One of the drivers, a young, stocky, black-haired man whose name I would learn as Eddy, sat next to me while his colleague Karl drove. "What a pretty little slut you are," he said as he started to caress my breasts with his small but strong hands. "So young, and innocent ... but I can tell you love being a slut, don't you. You love spreading your legs for men, don't you, slut. You love having it in your mouth, in your slutty lips, tasting it, swallowing it, don't you."
His hand was now between my thighs, probing my body. I was still dry from fear, but I could feel my body beginning to respond, uncontrollably. I knew where this was going, and while I had no desire to be raped in the back seat of a van, I knew that there was nothing I could do about it, and I would be better off complying with this man's wishes. I did not want an unfavorable report to arrive with me in Paris. "Yes, master," I whispered as sensuously as I could. "I love being a slut. Please use me like the slut I am. Let me take you in my mouth and please you like you've never been pleased before." I licked my lips. As a slave, I had learned early on to adapt my behavior to the preferences of the master, to intuit quickly whether he wanted a hot, eager slut to be enjoyed or a reserved, reluctant girl to be forcibly put to her back and dominated. This, I had been told, was one of my particular skills as a slave. I closed my eyes and let myself indulge in his impatient caresses between my legs, willing myself to become hot and wet for him. Bound as I was, there was little he could expect me to do for him, at least until he positioned me appropriately.
Soon he pulled me down from the seat and put me on my knees in front of him, and began to open his pants. My body still sore from the abuses I had suffered the day before, I decided I would do my best to satiate him with my mouth, to give my bruises more time to heal. I lowered my head to him and plunged into my work with abandon, moaning with apparent satisfaction as I practiced my skills. But before I could complete my task, he withdrew from me and pushed me down on my back. My wrists ached, trapped in the small of my back against the rough carpet of the van, as he brought his weight on top of and inside me, pressing my thighs back against the floor. Even though I was sore inside, my body welcomed his entrance into me. But after the work I had done with my mouth, he was unable to last very long inside me, and he climaxed before I was able to achieve more than a moderate arousal. He withdrew, buckled his pants, and pushed me back onto my seat. I could feel a damp spot spreading on the vinyl seat.
"She's really hot, Karl," he called up to the front seat. "I bet you can't wait to get a piece of that nice juicy ass." I felt like I had been slapped. As a new slave, I still hated being reduced to my anatomical essentials. But I knew that was where most if not all of my value lay.
"Just let me get out of town and I'll take a turn," Karl answered. As I awaited the inevitable, Eddy casually ran his hands over my body, fondling his new toy. I moaned softly in appreciation, trying to please him. "You want it again already, don't you, slut?" he said. "Well, you won't have to wait long."
I didn't. About fifteen minutes later, the van pulled over by the side of the Autobahn. The two men changed places, Karl coming back to enjoy the entertainment available for the ride, Eddy easing the van back onto the road. Karl was older, taller, and less of a talker than Eddy. He wasted no time with my mouth, dumping me unceremoniously on my belly on the bench seat, my breasts crushed against the vinyl surface, my body open to him as a slave, before entering me from behind. He took his time, seemingly trying to arouse me, so I let my mind go and let myself revel in his deep, powerful thrusts, forcibly impressing on me my status as the helpless victim of his pleasure. Finally I felt him press himself against me, and I cried out in my own helpless orgasm. I hoped I would not be punished. But he didn't seem to mind, even smiling down at me as I cleaned him with my mouth, his hands playing with my hair. "We're going to have a nice trip, aren't we," he said.
I nodded as I could, my mouth still occupied by his manhood.
Now that my training was over, it seemed, there was little to pass my time other than actual service. Eddy and Karl were seeming indefatigable - certainly more impressive than any of my boyfriends. Perhaps it was a product of their generally monotonous occupation. Or perhaps it was a natural product of having a naked, bound sex slave constantly available to them in the back seat, willing and ready to indulge their every desire. In any case, somewhere in the former West Germany I lost count of how many times they had put me to their uses. After having exploited my more conventional uses, they had each used their hands to bring themselves to climax, aiming at my wide-open mouth or at my breasts and body. They had wiped some of their ejaculations into my mouth for me to taste and swallow, but the remainder was drying on my body and in my hair, out of reach of my bound hands, an abject reminder of my miserable condition. Through it all, I attempted to maintain my eager, willing, slutty demeanor, knowing that was what would please them the most. But inside I was crying silently, wondering if this was to be how I would pass all my days. Since the first time Karl had taken advantage of me, I could no longer be aroused by my abuse. Instead, I felt a mixture of soreness and boredom, hoping my rapists would tire of me so I could rest my mouth and body.
At night we stopped by the road for a few hours to rest, and after having me serve both of them at once, apparently for a change of pace, they stretched out on the two bench seats to rest. I was left lying curled up on the floor of the van, my hands still uncomfortably bound behind my back. Once they were asleep, I lifted my head and looked about the van, wondering if I had any chance at escape. But the rear door was still locked, and chained as I was, I could not reach the front doors. I resigned myself to my fate and lay back down on the hard floor. I wished I had been given a pillow or blanket. When I had been free, I had taken those small comforts for granted. Now, I knew, I could take nothing for granted. Finally I drifted off to a fitful sleep.
When I awoke, it was still dark. I felt a tug on the chain attached to my collar. Unable to resist, I followed it, lifting my head toward the seat. Eddy was pulling my head towards his lap. He put his hands in my hair and guided my face down toward him. I opened my mouth and began licking and kissing at him. "Yes, master," I sobbed, and continued my work.
When he was finished with me, after I had swallowed submissively and cleaned him off, he pushed me back onto the floor, where I landed hard on my left shoulder, unable to break my fall with my hands bound behind me. I lay there, wide awake, unable to cry.
We arrived in Paris early the next morning. It was a warm, overcast day, the city's nineteenth-century apartment buildings gray against the gray sky. I pressed my nose to the window, trying to make out landmarks I had only seen in pictures: Beaubourg, Notre Dame, the spire of the Sainte Chapelle, the Louvre. I thought I recognized them, but I could not be sure. I had often fantasized about visiting Paris - in fact, I had been planning to at the end of my summer in Berlin - but I had never imagined I would see the City of Light as a piece of merchandise being delivered, a naked, bound, abused pleasure slave peering out from behind tinted windows.
We parked on a side street so that Eddy and Karl could make use of my aching body one last time, and then we drove up a large avenue that I later learned was the Champs Elysees, turned into a side street, and turned again through a gate and into a large courtyard. They opened the rear door, unlocked the chain attaching my collar to the inside of the van, and led me out onto the flagstones of the courtyard. I could barely walk from having been chained for the entire trip, and because of the short chain attaching my ankles. Eddy's hand was still exploring my body as they escorted me to a large doorway. We were met by a young, casually dressed man whose name was Felix. Despite my fatigue, my aches, and the poor appearance I am sure I made, still covered with the stains of the previous twenty-four hours' abuses, I still wanted to make a good first impression. I sank to my knees on the hard stone and opened my thighs as best I could. Felix smiled. He talked briefly with Karl, exchanged documents, compared me to a picture he had of me, and checked the tag on my collar. Th
en he thanked my two couriers, who returned to their van. Looking back at us, Eddy called out, "She's a real hot one, that one. A real first-class slut."
Felix looked down on me, still on my knees. "Are you a first-class slut, Jenny?" he asked.
"Yes, master," I answered. "I live only to please my masters. I want nothing more than to serve them with my body." He seemed like a reasonable person. I wanted desperately for him to like me, at least to treat me as a human being rather than as the real-life sex doll I had been for the last day.
"Well, we'll see about that," he said, attaching a leash to my collar. He led me into the building, shuffling along after him as best as I could.
Felix led me to a wing of the building that he introduced as the slave quarters. The rooms in this section only had windows on the interior courtyard, and entrance and exit were controlled by two sets of locked doors. Inside, he turned me over to a slave girl named Helene, a French girl who spoke English with only a mild accent. English, I took it, was the international language of the pleasure slave industry. After unlocking my wrists and ankles, removing my leash, and giving me strict instructions to obey Helene's every word, he left me.
Helene wore a one-piece, nearly opaque, light blue piece of lingerie that hung from thin straps over her shoulders and came down to mid-thigh. Although it was cut low in front and back, slit high on her hips, and obviously the only thing that she was wearing, I was deeply envious of her. Since being abducted, I had never been granted permission to wear clothing, except in a training situation. Now I was appearing before her nude and disheveled, the traces of the previous days' degradations still apparent on my body and in my hair. Surely she must think me the lowest type of slut, I thought.
Helene showed me where to shower and clean myself up, which I did, and gave me a brief tour of the slaves' wing. Unlike the relatively friendly atmosphere of the training center I had just left, here the various girls seemed sullen and unfriendly - an impression that would only be strengthened during my stay in my new home. Soon enough, I heard an intercom system paging Helene and Jenny. She accompanied me to the double gates of the slaves' wing, where I was met by Felix again. He reattached a leash to my collar and led me through a maze of corridors to a sumptuous corner office, appointed with heavy wood furniture and dark red curtains.
When Felix stopped, I knelt on the hardwood floor, awaiting instructions. Behind the desk was a large, imposing man with gray hair and sharp, almost crooked features. He finished reading some papers, rose, and walked around the desk in front of me. At his side materialized Mr. McGregor, who had so thoroughly humiliated me only two days before.
"Well, Jenny," his voice boomed in the large room, "do you know why you are here?"
"I have been purchased by a new owner, master," I answered. "I am here to obey his every command."
He smiled. "Claudia does such a wonderful job training her girls, doesn't she, Colin?"
Mr. McGregor answered, "Yes, but this one is particularly remarkable. You would think she didn't even need training."
"So I hear, so I hear," the large man said, turning back to me. "I am Philippe Arnaud, although you will refer to me as Monsieur Arnaud or, when addressing me, as master. This is a business, and I run it. Do you know what kind of business it is?"
"No, master," I said, not wanting to make a mistake.
"Surely you must have some idea."
I thought for a moment. "A business where girls such as I are used as slaves," I ventured.
"The business of pleasure. My business is pleasure. My customers come here seeking pleasures they can find nowhere else, and I make sure they get them. And you are the key to that business. The pleasure they seek is the kind of exquisite, absolute satisfaction they can only get from a trained, sensuous slave girl. You are here to give them that pleasure. As long as you do so, you will be treated well. If you should fail in the slightest, you will be punished, or discarded." I listened quietly. This was essentially what I had expected. I took the time to subtly and continually adjust my position, drawing attention to my charms, to my soft, uplifted breasts and to my open, inviting thighs. I knew I was attractive, that men desired my body. I wanted M. Arnaud to desire it as well. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, master," I replied readily. "I will be absolutely obedient."
"Sometimes slave girls come here who are resolved to be obedient, but are really only playing a game, going through the motions without really embracing their slavery. They are constantly scheming, looking for ways to get ahead and make their lives easier, only pretending to live for their masters." He looked into my eyes. "Are you such a girl?"
I looked down at the floor. "No, master," I whispered. "I am a true slave, a natural slave, a girl who desires nothing more than to please her masters in any way she can."
"Well, we shall see," he said simply.
He made a brief motion with his hand. Felix tugged on my leash, drawing me to my feet, and led me over to a corner of the room. Above my head, an overhanging beam jutted out from the wall. A ring was set in the bottom face of the beam. I wondered what was going on. Then Felix quickly cuffed my hands together in front of me and attached them to a long chain, which he looped through the ring and pulled down on the other side. He was incredibly strong despite his moderate build. I felt the tension on the chain pulling my feet off the ground. My toes could barely graze the floor. The steel cuffs bit into my wrists.
Then I realized what was happening. I was to be whipped.
"This is only a demonstration," I heard M. Arnaud saying behind me. "This is to let you know what awaits you should you ever be in the least displeasing." He paused. "You may thank me."
"Thank you, master," I said, my voice trembling. I wondered how many times I would be struck. I had felt switches and whips in training, but only to correct lapses in my concentration or technique. I had never been subjected to a sustained, disciplinary beating.
M. Arnaud walked in front of me and help up a whip in front of me. It was long and black, with thick, heavy blades. He pressed the handle to my mouth. I licked and kissed it, almost instinctively. I hoped to mollify him with my eager obedience, to soften the blows that would follow.
He walked behind me again. I tried to steel myself for the blow. Then I heard the hiss of the air behind me, and my back exploded in pain. I screamed despite myself. Then the whip fell again. And again. It fell on my back, my bottom, the back of my thighs, the front of my thighs, my belly, my breasts, and my shoulders. The blades of the whip were too large and heavy to bite into my skin and draw blood, but their weight made it feel like I was being struck with clubs. I quickly lost count of the blows in the haze of pain that followed. In retrospect, I realized I was probably only whipped ten or fifteen times. But in my mind, the beating lasted an eternity. I screamed and begged for it to end, promising to do anything, anything at all to make it stop, but knowing that, as a slave, anything could already be demanded of me, and what was demanded now was that I scream in agony. My body twisted in the air. I remember seeing Mr. McGregor and Felix and wondering at how calmly they looked on. I begged them all to rape me, to let me please them, to exact from me the price of my slavery. But they were impassive.
Finally the blows seemed to stop for longer than usual. I was hanging from my wrists, sobbing, my body alive with pain. I know there are people for whom physical pain is erotic and stimulating, the elixir that fires their arousal. I am not one of them. As a slave girl, I knew that I was subject to the whip, that I might be beaten for any disobedience, or even for no reason at all, and I knew that was only fitting, for I was a slave. But I could never enjoy the actual pain of the beating. I would gladly have served a hundred men in succession rather than undergo the torture I had just experienced.
When Felix released my wrists, I could only collapse on the floor. I dragged myself on my belly over to M. Arnaud's feet and frantically began kissing them. "Please, master," I begged. "Let me please you. Take me any way you want. Have your way with my body. Let
me serve you." I was desperate to prove my worth to him, thinking that could spare me another beating.
"Remember, Jenny, that was a warning," he said as I continued to lick his shoes.
"Yes, master," I said. "Thank you, master." I expected to be raped then and there. Instead, he pulled me up to a kneeling position by my hair. I kept my knees as far as apart as I could, in terror. I would do nothing that might earn me the slightest disapproval. He put his hands to my neck and unlocked the collar that had been there since I had first been abducted. An instant later, he replaced it with another - a smooth, gleaming, gold-colored collar engraved with my name and the name of my owner: Club Aphrodite.
Felix accompanied me back to the slaves' wing where, thankfully, I was allowed to sleep for a few hours.
I awoke on one of four beds in a large shared bedroom. The others were unoccupied. Not knowing what I was allowed to do, I was too scared to leave the room and explore the area. Instead, I lay on my back, naked, wondering what course of events had brought me here, a slave girl completely subject to the whims and cruelties of her masters.
Sometime later, another girl came in. She was taller than I, with honey-blonde hair, and, only partially concealed by her brief garment, a body that men might kill to possess. But, of course, as she was a slave, they could have her body simply by snapping their fingers.
"Are you Jenny?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "... mistress."
"Oh, you don't need to bother with that," she said, smiling. "I'm a slave as much as you. My name is Michelle."
"You're an American?" I asked, guessing from her accent.
"Yes, I'm from Mississippi," she answered. "I heard there was a new American girl here. It can be awfully difficult to find your bearings here, so I thought I'd help you out."
And so Michelle explained to me the workings of Club Aphrodite. As Cristina had forewarned me, it was essentially a brothel, but one with the particular twist that all the girls were complete and utter slaves. Most of the patrons were wealthy businessmen who paid either annual membership fees (in the hundreds of thousands of dollars) or nightly fees (in the thousands of dollars) to come to the club in the evenings (or, occasionally, in the afternoons) and take advantage of all that it had to offer. This included a bar, a lounge, and a small dining area. The primary offering, of course, was its stable of slave girls, of which I was now the twelfth. Our duties were to wait on them, to bring them drinks and food, to dance for them, and, of course, to provide them with whatever sensuous pleasures they might care to imagine. We were completely at their disposal at all times, and could be simply ordered to our backs and raped on the floor. We could also be taken into one of the adjoining bedrooms, there to render longer services in private; for that, however, the clients would have to pay extra.
My Berlin Summer Page 11
