Samantha knelt in the center of the pitch black cell, trying to ignore the pressure of the hard concrete pressing against her knees and her bare feet. The young woman was free of restraints, save the steel collar around her throat which she wore at all times in this place. None the less, she kept her arms folded submissively behind her back, head bowed, just as she had been instructed by the handler two or three hours ago.
The 23-year old brunette didn’t know how it had been since she’d been abducted leaving the office where she formerly worked as a sales rep and told she was now a slave. The first weeks of training, if they had been weeks and not years as it felt, had been the worst ordeal of her young life. She was only given meager meals at irregular intervals. Sleep was permitted infrequently and never more then an hour or so at a time, so that Samantha went about in a constant daze of hunger and exhaustion. All part of the slavers’ plan to break her will, strip away her old identity as a formerly free woman and build a new one as a broken, obedient slave.
Much of the ‘training’ she and the other abductees received during this period consisted of long stretches of strict, intense bondage. That and punishments, endless agonizing punishments with whips, crops, clamps and all manner of devices for tormenting female flesh. The slightest hint of rebellion: a word out of turn or an angry look, even mere hesitation to obey an order, brought punishment after punishment.
The other part of the training was, plain and simply, constant sexual assault on her and the other women. Before their first day of training had finished all had been taken by the slavers at least once and it was far from the last time. In between these, they were constantly groped, slapped, teased at will by their captors, teaching them their bodies no longer belonged to them, they belonged to the slavers, who could do with them whatever they wanted.
Worst of all was how effective the system had been at breaking her. Samantha had always thought of herself as a strong, independent woman. She’d been hoping to become head of her department and rise to a position of power and responsibility someday. The first few days, she’d tried to hold on to that illusion, believing that this was only a temporary set back, that she would, sooner or later, escape this place and resume her old life, having endured all the slavers efforts to force her to submit to them. All too quickly though, her resolve had crumbled under the overwhelming assault on her physical and mental being. Before long, she found herself bowing and cringing at the feet of the trainers with the other women, submitting to their demands upon her body and degrading herself in every way, simply to avoid further punishment, or at least receive a lesser one.
She must have done well enough to convince the slavers she had been broken, because eventually they moved her to the second stage of her training. She was given regular meals and allowed sleep periods that, though still brief, were heaven compared to what came before. The beatings and punishments, though still all too frequent, were no longer an every day occurrence. She was still kept in bondage at most times outside her cell, but more often it was the shackles, leg irons and ballgag instead of the more intense positions she’d endured.
The training also changed, instead of simply trying to beat her down and break her will, now the goal was to teach her the skills she would need to possess as a slave. Sexual skills were still a big part of it: now learning to actively please both men and women in a variety of ways instead of merely serving as a receptacle for their lust.
But other skills were deemed important as well. Samantha was taught domestic skills: cooking and cleaning. Samantha struggled with that almost as much as learning to perform oral sex on another woman. She was, or had been, a modern, upper middle class independent woman, not a house wife. She had a cleaning agency come by once a week and got most of her meals take out or through a meal service.
Another set of classes focused on what she thought of as the proper ‘demeanor’ for a slave. The usual bowing and scraping, how to kneel and how to get up again, how to walk in a sultry and alluring way, whether barefoot or in heels, restrained or not, and how to properly address her betters, the only time, apart from meals, when she did not have a ballgag wedged between her teeth.
The lights flashed on, flooding the tiny, closet-sized space with harsh white light. As she blinked through tears, Samantha could see, straight ahead of her, her own reflection in a mirror: a nude, sad-faced woman kneeling, head bowed. It was, she knew, one way glass. There was, at the moment, one or more handlers watching her through it. Sure enough, the harsh buzz of the intercom system echoed overhead, followed by a voice. “Slave #607 will stand at attention.” It was a different voice then the one that had ordered her to kneel, but it was a man’s voice which meant it could only be one of her betters and thus one which must be obeyed.
In the smooth, graceful movements she had practiced countless times under the crop of her instructors, Samantha rose up off her knees and straightened her legs, rising in a single motion to a standing position. She adjusted her stance, spreading her legs about a foot apart, weight forward so her neatly shaven crotch was on full display. At the same time, she shifted her arms, placing both hands, fingers intertwined, on the back of her head, pulling her shoulders back to pull in her smooth, flat tummy and thrust her naked breasts out as prominently as possible. She raised her head, gazing with a neutral, impassive expression into her own reflection and froze, waiting passively for the next instruction.
It came a minute later. The intercom buzzed and the man ordered her to: “Slave #607: Turn around in place, slowly.” Again, in the smooth, practiced motions she’d been taught, Samantha turned in place. In the back of her head, the young woman knew there was a man, probably several, on the other side of the mirror, running their eyes over every inch of her naked body as she posed for them. Some part of her knew she should be outraged and embarrassed by that, but after months of constant enforced nudity, where nearly every other woman around her was as naked and on display as she was, such a minor concern no longer bothered her the way it might when she had been a free woman. Samantha had done two and a half rotations when the voice ordered her to stop. She froze, with her back to the one way mirror and facing the heavy metal door which occupied most of the wall opposite.
“Slave #607: Bend over and spread.” Samantha had expected that order next. Without the slightest sign of hesitation, she leaned forward, bending almost double. At the same time, she widened her stance as far as the confines of the cell would allow. She knew this left her naked sex and ass presented lewdly to the mirror and whatever watchers were on the other side but, like the regular nudity, familiarity had blunted whatever shame she might have felt exposing herself like this. Looking was the least of what these men, and others like them, had done to those parts of her body in the past, after all.
“Attention, Slave #607.” Samantha straightened and resumed her previous pose, legs only slightly spread now, chest thrust forward. A moment later, there was a rasp and a clang in front of her. The small slot in the bottom of the door had been slid open. There was a jangle as a pair of ankle fetters were pushed through. Samantha did not more, remaining at attention for a moment longer, waiting to be given the order. She’d made the mistake of anticipating it before and been punished for it.
“Slave #607 will restrain herself.” Samantha stepped forward and bent at the waist, once more presenting her shapely rear to the mirror. Taking the shackles, she slowly opened one cuff and slid it around her left ankle, closing it one click at a time until the metal ring pressed firmly on her skin. This was repeated with the second cuff, joining her feet together by the short chain.
A ballgag followed a moment later. Again, Samantha waited for the order: “Slave #607 will gag herself.” before bending to pick up the gag. She opened her mouth as wide as she could in order to pop the thick rubber ball between her teeth. The straps were pulled behind her head and tongue threaded through buckle. As she had been told her first day, she pulled hard on the strap, forcing the gag deep into her mouth before fastening it tight. She suppressed a quiet whimper as the familiar strain of the gag set in almost at once.
The final piece was a set of polished steel handcuffs. After being ordered, Samantha picked them up and placed her arms behind her back. With practiced motion, she closed the cuffs around one wrist, then the other, pressing them as tight as possible, wincing as hard metal dug into her wrists. Then she stood in the same ‘attention’ pose as before, save for her hands trapped behind her back.
Another couple of minutes passed. Then with a creak, the cell door swung inward. A handler in a gray jumpsuit came in. At a nod from the man, Samantha raised her chin up so the handler could more easily clip the short chain lead he drew from a pocket to one of the rings fixed to the front of her collar.
Without a word, the man turned and walked out of the cell. Samantha followed, moving gracefully enough, despite the ankle fetters. She paced herself to stay a respectful distance behind the man, but close enough to keep the lead joining her to him, slack. They turned down the long corridor, lined with dozens of doors leading into cells identical to the one Samantha had just come from.
Further beyond, the corridors split and split again. One way, Samantha knew all too well, led to the training rooms where she and many other enslaved women and girls had suffered under the all-too-literal lash of their instructors. But this time, the man led Samantha down another way. The room she was finally brought to was not large, maybe fifteen feet square on all sides. It was dark, apart from a bright spotlight which shown straight down, illuminating a circle in the center of the room. At Samantha was made to stand in this pillar of light, she could just make out a half-dozen figures seated in chairs in a row in front of her, facing the young woman.
This was an evaluation, to determine if their training had done its work and Samantha was ready to sell. This was her third time in front of them. Twice before, they’d decided she wasn’t fully broken after all and twice sent her back for further training, starting with sharp punishments to convince her to put more effort into her training this time. Samantha didn’t know if there was a limit, some point at which they would decide she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be trained to their standards, nor what they would do with her if they decided she was useless for their cruel purposes. But she was quite sure she didn’t want to find out. Samantha took a deep breath to steady herself.
“I am a slave.” She thought, willing herself into the mindset these people wanted her to adopt. “My only purpose is to obey.”
The handler stepped behind Samantha and undid the strap of the ballgag. He did not remove it completely, but loosened it enough to allow her to let the slick rubber plug slide from between her teeth and fall, hanging around her neck over the collar. Despite this new freedom, the young woman kept her mouth shut, silently waiting for orders.
“Samantha Blake, step forward.” A shadowy man said from the right ride. Samantha forced herself to stand still, letting no sign of reaction cross her face. Responding to her old name, the name of a free woman, had caused her to fail her first examination. As far as the slavers were concerned, Samantha Blake didn’t exist any more. She’d ceased to exist the night two of their abductors had grabbed her in the parking garage of her office and threw her in the trunk of their car. Now there was only Slave #607. Whether or not Samantha thought of herself that way was irrelevant. Maybe they couldn’t stop her holding onto her name in her mind, but they could certainly punish her for showing any inkling she was anything other then Slave #607.
There was a brief pause and Samantha heard the scratch of a pen on paper as one of the examiners jotted down a note. Then another man, on the left this time, spoke in a sharp tone. “Slave #607 will kneel!” Without hesitation, Samantha sank to her knees in a single, fluid motion, despite the chains she wore. She spread her knees as far apart as she could and arched her shoulders back, making sure her sex and breasts were on clear display for the watchers.
“Slave #607 will approach on her knees!” A third person, a woman this time, ordered. In a slow, measured pace, Samantha crawled forward towards the figure who had given the command. Though most of their features remained shrouded in gloom, Samantha could see they were dressed, not in the workmanlike jumpsuits of the trainers and handlers, but in expensive business attire. The woman wore a severely tailored jacket and skirt with stockings and heels, just the sort of thing Samantha used to wear to work, before her involuntary career change. The thought of her old life caused a brief moment of pain to shoot through Samantha. Hurriedly, she suppressed the thought.
“I am a slave.” She thought. “I must obey.”
The naked, shackled slave girl came to a halt, kneeling in front of the other, expensively attired woman. The examiner leaned back in her chair, casually spreading her legs apart. There was no order, but in such a case one was hardly necessary, as Samantha had learned well during her training. Silently, she shuffled forward until she could bend forward, leaning into the other woman’s short business skirt. Samantha was unsurprised to find the other woman not not wearing anything underneath it. The slave buried her face into her mistress’ crotch. In the previous two examinations, she’d been forced to perform oral sex on men, but enough of the trainers had been women to ensure Samantha, like all the other slaves, had become nearly as proficient in pleasuring women as men. She went to work with her tongue and soon had the other woman moaning with pleasure.
The rest of the examination went quickly. Samantha serviced a couple of the men as well, both with her mouth, her ass and pussy. The others watched and took notes. Then, all too abruptly, the handler came for Samantha. After peremptorily ordering her to her feet, her ballgag and leash were reapplied and she was whisked out of the room and back through the maze of corridors to her cell, or one identical to it. Once there, all of the restrained were removed and the man left, locking the door behind him.
With no other instructions, Samantha knelt, resuming her position before the examination. Though she kept her face neutral, the young woman’s mind raced with thoughts and fears and hopes. The previous times Samantha had failed to pass muster she’d found out almost immediately, when she’d been delivered to one of the punishment rooms to be ‘encouraged’ to try harder next time. That she hadn’t suggested Samantha had passed. It could also mean they were still deciding and she might, at any moment, be whisked off to be tortured once more, but as minutes in the cell turned into hours, she thought that a more remote possibility.
The thought that she had passed brought a mixture of emotions to Samantha. The thought she would not longer have to endure the slavers’ training was some relief, but it was overwhelmed by fear of what came next: being sold. Aside from letting her and the other newly captured women know that their fate was, eventually, to be sold off, the slavers told them nothing of how that process would go. What little she’d known of the white slave trade prior to being caught up in it hadn’t helped either. Vague notions of deals conducted on the dark web competed with images of slave auctions from history books and horror movies. Alone in the dark cell, Samantha had plenty of time to let her fears and imagination run wild...