It seemed as if Andrea had scarcely nodded off before she was roughly awoken by the sound of a slaver rattling the butt of a whip against the bars of the cages to wake the occupants held inside. In the cage beside hers, Lisa stirred with a quiet whimper, muffled by her gag. The two sisters looked at each other, a mixture of fear and sadness. It was almost hard for Andrea to believe; only the morning before the two had awoken from their own, comfortable beds in their own home, looking forward to nothing more than a lazy spring day. Now they were naked, gagged captives, one of dozens, if not hundreds held in the slave training camp, with nothing to look forward to but harsh punishment, to break and mold the young girls into obedient slaves for their future masters. So much had changed, it seemed as if the two pairs of sisters belonged to different lives altogether, rather than a mere 24 hours.

Somewhere in the dungeon, someone threw a switch. With a harsh, electronic wail, the cage doors along Andrea and Lisa’s block all unlocked and slid open. “Alright, bitches! Everyone out!” A pair of slavers went down the line from opposite sides, shouting the order at the captives, banging their whips against the frame of the cage door when the occupants were slow to obey. As quickly as they could, Andrea and Lisa bent over, almost double to crawl through the cage door on their knees, then struggled to rise to their feet.

“Stand in front of the cage, facing forward! Don’t move from that spot until given permission! Eyes front, slave!” The slaver shouted at Andrea. She had turned to look at the other slaves to her left. The young woman gave a quiet cry of fright and turned her head back to the front. When all of the captives were uncaged, they were ordered into a single file line.

Andrea stepped into place, in front of Lisa and behind a tall dark haired woman who looked as if she might be about the same age as Andrea and Lisa’s mother. Briefly Andrea wondered how she came to find herself enslaved here. Most of the other new arrivals were teens or college coeds and Andrea and her sister. How had a grown woman, with a life and a career, perhaps a family and children, found herself in slave’s chains at the training camp? Unfortunately, Andrea doubted she would find out the other woman’s story. Even if they weren’t both gagged, the young woman doubted the slave trainers encouraged conversation between the captive females.

“Slaves, forward march!” One of the slavers ordered. “Left! Right! Left!” Andrea stumbled, trying to move in time with the slavers command. Behind her, Lisa squealed into her gag as one of the slavers brought his lash across her naked flank, for started on the wrong foot. Andrea whimpered sympathetically at hearing her sister in pain, but could do nothing to help the teen as she struggled to avoid getting whipped to. Elsewhere along the line, other slaves who were slow to learn cried out as they were whipped as well.

They marched to the far end of the dungeon cellblock and through a pair of double doors. It led into a sort of large, communal bathroom/shower room. One side of the room was lowered a few inches, set with drains. Along that wall were showerheads and high pressure hoses, for cleaning off slaves. Along the wall on the other side of the room was a large metal bin, like a large trough. It was low to the floor. Water ran through the bottom, into several drains at either end. Andrea wondered, briefly, what it was for until one of the slavers told her and the other slaves.

“If you were able to hold it during the night, now’s the time to relieve yourselves. You won’t get another chance for some time and if you mess yourself during the training you will be punished.” He shouted. Awkwardly, the slaves walked over and turned to squat over it. Andrea’s face flushed red in embarrassment doing her business with no privacy. The guards didn’t even bother to turn away. Beside her, Lisa looked down at the tile floor in shame.

From the bathroom, the slavers were next led down a corridor into a larger, open room. Spaced a couple yards apart were several more, thankfully clean, metal troughs. Extending over the side of the trough were a number of metal pipes, ending in spigots. Andrea and Lisa’s group were led forward and ordered into line along the one side of one of these troughs. At a command, the slaves knelt on the hard concrete. From other doorways, more slaves, from other cellblocks, were being led into the room by their handlers and lined up along the troughs until every possible spot was filled.  

A few more slave handlers came into the room, carrying several large, plastic bags open at the top. They were younger than the other slavers, closer to Lisa’s age, Andrea thought, and their uniforms were plainer and unmarked. High School students, part of a school-jobs training program for future slave trainers. Leaning over the kneeling girls, the slaver-interns tipped the bags over, pouring out a dry, coarse, lumpy grey substance into the troughs. A moment later, the spigots were turned on, pouring water into the material. After a few seconds, it congealed into a disgusting, greyish gruel.

“Slave chow (tm).” Andrea thought to herself, with a quiet groan. Slave Chow (tm), was the product of one of Boundoggle’s subsidiaries, which made equipment and supplies for slave owners. It was a low cost food, intended to provide a slave’s complete dietary needs in one disgusting package, with minimal need of time or preparation. Just pour in a slave bowl and add water. Andrea had seen it once or twice while grocery shopping with her mother, on the shelf alongside the cat- and dog-food. Despite the assurances from the absurdly cheerful and busty blonde slave-girl kneeling on the front of the packaging that it was the “Great Tasting Food All Obedient Slaves Crave!” the illustration failed to make grey swill in her bowl look appetizing. Andrea had wondered how anyone, even a slave could subsist on something so vile.

Now she knew. Though the foul goop swirling in the metal trough smelled vile, it was still, unmistakably food and Andrea and Lisa hadn’t been fed since their capture the day before. Both their empty stomachs growled as they looked down at the Slave Chow (tm), drool pooling around the corners of the rubber ballgags in their mouths.

The slave handler’s started to go down the line, loosening the slaves’ gags and sliding the rubber plugs out from between their teeth. “Do not start eating yet!” The slaver warned them. Andrea gave a quiet whimper as she stretched her sore jaw for the first time in hours. It hardly seemed possible to the young woman, but she was more desperate for this disgusting slop than any other meal she’d had in her life. Despite the slaver’s strict warning, Andrea had to struggle to hold herself back. Somewhere else in the room behind the teen, she didn’t want to risk the whip by turning around to look, another girl who hadn’t been able to restrict herself was yanked back from the trough by the handlers. She cried out in pain as the whips slapped across her naked body.

Because of the punishment, the slaves had to wait a few extra minutes. Andrea thought any of them here would have gladly taken the whips to the poor girl who’d delayed the feeding without a twinge of guilt. Finally, all of the slaves had been ungagged. With a smug tone, relishing the power he held over the dozens of women in the room, one of the handlers called out in a cracked voice. “Alright, slaves, eat!”

With the rest of them, Andrea leaned her head over the side of the trough. With her hands still chained behind her back, the captive had no choice but to plunge her head down and lap at the swill like a dog. Had she a moment to stop and reflect on this newest indignity, Andrea would have been shamed by her actions, but at the moment, all the young woman could think about was filling the yearning void in her belly. Beside her, Lisa was just as quick to bend over.

The Slave Chow (tm) was just as bad tasting as Andrea had feared, a taste somewhere between sweaty gym socks and a particularly low quality glue. It had a texture quite like glue as well, getting stuck in the mouth and refusing to go down. A few mouthfuls were enough to kill most of Andrea’s appetite, but she forced herself to keep eating, knowing she would need to keep her strength up as much as possible for the coming training. As few of the new arrivals turned their noses up. The girls who had been here longer ate without complaint.

When the slaves had eaten most of the Slave Chow (tm), the slavers turned the spigots of water back on. Andrea took the opportunity to clean as much of the disgusting glop off her face and to drink her fill of water. The water kept running, gradually flushing the remainder of the food out of the trough and clean it out, more or less, until the next feeding time.

The slaves knelt in place a while longer, as the handlers went back down the line, reapplying the ballgags onto the captives. Andrea glanced over at her sister. She wanted to take the opportunity to say something to Lisa, while she had the chance to speak, but she knew the slavers would likely look down on slaves speaking without permission. Before she could make up her mind whether or not to risk the lash, one of the handler’s came up behind Andrea. The young woman groaned as her gag was tugged back into place between her teeth and the strap tightened once more. A second later, Lisa grunted quietly as she was gagged as well.

The meal completed, the slaves were once more stood up in line and marched out. It was just past dawn, the sun low in the sky. The slavers had all day to work their captives before they were caged up for the night again. The different lines of slaves split up, led to separate parts of the training center by the handlers. “Come on, lazy sluts! Move it! Mistress Knight doesn’t like being kept waiting.” A female handler, the one who had caged Andrea and Lisa the night before, Andrea recognized, called out, jogging along beside the column of slaves.

She grinned, spotting the two of them in line. “Well hey you two! How did you sleep last night? Cages comfortable enough?” She giggled at the unhappy groan Andrea gave in reply. “Hey, I gave you the nicest cage in the camp, right next to your sister and all you do is complain? What do you say, slave?” She ran a hand over the leather flogger belted at her side.

“nnnk ooh…” Andrea grunted.

“Thank you…”

“nnnkk ooh, ssssttrrss…” Andrea added. Behind her, Lisa grunted her thanks as well, though neither of them could feel much to be thankful about in this horrible place.

“Better. Now, your scheduled to train with Mistress Knight. She’s a real hard-ass and if she’s got you bent over, she’ll flog your ass off. Bit of advice, keep your heads down, don’t look her in the eye and do what you’re told immediately, or you’ll regret it. Still, she’s hardly the worst trainer in the camp. How’d you fancy being in there…”

The handler gestured with her whip at the building they were passing. Through the open doors, Andrea and Lisa got a glimpse of the inside as they shuffled by. A large open room, set out with three or four rows of treadmills. On each was a naked, chubby slave. They were collared, fitted with heavy leather panel gags and their arms were strapped behind their backs with leather monogloves. Their feet were unchained, though, and all were running as fast as they could. They had no choice. The sisters saw cables, running from the front of the treadmills to metal clamps clipped to the slaves’ nipples and pussies.

“The cables are wired to a battery. Far too fall behind and…zap!” The handler explained. She giggled as one of the heavily sweating slaves suddenly jumped, giving a loud grunt of pain only slightly muffled by her heavy gag. “That’s what happens when someone with a few extra pounds’ winds up getting picked up by a Boundoggle agent. A few weeks there…a carefully regimented diet of Slave Chow (tm) and they’ll be slimmed down to an appropriate size in no time… Look what you two missed out on by being in great shape.” She laughed, running a hand across Andrea’s naked thigh, up towards her sex.  

“Jamie!” One of the other, older trainers shouted at the teen. “Quit making small talk with the slaves unless you’d like to join them!” Jamie jumped, startled. She quieted up, moving further up the coffle. The next woman who stumbled out of line for a brief moment in sight received several savage whip strokes from the handler.

Finally, they came to an open dirt field at one edge of the compound. Through the open fence, Andrea could see open fields, trees and underbrush cut back for a few hundred yards to avoid giving cover to any escapees, and beyond that trees. Standing at the edge of the training field was a stern, older woman dressed in a much nicer uniform then the intern handlers. Kneeling at her feet were two slave girls; obviously fully trained. They had no restraints, apart from their collars, but held themselves perfectly still, knees spread out, exposing their clean-shaven sexes, arms tucked behind their backs, waiting in silence for their Mistress’ next order.

The new, untrained slaves, two dozen in total, were led onto the field and arranged in four lines of six, each spaced a couple yards from the other slaves in front, behind and on either side of her. The handlers went to the women and removed the shackles from their hands and feet. “If you are not following other orders, you will stand at attention at all times!” The Handlers ordered. “Heads forward and down, eyes to the ground! Feet should be shoulder width apart, arms behind your backs, hands clasped!” With the other slaves, Andrea and Lisa quickly adopted the ordered pose. The few who were slow to do so received several strokes of a riding crop from one of the handlers across their backsides as punishment.

“Listen up, slaves!” Mistress Knight said in a loud, commanding voice. “The rules of this training assignment are simple. You will watch me and my two demonstrators here.” She inclined her heads to the two slaves at her feet, who had not moved an inch since Andrea had seen them. “I will order them to assume a pose! You will mimic them and hold it! Failure to obey will result in severe punishment! Begin!” At this, her two demonstrators rose gracefully to their feet. One stood facing the other slaves. The other turned 90 degrees, presenting a side view to the slaves. They easily fell into the ‘rest’ pose the other slaves were awkwardly holding, standing stock still, intensely waiting for their Mistress’ command.

“Inspection!” Mistress Knight ordered. Her two slaves shifted. Their legs were spread open wider, their arms were placed behind their heads, fingers woven together. Their chests were thrust out, presenting their naked breasts for anyone who wanted to feel them up.  The trainee slaves awkwardly adopted the same pose. “Hold!”

“Legs further apart…lean forward, chest thrust forward. Stand on the balls of your toes.” One of the handlers said quietly, walking behind Andrea. He slapped his riding crop against the inside of her thighs and across her naked breasts as he told her what to do. Andrea winced at the stinging pain. “Your heels should be almost off the ground altogether. Fingers locked together.” The other handlers were going down the line, correcting the other slaves posture.

Andrea stood still, holding the position, while Mistress Knight and the handlers inspected all of the slaves. “Secure!” She then ordered. Her demonstrators shifted pose without pause. Their legs were placed close together, arms were placed side by side, behind the back, then the slaves leaned over almost double, raising their arms up, as if offering them to be bound. Again, the trainees did their best to match the poses and when their best proved unsatisfactory to Mistress Knight and the Handlers they were correctly with the whip.

Mistress Knight ran the slaves through a dozen or so more standing poses, some designed to put the slave’s body in the best pose to show off her ‘assets’ for her Master’s inspection. Others were designed to render a slave helpless or make it easier for a Master to bind or shackle her. Mistress Knight ran the slaves through the poses several more times during the morning. At first, she kept the same order and gave the slaves time to get it right. Soon though, she started mixing the poses up, sometimes shifting between the poses faster than the slaves could assume them, other times ordering them to assume one and holding them there minute after minute, until their muscles began to burn, their limbs ached and they waited on baited breath to be allowed to move.

None dared move without their Mistress’ permission though. Early in the day, one of the girls had failed to hold the ordered position. She collapsed to the ground. Before she could stand up, Mistress Knight was on her. Andrea watched, horrified, as the poor girl was savagely whipped by the older woman, until her front back, from her thighs up to her breasts, were stripped red. As she released her victim, the slave struggled back into the correct position and did not move, even though Mistress Knight kept her and the other slaves in it for at least five more minutes. Andrea groaned into her gag in relief when the Trainer finally relented and allowed them back into the rest position.

When they had been at it for several hours, Andrea realized the purpose of the training. Besides teaching them poses that would be useful for a slave to assume, it was training them for obedience. Back when she was a student in high school, back when she was still a free girl, Andrea remembered soccer practices after school, running the same drills and routines over and over again. Eventually, she could run them flawlessly, no matter what, having had them drilled into her until she could do them without thinking. In the same way, when they were fully trained, Andrea and the other slaves would automatically assume any position trained on command before they had a chance to think about it. Obedience was drilled into them.

Around noon, Mistress Knight, reluctantly, allowed the slaves a short break. “Catch your breath.” She told the slaves as they stood in the rest position. “I hope you have been studying these positions and have them memorized now. Because…” She turned and spoke a command to her two demonstrators. Without a word, the slaves stood, keeping their hands bowed, hand behind their back, and walked quickly from the field, to some other task. “You will not have the demonstrators.”

While they rested, the handlers gave the slaves some water. They also rubbed suntan lotion onto their naked bodies, against the hot afternoon sun. The slaves sweated in the heat, unshaded. Like most of the newly arrived slaves, Andrea and Lisa had noticeable tan lines on their breasts and between their legs. After a few weeks, they would be tanned all over and it would be apparent they were trained slaves.

When they were done, Mistress Knight ordered the slaves back to attention. The handlers resumed their prowl between the lines, swooping in, whip in hand, should the slaves falter from any ordered position even slightly, ready to painfully correct their mistake. And mistakes were made aplenty by all the slaves. Andrea had trouble remembering the difference between the “coffle” position and “walking” position. The few seconds it took for her to glance over at Lisa, who had assumed the correct position, and adjust her own body to match her sisters were too many for the Handler who delivered several stinging slaps across Andrea’s backside as punishment.

By the end of the day, all of the slaves were exhausted, sweaty and covered in the marks of the crop from their corrections. Mistress Knight nodded, showing the barest amount of approval as the slavers were herded back into line by the handlers. Their hands and feet were once more securely shackled. “You aren’t the worst lot of slaves I’ve had to deal with.” She admitted. “Tomorrow we will work on standing poses again. Then the day after that, kneeling poses. When you have mastered those, we will move on to the more exotic poses and start to mix them up.” Andrea could only groan into her gag as she shuffled with the rest of the column back to their dungeon.

Inside, the slaves were taken first to the dining room, where they were given an evening meal of Slave Chow (tm) with the other new trainees. It went much the same as the morning meal, the slaves waiting in awful anticipation as they were ungagged and the order to eat finally given. After the hard day, Andrea was just as hungry as the morning and managed to choke down her fill of the foul gruel.

After their meagre supper, the slaves were taken back to the restroom. Once again, they were allowed to relieve themselves, then they were moved to the other side of the room. Along with all of the girls, Andrea squealed into her gag as the shower heads were turned on, blasting the slaves with jets of ice cold water. The handlers rubbed soap on them and employed the high pressure sprayers to remove all of the sweat and grime the slaves had picked up during the day’s training.

Hard, scratchy towels were used to dry them off, then the slaves were put back into their cages for the night. Exhausted by the long day, Andrea curled up as soon as her cage door was slammed shut and locked and instantly fell asleep…