The Cost of My Dreams Ch. 03 - The Temple of Persephone

[LoyalHound]

The Cost of My Dreams Ch. 03 - The Temple of Persephone by LoyalHound

All characters are fictitious and are adults.
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It was a few hours into the trip from Jacksonville to The Sharks when the two handlers awoke us for watering. They started with me at one end and Denise at the other. One of the handlers beckoned me to the door and had me kneel there as he opened the door and held a squeeze bottle filled with whitish liquid to my lips.

"Drink every drop and thank me when you're finished," he ordered. After I started sucking on the tip of the bottle, he started to squeeze, filling my mouth with semen flavored water. Just another ritual humiliation. Since the markets don't use this water internally, it was a reminder from our owners or more likely The Sharks that we were no longer human.

I've never found the tastes of natural semen offensive but this stuff tasted like a cheap imitation, like Saccharin instead of sugar. It tasted off. It was pointless to protest or resist, so I drank the flavored water without complaint and tried to smile as I said "Six Seven One Nine thanks her master for the gift of drink."

My handler stroked my face and said "I almost believe you mean that." He closed and latched the door and moved on to Erin while the other handler finished with Denise and moved on to Susan. They did skip over the Japanese woman, One Nine Seven Five, until the end when they had Susan explain to her what she had to do. Whatever she thought of the taste, One Nine Seven Five drank it like the rest of us and, after some coaching from Susan, managed to thank the handler in English.

Early next morning, probably around 4 AM, we were fed and watered again. We were each given a disposable bowl of slave kibble and a bottle of regular unflavored water. Rather than making us eat like dogs, as they had at the Jacksonville Slave Market, they gave us hand wipes and a spoon so we wouldn't mess ourselves too badly while we were in transit. We finally pulled into The Sharks around eight AM.

One of the handlers from Jacksonville, the one I thought of as the chief handler, since he seemed to be in charge, opened my kennel and motioned me out. He ordered "kneel and front hands," and I knelt with my knees spread, my back straight, and my arms extended with wrists crossed as though for binding. He unlocked and removed my wrist bands and passed them to the other handler, took hold of my leash, ordered me to stand and led me out of the truck into the receiving warehouse to a line of slave pads each of which was next to slave ring which had a chain with a locking anklet attached.

He led me to a particular pad and gestured and I move onto the pad facing him, squatted, and locked the anklet about my left ankle. I was about ready to drop into a slave spread when he ordered "present!" and I assumed the position, standing facing him with my legs spread and my hands laced behind my head, he removed my leash and stuck in in a utility pouch he carried. Then he ordered "slave spread" and I knelt with knees spread, back straight, head up and hands behind my neck.

My handler went back to the truck to brought us one at a time to the pads. When we were all unloaded and on our pads the handlers from Jacksonville and a receiving handler from The Sharks worked their way down the line, starting with me.

The receiving handler, a tall, heavyset man with dark hair took a clipboard from the chief handler from Jacksonville. He checked my transit tag and scanned my SIN chip, then signed off on the clip board and got a fresh collar off of a nearby table. The handler from Jacksonville ordered "collar," and I lifted my hair out of the way with my left hand while resting my right hand on my right thigh. He unlocked and remove my collar, passing it to the other handler from Jacksonville to be put in a bag he carried. The handler from The Sharks gave the clipboard back to the hander from Jacksonville and slipped a new collar around my neck. He closed it snuggly around my neck and I heard it lock with an unmistakable click. He scanned the collar and entered something on a tablet and then went behind me and checked the calibration for an attention shock. I was ordered back to slave spread and they moved on to Erin, who was kneeling on the pad to my left.

When everyone had been recollared, the chief handler from Jacksonville gave the receiving handler a copy of his paperwork and shock his hand. The two handlers from Jacksonville got back in the truck and the truck drove away.

The receiving handler, who I later learned was Master Crenshaw, gave us all an attention shock and said "Your owners believe you're are worthy of training at The Sharks Slave Training Academy for High Value Slaves. I hope you understand the privilege you have been granted. When you leave here, you will have the skills and training to anticipate and accommodate your master's orders and desires without hesitation, but you will also retain your active minds and will continue to practice and improve your technical and intellectual skills to better serve your masters."

"I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes. While I'm gone, you may talk quietly, but assume the down position and shut up if any handler approaches you" he concluded and walked away, leaving us shackled in the warehouse.

He returned with Mistress Forrest, a short, thin, hard locking black woman about forty. She used a button on her shocker to unlock all our anklets remotely and bid us remove our anklets, stand, and follow her. We did so while Master Crenshaw followed us. It was the first time since we were enslaved that we hadn't been led on a leash when we walked. Every one of us knew better than to veer off or fall behind of the woman in front of her.

Mistress Forrest took us to a small room with athletic mats of the floor and arranged us in three rows. I, Erin, and Angela facing front in the front row, Cheryl, Susan, and Denise facing front in the back row, and One Nine Seven Five in the middle facing Susan. Master Crenshaw went around and removed our ear tags and then Mistress Forrest started running us thru standard slave yoga positions while making us speak the mantras loudly and clearly. It was nothing we hadn't practiced before, but I promise you it's different when you're not just naked, you're slave naked and your collar isn't a prop, it's real, and you actually start experiencing attention shocks when you're not fast enough or screw up a move or forget a mantra. When we'd practiced before we had been playing at being slaves. The playing was over; we were slaves being trained.

The Japanese woman, One Nine Seven Five, needed assistance with slave yoga and Susan had been paired with her to help instruct her in what the positions were and what mantras were to be spoken with each position. One Nine Seven Five slowed us down but learned the positions quickly. By the end of the session, she was doing OK but was still having some trouble with the mantras. She was given some slack on that; the rest of us, not so much.

Then we were moved to larger classroom which had, in addition to slave mats, padded benches, ottomans, and mattresses. There were rails and lines of dildos of various sizes stuck to some of the walls and lying on some tables and there were two dozen older, ugly, low-grade slaves waiting for us. These were part of the herd of so-called commonplace slaves, mostly male, that The Sharks maintained. With suitable pharmaceuticals, these slaves are quite potent of if rather unskilled lovers. We were about to experience an extended session of what The Sharks calls the practical.

The horny juice had really started kicking in the previous night while we had traveled from Jacksonville to The Sharks. It had been quite distracting during slave yoga and was even more so now. They knew I hadn't had a problem giving a handler a blowjob on the way to Jacksonville Slave Market, so it made sense that they started by ordering me to administering a blowjob to one of the commonplace slaves while they critiqued me, having the others watch.

I took a deep breath and moved into position, repeating a couple mantras to myself: "I am a slave. I exist for the pleasure of my master. My every orifice is his, as is my tongue.," I repeated silently. This was what I'd signed up for. I'd already done it once as a slave. Just let the horny juice do its thing and go with the flow. You like giving blowjobs; finger yourself while you work. This is what slaves do. Open yourself to the experience. You are a slave; this is what slaves do.

The commonplace slave was naked, save for his collar, and I knelt before him. As directed by mistress Forrest, I started by kissing and licking his feet and toes. "I am a slave. I exist for the pleasure of my master," I repeated silently. I worked my way gradually up his legs until my hair was brushing his cock and balls. I rubbed my face against his cock, licked and kissed, fingered his balls and took him in my mouth. He caressed my face and head, eventually working his fingers into my hair and taking control of the movement of my head. His cock was small enough that I managed him easily while rubbing and fingering myself. When he came, I held him in my mouth until Mistress Forrest directed me to open my mouth and show everyone the come on my tongue before she directed me to swallow it.

Then they started doing the others, in order, though they had Susan help with One Nine Seven Five. Susan had her repeat some mantras in Japanese aloud before One Nine Seven Five started her first blowjob as a slave and Susan also helped her lick the man's legs and balls. This was an instruction period that One Nine Seven Five could never have expected to experience, but she followed our example not just without complaint, but even showing enthusiasm once she got going. She could do this, aside from a little gagging at one point, and Susan had every right to be proud of her. Later, One Nine Seven Five would be instructed in managing her gag reflex but, for now, we moved on to vaginal sex.

The horny juice had its way with us and thank God it did. As recently as two days ago, we wouldn't have given these ugly slaves a second glance but with the horny juice flowing thru us and the fact of our own enslavement, their touch was fire. When I was directed to embrace and kiss several of the commonplace slaves, I repeated my mantras and applied myself to my masters' desires and my own. I was passed around several commonplace slaves and kissed and caressed. I panted and moaned and screamed with pleasure as I was bent over a bench and taken from behind. We were penetrated; our asses were lubricated and stretched with dildos; eventually we were also taken anally. No real instructions for this part, just breaking us in, getting us accustomed to our role. About the only fundamental we missed out on that session was licking pussy and we would soon enough get to that.

I remember one writer describing solders in combat as having entered the temple of Ares, a sacred space where they do things they would never do in their profane lives. We too had entered a sacred space, the temple of Persephone perhaps, where we would do and experience things we would never have consented to in our previous existence. We were not just available for the sexual gratification of free persons; we were to reveal in it. With the horny juice flowing thru me, I was eager to do so.

After the practical, we were taken to a hygiene room and given douches and enemas, permitted to shower, and were fed lunch, kneeling at the feet of commonplace slaves with our hands restrained behind us, eating from their fingers, licking those fingers after each morsel and drinking from squeeze bottles held in our mouths by the commonplace slaves. Just another reminder that we were now domesticated animals that must not just accommodate the least whim of our masters but be thankful for being allowed to do so. Then our hands were freed and we were required to brush our teeth and proceed to a testing room. That was where we met mistress Esmerelda.

In the testing room, there were a number computers with displays, keyboards, mice, and rods attached by usb cables to the computers on low tables with slave pads behind them, so a slave could kneel and use the computer. When we entered, the voice of a business-like woman spoke to us from no fixed source. "Slaves," it said "take a place behind a computer and log in by using the wand to tap your collar." It then spoke what I assume was the same message in Japanese. We took our positions and did as bid.

"You are about to be administered a test," the voice said. "If you fail to score an acceptable grade, you will receive a moderate correction." The voice then said some words in Japanese for the benefit of One Nine Seven Five.

"You have one hour. Begin," said the voice, and our consoles displayed a test I recognized as very similar to the comparative reading section of the LSAT, which I had taken after my undergraduate degree. It was a multiple-choice test based on a careful, not to shallow and not too deep reading of several passages. I watched the time tick down and managed it wisely, finishing a bit early as did most of the six. One Nine Seven Five's test completed perhaps a minute after ours. Then the voice spoke again.

"You have all achieved a satisfactory grade. Be advised, however, that your grades during your study periods will be compared to your capabilities. In the future, a passing grade may still earn you punishment if you do achieve the quality we believe you are capable of."

"I am Esmeralda," said the voice. "I am an artificial intelligence charged with monitoring your training, directing your intellectual training and testing, and enforcing rules. I am always awake; I am always watching; I can control your collars and administer discipline with them. I am guided in your training by human experts and the slave handlers of The Sharks. You will address me as Mistress Esmeralda and treat me with the same respect you would show a human master.

You will find your days here quite filled with both traditional slave training that will make you proper slaves and intellectual training that will require you to retain your sense of self and your mind. You will receive the practical at least once per day and, after your fist week, you will work as a serving slave at our private club where you will be available for the usage of guests. You will also be available for the use of any free person you are likely to meet here. Outside of training and your service at the club, you will not masturbate nor will you have sexual contact with any slave outside of your group. Within your group are permitted to provide sexual release to each other during your free play period."

Esmeralda then spoke in Japanese, presumably repeating the same information for One Nine Seven Five. A minute or two latter, Master Chamberlain appeared and led us to another room for our first session of obedience training.

And so the day went with obedience training, slave mantra repetition, a session of petplay training, and our first study assignments. By the time we ate dinner and reached our free play period, it was all we could do to watch some mindless video and try and make sense what had happened to us but still the horny juice plagued us. It was Denise and Angela who started in on each other first, kissing and caressing each other. We truly entered the Temple of Persephone by the time we were done, becoming slave sexual not just notionally but in fact. Everyone had ate and been et by the time we were done.

When I had kenneled myself for the night, I thought about the lessons we'd learned since being enslaved, not just from training but from being processed by the Jacksonville Slave Market. We could be paraded naked on a leash with our hands locked behind our backs in front of our former coworkers. We could have collars locked on us which we could not remove and which could be used to discipline us. We could be kenneled. We could be forced to relieve ourselves in public. We could be made to service any person our master's chose for us. We were slaves and we would do as slaves do.

I remembered skimming Beyond the Thirty-Fourth Amendment: The Origins and Doctrine of Modern American Slavery before deciding that the particular American Studies course that used the book wasn't worth the effort as an elective, even if it did meet a humanities credit requirement. According to the authors, the whole slave system, the mantras, the slave yoga, the ritual humiliations, the horny juice, and the standard training for slaves was so we would not just accept, but be content in our role and not believe we deserved anything more. Accept that we were animals and it was appropriate to treat us as such. No one, the book claimed, was happier than the slave who'd gone slave stupid. The point of The Sharks was to square the circle, making us accept our role but keeping us prepared for something more than mindless obedience and keeping us ready for a life after slavery.

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I knelt at the computer terminal with the printed notes and my annotations and successfully completed the quiz. I saved a copy of the course certificate and spoke. "Mistress Esmerelda," I said, addressing the AI that monitored us constantly "This slave begs that you to verify that Six Seven One Nine has successfully completed three professional development hours in Engineering Ethics."

"Your progress has been noted, Six Seven One Nine. You are currently six professional development hours ahead of schedule. You are now ordered to continue to review and comment on the proposed changes to the Scorpio 7 mod 2 maintenance vehicle and to prepare for your continued instruction of Five Seven Seven One. It is further noted that you are to play at least two hours of chess with me at level 3 or level 4 difficulty by kennel time three days hence."

"Six Seven One Nine hears and hastens to obey"

I had a half hour left of study time, then a 25 minute individual session of obedience training with Slave Mistress Ann, a 25 minute session of private service with Master Crenshaw, and a 55 minute session of the practical with the rest of my group and assorted commonplace slaves, supervised by Master Chamberlain and Slave Mistress Ann. Then the eight of us would have a special session together before we'd break for hygiene and showers and then supper.

I was looking forward to both the personal use of Master Crenshaw and the practical as, even though they had reduced the dose of horny juice after we'd been broken in, the combination of horny juice and Mistress Esmerelda's rule against masturbation was frustrating. Just another trial for the initiates in the temple of Persephone. I was not looking forward to the special session, however.

It had been three weeks since we'd arrived at The Sharks and there had been a few surprises. The biggest surprise had come three days after our arrival, when Five Seven Seven One (the young women with the hair dyed so black it was like a hole in the universe and all the piercings) showed up in our group. She had spent a day getting acclimated in a seasoning house and was then told she'd been sold and got sent to The Sharks via the East Coast Local and the Jacksonville, Baltimore and City of Frederick Slave Markets. One Nine Seven Five truly did have a powerful protector, and the slave who had helped her was helped in turn. A few moments of human sympathy had just gotten the black-haired girl much improved prospects for her future, both as a slave and after her indenture ended. A tiny speck of human decency had not exactly saved her but had given her a future.

Five Seven Seven One was far from stupid. She had, at least in her own mind, been too smart for her shit high school. I know because part of my study time, and Erin's, was devoted to being her tutor in calculus and physics. Erin and I had the right to administer discipline to her but rarely needed to. Properly challenged, she was a most enthusiastic and willing student, nor were we her only teachers.

With the aid of other slaves and outside experts she was also studying English literature. She was now answering essay questions on Heart of Darkness, without access to the internet or any study guild for the novella, other than her text books, which would be scored at a university under contract.

Susan continued to instruct One Nine Seven Five in English and immersion was making One Nine Seven Five quite proficient. One thing One Nine Seven Five insisted on was that her only name was One Nine Seven Five. She refused to let us use her original name, nor would she accept a nickname. Call it a minor rebellion. She wouldn't stain the life of her free self by using her free name. If the slave handlers named her One Nine Seven Five, so be it. That was her name and she would have no other. Given the power and resources of her protector, no one wanted to force the issue.

Five Seven Seven One was more flexible. She too didn't want us to use her original name, but she suggested we come up with a nickname to be used among ourselves. We eventually settled on Twilight as her nickname, which was unoriginal but she was happy to answer to it. The Sharks maintained her striking dye job but removed some of her hardware, leaving her with only a single set of ear piercings, her septum piercing, and her nipple piercings. Everything else was being left to close.

Our relation with the commonplace slaves were rather weird, as they were sometimes our masters, directing our daily humiliations and using us for their pleasure, and sometimes beneath our notice, doing chores and maintaining the school. There really wasn't enough work for them in maintenance activities, but a certain number were required for our sexual instruction. Instructing some of these slaves, the ones who hadn't gone completely slave stupid, in various topics was a part many trainee slave's study assignments.

Most of the commonplace slaves were older, and some had voluntarily extended their indenture at The Sharks because they had nowhere else to go and nothing in their lives after a lifetime of slavery. They were well, if strictly, treated and the benefit of being used for our sexual instruction was something that such low graded slaves would not normally have ever experienced.

Of course, not all high value slaves have a high slave grade. It is our intelligence, education, and experience, not just our attractiveness and our sexual responsiveness, that makes a slave high value. Some of the high value slaves were both ugly and whatever the opposite of sensual is. Still, they must be trained to anticipate and instantly accommodate the desires of their masters, insofar as slaves with their low grade are able to do so. As a group, however, the trainee slaves were out of the commonplace slaves' league.

Our relationship with Slave Mistress Ann, Slave Mistress Phyllis, and the other slave mistresses was not weird; they were in charge of us with full right to discipline us even though they were slaves who must obey the masters without question. Slave Mistress Ann and Slave Mistress Phyllis were in their thirties and were both graded prime. They had spent most of their adult lives as slaves and they were often involved in our obedience training and the practical, demonstrating particular techniques. It was these two who taught me how to read the desires of a master or mistress, even from their stance. I had thought that was impossible but, after the first week, I could do it too.

Esmeralda often made us dispense minor corrections on our colleagues, usually as a spanking administered from one slave to another. I was on both the giving and the receiving end of more than one of them. On one occasion, for instance, I was disciplined for failure to work to my supposed capacity.

My own studies had, sad to say, included essay questions on Edwards' "Personal Narrative", which I had last seen in high school. I've had occasion to reread "Sinners" and even read a couple of Edwards' other sermons out of curiosity, but I wouldn't have touched "Personal Narrative" again on a bet. Unfortunately, I'd done it to myself. All of my talk about the temple of Persephone had probably caused Mistress Esmeralda to make a half assed association with Edwards' preoccupation with the sovereignty of God so "Personal Narrative" it was. The temple of Persephone is an analogy, a model for an existence where the rules of the civilized society I was once part of don't apply. In no way did I mean to imply a worship of my masters and mistresses, even if that was inherent in some of the mantras we repeated. Masters and mistresses are no more smart or wise or infallible than any other human and are in no way comparable to God or Gods, so any comparison of the two is utterly wrongheaded.

Since I had previously administered two such spankings to Twilight, it was probably only fair she administer a mild correction to me. Fair or not, it was the will of mistress Esmeralda and therefore of The Sharks. I could appeal to a human overseer, but that sort of appeal would probably get me an additional punishment. I believe the assignment to have been stupid, but it wasn't harmful, so it was an order that would be affirmed on appeal.

Esmeralda assigned an appointment for punishment at the start of our free play period. I approached Twilight at the scheduled time and said "Twilight, Mistress Esmerelda has ordered me to request you administer a mild correction to me using your bare hand."

"So Mistress Esmeralda informed me. What's this for, anyway?" she asked.

"I only scored a B on my essay questions for 'Personal Narrative'. Accordingly, I must be corrected to encourage me to do better in future."

"As hard as you push me, I really expected better of you. You know what's required of you."

"Yes, I should have done better, but have you ever read the 'Personal Narrative'? Your eyes would glaze over."

"Whatever, come with me to the spanking chair," she said, grabbing a printout from her study area and walking to a straight-backed chair near the wall.

I followed her and said "I accept that I have got this coming and that it is appropriate that you administer it. I would remember that Esmeralda never stops watching, however."

She showed me the printout and said "Could you please stop trying to always be in charge? I'm giving you exactly what Esmeralda specified in her instructions."

I said "Might I suggest," before she interrupted me.

"Don't try and micromanage your own spanking! I think I can actually spank you without your guidance. Embrace your slavery for once and let me take care of this, alright?"

Well, she did have a point. In my own way, I'm as self-centered as Denise or Angela, but in my case, it takes the form of thinking no one can do without my help. "I apologize, Twilight. Please, ah, please forgive me for ah, always..."

"Always acting like the world would fall apart without your guidance."

Ouch, "Yea, that. I apologize for that."

"And would you like an extra five spanks to make that apology stick?"

"Yes, it that's necessary to convince you my apology is sincere."

"Mistress Esmeralda, did you register what Six Seven One Nine just agreed to?"

"An additional five spanks are authorized for this correction," said Esmeralda.

Twilight sat in the chair and I lay myself in the lap of this eighteen-year-old for correction. That alone was humiliating enough. It was like being spanked by a younger sibling. She warmed my behind with some light and moderate spanks, then administered a spanking that left me moaning, sore, and red, but only caused me to cry a little.

I said "Six Seven One Nine thanks you for the instruction of your bare hand that she may better serve her masters," and she helped me stand and hugged me and held me for a bit, comforting me. After a minute, I started kissing her shoulders and said "Six Seven One Nine would like to demonstrate how truly grateful she is, if that would be alright with Twilight."

She made no objection as I pushed her against the wall and started kissing her in earnest. I was a long time caressing her before working my way down her body, helping her to a slave mat and starting to lick, her pleasure being the point of this. Because of Esmeralda's rule against masturbation, I was afraid to rub or finger myself, but I was happy to served her pleasure, because sometimes that's the price if you want to be in charge.

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During free play, I was able to email my family and friends, though the emails were subject to review before they were transmitted and could, and on one occasion did, result in not just censorship but a correction with the tawse. Most of the details of my training were not to be discussed, nor would I have been anxious to discuss what a good little slave I was becoming, so I mostly discussed the study portion of my training and my interactions with the rest of the group during free play.

Our photos from Jacksonville had, of course, been released to the public and the lives of all of us six astronaut slaves made the tabloids. Headline like "Real PhDs Are Also Real Slaves" and "Why Smart Girls Thrive in the Collar" accompanied the pictures. Erin and I were depicted as airheads who needed a master to take care of us. Denise and Angela were depicted as mean girls who needed a master to keep them in line. Cruelest of all, Susan and Cheryl were depicted as also rans who needed a master to provide them with the encouragement to meet their potential. Basically, we were all depicted as belonging in the collar in wasn't it a shame that most of our indentures would end in a few months?

Tabloid reporters hunted down our former friends, school mates and teachers. They'd sussed out my experiment with horny juice. They dug up sex stories written by Cheryl on various forums, some of which were first person stories of slavery. They found photos of Susan in bondage posted online. They also went sniffing after our families. Erin's younger brother got exactly the treatment he deserved from the Tabloids.

You see, The Sharks believes in regular service of cocks and pussy as a reminder for slaves of their true condition. But they don't just believe in genitals in general, they believe particular genitals attached to people the slave knew when they were free, as long as the owner of said genitals was willing to pass an interview and background check, sign a contract and an NDA, and endure a period of quarantine onsite prior to having their way with us. I believe they also charged room and board for the quarantine, which would be quite expensive. Erin's younger brother was such a visitor.

Erin's adult younger brother had never measured up to her standard and stopped trying at some point. He actually lost his job because he was unavailable during the quarantine period prior to his visit with her.

On the first day of his visit, he showed up during the practical and put Erin thru her paces in front of us: Display, present, slave fours, etc. He ended by having her kneel in front of a bench and bend over it, offering her rear to him. The instructor showed him how to use the grease gun to lubricate her ass and he took her anally with little preliminary, dominating her as he had no doubt long wanted to, but without achieving the effect he desired. When he finished and she thanked him for the gift of his seed, his expression was puzzled because he had gotten what he asked for but that was not quite what he wanted. She treated him exactly the same as she would have treated any other master and some part of him recognized it.

When you're in the temple of Persephone, there's nothing special about anal sex and he was no different from any other man or woman who had had her during the practical. So he could fuck her up the ass; so could any number of other men or should I say males as I don't think he was much of a man.

The second day of his visit she gave him a blowjob under the direction of Slave Mistress Phyllis and Erin showed him his come in her mouth, same as she would for any other master. She swallowed it at his command. When she showed no shame at all as she thanked him for the gift of his seed, he lost it and slapped her. He was promptly ejected by security and an account of the encounter, complete with video, given to the press.

What a loser. Just because she succeeded more than him didn't mean he was a failure, except he made it so and now everyone knew it. I can't imagine his parents were pleased with him. Nor was that the end of it. As I found out later, this little experience would come back to bite him in a big way.

Erin, Susan, and I did really well in our training. By the third week, I was enjoying it. Not everything about it, but any modesty or inhibition I had once had were long gone. The pet play, the obedience training, the mindless repetition of mantras, the work as a serving slave in the highly restricted club run by the school, the academic training, and the practical left me content, except for that frustrating horniness that never let up. I liked locking myself in my kennel at the end of the day, knowing I was one day closer to completing training and mostly satisfied with my accomplishments for the day. I was starting to be proud to be a trainee of The Sharks.

I was less thrilled with the physical changes wrought by the horny juice. While they were carefully managing our doses and the variety of horny juice they were using was supposed to minimize the breast growth side effect, it was clear that my own bust had firmed and grown. I liked having A cup breasts but horny juice was part of the program. I hoped I would like having larger breasts when I got used to them, same as I liked locking myself in a kennel for the evening.

Cheryl did well in the slave instruction, but constantly struggled with the study portion of her training. Granted they pushed us pretty hard, but she seemed to be having trouble concentrating. The Sharks had other trainee slaves tutor her and she managed, with some struggled, to achieve her study goals.

Denise and Angela, on the other hand, were crushing the study sessions. Their problem was that they were often too slow to anticipate and obey their masters, for which they were often corrected. After three weeks at The Sharks, notwithstanding their high slave grades, they were still too self-centered to meet their slave potential.

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Nothing so reminded me of how slavery had changed me then my service in the club. When I worked the club, the first question in my mind when I saw any member or guest was how I might best serve him or her. Thanks to my training, I often knew, just from their stance, what they wanted, and I was eager to give a patron what they desired.

The club had several areas, including an informal area where I often served as kitten slave, an easy service where you lie around, display yourself, accept affection from the guests, rub up against any guest who seems to want it, and attend to their sexual desires. There were also gaming rooms, a bar and restaurant area, and a variety of private rooms, some of which could be used casually and some of which could be reserved.

What happened in the club stayed in the club, though none of our members would want to show weakness in front of their colleagues in any case. In the private rooms, however, the fetishes flowed like water, though even there it was more among the guests, not the members. A surprising number of our patrons liked being dominated and even humiliated in various ways. Quite a few liked being spanked, though my most interesting case involved the public spanking of a particular guest when I became, in effect, an evangelist of the Temple of Persephone.

I was getting ready to serve in the club during late lunch when two women showed up, who I will call Mistress Alpha and Mistress Epsilon. Mistress Alpha was fortyish, had a national reputation and was wealthy beyond any normal person's dreams. Anything she wanted she could get, including membership in our club, which was extremely exclusive. She was, I learned later, a major stockholder in The Sharks.

I had been scheduled for a session of kitten play in the casual area of the club. However, when Mistress Alpha requested my actual human service in the restaurant area, her request was accommodated without question.

When Mistress Alpha entered the club, she was clearly in charge. Mistress Epsilon entered with her as her guest and the phrase, "all hat and no cattle" entered my mind just looking at her. Mistress Epsilon was quite pretty and fashionable and was, I was told, a student at an Ivy League university but she just didn't seem all that bright. She was also Mistress Alpha's paramour.

Mistress Epsilon seemed very nervous when I fetched their wine. I poured each glass as I knelt before each woman, extending their wine glasses to each of them in turn. Then I placed the bottle on their table and knelt awaiting further instructions.

"Six Seven One Nine, kneel directly to Epsilon's left, facing her left leg," said Mistress Alpha. I did so, kneeling close to Mistress Epsilon, facing her left leg as she sat her chair and Mistress Alpha said "Epsilon, pet her hair. She won't bite."

Mistress Epsilon leaned over and put her hands in my hair, stroking lightly. I smiled and leaned forward, supporting myself on my hands and rubbing my head again Mistress Epsilon's left leg. "You see," said Mistress Alpha "Six Seven One Nine is here to accommodate you and is pleased to do so. Slave spread for Epsilon," she ordered.

I knelt back keeping my knees spread, as I habitually do now when kneeling, and laced my fingers together behind my neck. "Look at her closely," said Mistress Alpha. "She is happy to be put on display. She will serve you however you like."

Mistress Epsilon looked at me curiously. She had clearly come from a state that where they didn't approve of slavery and had little experience dealing with slaves. Mistress Alpha laughed and Mistress Epsilon blushed and leaned over and tentatively caressed my breasts. My nipples stiffened.

Mistress Epsilon removed her hands, leaned back and asked "What's it like, being a slave?"

A common question for which I had a practiced answer. "Mistress, it's difficult to explain because it's not something one does, it's something one is," I answered. "It's an identity. It's an entire way of life. It's knowing that the most important thing in one's life is pleasing one's masters, but being confident that, most of the time, one can do so. It's being eager to do things one would not choose to do because that is what the master wills or what the life requires of one. It is knowing one's life is not one's own. It's existing for the pleasure of others. It's something one has to experience to understand, mistress."

Epsilon slipped a hand underneath the top of her skirt and started to rub herself as she listened to me and I said "Six Seven One Nine begs to serve your pleasure."

"Serve my pleasure instead by answering our questions," said Mistress Alpha. "Epsilon is quite curious about slavery, but she's hardly alone in that. It seems to have become an obsession with young women lately. Do you have any ideas on how she might safely satisfy her curiosity?"

"Mistress, the experience would be quite offensive to a woman of Mistress Epsilon's obvious refinement, but if her curiosity is truly strong, Six Seven One Nine believes a slave grading with a reversible auction might do much to satisfy her curiosity."

I heard Mistress Epsilon's breath catch and I waited to see if I would be punished for my suggestion.

"Would that experience truly educate her about slavery?"

"Only a little, Mistress Alpha, but it might satisfy her curiosity and would be a conservative first step if a more immersive experience was desired."

"More immersive?" asked Mistress Epsilon.

"Six Seven One Nine has already been too bold, mistress."

"I would hear your suggestion, girl," said Mistress Epsilon.

"Perhaps Mistress Alpha would accept your service under a FINO contract, Mistress Epsilon."

"You are too bold, girl, but I see that you are making your best effort to answer our questions and I will not punish you for it, this time," said Mistress Alpha. "What about the reversible auction, Epsilon? Would you like me to bring in a slave mistress to give you one on one instruction in slave yoga and help you develop a block routine? Would you like to know what you'd bring?"

Mistress Epsilon gave no answer and Mistress Alpha asked "Six Seven One Nine, have you been instructed in administering slave spankings?" asked mistress Alpha.

"Six Seven One Nine has been instructed in and has both provided and experienced slave spankings, which The Sharks use for a mild to moderate correction administered by another slave. The usual procedure is to place the offending slave over one's lap, warm them with a light and a moderate hand spanking, then proceed to apply the appropriate discipline using one's hand or an appropriate instrument."

"Could you provide a disciplinary spanking to my guest, Mistress Epsilon?"

"Only if she consents to receive it, mistress."

"Oh, she'll consent to receive it, won't you Epsilon? After what you've done, you definitely require it."

Mistress Epsilon squirmed and said "It was only a joke, Alpha."

"You embarrassed me in front of a board of directors" said Mistress Alpha. "You must learn to contain your impulses, Epsilon. We've discussed this several times. You will never learn unless you experience the consequences of your actions. Besides, you've been curious about this for a while. It will do you no end of good to be spanked for your misconduct."

"Yes, fine, I consent," said Mistress Epsilon.

"I want her to receive a slave correction of moderate severity," said Mistress Alpha. "Can you suggest an implement?"

"Yes, Mistress Alpha," I said. "The tawse is a versatile implement in this regard, being able to inflict a significant correction without undo marking of the subject. Do you want Mistress Epsilon to fetch it?"

"Yes, but make her strip first. I want her to have the whole corrective experience."

"Six Seven One Nine hears and understands Mistress Alpha. Mistress Epsilon, please stand and remove your clothing, folding it and placing it on your chair."

Mistress Epsilon slowly stripped and placed her clothing on her chair and blushing. "Thank you, mistress. Please come with Six Seven One Nine that she may explain to you how to carry the tawse for a correction." I led her over to where there were a number of punishment implements hanging from the wall and some various hardware, benches, straight back chairs, various chains and straps and such, to be used with the implements of correction. I took a tawse of the wall and told her "Mistress, please open your mouth and bite down on this when I place it in your mouth."

I placed the tawse in her mouth and grabbed a straight-backed chair. "Six Seven One Nine is going to carry this to next to your table, mistress. Please wait here until Six Seven One Nine sits down, mistress, then walk toward Six Seven One Nine until you get about half the way there. At that point, mistress should drop to her hands and knees and bring the tawse to the chair in your teeth like dog."

I placed the chair next to her table, sat down, and Mistress Epsilon did as I had bid, bringing me the tawse in her teeth. She was clearly excited by the experience. I placed the tawse on the table and said "Mistress Epsilon, please place yourself over my lap, facing to my left and with your buttocks positioned for my right hand." She positioned herself and I started to spank. She grunted as the spanking got harder. When her bottom was adequately warmed, I switched to the tawse, smacking her ass hard and reddening it quite nicely. Mistress Epsilon cried and moaned and begged Mistress Alpha for mercy. After twenty-five blows, I looked to Mistress Alpha for guidance.

"That's adequate," said Mistress Alpha "but there's a mantra slaves are supposed to speak at the conclusion of their punishment."

"Mistress Epsilon," I said "please say 'Epsilon thanks Mistress Alpha for the instruction of the tawse'."

"Shouldn't she thank you?" asked Mistress Alpha.

"Six Seven One Nine is only a slave and is never owed the gratitude of a free person," I said

"Nevertheless, I want her to thank you. Epsilon, thank Six Seven One Nine for correcting you."

"Epsilon thanks Six Seven One Nine for the instruction of the tawse."

I put the tawse on the table and said "Six Seven One Nine begs to serve your sexual pleasure, Mistress Epsilon."

She squirmed in my lap and said "Yes, please."

I started fingering Mistress Epsilon's pussy as she lay over my lap. As expected, Mistress Epsilon had found the spanking both painful and arousing and squirmed at my touch. I looked at Mistress Alpha and she passed me a vibrator and said "Limit your service to manual and vibrator stimulation. I want to see her come with her ass over your lap, fresh from a spanking."

I was able to bring Mistress Epsilon to orgasm quickly without resort to the vibrator. She had stopped sobbing and was red with embarrassment as I left off, continuing to hold her in my lap.

"Don't act like you didn't want this Epsilon. You've been fantasying about a slave spanking for some time," said Mistress Alpha. "Just imagine what real slavery would be like."

There was no helping it; Mistress Epsilon was collar bound with her eyes wide open. She'd fallen for the slave romances. Mistress Alpha was going to trick her into slavery and Mistress Epsilon wouldn't understand what had been done to her until it was far too late. She was ignorant, she was foolish, and she thought slavery was something she could play at without consequence. I found I had no sympathy for her. In some ways, she was everything I hate. Mistress Epsilon had clearly spent her life expecting others to pay the price for her actions. Let her experience what she thought was a game. Let her enter the Temple of Persephone.

Mistress Alpha made Mistress Epsilon remain naked for the remainder of their meal and I, with Mistress Alpha's permission, serviced Mistress Epsilon orally. When they left, I knew Epsilon was hooked. I was both excited and ashamed that I had helped hook her.

________________________________________

The special session was exactly what I feared. Though we had ten days to go before we were shipped off, us astronauts to Florida and One Nine Seven Five and Twilight to their owner, it was a graduation ceremony of sorts. Or rather, for seven of us it was a graduation ceremony. Angela was not present as she was being held back for at least a week of additional training because she was simply not good enough at anticipating and complying with the desires of her masters. Denise had also been warned that her performance was marginal and she was in danger of being held back if she didn't apply herself better to anticipating the desires of her masters. The Sharks was going to move Angela to a group that started a week after us, up Angela's dose of horny juice, and concentrate on her obedience training and service in the club, though she would also be getting more individual attention during the practical. What that boded for her chances at getting the fourth flight slot wasn't clear, but it definitely wasn't good for her.

Master Crenshaw and Mistress Forrest restrained the seven of us in tight harnesses, gagged us and, one at a time, strapped us down to a work table while an artist first sketched and then used an electrocautery to brand a simple stylized image of a shark on our left buttocks. We moaned and cried and screamed into our gags, and several of us pissed ourselves as the electrocautery slowly burned the design into our bodies, but we were well and truly marked. Whatever we achieved, we would represent The Sharks for the rest of our lives.

If I walked on Mars, the mark would be there with me. If I married, the mark would be there, reminding my mate of the special skills I had mastered when The Sharks had mastered me, which I would demonstrate to him. I would never be away from it. I could never deny it. I would someday leave the temple of Persephone, but the mark would let everyone who saw it know I had once worshiped there. I could leave the temple but, it seemed to me, part of the temple of Persephone would be with me always.

________________________________________

[Belinda]

Wonderful continuation. Love your use of Horney Juice and fortified water. Just a marvelous story line.

[LoyalHound]

Wonderful continuation. Love your use of Horney Juice and fortified water. Just a marvelous story line.

Thank you, Belinda. I'd hemmed and hawed over that first section of story. Glad you liked the story.

[Mr. Smith]

Another great chapter.  I am always fascinated with how different authors describe the training programs their characters participate in.  The Sharks training methods where the goal is to avoid having the trainees come down with slave mind while still using horny juice on them is interesting.  It is the complete opposite of most pleasure slut training programs that use horny juice to induce slave mind during the training to produce a happier, more compliant slave girls.  It demonstrates one of the challenges a slave has when sent to training schools where the goal is to induce slave mind.  What strategies do they use to avoid coming down with slave mind?  The no masturbation requirement is devious in its simplicity. 

I have to say, I was hoping one of the astronauts would come down with slave mind and be removed from the program.  Beside our merry band of astronaut trainees, I'm curious about what happens to Twilight and Epsilon along with the Japanese wife.  

[LoyalHound]

Another great chapter.  [....]

I have to say, I was hoping one of the astronauts would come down with slave mind and be removed from the program.  Beside our merry band of astronaut trainees, I'm curious about what happens to Twilight and Epsilon along with the Japanese wife.  

Thank you for your kind words. I do appreciate all the feedback and suggestions that I receive.

You'll find out in general terms what happens to Twilight and the Japanese wife in the next chapter, but they're probably offstage for the duration of this story. We may see some communication with them. Epsilon is worth her own story, which she'll probably get.

WRT losing an astronaut or two to slave mind it don't want to spoil anything but could certainly happen as they fail out of the selection process and realized how badly they've chosen. It couldn't happen at The Sharks however.

The value of a high value slave is much greater then his or her value as graded slave meat. They're high value because they have special skills or preformed a special role that makes them expensive, difficult or impossible to replace. It is a disaster for a company, say, to lose the mind of a particular high value slave. (The Japanese wife and Twilight are anomalies who would not, in the normal course of things, be sent there.) The premise and business model of The Sharks is to preserve the value of the high value slave while making proper slaves of them. The Sharks are able to charge high fees because they are supposedly good at what they do and produce graduates still able to use their minds but broke the best WRT their behavior. Losing an astronaut slave to slave mind would be such a high profile failure that it would destroy them. For consistency in the story universe, they couldn't be allowed to fail.

[Mr. Smith]

The concept of a training facility specializing in high value sex slaves whom their owners do not want to come down with slave mind is the exception to the rule.  I have the same goal at Broadstone which is why they do not use horny juice and require enrollment in college courses to keep the mind functioning.  It is why I found this aspect of your story describing the Sharks training process so interesting as you took a different approach. Also the slaves being trained to anticipate their master's needs was an intriguing twist.

At some point I will have some characters sent to Middleton Place pleasure slut training facility located in an old plantation outside of Charleston South Carolina, for a 6-8 week long block of horny juice fueled pleasure slut training that has around a 90% success rate of inducing slave mind prior to sale at auction.  In this setting, the slaves diagnosed with slave mind are more valuable bringing in higher bids when they are sold off after their training. This also creates issues for the slave grading because these women are on horny juice while most valid gradings prohibit the use of horny juice. Maybe they get a slave grade with an asterisk.

I'm looking forward to your next installment in this fun story.