Confessions of a Slaver

Confessions of a Slaver

Chapter 7

 

I was fairly active in what I began to call “procurement” for the next few years, hitting the clubs and picking up two or three new women every week.  Most were just one-night stands, but occasionally I’d find one with submissive tendencies.  They were easy to identify, if you knew what to look for.  And, no, I’m not giving up any of my secrets.  You think I want my readers to become my competition?  Even if I am retiring from the business soon, I’m not selling what I’ve learned.  Besides, the knowledge I have may be of use later as well.

 

Anyway, of all those dates, maybe one in fifty – about two or three a year – would have just the right level of submissiveness that I could exploit.  I normally had two slaves at a time:  one trained, and one being trained.  The trained slave would help me break the new one, and once the new arrival was fully trained, the old one would be sold.  They knew up front that this was going to happen, and although none of them particularly liked the idea, I never had any reason to believe that one of my slaves was intentionally sabotaging or delaying the training of her replacement.

 

Perhaps the reason for that was that they knew I could offer them to any number of buyers, from wealthy businessmen at one end, to a Mexican whorehouse at the other, with a multitude of options in between.  For a while, my main customers consisted primarily of two groups:  consortiums of businessmen (and women) who would purchase a slave as sort of a time-share commodity, and Middle Eastern sheiks and princes.  However, I always held the Mexican whorehouse threat over their heads, and just to make sure they all understood the ramifications of that, one of the things I would do early on in training was to have a new slave spend several weeks in one.  After that, they all promised to me that they’d never do anything to be sent back.  Perhaps it was because of the initial “breaking in” period – five days of constant gang rape, with no condoms, no hygiene breaks, no food and very little water – or maybe it was the nightly “dog and pony shows” they would be forced to participate in.  It didn’t really matter, because I made money from their humiliation and pain, and they were taught early on in their new lives what happens when you’re not a good, obedient little slave.

 

Now, I said I usually had two slaves, but there were several years when I often had three.  It started when I took this one young thing – a medical student in her second year of graduate studies – under my wing, as it were.  I met her at the local university, where I was taking a couple of 500-level psych classes.  While I never actually received a degree in the topic, I knew a solid knowledge of the human mind would be to my advantage as I began to advance my career.  I actually discovered I already knew more than what was in the books; “Abnormal Psychology,” the study of aberrant behavior, was a prime example.  I figured I already had a doctorate-level education in that area, particularly when the subject was  sadism, masochism, dominance or submission, and the types of people who gravitate towards those areas.

 

Anyway, this med student – her given name was Amy, but I doubt she even remembers that now – caught my eye.  Five foot seven, light brunette – almost blonde – hair that she wore in a short pixie-style cut, and long, slender legs.  About the only thing wrong with her was that her tits were virtually non-existent, but she was giving off definite submissive signals.  One day I walked up to her in the library and just told her I wanted to take her out to dinner, and to meet me in front of her dorm that evening.  She looked up at me for a moment, then lowered her eyes and softly said yes.

 

That first night, I took her to dinner – at a restaurant she never could have afforded – and ordered her meal without bothering to ask for her preference.  I did the same thing with the wine, then our dessert and après-dinner aperitif.  She didn’t bat an eye, though she did lower them each time she saw me staring at her.  She simply accepted the fact that I was in charge.

 

I didn’t try anything with her that night; this was a testing-the-waters date.  However, I did make my point clear when I arranged our next date.  I didn’t ask her if she wanted to go out again, or even if she was free.  I just told her.

 

“We’ll be eating at my place tomorrow.  Be waiting right here at six p.m.,” I said as I dropped her at her dorm door.  “A taxi will pick you up. Wear something short – above the knee – no bra, no panties.  Oh, and I like things smooth, so make sure you shave first.  You’ll be punished if I find any hair below your neck.  Plan on staying the weekend, but don’t bother packing anything.  You won’t be needing any clothes except what you wear when you come over. I’ll provide everything else.”  She stared at me for a second, with that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, before lowering her eyes submissively.  I wasn’t sure if she actually nodded or not, but I had a strong suspicion that she’d be out at the curb well before the allotted time, waiting for the cab.  If she wasn’t, though, I was only out a few dollars.  My gut told me, though, that that small investment would pay big dividends.

 

Naturally, I was right.  I parked down the street at 5:30 to watch and see what would happen.  Twenty minutes later – ten minutes before her appointment with the taxi – I saw her walk slowly out of the dorm towards the curb, looking up and down the street for her ride.  She was wearing a tiny, sleeveless sun dress that looked from a distance like a flower-pattern fabric.  She looked distressed as she waited; she kept her hands at her sides, holding the hem of her dress down against the slight breeze that threatened to expose what I expected to be her naked ass and bald pussy.  A buddy of mine – who could feign a great eastern European accent and actually drove a cab part-time – pulled up right on time. 

 

“Back seat broke,” he said in faltering English.  “Must ride in front.”  He leaned over and popped the door open as Amy climbed in, careful to not expose any more of her body than was already visible.  In order to give me time to get back to my house, the cabbie took a roundabout route, arriving there a full ten minutes after me.

 

“Twelve fifty plus tip,” he said in a thick accent, holding his hand out for payment.

 

“Um…I thought, I mean…wasn’t this pre-paid?  I mean, I don’t…”

 

“No money?  You order cab but have no money to pay?” he said, acting incredulous.  He pressed the button that automatically locked all the doors, preventing his passenger from getting out. “Okay, we go police now.”

 

“No!  Please…I mean…I didn’t know…” she sobbed.

 

“No money, so either police or you find ‘nother way to pay.”

 

“Another way?” she asked.  “You can’t think…I mean…what other way?”

 

“You smart girl, you figure out,” he said, grinning while he rubbed his crotch.

 

“You can’t mean…no, I’ve never…”

 

“Oh?” he said, one eyebrow up.  “Girl pretty as you, still virgin?”

 

She nodded her head, once again lowering her eyes submissively.

 

“Okay, I not have you do that.  But you gotta do something.  But what?”  He pondered for a moment.  “Okay, when you get in, I think you not wearing anything under dress.  Is correct?”  When she nodded, he continued.  “Okay, you lift dress up and give me good look, then maybe I let you go.  Okay?”

 

He stared as she slowly lifted the hem of her dress up, exposing her shaved pussy, then at his instruction, spreading her legs and finally lifting her dress further so he could play with her tiny but firm titties.  It was, after all, a $12.50 tab – plus tip – that she was paying off.

 

“Ver’ nice,” my buddy commented.  “Okay, you almost paid in full, but I want souvenir.  Take off shoes, I keep, and you go.”

 

Without a word, she slipped off the petite white sandals she’d been wearing and handed them to the cabbie.  He nodded, holding them up to his nose and inhaling – my buddy actually did have a foot fetish – and released the door lock, allowing Amy to escape from the prison that had been the taxi, only to arrive five seconds later at another, more permanent one.  I met her at the door.

 

“I’m very glad you came,” I told the flustered girl as I escorted her into my home.  “I had some doubts last night that you would.  But since you did, “ I said, “I want you to show me that you followed my instructions.  Lose the dress.”

 

I watched as she slid the shoulder straps off with a slight shrug, letting the skimpy piece of cotton slip to the ground, leaving her standing naked before me.  I had her step forward to the center of the living room, then spread her legs and lace her fingers behind her head, while I walked around her, carefully inspecting her body.

 

“I realize you probably already know this,” I told her as I circled her like a hawk checking out its prey, “but I have some unbreakable ground rules regarding my women.  If you want to be one of them, you’ll agree to follow them, no argument and no discussion.  If you can’t do that, leave now and it’ll be like we never met.  If at any time you disobey or even utter a protest, our relationship is off and you will never see me again.  This extends to all aspects of your life, whether I am present or not.  Second, you will treat me with respect and deference at all times.  In public, you will refer to me as ‘Sir.’  In this house, I am called ‘Master.’  There will be other rules – minor, but no less important – that you will learn as time goes on.  If you agree to abide with these conditions, you may now kneel, lower your face to the floor, and kiss my boots,” I said.  There wasn’t any hesitation as she fell to the floor .  From that point on, she was mine.

 

Amy was a good slave, obedient and docile.  She moved in with me the next weekend, after giving notice on her dorm room.  With few exceptions, all her belongings were either sold or donated to charity.  I provided everything for her, including her own room.  It contained a single mattress on the floor, a blanket, and a desk and wooden chair for studying.  I explained from the beginning that I expected her to continue with her education, but she would also be responsible for taking care of the household and my personal needs.  She was permitted little in the way of entertainment – including television, movies or music, unless it was something I wanted  – and was prohibited from socializing with her peers. This even extended to study groups, as she could come home and study at her desk.  This enforced program worked, as she graduated third in her class with a medical degree.  While her education would come in handy, I didn’t see the need for her to go beyond the schooling, though, and complete the internship and residency required to become a full-fledged doctor.  Besides, given the hours an intern was expected to work, I didn’t see how she had the time to do that and take care of her other, more important duties.  The knowledge was all that was important to me, and to any prospective buyer when I decided it was time for her to go.

 

After graduation, Amy’s duties at home immediately took priority.  She was responsible for everything having to do with my home and personal needs, from housecleaning, cooking and maintaining the yard, to sex.  She still had her own room, but the desk and chair had been removed and were replaced with a small video monitor that constantly played nothing but BDSM porn movies whenever she was confined there.  “Confined” is really somewhat of a misnomer, because in order to impress upon her that a slave has no right to privacy, I’d removed the door to her room.  The only confinement she experienced there was emotional, the result of her own obedience.  If I sent her to her room, she knew not to come out unless I called for her. 

 

Amy seldom wore any clothing inside the house, as I preferred to keep her body naked and available.  Whenever I had company over, I might have her dress in a pair of fishnet stockings and spiked heel shoes to accentuate her lovely legs, or if my guests weren’t completely into the BDSM scene, I’d have her wear a skimpy, outrageous maid’s uniform that humiliated her and left little to the imagination.  Either way, by the end of the night my little slave girl would have been well-used, and I could usually guarantee she’d have cum dripping out of all of her holes, regardless who the visitors were.

 

About a year after I acquired Amy, I decided to begin tracking my slaves using a numeric system.   My sister and Annie were numbers one and two, of course, and I’d kept a journal of all the others, so I had a record of each one.  Amy, it turned out, was my nineteenth slave, so on the anniversary of her submission to me, I invited a tattoo artist friend of mine over and had him mark her with a large, vivid “19” just above her bare mons.  By this time, both Amy and I had both tired of her having to shave every day, so she’d already had her pubic hair permanently removed.  From that day on, each of my slaves was permanently denuded and marked in such a manner.  I’ve even seen a few photos of some of them on porn sites and newsgroups, so every time you see one of those, you’ll now know they originated from my stable. 

 

There was one thing that bothered me about Amy, and that was the size of her tits.  I’m a breast man, but she wasn’t even a B-cup, so I decided to have her altered.  Silicon breast implants were already banned in the United States, but not in Europe, so that summer I took her to France with me, where I had her enhanced to a nice, slutty 46DD. I always thought silicon looked and felt more natural, but was still obviously fake.  She was quite embarrassed with her new looks, but didn’t show me anything but enthusiasm and thanks for her oversized titties.  She knew it was what I wanted, and that’s all that mattered.  She made quite an impression when she returned to school, too, particularly since my no bra rule still applied.  I even gave her a new name – Tittyfuck – in recognition of her most visible asset, and would never refer to her as “Amy” again.  Even though she was the most obedient and devoted slave I’d ever owned, I’d always given my slaves names designed to degrade, humiliate and dehumanize them.  I wasn’t about to change now.

 

Tittyfuck had a younger sister, just as intelligent, who was completing her engineering degree that year.  Tittyfuck corresponded with her sister via e-mail every few days, but nothing was ever said of her living situation, nor her status as my property.  The sister – Evelyn – was, however, very unequivocal about her personal sexual preference.  She was a lesbian, and would often include sordid details about her encounters with other women.  Based on her letters, I believed she was, like her sister, an innate submissive.  I had my slave invite her sister over after graduation.  A virtual twin of Tittyfuck except in the breast department – she was a 42C – she, too, had submissive tendencies, and I soon found myself with a matched set of slave sisters.  The new one – number 21 – I appropriately named “Cuntlicker.”  It was the first time I’d fucked a virgin that old, and one who openly detested men.  It was great to watch her as she was gang raped, being forced to suck her own shit off the cocks that had just been crammed up her ass.  She eventually became accustomed to her new life as well, and was quite happy as long as I let her use Tittyfuck every week or so.  She still hated having men touch her, but that made her debasement all that much more delightful for me.

 

Over the next couple of years, Tittyfuck and Cuntlicker helped me train fifteen new slaves, and because I no longer needed to keep an extra one around for training, was able to cycle them through a bit more quickly. I could also take my time making my selections, and often had periods of a month or more between selling a slave and acquiring a new one.  Depending on the female’s psyche and how long it took to break her, I could have a new acquisition ready for sale in a matter of weeks.  Tittyfuck’s knowledge of pharmacology helped, as we experimented with different combinations of drugs to help me turn a slightly submissive woman into a wanton, cum-craving slut, willing to obey any order in order to get what she needs.  Of course, not all of our experiments turned out successful – particularly early on – but that’s what the Mexican whorehouse was for, right?  Even a brain-fried catatonic female was worth a couple thousand dollars, as long as her cunt was still warm and wet.

 

Because of the numbers of slave girls I was processing and selling, it became obvious early on that a confinement and training facility would be needed.  My remote, large Victorian home was ideal.  I had my two slaves help me create a prison-like training area in the basement of my old Victorian.  While we couldn’t do all the work ourselves, they were handy at the manual labor, and I was able to barter their other skills in order to get most of the specialized work completed.  For several months, I was left with just one slave at home while the other was being used by one skilled craftsman or another in exchange for his work.

 

The basement was, when I first moved in, simply a large are with concrete walls and a dirt floor, apparently used primarily as a root cellar.  Other than the furnace and hot water heater, there was nothing there but the tiny air vents running along the top of the walls.  I eventually had a lot of work done, but rather than bore you with the details, let me simply describe what it eventually became.

 

Access to the basement was through an interior door off the kitchen.  The original hollow-core door was replaced with something more substantial; although normal in all outward appearances, it was an insulated, steel clad door of industrial specifications, and had a frame and hardware to match.  A hidden, electronic lock extended and retracted the five deadbolts that secured the opening, and an alarm system would notify me if anyone attempted to open the door without my permission.

 

At the bottom of the flight of twelve steps was the now walled-in area for the furnace and hot water heater, ducted to the outside for air supply.  What appeared to be a solid concrete wall between the two appliances was actually a hidden door which slid silently on an electrically-powered track.  Beyond the door was a small foyer about the size of an elevator car, with a solid steel door on the far side.  Past the second door, the room opened into a long hallway running the length of the building, and beyond.  I’d had some excavation done and there was actually a reinforced tunnel that extended about eight feet past the edge of the foundation.  More about that area later, though.

 

On either side of the hall were a series of cells of various sizes and construction, ranging from a tiny cage just three feet to a side and three feet high, to a full-sized living area complete with a bed, television and bathroom area.  Some of the cells had jail bars for a front wall, while others were solid, complete with prison doors with tray slots along the floor for the passing of any food or other items I might want an occupant to have.  One was nothing more than a fifteen foot deep, concrete-lined hole, twenty inches in diameter, with a heavy iron grated lid.  No matter what, though, each cell had a CCTV camera imbedded in the ceiling, and the ventilation system could be individually controlled from a control panel in my study.  I could make a slave’s life as cozy or as unpleasant as I wanted, all from the comfort of my nice, warm upstairs abode.

 

The entire basement was completely soundproof, too.  I know, because I tested it by having my two slaves go into each individual cell and scream as loud as they could through a bullhorn while I checked the sound levels both outside and in the house.  While the house was situated on several acres with no nearby neighbors, I felt it best to play it safe.  Besides, the extra sound insulation didn’t really cost me anything other than the loss of one of my slaves for a few weekends.

 

The reason I went to all this trouble was because acquiring slaves who were already submissive had lost its appeal to me.  The excitement of the chase and catch wasn’t what it had once been, and I was about to embark on a new phase in my career as a slaver – forcibly abducting and training the less-than-willing prospect.  I wanted to capture a female against her will, and turn her into a wanton, begging, submissive slut.