StripSearch

42. The Weekend Parole

Another week at The Slave Academy passed, each day etching its lessons into Melissa through the relentless rhythm of Zuri’s commands. Now, Victor brought her before Markus in the same bare training room, its wooden floor cool beneath her feet, its walls a mute witness to her progress. Carla’s hollow obedience haunted her as she prepared to face Markus. Markus sat at a low table, Zahara beside him, her dark eyes glinting with quiet scrutiny. Victor leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp gaze tracking every move, while Zuri lingered near the door, whip coiled at her side. This was Melissa’s test—a chance to prove her training had taken root, to earn a weekend beyond these walls.

Victor nodded to Markus. “Start with the poses. Test her foundation.”

Markus straightened, his voice steady with a confidence honed by weeks of Victor’s guidance. “Attention.”

Melissa snapped into position—feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind her head, spine rigid. The motion flowed without a hitch, the whip’s echo from past failures a silent spur.

“Worship.” Her forehead brushed the wood, hands settling beside her head, swift and precise. Markus circled her, a faint nod signaling his approval.

“Stand.” She rose, her movements fluid, a testament to the Academy’s drills. Victor’s lips twitched—a subtle sign her body had mastered its role.

“Kneel,” he said next. She sank smoothly, knees meeting the floor with a soft thud, eyes lowered in deference.

As Melissa knelt before Markus, her body flowing through the poses with practiced grace, she couldn’t shake the memory of Carla’s haunted eyes and trembling voice. The box scared Melissa—she couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if she messed up. That fear pushed her to focus hard, following each command perfectly so she wouldn’t get punished. She remembered Zuri’s whip from before and didn’t want to feel it again, so she made sure to do everything right.

“Good,” Markus said, stepping back to the table. “Now serve us—coffee and snacks. Zahara’s with me.” He gestured to a tray on a side table: a steaming pot, two cups, and a plate of Grabesian flatbreads, their edges crisp and golden.

Melissa approached the tray, lifting it with a steady grace honed by weeks of practice. The weight settled comfortably in her hands, the faint clink of porcelain a quiet rhythm as she moved. She knelt beside Markus first, her posture low and composed, the collar at her neck a dull gleam in the dim light.

“Master, your coffee,” she said, her voice soft but clear, a thread of calm woven through it. She placed the cup before him with care, her fingers steady, the liquid undisturbed. Markus took it, his eyes meeting hers briefly—a flicker of warmth there, but she kept her focus inward, her demeanor unshaken.

Then she turned to Zahara. The previous week, this moment had unraveled her—Zahara’s smirk, her taunting words had pierced her mask, sparking anger that betrayed her. Now, Melissa breathed through it, her training a shield. Zahara leaned forward, her lips curving slightly, testing her as before. “Mine next, girl—quickly now. Your master shouldn’t wait.”

Melissa didn’t flinch. Her jaw stayed soft, her eyes downcast but serene. “Yes, Mistress,” she replied, the title slipping out with measured respect, no trace of the resentment that simmered beneath. She knelt again, placing Zahara’s cup with the same gentle precision, the coffee settling smoothly without a ripple. Zahara’s smirk lingered, but Melissa’s face remained a blank canvas—no glare, no tension, just the quiet poise of submission.

She reached for the flatbreads next, setting the plate between them with a smooth glide, her hands light and deliberate. “Master, your snacks,” she said to Markus, her tone warm yet restrained, then turned to Zahara. “Mistress, yours.” The words flowed evenly, no sharpness to betray her. She knelt back, hands resting on her thighs, her body a still line of obedience—Zahara’s presence could no longer provoke her into showing her outrage of the injustice of it all.

Markus sipped his coffee, his gaze steady on her. Zahara nibbled a flatbread, her smirk softening into something closer to approval, though her eyes still probed for weakness. Victor stepped forward, his shadow falling across the floor.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, the Russian accent rolling thick. He studied Melissa—her calm posture, the cups placed with care, the plate centered neatly—then turned to Markus. “Look at her now. Poses perfect, serving flawless. No hesitation, no attitude. She moves with intent—her mind’s in it this time.”

Markus set his cup down, a faint smile tugging his lips. “She did it right,” he said, his tone lifting with satisfaction.

Victor nodded, straightening. “Yes, she did. Obedience isn’t just the act—it’s the spirit behind it. Last time, she glared, slammed cups—her hate bled through. Now, she bends fully, even with Zahara here. She’s passed, Markus. Her head’s catching up to her hands.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening on Melissa, then turned to Markus. “But watch her close this weekend. She moves right, speaks right—no defiance now. Still, there’s a slight delay sometimes—a brief pause before she acts. That lag isn’t rebellion; it’s a symptom of her old mentality, the way a free woman thinks. She hears your command and, for a moment, her mind processes it—judges it, considers it—before she moves. That’s autonomy, not resistance, but it’s still there, a reflex from when she had a say. A slave doesn’t process; her body should respond directly to your words, as if your voice controls her muscles with no thought in between. She’s good enough for home now, but that trace of her free self remains. When she returns, we’ll train it out—make her obedience so instant that no pause betrays her former will.”

Melissa stayed on her knees, eyes on the floor, breathing steadily. She heard Victor say she passed, and it felt like a win—not for Markus or Victor, but for herself. Zuri’s whip and slaps had forced her to learn how to obey perfectly, and she had used that to get through the test without messing up.

Zahara stared at Melissa, her smile showing she was pleased, though she tried to hide it.

Melissa hated serving the woman who had talked Markus into sending her to the Academy, where obedience was drilled into her, but she had to kneel before her and serve her nonetheless. She was angry at how they had treated her here—they had trained her like an animal.

When she hesitated for a moment to think about the order, it revealed she wasn’t fully used to obeying like a slave should. Victor had noticed this brief delay and pointed out that it showed her mind still worked like a free woman’s, thinking and judging the order before acting. She was shocked that he could spot such a personal part of her—the logical way she processed things—something she hadn’t even realized herself. It unsettled her that he wanted to change her thoughts. She was mad, amazed at how far they’d go to train slaves, even trying to control how they think.

Victor glanced at Zuri, then back to Markus. “She’s ready for the weekend. Take her home—test her there. We’ll see what holds when she returns. We will continue to work on her mentality when you bring her back.”

Markus stood up, smiling at first. “Well done, Mel,” he said, but then his smile faded as he noticed the marks on her body from punishments weeks ago. He hadn’t told them to do that—he wouldn’t have—but the Academy did what he couldn’t, and it got results. Still, her blank look worried him. “You’ve come so far,” he added, trying to sound positive.

Melissa felt relieved after passing the test. She had gotten through it, done well, and now she would get two days outside the Academy—a reward she would make sure to keep by staying obedient. Victor spoke up again. “This helps her get used to being with you again,” he said to Markus. “We’ll check on her more when she gets back.”

Melissa stood up when Markus motioned for her, her movements careful from all the training, and she felt happy knowing she would get a break from the Academy. She had handled their rules for now—she didn’t let Zahara’s taunts get to her, and she followed Markus’s orders—and that small win made her feel steady as they left the room together.

—

On the walk home, Melissa kept her eyes on Markus’s back. She squared her shoulders, voice sharp with an edge. “You don’t really expect me to call you ‘Sir’ all the time, right?”

Markus stopped for a moment and thought about what Melissa had said. The old him—the shy Markus—would’ve just laughed, agreed that it was silly, and begged her to just like him. But that Markus got nothing—he had tried doing the ‘right things’, and she still had preferred Arbek over him. Now he owned her, and if he didn’t stay in charge, he might lose her again. Victor had taught him to focus on control and forget about romance.

But deep down, he still really wanted her to love him. He had tried talking her into liking him before, and it hadn’t worked, but maybe if he made her obey him, she’d realize she belonged with him, like Victor said her obedience would become a part of her. Markus felt a pang of unease—he found it strange to have Melissa call him “Sir” when he longed for a real, loving relationship with her, where such formality wouldn’t be needed.

But then he saw an opportunity: Victor had taught him that closeness should be a reward she earned, and following this protocol could be the standard she’d have to meet to do so. If she followed it, he could reward her with the closeness—and the sex—he wanted, making her feel like she had earned it while he got what he desired. It was a way to follow Victor’s advice and still fulfill his own needs. He decided to try Victor’s way.

“Yes,” he answered. His voice stayed gentle but left no room for debate. “Victor recommends protocol. It will help you settle into your role. Straying might confuse you, pull you back to old ways. Think of it as if Victor is always watching.”

Melissa felt indignant—she wasn’t some dog to heel at his whistle. But she really wanted the break from the Academy, and that mattered more than her anger, so she couldn’t let it show. She decided to hold back her feelings for now, just to make sure she got those two days away.

Indignation simmered inside Melissa at Markus’s expectation of her obedience, but she resolved to comply. If she didn’t, he might complain about her to Victor, keeping her trapped at The Slave Academy longer. She would do what he wanted to escape those walls, even if just for a little while. Markus thought her compliance stemmed only from fear of the whip and endless drills, but for Melissa it was more than that. The memory of the box was still alive in her. A terror that could break not just her body, but her spirit as well. She had seen what could do from Carla’s example, how it had shattered her defiance, and she remembered her whispered explanation of its suffocating darkness, the cramped heat, the biting insects, the endless isolation that drove her to beg for release.

Yet Melissa refused to let Markus know about the box, or the immense power its threat held over her. If he knew how deeply it intimidated her—how she would agree to anything to avoid it after witnessing Carla’s torment—he would have too much leverage. It would weaken any chance she had to negotiate with him, so she decided to keep that fear hidden, and pretend she had accepted her role as a slave instead.

—

Once inside the hut, Melissa stayed mindful. Every step could shape how long she remained under Victor’s roof. She felt exhausted after weeks at The Slave Academy, her body and mind worn down by endless drills and punishments, leaving her too drained to demand her freedom from Markus as she had initially planned. On the walk home, she had wanted to bring it up, to plead for release, but his insistence on protocol had made her think twice. Markus seemed so set on following Victor’s rules now and enforcing her submission, that arguing for freedom felt pointless.

She decided she’d be better off playing the role of a good slave, hoping Markus would give Victor positive feedback so she could get out of the Academy sooner. If she pushed for freedom, Markus might tell Victor, and Victor could see it as another sign of her free mindset that needed fixing, keeping her trapped there even longer.

—

Once inside the hut, Melissa stayed mindful. Her behavior now would shape how long Markus would leave her enrolled at The Slave Academy. Markus gestured to a corner where a shallow basin sat, a bucket of warm water beside it.

“Clean yourself up,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “And don’t forget to address me properly.”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied, the protocol a small price to pay for this moment of respite. The Academy’s harsh drills and Zuri’s constant oversight had left her body aching, her skin gritty with sweat and dust, but here, in the quiet of the hut, she felt a rare peace wash over her. She dipped a cloth into the warm water and began to clean herself, the sensation a soothing relief after weeks of communal showers at The Slave Academy. This was her first real bath as a slave, and the privacy felt like a luxury she hadn’t realized she craved. The warm water cascaded over her arms, washing away the grime of the past weeks, and she let out a soft sigh as the tension in her muscles eased, the gentle drip of water filling the silence. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t have to brace for Zuri’s slap or a barked order, and the relief of that solitude steadied her. This weekend was a break from the Academy’s relentless grind, a chance to breathe, and she intended to savor every moment of calm.

When she finished, she dried off with a rough towel Markus had left nearby, her skin tingling with cleanliness, the faint scent of soap clinging to her. She stepped out of the corner, her bare feet padding softly on the wooden floor, and found Markus at the small table, where he had set out dinner in the meantime. The evening light spilled through the window, warming the boards beneath her knees as she knelt beside him, her posture submissive as she followed his protocol.

Markus sat in his chair. He pulled out fresh bread, a wedge of cheese, and a bowl of fruit. He tore off a piece of the loaf, its crust crisp and golden, then layered it with cheese and a slice of apple. With a quick press, he shaped the sandwich and handed it down to her.

“Take it, Mel,” he said, his tone firm but calm. “And remember to thank me properly.”

Melissa’s fingers brushed his as she took the sandwich, her voice soft but careful.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, the words a reminder of her role but also a small victory—she was here, not at the Academy, and that alone was worth the compliance. She lifted the bread to her mouth, the flavor bursting across her tongue—rich, earthy, with a hint of sweetness from the fruit. She chewed slowly, letting the texture linger, her eyes half-closed as the taste filled her senses. Eating here, without Zuri, Dmitri, or Victor looming over her, felt like a quiet escape—no shouts, no drills, just the gentle hum of the evening and the warmth of the hut. This small moment of peace, free from their oversight, steadied her, a fleeting comfort she could hold onto.

—

Later, in the bedroom, Markus watched Melissa closely, Victor’s lesson guiding his actions. He had set a clear rule for the weekend—she needed to follow protocol, addressing him as “Sir” and obeying every order without hesitation, to earn his closeness. All evening, she had met his standards, calling him “Sir” at dinner, serving him with care, and responding promptly to his small requests, like fetching his drink with a quiet “Yes, Sir.” Her consistent obedience pleased him, showing she was learning her role.

“I’m proud of you, Mel,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve done well tonight—followed my rules perfectly. You’ve done well.” He pulled her into an embrace, his arms warm around her, a reward for her compliance. His lips met hers in a deep kiss, and Melissa returned it, her mouth softening against his. The affirmation “I desire nothing more than to please” echoed in her mind, drilled into her by weeks of repetition. She understood the balance of power—pleasing Markus might shorten her time at the Academy, and having put him in a good mood felt like a small victory.

He eased her onto the bed. Her hand brushed the sheets, their softness a gentle relief after the rough mats she had slept on. She ran her fingers over the fabric, smooth and cool, and let the sensation sink in—a comfort she welcomed amid her careful steps. Markus moved over her, their bodies joining without strain. Her flesh responded, no artificial aid needed this time. When release came, it washed through her, steady and real. Markus sighed, his own satisfaction clear. Melissa felt a thread of fulfillment in his pleasure, the affirmation “My pleasure comes from my master’s satisfaction” threading through her thoughts.

She lay beside him after, her mind a blend of quiet contentment and measured intent. The weekend offered a break from the Academy’s grind. Every moment reminded her that freedom remained out of reach, tied to the will of those who held her chains.

She lay beside him after, her mind a blend of quiet contentment and measured intent. The weekend offered a break from the Academy’s grind. Every moment reminded her that freedom remained out of reach, tied to the will of those who held her chains. Markus sat up, his expression firm as he opened the drawer of his nightstand. Instead of the handcuffs he’d used on her weeks ago, their metal edges once biting into her wrists, he pulled out a long chain, its links glinting faintly in the dim light.

“You’ve behaved well this weekend, Mel,” he said, locking one end to her collar and the other to the headboard, the click echoing the familiar restraint of the Academy. Outrage burned inside her at being chained like an animal, but she suppressed it. She wouldn’t voice her anger; it was still better than being handcuffed and she couldn’t risk undoing the fragile progress she had made.

—

Sunday evening cast long shadows over the path to The Slave Academy. Markus walked beside Melissa. Her bare feet scuffed the sand, the steel collar at her neck a cold weight she despised. She clenched her fists. How could anyone accept this—naked, chained, owned like some beast? The outrage burned in her chest, a fire she refused to let die. She glanced at Markus. His calm face irritated her more. He decided her fate so easily, and she hated him for it and his power to keep her enslaved made her seethe.

She stopped short of the gates. Her voice cut through the quiet, sharp with fury she could no longer fully contain. “How dare you drag me back to this hellhole? I’m not some animal to be caged and trained here!”

Markus paused. Her words struck him, raw and fierce, a glimpse of the woman he once knew before the collar. Yet Victor’s lessons anchored him. The Slave Academy worked—her weekend obedience proved it. He believed in the path, even if her anger unsettled him. He met her gaze, his tone steady but soft. “You’re staying here, Melissa. Victor’s the expert, and I trust his judgment.”

Melissa’s jaw tightened. Her eyes blazed, indignation searing through her. How could he stand there, so smug, deciding her fate? She wanted to scream, to rip off the collar and fling it in his face. But she knew the drill. Markus wouldn’t whip her—he never did—but if she pushed too hard, he’d tell Victor. And Victor would hand her to Zuri. The thought of Zuri’s whip cooled her outburst, though her fury simmered on. She swallowed her words, dreading punishment from Zuri, but her rage didn’t fade.

Zuri waited beyond the gates. Her stern face showed no mercy. She grabbed Melissa’s arm with a rough tug, pulling her from Markus. Melissa stumbled forward. The brief taste of softer days—bread, a bed—slipped away. She shot Markus a final glare, her outrage plain despite the restraint she forced on herself. He turned away, leaving her to the Academy’s grip.

Markus followed Victor to the office. Victor settled behind his desk. His blue eyes fixed on Markus with a calm that belied the question he asked. “Has she assumed poses in daily life without you askin’, da?”

Markus shook his head. Guilt pricked him, but he answered honestly. “She did at first, when we stayed alone. In public, she forgot—didn’t kneel, didn’t ask to speak, eat, or use the bathroom.”

Victor nodded. His face betrayed no surprise, only understanding. “She should do that, Markus. We focus on it this week. But you let her disrespect you. As master, you enforce protocol. She needs clear rules until it’s natural. You owe her this. When she stops challengin’ you, then you ease up—not before.”

Markus felt the truth in Victor’s words. He had hoped the weekend would settle her, that her compliance would grow on its own. Victor’s point hit harder now. He had softened too much, let her drift back to old ways. Her outburst at the gates flashed in his mind—fierce, unyielding. He needed to guide her, not just wish for it.

He left the office. The clank of chains and faint voices reciting affirmations drifted through the air. Melissa’s world swallowed her again. Markus walked away, his thoughts torn. Part of him wanted her back soon, tamed and close as she was. Another part questioned if this path was leading him astray. For now, he trusted Victor’s way to bring the peace he craved.

—

As Melissa stepped into The Slave Academy her shoulders tensed under the weight of return. Victor’s promise of more training echoed in her ears as Zuri led her to the basement dorm. Chains rattled as the other girls took their mats. Zuri had them lock their collars to their chains as every evening. Her voice barked, “Worship!” The girls knelt, foreheads to the floor. Zuri’s boots thudded out, and the door shut. Quiet fell over the room.

Melissa eased onto her mat. The rough weave scraped her knees. Her weekend with Markus—a soft bed, warm baths, no Zuri barking orders at her—faded like a taunt. Her collar pulled as she shifted, the chain a cold insult she loathed. She glanced at the girls from her first night. Hannah sat to her left, steady and quiet. Jennifer rested a few mats down, sharp and restless. Their tired faces grounded her in this harsh place.

Hannah moved closer. Her chain clinked softly. “Hey, Melissa. You stayed out there with your master. How was it?” Her eyes met Melissa’s, warm with curiosity, the same kindness from their early talks.

Melissa drew a breath. Her anger surged, but she kept it low, safe among friends. “It’s better than here,” she said, her voice firm with a bitter edge. “No whip, no shouting, a nice bed—not this filth.” She jabbed the mat with a finger. “But it’s not freedom. I had to kneel before him, call him ‘Sir,’ do work around the house. How dare he treat me like that. It’s just a bigger version of this place.” Her words carried outrage, though she softened them here, away from captors’ ears.

Jennifer propped herself on an elbow. Her hair fell over one eye. “Sounds about right,” she said, her tone dry and cutting. “They toss you crumbs to keep you tame. My owner pulled that—fancy meals one day, lashes the next. It’s a trick, not a gift. Prettier chains, like you said.” Her smirk faded, her eyes showing a flicker of care, a bond from their shared nights.

Melissa nodded. Her gaze fixed on the wall where her chain looped. “Markus smiled, said I did well. Part of me felt good hearing it—a stupid second of warmth. Then I remembered I’m still stuck here. How dare he grin while keeping me like his pet? I can’t get my head around that.” She rubbed her neck, the feel of the collar stoking her fury.

Hannah tilted her head. Her voice stayed gentle but firm. “That’s their game—little scraps to twist your head. My bar owner patted my back for fast trays, like I’d wag my tail. I hated him for it, but I smiled too. You’re right to feel torn. We all do.”

Jennifer lay back. Her snort cut the air. “Torn? He’s training you to accept life as his slave, Melissa. Don’t buy into it—keep sharp. Sleep now, though. Tomorrow, Zuri’s hell waits.” Her words bit, but a rough concern lingered, a warning from experience.

Melissa looked between them. Moonlight slipped through a high window, lighting their faces. Hannah’s calm steadiness and Jennifer’s blunt honesty steadied her, pulling her from the weekend’s haze. Her outrage burned brighter here, safe with them.

“Thanks,” she whispered. She curled onto her mat, the chain clinking as she settled. Their words sank in—clear, solid, a spark to carry into the dark. Sleep overtook her, her anger still simmering as she drifted off.

43. Shades of Surrender

Another week had passed, and Markus found himself once again at The Slave Academy, testing Melissa's obedience. He watched as she moved through the poses with a newfound grace, her training showing in the fluidity of her submission. Satisfied, he took her home for the weekend, hoping to see the progress continue in a more personal setting.

Melissa was different this time, kneeling before him to make requests, asking for permission to use the bathroom or to eat. It was as if she had internalized the lessons of The Slave Academy, adopting the demeanor of subservience in every aspect of her behavior.

—

Markus reclined on the bed, shirt unbuttoned, sweat beading on his chest from the night’s sweltering heat. His eyes locked onto Melissa as she knelt before him on the floor, her skin tanned from weeks under Grabesh’s unrelenting sun. The steel collar hugged her neck, a dull gleam in the lamplight. He no longer sought her love, at least he tried to tell himself that. Victor’s words had touched him deeply, but as much as he wished to be a tough and respected master like Victor, his old self lingered, and deep down he still wanted her to like him. Ownership surged through him, a raw, electric jolt that stiffened his cock against his trousers. She belonged to him, every curve, every breath, his to command, and that certainty set his blood ablaze.

Melissa gazed up at him, her knees pressed into the warm wood, her body bare as always. In England, gray skies and dim rooms had dulled her, left her hormones sluggish, her desire a faint flicker. Here, the sun soaked her skin daily, her nudity drank it in, and something primal stirred awake—lust roared through her veins, hotter, hungrier than she’d ever known. The collar marked her like a animal, her nakedness stripped her bare like one, the chains at night bound her like livestock, the vet’s cold hands prodded her like cattle, and Zuri’s whip cracked her into submission like a trained dog. Weeks of this had worn her human edges thin. She knew she was no animal, but Grabesh treated her as one, and that permission—to shed restraint, to feel without shame—unlocked a wildness she’d never touched as a free woman. Her pulse raced, her core ached, and her eyes burned with a need she couldn’t deny.

Inside, outrage simmered—how dare they reduce her to this, a collared animal for his pleasure? She wanted to curse Markus, tear the steel from her neck, but his calm face warned her. He would not discipline her, but Victor and Zuri would if he complained about her. She pressed her lips tight, fury buried deep.

“Attention,” Markus said, his voice low, firm, a thread of desire woven through it. Melissa rose to her feet, legs steady, hands clasped behind her head in the Attention pose she had mastered. Her breasts lifted with the motion, nipples hardening in the humid air, and a shiver ran down her spine as his gaze raked over her. He stood, closing the distance, his breath hot against her neck. “On the bed, hands and knees, spread your legs.”

Anger flared within her, he was positioning her like cattle, as if she were livestock being prepared for breeding. She swallowed it, knowing that while he would not punish her himself, he would report any misbehavior of hers to Victor.

She obeyed, climbed onto the sheets, the fabric soft beneath her palms. She parted her thighs wide, knees bent, on all fours, as if offering herself to him. Her skin prickled with heat, every nerve alive, her sex glistening with want. Markus shed his trousers, his erection springing free, thick and eager, the sight sending a jolt through her. He gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, and pulled her to the edge. With one fierce thrust, he buried himself inside her, the sudden fullness tearing a gasp from her throat. His power washed over him—her body yielded to his will, her wetness welcomed him, and he groaned at the sheer dominance of it, his cock pulsing with the rush of control.

Melissa’s back arched, her hands fisting the sheets as he filled her, stretching her with a delicious ache. The sensation flooded her—his length drove deep, his hips slammed against hers, and her walls clenched around him, greedy for more. She felt like an animal in heat, no thoughts, just need, her body rocking to meet his thrusts. The collar tugged at her neck with each jolt, a reminder of her place, and it fueled her—lust flared brighter, fiercer than anything she’d known in her tame, clothed life. Her breasts bounced with his rhythm, sweat slicked her skin, and a low moan escaped her lips, raw and unrestrained.

He shifted, hands sliding under her thighs to lift her legs higher, spreading her wider. The angle deepened his thrusts, his penis hitting a spot that sent sparks through her core. “Fuck,” he growled, voice rough with pleasure, his eyes dark with the thrill of possession. He didn’t need her love—just this, her body bending to him, her gasps his reward. He pounded into her, relentless, the bed creaking under them, his fingers bruising her thighs as he claimed her harder. The power surged through him—every thrust claimed her, every shudder affirmed his control—and his arousal crested with an intensity he’d never felt before.

Melissa’s head tipped back, her mouth open as waves of sensation crashed over her. The whip’s sting, the chain’s bite, the vet’s prods—they’d stripped her to this, a creature of flesh and fire, and she let go completely. No shame, no restraint—just lust, pure and savage. When Markus groaned, his pace faltering with nearing release, the affirmation flashed in her mind: My master’s pleasure is my pleasure. His ecstasy pulsed through her, visceral and real—she felt it in her bones, her clit throbbing as she chased it. She reached down, fingers circling her swollen bud, slick and desperate, amplifying the heat until her cry ripped free, a wild, animal howl that echoed off the walls.

She hated the words, hated how they turned her into a puppet for his lust. But she played the part, her scream masking the resentment she buried for Victor’s sake.

He seized her wrists, pinning them above her head, his weight pressing her into the mattress. He felt his ownership of her, that she was his. He thrusted in her and shortly thereafter erupted inside her, hot spurts filling her as he shuddered. The intensity of it—owning her so completely—shattered him, a peak beyond anything love had promised. Melissa bucked beneath him, her own climax exploding, her walls spasming around him, legs trembling as pleasure roared through her. It consumed her, fiercer than ever before, a slave’s lust unbound by the chains that freed her to feel this much.

They collapsed, sweat-soaked and breathless, the air heavy with their mingled scents. Markus rolled off her, chest heaving, but a flicker of frustration stirred beneath his satisfaction—her silence reminded him how far she still was from truly being his. He paused, breath heavy, thinking of The Slave Academy’s toll on Melissa—Victor’s harsh discipline, a task Markus would never undertake himself. The dominance he felt now thrilled him, but her silence revealed an emotional gap between them. Victor’s approach had enabled this intense moment, its commanding rush affirming the path he’d chosen.

Still, he savored the moment—Victor’s methods had allowed him to dominate her so completely, her body responding despite her silence. Yet her lack of warmth left a longing unfulfilled in him.

Melissa lay beside him, her body limp, her breath slowing. The collar pressed against her throat, a constant weight she still longed to shed—she craved freedom, dreamed of it every night. Yet as her pulse calmed, questions swirled. For a fleeting moment, she felt a strange freedom in it, a primal connection to her body she had never known as a free woman, though the thought sickened her as much as it thrilled her. Why had she never felt lust like this before? In England, she had fretted over exams, rent, small talk with strangers, her parents’ nagging—endless worries that dulled her senses. Here, stripped of all that, she felt everything: the breeze on her bare skin, the whip’s bite, this searing pleasure. Life as a slave sharpened her world, made it sensual in a way her free self had never known. She turned her head, meeting his gaze, and saw no love—just ownership, mirrored by her own animal spark.

She was outraged. How could he reduce her to his sex slave? She wanted to scream it in his face.

—

On Sunday evening, as Markus returned Melissa to the academy, he discussed her behavior with Victor. "She's been well-behaved," Markus said, his tone hopeful. "Maybe she can spend more time with me at home?"

Victor considered this, his face thoughtful. "It might be beneficial for her development. More time with her master as a reward could provide positive reinforcement. It would encourage her to work harder here, and make her transition to you smoother."

They settled on a plan. From now on, if Melissa continued to show good behavior, her time at home would gradually increase from a weekend to three days, then four, and eventually five.

"But," Victor added with a stern note, "you'll have to take on more responsibility in disciplining her. Verbal correction isn't enough. Slaves need corporal discipline. It doesn't have to be harsh; Melissa responds well to pain. Just a few light strokes, putting her in punishment positions, will remind her of her place. This isn't cruelty; it's part of the protocol that helps maintain her psyche."

Markus nodded, absorbing the lesson. The idea of disciplining Melissa was a significant step toward independence from The Slave Academy. The memory of their passionate weekend was fresh in his mind, fueling his desire to keep this dynamic going. Victor was his guide, and following his teachings seemed the only way forward for Markus to maintain the relationship he now craved.

As Markus left the office, his mind was set. If he wanted things to continue in this manner, he would have to embrace his role fully, learning from Victor how to be not just Melissa's lover but her master.

—

Melissa trudged through the Academy gates, her body still tingling from the night with Markus, his firm hands and her own unleashed lust a vivid echo in her muscles. The collar tugged at her neck as Zuri’s sharp voice sliced through her thoughts: “To the hearth—move!” She shuffled forward, bare feet sinking into the warm sand, the familiar weight of captivity settling back over her.

At the hearth, Hannah stirred a pot of millet stew, her steady hands keeping the rhythm, while Jennifer kneaded flatbread, her dark hair falling over one eye. Dmitri slouched against a palm tree, his lanky frame bent over his phone, earbuds loose, thumbs swiping lazily. The scent of simmering grain mixed with the salty breeze. Then the door creaked open, and Zuri shoved a new girl forward—a fragile figure with pale skin and wide, panicked eyes. She stumbled into the yard, arms crossed tight over her chest, hands darting to shield her groin, her cheeks flaming red against the sun’s glare.

Zuri barked, “Knead—there!” and pointed to a pile of dough before stalking off, her whip swaying at her hip. The new girl froze, her breath hitching, her body rigid as she tried to curl in on herself. Every slave’s gaze flicked her way—Jennifer smirked faintly, Hannah kept stirring—but the girl’s shame hung thick in the air. Melissa stepped closer, her own nudity long normalized, and softened her voice. “Hey, it’s easier if you just work. Hiding doesn’t help—they’ll make it worse.”

The girl’s eyes snapped to Melissa, wet with unshed tears, her arms trembling as they hovered over her breasts. “I—I can’t,” she stammered, voice barely a whisper. “Everyone’s looking. I’ve never…” She swallowed hard, her hands twitching downward again, a futile shield against the open stares. Melissa remembered that feeling—weeks ago, her first days, the raw burn of every eye on her bare skin—and knelt beside the dough, patting it. “Focus here. What’s your name?”

“Fiona,” the girl murmured, sinking to her knees beside Melissa, her fingers fumbling into the flour. Her shoulders hunched, as if she could shrink away from the world. “I’m… I just turned eighteen. They grabbed me from home—men in masks. Said they’d ransom me, but they told me my parents didn’t pay. Then they sold me here.” Her voice cracked, uncertain, the kidnappers’ words a weight she couldn’t trust. “This can’t be real—naked, like this? How do you stand it?”

Melissa pressed the dough flat, her hands steady despite the ache in her chest—Fiona’s shock mirrored her own arrival, now a distant scar. “You get used to it,” she said quietly. “Not because you want to, but because you have to. They don’t care what we feel.”

Fiona’s breath hitched again, her eyes darting to the others—Dmitri still scrolled, oblivious—and she whispered, “I’m so frightened… I feel so humiliated being naked in front of everyone.”

Hannah leaned in from the pot, her voice low and comforting. “You’re not alone in feeling scared and ashamed, Fiona—we’ve all been there with the nudity. Just keep your hands busy with the dough; it’ll take your mind off their stares.” Fiona’s fingers shook as she mimicked Melissa, dough sticking to her palms, her blush deepening with every glance she caught from the yard.

Dmitri’s head jerked up, earbuds slipping out.

“Too much talking!” he shouted, his Russian accent rolling heavy as he shoved his phone into his pocket. He strode over, boots kicking up dust, his grin lazy but edged. “All of you—Worship. Now.”

Melissa dropped to her knees, forehead pressing into the dirt, palms flat beside her head, resentment flared at obeying this kid, barely younger than her, but she had no choice. The Slave Academy did not tolerate disobedience. She dropped forward, forehead to the sand, hands beside her head to avoid the sting of Dmitri’s stick.

Hannah mirrored her with a quiet sigh. Their bodies tensed, conditioned to comply, though their eyes burned with silent fury.

Jennifer grumbled under her breath but complied, her knees hitting the ground with a muted thud, her defiance barely contained.

Carla quietly assumed the worship position alongside them, her movements careful and deliberate, keeping her head low to avoid notice, staying out of the conflict entirely. The four formed a silent row, the evening breeze brushing their exposed skin.



Dmitri had noticed the surprise flickering across their faces as he had appeared—wide eyes and parted lips betraying their shock at his sudden intrusion. Melissa's brow had furrowed, a flash of anger had tightened her jaw, while Hannah’s steady features had twitched with frustration, her lips pressing into a thin line. Jennifer’s sharp eyes had narrowed, a spark of defiance glinting before fading, and Carla’s face had tightened with quiet dread, her gaze dropping instantly. But as his command sank in, resignation had settled over them, their expressions softening into the inevitable obedience he had come to expect. One by one, they had dropped to their knees before him, foreheads pressing into the sandy ground, hands settling beside their heads in the Worship pose.

Now he stood over them, taking in the sight of their white backs, smooth and tanned, stretching before him in a row of submission. Their hair spilled across the ground, strands of blonde, brunette, and black mingling with the sand, the backs of their heads a show of acknowledgement of his control over them, sending a rush of power through him. His penis was stiffening, and he felt an intoxicating thrill that swelled his chest as he watched them rest their foreheads on the ground before him.

Fiona stayed upright, her hands clutching her chest again, her face paling.

“No,” she said, voice small but firm. “I won’t—I can’t—”

Dmitri’s grin vanished, his eyes narrowing. “You say no to me?” He stepped closer, looming over her, and quickly wrapped his arm around her neck, yanking her into a headlock with a rough jerk. Fiona gasped, her hands scrabbling at his arm as he held her firm, his free hand landing three sharp spanks on her backside, the slaps ringing out in the still air.

“Ready to Worship yet, princess, or do I gotta keep teaching you who’s boss?” he mocked, his tone laced with teenage smugness as he squeezed her neck just enough to make her squirm.

“Yes—I’ll do it!” Fiona’s breath came in short, panicked bursts, but she nodded weakly, her voice a strained whisper. Dmitri chuckled, releasing her with a light push.

He tossed the whip aside, smirking. “Next time, you listen.”

Fiona collapsed to her knees, trembling and angry, but compliant as she assumed the Worship position before him—forehead to the sand, hands beside her head, her breath ragged with barely contained rage.

Melissa’s fingers dug into the sand, her body locked in Worship, every muscle screaming to help but held fast by The Slave Academy’s unforgiving demand for submission. Hannah’s breath caught beside her, a stifled curse under the pose—both helpless, both seething.

Dmitri chuckled, kicking a pebble as he turned away. "Get up, girls—keep cooking, I’m watching."

He sauntered back to his tree, pulling out his phone like nothing happened. Fiona curled into herself, the dough forgotten. Melissa lifted her head an inch, whispering, “Hold on—it gets easier,” her voice tight with a promise she barely believed. The stew bubbled on, the sun blazed, and the yard settled into an uneasy hum in the morning’s grind.

—

Over the next few months, the pattern was set: Melissa would spend three days with Markus and four at The Slave Academy, an arrangement that seemed to work well for their evolving dynamic. Markus had grown accustomed to this rhythm, and each week, after dropping Melissa off, he would discuss her progress with Victor.

One particular week, Markus proposed to Victor that Melissa's formal training might soon end. "She's been well-behaved," Markus explained, his voice carrying a note of pride. "She asks for permission to eat, drink, sleep, and use the bathroom. And she accepts the discipline without fuss."

Victor nodded, his face showing a mix of approval and contemplation. "She's come a long way, Markus. This would have been unimaginable when you first brought her here. You should be proud and reward her for this progress."

"But," Victor continued, his tone cautionary, "her compliance is calculated. It's born from wanting to avoid punishment and the knowledge that escape is impossible. Consider this: if she didn't have to fear punishment, would she obey? And if she had the chance to escape, would she take it?"

Markus paused, the reality of Victor's words sinking in. "Likely, yes," he admitted with a sigh. "She would not obey or would escape if she could."

“Exactly,” Victor confirmed. “This is common, especially with those enslaved as adults. Their mindset still clings to freedom, like someone who has spoken English all their life now trying to speak Chinese. She can learn, but at the first chance, she would revert to what is natural. Under pressure or without constant practice, her old ways take over, as if English slips out when Chinese feels too hard. You cannot blame her for that. The solution is to immerse her more in her new language, her role as a slave. We can reduce her training here to three days a week, but it should not be any less than that. We need to keep monitoring her progress, keep her on track. This should be maintained for at least a year, potentially two or three to achieve optimal results.”

Markus absorbed this information, the logic of it settling into his understanding of their situation. "I might soon need to travel back to Switzerland for business," he said, shifting the conversation. "I'd be away for two weeks. Could she stay here during that time? Then, when I'm back, she could stay with me longer."

Victor agreed without hesitation. "She can stay here for two weeks. We'll focus on any specific issues she might have. But remember, consistency is key. Don't keep her away from here for too long after that."

Markus nodded, gratitude evident in his expression. "Thank you, Victor. I really appreciate your expertise. Our relationship has improved so much since she started here." He meant it—her obedience thrilled him, but her silence gnawed at him. He loved her still, too much to hurt her himself. Victor’s way spared him that.

Victor smiled, a knowledgeable, almost paternal look in his eyes. "That's what we're here for."

44. Chains of Duty

Monday morning stirred Melissa awake in the basement dorm of The Slave Academy, her collar chained to a ring bolted into the wall as always. The other slaves lay asleep on their mats, their soft breaths filling the dim space. Early light filtered through a small barred window high on the wall, casting faint streaks across the rough floor. She stretched, chains clinking softly, and sat up, her hands tracing the steel collar around her neck as if to confirm its unyielding presence. She tugged at the chain locked to her collar, then at the one securing her to the wall, but there was no give. With nothing to do, she lay back down, dozing off until the others began to stir, whispering quiet good mornings to each other.

Dmitri entered, clapping twice sharply. The girls scrambled into a lineup, kneeling as their chains rattled, heads tilted up slightly to ease access to the padlocks securing their collars. One by one, Dmitri unlocked them, and the girls shuffled to the bathrooms and communal showers in the same room, cleaning themselves and preparing for the day.

An hour later, Dmitri returned, snapping, "Line up for inspection, girls—get in Attention, let’s see those bodies, now!" The girls formed a row, assuming the Attention position, feet apart, hands behind heads, their naked bodies exposed.

“Another morning of this degrading nonsense,” Hannah muttered.

"He enjoys humiliating us way too much," Nadine added, while Jennifer smirked, "Probably the highlight of his pathetic day."

Carla, still too intimidated to defy The Slave Academy staff, nodded silently, her eyes downcast.

Dmitri moved down the line, inspecting each girl with a cold precision. He made them open their mouths to check their teeth, then ordered them to spread their vaginal lips for him to examine. The girls complied, some of them with faces burning with shame.

He then commanded, "Yo, turn around, spread those legs, and grab your ankles, let’s see those butts already!" The entire lineup now faced away from him with their rears displayed for his inspection.

Hannah whispered, "Another day of this," and Melissa hissed, "I can’t believe we’re letting a teenager do this to us."

Nadine and Jennifer murmured agreement, their voices tense.

Dmitri barked, "Spread your buttcheeks for me." They reached around, pulling their cheeks apart, their anuses and vaginas visible for inspection as he slowly passed by, stopping briefly at each girl.

Before him stretched a lineup of more than a dozen young women, their smooth tanned white skin shimmering in the faint morning light filtering through the barred window. Each one stood bent down, legs spread wide, hands gripping their ankles, their bodies a breathtaking display of beauty and submission. He felt his penis go hard and his teenage heart began to race as he took in their flawless forms, slender waists curving into rounded hips, and pert buttocks parted to reveal their genitals and anuses to him as he had commanded them.

Their lush hair dropped toward the floor, some blonde others brunette a few with fiery red locks catching the light, the strands swaying slightly with their tense breathing awaiting his inspection.

His eyes caught on a fiery redhead, her hair blazing like a flame, and another with wide doe eyes that darted away, her shame making her all the more enticing. Their faces flushed with shame were a gallery of delicate features, high cheekbones full lips and wide eyes that avoided his stare, each one a vision he had once only dreamed of. Back in Russia he had marvelled at women’s beauty. But their naked bodies were hidden beneath layers of clothing and his teenage fantasies to see more had remained unfulfilled. But here at The Slave Academy they were all stripped naked. The sight of their nude female bodies laid out for him to savour at all times, no barriers no modesty just raw vulnerable beauty.

His eyes lingered on their exposed vaginas, a row of glistening pink slits. Some were framed by soft curls, others were shaved smooth, but all were forced into his view by their humiliating pose. Above their anuses were revealed, small and tight, a forbidden sight that made his pulse quicken with the thrill of power. Their breasts hung low, swaying slightly with their tense breathing, nipples hardened in the humid air, some pale pink others a darker rose, a testament to their youth and the shame they couldn’t hide.

Around each of their necks a steel collar gleamed. The metal was a harsh contrast to their soft skin, locking them into their submissive role, a visible sign of their enslavement. And now they were under his command. Dmitri’s chest swelled with a twisted pride. These women who back home would never let him see them like this now had no choice here. For a fleeting moment a flicker of unease stirred in him, back home this would be wrong, but the thrill of power quickly drowned it out, their beauty, their most private parts his to inspect, to command, to enjoy, all laid bare in this degrading display.

When Dmitri reached Melissa, she felt his stick trace her anus, a cold, invasive touch. He grunted in satisfaction and moved on.

She heard him stop behind Nadine, his voice sharp. "Wider, young lady, not so shy."

Nadine sighed, her hands trembling as she complied.

Dmitri pressed, "You need to stop being so self-conscious. When I tell you to spread your buttcheeks, you do it gladly and pull them wide for me. Understood?"

Nadine’s voice cracked, "Yes."

Dmitri snapped, "Yes, what?"

She swallowed hard, "Yes, Sir."

He continued, standing before her as she bent down, legs apart, spreading herself. "You’re no longer a free girl, Nadine. Back home, you might’ve been a little princess with all the privacy you wanted, but here, you better get used to being naked at all times. Your body isn’t yours. You can be inspected anytime, by anyone at The Slave Academy. Do you understand?"

"Nadine, her body quivering under the strain of the degrading, vulnerable pose, choked back her shame and whispered, 'Yes, Sir.'"

Dmitri finished the inspections, reaching the end of the lineup, then ordered them to stand straight and face forward.

A quiet sigh of relief rippled through the girls, mingled with a weary fatigue, as they released their buttcheeks, the tension in their arms easing as they stood upright, their bodies grateful to escape the humiliating pose. The air seemed to lighten, a fleeting reprieve from Dmitri’s control washing over them, though the sting of shame lingered in their flushed cheeks. Melissa stretched her shoulders, a small wince crossing her face as she rolled out the ache, a flicker of resentment burning in her chest at the indignity she had just endured. Hannah flexed her fingers, her jaw tight with suppressed frustration, while Jennifer caught Nadine’s eye, rolling her eyes with a subtle shake of her head, the shared humiliation a silent bond between them, their expressions a mix of resignation and quiet defiance they couldn’t voice. Carla kept her gaze down, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted to standing, the relief overshadowed by her lingering dread of the next command.

He beckoned Melissa to him, dismissing the others to their chores. As she approached, Dmitri produced a pair of rigid handcuffs, a single piece with no chain, locking her wrists tightly behind her with barely any room to move.

He led her to the Academy’s front door, explaining, "You’re going to Markus for your weekend off."

Melissa turned, expecting him to remove the cuffs, but Dmitri shook his head. "You’ll walk to Markus in handcuffs. He has a key to let you out. This ensures you don’t get distracted on the way and go straight to him."

Melissa’s anger flared, but with her hands bound, she had no choice. She set off toward Markus’s hut, her steps heavy with frustration. The rigid handcuffs clamped her wrists tightly behind her back, their solid bar allowing no movement. Each step pulled at her shoulders and the metal edges pressed into her skin squeezing her wrists. Walking felt awkward, her arms unable to swing naturally, forcing her to adjust her posture to lessen the strain.

Sweat mixed with dust from the path, clinging to her skin in a gritty layer. This walk was her only time alone, free from the Academy’s control or Markus’s watchful eyes. She imagined stopping to rest on a shaded bench, letting her aching body relax, or strolling through the market square to watch the bustle of people, anything to delay going from one place of control to another. But the cuffs made that impossible. Sitting would be uncomfortable with her arms pinned back, and a leisurely walk would only prolong the cuffs’ uncomfortable grip on her wrists. Her strongest urge was to be rid of the cuffs, and for that, she had to reach Markus. Despite her longing for a break, she pushed on, driven by the need to be free of their hold.



At the resort, she spotted Kaya and Liana hanging clothes on the line, their laughter carrying over the breeze. Melissa paused, her heart lifting at the sight of familiar faces, and called out, "Hey, Kaya, Liana!"

Kaya turned, her smile bright. "Hey, Melissa!"

Liana waved a damp shirt before pinning it up, her eyes warm. "It’s so great to see you again, Melissa. How have you been?"

Melissa’s shoulders slumped slightly, the rigid cuffs digging into her wrists as she shifted. "I’m being trained at The Slave Academy," she said, her voice low with frustration. "It’s hard… and degrading. Every day feels like a new humiliation."

Kaya’s smile faded, replaced by concern. "That sounds awful. What do they make you do there?"

Liana nodded, stepping closer. "Yeah, how do you even get through it? We’ve heard stories, but…"

Melissa sighed, the cuffs biting deeper as she moved, a reminder of her urgency. "I’d love to stay and tell you more, but I need to get these off," she said, turning and lifting her bound wrists slightly to show them her cuffed wrists. "Maybe we can catch up later when I’m not shackled like this?"

Kaya gave a sympathetic nod, and Liana added, "We’ll be here. Good luck with Markus." Melissa forced a small smile, excusing herself as she continued to his hut.



At the door, unable to reach the knocker, she turned, used her knuckles to awkwardly knock, and called for him. Markus opened the door and let her in.

He fetched the key, removed her handcuffs, and said, "Good. You’re here. Three days this week. Victor says you’ve earned it."

She nodded, keeping her gaze low, though her mind raced. Three days—less Academy, more of this strange, charged life with him. She hated the collar, the kneeling, but the Academy’s walls were worse. With Markus there was no whip, no incessant drills and she would sleep in a real bed. This was something—progress, maybe.

He set the mug down, his tone shifting, deliberate and clear. “I received a letter over the weekend from the court. Arbek’s case is resolved. He was sentenced for the visa fraud and bribery charges—parole only, no jail time, no fine. But if he commits another crime, he’ll face severe consequences. It will keep him in line, I expect.”

Melissa felt a jolt at the mention of Arbek, now sentenced to parole for the visa fraud. Relief sparked briefly, then vanished as Markus leaned closer, his eyes locking onto hers.

“There’s more,” he said, his voice hardening. “You were involved too—the visa fraud, the bribery idea you came up with. As a slave, you’re legally incompetent, so the responsibility falls to your owner. That’s me now. The court imposed a penalty on me for your actions.”

He paused, fingers tightening on the chair’s edge. Old Markus, the fool who’d emptied his savings to spare her, stirred in his chest. Back then, he would have paid it and hoped for her gratitude, hoped she would start to like him over Arbek. But that got him nothing. She had never softened, never valued him. If he paid now, she would still resent him bitterly. Her anger was fueled by her enslavement. Work, though, let her sweat it out for the Grabesians, might shift her. Out there, scrubbing their filth, she could learn his hut was the better deal, maybe even come to want it. He pushed aside his softer side, his determination settling into a firm resolve.

“The court officer offered an alternative: you can perform ‘character building’ work to prove your value to the community. I accepted this option. It’s fair you resolve the trouble you caused, since I didn’t own you when you did it. You’ll start tomorrow at the council hall, cleaning the beach and market to work off the debt.”

“‘Character building’ work? What is that supposed to mean?”

”I think it is some kind of council task force who do all kinds of community work like cleaning the beach and market square. I think it makes sense, so I’ve signed you up for it. It was you who did all of that so it makes sense that you should resolve this. You’ll report to the council hall at dawn tomorrow and return by afternoon.”

Her stomach dropped, rage igniting hot and fast. She shot up from her knees, voice sharp despite the risk. “A task force? You’re making me scrub streets? I’m already your slave. You’re making me suffer at the Academy. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

Markus held her gaze, his jaw tight but his voice steady, almost reluctant. “No, Mel, those aren’t punishments. You’re not my slave as a punishment, and the Academy’s training is for your own good. This… it’s different. The law holds me accountable for what you did before, but they offered this work instead, and I think it’s only fair you handle it. I’ve agreed—you’ll start at the council house tomorrow. Be ready.” He paused, eyes flickering with a buried softness, then looked away.

She clenched her fists, nails biting her palms. He had dangled relief before her, three days away from The Slave Academy, then dumped this work on her. She wanted to scream. He could have paid the penalty, spared her, but instead he had sentenced her to scrub their filth. Her mind churned with the injustice, but his steady, unyielding stare choked her protest. Zuri’s whip loomed if she pushed too far. She sank back to her knees, glaring at the floor, her anger a tight knot in her chest.

“Fine,” she muttered, voice bitter. “Dawn. Whatever you say.”

He nodded, leaning back, satisfied. “Good. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”



Tuesday dawned too soon. Melissa dragged herself from Markus’s hut, the sky streaked pink, her bare feet scuffing the path to the council hall. Her collar chafed as she joined a ragged line of slaves, ten or so, all naked, linked by a chain from neck to neck. A burly overseer thrust a sack and broom into her hands, his growl cutting the quiet. “Beach, then market. Move it!”

She trudged to the shore, the chain clinking, stooping to gather driftwood and trash under a climbing sun. Sweat stung her eyes, her back aching by midday as they shifted to the market square, sweeping dust and scrubbing grime from cracked stone. The overseer’s stick tapped his thigh, a silent threat that kept her moving despite the burn in her arms. Markus could’ve paid but he made her work off the fine instead. “Character building,” he had said, like she was some weak fool to be molded. She hated him for it, hated the grit under her nails, the endless grind.



By afternoon, she stumbled back to the resort, legs leaden, drained from hauling debris-laden sacks for most of the day. The pool shimmered ahead, a lifeline. She sank onto the edge, feet in the cool water, Kaya and Liana already there, their collars dull in the sun’s glare.

Kaya tilted her head, voice soft but sharp. “You look like death, Melissa. What’s he got you doing now?”

Melissa kicked the water, a bitter laugh escaping. “Markus’s latest torture for me. Academy’s training me to grovel—fine, I’m used to that. But now? Work group duty, cleaning beaches and markets. Working off some penalty—for that visa fraud and bribe I pulled ages ago. ‘Character building,’ he calls it. Stupid. Am I not being punished enough? Why this too?”

Liana’s brows shot up, a smirk tugging her lips. “A penalty? And he’s got you sweeping it off? Horst would pay just to skip the fuss.”

“Yeah, well, Markus says it’s ‘fair,’” Melissa grumbled. “He could’ve paid, but no—I’m hauling trash while he sits here comfortably. I’m supposed to be resting from The Slave Academy, but now I’m hauling around trash and I’m knackered.”

Kaya leaned back, her tone calm but cutting. “He’s tightening the screws—three days off the Academy, sure, but now you’re grinding like a workhorse. Character? More like breaking you in deeper.”

Melissa’s jaw tightened, fingers gripping the pool’s edge. “That’s it. I’m trained, collared, naked all day, and now this? He’s got no right. I’d scream if it wouldn’t get me lashes from Zuri.”

Liana splashed water, her smirk widening. “Scream here. We won’t snitch. I never fought myself, I was born into slavery. How’d it go for you?”

“I fought at first, but the whips sorted that out quick,” Melissa said, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Now it’s this—cleaning my own mess, he says, like I don’t already have enough on my plate.”

Kaya’s eyes softened, though her voice stayed firm. “You’ll get through this if you don’t lose your spirit. I’ve been carrying loads since I was a kid—born into this, same as Liana. Do the work, play their game. We’ve got your back.”

Melissa nodded, the water lapping at her feet, offering a small bit of comfort. Kaya and Liana’s solidarity steadied her, their shared struggles giving her firm encouragement. She’d endure Markus’s control, the Academy’s demands, and this absurd task force, staying determined.

Hi Everyone,

In this instalment, we dive deeper into Melissa’s journey as she navigates her weekend with Markus, faces new challenges at The Slave Academy, and confronts the harsh realities of her situation. Markus continues to evolve as a master, and we see the introduction of Fiona as a new face at the Academy, alongside the unfolding tension with Zahara.

What did you think of these chapters? I’m curious to hear your thoughts on Melissa’s struggle for freedom, Markus’s shifting priorities, and the dynamics with characters like Fiona and Zahara. Any favorite moments or parts you felt could be improved? Let me know!

Please share your feedback in the comments, and don’t forget to rate this update in the poll above. Thanks for reading!

I so enjoyed this installment. Even with my life long submissive leanings I think my reactions would be the same as Melissa's. I am in my mind living this with her and although might fight it as she is doing see myself slipping into the life totally as relying on someone else to bear the responsibility of decision making and begin enjoying the pleasure I give my master. I hope this insight might help in a small way Sir.
Yours truly,
Belinda

I did not realize I added "Sir" to the end of my reply until I reread it after posting. It seems your influence might be having a conditioning influence on me "Sir".
Yours truly,
Belinda

Hi Belinda,

Belinda wrote: ↑Sun May 04, 2025 3:27 pm I so enjoyed this installment. Even with my life long submissive leanings I think my reactions would be the same as Melissa's. I am in my mind living this with her and although might fight it as she is doing see myself slipping into the life totally as relying on someone else to bear the responsibility of decision making and begin enjoying the pleasure I give my master. I hope this insight might help in a small way Sir.
Yours truly,
Belinda

Thank you for your thoughtful feedback! I’m glad to hear you enjoyed this instalment. It’s great to know you’re connecting so deeply with Melissa’s journey, and I appreciate hearing how you relate to her reactions. Your perspective on submission, especially the idea of relying on someone else for decision-making and finding satisfaction in pleasing a master, is interesting. I should consider this angle for Melissa’s arc, particularly how she might grapple with those feelings even as she resists her situation. Your insight is helpful as I think about her development, so thanks for sharing it!

I also smiled at your second post. It’s nice to see the story’s atmosphere having such an immersive effect. Thanks again for your comments, and please don’t forget to rate this update in the poll if you haven’t already!

Such a great chapter ! I thought she would only stay a few weeks at most. How much can the academy with room and board cost !

Hi Babaurome,

Babaurome wrote: ↑Mon May 05, 2025 2:54 pm Such a great chapter ! I thought she would only stay a few weeks at most. How much can the academy with room and board cost !

Thanks for your feedback, I’m glad you liked the update!

The cost of room and board at the Academy is a great question. The next instalment will explore this and how Melissa might play her part in easing that burden for Markus, so stay tuned!

Hello,

I don't usually write comments, so I'm not really sure where to start. The truth is, I like your story. And I also like the pictures you sometimes add to the story. But the truth is, it's starting to feel a little long. I like the character of Melissa. A young woman who was persuaded to agree to something she didn't fully understand and now has to deal with the consequences of her decision.
That's a good plot. And I can relate to it, because I think all of us have made a decision at some point that we later regretted. Although in Melissa's case, the consequences are a little more extreme.
So, while I used to like seeing Melissa as a slave, I'm starting to think that she should have a chance to change her fate and return home. Or at least regain her status as a free person. I would really like to see her settle her score with Markus and Zahara. I understand Zahara's actions. She saw Melissa as competition, wanted to get rid of her, and took advantage of the opportunity that came her way. And Markus? If I had to find one character in your story that I really dislike, it would be Markus.
His talk about how he loves Melissa and that it's all for her own good....honestly, I don't know. I can't help but Markus makes me want to physically hurt him very badly. I really wish Melissa would find a way to get away from him or for someone to come along who would actually want to save her and not just use her.
I hope you won't be too mad at me for my words. Your story is really good, that's why I keep looking forward to new updates. But at some points it's starting to feel long.....

Jarda.

Hi Jarda,

Thanks for your thoughtful feedback. I’m glad to hear you’ve been enjoying the story! It’s great to know you relate to Melissa’s journey and feel so strongly about the characters.

I agree with you about the length. This is my first story, so I had no experience going in, and I underestimated how long it would be by a lot. And I mean a lot. I started thinking about how to wrap it up a while ago, and I can share that there are only about two or three more updates to go before the story ends, so the conclusion isn’t too far off.

Regarding Melissa’s freedom, I totally understand that some readers, like you, might want a happy ending where she regains her freedom. But I’ve always found slave stories where the slave gets freed at the end to be a bit unsatisfying. Since this is my first time writing a story, I wanted to create one where she remains a slave, staying true to the darker tone I envisioned. I’m sorry if that disappoints some readers, but I felt that trying to find a middle ground might risk alienating both those who prefer a dark story and those who want a happier resolution. I hope you’ll still find the ending compelling, even if it’s not what you were hoping for.

It makes sense that you feel so strongly about Markus. He’s sort of the villain in the story, so I think it’s a good thing if you hate him for the right reasons! For what it’s worth, he’s scheduled to get beaten up in the next update, so you have at least that to look forward to. I hope that moment brings some satisfaction.

I’m definitely not mad at all! I’m really glad you took the time to share your thoughts. As a first time writer, hearing what readers think has been so important for planning and writing the story, and your feedback means a lot to me!

hoggle: Darker is always better in my opinion. This is fiction and fantasy so you can be as dark as you like and I applaud you for it. Keep up the great writing I'm still a fan.

I've been following the story and I really like it.
I disagree about the length.
The story is amazing.
You have kept it interesting the entire time.
The transformation that Melissa undergoes is impossible in a short story.
You have done a great job. Please keep at it and don't rush it.

Hi Skaldd,

I’m really grateful for your kind words about the story. It’s wonderful to hear you’ve been enjoying it and find it amazing! I appreciate your take on Melissa’s transformation and your point that it needed the length to fully unfold. It’s great to know her journey has kept you engaged the entire time.

I also noticed your disagreement with Jarda’s comment about the length, and I’m glad you feel the story’s depth justifies it. To clarify, I am planning to wrap up soon, not because I feel pressured to rush, but because I’m starting to feel exhausted after such a long project. The 44 chapters published here are 400 pages in Google Docs! I guess I got a bit carried away as a first-time writer! Hearing that you’ve found it interesting the entire time is high praise. It’s been an incredible experience, and the support from readers like you has kept me motivated, but I’m looking forward to concluding this story and doing other stuff in my life that I have neglected a bit over the last few months. With about two or three more updates to go, I hope you’ll find the ending satisfying, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on how the story wraps up, especially since you’ve appreciated its depth. It’s been a joy sharing this journey with you, and I hope the story’s conclusion will resonate with you when Melissa’s tale comes to an end!

Babaurome wrote: ↑Mon May 05, 2025 2:54 pm I thought she would only stay a few weeks at most.

That is a good point. I have been thinking about this and I have changed it now so it is not months that she stays there but only a few weeks. I basically got rid of the 'Over the next few months' bit in chapter 43 and updated other indicators of passing time, so all the events happen in quick succession. I think that makes Melissa’s journey feel more intense and engaging.