"Jenny," the slave answered, then quickly corrected her herself. "Jenny, master."
"Very good," said Maurice, acknowledging the correction. "I won't use your name very often, and never when there is anyone else present, but it's worth knowing. Now, sit again."
As she did, Maurice walked out and brought in the chair. He placed it a few feet in front of her, then sat down. Jenny could now see the man who was her master from about the chest down. He clearly didn't spend any time in the gym, but he had a nice enough body. He was fair skinned and not particularly hairy. Maurice had not positioned himself thus, however, so that Jenny might admire his physique. He wanted her to see his cock, and she certainly noticed. She didn't stop noticing all the while Maurice talked to her.
"You understand that you are to become a sex slave, don't you?"
"Yes, master," answered Jenny.
"It's my task to see that it happens. It may seem strange to you, though, that I can't really teach you much. You can learn a great deal, but I can't teach you much. That is because you learn by doing. For example, if you would learn how to give a blow job, you must teach yourself male anatomy. You must know everything there is to know about a man's genitals. I couldn't begin to teach you about that. You must learn yourself.
"The best way for you to learn is by doing. I want you to examine me, like a doctor. Don't think about sex. Just try to learn something about me. Before your training is done, you will be able to recognize me, in five seconds, from among a hundred other men, by simply getting my dick in your mouth. So I don't want you to give me a blow job today. Rather, I want you learn as much as you can about me. Discover what you can in half an hour."
Jenny wished that he had just asked for a blow job. Taking a self-guided tour of her master's dick didn't sound erotic or fun. It sounded crazy. Nevertheless, she inched forward and took her master's nearly flaccid dick in her mouth. Jenny was certainly no stranger to oral sex. Two boyfriends could brag that Jenny always swallowed. A third boy, a one night stand, could say the same. But they were boys. Her master was a man, and a too big man at that. She struggled to get half of her master in her mouth. She could feel him getting hard, and bigger, as she worked his dick. She was sure that if all of her master ever got inside her mouth, all of Jenny would pass out.
"Just work on the first four or five inches," said Maurice. "The rest can come later."
Jenny appreciated the suggestion, but thought it only postponed the inevitable moment of reckoning. Still, she thought, there must have been lots of girls who couldn't take all of her master, or even most of her master. Maybe he could be satisfied with something less than being completely in her mouth. So Jenny worked the first four or five inches of her new master, trying to detect something unique about him, something that could be quickly noticed. She went over him, again and again, with her tongue. Once he was hard, she noticed that he had a prominent bulge on the underside of his dick, but she thought other guys had the same thing. She put the tip of her tongue into the slit at the top of his dick, but noticed nothing unusual. Gawd, she thought, maybe there really isn't enough to absolutely distinguish one guy from another. She was sure should could tell the difference between her master and her boyfriends, but that was equivalent to telling the difference between a cucumber and a kiwi fruit. Then her master stiffened a bit, the universal sign that he was on the path to an orgasm. He may have said he didn't want to cum, thought Jenny, but I've never had a guy say it would have been better if I had stopped sooner than I did. So she hummed a little, something her boyfriends had always liked, and focused on bringing her master to an orgasm. She even got an inch or two more of him in her mouth. Soon enough her master did cum, quite a lot but less than she expected. She swallowed as much as she could, and felt that overall things had gone pretty well.
"So, what did you learn?" her master asked.
She had learned very little, but was afraid to say so. "I, I don't know, master."
"For a while I thought you were trying. But then you went for the orgasm. So you didn't learn anything."
"No, master," Jenny said quietly.
"Don't worry about my orgasm just yet. After all, I've been lucky enough to get blow jobs from some very accomplished slaves. I want you to learn something you don't know now. Before today, you knew what it was like to have a man cum in your mouth. Am I right?"
"Yes, master."
"Then try again, try to discover something you don't know."
Pretty stupid, thought Jenny to herself. Of course he's had a thousand blow jobs better than the one he just got. At least he was nice enough not to say it quite like that. She began again. This time she ran the tip of her tongue back and forth over one small area after another, trying to notice something, anything. She finally decided to work all around the head of his dick. She spent fifteen minutes trying to memorize this part of her master. Maybe she got to know him a little, but distinguishing him from one hundred other men was another matter. Then it hit her. She would have to take one hundred men in her mouth, in one day, to finish her training? Christ, shoot me now, she thought.
She was getting tired and the muscle on the underside of her jaw was cramping a little. Afraid to stop, she kept going but without much vigor.
"OK, that's enough for now," Maurice said. He stood and began putting on his clothes. "That was interesting. I hope you thought so. Tomorrow, you begin your regular training. For a week, you must give five blow jobs a day. You must avoid conversation with your visitors as much as possible. The best way to do that is to get the man's dick in your mouth as soon as you can. Don't wait for him to tell you what to do. After all, you know he's there for sex.
"You may never sit in the chair. If a man asks you to sit in the chair while you blow him, tell him you can do that without sitting in the chair. If a man leaves without moving the chair outside the room, move it out yourself. If a man asks you to do something other than blow him, do what he says. Most of your visitors shouldn't ask for more than oral sex, though. Finally, when you're giving a blow job, try to learn something new.
"Also, don't go outside this room without me or an escort. Slaves wearing a yellow collar are not allowed out alone. You'll meet the escorts in time. Got all that?"
"Yes, master."
"Have you had anything to eat since you got here?"
"No, master."
"Would you like something?"
"Yes, master." Sex nearly always made Jenny hungry.
"I might be able get something sent over from the pantry, but you may have to wait until breakfast. Slaves' diets are watched carefully so that they don't gain too much weight, but that's not a problem for you. There's plenty more for you to learn, but you can only get so much at one time. You'll see me again tomorrow."
With that, Maurice walked out. He left the chair behind, so Jenny moved it outside. She went to her bathroom. It was small, but had all the necessary items. She took a shower, but quickly, not wishing to miss a food delivery. When she dried off, she went into her room and found a cold sandwich, a Coke, and a small bag of potato chips on the floor. Jenny realized she was completely defenseless. Anyone could walk in any time they wanted. She ate, brushed her teeth, and went to bed. As she lay on the floor in her little room, her mind went over the same ground again and again. I'm a slave. My master seems nice, but I'll never satisfy him. Tomorrow I start having sex with complete strangers. I'm a slave. My master seems...
Every time she repeated to herself that she was a slave, she sobbed.
CHAPTER III
The alarm clock in Maurice Tirpitz' bedroom went off at 7:30 AM. He was not accustomed to rising so early, but the new slave assigned to him would require his attention as soon as she arose. This was her first full day, and there were several things he had left unsaid the night before at their first meeting.
Maurice had been training slaves at DiMarcos for over seven years. He had just turned thirty. He thought that he could be a trainer for five more years, but no more. It was a job design
ed for a man in his twenties. Aside from the chief trainer, whose job it was to instruct new trainers, Maurice was the oldest slave trainer at DiMarcos.
He had taken the job on a lark, when he was twenty-three. The pay was not that good, but the benefits looked great. You could have any slave you wanted, for free. In addition, you had personal charge of a slave whose duty it was to obey your every command. Maurice thought it would be fun for a few months, and times were tough. He had passed the physical, which in itself was quite an accomplishment. DiMarcos called it a physical because they couldn't come up with a better term. A doctor examined all of DiMarcos' applicants, but there were only two requirements: the applicant had to have a very large penis and had to stand over six feet tall. Over the years, the physical had acquired a certain cache around town. Every now and then a man at a bar could be overheard to say that he had passed DiMarcos' physical, then quickly add that he had never actually worked at DiMarcos'.
Maurice learned how to train slaves from a man who had been in the business since slavery had become legal. The "old school" method was to terrorize a slave into submission with severe punishments. For three years, Maurice imitated his teacher. His slaves submitted under a hail of blows from the cane, the strap, the whip, and whatever other implement that was ready to hand. When his slaves had finished their training, they were servile, abject, and obsequiously obedient. After her training, a slave was integrated with the rest of the trained slave population and worked as a prostitute.
Trainers were usually given a month off after training a slave, and during one such break Maurice ventured into that part of DiMarco Slaveholdings which housed the main slave population.
DiMarcos was known as the place for sex, from private one-on-one encounters to huge orgies. DiMarcos would also accommodate most fetishes, and women customers were just as welcome as men.
As Maurice wandered into the main entry room, where available slaves awaited customers, he saw one of his former slaves. She saw him too, or perhaps felt his presence. She turned ashen white and immediately assumed the sitting position of a trainee. She was trembling. Maurice paused in front of her for a moment, but said nothing. Just then a host recognized Maurice and hurried over to offer his assistance.
"Sir, would you like to have this slave? Perhaps her and one or two others? I have some real beauties over here by the fountain. Take as many as you like." The host gestured toward a large Roman-style fountain in the middle of the room. Several slaves sitting around the fountain were striking provocative poses. Maurice followed the host toward the fountain, but he wasn't interested in seeing the fountain slaves. As soon as they were far enough away from his former slave, Maurice asked the host about her.
"Is she a good slave?"
"Oh, yes sir, very obedient. Never had the slightest complaint about her. She does act a bit timid at times, but then most slaves do. Would you like to have her?"
"No," said Maurice, "thank you for the offer, but I'm not here for a girl. I hadn't been to this side of the building for a while and wanted to see how it had changed. I heard about the new fountain, and I must say I'm impressed. It makes the old one look like a bucket of water. DiMarcos certainly doesn't spare any expense."
"You're quite right there," said the host. "DiMarcos knows just what to do to make pretty slaves even more attractive. Why don't you go into the lounge? The bartender is new, so I'll go on ahead and tell him you're with the company."
Maurice walked into the lounge, which was dominated by an enormous mahogany bar that stretched for over one hundred and fifty feet. The bar formed one wall of the oversized lounge. Around the perimeter of the lounge were discretely lit tables, partially recessed into the wall, where slaves were frequently employed. Maurice sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. His former slave's image, and reaction, had unnerved him a bit. The host's comment had bothered him, too. When a host says that a slave is "a bit timid," it's usually a huge understatement. Maurice's slave would probably jump ten feet if anyone said "boo" to her. "Timid" was a nice way of saying completely broken.
She had been purchased from a prison, but Maurice was not pleased with himself for turning her into a frightened animal. Surely, he thought, it's possible for a girl to become a slave without abandoning all human qualities. Maurice fully realized that a slave was property. He knew that they could in no wise be considered citizens. He thought dignity was entirely unbecoming of a slave. That said, however, he also believed that a slave was not subhuman. He resolved to try, once, to train a slave without terrorizing her. He wouldn't stop punishing altogether, but he would try gentler forms of persuasion. If he lost his job, he thought, it was probably time for him to move on anyway.
Thus, the new and improved Maurice went back to work three weeks later. His next trainee, like all but one of his trainees, had been purchased from a prison. Gently, Maurice tried to turn her into a slave, but it was very slow going. He realized that he knew nothing about women and had never looked at slavery from a slave's point of view. This he never was able to do, but he did learn to identify his slaves' fears and needs. The more he responded to those, the more his slaves responded to him. It had not happened that a slave he trained was never caned or whipped, but with one notable exception his slaves were very rarely punished. It happened so rarely that other slave trainers couldn't help but notice. New slaves, those who wore yellow collars, were called BB's because when DiMarcos first opened they were nearly always black and blue. The amount of punishment meted out to slaves had decreased over the years, but even now a slave being trained by Maurice could be distinguished from the others. She would be the one without any red stripes on her back or bruises on her ass. A few other trainers tried Maurice's methods, but few were successful. If ten of DiMarcos' BB's were put on a line, seven of them have some signs of recent punishment.
Nevertheless, it could be argued that Maurice's methods did influence all slave training. Before Maurice arrived at DiMarcos', there were always two or three slaves tethered to posts outside the little dungeon reserved for BB's, waiting to be whipped. Sometimes the line was more than half the BB population. By the time Maurice began training slaves, such lineups were rare. Since then, the severity and frequency of punishments had continued to decrease and Maurice's methods were simply a logical extension of that trend. In short, by the time Maurice had become Jenny's master, whippings were rare.
Though Maurice's methods had saved a good deal of flesh, it was also true that Maurice took longer to train his slaves than the other trainers, sometimes two months longer. But Maurice's boss was so pleased with his results that he gave Maurice a free hand and a handsome raise. Ten of Maurice's slaves had passed into the regular slave population since Maurice had visited the main part of the DiMarco operation. That visit had been enough not only to make Maurice change his methods, but also to keep him from visiting the main part of the DiMarco operation again.
Jenny, Maurice's newest charge, was almost a new experience for him. All of his previous slaves, except one, had been purchased from prisons. Jenny had gambled her freedom, and lost. Maurice had asked for a girl who wasn't a prisoner, and after a year the head trainer had complied. The head trainer had not been eager to grant Maurice's request because girls who had been free were thought easier to train than felons. The head trainer did not want to waste Maurice's talents. However, he was equally afraid of losing Maurice altogether.
Maurice's first impression of Jenny was quite favorable. She was young, the youngest slave he had ever trained, and very pretty. She didn't have the hard eyes or the tougher-than-you-are attitude of a felon. Jenny, thought Maurice, would not only be easy to train, but fun as well. He had asked the older slave who had helped Jenny on her first day whether there was anything interesting about the new girl. "Only that she is terrified of punishment, sir," said the older woman. Ha! thought Maurice, that's even better. At most I will only have to punish her once. If that one time is severe enough, she will become a wonderful slave.
Maurice ponder
ed this last thought as he drove to work, and as he did, he mentally compared Jenny with his other slaves. When he first met a new slave, he used these comparisons as a point of reference to help him through the first few days. Since all his previous slaves but one had been prisoners, there weren't any good comparisons. He thought, however, there was something in Jenny that was similar to a slave named Mary. The first few days Mary was with Maurice, she behaved much as Jenny had behaved on her first night. She was obedient, but not servile. Then, at the end of Mary's first week she purposely disobeyed Maurice. Maurice knew Mary had disobeyed on purpose because she told him she had. Maurice caned her, though not severely. Mary behaved herself for three days, but again purposely disobeyed. This time Maurice used a strap on her and was not gentle. Three days later, Mary was misbehaving again, only this time she simply asked Maurice to beat her. Slaves were forbidden to address their masters unless spoken to, so merely by speaking Mary had disobeyed. No slave, though, had ever violated the speaking rule to ask for a beating. Maurice thought Mary was a little crazy, but not so crazy that she would twice ask to be beaten. He was wrong, and there began a vicious downward spiral for the two of them.
No matter how savagely Maurice whipped Mary, she never begged for mercy, never asked Maurice to stop. She screamed, screamed loud enough to be heard outside the little dungeon reserved for severe punishments, but if she thought Maurice hadn't been cruel enough she would tell him so. This was nearly an impossible situation for Maurice. Mary wasn't being trained as much as she was training her master.
There is a small, very small, section at DiMarcos for S & M devotees, and Maurice decided that the only way to get Mary out of training, and away from him, was to send her there. When Mary found out where she was to go, she burst into tears and begged Maurice to beat her again. "This time, though, don't stop beating me, master. Keep beating me until I'm dead."
Maurice decided that Mary was insane. She was sent to the S & M dungeon. Three months later she was beaten to death by three men who swore that she had told them she could take one hundred and fifty strokes from a heavy whip. Since nineteenth century sailors routinely died when given forty lashes, Mary's claim was obviously absurd.
JENNY: A Novel of Sexual Enslavement Page 3
