13 - Confessions 

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.