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.

1. Natalie

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.

2. James

I walked back to my rooms at a relaxed pace.  The initial meeting with Natalie had gone well; I thought, and my colleagues agreed, that her behaviour had indicated her training would be quite straightforward.  She had demonstrated the predictable responses of anger, disbelief and fear; though submissive and obedient at the end of the meeting, it would no doubt take further sessions of punishment before she fully accepted her destiny as a slave girl.

I had seen Natalie first in the photo her uncle had supplied, posing prettily in a brief bikini for a family snapshot.  This had clearly been a girl worthy of further study!  My brief meeting with her at her family home had confirmed my opinion that this was a girl who, once properly trained, would be eminently suited for sale as a slave.  In the year or two since the photo had been taken, her young figure had filled out excitingly; the moment I had laid eyes on her I had wanted to have her.  Accordingly, I had asked Julius that I be assigned to her individual tuition, a request to which he had amiably acceded. 

I had worked at Von Hoffman’s for a little over a decade, and felt justified in considering myself as something of an expert in the training of girls for slavery.  It was Natalie’s age group that the school specialised in, for several reasons.  Firstly, our public face as an exclusive finishing school for young ladies was the ideal cover by which our targets could be brought into our power.  Secondly, girls of that age were easier to control.  Though childhood was behind them, and having gained some awareness of their desirability to men, they were still young enough to be reliant on the support of family and authority.  Even the most rebellious and independent lass, finding herself alone and defenceless, must look to the only available authority figures for reassurance – her teachers.  Many will fight and protest their rights, if only for the sake of their pride, but punishment of the kind we deal in breaks the spirit of any girl in the end.  So it would be with Natalie. 

The thought of beginning Natalie’s training in earnest had me in such a good mood that I was not even angry when I saw Rachel had fallen asleep in my absence.  Knowing that I would be in the mood for a girl after seeing Natalie stripped and beaten, I had left Rachel on my bed, naked, wrists cuffed to the bedpost rails.  A pleasantly plump eighteen year old, Rachel benefitted from a sweetly rounded face with full, soft lips. 

She certainly looked lovely in calm repose, her breasts rising and falling gently with her breathing.  Quietly, not wishing to wake her just yet, I undressed and lay alongside her.  Resting on one elbow, I looked her up and down.  Had we not abducted her, there was a real likelihood that by the end of her twenties, Rachel would have become an overweight burden on scarce state resources, probably with a child or two.  Now, with her food and exercise under our strict control, she could more accurately be described as juicy, with nice full breasts, and softly rounded belly and thighs.

I reached down and gently touched her hairless pussy.  Like most Von Hoffman’s masters, I prefer a girl shaved; not only does it allow an unimpeded view of her cunt, but the greater exposure makes the girl feel even more vulnerable.  I watched Rachel’s face as I began to gently masturbate her.  I saw different expressions flicker across her features as the sensations I was expertly inducing intruded into her dream.  Her head turned from side to side as she sighed, the soft wave of blonde hair becoming untidy with the movement; her thighs stirred.  Then she woke, saw my face above hers, and realised what was happening.  “Master!” she gasped. 

“Kiss me,” I ordered.  Obediently, the slave lifted her head and pressed her lips to mine.  My tongue thrust into her mouth, enjoying the taste of my young plaything.  Then I broke off the kiss, and crouched over her.

“Spread your legs,” I ordered.  Rachel immediately opened herself to me.  I saw her glance down to my erect penis as I moved between her legs and kneeling there, began to caress her thighs and hips.  She moaned a little as her breathing quickened; her hands tightened on the short chain of her handcuffs. 

“Like that, do you, baby?” I grinned.  “Yes, master,” Rachel gasped.  In truth, I cared little if she was enjoying it or not.  Our slaves are trained to please men, not the other way around, and part of that means appearing to welcome their master’s touch, however rough.  Rachel’s responses seemed genuine, though.  I teased her between the legs with my fingers, and her hips tensed as she lifted herself to me.  I was painfully erect now, and had no inclination to wait longer.

“Legs up,” I ordered.  Rachel lifted her feet from the bed; I positioned her calves on my shoulders and, my hands on her hips to keep her steady, entered her.  I rode the girl forcefully, but slowed on occasion to prolong my enjoyment.  Turning my head, I kissed Rachel’s inner thighs, and felt the muscles in her soft, smooth legs tense.  I slipped my hands up her legs and body, fondling her breasts.  Rachel sighed and stirred under my touch, her lips parted, her body clenching eagerly on my manhood.  I grunted with pleasure, thrusting to her repeatedly, her luscious body shuddering beneath the blows, until at last I snarled with triumph as my seed shot into the girl’s body.  Rachel cried out as she felt me ejaculate deep into her – it was some time since I had had her so roughly.

As my passion subsided, I sagged against her.  Rachel’s legs, still about my shoulders, cushioned me comfortably, my weight pushing them against her torso.  I looked into the girl’s face; she had the same anxious expression she always had after sex.  I had beaten her several times because I felt she had not tried hard enough to please me, and once simply because I felt like it.  Unable to understand what she had done wrong, the girl had protested, but was unable to sway me.  Her plaintive cries had only reinforced my sadistic determination to see Rachel writhing in torment.

Tonight, though, I was not in the mood for such effort.  I withdrew from her, and rose.  Reaching for a towel, I began to wipe the sweat from my body.

Rachel turned on her side to watch me, still a little nervous.  She made a pleasant sight, cuffed there for my pleasure.  “Not much longer for you here, Rachel,” I smiled.  “You’ll soon be delivered to your new masters.”

Instantly, the girl tensed.  She sat up at the bedrail, pulling her legs up.  “Please, master, can’t you tell me anything about them?”

I shook a finger at her.  “Now, Rachel, I’ve told you all you need to know.  You’ve been sold, and will soon pass to your new owners.”

I saw the teenager’s wide eyes fill with tears, and she looked away.  Amused by her misery, I crossed to her and, taking her by the chin, forced her head round to face me.  “You’ll find out soon enough who they are, and what they want you for, slave,” I said.  Rachel’s lower lip trembled, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

Rachel’s situation was unusual in the school.  Most of our slaves were acquired speculatively for auction.  On occasion, however, a regular client asks us to find something particular.  A producer of adult films had wanted a plumper teenager, having a number of roles for which he could use such a girl.  The order placed, we had sought out a number of possible candidates.  They had been followed and photographed secretly, their details then presented to the client.  He had selected Rachel, I thought wisely.  Young, succulent, pretty, she was ideal for his purposes.  We had therefore arranged for an apparent accident to occur; Rachel had been abducted, drugged and transported from her home country, awakening a prisoner at Von Hoffman’s.

Rachel had been shown the newspaper reports of her assumed death, and assured that no one was looking for her.  Interestingly, once she had accepted that we were quite serious about keeping her as a sex slave, she soon began to strive to please me.  It was almost as though she were one of those girls who, starved of affection while growing up, become devoted to anyone who shows an interest in them.

Naturally, I had told Rachel nothing of her fate.  The less she knew the better.  She was afraid now, knowing that we had sought her out, that an order had been placed for a slave of her type.  How much more afraid would she be if she knew she was to be obliged to perform in sex films of the most hardcore nature?  Her first role, I had been assured, was to be that of a virginal schoolgirl kidnapped by a gang of exploitative older lesbians.  She would be made to fuck on film in all manner of ways.  In all probability, her eventual fate would be similar to that of other girls this client had purchased from us; used repeatedly until her youthful appeal faded, she would be sold on either to a private collector who had taken a fancy to her, or to a brothel.

Such thoughts ran through my mind as I looked at the deliciously curved girl, huddled on the bed.  She looked at me and shuddered, perhaps reading something of her fate in my eyes.  I chuckled as I pulled on my robe and left the room, leaving Rachel tied to the bed.

I had been tempted to have her again, but I wanted to stop in and see Natalie.  It was our usual practice with new girls to drug them for their first night, to ensure they slept properly.  After her beating earlier, Natalie would have been given the chance to shower, and Joanna would have taken her to the refectory for some food.  After the basic meal, Natalie would be given a hot drink containing a powerful sleeping draught.  It would then be up to Joanna to get Natalie to her dormitory before she fell into a deep sleep.

Reaching Natalie’s dormitory, I unlocked the door with my master key.  It opened soundlessly, and I slipped in.  The room held twelve beds, laid out in rows of six.  By each was a small table, on which stood a bedside lamp.  The lamps had no switches; they could not be turned off by the girls, but were dimmed centrally when the time came for the slaves to be confined for the night.  In this way, a visiting master can find his preferred girl without having to blunder around awkwardly in the dark.

At the foot of each bed was a small chest of drawers, where the girl’s uniform could be folded neatly and placed each night.  Forbidden nightclothes, each student slept naked. 

Currently the dormitory housed nine girls, but three of the usual inhabitants were absent, having been summoned to serve masters for the night.  I stood over Natalie, looking down on the girl as she lay in a peaceful, drugged sleep.  How different her lovely face seemed now compared to earlier, her face stained by tears, eyes wide and frantic, mouth wide with hysterical screams as she took the cane repeatedly on her bare bottom.  She was sleeping on her left side, her left hand by her head.  I walked about her and flipped back the covers.  The girl’s shapely arse was covered by a wealth of raised red weals, crossing and overlaying each other, some across her upper thighs.  With a road map of pain marked out on her like this, it was no wonder that the girl had chosen not to sleep on her back.

I sat on the bed and ran one hand up Natalie’s slim leg.  I traced some of the marks on her buttocks.  Natalie moaned a little in her sleep, and a brief grimace flittered across her face.  I smiled, and turned her gently onto her back.  She stirred and stretched a little, but did not wake, lying naked, spread out before me.  I caressed the sleeping teenager’s breasts, cupping them in my hands.  Her eyelids fluttered and a sigh slipped from between her lips.  The soft flesh of her tits pressed into my palms as she breathed in and out.  My own breathing grew quicker as my excitement grew; I sat back loosened my robe, feeling the air on my stiffening prick. 

I pushed my hands between Natalie’s thighs, spreading her legs sufficiently for the tender mound of her sex to come into view.  With one finger, I stroked and teased her there.  After a few moments, the girl began to feel my caress even through the heavy folds of her sleep, and her head moved from side to side.  She lifted her left knee, the muscles in her leg moving as she curled her toes, moaning some words I could not make out.

She was beautiful.  I considered raping her there and then.  There would be no difficulty in it; she would be unlikely to wake.  She would simply regain consciousness the following morning, perhaps aware of a lingering soreness between her legs, a few dried trickles of her blood and my seed on her inner thigh.  I smiled, feeling a sadistic thrill as I imagined her horror and shame on realising what had been done to her in the night.  But I decided against it.  I wanted Natalie fully awake when I took her virginity, knowing it was to be the first time of many, aware that she was powerless to escape my predations.  But I was too aroused by the prospect of the lovely creature before me to simply leave her. 

I threw off my gown and knelt across Natalie’s legs.  I leaned forward, studying the sleeping girl’s face, my erect cock pressing into her belly as I did so.  I took the thick, stiff weapon in my hand and began to caress it.  Thinking of all the things I would soon do to Natalie – the pain I would inflict, the pleasure I would receive – excited me all the more, and I soon felt my juices surge in me.  My hot seed gushed onto her, splashing onto her neck and chest.

Gasping, I stayed on my knees over Natalie as my breathing slowed, watching my semen trickle down the curve of her breast.  I wiped my cock on her stomach, then rose and retrieved my robe.  I considered putting the covers back over the girl, but decided not to bother.  I did, however, fold them neatly and place them at the foot of the bed.  It would then be abundantly clear to Natalie that they had not simply fallen off by accident, but that someone had intruded on her as she slept. 

Quietly, I took my leave from the dormitory, leaving the girls sleeping.  Time enough tomorrow for Natalie’s full training to begin.  For now, I had a comfortable bed of my own waiting – and Rachel, of course, still tied there for my pleasure!

1. Natalie

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.

4. James

That evening, I walked to Natalie’s dormitory with a spring in my step.  The girl had had time to accustom herself to her new environment; now, it was time to begin my pretty young pupil’s education.   

Some of my fellow teachers preferred to have the students for the first time in their private rooms, where they could enjoy themselves without fear of interruption.  I, on the other hand, liked to visit my students from time to time in their dormitories.  It was an important part of Natalie’s education that she learn she was not safe even in her own bed.

As I had done the previous night, I slipped quietly into the dormitory.  Natalie was asleep; a natural sleep this time, evidence of a harrowing day.  She lay on her front, hugging her pillow protectively.  The duvet had slipped part way down her back, revealing her slim shoulders.  I leant over her, excited by the fact that she was unaware of my attention, feeling myself harden in anticipation of what was to come. 

I was holding the handcuffs.  She had conveniently fallen asleep with both hands near the bedrails.  Gently, trying not to wake her, I close one cuff about her left wrist.  As Natalie began to stir, I passed the cuffs about one of the wooden rails in the head of the bed and snapped it shut about her other wrist, locking the lass helplessly in place.

Her head turned a little, her hands moving; the cuffs restrained her.  She began to wake.  Before she could come fully to her senses, I seized her by the shoulders, turned her roughly to her back and lay on top of her, pressing one hand over her mouth. 

Natalie’s eyes opened wide, to see me staring down at her.  Instinctively she tried to push me off her, but the cuffs prevented her from defending herself.  Her lithe body twisted deliciously under my weight, and she automatically began to scream, but my hand clasped across her mouth silenced her.  I stayed like that, holding her still, until her initial panic subsided, and she merely stared up at me with wide, frightened eyes.

I leaned forward and whispered in her ear.  “What will you do if I take my hand away, Natalie?” I asked.  “Will you scream for help?  Who will hear?”

I saw her eyes flick from side to side, to where her fellow students lay sleeping.  I tutted, mockingly.  “And what will they do, Natalie?  Do you think they’ll rush to your defence?  Against their master?” I leaned in closer as I saw her considering my words.  “They won’t dare to help you, my darling.”  I kissed the lobe of her ear, gently.  “They won’t do anything except watch.”  I slowed my words for emphasis.  “They’ll just watch... everything... I do to you.”

I waited, looking gloatingly down at my young victim, as the realisation of her predicament sank in.  She clenched her eyes closed, and a tear trickled from her left eye.  I removed my hand from her mouth.  Natalie didn’t scream; she turned her head to the right, as though that would make a difference.

Satisfied that Natalie would remain docile, at least for the moment, I rolled back from her sufficiently to pull the duvet from her completely.  Natalie whimpered in shame, turning away from me as much as possible and drawing up her legs.  I grinned, slipping one finger between her legs, at the top of her thighs, teasing her cunt.  She cried out despite herself, and turned to her back, trying to protect her intimacies.  She looked at me, frightened.  Grinning, I licked my lips, admiring her firm young breasts, her shapely waist and hips, her shaven pussy just visible between her clenched thighs, her knees lifted to conceal her sex.

Then I had had enough of just looking.  I took Natalie in my arms, encircling her slender form, my lips seeking hers.  She tried to turn her head away, but she was too slow; my mouth clamped on hers.  My tongue forced the girl’s lips apart, thrusting into her mouth; I sucked eagerly on her tongue.  The eighteen year old’s body squirmed in my arms as she tried desperately to avoid my caresses.

I broke off the kiss, but did not release the girl; instead I continued to kiss her about the neck and shoulders, slowly moving downwards.  Natalie tried to hold herself still, but could not help wriggling.  I heard small choking sobs escape her and, though she must have realised it was hopeless, she continued to flinch and pull at the handcuffs.  I began to kiss her about the breasts, my lips following their curves before encircling her left nipple, teasing it with my tongue, feeling it begin to harden instinctively.  “Oh God, no!” she wept.  “Please, leave me alone!”  I merely chuckled, and continued to kiss and lick her lovely body.  As I did so, I ran my hands along her hips and legs in possessive caresses, squeezing her thighs and bottom.

As I worked my way down her stomach, Natalie’s distress increased.  She began to thrash in my arms, though retaining enough presence of mind to stifle her protesting sobs to keep from waking the other girls.  Her legs tensed and moved under my hands, she keeping them close together.  Natalie had a virgin’s fear of having sex forced on her.  I found that reticence becoming, even erotic, at least for now; she would have to be trained out of it, of course, but for now her maidenly resistance was adding to my excitement.  I knew that she would be able to feel my thick, erect prick pressing against the soft flesh of her calves.  The thought of her fear made it swell all the more.

My lips browsed down to the base of her stomach, to her smoothly shaven pubic area.  Her thighs were clenched together protectively; I kissed the groove between them, my insistent probing tongue lapping at Natalie’s most sensitive, private region.  She grimaced, flinching at the alarming sensations I was inducing in her young body!  My hands took her thighs and pushed them apart, firmly, just enough to allow my tongue access to her sensitive clitoris.  I took that little bud between my lips, lapping at it with the tip of my tongue.  Almost immediately, and quite to Natalie’s distress, I felt it swell, engorged with excitement.  I chuckled in amusement at her reluctant arousal.  “Have you touched yourself down there, Natalie?” I asked softly.  “Did it feel as good as when I touch you?  I bet it didn’t.”

I returned to kissing her between her legs, my hands reaching up to caress her breasts.  Those soft, perfect globes were showing similar evidence of her responsiveness, the nipples swollen and erect beneath my palms.  Natalie was fighting her body’s reactions, but it was a battle she could not win; nature and experience would carry the day.  With a moan, Natalie’s hips rose as she lifted herself to my mouth.  It was only for a moment; then she pressed back onto the bed, realising with horror what she had done, the sluttish way she had behaved.  But it was no good denying it.  I laughed in triumph, and decided I was done with foreplay.

I raised myself to my elbows, looking Natalie directly in the face.  She could feel the pressure of me lying on her legs and lower torso, though I kept enough weight off to allow her some movement.  “Spread your legs, girl,” I ordered.

Natalie’s eyes widened with horror; she shrank back into the mattress.  “No...” she whispered, and her voice broke into a sob.  “No, please don’t make me!”

“Get them spread good and wide, baby!” I hissed.  “I’m not playing with you here!”

The teenager could only shake her head, frozen in terror, knowing she could not escape her ravishing but unable to accept her fate and surrender her virginity to me.  I was not surprised, but it did not matter; the outcome was inevitable.

I knelt up, and seized Natalie’s ankles.  Brutally, not caring if I hurt her, I forcibly threw her legs apart.  Natalie now lay before me, naked, her pussy as bare as a child’s, completely available to me.  Desperate, she threw her head back and to the side, stifling a wail of despair, arching her back as she tugged at her bonds.  With a chuckle, I took her in my arms, kissing at her face and neck, lying between her spread-eagled legs. 

She tried to struggle, to push me off her, but with her hands confined could do no more than press her lovely body against mine, and thrash her coltish legs about me.  I tasted the salt tears on her soft cheeks, and felt my prick press against her moist, tender sex.  “Nooo...” the girl whimpered.

Then I pressed home, and Natalie moaned in defeat as her innocence was torn from her forever. I thrust forward, penetrating her deeply, with a sigh of triumph, feeling myself cocooned tightly in the soft, warm sheaf of her cunt.  I held her still like that for a moment, my face inches from hers, deep inside her body, savouring my victory.  Then I started to move, in and out, rhythmically thrusting into Natalie’s body, again and again.  The girl’s breath was coming in short gasps, her eyes tight shut, as she endured her first ravishing.

“Are you liking it yet, baby?” I asked.  “It’s good, isn’t it?  There’s plenty more where this came from, believe me!”

Harder and faster I thrust to her, holding the girl tightly to me, my body striking hers with repeated blows.  Occasionally I paused, wanting to prolong my pleasure, studying my young pupil’s reactions.  Tears were streaming freely from Natalie’s eyes; she was biting her lower lip to keep from crying out, a charmingly childlike mannerism; her breathing would quicken automatically as I pounded her harder, matching the rhythm of my aggressive assaults with small, girlish gasps. 

Her evident distress at my rough treatment excited me all the more, even as the fight went out of her.  Defeated, overwhelmed, Natalie could only lie beneath me, impaled, her legs moving a little, sometimes raising a shapely knee in a bid to ease her discomfort.  Looking into her wide eyes, they swimming with tears, I saw that Natalie recognised that her defeat was total, my conquest of her body and spirit complete.  As the thrill of breaking her in so completely coursed through me, I felt my manhood pulse with renewed energy, and again I forced it deep into the girl’s body, right up to the balls, repeatedly, until I gripped her even more tightly and fired my seed deep within her.  Natalie’s face twisted with misery as, for the first time in her young life, she felt the jets of semen flood her body, shooting into her with such force that, had it not been for the contraceptive pill she had been given, I felt confident that I would have certainly impregnated her!

I smiled triumphantly, looking gloatingly down on the girl as her pretty face crumpled in despair.  I held her still for a long moment as she shuddered and sobbed, while my breathing slowed.  I withdrew from her, but lay alongside her, stroking and kissing her face gently.  In time, Natalie began to calm, though she still flinched a little when I touched her.

These responses were familiar, and expected.  I was unconcerned.  I had trained many girls for slavery; Natalie was no different.  For now, she might feel traumatised at having been taken by force, but she would grow accustomed to such treatment.  The day would come when she would be filled with dread at the thought of the punishment resistance would earn her, and be filled with gratitude at the smallest kind word or gentle touch from her master.

For now, she had the rest of the night to wallow in self pity, mourning the loss both of her freedom and her virginity.  Before taking my leave, I kissed softly at her earlobe.  “Did it hurt, baby?” I enquired.  Natalie did not answer at first; annoyed, I moved my hand to her left breast and pinched the still-swollen nipple, hard.  The girl gasped at the sudden pain, her eyes opening wide. “Yes!” she choked.  “Yes, Master, it hurt!”

I released my cruel grip, and caressed her breast lovingly.  “It will get easier as you learn to perform better,” I promised her. “There are a lot of painful lessons for you to learn before you can please men the way a slave like you must.  And I’m going to enjoy training you to serve.  I’m going to enjoy you a great deal, Natalie.” I kissed her one last time.  “It starts tomorrow.  So sleep well, slave girl.”

I rose from the bed and retrieved my robe.  Natalie watched, at first relieved that her ordeal was over.  But then, as I made to leave, she tried to sit up, alarmed.  “Master!” she whispered.

I looked back.  Natalie pulled at the handcuffs that kept her locked to the bed, half lying on her right hip, half sitting.  Her right leg was stretched out along the bed, her left bent at the knee, pushed forward so that the left foot was tucked under her right thigh.  I could see, on the interior of her thigh, streaks of blood from her torn hymen mingling with traces of semen, drying on her skin.  She looked at me beseechingly, trying to hold out her restrained hands, a mute appeal written clearly on her tearstained face.  She wanted me to release her.  She knew that if I left her as she was, it would be clear to her dorm mates what had been done to her.  Ashamed, she wanted to keep her ravishing a secret.

“I’m sorry, my beauty,” I said softly.  “I seem to have forgotten the key.”

Disbelief filled Natalie’s features, before her head fell forward and her shoulders began to shake with stifled sobs.  She curled up on the pillow, drawing her lovely legs up into an almost foetal position.  I grinned to myself and turned to leave, abandoning Natalie, bound to the bed, the covering of the duvet lying on the floor beyond her reach.

I had given young Natalie a taste of what it meant to belong to men.  Tomorrow, her education would begin in earnest!

       Note: The editor of BDSMbooks.com has asked me not to put too much of one book on a free site, so this is the last chapter I’ll be posting.  The remainder can be found in two volumes at www.bdsmbooks.com/libraryMcCall/McCall.htm .  If you don’t feel like paying for the full book, there is a further free chapter from volume II that you can get via the link.