 |
|||
|
|
Someone was shaking me awake. Through the fog of sleep, I heard someone calling my name. Where was I? I had been having the most awful nightmare. I had been kidnapped, forced to strip, and beaten. Why was I not in my own bed? Then I woke. Joanna was sitting on the bed, shaking me awake. She was naked, and looked anxious. Only then did it dawn on me that my dream had been non fantasy, but the awful truth.
My heart began to race, and I felt panic course through me. Joanna must have spotted my reaction, for she leaned forward and pressed one finger gently to my lips, hushing me.
“We all have to go to the showers, first thing every day,” she said. “We are not allowed to dress until we do. Do you understand?”
I nodded, and raised myself onto my elbows. As I did so, I became aware of an odd sensation on my chest and neck, as though something had dried on my skin. I started to look down, but Joanna stopped me. “Don’t,” she said. “Let’s just get you cleaned up.”
I suppose on some level I realised what had happened in the night, but at the time I shied away from considering it. Instead, grateful to be looked after by someone, relieved not to be alone, I let Joanna encourage me from the bed to kneel before the dormitory door.
There were six girls in all, kneeling naked in line, ready to be inspected by our masters. I was starting to shake as the full terror of my situation began to dawn on me once more. Joanna recognised this, and did what she could to distract me.
“This is Naomi,” she said, indicating a small, pretty girl with short-cropped brown hair, “and she’s been here for two months. This,” she said, indicating a statuesque, olive-skinned young woman with elegant features and long, near-black hair, “is Penny. She’s been here longer than the rest of us.”
We exchanged nervous smiles. It was hard to do much else. Knowing I was not alone in my plight was comforting in a sense, yet it also deepened my sense of helplessness. It brought home the fact that mine was not a random abduction, but part of a highly organised plot by men who would ensure I had no chance of escape.
Our introductions were interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock. I tensed as the door swung open. A man I did not recognise stood there. He looked us over, casually but appreciatively, his eyes lingering on my bared breasts, as we knelt submissively before him. “Out, slaves,” he said curtly. “To the showers.”
A number of other girls were already walking in the same direction down the wide, wood-panelled passageway. All were nude and, I could not help noticing, all were lovely. They were all of a similar age to me and my dormmates, being mostly in their late teens, some perhaps at the very start of their twenties. Each, I saw with some alarm, had their pubic areas shaved completely bare, like a child’s.
A number of masters stood nearby. Clearly, they were enjoying the parade of choice young flesh before them. Some were fully dressed and watching casually; others merely wore robes, and were strolling with the slaves to the showers. I saw one man with his arm about the shoulders of a slim young girl; another reached out, patting the bottoms of his favourites as they passed by. I recognised him as Master Gregory, and shuddered involuntarily as I remembered how he had taken part in my humiliation the previous evening. As we neared him, his eyes fell on Penny’s shapely form, and he grinned. He fell into step alongside her, his palm on her well-formed behind, feeling her buttocks move under his palm as she walked.
The showers were not unlike a larger version of the gym showers at my old school; a communal area with rows of overhead faucets gushing jets of hot water. Each had a soap dish attached, containing a fresh bar together with (I was pleased to note) some shampoo. There was ample room for all the girls to shower, though we were packed in quite closely. There were, I suppose, a little under three dozen girls there in all.
The girls moved into vacant spaces, the masters herding any who dallied in with slaps or shoves. I went for the first available space, trying to attract as little attention as possible. Master Gregory steered Penny into the space next to me. He was now as naked as she, having discarded his robe at the entrance. Pressed close against the girl’s back, he reached past her and turned the shower on. Instantly, hot water poured over the pair.
He looked over at me, nervously watching him with his chosen slave. “Want some company under there, Natalie?” he asked.
“No!” I said instinctively; then my eyes widened in fear as I realised I should not have spoken to a master so. Fortunately, he was in a good mood; he just laughed at me, and, one arm round Penny’s waist, reached over and gave my still-sore buttocks a painful squeeze. “Then what are you waiting for, baby? Get showered, you’ll feel better!”
I turned on the shower; the water was indeed a relief. I reached for the soap and began to clean myself. To my left, Gregory was using the soap to create a rich lather on Penny’s skin. He rubbed his hands over her arms, back, breasts and belly. Penny did not attempt to resist, though I thought I could read unhappiness in her features when he was not looking. Gregory smoothed Penny’s long hair back behind her shoulders, it now thick and matted with the water. He tilted her head back and kissed her hungrily, holding her body close to him, she now slippery with soap and water. She pressed closely to him, her arms about his neck.
Then he pushed her back. “Clean me,” he ordered. A little apprehensively, Penny took the soap, rolled it about in her hands, and then began to rub it into her master’s skin. He turned, so that she started with his back, massaging the soap into his shoulders. Then he turned to face her, watching her intently as she washed his chest, desire clear on his face. I saw that his penis was standing erect from his body; Penny seemed to be trying to stand back a little in order to avoid it.
Gregory’s hand pressed down on Penny’s shoulders, and the girl went easily and naturally to her knees before him. She continued to wash her master, soaping his legs. Now, however, his cock was level with her face, and she had to move her head from side to side in order to avoid brushing against the engorged member. But as she made to get up, after crouching to wash Gregory’s feet, his hand in her hair stopped her.
I gasped with horror as Gregory held the slave’s head in place at his groin, drawing her face to his cock. It brushed against her cheek; Penny flinched, instinctively trying to pull away, but was held steady. She ceased any resistance as his fingers squeezed her head. Though Penny was clearly loath to fellate the man, she nevertheless humbly kissed the tip of the stiff weapon presented to her.
“That’s a good girl,” Gregory breathed. “You’ve learned a lot about obedience since you came here, haven’t you? Now get that tongue working, and have a good taste of your master!”
Penny parted her lips and let Gregory’s cock slip naturally into her mouth. She put her hands on his hips in an attempt to hold him steady, as he pulled her head fully onto him. Despite myself, I could not look away as she mouthed the older man, her cheek forced outward by the tip of the sword, her lips forming an ‘o’ about the shaft. Her head bobbed back and forth as she sucked; I realised that she had done this many times before.
“That’s my baby!” Gregory leered. “Now, get ready for your treat...” He pulled her face even closer into him, almost smothering her in his pubic hair. Penny’s grasp on his hips tensed and I saw her toes curl as she struggled to catch a breath, but she was held firmly in place. “A mouthful of cream coming up!” he laughed. “Swallow it all down, like a good girl...”
Then his back arched and he grunted with pleasure as he shot his seed into Penny’s mouth. The girl made a choking noise, and spluttered, as she swallowed it choicelessly. After the long moment of his climax, Master Gregory loosened his grip on Penny and she moved back. “Don’t miss a drop now, young lady,” he warned. Obediently, Penny licked at him, as the now partly relaxed weapon slipped from his lips, catching the last of his discharge on her tongue and swallowing it down. Only then did Gregory, satisfied, pat the girl roughly on the head, leaving her kneeling, head bowed, in the cascading water. I felt as though I should go to her and ask if she was OK, but I was, perhaps shamefully, more concerned with my own future. Would the men make me do such things? Would I be able to stand it?
Our showers completed, we were allowed to take a towel from the racks provided and dry ourselves. We then had to replace the towels and, still naked, return to our dormitories. Only then were we permitted to dress, albeit in the somewhat revealing school uniforms.
The morning ritual continued with breakfast. We queued in turn to be given our portions of a thick porridge. It was unsweetened and not particularly appetising, but Joanna assured me that it was nutritious. “They make sure we have a balanced diet,” she explained. “They want to keep us healthy.” At the same time, the matron gave us each a pill. “Take it,” Penny whispered to me. “It’s a contraceptive. You don’t want to get pregnant here.” I shuddered, as I considered what lay behind that apparent concern.
Over breakfast, I was able to talk a little more to my new friends Joanna, Penny and Naomi – it was one of the few times of the day when we were not under the observation of our masters. They had come to Von Hoffman’s through a variety of means. Naomi was an orphan, who had grown up in foster homes. She had won a scholarship aimed at disadvantaged young people – though not for her academic prowess, it had swiftly become clear, but for her sexual desirability. Joanna had run away from home after a row with her parents; the kindly man who had offered to find her a bed in a shelter had turned out to be an agent of the school on the lookout for unwary young girls such as herself. Penny had been a student in her first year at university, abducted one night while walking home from a nightclub. Finding herself seized from behind by two men, the girl had put up a fight, assuming she had been spotted by an opportunistic rapist. They had covered her mouth and nose with a drugged cloth, rendering her unconscious. She had awoken alone and naked, handcuffed to a bunk in a cabin aboard a privately owned boat, part of a small shipment of girls being transported to the school. Many members of the crew had visited Penny in her cabin over the next few days, making heavy demands on the outraged and frightened girl. Even before arriving at Von Hoffman’s, she had discovered something of the nature of a slave girl’s life.
To my surprise, the girls told me that there were some traditional lessons held at the school, primarily in languages and domestic sciences. The school’s trade in flesh extended across much of the globe, and it was a good selling point if a slave could understand something of the language of her new master. In addition, the captive girls had to perform the chores of cleaning and cooking for which a school would normally hire local women – an impractical approach, given the unique nature of a Von Hoffman’s education.
I, however, would spend my first day going through the induction process that every new girl must experience. Joanna, charged as my guide for this process, therefore escorted me to the matron’s office after breakfast.
The office was in another part of the buildings, and we had to cross some of the grounds to reach it. Walking through the beautifully kept gardens, on that sunny day in early autumn, I felt briefly that Joanna and I might almost be classmates at an ordinary boarding school. But then I recalled the sadistic beating and intrusive, intimate caresses my teachers had subjected me to the previous evening, the sight of Penny having her mouth raped in the showers for all to witness; I saw the high walls surrounding the estate and the barbed wire topping them, and the knowledge that I was a captive came crashing down once more, almost overwhelming me with despair.
As we walked, I noticed a number of youths about. They appeared to be working as labourers in the gardens; one boy emerged from the stables as we neared them. They stopped work as we approached, leaning on trees or hoes to watch us. “Who are they?” I whispered to Joanna.
“They are local boys who work here,” she whispered back. “The masters employ several they think can be trusted not to reveal what they do to us here. They are not allowed to touch us, but sometimes they are given a girl for the night, either to reward them or punish the girl.”
We were passing several of the lads by this time, and they were blatantly staring, looking us up and down. “We’ve got a bit of fresh meat here,” said one, plainly referring to me. I resisted the temptation to glance at him, but carried on. I was holding myself stiffly, feeling very self-conscious, as a girl does under men’s unwelcome attention; I noticed Joanna was reacting similarly to their lewd remarks. “Wouldn’t mind a piece of that ass,” laughed another boy. They were standing close, not impeding our passage, but crowding us a little in an undeniably threatening manner. I instinctively huddled closer to Joanna; though she had said the boys were not allowed to assault us, I knew that this half dozen or so could easily seize us, overpower us and have their way with us if they so decided. Though the boys were no older than I – I suspected a few of them were even younger – I realised I was potentially as much at their mercy as I was of the ruthless men who ran this school.
The feeling of unease they induced remained with me even once we had passed the boys, and their wolf whistles and mocking calls had faded. Any fleeting hope that they might help me had gone. There was no one who would aid my escape. The encounter had only reinforced the true helplessness of my situation.
The next step was a medical examination by the school matron. She met us at the clinic, as coldly efficient as she had been the previous evening, looking me up and down emotionlessly. Her eyes flickered briefly over to Joanna. “Wait in the corner,” she said. Obediently, the slim teenager knelt out of the way in the standard position, knees open. The matron then returned her full attention to me. “Take your clothes off,” she said. Nervously, under her imperious gaze, I removed my blouse. Oddly, I was even more wary of being naked before this woman than before my masters. I suppose on some level I realised that it was natural for men to want me nude and servile before them – I had seen such looks on occasion in the eyes of boys and men since entering puberty. Although their aggression frightened me, I was aware that girls in my position, without legal or family protection, would have to expect such predatory advances. What the matron’s intentions toward me were, however, I had no idea.
Eventually, I stood stripped before her, shivering a little in the cold. The matron drew back a curtain to reveal a long chair with what appeared to be adjustable stirrups. She motioned me lie down upon it; I did so, the leather cool on my bare back and legs. “Put your hands back above your head,” she said. I did so, and felt her take my wrists and affix leather buckles to them. She then placed my ankles in the stirrups, and I felt them similarly buckled in place. She then moved the stirrups so that my legs were first lifted, then spread widely.
I was now lying, my arms above my head, my legs spread and lifted, completely exposed. It was a very embarrassing position, and I fervently hoped none of the masters would walk in. Surreptitiously I pulled at the buckles confining my limbs, but the matron noticed.
“Stop that nonsense right now, Natalie!” she snapped. “If you fight, you’ll only be punished – haven’t you learned that by now?”
A little frightened, I shrank back in the restraints. “Sorry, matron,” I whispered.
She stood between my legs, and looked down on me a little more softly. “You’ll soon realise it’s best to obey. It is difficult at first, but after a little training you’ll find slavery fits you well, and submission to your masters will feel like the most natural thing in the world. There will even be pleasure in it.”
She leant forward. “Now, let’s test you down there.” I gasped, flinching instinctively, as I felt her cool hands on the most delicate, vulnerable intimate areas of my body. But she was gentle, more so than the men had been the previous night when performing the same test.
“Still a virgin,” she noted, as much to herself as to me. “Well, that won’t last long. Von Hoffman’s girls are fully trained.” She crossed to a side table and, to my alarm, turned holding a razor blade. Panicked, I began to squirm in my bonds. She smiled. “Don’t you worry, my pretty. If you hold still, this won’t hurt. But the masters here insist that girls are completely exposed to them. Do you understand?”
Her eyes drifted to the light bush covering my pubic area, and I remembered how Joanna and the other girls had had their bodies smoothly shaven. I closed my eyes and shuddered in shame. But struggle was pointless. Instead, I held myself as still as I possibly could as she lathered me with foam about my groin, and then took the razor to my skin. I was tense, terrified that she would cut me there; but the matron had clearly performed this operation many times, on many girls. The shaving left my skin stinging a little, but no worse.
The matron then proceeded to shave my body completely; first my legs, then under my arms, leaving me completely smooth. She then soothed my skin by damping me down with a warm, soapy cloth. I watched the older woman, spread-eagled before her, as she washed me. She ran her hands, the cloth beneath them, along my limbs; she lingered between my legs, on my sex, everywhere that the razor had touched me. There was something in her actions beyond her previous cold professionalism, something almost sensual. I watched, mesmerised, not daring to speak as she caressed me gently. The room was cool, and I became embarrassed to realise that my nipples had hardened in the slight breeze from an open window, standing out hard and stark from the aureole.
Once my body had been thoroughly washed, the matron bent down between my legs. I lay still as her head bent to my sex lips, and to my shock I felt her kiss me intimately. Her mouth encircled and explored my cunt, and I felt a jolt of excitement rush through my body, like an electric shock, as her tongue lapped at my clitoris. I had explored only tentatively down there with my own hand; nothing I had experienced had prepared me for the erotic thrill of being given oral sex by another woman, one who knew just how to make my body react.
I thrashed a little in the restraints, gasping, under her gentle ministrations. Part of me was horrified at these intrusive attentions; part of me was desperate for them to continue. But then she straightened, leaving me unfulfilled.
“Do you see yet, Natalie?” she asked softly, as she freed my wrists and ankles; she took each leg in one hand, lowering them gently, before assisting me from the couch. “Do you understand how your helplessness can excite you? Learn to seek that feeling, and exult in it.”
I stood before the woman, a naked girl, more exposed than ever in my life, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of cool air on my shaven pussy. At the unexpected tenderness in her voice, I found myself having to swallow back tears. “What... what will they make me do?” I asked.
The matron’s expression hardened. “They will do no more than any man would want to do to you,” she said. “They will make you their slave.”
I lowered my head, unable to meet her gaze. I knew, for the first time, that she was right.
Silently I dressed, and let Joanna escort me back to the main building.
|
|
|