Margaret examined the sight before her with a critical eye.

The room, if it could be called that, was bare, though not quite so bare as a typical cell. The floor was adorned with rough, itchy instead of solid concrete. The lights came with a dimmer rather than leaving a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. No furniture. That would have defeated the purpose of the room. Rings were embedded into the walls, floor, and ceiling; and a chest in the corner contained whatever tools a trainer might need.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing leather?” The man in the center of the room asked in a low, tired voice.

Margaret, head trainer of the American Midwestern Kraken Club facility, took note of the male’s insolence. Honestly. Actually trying to speak to a superior. One more detail, really. Margaret checked her watch to confirm that it had been just over an hour since the trainer responsible for overseeing this product had left it in the room with no sign of returning in a timely manner.

The basic principal was sound. Isolation was of course a time-tested that could hardly be said to be out of place in a Kraken Club facility. It was standard procedure, even for slaves slated for one-on-one training like this one. But the bindings on this product were alarmingly simple for an unattended slave. Nothing more than simple cuffs with too much slack on the wrists and ankles, holding him in a loose strappado. There wasn’t even a blindfold. It would be one thing if the trainer were keeping an active eye on the situation, but Margaret knew precisely what the woman in question was allowing to distract her.

“That’s what assholes like you are supposed to wear, isn’t it? Black leather, head to toe? And where’s your whip?”

Margaret made no outward reaction to the slave’s pathetic attempt at taunting her. As it happened, she did own several black leather outfits. She wouldn’t count any of them among her favorite things to wear, but leather was classic dominant gear for a reason and Margaret enjoyed sheathing herself in them a few times every month or so when she wanted to beat her pup or discipline her maids.

But not here. Margaret preferred a more professional look when she was at work. Her dark green suit would not look terribly out of place in any ordinary boardroom, save for the intricate golden kraken embroidered onto the left lapel. Over her other lapel fell her luxuriously soft brunette hair in waves. Below the blazer was a matching green skirt that went to her knees, and beneath that she wore dark hose and heels. Customers and the rare colleague would occasionally question the practicality of a slave trainer wearing a heel and skirt combination. They would ask what she would do if a slave were to escape, and Margaret would give them a light-hearted scoff. As if she would ever allow a product to escape her.

Idly, Margaret considered breaking her personal dress code for this slave. The thought of breaking him down in the leather he was mocking—of grinding his head on the ground under her booted heels—was a tempting one… But no. As fun as it might be to make him beg and plead for mercy in such clothing, that would give the slave the impression that its thoughts and words mattered.

“God damn it, fucking answer me!”

Margaret did not answer the slave. She continued her inspection, taking note of the overabundance of red marks on his back that looked a little too close to scarring for her comfort. At the way the slave’s eyes would periodically dart from her to the door as he attempted to plot escape. And at his continued insolence most of all.  

Margaret marched out of the bare room when she was finally done, continuing to ignore the increasingly frantic insults the slave threw her way. Just outside the door were the four uniformed handlers she had brought with her and ordered to remain outside, two on either side of her.

With an irritated sigh, turned to the handlers on her left. “The item will spend the night in sensory deprivation. The strappado will remain for as long as he can physically handle it. Make its bonds far more strict than they are now, gag it with the largest ball that will fit its mouth, and ensure it does not fall asleep tonight. I will be personally assuming responsibility for its training when I arrive tomorrow morning.”

The handlers, one man and one woman, immediately moved to follow her orders, marching into the room and shutting the door just as the slave began another round of drivel. Margaret turned to the men on her right. Before she had the chance to speak, she saw something past their shoulders.

Erin, the trainer responsible for the sorry state of the slave in the room behind Margaret, had finally returned. She was just under a decade younger than Margaret at thirty-one years old, her blonde hair done up in a perfect French twist. Her manner of dress was nearly identical to the older woman’s, their clothing similar enough that the differences in shade of hose or brand of shoe were virtually inconsequential. A coincidence, Margaret had eventually realized, rather than an attempt at sycophancy.

“Margaret,” Erin said with a polite smile as the handlers stepped aside. “Is there something I can help you with? I was planning to check on the slave in the room right there, but it can wait a little longer if you need anything.”

Margaret pursed her lips at the words and looked Erin up and down, considering the situation one last time before making her final decision.

“You’re fired,” she informed the younger woman.

“I—” Erin’s smile froze, her expression announcing her pure confusion to the world. “Excuse me? What?”

Margaret waved her hand to the handlers and turned to walk away from the new slave. She heard rather than watched the two men spring forward and grab hold of the woman’s arms before there could be any chance to attempt escape. By the time she turned the corner, the new product found its voice and cried out in shock as she was wrestled quickly and efficiently to the ground. Margaret allowed herself a slight smile as she imagined that impeccable French twist thrown into disarray.

“Why?!” Margaret heard it demand in a shrill voice. “Please! At least tell me waaammmmph!”

The question was ignored, of course. A slave’s thoughts and words did not matter.

*
“Margaret, would you mind telling me why you had one of our employees enslaved today?”

“Certainly,” the head trainer instantly replied to the man before her. He tossed his favorite baseball up and down. Thomas Johnson was the head of the facility. The Team Leader. He was a tall, thin, tan man with an easy-going style of employee management that stood in sharp contrast to his merciless treatment of slaves. His Kraken Club green suit was somehow the most impeccably tailored Margaret had ever seen among any others in the organization. At the moment he was leaning back in the rich leather seat behind his desk, his legs kicked up on the table.

Behind that desk was one of his slaves. Margaret couldn’t see it now, but she got a glimpse when entering the room. A woman contained in a full body, cat-eared zentai suit pattered with leopard spots. Thomas often kept one or two slaves in his office with him and curled up at his feet. Sure enough, she could tell he was petting the slave’s head while tossing his ball with the other.

Two hours had passed since the new female slave, now lot 51726, had been taken. Margaret was seated primly with crossed legs on one of the similar leather couches that served guests in the richly furnished office. Across from her was the branch hostess responsible for interacting with customers and selling them their slaves on an identical couch. Angela. Her bright blonde hair was long, and rather than the suits that adorned nearly everyone else in the room she wore a tastefully professional high-necked, knee-length dress. Most of it was green with a design of a golden kraken extending out from the area beneath her breasts. Ostentatious, in Margaret’s opinion, but she supposed it got the point across.

Thomas managed things differently than other Kraken Club branches. The standard doctrine endorsed by the faceless Chairperson was for relatively small pockets of slavers and slaves, each employee capable of preforming every other job well, including more menial tasks such as guarding the inventory. This branch was larger, the manager expanding to three departments of acquisitions, trainers, and sales. Margaret was the head trainer, Angela the head of sales. The head of acquisitions was not present at this meeting.

It was a more expensive way of running things. But it allowed for a higher output of product. Any risks created by the higher amount of slaves were offset by the lower degree of escape attempts. Thomas had come under a certain amount of fire for deviating too far from the norm, but he had never been disciplined.

“As we have discussed in the past, the slaves trained personally by lot 51726 have been noted to have a higher than average rate of disobedient behavior. We’ve had a number of complaints regarding insolence and escape attempts.”

“That’s strike one,” Thomas said. “But come on, those complaints weren’t bad enough to fire her. Half of them were clearly because the owners were mishandling them.”

Margaret nodded. “Yes, but it was a cause for concern, and she failed to take note of the issue to correct it.” Margaret held any of the subordinates she entrusted with any level of authority as trainers to a high standard. They were expected to be constantly self-examining their performance. She had never approached Erin with the issues in her training because the woman should have noticed them herself.

“Still not a firing offense,” Thomas pointed out. He suddenly leaned forward, elbows on the desk. A faint whine lilted up from his side. “Why not just stick her in a collar and a cuffs for a few weeks as an office slave? We could use one around here and it should be enough to straighten her out.”

“That was my original plan.” And Margaret meant it. She had been looking forward to bossing the younger woman around the office for some short amount of time. Nothing too strenuous. Straightforward bondage, a simple gag, and ordering her to fulfill a few mundane tasks. Go get me a cup of coffee. What's this? Why is it cold? Get down on my knee, you deserve a spanking.

Using temporary slavery as a correctional measure was another bit of Club-wide standard procedure. And it was more fun than regular slaves in some ways. No real training was required of an employee that knew what was at stake for them if they messed up. The threat of being rendered a permanent slave was enough to keep them behaving for the duration of the punishment.  

“Unfortunately, I found that there was more to the situation than I initially realized when I took a closer look at it.”

Thomas gave a shrug, set down his baseball, and reached over to pick up his tablet. “All right, so what was strike two?”

“The lax handling of one of her current charges, lot 51655, Caucasian male we picked up for a client nine days ago.”

“Alpha male type,” Angela interjected with a smile. “23 years old, acquired for a client that had a number of bad experiences with jocks in high school and college. This will be the gentleman’s third purchase from us. He wanted it well broken in.”

“Yes,” Margaret said. “The item in question was expected to be willfully stubborn. In light of that I won’t go so far as to say its behavior is appalling. But it was also slated for private training and is currently below the expected level of obedience for a personally trained item at this point, especially one requested to be broken as Mr. Carsten wants. It’s looking increasingly certain that the delivery will be made behind schedule.”

There was a moment of consideration as Thomas read the relevant information. “A bona fide strike two, to be sure. But still not necessarily warranting a complete firing.”

“Of course, Thomas. But the former trainer’s level of focus on the item’s defiance was also well below expectations. She was punishing it recklessly enough to risk permanent, albeit minor, damage. And furthermore, its bindings were frequently lax. We’re lucky the buyer wants a meathead, because a more intelligent individual with that level of fitness could have made a serious escape attempt.”

Thomas frowned. “Okay, strike two. Now what’s strike three?”

“The reason lot 51726 was being lax with 51655 is because of another slave, specifically--”

“Wait, let me guess.” All eyes went to Angela’s radiant smile. She took a moment to bask in the attention. “The virgin.”

Thomas turned back to Margaret, who nodded. “That’s right. The eighteen-year-old virgin male acquired recently. Slated for minimal training. A slave set to the client’s particularly exacting specifications, of which his virginity was only one detail. I’m sure I don’t need to remind anyone of the lengths and expense the acquisitions department undertook to gain the item, to say nothing of the exceptional price Mrs. Stevens is paying the Club for it.”

“No,” Thomas fixed Margaret with a steady look. “You do not.”

Almost unwillingly, Margaret felt herself straighten. She had been involved with the Club for well over a decade now, and her days as a fresh, nervous higher were long over. Nevertheless, the sight of her typically jovial superior’s displeasure was often enough to make her check herself.

“The product’s virginity remains intact,” she answered. “Nothing has happened to harm its sale. But I noticed the former trainer had been spending an inordinate amount of time near the slave. After some investigating, I discovered that lot 51726 was attempting to manipulate the male into credibly claiming prior sexual activity. She was attempting to sabotage the sale in order to purchase the slave herself.”

“How very foolish,” Thomas said flatly. Then he raised an eyebrow. “Almost too foolish to believe, given the circumstances. I trust you have a more detailed report for me.”

Margaret remained perfectly still, understanding exactly what the man was implying. It was not outside the realm of possibility for someone in Margaret’s position to frame another employee in order to enslave them. Rare, but not impossible. Especially not in Margaret’s case.

“Of course, sir. I sent it to you moments before you called us in.”

“Hmmm.” He looked through his messages to find it. “So you did. You can bet that I’ll be reviewing it thoroughly later.”

“I have no intention of buying any of these slaves, Thomas. To be frank, I’m more disappointed than anything else. I saw a certain amount of potential in that woman.”

“Alright then,” he shot without skipping a beat. He returned to his relaxed posture, some of the edge creeping out of his voice. “What do you intend to do next?”

“I will be personally overseeing the training of all three slaves for the duration of their time in our care,” Margaret answered. She was looking forward to expressing her disappointment to the new slave. “I’m not leaving anything to chance. After that, it’s out of my hands.”

“And into mine,” Angela said with a laugh.

Margaret only nodded in response.

“Well,” the blonde woman continued. “Thank you, Margaret. I don’t relish the necessity of selling a former employee, but I would be lying if I said I’m not going to have any fun selling Erin either. Her preliminary information was sent to me an hour ago,” a pleased sigh escaped her before she got serious again. “I will of course be limiting her sale to Club employees, don’t want customers to start requesting employee purchases, after all.”

Thomas grunted as he took at look at the information on the new female slave himself. “No, we do not,” he said absently. Another moment passed before he set his tablet down and slapped the desk, returning to his joviality. “I suppose that answers all my questions. I don’t think I’ll be keeping you ladies from your work any longer.

*

As head trainer of the branch, Margaret made a point of examining every new slave. Her former subordinate was no exception. If anything, it was more important to go through the process with this item than it was for others.

One of the handlers responsible for subduing the new slave was standing guard outside the door to the room that contained it. His face was a mask of professional courtesy as he opened the door and let Margaret in.

The room was the same basic one that the insolent male Erin had been failing to train had been in when she was fired. No furnishings and her naked body lying directly on the rough, uncomfortable carpet. She was restrained in a severe hogtie. Her arms were stuffed into an armbinder that forced her elbows to touch. Thick leather straps had been used to individually frogtie her legs before more pressed them together, solid chains connecting the armbinder to both the toe and ankle cuffs on her feet.

A thick posture collar was around her neck and the chain attached to it was tautly connected to one of the rings on the floors. Two more chains ran down form the sides of the metal chastity belt Erin wore, and a final strap at her knees was similarly attached to the floor, pulling her in four directions. She was gagged with a large pump gag, straps blossoming around her head from the leather panel over her mouth, snaking through her now horribly messy blonde hair spread out over the floor, the delightful little pump sack lying inches from her mouth.

The slave was fidgeting and moaning on the floor. Struggling against her strict bondage and trying as hard as she could to find some level of comfort on the itchy floor. She was so consumed by her efforts that she didn’t seem to notice that the door had opened. Margaret allowed herself a smirk as she took two swift strides to the center of the room and gently placed her foot on top of the pump connected to the gag.

The sight of her heel drew the slave’s attention. Her struggles ceased as she tried to look up. But with the posture collar chained to the floor and keeping her neck straight, she could only see partway up Margaret’s legs.

Even so, the pure hatred burning in her eyes was unmistakable. Margaret’s smirk disappeared as she focused on the matter at hand.

“As a former slaver and slave owner,” Margaret began, “training you will require something more than new slaves typically receive.” She put enough weight on her foot to inflate the pump, eliciting a little squeak from her charge.

“You will likely represent a specific challenge compared to your fellow slaves.” The bound woman grunted in anger, which Margaret answered by pumping more air into the gag. “You’re going to be haughty compared to the others. You may not have the same sort of mindless stubbornness that has to be beaten out of an ordinarily wealthy, spoiled acquisition…”

Another pump.

“But you have an arrogance born out of a lack of ignorance. Regardless of your actual competence – or lack thereof – at training slaves, you will at least understand the purpose of each torment you are subjected to in your training. Breaking former slavers to their new lives carries a unique set of challenges, not that you’ll ever find that out for yourself.” she pumped air into the slave’s gag five more times in rapid succession, eliciting another furious moan.

Satisfied with the size of the gag, Margaret left the pump behind and began circling the bound woman with deliberate steps, casting a critical eye on the slave’s body and taking note of her fitness level. She stopped only to grab a remote off of the chest in the corner.

“You’re not the first fired employee I’ll have trained,” Margaret said after completing one circuit around the slave. “And I doubt you will be the last. At first it seemed a tricky business, but I eventually realized the secret to training your kind.”

Margaret took a stop directly in front of the slave, who strained her neck as far as she could to look at her tormenter. Her eyes might have reached Margeret’s chest. Perhaps she could even glimpse the emblem of the Kraken Club on her lapel. But her gaze went no higher than that.

“That secret is overwhelming force. No mind games, no tricks, no careful conditioning. I will simply show you over and over again, as clearly as possible, that this body,” she placed her foot on the slave’s head and forced it back to the floor, “No longer belongs to you. It is the property of whoever happens to own you.”

The chastity belt locked onto the slave contained two dildos unavoidably inserted into the whatever slave wore it. Margaret used the remote in her hand to activate both of them on the highest setting. The slave shrieked at the unexpected burst of pleasure that wracked through her body. She thrashed as much as her bonds would allow her.

“This will go on for as long as the batteries have power,” Margaret spoke with a raised voice she doubted the slave could hear. “I imagine that will be sometime in the early morning. Enjoy it while you can, this will be the last pleasure you experience for quite some time. Possibly for the rest of your life.”

She withdrew her foot and stepped out for the room, enjoying the sounds of the slave’s violent, gagged swearing.

*

Other plans and possibilities for Erin’s training occurred to Margaret for the rest of the day. Forcing the female slave watch as the young man she had attempted to steal from his buyer was one that she thought of when she inspected the boy in question. She had to confirm that there was nothing jeopardizing his sale. Margaret also enjoyed the thought of making Erin pleasure her own former slave. Certainly, a possibility, since two field agents were already picking that slave up. But it would have to be done carefully, without letting it realize it was being serviced by its own former mistress.

Before leaving for the day, Margaret was sure to check up on the insolent male slave Erin had been failing to train. She saw he had been bound according to her orders when she checked the same room he had been in earlier, the handler giving her a polite greeting as she entered. A thick hood with a thicker blindfold covered the slave’s entire head, the earplugs Margaret knew were there, and the massive ball gag she could easily make out underneath all that leather. Accommodating that ball pulled the whole thing even tighter over the male’s skin.

Margaret also noticed, to her delight, that the handlers had turned the heat up in the room after stuffing the slave into a skin-tight latex fetish suit (not leather, she noted). The heat wasn’t high enough to threaten his health, but it was more than enough to add to his discomfort.

His strappado tie was far stricter that it had been, with his arms stretched painfully high behind his back. His head was now being pulled as far down as it could go by the thick chain connecting his collar to the floor similarly to Erin’s. His feet were also balanced precariously on high heels strapped to his feet. There was no vibrator. No pleasure for this slave.

“I want him bent over a table when I arrive tomorrow,” she informed the handler. Taking him with a strap-on would be an entertaining start to her day.

*

Margaret had a typical ritual when returning home from work. She expected to be greeted at the door by her three slaves, her maids and her pup, and led to a waiting dinner the maids had prepared. After dinner she would be serviced, receiving either the pup’s well-trained tongue between her legs or one of the maids massaging hands on her feet, often one after the other. The rest of the night was to be spent however she wished, with the maids waiting on her and the pup frequently beaten.  

The maids were replaced once or twice a year. Margaret had no personal interest in women and kept female slaves primarily for the entertainment of the occasional guest who did. As a matter of efficiency, she always ensured at least one or both were competent at housework, cooking, and giving massages. At present they were a middle-aged Caucasian whose abduction had been unplanned collateral during the acquisition of a relative, and a pretty twenty-something Asian Margaret had purchased after its previous owner had sold her back to the Club. Their uniforms consisted entirely of lingerie.

Her pup had once been a rival trainer at the Kraken Club. After years of listening to him make “jokes” about enslaving her, Margaret eventually decided enough was enough and maneuvered him into slavery to her instead. She never tired of beating him. She sometimes recalled his classically handsome face, but it had been years since she had seen him outside of the latex dog mask she had for him.

When Margaret arrived home that night, she quickly decided her pup would not be the only one getting a beating when the maids did not open the door for her. Margaret was incensed when she had to unlock her own front door and stepped inside to find no one waiting for her. The lights were on, but no one was present.

Her eyes narrowed. Was this an escape attempt? Simple negligence? Had a burglar broken in and locked them away somewhere? It shouldn’t be the authorities (Margaret lived in a Club friendly gated community), but it was possible they got overzealous as they sometimes did.
Carefully, Margaret stepped into the house… only to whirl around and find one of someone she recognized there when the door slammed behind her and an iron-strong grip wrapped tightly around her arm. It was a handler from the Club, someone she had given orders to that very day.

“What is the meaning of—” she trailed off at the sight of the dead serious expression on the man’s face. Her heart pounded, but she allowed no trepidation to show on her face. She settled instead for fixing the man with a flat glare.

“In here!” came a familiar voice. Margaret fought to keep her eyes from widening as the handler pulled her into the guest room without even letting her take her coat off.
There, seated with her legs crossed and her hands on one knee in one of the large easy chairs, another handler at her shoulder, was Angela. She wore a fine white fur coat, looking as radiant as ever.

“Hello Margaret,” the hostess said with her trademark bright smile. “I would offer you a seat, but we won’t be here for much longer.”

She couldn’t have made her intentions much clearer that that if she had tried. Angela was enslaving her. Her!

“You cannot possibly expect—” she trailed off again. Of course Angela expected to get away with it. She wouldn’t be physically there if she thought there was any chance of it backfiring on her, and Margaret had no idea what was giving her that much confidence.

“How?” she asked instead, eyes darting around the room. Her slaves were gone, there could be no doubt about. All three of them. Margaret’s teeth grit at the thought of losing her pup.

“That’s what I like about you, Margaret. You’re sharp. I’d say your mind works like a whip, but honestly, I don’t think that comparison does it justice.” She stood and moved up to Margaret and the handler. Margaret stiffened, feeling the handler’s grip tighten an instant later. Angela’s soft gloved hand reached up to trace a finger down Margaret's face.

“I’ve been in contact with the Chairperson,” Angela then said, her expression and voice turning serious. Margaret froze all over again. If this had the Chairperson’s approval, she was in more trouble than she thought, and could expect no help from anyone in the Club.

“They’ve been having some concerns with you, Margaret. The thought is that you’re just a tad too eager to enslave your colleagues. I mean, everyone tries to do it sooner or later, sure. I know I have. But you have to limit yourself, Margaret. How many employees have you enslaved now, five? Six? Today was the last straw. I mean, enslaving colleagues when they mess up is one thing, but going so far out of your way to frame poor little Erin?”

Margaret’s fists tightened at the suggestion she had framed anyone. “I’m going to escape,” she promised. She meant it. “And when I do—”

Angela ignored her. “It’s just too bad I didn’t get approval before you got to her. I can’t risk her getting free with hard feelings against the Club now.” She shook her head with a tut tut tut. “Oh, well. She’ll still fetch a pretty penny.”

Margaret could only glare, and Angela’s smirking face turned serious.

“The Chairperson is… dissatisfied with your performance, Margaret. And Thomas’s. He’s already been picked up. The thought there is that he’s taken a few too many liberties with his management style, that his expansions and profits aren’t cost-effective enough to justify a staff and inventory so much larger than the standard. We’ll have to downsize, transfer a lot of people, lay a few of them off, you know how it is. We might fall behind schedule for a few months, but the clients worth keeping will be given discounts, you know how it is.

“Although,” she learned forward conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think the Chairperson was perhaps a little annoyed with all of Thomas’s Baseball jargon. You know how obsessive the old Brit is with ‘proper’ English.” Her hand fell away. “But that’s not really your problem, is it? Bottom line: the branch is under new leadership. Mine.”

The other handler stepped forward with a ball gag in his hand. If a person’s glare could carry real force, he would have died right there. That was unfortunately not the case, and he lifted the gag to Margaret’s mouth. She kept it shut for a beat before opening it for the ball to be pushed inside and the pulled around her head, pressing her silky hair against her cheek. The cuffs went around her wrists a second later, then another pair on her ankles.

“I think I’ll keep your maids for myself,” Angela said, pulling a collar from her coat. “I’ve lost interest in mine and yours are always so well trained. Your puppy can be an office pet for a while, we’ll see how well he gets along with Thomas’s cats before we sell them all.”

Her hands came up and almost gently tightened the collar around Margaret’s neck. “And you of course will be sold within the Club. For your sake I hope none of your enemies get ahold of you. I have nothing personal against you, but you’ve made so many. James in New York, Gabriella in Los Angeles, Vanessa over in England...”

Angela had one more bright smile to give the new slave.

“Take her away, gentlemen.”