“Slaves! Attention!” The command, delivered in a sharp, authoritative voice, was punctuated by the harsh snap of the leather flogger held in the hand of the woman who’d given it. With the rest of the girls, Katy ran to her place in line. Having felt the sting of that flogger on multiple occasions, the teen didn’t want to give a reason for it being used on her again. A forlorn hope, she knew. Nothing she or the other slaves did was ever good enough to completely avoid punishment, but there was no sense making things worse if she didn’t have to.

Lining up with the other girls, Katy came to attention, standing with her legs spread a precise 6” apart, hands clasped behind her back, shoulders pulled back to thrust her chest forward, head raised slightly, eyes looking forward to no particular spot on the wall at the far end of the room. The girl’s body was naked save the black leather collar around her throat and the matching cuffs currently unattached, on her wrists and ankles.

On either side of her, the rest of the girls took their places, slipping silently into the same position as her. A couple of them, including Paige Michael, had been bought at the same auction Katy had been two weeks before. A couple others had already been here. The rest had arrived after, bought from similar black market slave auctions, Katy guessed. Like her, they were nude, apart from the collar and cuffs. They varied in age, though none was much older then about 20 or so.

That was how the Mistress made her living. She went to those low end slave markets and found girls with promise. Untrained, freshly captured, Katy had cost her mistress $36 Grand. When she was sold, she might fetch anywhere up to a quarter of a million dollars. But to bring that kind of price, she needed to be trained first…

Boots tapping on the room’s hardware floor, the mistress strode up the line, pausing at each girl. If she showed any fault in her poise, any look of defiance or independent thought, the flogger sang out, the slap of leather on soft female flesh, a gasp or a yelp followed by a submissive voice giving a quiet “Thank you, Mistress!” Then it was on to the next girl.

Katy kept her gaze fixed forward, fighting down the urge to glance over at the slowly approaching doom. The training room and the adjoining slave quarters had been Katy’s entire world since she and the other newly sold slaves had been brought here, bound and hooded. The walls were half paneled in the same dark hardwood as the floor and half plastered in an off-white, same as the ceiling. Combined with the antique brass light fixtures and handles on the doors, it gave the place a sort of old fashioned look. The bondage furniture and equipment scattered about the room was of similar style.

The windows were covered in heavy drapes of a dark burgundy. In her time here, Katy had never seen them open. Even going near them meant severe punishment for the unlucky slave girl. Of course, for all Katy knew, the windows were bricked up or there might not have been windows at all. She had no idea where this building was, in the country or the city. It might even be deep underground for all she knew.

Just then, the Mistress came into Katy’s field of view. The mistress was tall, even before the three-inch heels she wore were taken into consideration. Her skin was pale, her long, wavy black hair was tied back in a tight ponytail with a red ribbon. Her garb was part vintage, part fetish, with a tight black skirt going down past her knees over dark hose, a leather corset over a frilly white blouse, with a large, old fashioned cameo brooch pinned at the throat. She looked to be in her forties, the first signs of age starting to show at the corners of her eyes.

Trailing after her was another woman in her mid-twenties. Her collar and cuffs were supplemented by thigh high boots and elbow length leather gloves as well as a hood that concealed all but her expressive blue eyes. She was the Mistress’ personal slave, handling all the sundry details, like placing the other girls in strict bondage.

“Straighten those shoulders, 7.” The mistress snapped after a quick glance at Katy. ‘7’ was the number on Katy’s collar and the name she answered to here. Though the teen might still think of herself as Katy, as far as the wider world was concerned, Katy Van Owen had disappeared while on a road trip with her friends, that girl no longer existed. She was only Slave 7.  “Chin up, girl!”  By way of encouragement, the flogger delivered a pair of quick, stinging slaps across the slave’s naked breasts.

Katy winced and struggled to conform to the instructions she was given. Fighting back the sharp words and sharper profanity that came to mind, Katy meekly bowed her head and said “Thank you Mistress.” She’d endured many punishments early on, before she’d learned how to hold her tongue.

Fortunately, this seemed to satisfy the older woman, who moved down the row to the next teen. Eventually, she reached the end of the line, dispensing a few more quick punishments. “Alright girls…” The Mistress announced at last, “Let us begin your training for the day…”

***

Megan knelt on the bed, steeling herself for what was to come. The girl was naked, apart from the thin steel right of a collar encircling her neck. A chain connected it to a ring built into the sturdy bed’s headboard. Her hands were clasped in front of her, locked with a pair of handcuffs. A leather panel gag was locked over her mouth with a small padlock. The key to it, as well as the keys to her handcuffs and collar were hung on a small right on the door to the room, some ten feet away.

The teen kept her gaze down at the bed and its dark red bedspread, trying not to look at the door on the keys so tantalizingly close yet still out of reach, or at the racks on the side of the small room not taken up by the bed. The whips, floggers, clamps, plugs and other toys there she was already familiar with after three weeks here.

Noises came from the room to Megan’s left. The thin interior walls of this place did little to impede sounds. The door opened and shut, a man’s voice, muffled, the rattle of chains. Then the smack of a wooden paddle on a soft, naked bottom, a noise Megan was all too familiar with by now. The muffled yelp that accompanied the smack sounded like Bethany, one of the older girls, in that she’d been here almost three whole years. More smacks, more gag muffled screams. Megan hoped that was mostly theatrical on her part.

Most of the time, the customers were just looking for some rough foreplay before getting to their real business there, but every so often you got a real sadist. Management tried to screen them out, not out of any concern for the girls, of course, but damaged slaves couldn’t work, couldn’t make their owners money. That said, the customers could go very far before getting kicked out.

More sounds from the room to her right. It sounded like Shawna, one of the new girls bought at the same auction Megan had been. From her yelps, that was a crop or a rod being used on her breasts. The poor girl had an impressive set of DD’s and usually got punished there most every night.

A few more minutes passed. More rooms came alive with the sounds of the girls inside being punished, but not all or even most. It might be a slow night, Megan hoped. Not all the girls would get a visitor if that was the case. She might enjoy a rare night without some part of her anatomy in pain.

That hope, along with all the teen’s other hopes and dreams, was dashed. “This one here, you enjoy very much!” The Madam said in strangely  accented English. Her key rattled in the lock and the door swung open. Megan stayed still, kneeling, head bowed as her tormentor for the night was led in and shown the keys and the rack of toys by the Madam. Megan could only pray this one would  not be as bad as some customers she’d had before…

For a long moment, the man was silent, perusing the rack as he decided how he wanted to have his fun tonight. He picked one of the toys up and gave it a few speculative swishes through the air. The switch, Megan thought, from the sound of things. Behind her gag, she made a face. She hated that one.

“Turn around and bend over, slave.” The man ordered gruffly. He had clearly been here before and knew how this place worked. Glumly, Megan obeyed, carefully turning around to avoid tangling her leash. She leaned forward, face pressing into the thin, hard mattress, her naked bottom thrust up into the air. She spread her legs, knowing this left her completely exposed to the man’s gaze, but after three weeks here, the teen no longer felt the shame. Too many men had seen and touched and done worse to that part of her body since then.

“Hopefully he’ll just give a couple strokes and then fuck me.” Megan thought. Whatever he did though, her only option would be to endure it.

The swish of the switch through the air was all the warning the teen got. She yelped into her gag as pain blossomed across her bottom. The start of another long night of pain for her…

***

Shannon lay back, bending over the edge of a sturdy wooden table. The top and edge was padded, but it was still a far from comfortable position. Not that the teen had much choice in matters. She’d been thoroughly trussed up with tight, scratchy cord. Her hands had been tied at the wrists in front of her, then pulled over her head where they’d been fastened to the back of the tight chest harness encircling the girl’s torso and wrapping her breasts. Further down, her legs had been securely lashed, at the knees and ankles, to the table legs, forcing her to spread them wide. Given the teen wore nothing apart from the ropes, this meant she was completely exposed.

“Lights!” A voice called. Several stage lights came on, nearly blinding Shannon. “Camera!”

“Rolling.” A woman said in the darkness behind the lights. The lens of the camera glinted as it focused in on the table and the squirming girl lashed lewdly to it.

“Action! Cue struggling!”

Shannon proceeded to struggle and squirm for all she was worth. It was futile, she knew, in the month since she’d been here she’d only gotten free of her bonds once and the director had spent the next hour or so berating the rigger while he’d placed her in even stricter bondage. But they wanted her to struggle, so she had to give it to them, or else they’d find some way of making her squirm and thrash about. Method acting was a byword around her, Shannon had found.

The teen had been bought at auction along with a number of other slaves, men and women, by a film studio making hardcore bondage porn. As a girl, Shannon had often dreamed of being a movie star, but never in a million years had she imagined it would be like this.

At the director’s cue, two more figures took the stage. The first was a tall, severe woman dressed in leather fetish wear, complete with thigh high boots, gloves and a tall spiked collar. She was a slave owned by the studio, like Shannon and had been there nearly seven or eight years, long enough for them to give her roles more complex than helpless bondage captive.

The older woman tugged on the leash she held, causing the figure on the other end of it to stumble into frame. He was one of the other recently purchased slaves, a young man a little older than Shannon with curly dark hair. At the moment, his other features were obscured by a thick padded blindfold. Below, a leather panel gag covered the lower part of her mouth. His arms and upper torso were wrapped in a web of ropes as complex and strict as Shannon’s bondage. His legs were unbound and between them Shannon could see his naked manhood. While she’d been getting tied to the table, she’d seen him, tied up just off stage, being teased by the other slave, ensuring he would easily come to attention when the cameras started rolling.

“Focus!” The director called. The main camera zoomed in on the two captives’ crotches as the male slave was led over to stand between Shannon’s bound, spread legs. “Camera two, focus on face...I want some reactions for the B-roll.”

Shannon continued to squirm, knowing it was futile as the slave-mistress lined up her blindfolded charge. Once he got started though, he knew just what to do. Shannon squealed as he started to rhythmically thrust. Things were getting well underway when…

“Cut!” The director suddenly shouted. The slave mistress hurriedly yanked back the male slave, keeping him from expending himself on a busted take. He groaned through his gag as he stumbled back after the leash. “Boom mic got in the frame...again!”

The unfortunate girl manning that piece of equipment protested feebly, the shackles on her wrists and ankles rattling as she trembled with fright, all to no avail. A couple of the studio’s goons came and seized her. “Looks like we’ve found our leading lady for the next installment in the Whip Master’s series.” The director called after her as the girl was dragged away, moaning in terror.

Another scared girl was brought up and manned the boom mic with trepidation. The rest of the crew reset with equal alacrity. None of them wanted to earn a co-star position with the unfortunate girl. Soon, all was ready again.

“Action!” The director called.

Shannon started to struggle again. Inside, she sighed. “So much for show business…”

***

Denise was in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes when her master came home from work. The teen plied the soapy sponge to a baking pan vigorously, but the residue of food didn’t want to come unstuck. She’d used it to cook a roast the day before, from a recipe her master had printed out. Before her enslavement, Denise hadn’t been much of a cook, hadn’t had much experience with any domestic chores to be honest, but when the penalty for a mistake was a half dozen strokes of her master’s crop, the teen had proved a quick learner.

She was struggling to reach the top of the pan, a task made difficult by the shackles cuffing her hands in front of her. They were joined by a 3’ chain to the similar set locked around her ankles. It kept her from getting her hands much higher than her waist. On tiptoes, she could just barely reach the kitchen counter. They, and the collar fastened around her neck were all the teen wore.

Just then, her ears picked up the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. With a start, Denise dropped the pan back into the sink full of soapy water. Maybe soaking a bit would loosen the grime. She’d be in trouble for not finishing all her chores, she knew, but she’d be in worse trouble if she wasn’t at the door, in position to greet her master on his return.

Ankle fetters jangling, Denise shuffled through the house. It wasn’t overly big, which was a relief for the poor slave girl tasked with keeping it spotlessly clean, but expensively and tastefully furnished. She wasn’t sure what her owner did for a living, something finance related was her best guess, but was it clearly lucrative, enough to afford this house and to buy a kidnapped teenage slave girl to look after it.

Denise shuffled past windows, drapes pulled back to give a wide open view of its surroundings: wide open lawns, carefully manicured, neatly arranged gardens and, off in the distance, the equally large and impressive house of the closest neighbors. Her master wasn’t worried about anyone spotting the naked slave girl as she went about her chores, though when there was company over, Denise was locked in her cage in a hidden and well sound-proofed corner of the basement.

Nor was he worried about her trying to escape. The windows and doors were all fitted with sensors which connected to a small box built into the side of the girl’s collar. If she tried to leave via any of those routes, it would deliver a shock directly to her body. She’d discovered this the hard way in her first week here, trying to climb out a window when she thought her master was distracted. She’d been knocked flat on her ass by the sudden painful shock. The only thing worse than that had been the punishment she’d received immediately after for trying to escape. Combined, the two had put paid to any thoughts the teen might have had of escaping this place.

The sound of footsteps coming up the walk told Denise she’d reached the front door with not a moment to spare. Hurriedly, the slave girl threw herself onto her knees, assuming the position she’d been carefully taught by her master: knees spread wide, hands atop her bowed head, shoulders back and chest thrust out invitingly upwards. The pose showed off the teen’s body to good effect, especially the glittering rings dangling from the tips of her small, pert nipples and between her legs, ‘gifts’ from her master to mark the end of her first month of slavery.

She knelt, completely still, as keys jingled in the lock. The door swung open and her master entered. He was a tall man, broad shouldered, but getting into middle age, his short, dark hair going gray at the temples. He wore a fine navy blue business suit.

“Welcome home, master.” Denise called in a soft, pleasant voice. The older man hardly acknowledged her, striding by with a grumble. She suppressed a frown. The master must have had a bad day at work. That boded poorly for her. As she’d found, he tended to vent his frustrations out on her.

Just before he disappeared around the corner, her master barked “scotch!” Denise waited a moment for him to get out of sight, then leapt to her feet. Chains jingling, she shuffled to the kitchen. There, she briefly paused, checking on the oven. To her relief, the chicken in there was fine and turning a nice golden brown. Ruining dinner tonight would have gotten her a whipping for sure. She continued to the drink’s cabinet, struggling to get out a cut crystal tumbler and a bottle of whisky she remembered her master seemed to favor. Wanting to put him in a good mood, she poured a generous dollop, added a whisky stone to chill it and set the class on a tray.

Denise found her master sitting in an armchair in the living room, watching the financial news with a sour look. Denise knelt, offering the tray with her master’s drink. He took it, without a word of thanks, not she expected one, and took a long drink, downing it far faster then such a fine distillation should have been. The teen frowned. This was bad. From the sounds on the TV, business was not good at the moment. She needed to distract him.

The teen crawled around on her knees, so she was seated directly in front of him. When he noticed her, the girl gave a smile, as inviting as she could manage. He needed no further encouragement, spreading his legs and unzipping his pants. Denise leaned forward, taking her master in her mouth. The teen had had a little experience before her enslavement, giving blowjobs to her boyfriend. Though she’d never much enjoyed it, she knew it made him happy. It was the same with her master. The slave girl brought all her skills to the task, knowing the happier she could make him, the less risk she was in of being punished later that night. In now time at all, her lips and tongue brought him to orgasm. She licked him clean and leaned back, head bowed submissively.

“Go and prepare dinner, slave.” Was all he said to her as he zipped back up, but to Denise’ relief, as she straightened up and, with a bow, shuffled back to the kitchen, the older man’s mood seemed much improved. Now, if nothing went wrong with dinner, she just might get through the night without being punished!