My Berlin Summer

by Dana Williams

  The car drove for close to an hour. I could make out little of the surroundings in the moonless night. I wondered what my new master would be like, and what he would expect of me. Would he want a hot, eager slave slut, ready to throw herself at his feet and split her legs widely, begging to be raped? Or perhaps a shy, reluctant girl to be forcibly bent to his will and compelled to serve him unquestioningly? Or did he want an All-American college girl whom he could dress up in cheerleader costumes, that she must then remove sensuously in the privacy of his chambers? I did not know. All I could do was be myself - a deeply submissive slave girl, willing to do anything to please her master. I hoped that would be enough for him.

  The driver used a magnetic card to pass through a tall iron gate, and then we turned into a long driveway that led to a small but elegant stone mansion. It seemed in the light from its windows like a modern version of an old English university building, like one of the Oxford or Cambridge colleges refreshed with a contemporary architect's clean lines. I had little time to appreciate its appearance before being once again lifted onto the guard's shoulder, carried into the entranceway, and unceremoniously deposited on the floor. My hands and feet still bound by steel cuffs, I pushed myself up onto my knees and assumed the position of a trained pleasure slave, looking about me for the face of my master.

  Instead, I looked up into the eyes of a beautiful, young woman wearing a flowing silk dress - and a steel collar about her throat. "Welcome," she said in an upper-class British accent. "I am Charlotte, and as I am sure you have realized, I am a slave girl, every bit as much as you." Yes, she was a slave girl. The thin, short garment of silk was obviously all she wore, and could do little to hide the sweet curves of her young, soft body. I could see why she had been chosen for slavery, her body almost crying out to be taken and dominated by a master. If I had been a man I was sure I could not have resisted her, but would have torn off her dress and thrown her to the floor. I wondered if I might inspire those same reactions in men. I shuddered to think of the passions to which I was subject.

  "Yes, mistress," I said. As the new slave girl, I assumed I must treat any other girls as my superiors.

  "There is no hierarchy among slaves here, Jenny," Charlotte said. "We are not to devote our energies to any pursuits other than pleasing our master." After a pause, she continued. "I am to see that you are cleaned and prepared to meet the master."

  The guards unchained my wrists and ankles, leaving me absolutely nude; my previous collar had been left behind, in Paris. I expected I would be wearing a new collar soon. Jenny led me up a spiral staircase and down a hall to a large, almost opulent bathroom with a circular marble tub already filled with hot water. I entered the bath and luxuriated for a moment before she reminded me that the master was waiting. Not wanting to cause the least displeasure, I hurriedly cleaned myself and toweled off. There was no makeup available. I would present myself to my master purely as I was, without cosmetics or any other artifice.

  When I was ready, Charlotte led me back down the hallway, past the stairs, and into a large bedroom. She left me, and there I knelt, my thighs spread and my eyes cast down as she had instructed. I knew I would do anything in my power to be pleasing. I desperately wanted my master to be pleased with his girl, and feared the consequences of any disappointment. I thought about how far I had come from Los Angeles, where I had simply assumed that men liked me and wanted me. Then I could count on them to attempt to please me. Now it was I, naked and on my knees, who must beg for the chance to serve them.

  I heard footsteps, but forced myself to keep my eyes on the floor. A moment later there was a man standing before me.

  "On your hands and knees," he said. The British accent sounded familiar. I obeyed in a second. "Kiss my feet," he said. I lowered my head to his feet and kissed them lightly, then tenderly, then passionately. I moaned softly as a sign of the arousal I experienced simply from kissing the feet of my master. It was a common slave girl's device to entice a master, but it was also something I felt deep inside me. "Lift your head," he said. I did so. I was still on all fours, now looking ahead at his knees and thighs. I felt his hands lifting my hair off my neck. I was momentarily confused. Then I felt the cold steel collar lock into place about my neck. I had been collared, like a dog. But instead of being insulted, I felt secure in the collar. I knew that I was worth enough for a man to buy and own me, and the collar was the ultimate symbol of my value as a slave.

  "Kneel," he commanded. I looked up into his eyes.

  "David!" I must have shouted, throwing myself to my belly before him, clasping his ankles and calves with my hands as I once again kissed his feet, fervently and passionately this time. It was the Arabian playboy who had so often claimed me during the months in Paris, who had known so well how to make me scream in pleasure and in submission. He had bought me! Perhaps he even cared about me. But even if he had no feelings for me, even if he had bought me solely because he had found my sexual services to be satisfactory, had judged my soft thighs worthy of being spread before him, I was still grateful, because I knew what delights might await me under his power. He was a powerful, unconditional, absolute master, of course, one who knew how to make a slave girl crawl to him and beg to be used, but at the same time he could make that same girl happier to be a slave than she would have ever have imagined possible.

  Then he dragged me back to my knees by my hair and slapped me across the face, throwing my body sideways and to the floor. "You are a common slave slut," he said. "Do not insult my name by letting it pass your lips."

  "I'm sorry, master," I pleaded, still lying on my side where I had fallen. "Forgive me, master. I am only a worthless slave girl. Let me demonstrate to you my absolute submissiveness. Let me serve you as a slave, in any way you desire."

  He crouched down, rudely spun me only my belly, and lifted my hips into the air. An instant later I felt him deep inside me as he subjected me to his swift, disciplinary rape. He had no thought for my pleasure, but used me brutally, casually, and unilaterally, exerting the primitive dominance of a master over his slave. But even being used in this way, my body welcomed him, and I could feel myself heating up as he had his way with me, unavoidably responding both physically and emotionally to my complete ravishment. When he finished with me and let me slump to the floor, defeated, I immediately rolled to my knees and took him in my mouth to clean him and to show my utter submission, my desperate eagerness to give pleasure, and my impatience to be used again.

  It was not long before he fulfilled that desire, and it was many times and in many ways that my master compelled his new slave to serve him that night. On my back, my ankles bound to my wrists high above my head; leaning forward over the bed, my wrists bound behind my back; on my knees before him, forced to hold myself open for him with my hands; or writhing on top of him, at his command, my hands behind my back; he extracted from me many times over the price of my slavery. That night he allowed me to sleep on the floor by his bed, chained by my collar to the foot of the bed. As I learned, I was extended that courtesy so that he would have the convenience of summoning me onto the bed in the middle of the night, there to continue my intimate services. And in the morning, I even dared to perform the task that M. Roget had first demanded of me, allowing him to awaken in the gentle morning light already bathing in the warmth and softness of his new slave's mouth. He smiled, locked his hands in my soft hair, and forcibly guided me to complete my task, holding me to him even as I swallowed in submissive ecstasy.

  "Thank you for buying me, master," I said when he finally released me, continuing to kiss at his stomach and chest, my hair draped over his body. I expected he would want to begin his day and would have no more time to pass with his slave girl, but I wanted to whet his appetite for later. I was truly grateful that if I were consigned to a lifetime of slavery, at least some of it would be spent in his arms.

  "You will have ample opportunity to thank me more fully," he answered. "In time you may come to curse the day that you came i
nto my possession."

  "I fear this slave must beg to differ, master," I said, pausing in my ministrations to look up into his eyes. "You may beat me, rape me, abuse me in any way, but I will remain your devoted slave." And at the moment, I meant it.

  "Of course you will," David said. "That is why I bought you."

  I spent that first day learning about my new surroundings, under the tutelage of the other slave girls David owned: Charlotte, a university student he had met in England, seduced, and enslaved; Deirdre, an American from Virginia, radiantly blonde and long-legged; and Tamara, a Canadian from British Columbia, brown-haired and athletic. I gathered David's taste in girls ran to innocent-seeming, fresh-faced young women capable of intense devotion to their masters, girls who could not only be trained to accept their slavery, but could be gradually but inexorably compelled to love their abject condition. Charlotte had been in his keeping the longest, for close to three years, and seemed to be his favorite; once selected and purchased, he showed no signs of tiring of a girl, rather spending months and years teasing out her inner submissiveness, drawing her ever more completely into his power.

  We were detained in David's "country house" outside the capital of the small principality in which he was a prominent citizen. The compound included several buildings and stretched over close to a hundred acres of carefully tended gardens in what was otherwise largely a desert region, a testament to his and his family's wealth. The entire complex was surrounded by a high, electrified fence, with only two gates, each manned by armed guards. The security was primarily designed to maintain his family's privacy, but of course also served to deter any attempt we slave girls might make to escape. We had the run of the building in which we were housed and a small portion of the grounds, but were not allowed in most areas of the compound, particularly in the buildings where David's three wives lived and raised their children. I learned that his wives were all well-educated but traditional women from the local aristocracy, and that he was both a devoted husband and father. But when it was a woman he wanted, he turned instead to his small stable of white slave girls. And for this, it seems, we were uniformly hated by his wives. They might feel relieved that it was on us that he imposed his powerful urges and desires, but at the same time we clearly represented the corrupt Western world that they hated. In the thin silk garments that we were permitted, which we must, of course, remove at a moment's notice, we were visibly the sort of wanton, degraded sluts that were so offensive to their traditional morals. It may have been for our benefit and protection that we were forbidden from seeing them.

  It was a great relief to find that we were not made sexually available to the various servants, guards, and other members of the complex. While we must of course obey the commands of any free person immediately and absolutely - under threat of being whipped - David reserved the use of our bodies to himself, and to those he specifically designated. I do not think this was out of any particular graciousness on his part, but rather from a desire to keep us in a perpetual state of arousal and anticipation, letting our sexual needs grow over time so that, when we were finally given the chance to serve him, we would be particularly helpless and desperate to be pleasing. There were times, however, when we might be given either to a particular staff member, or when we might as a group be thrown to them for their general amusement, either as a reward for good service or simply as a diversion. He was a generous employer, and the services of his slaves were one way in which he compensated his employees.

  In addition, we were also called on to serve at dinners or parties that David would host for his friends or business associates. At these affairs, we would first perform such standard tasks as greeting guests, taking their coats, serving drinks, and waiting at table - dressed, of course, in brief, sheer garments that readily displayed our charms, and more than hinted at our eventual availability for other, more intimate services. Then, as the evening wore on, our roles would change, and we would be commanded to remove our clothing so that we might, now completely nude, serve as the object of various games and diversions, in which our bodies were invariably the prize. Sometimes, on these nights, I would be used repeatedly by different men, as had been the routine in Paris. But here, at least, these occasions were the exception rather than the rule, and I found that I even looked forward to them, because they allowed me to most fully display and indulge my submissiveness, my ever-growing desire to serve, and obey, and give pleasure, with no thought for myself, seeking validation solely in the look of contentment I might see on a master's face as I brought him to climax with my mouth or body.

  After the first few nights, each of which David devoted to reducing me to a helpless, conquered, dominated slave girl, begging her master for the privilege of his use, I discovered that I enjoyed no special standing among the girls, but would simply be selected when the master's whims turned toward my particular appearance or talents. David was a connoisseur of slaves, and on different occasions his tastes might require a different delicacy to satiate his appetite. Generally we would be used in the evening, although on occasion he might summon one of us to his chambers during the day, or even simply accost a girl where she was, stripping off her flimsy garment and throwing her to his feet. When I was so chosen, it would only take an instant for my body to become ready to receive him. In fact, during that entire period I lived in a continuous state of mild arousal, brought on by my awareness of my constant vulnerability and by my ever-increasing submissiveness.

  As Cristina had predicted, I found myself daydreaming of being used by my master or by his friends, or even being subjected to some particularly cruel and demeaning form of rape, or thinking of new ways that I might use my body to please him the next time he gave me the opportunity. But even though it ran counter to everything I had believed for the first two decades of my life, I was not unhappy at this change in my emotional makeup, at this deepening of the psychological bonds that enslaved me even more than the collar I wore about my neck or the armed guards who barred my access to the outside world. In Paris I had been exposed to the brutal economic reality of being a slave girl, of having my body repeatedly sold at a price set to maximize the profits taken by my masters, and despite the sexual gratification I could sometimes find in the arms of my clients, there were still times when I bitterly wept over my fate. But now it was as if I had been restored to the romantic notion of slavery that had initially exerted its magnetic attraction over me. Even when David commanded me to strip myself naked and open my thighs for the amusement of a visiting businessman whom he wished to entertain, I knew that it was indirectly my master that I was serving, and when I was granted to a guest for the night, I knew it was because it brought pleasure to my master. I am sure that David had no more concern for me than one might have for a preferred toy, a possession to be enjoyed and then forgotten, at least until he next had occasion for it. And yet I know that I loved him, in a way and with a passion that I had never expected to know.

  Chapter 11: The Revolution

  This idyll of blissful servitude came to a violent end early one cool morning in January.

  That night, I had been fortunate enough to be the slave girl selected by the master to serve his pleasure. As usual, he had put me to a variety of the specialized uses to which a slave such as I must be accustomed, finally cuffing my wrists to my ankles and taking me from behind, making me scream repeatedly in submission and ecstasy. Then he unbound my wrists and ankles, chained me to the foot of his bed by the collar, and climbed into bed to sleep.

  I lay awake for a time. The passage of the new year inspired in me another round of reflection on how my life had changed. Every new year prior to this one, I had looked forward to new experiences, accomplishments, and horizons. As a popular, bright, hard-working student at a prestigious university, I had had a world of possibilities open to me. Each new year I had regretted the opportunities not taken in the previous twelve months and resolved to seek them out in the next twelve months. Now, though, I lay chained naked at the foot
of my master's bed, a helpless but willing captive to his sexual depredations. By the standards of my previous life, I was now the lowest of the low - not only a wanton slut who would beg on her back for a man to take her, but worse than that a confessed slave who willingly accepted the loss of her rights and freedoms in exchange for the purity of absolute submission.

  And this year, I truly had nothing to look forward to. My life, from this point forward, would be nothing more than a continuation of the daily routine of absolute obedience and sexual exploitation that I had lived for the past several months. My master might tire of me and sell me to a new owner, but that would be little more than a change of decor; in essence, my life would remain one of perfect and constant sexual service to my master and any men or women he might choose to make me available to, completely devoid of any choices or preferences of my own. I must offer up my thighs or my tongue to anyone on a moment's notice, routinely delivering pleasures that I had once reserved for a small handful of boyfriends, or that I had never intended to provide to any man. I knew all the ways in which a slave girl might be used, and blushed at how many of them had brought me to helpless ecstasy.

  I felt a momentary, profound sadness at the life I had left behind. I supposed that as long as I lived I would feel moments like this. But they were fewer than they had once been, and I did not know at that moment if I would have voluntarily given up my slavery for the freedom I had once known.