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The Seasoning House - Part 1

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The Seasoning House - Part 1

Post by Danicali299 »

If you've read anything I've written before you know the drill. My slavery universe is dark, and you've been warned.

Also if you would like to know where this character was introduced into my universe, you will find her in this part of Anna's Story - viewtopic.php?t=1088

Also, as usual, I would like to thank Zee, Carl Bradford, Mr. Smith, EroticStorySpinner, and Avvy for all the input and editing that you guys give me while I write these things.

The Seasoning House: Part 1

My family was pissed at me and all I heard from the time I was arrested was, "Mei what's wrong with you? You should be feeling more guilty right now" or "Mei, we're so disappointed in you. Why would you do something so fucked up". I was pissed that nobody cared that I lost my freedom over some slave walking on the side of the road when I should've lost my license and paid a fine at the most. Hell, I would've even replaced the slave with some of the money in my trust fund if they asked me to.

Instead, I was arrested in front of all my friends at college and got to spend a week in jail because the judge didn't like my "attitude" and gave me a contempt of court charge. Even worse, my parents thought that declining to bail me out after it was finally set would teach me a lesson that I "needed to learn". So instead of my family helping me with more than a lawyer, I was stuck in county jail for two months getting my food stolen by the other women and narrowly avoiding getting beat up multiple times because I didn't know how to act around all those scummy people. They wouldn't even put money on my books so I could buy real soap and toothpaste off of commissary, I had to degrade myself by cleaning other women's cells and acting like a slave in exchange for even the most basic shit beyond the kit I was given when I got there. It was honestly hell, and the only lesson I learned there was how much I had fucked up that day and how much my family really cared about me.

Thank God my dad had some connections from when he was a prosecutor, and my uncle was a good lawyer. I got to avoid going to prison for this bullshit, and that made me a little happy at least. I shouldn't have been drunk driving, and I did feel bad that I killed someone after the other women in jail drilled it into my head that I was a piece of shit for not even sticking around to call 911, but I still thought at the time that they were blowing things out of proportion when they arrested me. It was still just a slave, and she was just as responsible for her death as I was.

That girl shouldn't have been walking someplace without a sidewalk that close to dark, and now I was getting literal fucked in the ass time as a slave because some random housekeeper got herself killed when she should've been at home doing her job at that time of day. I didn't even get why it was a felony considering she was just a slave, it's not like she was a regular person. Her owners were even in court crying their eyes out while reading some sappy shit about how that woman was like family to them and her kids were devastated that she was never coming home again.

Seeing how sad that family was when I was in court did make me feel a little guilty though, even if the woman was still just a slave. I probably would've been pissed too if the woman who took care of my kids got killed by a drunk driver. Still, I didn’t understand why they were treating her like she was irreplaceable. I liked my family’s slave too, but when she passed it was just a simple matter of getting a nice box to bury her ashes in and getting a new one a week later. After the initial sadness, the worst part of it all was having to cook my own food and do my own hair while my parents took their sweet time picking out a new housekeeper.

It was a pretty sweet plea deal though, five years of slavery instead of ten years in prison for my trumped-up charges. I was mad that the judge gave me an extra year of slavery when I was sentenced though. Either way, I was avoiding being labeled a felon, so I was "lucky" according to my dad. I didn't even know how I was going to spend those years, but I'm hot so I figured I would end up in a brothel or something. I liked sex anyway and was pretty good at it as far as I knew so it seemed natural. Hell, I even had the advantage of being one of the better-looking Asians I saw in that horrible warehouse while I was waiting to be shipped out.

Compared to the scrawny imports from Asia there that had no tits, no ass, and faces flatter than their tits, I was a fucking queen with my C-cups and good-sized ass. They were only good for manual labor or being some family's bargain-basement domestic, while the better-looking ones and the Asian-Americans like me were good enough to satisfy some loser's fetish since we resembled the porn they watched a little better.

I even had a little fun with this scrawny Latina girl while we were on the truck to the slave dealership and convinced her to get her nonexistent panties out of a bunch and suck a couple of the dicks that were poking into our compartment. She was so terrible at it that I took pity on her and taught her how to do it right. I felt like it was one of the most important skills I learned while partying my way through college. Little did I know that it was about to become an important survival skill.

Afterward, she even kept me warm by cuddling with me, and I rewarded my new blanket with what looked like her first real orgasm in her life judging by how she reacted. She was a little needy and annoying still, but she was good with her tongue so I didn't mind taking care of her as long as I got taken care of too. After we parted ways and I received my punishment for our little bit of fun, I did hope that she ended up somewhere nice. She was ghetto trash, but she was one of the good ones I would want taking care of my house.

Despite my happiness t avoiding prison, I was still scared about becoming a slave though. What if I wasn't picked to be sold as a sex slave and I had to spend five years working in a factory or on some farm all day? I saw the documentaries about those places in school for some stupid history class, and the thought of being worked like dog and whipped for not meeting some made-up quota had me scared shitless.

I didn't like my odds as one of those domestic slaves either. I didn't even clean my own room at home or even know how to cook anything more complex than a pack of ramen noodles. I would've been the most useless house slave ever, and if my dad's punishments for our slave were anything to go by I already knew that I wouldn't survive as one. That left me with one option that didn't involve spending years in prison or being worked until my sexy body was destroyed by all that hard labor. Good old-fashioned sex slavery, the world’s oldest profession.

I didn’t even know why my parents were freaking out about the sex slave thing either when we were talking about it on our way to drop me off at Mercer for processing. Even they knew that I wouldn’t have survived over a decade in prison or doing hard labor all day for the next five years. They were just shocked that their daughter was OK with being used like that. I didn’t blame them though. My parents knew I liked to have fun, but I doubt they knew the details of my sex life enough to know how many one-night stands I’ve had after all these parties in college.

Having sex all day for half of my 20s didn't even seem that bad, to be honest. Sure, there were gonna be some gross guys and losers, but I figured that a few orgasms a day would easily make me forget them as I fell asleep with a bunch of other horny women with very little supervision if the reality shows were to be believed. If I played my cards right, I would even have the opportunity to meet the right guy and hopefully end up not having to work after I finished my indenture.

My expectations were confirmed upon our arrival at the dealership where, after our initial intake, I was taken to the pen where the future sex slaves were kept. Unlike the other slaves in the store, we had our own special section that was gated off from the rest of the store for "morality" reasons. It honestly felt like we were a higher class of slave and it seemed nice not being put on display with a bunch of ugly maids. This segregation also meant that we didn't get the dresses the other slaves got, and had to make do with these modesty wraps that were tied around our waists. It was a shock, to say the least, and seeing how most of the other girls didn't even mind being exposed like that made me think that I was just being dramatic.

Apart from the excruciating boredom and terrible food in the dealership, it didn't seem too bad of a time standing there all day and having customers see how good I looked. Not having my phone was still torture though, and I was annoyed that I couldn’t even see what my friends were up to now. It was one thing to miss having fun with them because I was locked up in jail or stuck wearing an alcohol monitor the week I was let out to get my affairs in order, but it was another to be completely in the dark like I was now. I was hopeful however that I'd end up in one of those high-end places where I could get some work done on my owner's dime or get to be one of those lucky slaves that got good tips from the customers at least. Maybe I would even be able to find someone to be a trophy wife for if I was lucky.

Then, once I saw how the people coming there to buy sex slaves for their brothels treated us, I realized that I would have to endure a little suffering before I could get to the good part. Before I was inspected, I got to watch a man old enough to be my father inspect the woman across from me like she wasn't even a person, only to start probing her vagina with his gloved fingers a moment later. I could tell that she wasn't very into it, and was barely holding herself together while this guy was "testing her sensitivity" as the salesman called it. In reality, this mostly entailed pinching and squeezing her most sensitive areas while the man examining her evaluated how much the slave could feel.

I wasn't supposed to, but I couldn't not watch this woman get violated right in front of me. Luckily he was only looking for a black girl, so I got off easy that day and only got a preview of what was to come for me. Still, looking at this treatment made me nervous and left me wondering if there was more to all of this than I thought there would be when I took the plea deal.

The next day it was my turn almost as soon as the store opened. It was a man old enough to be my father again, and I cringed as he had his hands all over me like I was a cheap whore. At the time, I still didn’t consider myself one, but future events would soon prove me wrong. I didn't fare much better than the woman from yesterday though, and could barely keep it together while my nipples and clit were being squeezed to the point of pain. I was told when I got there that I would get punished if I lost my composure, and fought harder than I've ever fought before to not freak out while I could feel his fingers inside me. He even made me clean my minuscule amount of juices off of his glove with my mouth before he used the spit on the glove as the world's worst lube while he put two fingers in my ass just to see how I reacted.

I naturally reacted by whimpering from the pain and discomfort, and like my sounds of discomfort when he was testing my sensitivity, he seemed to like my reaction in some perverse way. While he was testing my gag reflex he was even stroking my hair while seemingly ignoring the fact that he was making me almost puke all over the floor.

I knew sex slaves were treated like that when I researched what would happen to me, but for some reason, I thought it would be sexier or feel better than that. One of the information videos I saw even showed the potential buyer making the slave cum as part of his inspection. Instead, I got a gloved hand put into me dry while an uncaring salesman looked on commenting on how nice my tits were. It was all so clinical and uncaring as if I was just three holes that just happened to be attached to a body instead of a person.

Luckily his exam didn't last too long after he was done working his way inside me and by the time it was completed he seemed satisfied with me. I was shaking by that point and had no idea what he thought about me as I was ordered to get on my knees and masturbate right in front of him as a part of some test. This wasn't the right place or time for something like this, and I struggled to even get wet enough to do anything while this man and the salesman were just staring down at me while I at least tried to fake some noises that I thought would satisfy them. Apparently whatever I did worked though, and I could hear some satisfaction in his voice when he told me to stop. I wished that he would have let me cum, but at that moment it seemed like he was going to buy me, and getting out of the slave dealership was more important to me than an orgasm at that point. Then he confirmed this when he said to the salesman, "not a bad whore for 50,000, I'll take her. After a little time in the seasoning house, she might be good enough for my place."

I had no idea what a seasoning house was, but I assumed that it was someplace they trained slaves based on what he said. That couldn’t be too bad, I thought to myself. How horrible could it be to learn how to have better sex? It still sucked being turned into a piece of meat, but a place like that had to teach the slaves there how to find some enjoyment in sleeping with God knows how many people every day.

It was surreal being sold though, and I'm pretty sure I almost passed out realizing that I was that old guy's property. I was beginning to have my regrets and started to realize that maybe going to prison wouldn't have been worse than the shortcut I was taking now. Still, there was nothing I could do as I was taken to a holding pen to wait for one of the Mercer transport vans to take me to wherever I was going after I walked out those doors.

I was even happy I got a shitty dress and some plastic sandals to wear while I waited though, and I could see the weird mix of relief and fear on these slaves' faces while we all waited to find out where we were going. I felt bad for them knowing that most of them would be spending God knows how long living boring lives being worked to the bone, while I got the easy indenture I deserved. I shouldn't have cared too much about them though. Apart from the slaves born into that life, it was their own fault that they were in the same pen as me waiting to be taken to their new home. I couldn't even feel bad for the ones born into it, to be honest, it's not like they knew any better life and would just be a waste of public resources if they were free anyway.

Eventually, the van showed up after a few hours of waiting and we were loaded in one by one by the driver, with each one of us being led to a plastic seat lining the side and ordered to put out seat belts on. Then we were locked into the dozen pairs of handcuffs dangling from the ceiling.

Mine were too tight, and I tried to tell the driver, but all I got in response was, “Your asshole is too tight too, but if you don’t stop annoying me I can still fit my cattle prod up there.”

I didn’t know if he was serious about putting a cattle prod up my ass, but I got the hint and shut up as he closed the doors and started to drive away. He still could’ve loosened the cuffs before the closed the door at least, but the others were glaring at me like I committed a crime by complaining and I dropped it while I hoped my trip would be short.

The ride didn’t suck too much at least. It was still tight in the back of the van, and I was pressed between these two slaves who would have benefited from losing a few pounds. But at least the driver had the heat going in the back so we weren’t so cold. It didn’t help though that my arms were falling asleep from being held up by the handcuffs the whole time and it made me want to go insane. Overall it just sucked and I already missed my BMW, even if it was just a base model. Luckily the fat ones squeezing me like a lemon were let off at the first stop and I got to spread my legs a bit and be comfortable for a little while at least.

The remaining slaves still confused me though, and I didn't get why they were so sad and nervous every time we stopped and one of us was let out. I actually lost a good life where I was going to do something successful when I was enslaved. These people were just poor and irresponsible before they were slaves, and weren't that different from slaves when they were free anyway. Honestly, they should've been happy that someone else was taking care of them when they proved that they couldn't anymore. In the end, some people were just better off as slaves.

Thankfully I didn't have to be around those depressing people much longer and I was finally delivered to the seasoning house. It was a nondescript building on the edge of the suburbs surrounded by a barbed wire-topped fence that looked like a warehouse on the outside, of course, it was a shithole. On my way in I could see groups of naked slaves doing laps around the building in the cold while an overseer kept pace behind them shocking the stragglers. Their yelps of pain put me off a bit and I started to realize that this was probably not going to be a nice place to spend any amount of time in. I also had no idea what running had to do with being a good sex slave, but I hoped my years of track in high school and college wouldn't fail me.

Once we were inside I was taken into a small intake area that looked like a shitty locker room and ordered to strip for inspection. It wasn’t much different than the spot inspections in the warehouse and dealership, even though I still hated being touched like that, and after a minute of being handled like a piece of meat I was allowed to take the first warm shower I had in weeks. It felt nice to not freeze under the shower head for once, and even though the towel I was given sucked I guess it was good enough.

Then again I was still a slave and it wouldn't have mattered anyway if the towel was a little nicer. I was still discovering that what was utter trash for me when I was free was considered a luxury for all these slaves who had even lower standards for themselves than the women in jail. Even the cheap hygiene kits that we came with were trash, but to all the other slaves around me, a thin towel and some shit from the dollar store seemed to be the best thing they'd ever owned if their reactions were anything to go by. Meanwhile, I was just happy to stop sharing a toothbrush with 23 other women and get a pair of panties that didn't feel like my favorite shopping bag back home.

I was used to a certain "standard" in my life, and the hardest part of being enslaved so far was dealing with how shitty everything we were given was compared to the nice things I had at home. There was a day in the warehouse's punishment pen where I even put dirt from the floor into my knockoff soy milk to at least make it look and taste like my morning latte. I wouldn't recommend putting dirt in my drink again, but it did allow me to pretend I was drinking something other than shitty soy milk before that bitch and her pet following her around came back and had the overseer watching us eat and use the bathroom put the bags back over our heads and lock us back into that position that left me sore the whole day. Still, it was all only temporary, and after my time being trained I hope it would be smooth sailing for the rest of my indenture.

Then, after my shower, I was shocked when the overseer threw my clothes that I neatly placed on the table in the trash right in front of me. I assumed that the slaves running naked were being punished, and we would have clothes to wear at least. I protested, and this time I wasn't so lucky. In one swift movement, the overseer grabbed me by the hair and forced me to my knees before I even knew what hit me.

He forcefully pressed his cattle prod into my thigh and said, “Listen here slave, after this moment you will not speak out of turn, you will not complain, and you will do what you’re told without question. I’ve seen your type before, and read your profile already. Dumbass little rich girls thinking they’re beating the system when they get in trouble come through here every month, and every month they get turned into obedient whores just like the others.”

Then he pressed his prod into my leg a little harder until it felt like it was going to pierce my skin and forcefully said, "Now spread your legs and hold still. You're already wasting my time as it is."

Then he delivered a good long shock to each of my thighs as I cried out in pain and struggled not to curl up in a ball on the floor and beg for mercy. I already knew from recent experience in the warehouse that begging would get me nowhere, and remembered that the last time I begged it made the punishment worse. I got light shocks here and there in the warehouse for mouthing off, but up until that point the worst I received was being put into the punishment pens for half of my time there. Even then, that was just being handcuffed to the floor all day in an uncomfortable position with a bag over our heads to shut us up in between bathroom breaks and feedings. This however was a real punishment meant to have that memory in the back of my head every time I wanted to speak out of turn ever again.

By that point, I had fallen on my back and closed my eyes as I could feel those prongs getting closer and closer to my pussy, and started to hyperventilate as I could feel the overseer probing me with that thing. I had no idea what a cattle prod going off inside of me would feel like, but my imagination told me it would be horrible. Luckily he was only scaring me, and in the end he pulled it out instead of inflicting the horrific pain I was anticipating. I was still hyperventilating and freaking out from it all though, and in the interest of moving things along the overseer grabbed me and got me back into the position I was in before he started shocking me.

Then he said while stroking my hair in the rough way only an overseer knows how to do, "you're gonna be fine slave, quit freaking out and follow me to your bed so you're not my problem anymore."

Before I could get up, however, I still had to endure the nerve-wracking experience of him putting the end of his prod into my mouth so I could clean my juices off of it. I had no idea how I even got a little wet from that, but it was humiliating and terrifying using my tongue to clean myself off of the cold metal and plastic of the very thing I was just being punished with. In that moment all I could do was close my eyes and hope that I didn’t hear the click of the safety being taken off of the cattle prod’s trigger while I had that horrible thing in my mouth.

Afterward, I got up and nervously followed him into the slave barracks that were just down the hall from where we were. The tile floor was just as cold on my feet as the concrete I was getting somewhat used to, and I even got to see a group of naked slaves being led into another room down the hallway for a split second before we reached our destination.

Then, when I saw the conditions I was supposed to be living in, I felt like I wanted to die. The concrete and tile room that they called a dormitory was basic and un-sexy, to say the least. It also didn't help that the LED lights in there were so bright that I could see every stain and dirt spot on the floors and painted walls as I was being led to my bed. Our "rooms" were no bigger than a bathroom stall and seemed to use the same kind of cheap dividers as well that allowed our neighbors to clearly see us through the six-inch gap between the bottom of the divider and the floor. Then inside these stalls, all we had was a plastic-looking sleeping mat like the shitty mattresses in jail, and a thin pillow and blanket that was bundled up in a neat roll on the floor. We did get a small milk crate for our few possessions at least, so I wouldn't have to keep digging in my bag for every little thing I needed.

Other than making my jail cell from before look nice, the only thing that stood out was a steel cable like the ones the dealership locked around our ankles to keep us in our display area bolted to the floor. I had no idea what the hell it was there for, and I hoped to God that I wasn't going to be shackled to the floor of my "room" for the rest of the day like I was going to somehow run away from that place while I was completely naked and clearly looking like a slave. It happened sometimes, and you regularly saw runaways on the news, but the punishment wasn’t worth the risk for most slaves. I already missed my old room more than anything else, and all the bullshit promises I heard that things would get better for me were just that. Bullshit. It was still better than sleeping on the bare concrete, but I was insulted that people like me were expected to live like this.

The overseer could see me looking at the cable and said bluntly, “We lock you into your stall every night so nobody does anything stupid. Make sure to get your bathroom run out of the way before lockdown or else your only hope is begging a stray overseer to let you go.”

Then, coincidentally, he had me lay down on the mat and locked the cable around my left ankle, and said, "Alright, one of the trainers should be by soon to take you to your class. In the meantime, I think you owe me for having to punish you earlier, so get on your knees and don't take it out of your mouth until I tell you. Do you understand, or do I have to translate it to spoiled rich girl?"

I assumed he was talking about giving him head, but for some reason, all I could do was freeze in fear and confusion as he unzipped his pants in front of me. This wasn't some hot guy at a party, nor was it some random slave in that trailer I could suck off as a joke. This was an overseer treating me like the slave he saw me as, and I had no idea what to do beyond opening my mouth and waiting for him to do something. This was my first sexual experience as a slave being used by a free person and I didn't even know if I was allowed to take the initiative. Hell, I didn't even want some sweaty middle-aged guy's cock in my mouth in the first place, so why would I make the first move? Either way I clearly fucked up with my reaction and was about to pay the price for it.

He didn't seem pleased and said in a condescending tone, "You put the dick in your mouth and you suck it until I'm finished. Then you swallow everything and clean me off with that pretty little tongue of yours. Do I need to facefuck you to show you how this works?"

I still had no idea what to do, and he took that as an invitation to grab me by the hair and guide his cock inside of my mouth whether I was ready for it or not. I was not, and I struggled to keep up with it all as he trusted in and out of my mouth while practically slamming into the back of my throat over and over again while I just sat there on my knees holding back all the tears and panic I could while he held my head in place the whole time he was using me. I was lucky, and he wasn't big enough to trigger my gag reflex too much, but by the time he came inside my mouth a few minutes later, I didn't even taste his cum. Instead, I was too preoccupied with being a coughing mess on all fours trying to recover from it all while the area around my mouth was covered in a mix of cum and saliva. This wasn't sex, this was being used, and I didn't know how any woman could find a way to enjoy being fucked like that.

I wasn't done, however, and he grabbed me by my hair again while he maneuvered my head back into place so I could clean off his cock and balls with my tongue. I could taste it that time, and the mixed flavors of sweat, cum, and my own spit made me gag the whole time I was tasting him. It was horrible, and I realized very quickly that the sex I had enjoyed as a free woman was going to be very, very different from the sex I would be having as a slave. Then to add insult to injury, the perverted bastard used my hair as a towel to dry himself off when just I thought he was done with me.

Afterward, I didn't even know how to react as I just sat there on my knees breathing heavily while watching him zip up his pants. Apart from my throat being a bit sore it didn't hurt, but I still felt wrong for some reason as I wished that I had just taken the initiative so this wouldn't have happened in the first place. I wasn't even allowed to clean my face or my hair before an Indian-looking trainer in her mid 30's approached and asked the overseer, "So, how's the new girl Evan?"

He replied as he left, “Not good Mira, spoiled little bitch couldn’t even give a proper blowjob. I had to do all the work myself. You guys have your work cut out for you with this one.”

It was humiliating being seen like this by another woman, and as she was unlocking me she looked at me and said sarcastically, "My, my, you're a hot mess. We're not gonna worry about that now though, it'll wash off fine tomorrow morning. Now get on your knees, keep your eyes on the floor, and your hands in front of you when I am speaking to you"

As I was getting into the proper position I could feel her looking me up and down. I already knew from the warehouse and the dealership that I was nothing more than a product with this fucking barcode on my wrist, but the reality of actually being that product was starting to get through to me and I couldn't handle it. I was already in tears from the punishment and the failed blowjob, and by this point, I was barely keeping them back while this woman was standing there in front of me probably wondering how much more pathetic I could be today.

Then she introduced herself as Mistress Khatri and said in a serious tone, "First things first slave, we need to make sure you understand how things work here. You're not in your comfortable house, or your nice bed getting your feet rubbed by your house slave while you just get to relax all day. You are the slave here, and your name is either going to be slave, slut, or whore until you leave here. Also since you're the new girl you have a few more jobs to do when you're not being trained."

She cleared her throat and continued saying, “I already know that you were punished when you got here, and if I catch you complaining or giving anyone attitude you will regret it. Do you understand me, whore?

I didn't know what to do and froze like before. Luckily I was able to figure out what to do after she repeated herself and was able to let out a terrified "Yes, Mistress Khatri!" while I could feel my heart skipping beats while I waited for another punishment.

I expected more abuse, but luckily she was patient this time and gave me a brief overview of what would happen while I was there. We would be woken up at 6 AM and given an hour to get ready and eat our breakfast. Then me and my assigned class would spend the rest of the day until 6 PM learning how to fuck like a professional and increasing our endurance so we could handle more and more sex.

It even sounded like school with how the day would be set up. Our trainer would take us from "period" to "period" where we would learn a different "subject". In this case, the subjects were the different types of sex acts and things like sexy dancing or how to manipulate a customer into spending more money, and we were expected to practice a variety of these skills daily. Then in between training periods, we would be subjected to physical training designed to increase our endurance and make us more appealing to the customers or get a small rest period to catch our breath and blow off a little steam playing basketball or something in the small indoor rec area that I passed on the way to the dorm. Then, at the end of every week, we would be assessed, and if our progress was not satisfactory we would be punished. I was happy that we got some time to relax and have some fun for a little while at least, even if I didn’t see the logic in naked basketball.

Our trainers also had the authority to take away the “good food”, as Mistress Khatri called it, if we were slacking on any particular day. As if any of the food slaves were fed was edible in the first place. Still, I was already perpetually hungry from how little we were given while I was in Mercer’s possession and somehow looked forward to whatever they were going to feed me just so the hunger would go away.

Since I was the newest girl in the class I, also had the extra duty of being woken up even earlier than 6 AM to help make our breakfast and being kept up later cleaning the kitchen after dinner was made. Other than that, we were all responsible for cleaning the facility every day before we went to bed.

I didn’t speak up that time, since I wasn’t that stupid anymore, but I found it very unfair that a sex slave had to do the job of a domestic slave when they could have just bought a few girls like the ones I was transported with to take care of us while we focused on more important things. We were here to learn how to please customers, and I didn’t see how cleaning and cooking would help us learn anything beyond how to be exhausted for no reason.

Still, I realized that I had no choice in any of this, and I didn't want to find out what other fun punishments would be in store for me if I didn't at least humor these people while I was here. I did hope however that the people running the brothel that bought me had their heads out of their asses and had proper help for the cooking and cleaning instead of wasting my time on something that was beneath me. Even if I was still a slave.

I didn’t have much time to think about those things however, and my thoughts were interrupted by Mistress Khatri asking me, “Slave, Do you have to use the bathroom before I bring you to your class?“

Keeping my eyes on the floor, I nodded silently and she finally allowed me to get up and follow her to our dorm's bathroom. It wasn't disgusting, actually quite the opposite, but the lack of real toilets threw me off when I saw the row of squat toilets along the wall that didn't even have dividers between them. I could handle showering in front of other women and using a regular toilet in front of the others, but being forced to expose myself like that while going to the bathroom just grossed me out for some reason. Luckily this time it was just the two of us as I just closed my eyes and tried to pretend nobody was there while I struggled to get the only bathroom break I would probably get for hours based on what this woman told me.

As I was being led out of the dorm to wherever my class was located I could hear a symphony of sounds coming from behind some of the doors we passed. It was disturbing to hear so many women making these noises at once, and unnerved me as I walked past the mixed sounds of pleasure, exhaustion, and pain. Mistress Khatri even invited me to look into the “classrooms” as we walked, and the sight of all these women practicing every sex act I could think of freaked me out even more.

This place was beginning to scare me more than my first days in the warehouse did, and Mistress Khatri’s pride in what they were doing to the women here wasn’t helping much. It was like she didn’t even see us as human as I watched her smirk at the sight of some slave struggling to take a good sized strap-on in her ass. All the poor girl could do was hold onto the bench and do her best while another slave mercilessly pounded her. Then she stopped me and looked through the window on one of the doors.

Out of stupid curiosity, I looked as well, and I was greeted with the sight of a slave covered in sweat mounting this thing that sounded like a power tool. Despite her noises, she didn't seem to be enjoying this machine too much. I even felt bad for her once I noticed the trainer that was with her in the room casually ignoring her desperate pleas to make the machine stop as she was almost convulsing from another orgasm while he was just standing there fidgeting with one of her nipples like she was boring him. Luckily he turned it off after the last orgasm, and she was finally able to just go limp from the exhaustion of it all.

She was still strapped to the machine, and the position she was in when she seemed to pass out from whatever they were doing with her didn't seem too comfortable, but it didn't look like she cared too much as I could see her sobbing weakly from what I hoped was relief as her head was resting on one of her shoulders.

Mistress Khatri finally noticed me intently staring at what was going on with this poor woman and said encouragingly, "Don't worry slave, you only have to do it once as an endurance test. Begging like she did does take points off, though. So I wouldn't recommend doing that. Now, let's get moving. The rest of the class is probably wondering where I went.”

I doubted that a bunch of slaves being trained would've cared, and was still slightly terrified knowing that I would be hooked up to that thing I just saw being used, but I humored her with a meek "Yes, Mistress," and continued following her until we came upon my class. They were standing against the wall face first with their hands behind their backs waiting for Mistress Khatri to unlock the door and let us into this classroom with 'ORAL LAB' written on the door. It was honestly amusing how much they treated this place like a real school for some reason, and laughed a little on the inside at how seriously these trainers took their jobs when they were just glorified babysitters with some power over a few slaves.

Then Mistress Khatri unlocked the door and all 19 of us streamed into a relatively open concrete and tile room lined with dildos mounted on posts in the center. I didn't know where I was supposed to go, but I followed the other women and copied the way they put themselves on their knees in a loose formation in front of the rows of posts. It wasn't the most comfortable position however, nor was cold tile the best material the be kneeling on, and I could tell from all the bruised knees around me that this was something I would have to get used to.

The first thing I noticed about many of the women around me once I had the chance to look closely was how ragged they looked. I already knew that they were probably pretty before they came here, but in this classroom all I could see were exhausted slaves covered in sweat and stained with dried cum, dried saliva, and the juices that dried as they ran down the inside of their legs. They didn’t even have nice hair, and all seemed to have bits of dried cum on there too for some reason.

These weren't the pretty slaves I saw on TV, or in the bedrooms at some of the parties I went to. These were just tired women on autopilot who didn’t even seem to care how bad they looked, and I very quickly realized at that moment that I would probably end up like that too by the end of the week. If I didn't regret that shitty plea deal already, I figured that I was going to very quickly.

Then Mistress Khatri stood up in front of us and clapped her hands a few times to get our attention and said, "Alright slaves, you know the drill. Practice your deep-throating, your tongue work, and your fundamentals. And just a reminder for the newer slaves in the room. There will be no bathroom breaks, no water breaks, and no time to take a breather unless I specifically tell you to do so. Now get to a post and wait for me to get you hooked up.”

What I didn't notice until I was kneeling in front of a post however was the dark-colored leather shock collar hanging from the post by a short cable as well. I had no idea what to do, but looking around I could see Mistress Khatri going around the room locking the collar onto each of us and doing something else I couldn't see. The addition of shock collars and leashes to this situation freaked me out, but I seemed alone in that feeling as these women didn't even seem to notice the thing on them as they started sucking the dildo in front of them as soon as Mistress Khatri was done with them.

Once it was my turn to get hooked up I shuddered as the collar was locked around my neck and I could feel the cold metal prongs lining the inside of the collar lightly pressing my skin as Mistress Khatri tightened it to fit me.

Then she said sternly, “Get your lips around the head slave, and keep it there”

I awkwardly obliged and kept my lips firmly around the base of the dildo's head like my life depended on it, and I could see her shortening my leash in my peripheral vision. By the time she was done and I was instructed to start sucking, I realized that my leash was so short that this thing was going to be in my mouth the entire time I was hooked up to the post.

At first it didn't seem too bad sucking on the dildo, as it wasn't even that big of a "dick" to suck on. Unfortunately, Mistress Khatri wasn't satisfied with my pace or how deep I was going after a few minutes and decided to correct me.

She came up behind me and pushed my head so far into the dildo that I was practically swallowing it while saying, “This isn’t your little college boyfriend who doesn’t know any better than your half-assed little blowjobs in your dorm room. This is a man who comes to your brothel every Friday for a good time and wants the woman he is paying good money for to swallow his dick like all the other girls he’s had there before.”

I was already gagging, even panicking a little, and Mistress Khatri gave me the "mercy" of letting go so I could make it stop and hopefully not puke all over the thing. It was a shock, considering that all the guys I blew before never complained, and I finally realized that liking sex and being a slut was not enough of a primer for learning some of the skills taught here. In a way, it poisoned me into having a mentality that was almost the opposite of what a sex slave needed to have to do their jobs.

Then Mistress Khatri started roughly stroking my hair a little while saying, "I don't expect you to do perfectly your first week. I do expect you to actually try so you don't fail your assessments at the end of the week and make me look bad. Now, get back to it and remember what that just felt like when you feel like slacking again."

She left me alone after that, and for the rest of our hour and a half session, my efforts were just enough to avoid more moments like that. After enough time sucking, it did start to hurt though, and the only thing that kept things moist enough to keep going was Mistress Khatri occasionally squirting what tasted like a mix of cum and saline on the dildos as she made her way up and down the line giving us an occasional squirt on the face for “realism”.

When I was free, I didn’t let guys do all that degrading shit. I didn’t even deep-throat unless I wanted to. Now those standards were coming, no pun intended, to bite me in the ass as I fought my gag reflex over and over while attempting to swallow as much of that dildo as I could. I did realize however that Mistress Khatri was probably going overboard with the degrading parts in an effort to desensitize us to them though. Most guys couldn’t be as bad as this. At least I hoped they were.

Between the shit on my face and what she squirted in my mouth to simulate a man cumming, I had my fill of “cum” very quickly, even though I was expected to keep going like my face didn’t look like a fucking Krispy Kreme donut. I assumed that it was fake cum, but it still tasted like shit and felt awful every time I could feel it sliding down the back of my throat. We did get a five minute break after 45 minutes though, and that tiny bottled water that I was given tasted like heaven as I tried to maneuver the bottle around the tip of the dildo that was still in my mouth and wash as much of this shit down my throat as possible. I even tried to use a bit to wash some of it off of my face before I realized the futility of it and gave up after I realized that I was making the mess worse in the end.

Also, despite my effort, she still used the shock collar on me a few times over the course of the period, and my gagged yelps that were muffled by the dildo seemed to amuse her a little bit every time she did it to me. She had to be a sadist or something, and I couldn’t understand how enthusiastic she was about how she treated us.
I wasn't the only one getting shocked either, as I could see the women across from me tighten up every time they were shocked and pick up the pace or go deeper in an effort to avoid more shocks as their eyes closed from the pain. I envied them to be honest. More specifically, I envied their ability to not even notice the pain after what looked like a second and keep going while I was almost stunned every time I felt a jolt hit my neck.

Still, these women threw me off. Sucking as much of a dildo as humanly possible and swallowing fake cum was a simple task, yet I could see the exhaustion and desperation on their messy faces as they were forcing themselves to gag over and over again to avoid what I assumed would be punishment later on. I didn't know how they could even handle this every day while my jaw was already cramping from over an hour of this and the dried “cum” was already drying uncomfortably on my face.

Then after what felt like an eternity Mistress Khatri suddenly unlocked my collar and I started to get nervous thinking I was going to be punished. Luckily, she picked up on this and informed me that this period was over and I was supposed to grab a rag from the bucket in the corner and make sure my station was clean for the next class. Apparently not cleaning the dildo enough was a health risk and I would get starved for a day if anyone noticed. Even though I hated cleaning, I couldn’t wait to get off of my knees, and gladly cleaned my dildo.

After we were done, I could also see where a lot of the stains on these women came from as I watched some of these women wiping the cum from their faces onto their own bodies like it didn’t even matter. The couple of paper towels we were given clearly weren’t enough, and the sight of all these women using themselves as a towel grossed me out while I was trying and failing to make the paper towels I was given get everything off of me. Some of them even used their own hair as a towel to clean up some of the remnants that were left as they used some of their leftover water to clean their faces off as best as they could.

After a minute of this I didn’t even have a choice in what I used as Mistress Khatri came up to me with an annoyed look and said, “Just wiped it on yourself like the others slut. You get a shower at the end of the day anyway.”

After she said this, I followed her instructions and felt dirty as I was forced to use myself as a towel. My poor hair and skin had already been destroyed by slave-grade soap in the warehouse and the dealership, but now I was soaking it all in God knows what this fake cum was made of. I couldn’t wait for a chance to use conditioner and lotion again.

Once we were done with cleanup it was time for our next class, dancing. I didn't know what to expect out of a seasoning house dance class, but it mostly consisted of us watching a demonstration and then practicing lap dances on each other or pole dancing individually depending on what the trainer thought we needed to learn. It was even a little fun, since every slave could dance a little differently and express themselves a bit, and I could see these exhausted women smile a little as their fellow slaves gave them lap dances and let them touch them in some very intimate ways. A few of the slaves even seemed to incorporate masturbation into their dances and were letting their partners taste them as they practiced their moves. It was odd going from dance classes growing up and dancing at parties in college to stripper shit though, even if I was confident in this area at least.

The biggest surprise in that class though was being paired up with Mistress Khatri herself that day while she gave me an overview of how a lap dance was supposed to work. I already knew the basics, but seeing Mistress Khatri strip off her clothes and dance while explaining what she was doing was mesmerizing.

Underneath all of those shitty Mercer uniform clothes she was fucking beautiful and seemed to have the perfect body for dancing as she was showing me how to tailor every dance to each customer. She even made me act like a drunk guy feeling her up so she could show me how to redirect their hands to more appropriate areasand escape their grasp when they got too rough.

There were even special ways I was supposed to touch and kiss the customers to get them in the mood for some real sex instead of a cheap lap dance. Mistress Khatri called them “touch points”, and went over them with me as I tingled every time she rubbed, brushed or squeezed them in an effort to show me how effective they were. I even learned that I could get a guy into a room by simply playing with his hair and hugging him a bit while I shook my tits in his face like I was his girlfriend or something.

Once her clothes were off I did notice some marks from her past however. She had a blacked-out barcode on her wrist, and when her crotch was in my face I could read the faded health department calendar tattooed right above her pussy. No wonder she knew knew all these tips and tricks she was telling me, she was probably using them herself less than a decade ago based on how faded the tattoo was.

It also threw me off when my brain tried to process this revelation.This woman was a sex slave herself, and instead of never looking back she wanted to train the next batch? It also probably explained why I was getting sadist vibes from her when she was taking me to join my class too. This shit had to be traumatic, and forcing other women to go through it to must’ve given her some closure or something. It confused me, but it was my turn, and a now-clothed Mistress Khatri was sitting in her chair waiting for me to attempt to blow her mind.

Luckily I was a decent dancer, and after a few minutes, I was getting praise from her for some of my moves while I practiced my touch points on her. The only thing I had trouble with was redirecting my trainer's hands to the point where she was semi-aggressively manhandling me in an effort to make me find a graceful way out of her grasp. Luckily a quick drop down to my knees was enough to break her "drunk guy" grip and all I had to do to complete the move was a few kisses to her thighs and crotch and a sexy slither up until I was back to shaking my ass in her face and keeping her hands on my waist.

She actually seemed impressed with me and said, “Good job slave, it’s a great start. All you need to do now is keep practicing new moves you see, and working on playing with yourself a little to rope the guys in even more. Those horny idiots will go from a beer and a dance to paying for a blowjob with a single taste sometimes.”

I shouldn't have been, but I was proud that I didn't fuck that up at least. It was already a hard enough day, and her praise made me smile for the first time in a while. Still, I didn't want to get too excited. It was my first day, and based on the clock I had only experienced two classes out of an eight-period day. Still, it was nice finding out that my last training periods of the day were just dancing and masturbation.

In a lot of ways, masturbation training was even easier than dancing. It was something we all knew how to do, just not do it in a way that was a sexy performance on a stage. In a sick way I had hoped to see Mistress Khatri demonstrate some of her "handiwork" for us, but this was more of an acting class than anything else and she mostly went around the room correcting us on the expression on our faces, or the noises we were making. There was even a special way we were supposed to spread our legs so the customer could better see how wet we were getting.

Apparently, after dancing, good old-fashioned masturbation was the next best way to get the guy having a beer and watching you dance to want to take you to a room and have some fun. I very quickly realized that half of what we were being taught outside of how to take a dick in "insert hole here" was pure psychological manipulation of the men who came to whatever brothel we were working in. Our purpose wasn’t just making the customer happy, it was making our owners as much money as possible while servicing our clients.

In a way, the customers were just as taken advantage of by the brothel as we were when they were there. The only difference was that they could leave, and we had to move onto the next lonely man/wallet that walked in to forget about their problems for as long as I was bouncing on top of him. Mistress Khatri called it “topping from the bottom”, and the brothels incentivized it by allowing the slaves to keep their tips that they gained from this behavior. It also made the brothel more money, so they didn’t care if we manipulated some lonely guy into paying for extra shit.

It was hard to cum next to all the other women though, and even though I felt good, I couldn't have a real orgasm before the period was over and I had to get cleaned up and ready to cook dinner for God knows how many people. Still, working in the kitchen did have one benefit - clothing. They weren't even nice clothes, just a shitty pair of stained coveralls, some rubber boots, and a mesh mask that would keep us from stealing food, but my fear of cooking naked was averted at least as I attempted to settle into my menial task and learn to cook slave food with the newest girls from every dorm instead of relaxing like I should've been doing.

It wasn't even hard work to be honest, just sweaty and gross as I was forced to man the massive pot of rice and vegetables that burned my face every time I had to take the lid off to check on it. I was the only Asian in the kitchen, and it just seemed racist to make me do that while the other three got the easy task of heating up the meat patties, making the gravy, and portioning trays that were being taken away by other slaves to their respective dorms. Still, as much as I didn't want to do this, I didn't want to get punished either and endured the humiliation of kitchen work.

Then, as if cooking was bad enough I was forced to clean the kitchen and help wash the trays coming back before I could even eat my food. It took almost half an hour for me to scrape the rice pot alone, and by the time we were done with the kitchen and the dishes almost an hour and a half later, our food was cold and gross now. It was insulting that the people who made the food for everyone else couldn't even eat until everyone else was done with their dinner, and even more insulting being forced to eat cold shitty food and act like it was a gift from our kind masters.

Without the hot sauce packet and the cheap gravy we received with our dinner, I don't even think I could've stomached what I was putting in my mouth, and gagged as I forced this cold food down my throat as fast as I could. I could handle slave loaf and how tasteless it was, and even learned a few tricks to make that slightly more edible from watching the other slaves, but this shit was not the dinners I grew up eating. This was to put it simply, the cheapest of the cheap dressed up as a “home-style” meal, and I didn’t understand how I was expected to eat this type of thing every day. Even weirder, the other slaves actually liked it and I couldn’t understand why as they were just looking at me like I was crazy while they devoured every morsel of it. They even thought my reaction was funny as I gave those women a death stare and verbally reminded them that I still had a good life waiting for me after I was free, unlike them. Even with this barcode on my wrist, I was much classier than the trashy people I was living around for the past few months of my life.

They didn't take too kindly to my attitude, and the only thing preventing me from getting my ass kicked by them was the overseer getting in between us and having a wandering trainer staying late drag me back to my dorm before I could even finish my meal. She gave me shit for talking to other slaves like that and kept going on about this brothers and sisters in bondage shit that I was supposed to respect. I didn’t even know why it was a big deal, I was just telling them the truth.

As I laid on my "bed" trying to fall asleep I didn't even understand what she meant by that brothers and sisters BS. I was supposed to magically see someone who was born a slave or couldn't manage their money as my equal just because we had matching tattoos? I'm pretty sure the doctor paying off her loans with an indenture at my doctor's practice didn't see the slave mopping the floors as her equal, and I refused to see people whose only skills were having tits and a functioning pussy as my equal as well. I was a good student going to a good school so I could get a job at my dad's law firm, and my little indenture was just going to be a temporary speed bump on my way to that future.
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Re: The Seasoning House - Part 1

Post by SmCyber »

I really enjoyed this story, hope the young lady has a session in a gangbang room and several fetish dressing up lessons eg a school classroom for role play. SmCyber
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Re: The Seasoning House - Part 1

Post by JustBob »

Interesting plot. I hope you continue this story as I an curious how this affects her fall from grace and how long she keeps feeling superior. Good writing!
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Re: The Seasoning House - Part 1

Post by Mr. Smith »

With hereditary slavery and term enslavements it would make sense that there would be two classes of slaves; at least the slaves would make the distinction amongst themselves. Some of them will die a slave while others will regain their freedom. It would seem only natural for the hereditary slaves to resent the term slaves; taking every opportunity to bring them down while the term slaves would lord over the lifers the fact of their eventual return to fee person. I just see an opportunity for an interesting dynamic between to the classifications of slaves.
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