I woke shivering when the barn door squealed open. My skin prickled against the cold floor with no blanket, no clothes, nothing to cover me from the eyes that would soon wander over every exposed inch. Before Mistress could start barking, many of us were already standing at Inspect. She didn’t have a bucket of cold water this morning and instead walked through inspecting each slave before ushering us out with snaps of her crop. The girls who woke and got into position last received the brunt of her abuse.

The deep bone-chilling cold bit through my bare skin until the burn of endless squats and crunches set my muscles on fire. Each humiliating pose spread me open, forcing fresh awareness of how exposed and vulnerable I was. My stomach burned and quaked, thighs trembling so violently I feared I’d collapse and earn the crop while Matron flowed through every movement with natural grace.

As we approached the third exhausting hour, Matron went into Kneel and announced, “And ease into Kneel. And relax for a moment.”

“Pay attention, my sweet girls,” Matron cooed. “Settle in… Backs straight, knees nice and wide for me… That’s it, good girls.”

“Breathe in slowly, darlings. A proper slave controls the most intimate part of herself. This is where your true value lies… Not just that pretty slit, but deep inside. Squeeze… Clench and hold for me.”

“Good girls, I can see some of you understanding. Draw those muscles in as if you are trying to pull something deep into your belly. Hold it… Hold… Feel how your body tightens around nothing. This is your first duty. To be ready… Warm… Gripping. This is for your owner. This is his.”

“Now release slowly… Then squeeze again. Harder this time. Milk him. Feel him filling you. Please him. This is not for your pleasure, sweet things. This is training. That cunt exists only to serve. Clench properly, and you’ll become a living sheath… A perfect, irresistible little tool for your owner.”

Trainer and Mistress walked along our two lines, Mistress heading straight for me. She stopped, then squatted down in front of me. Her hand went between my legs, and I felt her fingers press against me. Then she pushed inside while holding my gaze. I felt the stretch by the slow intrusion, and hated how my body yielded around her. A shuddering moan escaped before I could stop it. 

From the front, Matron continued, “And squeeze… Hold it…”

Mistress snarled, “I can barely feel a thing, Pale Sheath. Pathetic. Squeeze!”

I clenched harder as the women around me cast sidelong glances. Mistress sighed and forced herself deeper inside me. In the Federation, a woman could simply go to a clinic and have a procedure done to tighten everything up. Here, women were expected to participate willingly in every debasement. I squeezed.

She moved her fingers, forcing a shuddering moan out. “Just damp? Not even wet for me, Pale Sheath? Don’t you appreciate your Mistress checking how well you’re performing?”

A thousand snide comments ran through my mind, “My body is learning, Mistress. Thank you for teaching me.”

She thrust deeper with a cruel smile, working her fingers until I clenched helplessly around her. “A clever girl might lie and say that,” she sneered, “But look at you… Positively dripping down my fingers now. You just needed a little encouragement,” she said with a rough stab. “Seems those holes are finally learning they belong to me now.” She left me gasping and feeling hollow.

The trainers ate what looked like pancakes with a cream cheese spread while we attended. When they asked for a volunteer to clean, all eight of us threw ourselves at their feet, begging to be the one. Including me. I wasn’t chosen, of course, but I wasn’t doing anything to stand out.

Breakfast was fruit again. When I got one, I damn near cried. I was so hungry I devoured it, then licked until the pit was shiny. 

The next three hours were poses. Inspect. Kneel. Table. Over and over. New variations on standing bent, lying back, holding ourselves open in so many ways. When I thought about anyone seeing me bent at the waist completely naked, reaching back to hold myself open while Trainer spread my legs and chastised me for not being wet and inviting enough, shame twisted so sharply in me that I thought I might be sick. 

Lunch break finally came, and I was assigned to rake the yard with a couple of trainees. A few others cleaned the pen, and others fetched lunch. The trainers ate cold cuts, cheeses, and once chores were done, we were served herbed salads. I devoured mine and was still deeply hungry afterward. When a volunteer was called, I threw myself down on the ground, hoping by some miracle I’d be picked.

We were given a few minutes to attend bathroom needs, and I joined the crowd as we rushed past Mistress, only to feel someone grab me. Groped would have been the polite way of describing it, they reached up under me, grabbing me hard and making me cry out. I spun with a startled cry, the rough hand still hot between my thighs, and found Lira leering down at me.

“Hey!” I yelled with a shove. 

The bigger woman was surprised, but we both froze in our tracks when Mistress spun around barking, “What goes on here?”

Lira snapped to Inspect, and I followed suit. Lira wasn’t saying anything, so I spoke up, “She grabbed me, Mistress…”

“And?” Mistress said, stepping into my face.

I had expected Mistress to relish the opportunity to enforce order with her crop. Her nonchalance made me stop in my tracks. “I belong to my Master, not to her. She used me without his permission.”

Mistress looked me right in the eyes, her nose nearly touching mine. She replied slowly and clearly, “Your owner loaned you to this house. That means your ass is mine to use as I please.”

Nausea twisted hard in my insides as the full horror came over me. My body was no longer my own. Not even from another slave. Anyone could use what had once been mine.

“Your big sister has done an adequate job performing her duties. Unlike you. So superior, outlander… But you can't even hold your bladder. You are the lowest of the slaves. And if Lira has the bad taste to want to touch you… Why would I care?”

My lip quivered, hot tears of rage and shame pricking at my eyes while I fought to keep my voice controlled. The woman who engineered my greatest humiliation was now going to use that to give away any remaining dignity.

“Is it true, Lira?” Mistress asked the other woman. “Did you want to touch this filthy creature?”

Lira puffed up. “Yes, Mistress. I enjoy showing her her place.”

“Well then… Go ahead. You’ve earned it.”

Lira’s grin made my stomach lurch. I remained rigid in position, disgusted and loathing that she’d been given permission to put her hands on my naked body. And had not been chastised for sticking her hand up between my thighs.

Lira moved behind me, her larger body crowding close, the heat of her skin and soft curves pressing into my back as her hands cupped my breasts and squeezed hard. I hated how the contact made my guts tighten.

“Her nipples,” Mistress sneered.

“Eh?” Lira said, her breath hot on my bent arm.

“Her nipples, Lira. Pinch them hard. The little slut loves it.” Mistress stared past me at Lira, who complied. Her finger and thumb tips pinched, then pulled painfully at my nipples. I ground my teeth, trying not to cry out. Lira eased the crushing grip on my nipples but continued mauling my tits. Her rough treatment wasn’t because she wanted to touch or feel me. This was her showing me who was in charge.

“Come see me tonight,” Lira hissed at me from behind, “Or you’ll get more of this every single day.”

I said nothing and fought back the humiliating tears that threatened.

“Alright,” Mistress finally announced. “That’s enough. Relieve yourselves before afternoon class.” She turned and walked after the other girls, who were all busy attending to their needs in preparation for a long afternoon.

Lira ran her nose along my bicep, inhaling as she did. “Tonight, Sheath.” Then she released me and walked away. I watched her naked hips sway as she walked off. It was the strut of a conqueror. A sick whisper in my mind asked whether I should resist her or crawl to her tonight, just for an evening without freezing. The thought alone made my cheeks burn with self-loathing. 

The afternoon lesson continued the earlier first-day lecture on the horrid slave philosophy from the previous day. It was irritating hearing endlessly how frivolous women were, and how in the natural order of things, women should defer to men in all things. The mantras continued as well.

“I am a sheath” was the most humiliating, as if it had been chosen for constant utterance just to humiliate me. But there were plenty of others. “My pleasure belongs to my owner” was also infuriating, reinforcing that I had no right to my own body. “My holes are not mine… My only purpose is to please… Obedience is peace…” The words poured from my lips like white noise, each repetition scraping another layer from whatever was left of Selene. As if the words no longer had any meaning, they just poured out of my mouth without thought to get through the endless humiliations.

Dinner was the same as the first day. Chores and serving the trainers while we waited hungrily for our own meals. I was chosen to cook and got a crash course in grilling and local herbs. Mistress was there to mock my efforts and call me a liar when I explained I’d never cooked before. “What kind of worthless cunt doesn’t even know how to cook? Pathetic.”

After dinner, there was a round of groveling to see who would clean the table. I was not chosen, of course, but having thrown myself into the dirt multiple times now, I was getting used to the idea of begging with my whole body to take on more work.

Once the trainers were done eating, we were each given a bowl of thin vegetable stew. I had to force myself not to lick it. I abstained since the other women weren’t, but I was ready and willing to forgo any sense of dignity and lick the bowl clean of any dregs.

The evening started with a few moments to relieve ourselves, then we formed in front of the fountain where Matron was waiting for us. She smiled warmly as her gaze swept across us. “Girls… You’ve all done so well today. For your studies and beautiful obedience, every one of you has earned a cup of wine before the nightly lesson.”

She paused as shy little Nyssa moved down the line, handing out wooden cups from a serving tray. Her gaze stopped on me.

“Special praise tonight goes to Vessi the Pale Sheath. Yesterday she had an accident that cost you all your dinner. That was so very disappointing. But today… Today she showed real improvement. You are the most improved girl. Because of that, you’ve earned a double helping of wine.”

Nyssa stepped up to me and handed me a simple cup nearly overflowing with dark red fluid. I’d had the slave wine before and knew this wasn’t really a reward. Matron wanted me burning inside, the double helping of aphrodisiacs would have me squirming through the last lesson. It was possible Matron was hoping I’d be so distracted and tense that I’d cause another group punishment to further cement my position as the very worst slave of the class.

Matron stepped off her little stage and walked directly to me. “Drink it all, darling. You’ve earned this with your obedience, and a good slave accepts every gift bestowed upon her. She reached out to help push the cup to my lips. “This is how you become perfect.”

I took a drink as she watched. It was bitter and tart, not entirely terrible, but I knew it would affect me. The last time I’d had this wine, I’d orgasmed when my partner took me in front of a crowd of barbarians. The shame of the memory heated my belly almost as much as the wine.

She continued watching me until I’d drained the whole thing. I could feel a trail of fire from the back of my throat, down into my belly, and seeping into my thighs. In a few minutes, I knew I’d be desperate to clench my thighs closed, rather than spread lewdly open as they were now.

With a smile, she returned back to the platform. “Sit for a moment, my pets. The wine will do its work. Feel it spreading through you. Remember this heat… When you leave here, this will always remain.”

“Close your eyes… Feel how your belly warms… And repeat after me… My only purpose is to please… I exist to serve… I am a tool. A living toy. A perfect slave.”

We did mantras for about fifteen minutes, and they got worse and more degrading with every minute. By the end, Matron, with her beaming smile, was asking us to repeat things like, “This cunt is not mine… These holes belong to my owner… A good slave is ready, warm, and eager.”

Heat rippled through my belly and slicked my thighs as the degrading phrases left my mouth again and again. My fingers gripped my spread legs while I fought the desperate urge to rock against my own hand. 

“And now,” Matron suddenly announced, “Tonight’s lesson… How to touch your owner to enflame his every desire.” 

I was grateful not to be speaking mantras about how my body parts were no longer mine, but a flood of dread pulsed through me hearing we’d be learning how to touch our owners. I immediately thought of having to practice on straw-filled dummies, and trying to maintain a straight face while looking at it seductively.

“Vessi, my dear. Please come here.” Matron called to me.

I rose, happy to be able to clench my thighs in the process, and was horrified at how hot and damp they were. I walked up in front of everyone to Matron, who turned me around to face the other kneeling trainees.

Matron put an arm around my bare shoulder, her silks whispering across my skin. “Tell us, sweet girl, what do you think is needed to be seductive when your owner is touching you?”

What is needed? The question was absurd. I’d never put on a performance for any of the men who had been romantically interested. If we were both in the mood, they would make advances, and I would either allow them or stop them in the process. Why would I perform for them? We were supposed to be equals, my value was never in how pretty I moaned.

“I don’t know, Matron. I never put on a show. If a man wanted me, he would…” I slowed down, trying to think of a way to phrase my thoughts without seeming totally alien to these women. “He would pursue me. Seduction on my behalf wasn’t necessary.”

Matron hugged me with one arm around my shoulders, “Oh, poor girl. This is exactly why you need this lesson. A good slave offers herself so eagerly that he never has to wonder. When he touches you, he wants to feel that you are desperate for his hands. He wants to see your body trembling with need for him. He wants your eyes to be soft and adoring. Your lips wet and parted as if you are imagining him using them.”

“He wants to hear soft grateful little sounds. Not silence. He wants to feel you arch into his touch, press your breast into his palm, roll your hips like a beast in heat. Seduction is not a ‘show.’ It’s the complete surrender of your pride. It’s proving with breath that your only desire is to please him. As every woman should feel for their owner.”

She waved her hand in a gesture of invitation, “Lira, come up here. I’d like you to touch Vessi as you would your master. Touch her and imagine that you are making yourself alluring to your owner, that you are enticing him to use you for his pleasure.”

I wanted to shrink back as Lira staggered up to her feet. This brute was going to touch me and attempt to seduce me with her hands. I wanted to be ill, to kick her in the face, to be anywhere but right here with her hands on me.

“And you, sweet Vessi,” Matron held me by each shoulder, turning me to look directly at her. “When she touches you, show us how a proper slave responds. Imagine she is your owner, the one you are so sweet on even though you refuse to make him feel like a man.”

Lira smirked as she stepped up to me. We faced each other so the class and Matron on the other side could see both of us in profile. When she drew close, I looked up into her arrogant face and wanted to jerk away. One of her hands went to my breast, gripping it tightly in a crushing squeeze. Her other hand shot right between my thighs. She goosed me hard with her sadist grin boring down at me. 

I yelped as flames flickered fiercely through my belly. Lira's fingers slid wetly through my thighs, and I could feel burning crimson heat flush across my face. My yelp turned into a prolonged moan, and my hips moved forward against my will. I didn’t know what to do with my hands or where to look except into her cruel eyes. Shame made me want to crawl into the dirt.

“No,” Matron said firmly. “No, Lira. That is how a brute touches a cheap tavern whore. Not how a valuable slave touches her owner.”

She turned to the rest of the girls, her voice still gentle but laced with authority. “Listen carefully, all of you. When you touch a man, you do not grab like a starving animal. You seduce. You worship. You make him feel like a god who owns the most perfect toy in the world.”

Matron guided Lira back and took her place, looking evenly into my eyes. “Like this… Gentle at first…”

She moved into me, her soft skin pressing warmly to mine with the lightest touch. I could feel the silks whispering between us, a slick elegance that made me come to life with unwanted heat. She turned to face the audience, one hand slipped behind me to trace along my spine, as her other glided up across my ribs and traced the curve of my breasts. Overwhelmed, a moan escaped my lips, her touch was smoldering, creating fires across my body.

“Let him feel your softness. Tease. Worship. Show him how grateful you are that he even allows you to touch him.” The hand behind me drifted down, tracing the shape of my ass, while the one in front slipped down my belly. My hips moved forward without conscious thought from me, and they ground against her. A double portion of wine, it was making me melt in her touch. Her fingers went to my landing strip, and I cooed as they combed through it. I pressed forward, wanting our chests to touch again. The wine. The wine was driving me mad.

Her hand slipped down to my slit, and she caressed me with gentle fingers. I wanted her to touch me, my clit so badly. I would have begged. The audience, the other trainers vanished, I was lost in her eyes, and the inferno her hands were stoking inside me.

Her other hand slid down between my thighs, fingers stroking lightly along my slit. Not forcing, but coaxing wetness, exploring with deliberate sensuality that made my hips twitch forward before I could stop them.

“Touch his cock like it is the most precious thing you will ever hold. Cup him gently, as if he were delicate. Make him feel desired. Craved. Whimper softly. Arch into his hand. Look at him with needy, adoring eyes. Do not take. Offer. Offer, all of you.”

Then she stepped back, leaving me cold and lonely and untouched. She turned back to Lira, “Do you understand now, Lira? This is how you make a man never want to let you go.”

“Yes, Matron,” Lira said, but her eyes looked less confident.

“Then, go ahead and try again.”

Lira hesitated then bowed her head, “I’m sorry, Matron, am I supposed to be touching her like I am the master, or as myself?”

Before Matron could answer, Mistress gave a sharp, mocking laugh, “You think because you’re a big girl that you have a cock now as well, you stupid cow? You are not a master, you are holes, and you will always, ALWAYS, perform as holes. When you touch your partner, always do so as what you are, empty holes that need attention.”

Stepping quickly up behind Lira, Mistress grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back and down to hiss in her ear, “You touch the Pale Sheath the way a desperate, dripping slave touches the man who owns her. With worship, not with your clumsy fucking paws. Do it right this time, or I’ll have you licking the dirt between the arrogant little slut’s toes while the rest of us watch.”

Matron nodded sagely, “Thank you, Gressa.”

Mistress bowed her head, stepping back and releasing the taller woman’s hair. 

“You heard Mistress, Lira. Try again. Show us how a proper slave seduces.”

Lira nodded and stepped back up to me. She seemed nervous, as was I. My skin was alive and tingling, and the last thing I wanted was this brute touching me gently. I knew when I gave the trainers what they wanted, my soft sighs, that it would only be half of an act. My nerves were positively buzzing at the thought of a gentle caress.

Reaching out with one hand, Lira touched the side of my face. Her other hand went to my side and stroked up along it. A hard shiver ran up my spine, making me press my face to her hand. I moaned, not entirely my own doing, but I wanted to make the noise. Half to appease the trainers, half because the wine had my body in a confused mess.

When Lira’s hand slipped around to my back and she pressed herself to me, I did the same. Looking up at her, I hated how brutish and small her eyes were. Yet when her hand traveled down my back, I wanted to melt. I pushed my hips against her with a soft grind. I needed to feel something touching me below, even if I was the one making it happen.

I parted my lips, desperate for a kiss, and hoping that would be enough for them. That the trainers would see us compliant and pleasing, and stop this charade before my body demanded more. All the eyes on us, all the humiliation meant nothing in the desperate ache that my traitorous cunt tried to sate. 

Lira pulled me into her and leaned her head down to kiss me. The nasty mouth, cruel in its stupid brutality, closed on my lips, and I hated myself for swooning, for being swept away by the press of her mouth and the heat of her hands. My palms slid over her hips and up her back before I could stop them. I didn’t care anymore. I wanted her to touch me, to ease the awful ache between my legs. I was only half convinced it was still a performance, my body was slick and throbbing with need that didn’t feel like mine.

“Excellent work, my sweet girls,” Matron announced with a clap. She touched both our shoulders as we backed away from each other, our heads down so we didn't have to look in each other's eyes. “That was a lovely start, and I could almost feel the passion in it.”

Matron turned back to the class in a swirl of silks that made me ache to feel them on my skin again. “Everyone, stand. Front row, turn to the back row. These are your partners for the moment. You will practice what Lira and Vessi just showed us.”

She turned to us, “Girls, you did so well. Now go take a place in line facing each other so you can continue practicing with the others.”

My heart sank, but I gave a shallow bow and a “Yes, Matron.” I’d have to caress Lira more, but at least now we’d be just another pair among the others and no longer on display. When we got in line, Lira looked at me and licked her lips. A new wave of disgust and horror washed through me. My body shivered in anticipation of her touch again, no matter how disgusted and ashamed I was.

We spent the next three hours practicing touching each other. Trainer and Mistress were always there to correct us, to offer suggestions. One thing that was not allowed was sexual contact. Any time one of the trainees touched another's genitals, there was the snap of the crop and a berating from Mistress about being a crude, gross whore. I thought it unfair she hadn’t accused Matron of the same just earlier. We were to use our hands, our lips, our gazes alone to build desire in our partner. 

Thankfully, we rotated partners every fifteen minutes or so. I got to touch and feel half of my peers, several times. Most of the women had been slaves for some time, and so their touches made my body ache and yearn for more. But Mistress was always there to stop it. Trainer made a point of telling several of my partners they were doing well, just based on how slick my thighs were. Made only worse by her matter-of-fact tone, rather than the mocking cruelty of Mistress.

By the end of the three hours, I was quaking with need. I knew it was the wine. It was only the end of the second day, and I no longer felt any shame in being naked. By this point it felt almost natural. Six weeks of this and my mind and body would no longer see clothing as necessary. They would only be a hindrance to what I was becoming. 

“Enough for tonight, my sweet pets,” Matron announced to the class as stars twinkled above her in the dark sky. “You have all done very well. I can see real progress in how you touch and offer yourselves.”

She beamed at us, her gaze moving along our lines. Then she stopped to look directly at me. “Look at our Pale Sheath… so wet. So beautifully responsive after only a few hours of honest practice. This is exactly what happens when a girl stops fighting and allows herself to serve as a proper slave should. Her body knows its purpose now.”

Matron smiled softly, waving me up to her. When I approached and knelt, she stroked my hair and asked, “Tell me truthfully, darling. What have you learned tonight? And what do you desire most in this moment?

My thighs quaked at the thought of asking what I most wanted right now. Mistress had chastised me several times for grinding myself against partners like a bitch in heat, trying to steal an undeserved orgasm from my owner. 

My body thrummed so badly at the thought of getting off that my thighs trembled. Even though I knew it was the wine, not me… Not really. It didn’t make the aching, empty need any less. And the fact that everyone was watching didn’t matter, I’d do anything to find completion right now.

But… I knew it was a trap. The entire lesson had been about giving ourselves to others. About being more to them by offering everything. If I told Matron I needed relief, that it was my desire, I’d be a failure, and the entire group would probably be punished for it. I pushed the desperate, needy thoughts aside and dropped, pressing my hands and then my flushed cheek into the cool dirt at Matron’s feet.

“Matron… Please,” I whimpered, my voice dripping with shame and need. “Please let me serve you tonight. I belong to you and the training house. Use my mouth, my hands, my body in any way that pleases you. I promise I will do everything I can to satisfy every desire you have. Let me prove I can be a good girl for you.”

There was pregnant silence for a moment, then Matron answered, “Oh, my sweet Pale Sheath… such beautiful progress. Yes, darling. You may spend the night in my bed. You will serve me until I am fully satisfied. Come along.”

When I stood to follow, Matron smiled and put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me back down to my knees. “Crawl after me, sweet pet. A night in a bed is reward enough for you.”

She turned and walked slowly toward the house, her red silks making a gentle swishing sound as they brushed against her skin. I followed on hands and knees. I shot a quick glance at the other girls and saw eyes filled with jealousy and resentment.

I was bone-tired, so exhausted I tried not to picture what serving Matron might demand of me tonight. Still… I would sleep in a real bed. I had always known, deep down, how undignified it was, that the use of my body could earn small comforts. When dignity was already gone, there was no point pretending I wouldn’t trade it for whatever relief I could get.

The eight of us, naked and trembling in exhaustion, knelt in front of Matron. Her crimson silks flowed gently in the breeze and were sheer enough that I could catch glimpses of her most intimate bits. A tickle of jealousy flared. Not only did she have some modicum of modesty, but she was toned in ways that seemed unfair compared to the rest of us who were younger… Except me, of course. Kneeling there completely bare, I ached for even a scrap of her gauzy silk, anything to cover my exposed sex and breasts, anything to feel less raw, less watched.

“Now that Vessi is here, we can begin,” Matron said with a broad smile. “You all did so wonderfully today that I’d hoped to give you some extra time to catch up on beauty sleep… But, well, we’ve been delayed and are finally starting the last of our sessions today.”

The other women groaned softly, and I felt several sharp, resentful glances look my way. It was easy to ignore when my stomach complained. Wonderful? I had barely survived the day without breaking, and now they wanted more.

“Before we share our lessons and truths, I want each of you to introduce yourselves and tell your sisters why you are here. Be honest. This is part of understanding who you are and what you need to become.”

“Each of you will share one lesson you’ve learned today. And… One honest truth about yourself… Something difficult to admit. You have nothing to hide from your sisters in servitude. And we can all help each other become better for our masters and owners.”

My throat tightened. A difficult truth? After everything she’d already taken from us today?

“Mira, why don’t you begin?” Matron finished her monologue.

Sylra’s little girlfriend, looked up with wide, nervous eyes. I recognized that fear well. She started to ask a question, but thought better of it. “My new name is Mira, but my real name is…”

Matron cut her off, “No, no, dear. You are a slave and were given your name as a slave. It is now who you are… Continue.”

“I am Mira,” she said as her shoulders slumped. “I was sent here by my owner because he felt that I kept hesitating during service.”

“Sweet girl,” Matron said warmly. “You chose a truth before a lesson. And why were you hesitating?”

“Because he would… Demand of me… And I thought I could choose when… To obey.”

“And your lesson?” Matron asked.

“I need to obey without hesitation. I belong to my owner, and he keeps me safe. I need to show my appreciation through devotion.”

Most of the kneeling women remained still, but a few nodded in agreement with her.

“Good girl, Mira. A safe answer. Tomorrow you’ll share something more personal.”

“Yes, Matron.”

“Thira,” Matron smiled at one of the Amazon woman’s goons. “Share with your sisters.”

Thira shifted on her knees, then spoke louder than the rest, “I’m Thira, and I’m here because my owner said I talk too much.”

A cold knot formed low in my belly. A woman could be sent here for simply talking too much. My own mouth suddenly felt dangerous. No wonder Thrain had taken such a dislike to me instantly.

Matron sighed, “Thira… Share with your sisters the real reason why you are here.”

“I did tell them!” Thira insisted. She flipped her light colored bangs out of her eyes with a nod of her head and continued, “He got mad because I corrected him. I was helping my master, and he got angry.”

“You did this in front of other men?” Matron asked.

“Well, yeah. He had the harvest schedule wrong. And I pointed it out. I was helping.” Thira looked around the half circle for any other women who would support her.

“Thira,” Matron said patiently. “Even if you are correct, a slave does not correct her owner in public. In private, you inform him that you may have additional information to help him. And if he permits you to offer this, then you explain as if it were an oversight on his behalf. Men, for all their strength, can be fragile creatures when a woman speaks. You must be demure in all things.”

“But…” Thira looked confused and upset, “Owners are supposed to want smart slaves? Right? I was helping.”

Matron paused, then asked, “Thira… Are you beautiful?”

The naked kneeling woman lifted her chin and pushed out her ample chest, “Of course! Any fool can see that.”

A few of the women exchanged glances. Thira was pretty, just pretty, but I could see that she probably confused the attention men paid to her chest as evidence that she was more beautiful than she could objectively claim.

“Why do you think a man buys a beautiful slave?”

Thira looked confused but answered without hesitation, “Well, to fuck her, of course.”

Giggles rippled throughout the kneeling women.

Matron’s voice stayed even, “A man wants a beautiful slave so he can show her off and be the envy of his friends. He wants her to make him feel taller. When you correct him in front of others, you are bringing him down. Making him look foolish. He was not proud of you, he was embarrassed.”

Thira replied stubbornly, “But he was wrong, and I was helping him be better.”

Classic Dunning-Kruger Effect. Thira was showing everyone that she was not a smart woman. Yet she genuinely believed she was because she didn’t have the tools for proper self-assessment. She truly believed she was helping, and a part of me ached with recognition. How many times had I thought my cleverness would save me, only to make everything worse?

Matron smiled sweetly, but her eyes squinted in exhaustion. “Six weeks, Thira. You’ll get six weeks of constant reminders. Along with consequences. By the end of our training, and with the help of your sisters, you will learn not to interrupt men. Even when you are right. Especially when you are right. It will become your first nature to stay silent and obedient, as all good slaves should. As all women should. Your mouth will only open when your owner wants it. Understood?”

“...Yes, Matron,” Thira muttered, but her expression showed that she was still stuck on the thought of being right. A few women exchanged glances or hid smirks. I understood that if Thira weren’t one of the Amazon bully’s girls, she would have been picked on relentlessly throughout training.

Matron looked down at us as she sat on the small fountain platform. “Vessi,” Matron’s gaze settled on me like a weight between my breasts. “I understand you are from a foreign land. Can you tell us why you have been brought here?”

A moment of panic froze me in place. Thrain had insisted, practically forced Jaxon to send me here.

“Yes, Matron. My owner and I are from a faraway place. He wanted me to learn the ways of this land so that I could serve him better.”

“And this was not something you could learn by observation? As a diligent slave?”

Heat flushed hot up my neck. She was calling me stupid. “No, Matron. There are subtleties I did not understand.”

“And now you are here.” Matron smiled at the other kneeling women, then turned back to me. “Since your reason for being here is so obvious, why don’t you share a humiliating truth?”

Heat flooded my face and chest. Wasn’t wetting myself in front of them humiliating enough? Did they really need to peel me open even further? She was determined to break me… No, smash me to pieces in front of everyone.

All eyes turned to me as I struggled to think of something, anything really, other than what had just happened moments ago. 

“Do you need some help?” Mistress asked sharply from behind me. “Or don’t you understand the question?”

I struggled trying to find something, anything that might work.

“Gressa,” Matron said to Mistress. “Give the poor thing a moment. She’s still struggling with other humiliations right now.”

The other women giggled nervously. What could I possibly tell them? That since I’d been on this world, I’d been taken by force repeatedly. Not just made to play like a slave, but taken and used like one as well. By my junior partner, no less. And on top of that, everything was being recorded through my own eyes and uploaded for later review by analysts who would document the mission. These naked kneeling women wouldn’t understand half of what I said, except that I considered myself a wronged free woman.

“Is your current owner your first?” Matron asked.

“No,” I said, hearing Mistress swish her crop behind me. It would only sting a little. I knew I could endure it, but the sound made me blurt that answer out without thinking.

“There we go,” Matron beamed at me. “What did you do that made your previous owner sell you?”

Owner? Oh stars. I wasn’t a virgin before Jaxon. She’d been asking about owners, not sexual experience. The exhaustion and hunger were clouding me so badly that I was blurting answers before my mind could catch up. Exactly what she wanted, to wear us down until resistance was too difficult. This was textbook deprogramming, mental and emotional blunders tied to lessons in new thinking to reframe one’s mind .

Yes, Matron. I was…” I struggled to think. Who had I been in a relationship with previously? Who was my last sex? Davver Tyrell. Back when I’d joined the Bureau… Six years ago.

We were both new recruits, I was coming from investigation and analysis. He was an admin. We seemed to hit it off in orientation, even though we were on different trajectories. We were together for more than a year, our relationship cooling steadily as we both sank into our work. The final straw was when he drunkenly bragged about how he’d met a group inside the bureau who were using their positions of privilege to take advantage of the system, he was already slated for a promotion and promised he could do the same for me. I’d smiled then, reported it later, but with no proof it had gone nowhere. Now I twisted that truth into a cover story, hoping the lie would hold.

“I was… emotionally distant. My owner did something unscrupulous, and I lost all respect for him.” I congratulated myself on taking a real-world event and altering it enough to be a cover story. The lie weighed uneasily. Part of me hated how easily I was learning to twist the truth.

Matron’s expression cooled. “A slave does not lose respect for her owner, sweet girl. Your feelings, your pride… they do not matter. You are here because that pretty head of yours still believes your opinion carries weight.” I wanted to argue, but I already knew that here on this world she was right. Women were kept in their place. A vicious little part of me wondered if it had been the same back home, in university, in the navy… Had federation men been rolling their eyes behind our backs and humoring us?

She continued staring at me, as if what I’d said was so subversive that she now saw me as a danger to the rest of the women. “Owners make all sorts of demands of their property… Tasks we do not like… Positions that may be painful. A slave’s role is not to judge, but to serve. Your feelings do not matter. Saying you ‘lost respect’ means you believe your opinion of him was important. That pride is exactly why you are here.”

“We all…” She motioned to all the women kneeling and the other trainers. “Saw it written in every one of your actions. Every single gesture. Every defiant look. And for a girl who couldn’t manage her own bladder, it’s simply arrogant and childish.”

Some of the other kneeling women were nodding as they looked at me. This had been the longest chastisement among the confessions; once again, I was singled out. It wasn’t pride. It was because I had a mind. Part of me still clung to that thought, that my training, my mind, would protect me. But even as I thought it, my body felt smaller, softer, more exposed. 

Matron continued, “I’m so glad you shared this with us, Vessi. Now we, and I mean all of us, trainers and sisters alike, can help you overcome this ego. We can help you become the best partner a man will ever have. A good slave finds a way to respect and serve, even when it's difficult. And that is what you will eventually become, with all our help. A good slave.”

There was a long moment of quiet, then Matron stood and clapped her hands. “That’s enough for tonight, girls. Please reflect on what your sisters have shared with you. Help guide them through their shortcomings.” She paused a moment, then added, “That’s enough for tonight, girls. Now let’s prepare for dinner.”

The mere thought of food made my empty stomach rumble. 

We were split into several groups: food preparation, table preparation, and service. I was on table prep, which meant lessons in how the wares and glasses should be placed. Also, how to set the table while on hands and knees. It took me no time at all to realize that the trainees were not preparing dinner for themselves. We were only instructed to set three places.

When the food prep team tossed strips of meat onto an open flame, my stomach didn't just grumble, it growled in disapproval. My team of table prep was told to take spots kneeling on the ground as the cooking team was finishing up and placing everything in bowls. Even though I wasn’t usually one for heavier red meats, the scent of it made my mouth flood in a Pavlovian response. I was nothing more than a drooling puppy.

Trainer ordered the three serving girls to follow her, and they made their way to the house. Moments later, they emerged from the house with a kettle and a stack of bowls. The kettle was heavy. I watched Ryx struggling to hold it up, Trainer finally intervened and had Kaelia help. When they approached the table Trainer directed the two women to place the kettle and bowls on the ground at the end where no one was sitting. 

Matron and Mistress sat at the table, and Trainer gave the three servers instructions on what they were supposed to do. Their first task was pouring wine for the two sitting at the table. Ryx got an earful and a smack with the crop when she filled Mistress’s wine glass first. Apparently Matron warranted first service, but the rules hadn’t been explained. Trainer mocked Ryx, telling her that if she was unsure of something, she needed to ask questions… But not so many as to annoy her owner. Eventually, she explained, service would become so natural for her owner that it would feel like telepathy. 

All I could think about was the kettle and what delights might be in it. Even though I wasn’t a big meat eater, I imagined some sort of exotic roast beast herbed to perfection. The thought of drooling on myself made me look down and realize I’d spent the entire day without a stitch of clothing on. It dawned on me that after six weeks, this nudity would feel absolutely natural. It wouldn’t even matter if men were watching. I was too exhausted to even care. I just wanted supper.

No matter what the servers did, they seemed to make the wrong calls in everything. At one point, the two girls who had been cooking were chased up from their kneeling positions and back to the brazier, where they had to remake the strip steaks meant for the trainers. While Matron and Trainer chatted as if enjoying a Sunday tea, Mistress was in constant motion, rising to strike the serving girls, or correct a pose as one of the servers stood frozen trying to steady a trembling arm so as not to drop the dinners to the ground.

The dinner itself was cruel. My knees ached against the hard dirt as I held position for what felt like hours. I was engulfed in the rich scent of roasted meat and herbs as my stomach rumbled angrily. Every time one of the serving girls trembled and nearly dropped a plate, Mistress’s crop cracked across bare skin, making the rest of us flinch.

Matron and Trainer took tiny bites, tiny sips, and made tiny small talk at a leisurely pace. The serving girls bore the brunt, having to hold trays out with second helpings or bottles of wine, their muscles quivering with the long strain. Dropping anything was rewarded with stings from the crop or slaps from Mistress's hand. By the end of the meal, the serving girls looked practically haunted.

Finally, Matron stood and came to the front of our kneeling group. “That was an adequate dinner, girls. It was your first day, but it was disappointing. I’m sure you’ll do better in the future. Now I need a volunteer to help clean…”

The kneeling women around me sat in silence. I was too exhausted and hungry to want to volunteer for anything. I bit my tongue, half expecting this to be a trick. 

Sylra, the woman who’d used me my first night, threw herself forward prostrate at Matron's feet. She wasted no time kissing the elder woman’s toes, “Please, Mother, allow me. I’d do anything for you.”

Clever girl, I thought, if a little heavy-handed with the ‘I’ll do anything for you’ bit. With every interaction, I was beginning to see that Sylra was adept at manipulating others, a different kind of bully to Lira’s strong-arming. 

“Now there is a good girl,” Matron announced, then held her hand down for Sylra to take. “Please, Sylra, collect our dishes and clean the table.” She lifted the prone girl to her feet and gently guided her to the table.

“Take note, girls, that is exactly how you should react when an owner asks anything of you. Enthusiastic. Exuberant. Unabashed.” She beamed at us. “While she cleans up, are the rest of you ready to eat? I hope that it's not lost on any of you that slaves eat last. You only take care of your own needs once your betters have been serviced thoroughly.”

The kneeling women around me began nodding enthusiastically, begging to be fed and thanking Matron at the same time. Mistress and Trainer walked around the table to the front of the kneeling class.

“There is a problem,” Trainer said as Matron raised an eyebrow.

Mistress finished for Trainer, “There have been a number of disciplinary problems and outright failures today. To encourage more enthusiastic engagement… I suggest they go hungry for the night.”

There were gasps all around me. My eyes never left the kettle, especially for the little show the trainers were putting on. I figured I could knock over both Matron and Trainer without much effort. Mistress had a crop, and she enjoyed using it, but that would hardly stop me from snatching up the kettle and running off with it. But then what? Shove handful of whatever was in it into my mouth as I ran. Weak and hungry, a single male guard would have no problem grabbing me and pinning me down. Or dragging me off somewhere.

“Not only that,” Mistress continued, “But one girl soiled herself as well.”

I was still fixated on the pot. Yeah, yeah, I was the bad egg. I would have killed for a hard-boiled egg.

“Sad and true,” Matron said with disappointment dripping from her voice. She turned to Trainer, “Thrysa. What do you think? It's the poor thing's first day.”

“It may be Matron, but standards do need to be kept.”

Matron turned back to look at the group of women on their knees. “I’m so sorry, girls. They are correct, and we do have a schedule to enforce. We need all of you to be worthy of our pedigree in just a few short weeks. And sometimes, the most painful lessons are the ones that teach the most. Service should be reward enough for a slave. But failure comes with a cost. You’ll all have to weather the night without a meal.”

There was a collective groan from the group. I was watching Sylra. She collected the plates and bowls off the table, quickly swiping whatever remnants of food there were into the top bowl. She turned away from the group as all three trainers looked at us, and I saw her arm move. With no hesitation or shame, she was eating their scraps. The rest of us were getting nothing. 

I decided right then that if I had to, I would throw myself at Mistress's feet to clean the table in the morning. I could feel my lip curl in disgust, not at Sylra for swiping the table scraps, but that I was willing to grovel and beg, crawl in the dirt and kiss bare feet if needed, for just a mouthful of what she was getting right now. I tried not thinking about a past life, of uniforms, discipline, respect. I’d already traded it all away for a bite to eat.

“You heard Matron, off with you lot!” Mistress snapped.

We all rose and reluctantly trudged toward the barn. Defeated, hungry, and completely exhausted.

Mistress stepped forward and grabbed Nyssa, the shyest girl of us all, by the arm. Nyssa shrank back, terrified, as Mistress stepped in, looming over her, “Would you like to sleep in a bed tonight?”

Nyssa stammered. A look of hope and fear fought with each other on her face. Mistress stepped in closer, their bodies touching, “Would you like to sleep in a bed… With me? Girl.”

I felt for her. Mistress had power, and enjoyed using it. Poor Nyssa was damned no matter what she said. Yes, and she would be at the mercy of a complete sadist. No, and she’d offend that sadist who had all the power to take it out on her. Nyssa did the only thing a girl in that position could, she nodded and cast her eyes down. 

Looking back at the table, I could see Matron and Trainer instructing Sylra in the last of the table clearing. The three turned to the house and departed. There would be no rescue for poor Nyssa, the other trainer didn’t care if Mistress took victims. I watched as Mistress strutted by, dragging Nyssa along by the arm.

This too was a lesson. Nyssa might get to sleep in a bed tonight, but that would come at a cost. Mistress shoved the girl past her and delivered a hard smack to Nyssa’s ass. The salve staggered, then trailed behind the other in a slow trek to the house.

Mistress walked back, eyeing me the whole time. “Get to the barn.”

I hated the helpless feeling. Injustice everywhere and I didn’t have the power to help anyone, not even myself. It felt like my guts were dragging in the dirt as I reluctantly turned to the barn and trailed in after everyone else.

“Stop, Pale-sheath.” Mistress snarled at me.

I stopped just a few paces inside, looking down at the dirt. Please, I begged silently, just let the abuse end. I promised myself I’d be a good girl if I could just make this void-sucking misery end.

“I know what you are,” Mistress whispered. Close up, she’d come up right behind me. “An outlander. It’s whispered your people come from the sky.”

I turned to look at her. Her eyes were cold, angry. “You think you’re better than us. Scrambling in the dirt. Filthy. Well, look at you now. You’re just a dripping, worthless cunt here, like the rest of us.” 

Mistress stepped up close in front of me, her breath hot on my face. Her hand slid boldly between my thighs and cupped my pussy possessively. Two fingers parted my folds and found me shamefully slick. A broken whimper slipped from my throat as she stroked me slowly, deliberately, her thumb circling my clit. My body clenched around her despite everything, the exhaustion, the rage, the humiliation. Fresh tears pricked my eyes. Even now, my cunt betrayed me after all the shame and humiliation I’d endured. 

No. Not now. My mind screamed as shame flooded me, hot and humiliating. My body clenched traitorously around her invading fingers. The day's constant humiliation had left me hypersensitive, still aching and ready from the men’s abuse earlier. She smirked as she ground her thumb against my clit.

“Drop the attitude and submit, the sky won’t save you from what you really are, a warm wet hole to fuck.”

Her grip tightened, making me want to double over, but I forced myself to stare into her uncaring eyes. She sneered with a brutal squeeze, “And a wet one at that.”

She gave one final, cruel squeeze before pulling her hand away, holding up glistening fingers for the others to see. “Gods! The bitch pissed herself hours ago and is still leaking. Take good care of her girls… She’s the reason you’re hungry tonight.”

My face burned with fresh shame as the other girls stared. I wanted to sink into the dirt and disappear.

She turned and slammed the door shut. When I turned around, the other five girls were on the mattress, they had been arguing over how to share the three blankets left for us tonight. They were all frozen, staring. Then Mira, the girl I’d replaced last night, leaned over and whispered something. They all snickered. More whispers and giggles followed. 

I was too numb to care. The cold dirt floor ground against my bare skin. I curled tighter into myself. Every muscle ached, every humiliating moment of the day replayed in my mind. Knowing I’d never get a blanket, or shared warmth, or even an unbroken sleep, I went to the furthest corner and curled into a ball. Hugging my knees tight, I listened as the giggling and whispers faded into snoring. 

How many more nights like this? The thought slipped into my mind. Six weeks of this? Possibly longer… I’d still be a slave on a slave world after training was finished. My body already ached in places I hadn’t known could hurt. My mind felt foggy, slow, struggling to hold onto the sharp analytical edge I had always relied on. Every confession, every correction, every hungry growl of my stomach chipped away at the me who had once proudly worn a naval uniform. One day, my peers would review every second of this degradation. The thought should have filled me with rage. Instead, it only brought a dull, exhausted dread.

I was starting to understand how they broke girls here. Really understand it, and not as a textbook mind experiment. It wasn’t with one big moment but with thousands of small ones just like this. And the worst part was the tiny, treacherous voice in the back of my mind whispered maybe it would be easier to just… stop fighting. Why not? My body had already betrayed me with humiliating, unwanted orgasms. Why shouldn’t my mind rebel as well?

One thing was certain, I needed to play a more convincing game. I needed to sell my submission not only to the other women and the trainers, but I’d have to convince myself as well. I was afraid I’d lose myself in the play and end up believing the act. But that would be better than this endless series of soul-stripping degradations.

Content Warning: noncon, humiliation, stalking, mind break, psychological trauma, exhibitionism, forced orgasm, body betrayal

Marcus was too nice, and that was the problem.

“I’ve heard some amazing things about this exhibit,” he explained, opening the door to the Freasea Modern Art Gallery.

After the nice dinner and the nice conversation, I really just wanted to go to a dive bar and maybe drink shots until he took advantage of me. An art gallery was not how I imagined ending a Saturday night.

He guided me in with a hand on the small of my back. A gentle hand. I practically rolled my eyes. So sweet.

Just like dinner, he paid for everything, and we entered the first wing of abstract masterpieces. I smiled, sweetly bored to tears as he stared deeply at paint swirls, asking me what feelings the blobs and dots instilled. I was anxious, I didn’t want to be here, standing with a glass of wine, in an evening dress, murmuring in low whispers about soft pastel shapes on palettes of white. He seemed to hang on my words, laughing politely at lame quips while I wanted to fast-forward through the rest of this.

My friends had bullied me into this date. And honestly, a year ago, I would have rated it as amazing. But… things had changed. Janice, my closest friend, insisted, “You’ve got to get back out there. You can’t hide from life forever.” But she didn’t understand. That night… it broke something.

It had been a night like any other. A weeknight. I never imagined things like that happened on weeknights. I woke to someone in my room, looming over my bed, watching me. Before I could scream, he was on me. Pinning me down, shoving my own panties in my mouth. Blindfolding me with worn nylons. And then… He destroyed me. I couldn't beg, but I resisted every way I could. It stopped nothing. For hours, he tormented me. Used me. Raped me. Just thinking it made me feel filthy. Dirty. Broken.

He left me battered and abused. In a pool of our fluids. Dirty and soiled. It changed everything. There were months of nightmares. Jumping at shadows. Flinching when any man got too close. I stopped trusting anyone with a dick. Locked myself away in my home. I didn’t live in their world anymore. They still got to play normal normal. Still got to smile, relax, enjoy simple things, while pretending the world was safe and gentle. I lived in a different one now, where everything had teeth and sensation and hunger.

My therapist warned me, and she was right. I started going to dive bars alone. Just to get a hint of that terrified feeling. To relive even a fraction of it. Dangerous situations. I kept putting myself in them, chasing that horrible, shameful high. That sick elation when my body betrayed me. Forced me to cry out and clutch at him. When I came. She said it would all lead only to more trauma. “You’re trying to relive it, Tanya. That’s not healing.

And this was? Looking at a squiggle of paint. On Saturday night. My date would be horrified, no, disgusted, if he knew I was imagining it as my rapists sperm in my womb. Broken. Danged goods. There was no happy ending here.

And that was why it wouldn’t work. Why there could be no happy ending. Once he found out how damaged I was. That I came like a slut even while trying to fight my rapist off. He’d be revolted and ghost me. Or worse, look at me with those hungry eyes, imagining it as his gaze wandered down my body. Undressing me like he had that night. He’d expect me to do all kinds of fucked up, disgusting things, just like I’d done that night. Nice guys always turn into something else when they smell weakness. Men were weak like that. They smiled, asked permission, played at being safe, but underneath it, I knew the truth. Any of them could turn. That was the terrifying part. Nice was just a mask, and masks could slip.

When we got back to the lobby, I was tempted to call it a night, but he raved about the next display wing. The main exhibit. He’d heard so much about it. I smiled sweetly, dying inside at the thought of another forty minutes of wandering aimlessly.

“Sorry,” he explained, “Too much wine at dinner. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere…”

Where could I go? He’d picked me up. Held the door open for me. Helped me out of his car by holding my hand. Ugh…

Was this really what I’d wanted a year ago? Before things changed? Before I’d been torn to bits and pieces. Men were so weak. He asked for everything. Just like all the men I’d ever dated. Except the one. The one who had taken what he wanted. The one that had changed me. Left his mark and his cum all over me.

I stood awkwardly for a moment, watching couples enter the main wing. “Anonymous Ecstacy,” the placard read. At least the name sounded exciting. Bored, I ignored his request, entering the gallery wing. A little coy, hard to get, wouldn’t hurt him.

The lighting changed, dimmed as I moved around the screening wall and into the gallery. This exhibit hall was dark, an expansive space with walls set at random to break it up.

Spotting a table with wine flutes, I moved to it and took one. A nearby attendant in a white jacket and black bow tie smiled and guided me back to the exhibit.

I stopped to take a sip and heard bland elevator music playing softly in the background. When I heard a groan, I listened a little closer. It was impossible to hear clearly, but it sounded like a couple was having sex just under the music. I smiled, certain Marcus would be horrified if he heard it. He’d been so prim and proper all night.

Spotlights lit up a massive photo stretched across a wall in a shadowy cubby space. Sipping my wine, I approached, taking in the bodies on display twice as big as life.

Something in my stomach twisted. The photo was of a man’s back. Bare. The back of his head hid the woman under him. Her arms held apart on a bed. Black and white, except for bright red fingernails. Something about it was jarring, disjointed. I took a nervous drink, a long drink, and moved on.

Walking around a wall, I spotted another photo, gigantic, glowing in black and white under a set of spotlights. A couple stood staring up at it. Discussing the piece with dispassion, just another work of art. The shot was the upper torso of a woman. There was something stuffed in her mouth, then tied in place with nylons. They wrapped around again, covering her eyes. Her eyebrows arched in worry. Her breasts bare and spread across her chest. A thick masculine hand pinned her wrists against a pillow. The only color whore red lips. I felt sick. It was too close to home. Too much like…

No, I realized in dawning horror. It wasn’t like my assault. It was it.

I shrank away as the couple discussed my rape, “Such raw power in the way he holds her down. The artists captured her true surrender beautifully.”

I walked away, my mind a churning chaos of loathing and disgust. My violation was just a piece to be dissected. They hadn’t even considered that I didn’t want to be there, surrendering.

It was surreal listening to them discuss something that had been impressed so intimately onto my soul, as if it were made to merely entertain. My stomach churned. I could feel it wrestling with the wine.

Somehow, I end up in front of another piece. A close-up of a woman’s crotch. My pussy. Thick fingers spread it open, showing slick thighs forced apart, and a floating strand of something syrupy bridging fingers and cunt.

“The involuntary muscle spasms in this frame are exquisite. You can see the exact moment her body betrays her mind.” A stranger said to his buddy. Both of them stared at me. Not me, but the me enlarged, my pussy twenty times larger than life. The only color in the photo is a subtle red tint to my pubic hair, drawing my eyes to it. To me.

I stood there clutching the wine glass, a burning heat throbbing between my thighs. As if the attack wasn’t humiliating enough. Here I was displayed for all to see. And I walked among them, knowing it was me, while they were oblivious.

I glanced around, perhaps they knew. I wondered if this was some sick joke that they were all in on. Every single one of them knew it was me. Laughing at the cunt on display, the pained look, the bound wrists. I felt tiny and alone. I needed to hide, but I stood there behind the two men, terrified that at any moment they would turn and recognize me. Then ask if I wanted some more of what was on the wall.

And I could feel my other self basking in this sensation. Even standing there surrounded by polite strangers, a part of me was testing that edge. Looking for the drop. Hoping for that overwhelming feeling to hit me strong enough to make me feel alive, but still let me go home afterward. It never did. It was never enough anymore.

I turned and walked. The clicking of my heels was lost in the sappy elevator music. Then I heard it again, a moan just underneath it. A panicked sigh. Sobbing. Once again, it was me. Mouth stuffed, trying to beg. Grunts and squeals were being forced out of me whether I wanted them or not. The heat between my legs was repulsive. What the fuck was wrong with me? Closing my eyes to force it all out of my head, I could only hear and imagine it all so much more easily.

Another photo. My face was twisted. Body arching. Fingers raked bright red lines down a man’s back. Legs lewdly wrapped around his. It was obvious I was climaxing. Cumming like a whore as a stranger fucked me. It wasn’t me, not what I wanted at all. My body did that. Betrayed me.

And because of that, he stayed longer. Said I needed it. Fucked me again, and again. For hours. Stealing climax after climax from me. With fingers. Lips. Cock. My therapist was right.

A firm grip on my hip made me nearly jump out of my skin. The wine splashed out of the glass and spilled onto the bare concrete floor.

Shaking uncontrollably, I turned into the body next to me. It was Marcus. He was looking up at the photo, admiring the framing of my wet cunt. I turned back to the photo. I couldn’t let him see how panicked I was. If he looked in my eyes, if he saw what I was thinking, he’d know. Know that I was filthy. Dirty. Came like a needy whore. Came more times than I could count that night. Intense sweeping ones, and the little rolling ones that just went on and on. Like a nasty, desperate slut.

“This isn’t really… The type of thing I… Usually… Can we go?”

“Well, this one is a little risque,” he said, unable to tear his eyes away from my pussy displayed on the wall. “Maybe we should take a look at the others?”

I pulled away, wanting to leave, to run, to get away from the shame hanging on every wall. And he followed. I hurried my pace, desperately trying to ignore the many other pieces. Like the one where my face was twisted in orgasm, or with my ass up, back arched, and a bright red handprint on one cheek. Trying to ignore the comments, knowing that at any moment I would hear men talk about how the bitch deserved it, or what they’d like to do to me, or how slutty and whorish I was. I walked fast.

Then a placard caught my eye.

I turned and slowed, curious and horrified to discover who had done this to me. With every step closer, I felt an icy fist squeezing my chest tighter. With growing dread, I approached the info card with a picture of the artist at the bottom. My steps slowed to a crawl as my chest constricted and breathing became nearly impossible.

I stopped and stared.

At the bottom of the card was Marcus, my date, the artist who had photo’d my rape.

“Six times,” Marcus whispers in my ear. “You came six times that night.”

The mask of nice was gone. In its place was the man who took what he wanted. Me. And so help me, that was what I wanted. What I needed. Not him. Not Marcus. But a monster who could make me feel alive again. The one my therapist warned me that I was chasing. I didn’t need to know him. I only wanted what he could do to me.

My whole body shook in fear. I could only stare at the photo of him. I didn’t dare look at him, knowing what he did to me.

“I watched you for six months, imagining all the ways I’d have you. All the ways I’d make you mine. I knew before I had you, before we made love, that you’d be mine.”

I could feel every bone, every muscle, every atom shaking violently in me. It was totally impossible to breathe as I wondered what I did to deserve this.

His hand gripped the back of my neck, a collar of flesh. He leaned in to me to whisper, his hot breath caressing the side of my face. “I can’t wait to complete the next exhibit. You. On your knees. Collared. Sucking my cock.”

He guided me away from the picture, and my feet moved slowly following his lead. I reached back, I didn’t know why. My body couldn’t stop betraying me. I reached back and took his hand. Not because I wanted Marcus, but because he could give me the only thing that still felt real. The fear. The force. That high. I was already gone. I walked willfully into the darker world. And for the first time… I wasn’t fighting it.

The man who ruined me. It was like I wasn’t even in my own body, I was watching this farce of my life. A person playing me was walking out into the parking lot with the man who destroyed my life. Made it impossible to sleep. And the person playing me was leaving with him.

Marcus, always the nice guy, opened the door to his car and guided me in. I sat there in a stupor. He chose me for his art. He chose me.

Once he got into the car, he started it and looked over at me. Without a word, he reached over and took me again by the back of the neck. He pulled me toward him, and I opened my lips for a kiss. Instead, he pressed me down into his lap, and I knew exactly what he wanted.

To make art.

​

I hunt.

Branches whip across my face as I push through the trees. The woods are cooling fast. Dew clings to the leaves and grass. Turning everything darker. Heavier. My boots sink slightly into the soft ground. I pause. Just for a second. Listening. The sky above turns the color of an angry bruise. I imagine her thighs becoming the same color.

Sister Moon is already out, watching me. Smiling down.

If I had paws. If I were down on all fours like some animal. I might howl.

I breathe in. Dirt. Pine. And a faint, sweet-musk smell. A hint of perfume and fear. Warm skin. I draw it into my lungs. Letting it hold there. She’s close enough to smell. Lacey things.

Focus.

It’s hard keeping my mind on just the hunt. Hard not to imagine. All the things I want to do. All those desires. Those needs. Needs. I don’t just want her. I need her. Need to consume her. Feel her. Everything.

Clothes ripping. Body twisting under mine. Heat. Bare skin. Her nails raking across me. Her cries filling the night with such sweet music. Need. Later. Hunt first.

A snap. Rustle of branches. Soft breaths. Not running. Careful steps. She’s trying so hard to be quiet. Trying to think her way through this. Being human when animal is what's needed. Modern woman. She tries to move quietly. She’s no good at it. Bet she’s good at screaming. It makes me twitch, just thinking about it. Leaves crackle ahead. Just ahead. Her caution dooms her as I follow.

Soft-soled shoes. Whisper quiet in the woods. Closing on her. The perfume, a hook in my skin. Drawing me to her. I stop. Quiet. She heard something. Faint breathing ahead in the pitch. So close.

The ground slopes here. She has to be cautious. A wrong step will send her sliding. Thrasing. Gravity kills.

We wait. Who will break first? I have experience. Patience. She is young. Frightened. Knows what happens when she gets caught. Knows she will be devoured. Taken without mercy. If I were canine, there’d be Pavlovian drool running down my chin. I twitch again in anticipation. I will have her.

There’s a stream below. It will make hearing her more difficult. And slow us both down. She probably doesn’t even know it. A break to the left is her only hope of escape. A gravel trail. Then a short run. To streets. And houses. Escape. Can’t let that happen.

I move. Confident. Steady. Quiet. I know how to use the dark. The woods, the dark, home to me. Cutting to the left I move forward. Calmly. Step by step. By the time she notices, escape will be cut off. Wolves, when they’ve tired out their prey, will nip at it, chasing it for miles right to their den.

The wind shifts.

Fast, short breaths. Quick. Uneven. A chorus of them. All from her. Fear. Fear makes people sloppy. They forget themselves. Fail to notice the small things.

I picture her bare thighs. Pale. Milky. A perfect canvas for bruises. How beautifully they’ll mark. My fingers printed on her. Maybe teeth. I shake the thought away. Focus. Too early to feast. Now is hunt.

Darkness cloaks her. And me. Another sound. Further. She changed directions. Went right. She’s moving blind. But closer. Doubling back? Lost? My teeth bare in a feral smile. Mistakes. Hers.

Forward now, turning into her. Quick step. Feeling the ground as I go. Dark looming shapes around me. Trees. Brush. Light vanishing, almost gone. Sky full of black now. The woods at night belong to those that don’t need to see.

In my chest now. With every breath. Low steady pull. Nervous tension. A spring waiting to release. A part of me coiled since she looked at me across that table. Doe eyes. A bunny. Nervous little bird hands. She’s here because of that. That helpless little look.

She stepped out of the car. She ran.

And I’m going to catch her.

I stop again, listening. Another branch snaps. Just ahead. She’s moving. Faster now. She heard me. Or her nerves broke. Don’t matter. She’s running. Panicked. Thrashing through the dark. I follow. Letting her hear me. Chasing her deeper. To places few ever go. Doubly so at night.

She gasps, turns round stumbling. She knows she can’t outrun what's right behind her. Me.

I bare my teeth again. Feral smile. Fangs.

She’s mine to take.

It started at a cafe. An ordinary, run-of-the-mill eatery. This one had a separate dining room. A place where groups could reserve for meetups. When I discovered there was a Primal/Prey meetup on FetsBook I signed up. A few other people had committed, and another dozen maybe’d. I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Disappointment was what I encountered. With the exception of her. There were just shy of a dozen attendees. Most young. Under thirty. I was easily the oldest, most experienced. Easily twice the age of the youngest, who were sitting chatting in pre-meeting cliques.

She sat alone. Timid. Eyes darting, and a nervous smile. The first stirrings of hunger announced themselves. She was the kind of pretty that she couldn’t see in herself. And she was definitely overwhelmed when others approached her. She was polite, but looked like she wanted to crawl under the collection of tables set in a line in the center of the room.

Too young. Mid twenties, maybe. I preferred my own age. Nearly twice that. The other youngsters were pressing her hard, greeting her, and bombarding her with questions. When she glanced across the table to me, it looked as if she were ready to flee. I gave the kid a warm smile, and her eyes darted away. I’d like to think the flush was mine, but she was struggling with the attention from others.

The meetup started when the second-oldest person, a portly guy in biking leathers and a ponytail, called things to order. He introduced himself and asked us to consider ordering something to help support the establishment hosting us.

He then talked about what it meant to be primal and prey.

I, of course, have my own ideas. It's all about passion. Being consumed with it. Letting it overwhelm the senses. Basking in it like being swallowed by a tub tub. I wanted to be driven to erotic heights. So smitten with someone that I lost control. Was unable to continue being civilized and just let the passion explode out in a heat, desire, and need.

The organizer's definition was different, involving spirit animals, something called yiffing, and other bdsm tropes I’d never been particularly interested in. To each their own. I’d always orbited kink, but bdsm had turned me off. Too ritualized. Too rigid. I wanted messy, passionate, out of control.

He asked everyone to talk about what their spirit animal was and why, going around the table. People started explaining how they felt kinship with wolves, or deer, a narwhale, too, I think. When it got to her, there was a kind of shrinking nervous energy. It seemed like she didn’t want to answer the question, but was compelled to because everyone else was. Her voice was so quiet that I couldn't hear what she said, but it didn't matter. She answered robotically, looking down at the table rather than the others, typical of people answering a question they have no interest in or don't believe.

When it got around to me, I was a little irritated. What animal? None. That had nothing to do with my vision of feral prey play.

“What animal? A human being.”

The organizer snorted. “That’s not an animal…”

I cut him off, “Yes, it is. The most dangerous fucking apex predator on the planet.”

There were confused looks and some smirking around the table.

I decided to continue, “I want to be teased. Driven. Enticed to the point where I lose control and have to have her. I want passion to boil over, to explode. Something that makes me ditch the veneer of civility and become a caveman. No other thought in my head than how much I have to have her. And to chase, capture, tear clothing away, and ravish her until we’re both exhausted and panting.”

Some of the looks changed. On a few, the confusion seemed to melt into anger.

Except her. She looked at me like she was trying to find some deeper truth in what I’d said. She was college age, maybe they still taught critical thinking these days? There was a sort of hunger in her eyes, and I knew that was exactly what she’d wanted. Even if she weren’t able to put it into words.

“Well,” the organizer said, “We’ll have to make sure to mention more clearly in the future that noncon is not a part of primal…”

I like to think my glare shut his mouth. Whatever. The next person answered as the rest of the table sort of exchanged odd looks. It wasn’t the first time I’d said something socially awkward. Just like the pomp in the BDSM community, this would be another waste of time.

I expected to be thrown out, but continued listening half-heartedly. I didn’t want to leave and make anyone else feel judged. It was hard enough going to kink events publicly. Feeling shamed would make these communities feel more isolated. So I listened to the rest of the conversation, but didn’t really add anything except a few nods.

When it ended, groups of people continued chatting at the table and around the table. I got up and made my way to leave. And there she was… Trying to make her way to the door while one of the kids her age was pressing her with questions. She looked like she wanted to bolt, but didn’t want to be rude or hurt anyone's feelings.

I approached, and the kid talking to her shot me an annoyed look.

“You look like you could use a drink,” I told her without acknowledging the horny boy at all. “Wanna grab a coffee next door?”

I could see her considering it and rushed to an answer as if leaping into a pool of icy water, “Sure, yes.”

The kid tried to say something that the meetup was a safe space. I let him explain it to my shoulder as I placed a hand on her back and guided her to the exit. At the touch, she went rigid, but then melted into my firm touch.

We dropped into a quiet pub down the street instead. We grabbed one the many empty booths. A couple of barflies, a few old timers, that was all that was in that day. She kept adjusting her sleeves. Pulling them over her hands like she was trying to hide inside them. I sipped at my pint and watched her. She never complained that we skipped the coffee.

“I’m Shane.”

“Umm, Allie.”

“Pretty name,” I told her.

She blushed and looked nervous. Compliments were not her thing.

“So,” I asked. “Was that your first time?

She blinked and nodded, becoming interested in her coffee, taking a long, slow sip like she was trying to calm her nerves.

“Are you really into this, or just there out of curiosity?”

“I… I think I am,” she said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Reading. Watching stuff. But the meetup felt… weird.”

I almost smiled. At least she was honest.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It was weird.”

She glanced up at me, then back down at her cup.

“I liked what you said, though… About being human. The most dangerous predator. Everyone else was talking about wolves and deer and whatever. It felt like they were playing dress-up.”

She was younger than I usually went for. New. I normally stayed away from that. But something about the way she looked at me made it harder to keep that line drawn.

“You ever done anything like this before?”

She shook her head, “No. Not really. I mean… I’ve thought about it. A lot… But I’ve never… been… Wanted like that…” Her voice got smaller on the last word.

I watched her. She wasn’t playing coy. She was actually embarrassed by how much she wanted it. Even though she couldn't say it. That was rare.

Leaning forward, I told her, “You don’t want it to be play. You want someone to want you so badly that they will do anything. Break things for you. Do anything to have you.”

She nodded, still unable to look at me. “Yeah. I think so.” She finally looked up at me. “I don’t want someone to ask if it’s okay. I want them to just… take it. Like they can’t help it.”

Leaning back, I gave her a feral smile. My eyes devoured hers. Maybe there was more to her than I originally thought?

We chatted for several hours. She was a medical student. Cute in a wholesome way. The type of girl you’d be surprised to see showing up at a kink meetup. We talked the length of my pint. The conversation was awkward and stuttered, like pulling teeth in an interrogation. She sipped tea, and even though there's no alcohol, she began to relax a bit more as I finished. Exploring a person, getting them to talk about themselves, always does that.

“All done here,” I told her. “Walk you to your car?”

She had her phone out. “Uber. I don’t have a car.”

Of course, she didn't.

I nodded, letting silence sit between us. She waited to see what I would do with that information. Smart girl.

I’d planned on keeping this short. Drive her home and move on. But she kept answering my questions like she actually wanted to be understood. That I might say something to make sense of the mess whirling around in her head.

I drained the last of my pint and set the glass down.

“I’ll give you a ride home.”

She blinked, surprised. Like she wasn’t expecting me to offer anything at all.

“You don’t have to…”

“I know I don’t,” I cut in. “I’m offering anyway.”

She hesitated. I could see the war happening behind her eyes. Part of her wanted to say yes. The other part was probably screaming that getting in a car with a man she just met at a kink meetup was a terrible idea.

I didn’t push. I just waited.

After a few seconds, she gave a small nod.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

I stood up and drew out my keys. She followed, still fiddling with her sleeves like they might protect her from whatever she thought this was turning into.

As we walked out to my car, I already knew I was probably going to regret this. But something about the way she looked at me back at that meetup is still stuck in my head.

And for some reason, I wasn’t ready to let it go yet.

Turned out her place wasn’t far. Apartments for the nearby University.

“This is good,” she said. She looked at me a moment, and I stared back. After a long, awkward pause with her getting visibly more frustrated by the moment, she shot forward, planting a small peck on the cheeks. The door opened, and she fled, stopping at the building doors before disappearing inside.

At home, I flipped out my laptop to check email. The FetsBook page was still up, still showed the primal prey meetup. I stared at it a moment, then clicked on the attending link. All the Yeses had pictures, none of them her. I go back and check the Maybes. Two profiles with no pictures. Both women, but one is twenty-five. The handle was Little_Red. It was her. I check the profile, no pictures at all, and only the minimum

Without thinking, I typed out a quick message.

“Just wanted to let you know I made it home ok.”

I checked my email and checked out.

The next day, as I was microwaving dinner, I checked FetsBook and saw a few messages. One was from Little_Red.

“hey thanks for letting me know and for the ride earlier. i really appreciate it. sorry if i was weird at the end there. I get nervous sometimes. but yeah thanks”

The next few weeks surprised me.

I told myself I’d reply when I felt like it. That I wouldn’t get pulled in. She was too new, too young, too green for the kind of thing I usually want. But she kept answering. Not just the easy questions either. She thought about things. Pushed back sometimes. Asked questions that actually made me stop and consider my answers.

I started looking forward to her messages more than I wanted to admit.

One night, she sent something that stuck with me. She said she was scared of losing herself in this, but more scared of never finding out what she actually wanted. I read it twice. Most people her age don’t talk like that. Most people, period, don’t talk like that.

I caught myself asking her more questions after that. Not the surface ones. Real ones. What scared her the most?. What she thought would happen if she actually gave in. Whether she’d ever told anyone else what she wanted.

She answered every time. Sometimes it took her hours. Sometimes she’d type, delete, and type again before she sent anything. I could feel her overthinking through the screen. But she kept showing up.

That was the part that got to me.

I’d spent years finding women who already knew what they wanted. Women with long, quiet hungers. This one was still figuring it out. And for some reason, I kept replying anyway.

By the third week, I stopped pretending I was going to walk away.

“Second Date?”

I could see that she was on the site. Then she wasn’t. Then she was, and wasn’t. It took a few hours, but she finally replied.

“yes what do you have in mind?”

There was no need to play games. I wasn’t nervous.

“Something special. Do you want to feel how deep the rabbit hole goes?”

She replied soon after. Probably still anxious.

“kk”

The next day, I texted her when I pulled up to the building. A few minutes later, she came out, and I did a double-take.

She knew I liked her FetsBook handle Little_Red. So she came to the date armed. The first thing I noticed was what I originally thought was a bolero jacket. As she approached, I could see it was, in fact, a short velvet cape. Under that was a white blouse, its neckline low enough to draw my eyes. And I let it. She wanted me to look, and so I did openly. A black corset framed her bosom. A red and white checkered skirt well above the knees also begged for my attention. And I let my gaze wander over her above-the-knee stockings.

Little Red indeed.

When she saw the way my eyes moved, she smiled. Small but knowing. She’d done this on purpose, knowing, damn well knowing the effect it would have.

I smiled casual-like and opened the car door for her. It was difficult watching her approach. Her smile was radiant when she saw me do that for her. It was difficult to keep the howl in my throat. My blood was racing. And Hyde, buried deep down inside me somewhere, rattled his cage, aching to be let out. To put his hands all over her. To unwrap the gift that had been delivered. Two me’s fought viciously in my head, the gentleman holding her door open, and the beast that wanted to show her what big hungers I had.

She stopped and did a small bouncy curtsey just an arm’s length away. I wanted her right then. Wanted to throw her down, tear the wrapping off, and play with my toy. Wanted to do that on the grass of the curb. In front of her building. Both of us howling to the audience of her startled neighbors.

Instead, I smiled, “You certainly live up to your handle.”

“I thought you might like,” she said getting right up under me on her way to the car.

I pushed the door closed just enough to stop her in her tracks. She looked up at me with wide watery eyes, her breath stopped in her throat, waiting and looking up. Looming over her, I lost control, just for a moment, and swept her into my arms. I wanted to crush her, squeeze the life out of my little plaything, force her to me so hard we became one.

Instead, I took the kiss she’d wanted to give me a few weeks ago. I crushed my lips to hers, devouring. Sucking her breath into my lungs, feeling her inside me, her essence becoming a part of me.

When I let go of her, she had the glassy gaze of a deer under headlights, knowing the enviable is rushing toward them, but being stunned in its splendor.

“That was for stealing my kiss last time.”

She laughed, a nervous titter, and blushed crimson. She tried to say something, but I knew she was overwhelmed with thoughts, feelings, a hurricane of emotions. I guided her into the passenger seat and shut the door.

When I slid in, the car started with a growl. She was still trying to speak, but nothing came out. I let my hand glide from the shifter between us to her bare knee and gave it a squeeze. Coherent thought vanished from her eyes.

To a degree, I felt sorry for her. She had no defense. In this day, all the boys she dated in high school and college had probably asked permission for every little thing. Can I call you? Can I hold your hand? Can I kiss you? She was struggling to deal with someone from a different time, when men simply took what they wanted.

I gave her knee a last squeeze, then the car was moving.

Even without a word, I could feel the anxiety radiating off her like a furnace. She kept smoothing the skirt down over her thighs as if trying to make it longer. It wasn’t doing much but drawing sidelong glances from me. And a hungry smile.

She caught me looking and didn’t move her hand away. Instead, she slowly dragged two fingers up her thigh, stopping just at the edge of the skirt. Her breathing changed, but she left her hand there.

The fabric was thin, and it rode up just enough every time she moved in her seat. She looked good in it, too. Damned good. And that's probably why she was so tense. Not anxious nerves, but I could tell her mind was racing, trying to take it all in, trying to fit it into the right cubbyholes of her mind.

“Where are we going?” she asked, with a small voice.

My eyes were on the road, “Somewhere quiet.”

She swallowed. I could hear it.

“I feel… stupid,” she admitted after a minute. “In this... I don’t know if it looks ridiculous or not. You said tonight was special, but I don’t even know what that means. What if I look like an idiot?”

I didn’t answer right away. I let the silence sit for a few seconds while I drove. She fidgeted again, tugging at the hem like she could hide in it.

“You don’t look ridiculous,” I said finally. My voice was low and steady. “You look exactly like what I’ve always dreamed about.”

She went still beside me.

I glanced over at her, just for a second.

“I told you it was special. I meant that. You wearing that, just for me, means something. Almost like you could read my mind. So stop pulling at it like you’re ashamed of it. Most of all, stop overthinking and relax.”

She let go of the fabric, but her hands stayed clenched in her lap. She was breathing faster now. I could see it in the way her chest heaved.

I reached over without looking and put my hand on her bare thigh, just above her knee, as we pulled into the park. Not high on her knee. Not yet. Just enough to let her feel that I’m here. I knew her heart was skipping beats.

“You’re nervous,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

She nodded.

“Good,” I told her. “You should be.”

I squeezed her thigh once, then put my hand back on the wheel.

We stopped in the middle somewhere. The dark shape of trees loomed above us in a sky turning indigo.

She looked around, then back at me. “What’s this?”

“We’re here,” I explained.

She had no words, but her eyes said it all. She was wondering where all this was going. What would happen out here? Her chest labored, the low cut drawing my eyes to it. I’d see so much more of that skin soon. I suspected she knew it too. Was it too soon for her? I wasn’t a modern boy, I wasn’t going to ask.

“I’ll give you a head start,” I explained to her slowly. “You open that door, and if you can make it out of the park, you can have my car. Full title. Free.”

Her lips opened and closed, gears spinning furiously behind those darting eyes. “If you catch me?”

“It’s what you wanted. To feel someone so hungry for you that they would do anything. Chase you down. Toss you down into the leaves. Unwrap you completely. And take you.”

Her breath was absolutely ragged. “And if I don’t get out?”

“You take the blue pill, and forget everything. Wake up back in your bed, safe and sound. And perhaps wonder what might have been.”

With her eyes locked firmly on mine, her hand reached out and touched the latch. The fingers were shaking visibly.

I stopped her.

“Make it count. If you want this, run as if your life depends on it.”

She nodded slowly as if in a stupor, weighing a thousand variables, counting a million odds. We both knew if she opened that door, she’d never make it out of the park. She lingered there, fingers practically drumming against the cool metal.

Still looking into my eyes, she swallowed.

She took one last breath, her eyes looked into mine, then she opened the door.

Without a look back, she ran across the gravel road and plunged into the tree line. I leaned back, a hand on the wheel, the other tracing the warm seat she’d just vacated. Breathing in, I could smell her lingering, a ghost in the car. I dragged her into my lungs a few times, savoring her.

Closing my eyes, I just savored the moment. She was running through the woods not far from me right now. The scent of her still wafted in the air of my car. We were in the middle of the Central Park with trails and woods stretching out in each direction. It was big enough that it would take ten to fifteen minutes, even at a good jog, to make it to the edge. Through the woods, a little longer.

As the seconds ticked by, I could feel my heartbeat thumping ever faster in my chest. There was no doubt in my mind that I would have her, but every moment wasted made that more exciting. Five long minutes ticked by, and I got out of the car. I followed at a steady jog.

Dark was thickening in the sky, but I could still almost see under the wood’s canopy. It wasn’t a matter of looking for broken branches and footprints, but instead thinking like prey. She’s never mentioned hiking, never talked about anything but living in the city. In a new or strange environment, I decided she would follow the path of least resistance.

Shoving through the branches, pushing past brush, I simply followed the first trail I ran into. I didn’t hit the trail evenly but at an angle, so I followed the easiest path, doubting she would turn completely around to go back the way we’d just come. I continued jogging as it got ever darker.

I could feel Hyde locked away in his cage deep deep down in the dark of my soul. He wanted out. Wanted to join the chase. But I didn’t need an animal just yet.

The first shortness of breath hit me just within just a minute. She’d never mentioned jogging as a fitness routine. Gym, yes. But never mentioned cycling or a treadmill. If she weren’t a regular jogger like I was, chances were that at her first shortness of breath, she’d slow to a walk, depending on how hard adrenaline hit.

She might be slowing or even walking, but I wasn’t. I just continued from trail to trail, trying to stay in a straight line and following the path of least resistance.

And it didn’t take long to catch up.

I heard her before I saw her. Her breath uneven and loud as she pushed herself, still trying to run, but succumbing to the fiery pain lancing through her lungs.

This is where I left the trail, circling through the woods around her. I smashed through the brush on purpose, going loud. Something in me had slipped its leash.

My thoughts were getting tangled, jumbled. Shorter. Hunger consumed me. The pale skin of her chest. Oval face. Knee hot under my palm in the car. How I wanted fingers to slide up that thigh. I wanted to tear her top open. See her spill free under me. Expose her. Put lips in skin. Teeth on skin.

After that, everything changed. She heard me coming and ran again, pure adrenaline driving her. I followed, crashing through the brush. We couldn’t see each other in the dark, but we could hear. I was hunting. She was running.

We play this game. But… Hyde has her now. Moving to her left. To drive her right. We circle. And eventually, we are back where we started. She thrashes through the brush. Breaks free. A road. Hope? Disappointment? I’ll never know. But she freezes in place for just a moment. The sprints to the other side running hard.

When I break from the trees, I see it. My car. Parked. I laugh. She realized she’d gon nowhere. All that effort. Just to be tired. Exhausted. Now she’s trying. Sprinting. All out. So much noise.

Stars dance in the sky. Big Sister shines down. I plunge into the trees in pursuit. I stop myself from tearing my own shirt off. Too many clothes. No need for quiet now. I snarl. Grunt. Let her know. I’m just behind her.

Desperate, helpless gasps. Her breath… My breath… Labored. Scent full. Sweet perfume. Musky fear.

And I’m on her.

She slows panting, desperate to breathe. Lungs on fire. Been there before. I drive on. Pushing self. Crashing through.

I see her.

Little red cape. Checkered skirt. Muddy boots. She’s gasping hard. Turns. Eyes wide. She chose this.

I land on her. Arms engulf her. Yank her back, up off her feet. Spinning. And we go down to the ground.

Shielding her with my arms, she lands unhurt. But captured. Still trying to escape, she thrashes hard. Still in that headspace. She only knows to fight now. Escape mindset burned in. The same way Hyde’s is all hunt.

Our limbs tangle as we roll through grass. Bursting out of bush to a tiny open spot. Just big enough for us.

She scarmables on all fours. I’m on her back. Hand captures her wrist. Pulls her back. We twist again. Snarling embrace. She fights. Driven to get away. Half my weight. Panicked. I lock her down. Calmly. With hunger. Toss her onto her back. Pin her down.

Our eyes lock for a whisper of a moment.

Wide. Whites. Mind racing. I smother her. Crush her lips with mine. Suck her breath away. She struggles, but it's useless. Just relaxing my weight onto her crushes her lungs. Forces her to breathe out as I suck it hungrily into my own lungs.

Sitting up fast. She’s dazed. Struggles slowly. Hands find top of blouse. Rips with suck beautiful music. Yanked forward as fabric rends. Falls back. White bra exposed.

She thrashes legs. Tries to get one around me. Sit on her tummy. She oofs. I squeeze my thighs, constricting her. Her hands scramble, trying to cover herself, trying to fight me off. Both fail.

I grab her by back of neck and wrench her up. Eyes wide, she opens her mouth to cry out. I crush her lips to mine again. Forcing her into me. Pinning her. Helpless marionette. Break kiss. She’s dazed again, so much happening so fast.

It only takes a heartbeat to reach around and unhook bra. Year and fucking years of practice. Snaps free. That wakes her up. Hands go to hold it. Too late. I grab between her breasts. Yanking hard. She cries out in pain as straps bite, then give way. The bra yanks away. Exposed.

Grab her throat. Shove. Back down to ground. All my weight on her. Pin her down. Palm on base of neck, weight on chest. Nowhere to go. Her hands grab my wrist. Trying to break its iron hold. Arms framing her breasts perfectly. As I look down at her. Wide watering eyes begging up at me. No mercy. She opened the door.

She screams. Short. Sharp. I only tighten fingers around base of throat. Strangle the sounds to silence. She’s mine. All mine. And her eyes show she knows. Nothing. There is nothing she can do. Anything. Anything I want.

The corset is impossible. To compress, straps, strings, chords. I want to see all of her. Soon enough. Now, we get the best bits. The sweet, soft, tasty things.

Lifting my hips. Reach down with other hand. Fingers slip into skirt. Lacey things beneath. Fist curls. Heave with all my might. There is a crack as hem fails. Lean in. Yank back twice as hard. She howls with what little breath she has left. Oh, so lovely ripping sound as skirt gives way. But straps of panties cut deep into her skin.

We could have prepared better. I’ve done this before. With and without Hyde. All it takes is a few snips in the seams. Almost invisible cuts. Fabric has threads that lie in multiple directions. Rope all lies in line. Clothing can be stronger than rope. All it takes is little snips in those hems, and clothing comes apart so easily. Without the snips, the hems will bite into skin. Painfully.

I was fully gone now. The cries of pain driving him on. Another yank and long pull. They snap. Panties no more. Just scraps now. I pull on the skirt again. No go. It’s tougher than I thought. Scootch down, trapping her legs between my thighs.

Let go of neck. She coughs. Grab skirt and yank up. She flails weekly. Trying to reach down. I’m a thousand places, touching her everywhere, and her hands aren't fast enough. She tries to pull down her skirt. Nope, it's a belt now. White panties. Ruins. Straps broken. But still hiding her. Without touching. Even then. I can see. Even in the dark. Wet stain. My dirty little girl, Red.

Fingers reach in. Pull back. The meager scraps of her dignity now gone. She truly is exposed. Whisps of fine light hair. Bald lips. Perfect clam shell. How I yearn to pry it apart. Wet. No, soaked. She is a mess like I haven't seen in a long, long time. Sopping wet. Slippery slick. From navel to thighs gushing.

​Lifting off her, I let a leg escape. She twists. Scrambling in the grass and leaves. Fighting to escape. Grab the skirt hem. Broken, but still the fabric holds. I yank on it, try to force it over her hips. No dice. It just pulls her back to me. Yank up, getting her on her hands and knees. Shy tried to scramble away. I’ve got her by the skirt in just one hand.

 Other hand moves. Flips her skirt up. Pale moon. Exposed in dim light. Her flanks are perfection. Muscles working under skin. Trying too hard to crawl away. Her cries are like music. Driving me on. Begging for more.

​I slap my other hand up between her thighs. She clenches, capturing it. But it's so damn slick. Sodden. I wriggle fingers, push deeper, it slides. I can feel her lips on the heel of my palm. Wet. Hungry. My fingers dance in pools of liquid just under her navel. How is she this wet? Slut.

​Reaching back up, I shove her down, face-first into leaves. She tries to slaw away. Hands tearing clumps of grass. Fistfuls of leaves. Other hand on between shoulder blades. Shoving her down. She squirms, and my soaked hand pops free. Drenched in her. Grab her skirt, gather it at small of back. I yank her up. Ass up. Face in grass. Perfect ass floating in the dark, with delicious quim right below. Framed by shiny thighs doused in her own fluids. What a mess.

​Hyde can’t help himself. Let's go of her back. There is a loud crack as he slaps her ass. She jolts. Her whole body in motion. Thrashing and struggling. Fighting hard. We roll. Limbs tangled. I end up on her again. Our faces just a whisper apart. She reaches to claw at me. I grab a wrist. She flips, I follow. I reach up with my hand, going between her legs. Impossible to grab. Absolutely wet. Unlike anyone before. Hyde wants to lap it up. Smear his face in her.

​She throws everything she has at me. Snarling, claws, teeth. Both of us roll. Bodies bucking. Holding her arm, I drive myself between her legs. The heat of her is intense. I can feel it through my jeans. I press my hips down. I can myself hard against her. Nestled in her. She soaks me. I get her pinned. Face down again. Ass high up, pressed to me. As we struggle, I fumble at my jeans.

​When cool air touches my cock it supercharges everything. As she struggles, she brushes against me. Slick skin again, rock hard flesh. Hyde wants to stab it so deep to her core. When she feels it, she locks up. Only for a second. The struggle resumes. Pressing forward, I get a knee under her before she can press her hips to the ground.

​She snarls at me, fighting with an urgency I’d not imagined for a girl who overthinks. Pure instinct and hormones. I have to manhandle her. Have to wrestle her. My cock pressed to her slippery ass. As we teist and turn, I take a few stabs. One makes her cry out in shock. The next one catches a little lower.

​Her struggles lock up as I force my way in. Filling her. She moans, throaty, guttural. I grip her and stab in fierce. It turned into a high-pitched gasp. Gripping her hip, I force myself all the way, bottoming out against her, and she quakes and clutches at me.

​When she twists, she's so slippery I nearly pop out. I shove into her again. Hard. Vicious. She clutches at me, making me moan in her ear. I catch a whiff of her again, sweet perfume, something musky. It drives me wild. Wild. Hyde indulges. Relishing the feel of her as he pounds brutally inside.

​Grunting and groaning, slippery, wet, and just gliding through her. I batter her. I fuck her down to the ground. Hammering hard. Taking exactly what I want. She thrashes, but like her groans, it's incoherent, just a body going through the motions. Trying to force me out. But just amking it feel so so fucking good.

​I drive into her with relentless force. Cock aching it so fucking hard, just engulfed in a wet, tight grip of her hole. He fucks her with abandon. Trying to hurt her. Bruise her. Ruin her cunt. Churning her insides. It doesn't matter. She thrashes and moans. Her pitch getting ever higher as he continues to relentlessly slam into her.

​The wet, sloppy slapping sounds, the sighs, grunts, and whimpering fill the night air. For what seems forever. My body just driving into her with a desperate need. I’ve wanted this for weeks. Wanted to hear her sweet sighs. Wanted to feel her grip my like a tight wet glove.

​Finally, she arches her back. “No…” she moans. Again, drawing it out. Again begging.

​I hammer into her as I feel her legs shaking wildly around me. “Cum for me,” Hyde demands. “Cum on my cock.”

​And she does. I don’t even have to move. Simply pin her hips, pulling her against me hard. She thrashes around, gibbering as I hold her tight against me. She works my cock as she bucks with it buried deep inside her. Her whole body quakes. Incoherently. Both of us. She’s made me lose the ability to even speak.

​I am so close. But Hyde won’t have it. He wants more. I hold back painfully. My core is on fire with ache, trying to keep from exploding in her. She spasms around me, making this the hardest fight of my life. Hyde wins, though I don’t explode.

​I hold her against me for what seems hours. She convulses. Her cunt squeezing the life from me. But he’s already decided. He will have more.

​When the shakes fade from her, I slip out so easily. She’s still drenched, leaves and grass sticking to her thighs. I exit with a pained sigh. I want that warmth again. I grab an ankle and quickly flip it around, driving her to her back. Her eyes are closed, lips quivering.

​I press back down. My cock, hard and angry, nestles into her. She moans and turns her head away.

​“Look at me,” Hyde hisses at her.

​I grind against her. Sodden. Molten. So fucking delicious.

​“Look at me,” he demands.

​Her head turns and her eyes open. We are staring into each other. I want to see her this time. Want to watch her eyes. Want to read her thoughts. See her reaction. When I make her cum again.

​“Keep looking at me,” I whisper.

​I’m moving my hips. Looking for her entrance. Gliding my cock across her. So fucking wet. I keep slipping past and below her. Failed attempts. Each one making her eyes widen just a moment. Another shift of hips to change angle, just drag the tip and nothing else. I find her. The entrance to her. Her opening. Her hole.

​I ease forward, watching her eyes. Her chest heaves and her eyelids droop dreamily.

​“Look at me,” he demands forcefully. Her eyes snap open with a pained look as I fill her. I push in as her mouth forms a perfect circle. Her O-face. There is a deep satisfaction as I slip without effort all the way to the bottom. I grunt at the final resistance.

​She grips me. It makes me jerk back. Angry that she was able to make me do that, Hyde stabs forward. She moans. She tries to push me out. And we are fighting again. She pushes against me. I force my way back deep into her. Our bodies moving on their own volition.

​Every time she tries to look away. Or roll her eyes. Or turn her head. I snap at her, “Keep looking at me. I want to see you when it happens. I want to watch your face when you climax. When your cunt squeezes me. Milks me inside you. I want to see into your thoughts when you cry out. You will cum again. For me.”

​Her chest shudders. Her lips form strange shapes as she listens to my words. Along with me filling her, driving into her, it builds a tension inside her. I can see it in her eyes.

​I wonder what she sees when she looks into my eyes and sees Hyde staring back at her. Does she even know? I’m moving in her still, finding the rhythm. She was quaking around me again. Caressing me. All I can feel is my cock engulfed in her. Wearing her. Masterbating into her. I’m stroking myself with her body. Using her like a toy to get myself off now.

​“Are you going to cum for me?” I ask, “You are. I know you are. Know your body better than you. Go on. Try to prove me wrong. Cum for me.”

​She’s gasping and trying to fight it, possibly. Her eyebrows arching as sensations flood her. I tell her again, “Cum for me.”

​She does.

​Her whole body clutches my cock. Tight. Wet. I can feel her fluttering and spasming around me. Her eyes wide and watering, quivering as she stares into me. I growl. I howl into the night.

​I explode inside her. Grunting as I better every spurt as deep inside as possible.

​Snarling, I float back down to her. My hips are working on their own. It feels like my entire cock is pulsing inside her. The slippery noises we’ve been making only get worse as I pump load after load into her. I end with a sigh as she squeezes the last bits out.

​There is a volcano of heat at my crotch. We’re both flooded and sticky with fluids.

​I roll to my side, dragging her with me as I slip out. Her eyes are closed.

​“Look at me,” I whisper.

​Those eyes open. There’s something strange and distant in them. Something awakened. Her arms go around me, and she pulls her face to my neck. Her entire body still quivering, everything spasming randomly.

​We sit like that for a while. Fluids cooling on our exposed skin. Cool air tickling at us. I push her away, and she gives me a hurt, pained look. I drag her back into me, turned around, she’s the little spoon now, and I wrap my arms around her. One hand drifts down to softly brush her. Wet sticky pubic hair, puffy lips, our messy juices. Fingers trace patterns through it, making her shudder.

​I keep her trapped in my arms for a long time as Sister Moon swings through the sky.

​“I didn’t expect you to go through with it…” I whisper, my hot breath caressing her ear. “But, I’m glad you did.”

​I can feel my cum trickling out of her, my fingers toying with it. She’s marked now. She’s mine.

Content Warning: Slavery, Non-con, FemSub,  Humiliation, Degradation, Forced Exhibition, Training, Forced Urination/Wetting, Identity Erosion, Sci-fi

“Over here, slave girl.” A guard waved me toward him.
​
I slowed my walk. Mistress had given me a task to fetch a vase of wine from the house. Now I knew why she’d picked me. It was an ambush, probably disguised as some sort of lesson.
​
“Did you hear him?” his partner called out. They immediately stopped leaning against the outer wall, stood up, and puffed out their chests. No matter what, I knew that I had to listen to orders from men, but how far did that go?
​
I turned to them, slowing my pace and bowing my head. I was suddenly very aware of how naked I was. They were in thick leather armor, armed with clubs and shackles on their belts, while I didn’t even have shoes.
​
Technically, I belonged to Jaxon. He’d loaned me to the kennels for training… But Matron’s casual touch on my first night told me exactly what I needed to know. I might belong to another master, but if the kennels wanted to train me through violation and use, there was little I could do to say no.
​
As I neared the house, I saw the two guards had been talking to another man on the other side of the walk. The man, on the other hand, had his arms lying along the top while he rested his head on them. Now I understand why the wall was only shoulder height. Anyone passing by could see the slaves being put through their paces and trained to be perfectly obedient. We were products on display. I thought about the entire morning, dashing around naked, doing chores, being humiliated, and now it took on a whole new level of shame. I was modified knowing that the entire town could be watching me running around naked, and I had no say in my own modesty.
​
Against my will, my thighs clenched at the thought of an audience watching me at all times. It wasn’t arousal, Mistress had sent me to get wine before I could use the bathroom with the other trainees.
​
When I approached, I bent to kneel, and the first guard interrupted me with a single command, “Inspect.”
​
Glancing up, I saw the man on the other side watching closely, the sly smile as I thrust my chest out and laced my fingers behind my neck said it all. I was simply entertainment.
​
The first guard circled me. When he moved behind me, my stomach lurched with the knowledge that he could touch me, or take me, any time he wanted. It wouldn’t be a gentle touch either. He’d grab me like an object or piece of meat, toss me down, and ravish me however he wished. The thought of it made me ill, and that's exactly what I’d tell the Fed Psychoanalysts when we were rescued. But I could feel a fluttering heat stewing between my thighs. My mouth felt dry, and I had to swallow hard to moisten my tongue.
​
“What's your name bitch?” The second guard asked, leaning back so that he and the man outside could casually enjoy my nervous tension.
​
When I didn’t answer fast enough, the guard behind me hit my ass with an open palm. It was one thing to have Mistress use her crop to place a wicked stinging blow, but entirely something else when a man more than twice her weight smacked me without holding anything back.
​
I staggered forward with a sharp cry.
​
The guard in front shot up from the wall right into my face, yelling, “Inspect bitch! Who told you to move?”
​
“I’m sorry, sir…” I tried to tell him it wasn’t my fault, that a man’s blow was not like a training blow.
​
He didn’t care at all, instead leaning into me and screaming in my face, “Shut that cocksucker! No one asked. And a good cunt speaks only when asked a question.”
​
I froze. I’d been yelled at before like this in training. Frantic yelling like this triggers spikes in adrenaline and cortisol, fight-or-flight hormones that shut down higher brain functions. If a person was locked down and unable to do anything, it heightened anxiety and weakened emotional control. These weren’t just guards, they were part of the training, part of the breaking.
​
The guard behind me cupped and squeezed my ass, his fingers digging in like he was checking the quality of something he might buy. I remained frozen while the other two watched. My body kept trying to pull away, but I forced myself to stay still. That was all I was right now. Something to be handled.
​
I winced. Mistress had sent me to the house before I could relieve myself. Three hours of mantras, and my bladder was screaming.
​
Not content just grabbing my ass, the guard mauling me reached around with his other arm and painfully squeezed one breast.
​
He took the sound as something else entirely. “That’s it, slut. Tell us how much you love it.” I hated that I’d made a sound at all.
​
I forced the words out anyway, hating how they tasted. “Thank you, sir.”
​
“How’s she feel?” the man on the other side of the wall asked.

The guard let go of my ass and reached around to slap me between my thighs. I cried out but couldn’t curl into a fetal position. He gripped my flesh, crushing my back against him, holding me and showing me off at once.
​
As his fingers dug in, gripping me tight, he laughed over my shoulder, telling the man, “Uptight. Like she’s fighting. Not quite rips. I don’t think she’s liking this.”
​
He crushed my labia in his hand, painfully so, ripping a low moan out of me as I tried to understand how men could be so disgusting and cruel.
​
“The cunt loves it. Don’t you?” the guard in front of me asked.
​
There was no way I was going to say I loved it. No fucking way. I ground my teeth and forced the words out, “Thank you, sir.”
​
The man on the other side looked dubious, “I’m not impressed. She doesn’t sound appreciative at all.”
​
The guard on the wall explained, “Come back in a few weeks. She’ll be much more appreciative then
​
“I can make her appreciate right now,” the guard gripping me said. “Keep those legs open, little slut.”
​
His hold relaxed only long enough for him to begin shoving several fingers into me. When I tried to double over, he crushed my nipple in his other hand, making lancing pain shoot through my chest. I gasped and cried out as the three of them laughed.
​
“Please, sir…” I begged. My body struggled, not just under his savage treatment, but because it had been hours since I’d been able to take a bathroom break.
​
“Please what?” the one on the wall said, “Please give you some more?”

These monsters were going to make me beg to go to the bathroom. Like I was some child that needed permission. And if I didn’t? There was no way they could possibly be that cruel. No way.
​
He squeezed my breast hard enough to use it as a fulcrum for leverage and shoved his fingers deeper. My legs were shaking so wildly that I could barely stay upright. The pressure inside me was unbearable. I’d been holding it for hours, and now his fingers were pushing right against it. I couldn’t stop the panic choking in my throat.
​
“I need to go to…” but I didn't finish the sentence.
​
Deep inside something gave way. Hot liquid gushed out around his fingers and down my legs before I could stop it. The relief was instant and disgusting. I couldn’t look at any of them. I just closed my eyes and felt it happening, burning hot down my thighs while they laughed.
​
I had to close my eyes after seeing the stranger's shocked face, and the leaning guard looking at me with utter contempt. I’d just wet myself, down my own naked body, in front of an audience of laughing men. The shame was so heavy it was unworldly, like it was happening to someone else. But it was me.
​
“What?” The guard holding me withdrew quickly and shoved me down to the ground. He shouted as the other laughed, “You filthy fucking animal!”
​
I wasn’t, though. Not really. This wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my doing. If they’d only listened to me… The gross unfairness of it burned brightly in my gut. I wanted to strangle each of them with my own hands. But even the stranger outweighed me by a factor of two. I was literally helpless to do anything but feel the burning fluids escaping and puddling beneath my thighs.
​
I tried to push myself up, but his boot came down on my ass and shoved me back into it. The wet dirt squelched against my skin. I stopped trying after that. He stepped on me, forcing me into the mess I was creating. I tried to contract, to pinch everything shut, but the pain was too much, and my body refused to obey me.
​
“Spread your legs!” he roared at me. “Go on, you disgusting hole, show everyone what you are!”
​
My hands shook as I felt tears and a sharp pain in the back of my throat. It would be so easy to give in and just let the tears flow. Why not? I was already in other places. But I wasn’t going to let them see me like that. They were laughing now, but I’d be damned if I’d show them me breaking because of this.
​
The stranger on the other side of the wall had a look of pure revulsion and disgust on his face, but he continued laughing. The Guarding leaning near him shook his head, also laughing, as if there were some slapstick comedy. I was having a hard time processing it all, unable to fully fathom that this was happening to me.
​
And that was ultimately the point. Humiliation on humiliation, low protein, fucked sleep cycles, they knew we would all break. Somehow, Mistress could tell I was holding out longer than the other women. She’d set this up.
​
In basic training, they’d stressed us in order to build something. They still saw us recruits as people. Here, I was just a thing to be broken and filthy. I’d happily do as I was told just to prevent this shame and filth from ever happening again. I demanded my tears to stay inside.
​
The boot on my ass crushed me into the filth as the guard leaned down. “You nasty little bitch. You think it's funny pissing on my hand when I’m giving you a little reward?”
​
I couldn’t answer. He yanked my head back with one hand, then smeared the other across my face. He shoved my face down and ground it into the dirt and gave me a few angry shakes. My face was pressed into the wet dirt and all I could think was that this was really happening. That I was lying in my own piss while a man stepped on me like I was nothing.
​
The other two howled in laughter. “Showed you her appreciation, she did!”
​
The guard looming over me stepped off and away, “Roll over!”
​
What? No. He couldn’t be serious.
​
“Roll over, you nasty little animal,” he demanded again, the anger in his voice was unmistakable.
​
I tried lifting myself to all fours. His boot shoved me down again. “I said roll over or so help me I’ll whip that fucking ass raw and bloody.”
​
I forced myself to roll, feeling the muddy dirt squishing around me as I did so. I could feel cooling clumps sticking to the front of my thighs as I pushed myself over. His boot, muddy and disgusting, pressed to my chest. He was pressing me into it, making me wallow in the muck.
​
“Look at me bitch.”
​
I forced my eyes open. The hatred I felt for him was so monumental it blacked out the sun.
​
The other guard laughed, “She’s marked you as hers, like a bitch in heat.” The two at the wall laughed at his cleverness. I just blinked, the camel’s back was already shattered.
​
“This is all you are,” he hissed down at me. “A filthy little plaything wallowing in her own filth. No matter how much training they give you, how polished you become, you will never be anything more than this. A dirty hole for a few copper pieces. Aren’t you?”
​
I looked at him but said nothing. My lips quivered, and I could feel tears clouding my vision.
​
“Well? Aren’t you? Say it… I’m a dirty little animal bitch.”
​
“Yes, Sir.”
​
“Say it!”
​
“I’m filthy… animal… b-bitch…”
​
Mistress’ voice sang out, “What’s happening here?”
​
I hated the sound of her voice. Her lies. She knew exactly what was happening. She’d engineered the whole thing.
​
“Kneel!” the guard over me barked.
​
He put his boot on my ass again, and I knew instantly the command wasn’t for me. I glanced over to see Mistress fall immediately to her knees, head bowed, and hands palms up on her thighs.
​
Despite myself, I was shocked. She was a woman. And of course, on this world, in this culture, she too was at the command of any man. Even a lowly guard. I had assumed the trainers had some special privilege, but there she was kneeling as the guard who shoved me down stormed over to her.
​
“Your fucking cunt pissed all over me!” he yelled at her. “What kind of training are you even doing, you stupid cow? Do we need to come over there and show you vapid holes how to handle a slave properly?”
​
There was no hesitation as Mistress apologized, “My apologies, sir. She’s been in trouble from the start…”
​
“Trouble? She’s an animal. Get your shit straight before you get sold off for utter incompetence.”
​
“I’m sorry, sir.”
​
“I don’t care about sorry,” he growled at her. “I want her ass whipped raw.”
​
“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it personally, sir.”
​
The guard that had been watching the whole time grabbed the other by the arm, “Korrax, calm yourself.”
​
“Calm? She pissed on me.” Korrax, my abuser yelled. “This worthless trainer is lucky I don’t whip her ass raw for failing her duties so spectacularly.”
​
Glancing back to the fountain, I could see the other trainees looking over to us, certain they’d heard every word of the yelling. Matron was in her usual spot, urging the women into their kneeling positions.
​
When I looked back at Mistress, she was staring daggers at me from hooded eyes. Korrax was being dragged off by the other guard, who continued urging him to calm himself.
​
Trainer arrived behind Mistress, placing a gentle touch on her shoulder, “Gressa, are you alright?”
​
Mistress leaped up to her feet and stalked toward me. I was still sitting, lying on my back in sodden dirt, all I could see was the crop swishing like a tiger's tail as she stomped at me.
​
She didn’t disappoint. Mistress grabbed me by the ahit and yanked me up, first to sitting, then with very liberal use of her crop up to standing. I tried to swallow the yelps, but it was impossible. Mistress began striking harder and faster as I shrank back, perhaps annoyed I wasn’t wailing pitifully like most slaves in this position. I was tempted to grab her crop, but had no idea what happened to truly unruly slaves, so I just took her beating, dancing in pain as she struck me.
​
Trainer grabbed Mistress Gressa’s arm mid swing, “Enough…” They stared daggers for a moment, then she added, “We are waiting for confessions…”
​
Even though naturally pretty, Mistress’s face was pinched with rage. She spat at me, “I’ll fetch the wine. Get this useless hole back.” She stormed away, swishing the crop as she went.
​
Turning to me, Trainer pointed back to the fountain, “Get to your place.”
​
She then departed, following Mistress to the house.
​
I stood a moment, taking stock. My body was filthy with smears of mud along my legs and backside. I didn’t want ot think about what I was covered in, the shame of it was worse than anything I’d experienced so far. I’d been an intelligence officer in the Navy. I was a law enforcement officer. Now I was naked and covered in filth. Just like the guard said, I was just an animal.
​
The walk back was slow as I fought to get the turmoil of swirling emotions under control. A crushing shame at the forefront, but a smoldering rage was burning in me. I wanted… wanted to… kill the trainers. I wanted to burn the planet to a cinder. That there was a place in the universe where this could happen made me shake with impotent fury. I spent most of the walk trying to smear the mud off me and fight back the stabbing pain at the back of my throat. Every time I swallowed, I could feel tears threaten to spill free.
​
“Vessi,” Matron called as I approached the group. “What happened?”
​
Lira was practically beaming up at me from her kneeling position, she looked all too pleased to see me humiliated in a way totally unique from the others. Sylra, my first-night faux lover, glanced up, then looked away quickly. She must be ashamed to have had me in her clique the night before. Her girl Mira openly smiled, happy to see her rival utterly destroyed. The other girls, with the exception of the two shy ones, all snickered in myrth.
​
I stood there with all the women watching, determined not to show any of them a single tear, even though I could feel my eyes blurring, straining to keep it back.
​
“Well, girl? Don’t make Mother ask again.”
​
“I failed to… get the wine,” I said softly.
​
“Oh no, sweet girl,” she said with her fake warmth. “You failed men. Only when you learn to please them can you avoid situations like this.”
​
I stared at her incredulously. No. I was set up to fail. This was not my fault. The injustice of it was so choking that it was actually hard to draw breath.
​
“Turn for me, Vessi, let's see how bad it is.” She clucked as I circled clumsily, turning to show her everything. Not just her, I understood this was so that every trainee saw. The message is clear, you could be next. Matron gasped, “Oh, you are just covered in filth, girl. You’ll just be a distraction sitting with us like that… Ryx, Nissa, take naughty little Vessi here over to the trough and help clean her.”
​
I watched her, seeing straight through the performance. She knew exactly what she was doing by sending Ryx and Nyssa.She knew the group dynamics. It was deliberate. Another small cut. Another reminder of where I stood now. I was lower than the lowest Betas.
​
It came to me slowly. Mistress hadn’t set this up. Matron had. She’d known exactly what would happen when she sent me for that wine. She’d chosen the timing on purpose. I was the example. The one who was still holding out. I was the example to the rest. If I wanted to get through these next weeks, I would need to make Matron believe I was becoming what she wanted. A compliant, willing, docile toy for men.
​
The two approached me as timidly. Neither said a word. Ryx took my hand and gently tugged. I followed without a word. Nyssa followed behind us. Every step made the drying mud crack and pull at my skin.
​
Once in front of the stone trough, Ryx took a white cloth from the table in her olive hands. She dipped it then brushed at my thighs, sending icy shivers through me. Nyssa cupped water in her hands and splashed it across my legs. We did this without any words. I watched in a stupor, doing nothing to help. My mind was just a blank. The only sounds were the splashing of water and the low murmur of the women behind us. Even facing the trough, I could feel all their eyes on me. Lira, especially, I didn't need to see her face to know she was enjoying this.
​
As the water flowed down my legs, it reminded me of the humiliating incident just minutes ago. Ryx wiped quickly, softly, just enough to take the filth away and leave me clean. Another girl might have scrubbed. I felt the overwhelming warmth of gratitude that she was being so caring, so gentle. I wanted to hug her, but kept myself from doing so. I didn’t want to mark her for cruelty or bullying from the others.
​
Nyssa continued cupping the water, but she now poured it down my body. Letting it wash down my chest, taking all the grime away. When Ryx reached between my legs, I flinched. She stopped for a second, then continued, her face blank. Her eyes glanced at mine, then away as if offering a quiet apology. Nyssa poured more water over me, its icy touch numbing my breasts and belly.
​
I stood there and let them wash me. I didn’t help. I just let the cold water run over my skin while they wiped away what the guards had done to me. It felt like they were cleaning an animal. When they’d finished, they both toweled me dry quickly. Other than the mud under my feet, I was clean. Ryx touched my shoulder and gave me a gentle push to turn around. I nodded thanks to her, and she looked away.
​
Matron sat with her hand folded in her lap. She’d been watching everything, along with all the others. She looked serene. Almost kind. When our eyes met, I could see the calculations behind the warmth. She'd put Mistress up to picking me. Knew what the guards would do. Purposefully targeted the time to be hours after lunch with no relief. She knew I was holding out. That I still thought of myself as something other than a slave. Different from the rest of them.
​
I understood.
​
I wasn’t going to win by resisting. That made their torture more cruel, more creative. The only way through this was to give them what they wanted. I would have to play the eager, broken little thing they expected. I would smile when touched. I would thank them when I was used. I would make her believe she won. And the worst part was that some small, tired piece of me was already starting to accept it. That if I just gave them what they wanted, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much next time.
​
The next time she wanted to make a lesson of someone, I wanted her to think I was too far gone to need one.
​
When we returned to the semi-circle of women formed around Matron, she smiled, “There we go. All clean now.”
​
Clean enough to lie.
​
I met her eyes and gave her the smallest, most obedient smile I could manage.
​
She smiled back.

More warriors arrived while I was held down naked except for fragments of my ruined flightsuit. With my hands tied behind my back, I couldn’t cover myself; the best I could do was clench my legs closed. Most of the new arrivals paid me no attention at all… But a few… Their eyes swept over my body, appraising me in an instant.

Jaxon stood talking with a group of seasoned warriors dressed in hardened leather. He gestured towards me, and they escorted him to me. Jaxon tried to avert his eyes as he approached, a small gesture of dignity that twisted something inside me. It reminded me of our shared Federated equality, but his gaze lingered on my exposed chest, then dipped lower, stirring a mix of betrayal and reluctant understanding. It was as if he, too, were unraveling. The strangers' leers stung, but Jaxon's gaze was far worse. It threatened to fracture the professional bond we'd built. Now I was just vulnerable flesh to him, a reminder of how quickly power could invert our roles. I tried to remind myself that I was a highly skilled intelligence officer, but being bound and exposed was the most humiliating experience of my entire life.

“This is your slave?” A warrior with hard-edge age lines etched across his face asked.

“Comrades, thank you. We will forever be in your debt for such help. Those bastards ambushed us in the dead of night. If it were not for your arrows, we’d be hostages of Lord Drayce and soon at his mercy. With utter respect, I am forever indebted to you…”

A younger warrior carrying the captured rifle followed the elder, who was speaking with Jaxon. The two young men looked nearly the same age, but without Federated technology, I knew the young warrior was barely an adult. Unlike Jaxon, who was well into his thirties, with a full military career behind him.

“You carry yourself in a manner similar to Drayce.”

Jaxon’s brow knitted, “We are from the same lands, far over the horizon. We’ve come to capture him and bring him to justice.”

“We?” the elder warrior asked and looked around.

“My partner and I.”

The elder's eyes narrowed, “Your slave? She means to help you capture a wizard?”

I cringed inside. Our shared ideals of equality clashed against this world's brutal hierarchy. We were no longer equals. I was just a woman stripped of agency while he navigated the charade.

"Master…" I forced out. The word tasted bitter, but I was hoping to jog his memory of this world's cruel script, only for a sharp slap to jolt me. Pain blooming not just on skin, but in the pit of my stomach, a reminder of silenced voices.

Jaxon, to his credit, recovered somewhat smoothly… He smiled, delayed on the left side by a fraction of a moment, then cleared his throat. Two minor telltale signs that he was juggling stories in his head. I was thankful he didn’t look away from the warrior. That was a saving grace.

He eased back into the conversation smoothly, “She helps in her own way. They ambushed… Me. They took my gear, my woman. I fought them longer than I care to count… There were six, however…” he gave a sly smile through busted lips. “You gave me a second chance. That means something where I come from. His men meant to use my property…”

The elder warrior’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and he slapped Jaxon on the shoulder.  “As is their right. If she were their property and not yours, we would now be enjoying her charms already... Perhaps as a gesture of gratitude, you might consider rewarding some of our younger warriors…”

"She is my slave…" Jaxon gushed, the words halting as if they choked him, “And I’ve yet to fully claim her charms myself, to shape her to my needs… Yet. Help me keep her, and I'll help you keep your lands from Drayce.” Jaxon was struggling to find a way of denying what would be an otherwise perfectly reasonable request for the men on this world.

The elder warrior considered this, looking to his younger counterpart carrying the rifle with reverent awe, “Is this your first slave, boy?”

“She is… And I am quite fond of her.”

A reluctant admiration stirred for Jaxon. His efforts to shield me from being traded like mere currency revealed his own internal war. Yet it left me aching, dependent on his fragile facade.

The elder warrior slapped Jaxon hard on the shoulder, “I remember my first. Took me nearly a year before I shared her with my closest friend. The clan thought I was a right selfish bastard.”

Jaxon nodded gravely then uttered, “Thank you…”

“And where is her collar?” The elder asked.

“They... I… Hadn’t the time to properly collar her yet on our journey.” Jaxon caught my gaze, and he blushed. I wanted to comfort him somehow. He was navigating this negotiation well, well enough that I would most likely be spared being passed around this evening. Admittedly, it was hard to cling to hope with my chest exposed, each breath a reminder of vulnerability, the cool air prickling skin that once felt armored in confidence.

“I saw no collar with her ruined clothes.” The man looming over me, the one with a heavy hand on my shoulder, keeping me down on my knees, said with a nod.

“No collar? Yet she is yours?”

“She is,” Jaxon said while clenching his fists. He was in no shape to fight. His face was a palette of bruises, including a mess of blood under his nose.

“Where are you from, boy, that you would travel other lands with a collarless slave?”

Jaxon teetered, perhaps psyching himself up for a fight.

“We come from a far-off land…” I blurted out. It earned me a sharp smack to the side of my face. I yelped, playing the helpless little thing, but really, the blow just pissed me off. I had a role to play, “Master, my apologies…”

The worry and concern in Jaxon’s eyes were endearing, but he risked letting these new warriors think he was soft. They could easily kill him and have me. But they spared us for some reason, the enemy of my enemy, perhaps. The threat of being passed among them, used by one after another until nothing of me remained, knotted my stomach into cold dread.

“She speaks the truth…” Jaxon blurted.

“And she speaks over you.” The elder said. “Best get your slut under control before another warrior challenges you for ownership. Like a bow, slaves need a firm hand to aim true.”

“Yes, sir. I will… Punish her for her outburst.”

“You can do so when you collar her.”

“Collar her? Of course…”

The elder stared dead even into Jaxon’s eyes. “In these lands, an uncollared girl is available for any man who chooses to use her.”

“Yes, I’ll collar her as soon as possible.”

“I’d suggest tonight,” the Elder said evenly. “A public display will inform the whole clan that she is not the spoils of war, but property of another. And you will be our guest for the evening.”

A seething hate coiled in me as they discussed me like property. Each word eroding the professional I was, leaving echoes of isolation in a world that reduced women to nothing. It was beginning to sound like we were being invited to join whatever camp they might be making tonight.

Jaxon looked relieved, but I could see he was pondering something.

“Do you know how to use that?” Jaxon asked quickly, nodding to the younger warrior.

The warrior with the rifle stiffened, then looked to the elder. The elder continued staring into Jaxon’s eyes.

“I can teach you. I will earn my keep to help you fight Drayce.”

The elder spoke slowly, “Prove it. Teach my son. If you lie, his arrow finds your throat.”

Without a blink, Jaxon answered, “Fair. Let’s do it.”

The elder warrior and Jaxon clasped hands, muscles flexing. His bro-act was crude but effective, barbarians respond to posturing like children to shiny toys. It was good that he was making inroads, given the situation, I’d be leaning into him a lot on the diplomatic front.

The elder warrior broke contact and waved Jaxon after him, “We need to leave immediately. The wizard will have more men, and they’ll be looking for us shortly.”

We were led down a rocky ridge and into a copse of pines. I was surprised at their military-like efficiency, they’d looted and rallied while another group brought horses around. My body ached, but I looked forward to the ride, it would be nice to finally have some personal space without being shoved around by a barbarous thug for a bit.

The elder warrior brought a horse to Jaxon, who made a couple of attempts to mount the animal but obviously had no idea what he was doing. The warriors seemed perplexed that a man didn’t know how to ride. Even the horse seemed annoyed and began stepping away whenever Jaxon tried to get up to the saddle. Another horse, a more docile one, I suppose, was brought, making the owner take a ride on one of the newly captured mounts. Another warrior was given the task of ponying Jaxon, holding his reins from another beast to help guide him.

I watched in horror as Jaxon was led away like a child on the back of his horse.

“Lift your arms.” I was told. Before I could comply, one was lifted for me as a rider guided his horse up to me. The rider leaned down, gripping me above the bicep and yanking me up and over the saddle. My squeal was answered with a sharp slap to my bare ass as I was laid across the horse in front of the rider. I tried not to dwell on my exposed curves pressed against the saddle. The friction igniting unwanted warmth, a betrayal that whispered of deeper fractures in my control.

A hand gripped the back of my neck, holding me down and keeping me in place. I could feel unimaginably firm muscles working under my bare skin with nothing but coarse hair between us. The horn of the saddle pressed painfully into my ribs as my legs dangled. Hearing a chorus of guffaws, I crossed my legs as shame burned hot across my skin. If I ever saw a recording of this from Jaxon's eyes, I’d probably die of shame on the spot.

We rode for hours. Every time I tried to express discomfort, I received another smack to the ass. There was nothing to do but ride quietly and uncomfortably into the night.

Finally, there was a flicker of torches ahead. As pitch-black lightened into flickering illumination, we entered a crude settlement of rough-hewn buildings. There were more voices, and I realized if nothing else, the darkness had at least covered my nudity. Now I was on display, bare ass and legs for all to see.

It was impossible to reach back and cover my cheeks. Moving my arms back to cover myself made me slip legs-first off the horse. The hand on my neck tightened, and he barked, “Stupid girl, get your hands over your head.” Before I could do anything, there was a series of blows along my thighs, making me squeal again and squirm. The hand on the back of my neck kept me from sliding off. Worse still, there was now laughter behind me, warriors watching and enjoying my struggles.

A pair of thick hands gripped my hips and pulled, and the man on the horse released me. I was lifted effortlessly and set on my feet. I rubbed my ass trying to work out the stinging swats, and turned to see a half dozen men watching bemusedly. Their eyes were all over me, and in shame, I bent hunching over and tried to cover myself. The man who’d pulled me down barked something at me and grabbed the hair at the back of my head. In one motion, he manhandled me into standing, practically dangling as I stretched up on tippy toes. My hands and arms were totally inadequate at covering my body, but I tried anyway as the crowd around me howled in laughter.

Indignation swelled, a silent scream against the injustice of being handled like baggage. Each jostle stripped away layers of my hard-won independence, leaving me raw. I was treated as less than an animal. All my years of school, university, agent training, and successful work, had been stripped away like my clothing. It left just a naked, squealing woman at the mercy of crude, barbaric men leering and laughing. I could do nothing to stop them.

“This is my slave,” Jaxon declared as he broke through the semi-circle of guffawing men. The one holding me released me with a shove, sending me crashing into my partner. I clutched at him desperately. I couldn’t shield my backside from view, so I pressed my bare chest against his. The smooth weave of his flight suit caressed my nipples, turning protection into another layer of exposure. The men laughed and cooed at the two of us. There were some rude comments, but I barely heard them, just glad to be at least partially covered.

Before Jaxon could say anything, the elder warrior was dragging us away, “Come, we have food, and can discuss this wizard of yours.” He dragged us from the leering men to a nearby building that seemed to be some sort of communal meeting place. There were crude tables and benches made of logs, with a large firepit in the center of the building.

The other warriors who’d rescued us were already eating chunks of bread and meat in clusters. The elder gestured to a half-empty table and guided Jaxon to take a seat. I moved to sit next to him, and the elder warrior hissed at me, “What are you doing, woman? Make yourself useful and fetch us food and drink.”

I looked imploringly at Jaxon, and he returned a hard look. With a gulp, he said, “Do as you're told…”

A moment passed as I blinked, looking down at my partner, the traitor. He was right, of course. We were supposed to blend in, and given the circumstances, that meant I needed to play my role. I was halfway through a curtsey and apology to my owner when the elder placed a wickedly painful slap on my bared ass.

“Go on, girl!” he barked at me. “Fetch us drink before I tan that hide.”

Jaxon cocked an eyebrow at me. I had a role to play. I gave a nod of my head and forced myself away from him, naked. Scanning the dining hall quickly, I spotted tables set together at the back. There were trays of food and casks laid out, and women filling mugs and piling food into shallow wooden dishes. I moved towards them, trying hard not to think about how utterly naked I was.

As I approached the buffet, I could see the women were dressed, but in gauzy materials that were mostly see-through. It was then that I noticed they were all wearing collars. One strutted past with a smirk, her gaze raking my form, lips curling in sisterly betrayal. Disgust masked her own fears of replacement in this unforgiving hierarchy. She breezed by without a word. The rest of the group was giving me sidelong glances as I approached.

As if my job wasn’t difficult enough. I was a Federated Agent, sent here with my partner to find a known criminal. I had to play the role of a slave, but under Jaxon’s protection, I thought it would be manageable. Instead, we’d been shot down, and things had spiraled out of control since. Now I had to deal with catty bitches who were going to challenge an outsider to their in-group. I forced my eyes down to the ground as I approached, trying to act as demure as possible.

The group turned, lining up in front of the tables as I approached. Their standoffish clustering screamed territorial instinct, a mirror to my own past rivalries, but here amplified by chains. I was an interloper who threatened their fragile security. I stopped before the group instead and gave a little curtsey. “Please… I only need to serve my master.”

“Your master?” one said with a sneer.

“Lying slut,” another added, “her neck is bare.”

“A feral girl, uncollared, but she looks well used.” Another said as the group snickered. I couldn’t imagine how soiled I must look after hours of riding.

“Please,” I replied, “I am taken, I will not threaten any of your houses with a new girl disrupting what is already yours…”

They seemed to chew on this, giving me enough time to slip through them and gather six mugs. I began filling the mugs with a glance over my shoulder. The slave girls had gathered, giving me room, and were whispering among themselves. One with dark hair, olive skin, and a heart-shaped face gave me a glare of such hatred that I turned back to my task. She was older, perhaps in her late twenties, and probably worried that she was nearing the end of her service age. I was at least twice her age, but thanks to Federated medicine and health care, I looked younger. I was a threat if her owner were looking for a new slave.

A soft hand touched the back of my neck as I poured. A petite redhead stood next to me, offering me a wooden goblet. I looked into her eyes, searching for intent.

“I was told to deliver this to you. Drink.” The redhead told me.

“Thank you,” I replied, “but no.”

She blinked, confused, probably unused to a slave saying no. I needed a clear mind. I wasn’t about to drink any intoxicants.

“My master ordered me to prepare you for the ceremony. It is required.”

“Who ordered you?” I asked, watching her eyes dart to the table where Jaxon was talking animatedly with several of the men who’d rescued us, including the elder warrior. “What is it?”

“Your master’s sponsor, and my master, Thrain Kade, warrior first of the Kade tribe.” She nodded to the elder warrior who was insisting through gesticulation that Jaxon do something. “He bade me to give you slave wine as is custom for the Collaring Ceremony.”

Wine. They meant to get me drunk and have Jaxon snap a collar on me. If Jaxon wasn’t my owner, then I belonged to the rescuers. I wasn’t sure how final ownership would be settled. Perhaps they fought each other, or maybe just pulled me apart like a wishbone? “If my master wishes it, then I will drink the wine.”

She looked terrified, “Please, my master expects me to complete this simple task…”

“Tell my master what I’ve said. If he wishes it, then you can offer me the wine and complete your master’s task.”

“Yes, sister.” She whispered. The worry in her eyes didn’t diminish as she fled back to the table.

I finished pouring and turned to see the original group of slave women staring daggers at me. Whatever happened, I hoped we could disengage ourselves from this tribe as quickly as possible. Dealing with these girls was going to get old quickly.

Returning to the table, I saw that Jaxon was in an animated conversation with Thrain.

“… And if I refuse to collar her, she becomes property of the warriors that rescued me?” Jaxon asked with a quick glance at me. “What happens to her then?”

Thrain didn’t even acknowledge that I’d approached. “She would be the property of her captors. Each would have a claim on her for a night to sample her pleasures, then the party would come to an agreement on who she should go to. Typically, through purchase to the tribes coffers.”

A dozen nights of being swapped from man to man. Worse, would it be men who already had the catty slaves? Several weeks of being taken night after night, each man carving another piece of my will away until I was only holes and silence. Then having to deal with house jealousies, only to be sold like a side of beef. Now I was all too eager to participate in the Collaring Ceremony.

Jaxon must have read my mind, “Let’s do this then, I want to ensure my slave is properly claimed by...”

I set the mugs on the table, and all conversation died in an instant. Looking around the table, all eyes were on me. Unsure what I was supposed to do, I gave a quick curtsey, painfully aware of my breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath. Every movement was a fresh reminder that my body was no longer private, no longer mine alone.

Thrain calmly asked Jaxon, “Is this how slaves serve in your land?”

Another warrior hissed, “She needs a good thrashing to remind her of her place.”

Jaxon’s eyes darted, taking in the situation and realizing I’d somehow managed to insult everyone. He lashed out and grabbed my wrist, then yanked me down across his lap in one smooth motion. My natural inclination was to defend myself with an arm block and back away for distance, but I forced myself instead to just go with it, landing heavily across his lap.

I realized my bare ass was lifted helplessly toward the room. I felt a wave of humiliating heat flash through me. Before I could reach back to cover myself, Jaxon had me pinned down, one hand on the back of my neck, locking me in place, the other slapping my hands away, then resting on the back of my upper thighs. A shameful pulse ignited between my thighs. My body's defiant response clashed with my mind's fury, a civil war I'd never anticipated in training simulations.

“My apologies, brothers. She’s had quite a shock tonight during our capture. I can only hope that an infliction of punishment to this stupid girl will assuage any insult she might have caused.”

The analytical part of my brain agreed that it was the right move. Placate the group we were dependent on for acceptance. My own dignity part of my brain recoiled in horror; not only was I lewdly on display to these brutes, but Jaxon was explaining how he intended to deliver corporal punishment. Before a blow even landed, I knew my cheeks, both on my face and ass, were glowing crimson in shame.

A loud crack sounded behind me, then a sharp pain shot through me. There was no way to muffle the yelp that the slap caused. It was only the first of many. Jaxon put on a good show, and the blows rained down until I was a squirming, crying mess. It's impossible to describe how humiliating it is to go from an egalitarian society where everyone is respected, to being treated as nothing more than a child and spanked without any consent. Cries escaped as my own heat surged, not merely from impacts but from deeper, unwelcome stirrings. Wetness betrayed me, a physiological mutiny against my core self. Soaked actually, which was even worse. My body was simply reacting to the evolutionary stimuli that said my body was about to be used. Intellectually, I know it wasn’t me, but the heat in the pit of my belly said otherwise. My body, without me wanting it to, was reacting to the spanking as if it were foreplay.

When it finally ended, Jaxon grabbed my hair, wrenching my head back to look up at him. Diminished in a way no mission had prepared me for, his grip reduced me to fragility, unraveling the equality I'd fought for, thread by emotional thread. Sure, they were physically bigger and more athletic, but I’d worked hard to be their intellectual equal. This destroyed that. There was nothing I could have done to stop it, even if I’d tried, and that made me feel tiny among these men.

“You forget yourself girl.” Jaxon barked at me. “You will serve my drink on your knees. Then you will do the same for each man here.”

I actually had to blink back tears. Not because I was sorry for not serving properly, but because I felt so utterly reduced by Jaxon’s treatment of me.

“Now serve.” He hissed, shoving me off his lap. Looking up in his face, I saw only the mask he wore as an agent. He was playing a role. He had to be.

Scrambling to my knees, I snatched a mug off the table and offered it up to him while bending my head down. “Sir, your drink.”

He took it from me, and I repeated the scene another four times, moving around the table on hands and knees. When I’d tried to stand, Jaxon snarled at me. At that point, I had to just turn my brain off and let my body move robotically. I couldn’t look any of the men in their eyes. Knowing their eyes tracked the sway of my chest as I crawled, each involuntary motion dragging me further from the agent I had been, left a hollow ache behind my ribs.

When I returned to Jaxon, he told me, “Drink.” The redhead was kneeling beside him, looking down at the ground as if trying to spare me the shame of having watched me treated like a beast of burden.

I took the cup from the slave and sipped it.

“All of it,” Jaxon said firmly. He reached out and tilted the cup up from its bottom, flooding my mouth with the sickly-sweet liquid.

Fire burned down my throat, erupting into a blaze once it descended to my stomach. Finished, I gave the cup back to the redhead, refusing to look at her. It only took a few moments, and the heat in my belly seeped through my whole body, igniting a traitor’s fire deep in my core. My fingers twitched with the humiliating urge to relieve what I could not control. I gasped, wanting to touch myself, but couldn’t in front of all these men.

“Good,” Thrain said. “Let's start the ceremony.”

As the heat inside me simmered, I could only play along with whatever the men wanted. The spreading heat felt like theft, my nerves conspiring against the commander still inside, turning arousal into another betrayal I couldn’t fight. The mission was spiraling wildly out of control. And without a ship, there was no way for us to escape.