Mature Content

"Please, Mistress. I beg."

"For what do you beg, girl?" cooed Mistress Vanda behind me. "State your request clearly, so there is no ambiguity. There will be no take backs later."

"Please, Mistress, I beg for you to enslave me. I beg to become your property. I beg for the privilege of serving you, in any way you desire, for the rest of my natural life."

"Well, Sydney, when you ask as nicely as that, how can I refuse? Yes, slave, you are mine and will be until such time as you die, or I dispose of you as I see fit." Upon hearing those words, I started sobbing. Thus completing Ruth's prophecy.

Every part of me burned. I had not known you could feel like I did now. I did not understand how Mistress had seemed to know exactly how far to go. How much pain to inflict. When to strike or when to caress. I had been played like an instrument by a virtuoso of unsurpassed skill.

I had writhed in my bonds with Ruth's words searing my soul. As I climaxed, guilt burned me to the core. For I knew her words to be truth, long before Mistress offered me my freedom. I would do anything to feel like that again. No, 'would' was the wrong word. I must do anything to feel like that again. No sacrifice was too great. Instantly addicted, the cost irrelevant. Indeed, a slave collar seemed a sweet deal if it was rewarded in such an apt way. I had no choice. I was compelled by a burning need to beg for her collar. I knew too that Jenny would join me in bondage. Nobody could refuse such temptation.

The pain had been unbearable. But Mistress had mercilessly inflicted more. She made me climax with her whip. Orgasm after orgasm heaped upon me until I did not want to ever again. Then to be lifted up and held on the edge until I would have pled to die if I could tumble over into sexual bliss once more. I lost track of time or space. I floated on a cloud of torment washed with waves of agony. The anguish and torture were unending. Until, eventually, I became nothing but pain. I became a burning effigy of sexual desire. My skin aflame, my very being consumed in lust and fire. Unable to distinguish between hot or cold, love or hate, up or down. I was lost on an endorphin rush that devoured my mind.

My old life was over. My parents would never see their darling daughter again. Sydney Chamberlin was dead. I felt no guilt as I hung in my chains, as I knew I was powerless. I was no longer responsible. All I had to do now was obey. Obey and serve. My needs or wants meant nothing. Mistress was everything. Then, if I served well, if I was good, Mistress would make me scream again. If I was good. If I obeyed. The bargain had been struck, and I had sold myself into slavery. In the hope, not a promise, that Mistress would make me feel like that once more.

I hung in the chains and listened to Jennifer scream. She lasted a long time. Idly I wondered if I had screamed for as long. New pain, in my wrists, arms and shoulders, added itself to my burning flesh. Jenny's screams changed from torment to pleasure, and still, the crack of the whip on tender flesh punctuated her cries.

Unable to hold up my head, it fell forward, my chin pressed on my chest, adding to the stress on my shoulders. My field of vision reduced to the flagstones, wet with my fluids, below me. Spatters of blood mingled with sweat and vaginal fluids in a slick puddle of my lust, pain and torment.

Jenny, after a crescendo of agonising passion, had fallen silent. Faintly I heard Mistress offer her her choice. Desperate, pleading followed. Coherent for the first time in hours, Jenny screamed her decision, "Enslave me, Mistress! I beg of you, please. I am yours forever, Mistress. Don't cast me out, Mistress. I'll obey you forever, Mistress. Please, please, PLEASE! Make me your slave."

Jenny was with me. I was not alone.

Despite the pain, and my burning arms. Notwithstanding the sweat dripping off me, in this incessant heat, to add to the coalescing puddle beneath. Despite it all, I smiled, for I was not alone.

Eventually, I was taken down. Ruth handled me as if I were nothing but a straw doll. Too weak to protest in earnest, involuntary squeaks of pain escaped me when grasped in parts still sore.

Slung over either shoulder, as if we weighed nothing, Ruth carried us to the blacksmith. There we had our fetters fitted. Heavy steel cuffs were closed about our ankles. Our feet resting on a wooden block next to an anvil, long rivets were hammered into place. Matching cuffs, attached to each other by a two-foot chain, were sealed about our wrists.

Finally, we were made to sit on the ground, with our backs to the anvil, so our collars could be fitted. Monstrous, heavy steel things. Two and a half inches tall, a quarter-inch thick, and so close-fitting I felt strangled. The collar bit my neck each time the smith's hammer struck the rivet behind me. The enormity of the commitment literally hammered home. Not locks, but rivets. It was never coming off. For the rest of my life, I would be a slave.

Meekly we followed Ruth through a maze of stone-walled corridors and down stone flights of stairs. Ruth had shown us how to place the chain of our cuffs either behind us or in front, by crouching and stepping over it. Advising that we keep it behind for now. Thus we jingled as the chain bounced off our legs as our bare feet slapped on the smooth stone floor.

Jenny had timorously asked how we were to dress with our wrists so fettered. Ruth had matter-of-factly informed us both we would probably never wear clothes again. Personally, the last thing I wanted to do was put on clothing as sweat ran freely in the heat.

Eventually, we entered a room containing women fettered just as we were. Most were kneeling on the floor behind small barred doors. The space behind each of these small doors, looking very cramped. The rest were sitting at a table eating what looked like porridge from plain wooden bowls. All the women were beautiful, and none of them looked older than twenty-five.

"Puella!" Barked Ruth, and a pretty girl with her golden locks piled high on her head bounced over. I then noticed that all the other women wore their hair down. Why was Puella special? "Ingrid, dear, be a poppet and find kennels for these two, would you? Also, we are going to need to pair them up for a couple of weeks. Any suggestions?"

"Mistress, Willa and Lorelei have just come off duty in the creche. They would be the best to pair with initiates."

"Perfect! Once you have these two secured, come to my room. Bring another if you want to treat anyone."

Ruth left, and the blonde smiled at us. "Welcome, my name is Ingrid, and you are?"

"Sydney."

"Jenny."

"Engländers! Well, girls, I'm sure you are feeling very delicate and more than a bit overwhelmed. I remember my first day as though it was yesterday. We all do, in fact. So let's get you a place to lie down and sleep. Training can wait until tomorrow."

"Please, Miss," I started, unsure how to address her, "What does Puella mean?"

"Oh, that is my rank. Follow me. Mistress Ruth is the head slave, or Famula. I'm her second, or Puella. No one else has rank. Technically you are all equal, but the reality is you two are at the bottom of the heap. You can call each other sister. Once you have found your feet, in a couple of months or so, you can do the same to the other girls. Until then, Miss will do. Don't worry too much. We are all Mother Superior's slaves. Rank is rarely pulled, and we all remember what it's like to be new."

Ingrid opened a barred door to an empty kennel, "This is you, Jenny." Crouching and stepping back over her chain, so she could crawl, Jenny dropped to her knees and entered her cage. The door clanged loudly, as Ingrid closed it behind her. "There's a bucket for your necessaries and a bowl of water. I kennelled your trainers only a half-hour ago so you can have a proper sleep before your first day."

I was led further down the row of kennels. There would be no talking to Jenny now. "This is you, Sydney."

"Thank you, Miss." I crawled into my new bedroom. Although I knew it was coming, I still jumped when the door banged shut. I turned to listen to any instructions from Ingrid, but she had already walked away.

I turned back to examine my cage. A yard and a half square cube of solid stone. The only light came in through the barred door. As Ingrid had informed Jenny, a black metal bucket with a lid stood in one corner. A stainless dog bowl of water occupied another corner. Along the back of the space, a thin, barely qualifying for the name, mattress, suggested a place to sleep. No pillow. No sheets. Absolutely no frills. But then, hey, I was a slave now.

In a desperate attempt to assuage the effects of the heat, I dunked my face in the water bowl. The water was tepid though, and so I simply sucked up enough to slake my thirst. Feeling incredibly forlorn, I crawled over to the mattress and curled into a ball upon it. Still sore and bruised, now permanently fettered, including a too tight and too tall metal collar. Utterly certain I had made a dreadful, terrible mistake, I cried myself to sleep.

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