11 - Wake

Content Warning: Slavery, Non-con, FemSub,  Humiliation, Degradation, Training, Body Betrayal, Identity Erosion, Sci-fi

The lantern was still burning in the morning, even as the pen brightened with sunlight seeping in through cracks in the barn. Sylra’s arm lay across my stomach as she breathed heavily on my neck. The mattress was soft enough that I just wanted to lie a little longer, luxuriating.

First, I heard soft voices, then the screeching of the bar holding the doors shut. My heart raced, threatening to burst in my chest. Old instincts urged me to leap up as I would have in the Navy… but something else, something more humiliating, warned me that here that might be seen as defiance. So I stayed frozen on my back, shamefully aware of how soft and naked I felt under Sylra’s arm.”

The doors were flung open, and Mistress and Trainer marched in, each holding a bucket. No one in the huddle on the mattress was spared as frigid water splashed into our huddle. Some of the girls screamed, and everyone bolted upright. Having not quite been asleep, I was the only one to make it to my feet before Mistress started screaming at us.

“Get up, you lazy sluts! Let's go! Let's go! What are you standing there in a stupor for, Vessi? Get into Inspect now, or I’ll whip those tits right off you!”

Women scrambled out of wet blankets to stand at Inspect while Mistress paced back and forth like a prowling tiger.

“Lazy cunts. Is this how you plan to treat your master? Sleeping in like a herd of fat cows?” She demanded of us, then her pitch rose back to a scream, “Out in the yard, form up at Mother!”

We dashed as a group out of the barn as Mistress took random strikes at the asses of women moving too slowly. Outside, the sun was peaking over the horizon, and Matron stood at the fountain and on a small raised platform that was part of it. She looked picturesque, her crimson silks rippling in the gentle breeze as she waited for us. Her hair and make-up looked as if they’d taken hours to complete. Her warm smile lured us all in. 

I stepped forward and held out my arm to claim space, but the woman beside me smacked it away and dropped straight into Inspect. I followed, annoyed that she stood so close I could feel the heat of her body.

“Hurry, girls,” Matron beamed at us. “We always move on master’s timeline. There we go… Everyone standing beautifully at Inspect.”

The other girls stood stopped but they were scattered, with no symmetry or straight rows.

Mistress came up behind us and immediately started correcting the slaves on their positions. “Arch your back, like a slut in heat... Show your tits off, in case you’re too stupid to know, men like seeing a slave’s tits presented for them... Feet wide, we’ve all seen your bare cunt, you’ve nothing to hide…”

Matron spoke again, and Mistress stopped correcting with words. I still got a painful slash to my breast, then she pushed my elbows up painfully. 

“Alright, my sweet girls. Two perfect rows of four. Military straight. Shoulders back, chest out, knees spread, hands clasped behind your head. Now, darlings. Let Mother see how well you can obey.”

I tried to push the next girl into line, into order, but after her, it remained uneven and messy.

Matron let out a disappointed sigh, “Oh, girls… Is this the best you can do? Back to the pen. Let’s go.”

Mistress took over, “Back to pen sluts!” Her crop lashed out, making others squeal. I jogged back, giving her a wide berth. 

Inside the pen, I went straight to Inspect. Other women did the same as they came in and saw me. 

Before Mistress entered, I yelled out, “I’m going to form the front line, stand next to me, then hold out your left arm to push the girl closest to you and arm's length away.”

“Shut your cock hole,” Mistress yelled, entering behind the last girls. “That was a disgrace. You should all be ashamed. I know you are all upset, your disappointed Mother, and so you can do penance by dropping into Brace! Now!”

I went down to my knees on the muddy ground, dropping my chest to the mud and throwing my arms over my head. Some of the girls hesitated or tried to move to drier spots, only to inflame Mistress fury.

“I said Brace, you mad cow! Get down in it, get your tits in the mud… When your master tells you Brace, you do it immediately.”

She waited a moment, letting us feel the soggy straw and sticky dirt before demanding Inspect. As suspected, when I stood there were clumps of mud and filth water tickling down my arms and neck. I ignored it, focusing on a perfect Inspect.

Mistress moved a few girls around using both words and the crop. When she was satisfied everyone was in the worst spot possible, she cried “Yeild!”

Without uttering the groan I wanted, I fell to my back, bending my knees and spreading my arms out beside me. Soffy ground oozed all around my body. I’d spent days of travel without cleaning, only to have it applied to me last night, and all the clean taken away this morning. Six weeks.

“Get down in it! Spread those knees! If he wants to take you in the mud like a common brothel slut you will do it gladly!” Mistress yelled more insults, but they were becoming background noise to me. Until she loomed over me.

“You drop in the mud quickly, Vessi… Were you a common whore?” She said with a vile smirk.

“No, mistress,” I said. No explanations, no giving her rope to hang me with.

“I’ll just bet you were,” Mistress said, lifting a boot. I had a moment of panic thinking she was going to stomp on my head. Instead, she wiped the sole across my face. I closed my eyes. I was completely filthy. 

Mistress called Inspect, and before any of us could even assume the position, drove us back into the yard.

I sprinted back to my spot and started calling out instructions to form proper lines, using the old training without thinking. Mistress immediately shut me down.

The last of the naked women were getting in formation. I’d done all I could, I snapped into Inspect as the sun’s first warm rays caressed my skin. 

Matron smiled sweetly from her platform, “Oh, much better, my sweet girls. Better, but not perfect. See what happens when one clever girl helps her sisters?” 

She stepped down to the courtyard and approached me, caressing my muddy cheek with a hand. To the others, she announced, “Vessi showed you all the way. Mother is so proud of her.”

She went back to her perch and announced that every morning we would start with an intense session of Vyrkesh, the slave yoga, to prepare us for the day. By intense, she meant long. We spent the next two hours performing slave positions mixed with stretching and plenty of humiliation. Some of the poses were downright pornographic without being penetrative. 

One pose, for example, had us start on our backs, then lift ourselves up with three limbs while using a hand to hold our labia open. Worse still, every pose was an endurance test lasting so long that every girl's limbs were shaking uncontrollably. When you're trembling and holding yourself… The sensation is unreal. 

Matron and Trainer performed the same poses alongside us, holding them with steady ease. None of us had ever been forced to stay frozen like that for so long.

Mistress seemed to have a special hatred for me. Every time a pose left me exposed, she was there. The crop landed sharply on my breasts, my thighs, my swollen pussy lips until they throbbed and burned. When I inevitably failed or took a quick break, she was there to strike when I was most exposed and vulnerable. By the end of the two hours, my pussy was swollen and slick, the constant throb between my legs so insistent it brought fresh tears of shame to my eyes.

She wasn’t satisfied with just striking me. She dragged the flat of the crop slowly between my folds, then held it up for the others to see. ‘Look how wet the Pale Sheath is. She’s dripping like a bitch in heat.’ The shame burned brighter than the welts. This allowed Matron to explain to us that if it was men's intent to hurt us for their amusement, it was our duty to provide that for them. The notion was repulsive, but so was the way my body gushed after every strike. By the end of the two hours, I was beside myself with want to just caress my lips, which I knew would lead to a humiliating orgasm. 

I had always known they would break me eventually… but not this fast. Not with my own body turning against me so eagerly. The shameful, constant throb between my legs made me hate myself more than the crop ever could.

“And flow into Kneel… Breathe… and Bow.” Matron announced. Exhausted and utterly spent I hoped it was the end, and not just another tease before launching into another set of painful stretches. “Good girls, Vyrkesh is done for the day. Form a single line at the scales for weighing. Breakfast comes after.” 

There were many sighs of relief, and I’d be lying to say I wasn’t one of them. Tucked to the side of the barn was a scale, and my sister slaves trudge to it to line up. 

Mistress stood at the scale, adding or taking stones away as each woman stepped up to it. She publicly announced how many stones each girl weighed, and the line got quiet. Woman by woman stepped up only to be berated for not measuring up to Mistress’s impossible standards. Her eyes caught mine with a predatory smile as I shuffled closer.

“Pale sheath, I’ve been eager to see just how heavy you are.” She said when it was my turn. 

I stepped onto the scale, and the needle dropped heavily to one side. 

Mistress smirked and placed an eighth stone on. There was no movement. She added a ninth stone and the needle bobbed, but didn't move. Her face watched the scale closely, calculating. She’d seen this a thousand times. When she set a tenth stone on it, the needle slowly crawled to the opposite side. Mistress quickly set two more stones on the scale, causing the needle to slam to its final position.

“Twelve stones,” she announced.

I swallowed the protest, heat rising in my cheeks. Arguing would only make it worse. I bowed my head and answered softly, “Yes, Mistress.”

“Off with you,” she snarled, shoving me off the scale as quickly as possible. I’d been singled out as the heaviest. The unfairness seemed to turn the others against me.

The teach moment happened when Mira, the woman who’d been told to pleasure me last night, got on the scale. Mistress did the same routine, at eight stone the scale tipped slowly. She then placed two more stones quickly and announced that she was ten stones, when in fact she was closer to seven and a half.

Mira protested, “But Mistress? I’m not…”

Her protest was cut off, the reaction immediate. Mistress slapped Mira, sending her off the scale. Without pause, Mistress was on her with the crop. She struck savage blows along the cowering woman’s backside. 

“Keep that worthless mouth shut! Unless it's wrapped around your owner's cock.” Mistress snarled, “You dare question me, you stupid cow?”

Mistress grabbed Mira by the hair, yanking her back as the woman cried apologies. The crap began landing on Mira’s front side, viscous blows to her thighs and breasts. “Never question your betters! Ever! If a man or a trainer says you are too heavy, then you are too fucking heavy! If I say you’re a fat sow that doesn’t deserve to eat, then you thank me.”

The crop was a blur of snaps and cracks, leaving scarlet spots all over Mira’s body. 

“Say it! Thank me for correcting your worthless body.” She released Mira’s hair, and the slave fell to all fours, sobbing. 

“Thank you, Mistress, for correcting this worthless slave’s body…”

“Good girl.” Mistress turned, pointing the crop at the rest of us. “Understand your place. Slaves do not argue. Slaves do not doubt. You obey.”

Everyone’s head remained bowed, and not a word was uttered. I felt no satisfaction in spotting the trap. Only a brief, shameful wave of relief that it wasn’t me this time. This place was already winning. It had taken less than a day to make me feel relief when someone else was punished instead of me.

“Vessi, you are such a clever, good girl,” She mocked too sweetly. “A good girl knows that she should be wet and ready for her master at all times. Are you?”

“I pray yes, Mistress,” I said. Stars forbid that I simply say yes and defy her by not being ready.

She lifted the crop, inspecting it, then announced, “Vessi learns quickly. You’d all do well to follow her lead. She’s wet and ready for her owner, as all slaves should be.”

When Matron and Trainer returned, Mistress ordered us all to Kneel. All eight of us were visibly exhausted, trembling from exertion. As Trainer walked down the line with a large bowl of what looked like peaches. Mistress stepped along the line nodding, but she pointed her crop at Ryx and said, “No.” Ryx was left empty-handed as Trainer passed by her on her way to me.

When it was my turn, Mistress announced, “Twelve stone.” My stomach grumbled as Trainer walked past without a glance. My only small satisfaction was that I hadn’t been made into the lesson.

Matron took her place on the fountain dias and watched as a few more women received fruit. Then she announced, “Listen up, girls. Some of you have fruit, and some do not. This may seem unfair, but fairness is not owed to you. Your master will decide if you eat or not, whether you are thin enough, or deserve it.”

She smiled kindly at the girls with fruit in their hands.

“To those of you holding fruit, I am quite impressed. Not a single one took a bite without permission. You do your status honor, waiting to be allowed. You may eat now, on your knees, slowly, and with dignity. Be thankful for every bite you have been allowed.”

And the women around me began eating. Ryx, a few women to my left looked about ready to cry, while Mira in the back row smoldered in anger. I expected not to receive lunch, and possibly dinner. A low-protein diet with lots of high-energy activity would deplete our reserves, make thinking and resisting difficult, and make us all much more susceptible to the training. I closed my eyes and tried to hold onto who I used to be. I’m still an officer. I’m stronger than this. But the sound of them eating made my stomach pang with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

Trainer took Matron's place and ran us through our slave positions. We’d remain in place for minutes as Mistress wankled through ranks, correcting even the most minute or imaginary failures with her crop. By the third hour, some were in tears, sobbing. I refused. Mistress visited me with every pose, correcting dozens of shortcomings. My ass and breasts were raw with the volume of crop strikes I’d received. I was only disappointed in myself that I couldn’t keep the yelps muffled. Near the end, I allowed some tears to slip down my cheeks in hopes of placating Mistress, but they only seemed to encourage her to point them out to everyone. She seemed to take pride in breaking the uppity foreigner.

The last twenty minutes of this session were spent in speed position changes, dropping to our knees, leaping up, falling onto our backs. Mistress was always there correcting, for every small thing. I earned a viscous slap to pussy when I failed to hold it open in Cradle.

When Matron took the stage and called us all to Kneel I was relieved for the small break. My entire body ached, and my stomach grumbled. I just wanted to curl up in the dirt right where I was and take a long nap. This was only the first day.

“Sweet girls,” Matron called out. “So tired already. It’s so disappointing that you all struggled so much with something that should be second nature. Positions should be your first nature.I expected so much better on our first day.”

She paused, letting the words simmer around us. This is where she would announce that we didn’t deserve lunch to focus on our training.

“However… Some of you tried so hard. And that pleases me. So against the wishes of the other trainers, I am granting lunch…” 

There was a chorus of relieved sighs. 

“Girls! Dignity. Another outburst like that and we’ll have you all running laps around the courtyard instead.”

The excitement quieted down in an instant.

“Before we eat, there are chores. Like everything in life, work before pleasure. Front row will clean the pen. Back row you will clean the yard. You will do so on your hands and knees. Those who work hard and demonstrate the proper attitude will enjoy lunch. Those who complain or are slow will watch the others eat.”

She smiled sweetly as she looked at us.

“Show Mother you want to be good girls. Begin.”

Four of us crawled to the pen on hands and knees, where Trainer was waiting with small hand brooms. The water had dried, and we swept up the leftover straw, tidying up. We were allowed to stand to carry the mattress outside and beat it with our brooms, then it was back to being an animal.

Trainer made us repeat everything until our arms shook and our knees burned. I wanted to encourage the others, but I knew speaking up would only make them resent me more.

After an hour, the pens were finally deemed worthy of kenneling slaves, and we were allowed back to the fountain. I saw literally no difference in the courtyard, but Mistress was busy berating and yelling at the other group as they swept endlessly.

Finally, we were back in two rows, all of us in kneel, hoping there would be a meal. Wondering who would be called out. Trainer exited the house with a large bowl. My grumbling stomach hoped it was food.

“Kaelia,” Matron called out to a dark-haired girl who was one of Lira’s followers. One who’d helped abused Ryx all night. “Go to the shelves and fetch the meal bowls for your sisters. Pass them out to each girl.”

She leaped up and practically ran to the shelf next to the trough and returned with bowls for all of us. I stared at the wooden bowl balanced on my thighs, wishing to see it filled with anything. I noticed we weren’t given eating utensils.

“Sweet girls. You have not earned the right to eat sitting up. Place your bowls in front of you. When you are given the command to eat, you will lean down and eat from the bowl like the disappointing little beasts you are.”

Trainer stepped up to the first girl at the right end of my row. “Do you mean to make me bow? Hold your bowl up.” Kealia lifted her bowl hopefully, but the trainer barely glanced at her as she reached into the container and dropped a small handful of greens into it. Without a word, she stepped past her to the next girl.

There was a sudden sharp series of smacks and yelps in the back row. Mistress screamed, “Get that bowl down, you stupid slut! Mother gave you an order.”

The women in the front row corrected themselves quickly, lowering their bowls until Trainer stepped up in front of them. My stomach growled watching the scene repeat itself. When Trainer got to me, I held up my bowl and felt a rush of faintness as I watched her sprinkle bits of salad into my bowl. I set it down and resumed kneeling with hands on thighs the moment she stepped away. 

“Eat!” Matron called out. I didn't even think, just dove face-first into the salad.

Part of me burned with hatred as Matron spoke of a woman’s natural duty to serve and please men. The other part of me could only think about food.

They expected us to participate. Every few minutes we had to shout back mantras. Mistress singled me out constantly, calling my effort insufficient.

“A wet cunt means I’m a good slave.”

“When I hesitate, I fail the man who owns me.”

“If I’m not eager, I am broken.”

We repeated them after every pause. I had no strength to resist, so I shouted with the others. Two girls fainted. My own head felt fuzzy.

After a brief pause, Matron announced, “Well done, girls, take all of this to heart, and it will guide you. Now… You have a few minutes to relieve yourselves before we continue. We will begin confessionals soon, so do not dally.”

My stomach tightened. Confessionals? What exactly were we supposed to confess? And how much would they make us say out loud?”