My Berlin Summer Read online

  "You are clearly a hot slut," he pronounced as I continued to suck on the whip. "That will make you easier to control." I lowered my eyes, shamed. "Now let's see if you can beg to please a man."

  He pulled the whip out of my mouth. I looked up at him in anticipation. He wanted me to beg.

  "Please, master, I beg to serve you," I began. I leaned up and forward with my body, presenting myself to him. "Please let this slave attempt to give you pleasure. Let me take you in my mouth, or between my legs, or anywhere you desire. I will be hot, and wet, and wonderful for you." I half closed my eyes and licked my lips slowly. I let my hips pulse back and forth in anticipation. "I beg to be taken, and raped, and dominated, master. I long to have you inside me, to feel you having your way with my body, using me like the slut I am." I was only following his instructions, of course. But I could not deny that there was some truth to what I was saying. I did want to be raped, in part because Claudia had commanded me to serve this man, but in part because my aroused body was aching to be had.

  "You may begin with your mouth," he finally said.

  "Thank you, master," I said as he opened his pants. This, at least, I knew how to do, I told myself. I opened my mouth and began to practice my trade, running my tongue along him, gently coaxing him into my mouth, swirling my tongue as I had practiced in my classes. I knew I was a slave and that there was nothing I could do about that. I knew that, like it or not, this is what I had to look forward to. And at that moment, if I had to be a slave, I wanted only to be a good slave, to demonstrate that I was worthy of interest and bidding. I found myself wanting desperately to please Claudia, to give this man and the ones that would follow so much pleasure that I would bring a high price. I could feel myself slipping into that emotional ocean of submission where nothing exists except the master, and the slave's absolute desire to worship and serve him.

  Then, without warning, he withdrew from me. "What a slut," he said. I hoped I could detect a trace of affection in his voice. "Turn around and bend over." Knowing what was coming next, and with part of me hungering for it, I obeyed. I felt his hand on me. He could feel how wet I was. I resisted the urge to climax right then. "You want me to take you, don't you, slut?" he said.

  "Yes, master," I gasped, trying to prevent my hips from pressing back against him. "Please, master. Your slave begs you to take her. Please."

  Then he plunged into me. My body opened and enveloped him gratefully. His powerful, dominating strokes left me gasping for breath, my breast heaving. Then I felt him climax within me, and I let myself over the edge, my hips jerking in helpless orgasm.

  "Thank you, master," I said when he finally withdrew. I had never before been so truly thankful for a master's use, both physically and emotionally. Suddenly remembering my duty, I pulled myself back to my knees and offered my mouth to clean him off, savoring the aftertaste of his conquest. Although I had been the captive victim of his ruthless onslaught, I felt nothing but a surge of joy and gratitude.

  I could feel the residue of his use dripping from my body onto the hardwood floor. He pointed down between my legs. "Clean up after yourself, slut," he ordered. I looked up at him, questioningly. My hands were still bound behind my back. He reached absent-mindedly for his whip. Without being asked again, I inched backward and leaned my face down toward the small puddle that had formed on the floor. With my tongue and lips, I gathered the mixed liquids into my mouth and swallowed. I felt thoroughly humiliated. But such humiliation, I knew, was a simple attribute of my position in life.

  Finally I returned to my kneeling position and looked up at my potential owner. "How may I serve you, master?" I asked.

  Although he was only with me for about two hours, he found many other ways.

  And so the day progressed. After the Japanese businessman was a Russian one, and after the Russian was a light lunch, and after lunch an English businessman. Between buyers I was allowed to shower and "freshen up," but then I was once again pitilessly aroused by a slave girl kneeling between my legs. I would go to each buyer a hot slut begging to be used. I am sure all the buyers were well aware of the trick, but perhaps they expected it. By mid-afternoon I had lost count of the rapes, beatings, and other indignities I had suffered. I had been poked, prodded, and pinched in parts of my body I had previously never dreamed of exposing to such attentions. My hips and thighs were sore from use, and the aftertaste of repeated violations clung to the inside of my mouth. I had passed through eager obedience and enthusiastic service to emotional numbness. I longed for my classes in slavery, where I had been able to lose myself in striving to be a model student.

  I was kneeling for the fourth time on the hardwood floor, my hands once again cuffed behind my back, a leash dangling between my uplifted breasts, awaiting my master of the hour, my tears buried back in my tear glands, unseen. And then the door opened and in walked Cristina.

  "Cristina," I blurted out instantly. "What are you doing here?" My mind was racing. She was here to buy me, to set me free from the nightmare life of a slave girl. No, she was here to buy me, but to keep me as her personal sex slave, nude and chained at her feet. Or perhaps she was here to tell me that this was all an elaborate joke, orchestrated by her to allow me to indulge my hidden desires, but now completed, leaving me free to resume my old life.

  She was silent. She stood directly in front of me, her feet just inches from my knees, and looked down into my eyes. I had never before realized how beautiful she was, her black hair cascading over her shoulders, her powerful, black-clad figure towering over my soft, white body. "Cristina?" I asked hesitantly.

  "You've definitely changed, Jenny," she finally began, strolling slowly around my kneeling form. "And for the better, if I may say so myself." She came to a stop in front of me again. "Tell me, do you enjoy being a slave?"

  "No!" I said immediately. "You would never imagine what I have to go through, how many times I've been raped and beaten. It's a living nightmare! Tell me this is all a joke."

  "Actually, I could imagine quite well," she answered. "Claudia has brought me up to date on your accomplishments here." I was silent. "Apparently you are one of the most eager and talented little slave sluts she has ever had." I lowered my eyes, blushing with shame. "Well? Is that true?"

  "Yes. Yes, mistress," I said. "But I only did it because I had to ..."

  "We always have choices, my dear," Cristina said. "Now bend down and lick my boots like a good little slut."

  Tears beginning to well up into my eyes, I obeyed. I remembered the first time I had bent over her boots like this. It had seemed like only a game, then. Now, I feared, it was something much more real.

  "I do have some news for you, Jenny," Cristina said. "But I am not here to free you, nor am I going to buy you, although that is why I am ostensibly here. In a few days, you will be an utter slave slut in the absolute possession of one of the gentlemen who preceded me here today." I began to sob, my tears falling onto her boots where I licked them up with my tongue. To have momentarily believed freedom might be at hand, only to have that hope dashed, was more than I could bear. "But first you will serve me like the slave you are. I want to see what you have learned."

  Cristina walked around me and sat on the edge of the bed. She leaned forward, picked up the loose end of my leash, and tugged, drawing my head forward between her legs. I felt her hands clasping my soft brown hair as she pulled my face and mouth closer to her body. Weeks ago I had stripped myself naked and fallen to my knees before her, begging to be allowed to serve her. Now that wish was being granted.

  Delicately, I used my teeth to pull down her panties, alternating from side to side until they were clear of her hips, then pulling them down and over her high heels. Then, taking a deep breath, I lifted my head back under her short black skirt and dedicated myself to her pleasure. I used every trick and nuance I had learned, varying the rhythm, and intensity, and location my tongue's caresses, hoping to show her that I was, indeed, worthy of being owned. Cristina lay back on the bed,
her hands still locked in my hair, no doubt relishing my helpless and passionate service.

  Finally I felt her thighs grip my head as I brought her to a long and rolling climax. I continued to lick and kiss at her until her hands gently pulled me away.

  "Did I please you, mistress?" I asked. Cristina had left no doubt as to the relationship between us.

  "Yes, my dear," she answered. I flushed with pride. "You still have a lot to learn, but you clearly have some talent. And Claudia was right - it's hard to find a slave so eager to please. As long as you keep up that zealousness, you'll do fine as a slave."

  "Thank you, mistress," I said. Although I was deeply ashamed of it, I knew my ability to block out everything and focus on a master's pleasure, to devote myself wholly and unreservedly to his or her desires, would serve me well as a slave. My life might depend on that utter submissiveness.

  "Now listen to me, Jenny," Cristina said seriously, leaning towards me. "What I'm going to tell you is very important, but you cannot tell anyone else, for reasons that will soon be evident. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, mistress," I said.

  "In case you had any doubts, you are here because I recommended you to Claudia. I am one of her 'talent scouts;' I identify young girls with strong potential to be female slaves and test them." I thought about the day she had invited me to that first "bondage ball." Slowly it all started to make sense. That had been a test. Apparently I had passed it. "If they seem promising, Claudia takes it from there."

  "Yes, mistress," I said blankly. Cristina had chosen this life for me. I supposed I should have hated her for it, but I couldn't muster the emotion. She had only opened the door to this life of unremitting sexual servitude; I had stepped through it.

  "But I chose you for another reason," Cristina continued. "I'm really helping the German police investigate the white slavery and prostitution industry. We're trying to plant informants into the organization, and I chose you. We need girls on the inside who can let us know what is going on and provide evidence when we finally decide to nab someone. For rather obvious reasons, we can't just plant any old female agent; we don't need someone who can act like a slave girl, we need someone who really is a slave girl, both physically and emotionally. Anything less and they would spot it immediately." She paused. "That's where you come in."

  "You want me to be a spy for you?" I stammered. Slipping into the life of a slave girl, completely free of worries and responsibilities - apart from absolute obedience and exquisite sexual services, that is - was something I was more than halfway resigned to. This sounded more complicated, and dangerous.

  "After a fashion," Cristina said. "Listen, Jenny, this is the deal. You can say no, and this is the last you'll ever hear from me. You'll be auctioned off tonight, and you'll spend the next ten years begging men to use your soft little body in ways you've never imagined. Within three months you'll have lost your personality and you'll never think any thoughts except how to be the most fantastic sex toy your masters have ever seen. And after ten years, who knows? If you're lucky, you'll be dumped on the street, turning tricks because it's the only thing you can do.

  "If you say yes, you spend your time listening to what goes on around you, gathering evidence, and remembering it. Periodically we'll send in a client to pick up the information. If we nail the people we want and the operation ends, you're free to go. You can go back to school and go on with your life. Even if we don't get them, we'll get you out within three years. We'll just buy you if we need to.

  "That's your choice. What'll it be?"

  I thought rapidly. Cristina was right. Even if I could be contented as a sex slave, how long could it last? What could I look forward to once my cheerful smile and young body were gone? And what she was offering seemed the best possible option. I could continue to live out my slave girl fantasy, but now it would have a happy ending; I would be set free while still young enough to live another life. And who would suspect in me, the perfect, subservient, eager slave slut, an informant?

  "Yes, mistress," I said. "I'll do it."

  Cristina smiled. "I knew you would. You may be a sucker for humiliation, but you're still smart." She casually patted me on the head. "Tonight, you're going to be bought by the Brit who was in here before me. Don't ask how I know that. Then you're going to be shipped to a brothel in Paris. You'll find out what that's like soon enough. You'll receive instructions from one of your clients. The code phrase is 'I like daffodils, but my favorite flower is the chrysanthemum.' If any client says that to you, he's one of us, and you can trust him. Do you understand?"

  "I like daffodils, but my favorite flower is the chrysanthemum," I repeated. "Got it. Mistress," I added.

  "You were really meant to be a slave, Jenny. It'll be a pity to set you free when we're done." She paused. "Well, that's it for now. We still have an hour to spend in here or Claudia will get suspicious. I'm supposed to be test-driving you, you know. Do you have any idea how we could pass the time?"

  From the look on her face I could tell that she had an idea. She pushed down on my shoulders, forcing me to my back. My wrists were pinned uncomfortably in the small of my back. She knelt above me, her knees straddling my face, and lowered herself toward my waiting mouth. "You have a lot to learn, slut," she said. "Maybe I can teach you something."

  * * *

  When Cristina's time with me was up, I was once again allowed to clean myself and was then summoned to serve at dinner. The four buyers were guests of the house, but I played no particular role in the evening's activities. Perhaps Claudia wanted them to taste the merits of her other slave girls, to provoke their interest in a future purchase. Or perhaps my body was not being offered to them in order to communicate that now, in order to have me, they would have to pay. Of course, they had had their way with my body repeatedly during the day, so it would be something of an empty symbol.

  After dinner I waited in the slave girls' common bedroom, waiting. Other girls tried to comfort me, but I had little patience for them. Did they not know what was happening to me? I was being sold to the highest bidder, who would then own me, completely and unconditionally. Here in the training house, our masters had been restrained by commercial motivations - we were here to be trained, not to be casually and arbitrarily abused. But soon, a defenseless slave in the wider world, anything might be demanded of me, any command might be imposed on me. I had not even a shred of clothing to protect my body from the demands of my future masters. I imagined being tied down and raped by hundreds of men, one after the other, until passing out in shock, only to be forcibly revived to endure my continuing torture. The only thing I had to hold onto was Cristina's promise. Three years and I would be free. I did not know if I could endure that long.

  Finally I was ordered to Claudia's office. I entered and knelt before her. Standing next to her was the English man who had "tried me out" earlier.

  "Jenny, this is Mr. McGregor," Claudia said. He made the high bid on you, on behalf of his company, and he is now your owner." The shock must have been evident on my face. "You may greet your new master," she finally said.

  I remembered then what I was supposed to do. I turned to him, bent down, and began to kiss his feet. "Thank you, master," I said. "I will be absolutely obedient and pleasing, master. Thank you for letting me be your slave." I remembered what he had done to me that afternoon. He had been utterly commanding, and ruthless, and dominant. I had begged him to rape me and finally screamed out my submission to him as he used me for the third time. He had left me with no doubts about what it meant to be his slave.

  "Yes, I think she'll do nicely," he said to Claudia, ignoring my efforts to please him. Finally he indicated that I should stop.

  "Jenny, you will sleep here tonight. Tomorrow you will be transported to your new home," Claudia said. "You have been an excellent student and have all the makings of a superb slut. I wish you well."

  "Thank you, mistress," I said.

  "Do you have any questions?"

  I don'
t know where I summoned the courage to ask. "Mistress ... how much did I cost?"

  Claudia smiled and turned toward Mr. McGregor. He laughed.

  "1.6 million dollars," he said.

  Chapter 7: Paris

  The next morning, after our group exercise and shower and one final breakfast eaten naked and on all fours from a bowl on the tiled kitchen floor, I was allowed to say good-bye to my fellow slave girls before being "shipped." We kissed and hugged, tears in our eyes. After spending weeks together, virtually all of the time with no clothing other than our collars, it seemed completely natural to clasp another girl's naked body to my chest. Here, although we had been unequivocally taught our slavery, we had shared a routine and a set of experiences. Now, I expected, I would never see any of my sisters in slavery again.

  I would be transported to Paris in a simple minivan with tinted windows. I was consigned to two drivers who would see that I arrived at my destination undamaged, Mr. McGregor flying to Paris separately. Claudia did not deign to see me off. No doubt, having pocketed her profit on me, I was gone from her mind, another foolish girl made to pay for her secret desires. I wore nothing except my collar, now adorned with a small brass tag indicating my new owner, the bracelets that held my wrists together behind my back, and a twelve-inch chain that joined my ankles together. The drivers, I would later learn, did not have the keys to my bonds - presumably so that I could not wheedle them into unchaining me, in case I had any notions of escaping en route. I noted that the slack in the ankle chain left me enough latitude to open my knees and thighs for them, either on my back or on my knees. I expected this was a collateral benefit of their occupation.

  I was placed on the first bench seat behind the drivers, a long, loose chain padlocked to my collar and to the inside of the van for extra security. The back door was locked and could only be opened from the outside, I had no chance of escape. I would be delivered to my new owners, a new slave for their amusement and pleasure.