,” he explained, “so that we could get a better idea of the sort of girl you are.” He showed me the photo, and I almost groaned aloud.
It had been taken a little over a year ago, on my last summer holiday with my parents. It was a full length picture of me, on a beach, clad only in a brief bikini. It had been the first time I had bought a bikini rather than a swimsuit, and I had been delighted with the results; boys and young men had flocked about me, and I had noted plenty of older men eyeing me as well. My body was changing; it was that summer that I had realised how attractive I was to men, and I suppose I had flaunted myself, finding pleasure in teasing them. I had yet to learn that such behaviour can have consequences.
And this was the picture my uncle had decided to send to my possible new teachers! I had not even realised he had a copy of it. I blushed with embarrassment, but James, though clearly aware of my reaction, did not put the photo immediately away; rather, he held it for a few moments, his eyes moving from it to me, with a small smile. I knew instinctively that he was picturing what I would look like now, so clad. I felt close to tears; how could he look at me like that so openly? Why didn’t my uncle stop him? But then, he carefully replaced the photo in his briefcase, and closed it decisively.
“I’ve seen all I need to see,” he said, addressing my uncle. “The Von Hoffman School would be very happy to accept Natalie as a student.” As my uncle smiled, apparently delighted, James turned to me. “I look forward to having you as my student, my dear,” he said. “There is a great deal that I want to teach you!” Before I could ask what he meant by that, he picked up his briefcase, shook hands with my uncle, and left.
And so it was decided that I would be sent to boarding school in Europe. I was largely indifferent to my fate, having lost interest in schoolwork and drifted away from my friends. I would miss my aunt, who had been kind to me, but not my uncle, who had always appeared to resent having to take me in. My aunt showed me some glossy brochures of the school, which looked appealing; it was located in an old chateau which had been used by the German army during World War II, and subsequently converted.
I was somewhat disconcerted by the school uniform, which was sent to me some days in advance of my flight. I first questioned why I needed a uniform at all. My comprehensive school allowed sixth formers to wear their own clothes, judging us mature enough to be granted that level of freedom. Was this fancy European school going to treat me like a child? That aside, I was not happy with the uniform itself. The thin blouse was tight on me, almost as though it was a size too small, and short; it could only just be tucked into the skirt. And the skirt itself was more of a gymslip. Was it really designed to be so brief? I felt unhappy at being obliged to how so much of my legs, especially when I remembered how James had looked at me. I could not even wear tights, as an accompanying note stated they were prohibited due to the warm climate. “Perhaps you can get a larger size when you arrive,” my aunt suggested. I sighed; since the note also stated that students were expected to arrive at the school in uniform, I had to resign myself to wearing these clothes for the time being at least.
In due course, then, I was dispatched to the airport to begin the journey to my new life. I was nervous, of course, for I knew very little of what I would be taught, or how; the school had only said, enigmatically, that there was a great deal of individual tuition undertaken by experts in their field.
I slept through much of the plane journey, though a passenger in the next seat attempted to engage me in conversation; used to this kind of approach from men, I answered politely without encouraging further questions.
I had been told I would be met at the airport, and sure enough, recognised my name on a sign held by a large man about twice my age. I approached him apprehensively, unsure if he even spoke English, but he clearly recognised my uniform.
“Hello,” I said, adding somewhat redundantly, “I’m Natalie.”
It was as if I hadn’t spoken. “You have your passport?” he asked. I nodded, and not stopping to wonder why he might need to see it, held out the document, still in my hand after going through customs. He took it from me, glanced at it, then to my surprise slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket.
“You will accompany me to the school,” he said. “His voice had a German accent. “You will address me, and all the tutors, as ‘Master’. Do you understand?”
I was startled at the sharpness of his tone. What could I possibly have done to annoy him? But it seemed foolish to risk angering him, so I meekly nodded and said, “Yes.”
He merely continued to stare coldly at me, as though waiting for something more. I swallowed, afraid of him, even though I resented being intimidated in this way. “Yes... Master,” I whispered.
Apparently satisfied, he turned sharply and marched for the exits. For a moment, I remained where I was. I knew that I stood on the threshold of a major change in my life, and that scared me. But what choice did I have? My aunt might be prepared to buy me a plane ticket home, but I doubted my uncle would permit it. And I had, in any case, just given up my passport. The truth was my fate now lay in the hands of the mysterious men who ran the Von Hoffman’s school. I had no choice. I picked up my bag and followed him out.
Outside, the man was waiting by a dark car. He opened the back door and impatiently beckoned me in. I paused at the door and looked around, suddenly sensing that entering the vehicle would be a terrible mistake. Then the driver snapped, “What are you waiting for, girl?”, and I stepped into the car.
He slammed the door shut as I sat down, feeling the smooth leather against the backs of my thighs. There was a screen separating the back of the car from the driver’s seat, making conversation impossible, even had I the courage to try.
Instead, I tried to compose myself. It was hard. I was tired, and alone, and in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers. I was a little afraid, and had to blink back tears.
We drove for almost two hours, leaving the confines of the city, travelling through a series of increasingly small and remote villages. The scenery was magnificent, though I was in no fit state of mind to appreciate it. In time, however, the journey ended.
We drove up a side road, which ended at a pair of metal gates, set into a stone wall that must have been at least twenty feet high. The driver activated a remote control, and the gates swung smoothly open. The driveway beyond swept up through magnificent grounds and well-tended gardens. I saw a few other students, other girls in their late teens; I noted that their uniforms, like mine, were tight fitting and briefly skirted. Interestingly, they all appeared to be unusually pretty.
The car halted before the main doors of the chateau. The man opened the door for me, and I stepped out, looking about me curiously. It was early evening, and the light was beginning to fade. The doors opened, and a stern looking middle-aged woman stepped out, dressed in a uniform reminiscent of a hospital matron. She beckoned me over.
“So you are our new student,” she said, and looked me up and down with a vaguely disapproving air. “Well, you seem to have potential, but we shall see.” I opened my moth to speak, but she hushed me with a tetchy shake of her head. “No questions. Come with me; the masters wish to see you right away.” She smiled coldly. “That should answer any questions you may have.”
I followed her into the school, up a wide stairway and down a richly-carpeted landing to a large oak door. She knocked, and entered after a moment. She beckoned me in.
I found myself standing in a well-furnished office. Behind a large desk sat an elderly man; on either side of him stood a younger man, one of whom I recognised as James. The walls were lined with bookcases, filled not only with large, probably antique volumes but with small sculptures and ornaments. There was also a large leather armchair to one side, an oversized pouffe matching it. There was nowhere obvious for me to sit, and nobody invited me to sit; instead I stood, my hands clasped before me.
“Well, Natalie,” said the elderly man, “We meet at last. Master James has told me much about you. He thinks you will be an excellent student at our school. What do you think of that?”
“I will try to be, sir,” I said, and then, as he raised his eyebrows, added, “I mean, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”
“That’s better,” he said, rising to his feet. “You may think some of our rules strange, young lady, but they have served this school well for many years – more, even, than I have taught here! I am Master Julius, the head of this school. You know Master James; this other gentleman is Master Gregory.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Masters,” I said.
He smiled thinly. “Now, it is our custom to meet new students personally, to find out a little more about them, and to introduce them to some of our rules. The first thing you must know is that girls here speak when they are spoken to. They must immediately and truthfully answer any question put to them by a master, or they are punished, severely. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” I replied, though of course I did not.
“Excellent!” Julius opened a draw and to my surprise, took out a long, slim cane. He stepped from behind the desk, as Gregory moved back and behind me. I found my breath quickening in fear, my eyes fixed on the cane. I dared not even imagine what he planned to use it for; I had never been beaten in my life!
“When I say punished,” Julius continued, “I mean you will be punished physically, with this cane, or something very much like it. Indeed, if you disobey or hesitate within the next few minutes, you will be beaten with it, and severely!”
I gasped at the threat, and stepped back – but walked into Master Gregory, who I realised had positioned himself between me and the door. I jumped, startled, and tried to regain my composure, though the three men were now surrounding me. I hugged myself protectively.
“Enough of that!” Master Julius barked. “Stand straight, arms at your sides!”
I shook at the ferocity of his words, but put my hands down. I tried to hold myself still, but I could not stop trembling. I looked from Master James to Master Julius, and was dismayed to see a look of excitement in their eyes. They were enjoying this, getting a thrill from intimidating me so! I felt my hands clutching nervously at the hem of my skirt, knowing that every tremor of my legs would be visible to them.
“Now for some questions,” Master Julius continued. “Natalie, would you say you are a good girl?”
“I... I... yes, Master,” I said, my voice trembling.
“I see. So you are telling me that you are a virgin?”
I gasped, shocked at the intrusive question. What business of it was his? I was old enough to do what I wanted! I shrank away, my eyes filling with tears despite myself.
“Well, come on! I’m sure a good looking young lady like you has some experience. Have you taken a penis or two between your legs – or maybe between your lips?”
“No!” I cried out, mortified.
“Really?” Master Julius swished the cane through the air. “Well, we can check that soon enough.” He stepped back. “Your turn, James.”
I looked fearfully at Master James. I brushed a tear from my eye, but then nervously returned my hand to my side. He smiled at my obvious fear.
“We like to get a good look at the quality of the goods we have to work with,” he said. “Now, we’ve all seen the pretty picture your uncle kindly supplied, but it’s obvious you’ve grown up a bit since then. So I want you to strip, Natalie, completely.”
For a moment, I could not even react, I was so shocked. But then the full impact of his words set in. He could not be serious, surely? He was my teacher, and I was just a girl. I looked to him, pleadingly – but I saw the gloating expression on his face. It was only then that I realised the full extent of the danger I was in.
With a moan, I turned and fled for the door – but I had forgotten Master Gregory. He caught me easily, wrapping his big arms about me in a bear hug, pressing my arms to my sides. With a laugh, he lifted me from my feet. I shrieked, struggling desperately, kicking my feet in the air. “Let me go!” I screamed. “You can’t do this, you bastards!”
“Tie the bitch down,” Master Julius snapped. I was spun about and flung on my belly over the pouffe. James seized my wrists and dragged them forward. I felt them pressed into leather buckles fixed to the foot of the stool; before I had a chance to catch my breath, I had been expertly fastened in place.
Frantic, certain that I was about to be raped, I pulled at the cuffs. They held me firmly. I kicked back, but felt my legs seized. Looking back, I saw that James and Gregory had taken hold of one of my legs each. I struggled, but they were far stronger than me. The two men exchanged a look and, grinning, stood, lifting my legs and hips up, and stepped apart, spreading my legs. Holding my left leg firmly below the knee, Master James moved his right hand up the interior of my thigh, caressing me with his thumb. “No!” I screamed. “Stop it!”
“Enough of that,” Master Julius said, “It’s time for her punishment. You can enjoy her later, James.” Before I could stop to consider his ominous words, the two men had pushed me down, my belly tight over the footstool. I felt a strap passed over my back, and I was buckled down firmly across the waist. I strained my back against my bonds, but they held me well.
“Now, Natalie,” Master Julius said, “I told you what would happen if you disobeyed, didn’t I? Now, you’re going to find out that I meant every word! I’m going to beat you, my pretty, and on your bare bottom!”
“Oh no... no... you can’t be serious!” My words were coming in gasps as I struggled to articulate through my sobs. Surely he was bluffing! But then I heard him crouch down behind me, and felt his bony hands at my waist – and abruptly, the short school skirt was pulled down to my knees. “No!” I wept plaintively, as I felt his hands again at my waist. But I felt his old fingers slipping under the elastic of my cotton panties, easing them down as his hands moved, squeezing and fondling, down my bottom and thighs. I felt my face flush with a mix of anger and shame as my bottom was revealed to him and his friends. Instinctively, I squeezed my buttocks together, trying to protect whatever shred of privacy remained to me. This only made him laugh.
“My, what a pretty little bottom you have, Natalie!” he said. “Still a little shy about showing it to us, I think. Believe me, modesty will soon be the least of your worries!”
To my horror, I felt his gnarled hands placed firmly on my asscheeks, the steely fingers sinking into the soft flesh, as he forcibly parted my buttocks. I groaned as the three monsters bent over me for a close view of my intimate rear, close enough that I could feel their breath on my skin.
“A tight little hole,” James remarked. “Very nice! I’ll look forward to exploring it deeply.”
“I don’t blame you,” Julius said. “But not for a while yet, remember. For the time being, we must teach this little lady a lesson in obedience.”
As he spoke, his fingers probed deeper between my cheeks, poking at my anus in a hideously intimate fashion. His touch then moved downwards, between my legs, his fingers expertly caressing the most private parts of my body. “Oh, no!” I sobbed. “Please, stop!” No one had ever touched me there before. He chuckled. “Not enjoying it yet, Natalie? You will, my dear, you will.”
Although I had experimented a little with masturbation, my exploration of my own body had been tentative, gentle. Julius was neither of these things. He caressed the button of my clitoris firmly, sending waves of unfamiliar sensation coursing through me. I tried to clench my thighs onto his hand, to forbid him further access, but it was too late – he was already where he wanted to be. To my shame, I felt myself beginning to moisten between my legs. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered, as his index finger stroked the folds of my sex lips. Under his remorseless assault, I felt myself starting to open for him, for the first time in my life. I was tense, frightened, confused by the way my body was responding – every inch of my skin seemed to be alive, tingling, as he slipped one finger inside me. Was this how I was supposed to respond to such an assault?
He slipped his finger deeper inside me, until it pressed against the fragile resistance of my hymen. “She’s a virgin,” he reported to the others, and abruptly withdrew his hand. I felt relief at this, but also something that I later recognised as regret.
He stood up. “At least you won’t get extra strokes for lying about your virginity,” he told me, as I looked at him over my shoulder. “But you’re going to take twenty with the cane for disobeying a direct order from one of your masters. I think that will teach you to be a little more cooperative in future.”
I flinched as I heard the cane swish menacingly through the air. It was just a practice swing, but I tensed my buttocks instinctively. Julius chuckled. “That won’t help you, Natalie! You’re really going to feel this!”
Again, I heard the cane whistle through the air – but this time the sound was followed by a shocking, burning line of pain across my bottom! My entire body froze at the terrible smart, my hips thrusting against the footstool. My mouth widened in a gasp, but I was too shocked to scream. I had never known such anguish! But then I heard again the swish of the narrow cane. I opened my mouth to beg them to stop, but before I could speak I felt a second stripe of burning fire slashed across my bottom, crossing the first. The two waves of pain crossed each other, overwhelming all other senses. As the initial agony began to subside, I realised I was struggling frantically, pulling at the restraints that held me down, to no avail. Then the cane fell again, and I heard myself scream.
Repeatedly my bottom fell victim to the cane’s savage bite. I shrieked hysterically, my bare legs thrashing wildly, tangled in my skirt and panties. I felt the cane strike me, sinking into my tender flesh, sometimes across one buttock, sometimes diagonally. A few blows were targeted at the tops of my thighs, where they curved into my cheeks.
“That’s ten!” I vaguely heard Master Julius crow. “Half way through, Natalie! Enjoying your first taste of discipline? There’s plenty more where this came from!”
“Please... please stop!” I wept. “Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you?” But as I turned to look at him through my tears, I could see no sign of mercy. To my horror, I saw him raise his arm once more – and again the brutal cane fell!
I lost count of the blows that rained down on my poor behind. All I could do was scream, and throw myself from side to side, in a futile attempt to deflect the worst of the pain. In the end, even that was beyond my strength, and I suffered the last of the beating lying limply over the stool, sobbing into the leather.
“That’s enough for now,” Master Julius said at last, his breath quickened by exertion and excitement. “Perhaps you could assist Natalie with her clothes, Gregory.”
I moaned inarticulately as I felt Gregory’s hands on my legs. Ostensibly he was positioning them so as best to slip my knickers back on, but he was not shy about taking the chance to stroke my bared, sweat-slickened flesh. He moved the cotton underwear slowly up my legs to my sore and abused bottom, patting it as he did so. He then unhurriedly repeated the same process with my skirt, before unbinding my wrists and waist.
“Stand up,” said Master Julius sharply. I tried to obey, though even the slightest movement sent new waves of pain scorching through me. I pushed myself up gingerly, my hands on the large pouffe. The leather was slick from the sweat of my waist and hips; the thin blouse was sticking to my belly with perspiration. I struggled to my feet, shaking uncontrollably, my body occasionally wracked by choking sobs. I was partly in shock, but at the same time the pain kept my mind horribly clear.
“You’ve found out what happens when you disobey your masters,” James said sternly. “Believe me, that was only a taste of what we can do to you. So I’m going to give you an order, and you’re going to obey it. Aren’t you?”
“Y... yes, Master,” I stammered.
“Good. Now then, I think you can recall what we want. Strip.”
With a whimper, I dropped my head, cowed. I did not want to be naked before these evil men. I was sick with fear of what they might have planned for me. But I could not bear the thought of being beaten again. I reached up and loosened my tie.
“Come on, missy, don’t keep us waiting,” Gregory snapped as I dropped the tie to the floor. I unbuttoned my blouse but, as it fell open, beginning to reveal me, I shied away from removing it altogether and stood with the sides clutched about me. “Please... please let me go,” I whimpered, though I knew it was futile. Master Julius slapped the cane menacingly in the palm of his hand. “Now,” he said.
Defeated, I slipped the blouse off my shoulders. I stood before them in the short skirt and bra. I loosened the fastening of the skirt; it slipped easily down my legs to my feet, and I stepped from it.
“Better,” said Julius approvingly. I glanced up, and found myself both terrified and awestruck by the lascivious look in the three men’s eyes; I had never suspected I could be the object of such powerful lust. Julius pointed the cane at my breasts. I hung my head and reached behind me, unhooking my bra and dropping it to the side. Swallowing, before I could panic and change my mind, I pushed my knickers down to my ankles and stepped out of them. I straightened up, now entirely nude, utterly exposed before these predatory men. Instinctively I tried to shield myself from their rude looks, one hand across my breasts, the other before my groin.
“None of that!” James barked. “When a girl at this school is ordered to strip, it’s because we want to see her properly. Stand up straight, hands at your sides!”
I whimpered a tiny protest, but I obeyed. I looked from one to the other, looking for some kind of reaction. I had never been seen naked by a man before. I found myself hoping desperately that they liked what they saw. At that moment, when I was at my most vulnerable and scared, I needed the reassurance that they found me attractive, that I was wanted as a woman. I could not have borne it if they had mocked me, or sneered at my body. But they did not. I saw their eyes on me, drinking me in, and knew that I was beautiful to them. In that moment, as they looked at me, I felt a fresh aware of the effect my beauty could have on men – a strange kind of power.
“That’s more like it,” Julius said after a long moment. “Now then, Natalie, kneel down. That’s right, back on your heels. Put your hands behind your back and keep your shoulders back. What pretty little titties you have, Natalie!” I flushed anew at his words, but I positioned myself as he ordered.
“Now put your knees widely apart, Natalie.”
I gasped. “Oh, please no, Master! Don’t make me!”
“I’m getting tired of your constant protests, girl!” James shouted. “I’m starting to think we let you off too lightly. Do you want to feel the cane again already, is that it?”
“No!” I sobbed. “Please, not that again!”
“Then open your legs, bitch! Show us your cunt!” He was screaming at me now. In tears of shame, I opened my knees, slowly, allowing them a clear view of my inner thighs and most private intimacies.
“Finally,” sighed Master Julius. “Now, Natalie, I want you to remember that position. When one of your masters speaks to you, that is the position you will adopt, whether you are clothed or naked. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Now, you have probably realised by now that this is not an ordinary school,” Julius continued. “You will receive an education here, but of a very particular kind. And when you graduate, you won’t be going home. You see, my dear, Von Hoffman’s specialises in the training and selling of slave girls.”
Perhaps it seems absurd, given what had already taken place, that I should be surprised. But everything had happened so quickly that I had not had time to consider the motives that lay behind the well-organised abuse to which I had been subjected. His words were like cold water flung in my face. For the first time, I began to understand the true danger I was in. Being raped by my teachers was the least of my worries.
“Your life from now on will be quite different,” Julius continued. “You would be well advised to forget your family and friends – you will not see them again. And don’t hold out any hope of escape – Von Hoffman’s has plenty of friends in the local police and judiciary.
“You must dedicate yourself from now on to pleasing your masters. You have a beautiful body, Natalie, and we are going to get a great deal of pleasure from it. Believe me, over the decades this school has taken thousands of girls no different from you and taught them to be no more than obedient, submissive slaves. There’s nothing special about you. We will train you to please us, punish you when you disobey, and ultimately sell you. We have an exclusive and very long list of clients, and I can think of several straight away who would be interested in placing a bid for you.”
He spoke calmly, casually, as though this horrifying revelation of my fate was the most normal thing in the world. I clenched my fists behind me, in a bid to keep from fainting. “But... you can’t!” I protested. “It’s illegal! And besides, people will look for me!”
Julius and the others roared with laughter. “You stupid bitch, do you think we’re amateurs?” James asked. “We’ve been doing this for years. We know how to make sure that girls like you disappear without any questions being asked. You’re ours now, and the sooner you accept that, the easier your life as a slave will be.”
“Enough of this,” Julius interrupted. “If Natalie chooses to learn her lessons the hard way, that’s her concern. We’ll break her in easily enough.” He spoke as though as I wasn’t even there! Was I so insignificant? My blood boiled, but any protest was curbed by the sight of the cane which still lay on his desk. My bottom still hurt, agonisingly so.
Behind me, Gregory opened the door. I did not dare look around. I heard soft footsteps and, to my surprise, another girl knelt down beside me. I glanced at her. She seemed at first glance to be a little younger than me, with shoulder length brown hair. She was a slim girl, but any lack of voluptuousness in her figure was compensated by the doll-like prettiness of her face. She was clad in the usual Von Hoffman’s uniform of short sleeved white blouse, tie, and gymslip-style skirt. She knelt in the same position as I, back straight, shoulders back, her knees widely spread.
“This is Joanna,” Master James said. “Look at her.”
Obediently, I turned my head to look at the newcomer. Our eyes met. She was pretty and well groomed. I could only image the contrast with my tear stained, distraught features and naked, beaten body. But then I saw recognition in Joanna’s eyes and realised that at some point in the past, she had received the same ruthless introduction to her slavery.
“Joanna will show you some of the things you need to know here,” James continued. “Where you shower. Where you sleep. She will also be able to tell you why you should obey your masters. Won’t you, Joanna?” He smiled cruelly at her, and I saw a brief flicker of fear course across her pretty features for a moment, before she recovered herself and meekly replied, “Yes, Master.”
“Good. Now stand up, girls.” We obeyed, I still nude. “Natalie, pick up your clothes. You may dress after you have showered and not before, is that clear?”
“Yes, master,” I choked. I crouched down, bending my knees, to retrieve the clothing I had earlier been made to discard – it was the most modest way I could think of to follow his orders.
“Now Joanna, you know what to do. Be off, both of you.”
Joanna bowed her head briefly in acknowledgement; not knowing what else to do, I followed suit. I wanted only to be out of that fearful room, away from these evil men who had taken such delight in hurting and humiliating me. I followed Joanna into the corridor, and the door closed behind us.
Finally, we were alone. I no longer had any idea of how much time had passed in the office; only that finally this was some small respite from the threats, the enforced undressing, the terrible beating. I hugged the clothes to me, and looked to Joanna, my mind full of frightened questions. But I saw the answer in her eyes, mixed with compassion – that it was true, we were captives, these men would prey upon us and force our obedience, making us their slaves.
I tried to speak, but all that came from my lips were sobs. Joanna reached out to take me in her arms, and gratefully, I sank into her embrace, crying on her shoulder, a naked, flogged slave.
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