Slave's Indoctrination Diary - 2

February 3

Nothing new today. No words from my captors. The same lingering smell from me and the pail of excrement. The same bland food.

My panties and bra were starting to itch, and smell. So, I decided to forgo modesty and remove them. Of course I would be naked for the camera, but what difference does it make? I'm just an animal in a cage.

Being naked, lying on the mattress with no sheets to cover myself, I felt exposed and vulnerable. Yet, as I lay there, bored as ever, I began to finger myself. Initially, I wasn't even conscious that I was doing it. When I was aware, I stopped.

Yet, my touch had aroused me. I yearned for completion. No doubt this would attract their attention.

However, I wondered if this humiliation wasn't just being silly. I was naked and trapped in a cell. How was I different from any other animal that needed stimulation?

Resigned, I once again played with myself. There was no longer anything covert. My legs were spread, and I fondled my breasts. My next scream was one of ecstasy, a climactic release after days of tension.

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February 4

I am now out of my cell.

I was startled when the door opened. I had been lying on the bed, fingering myself, as I was now regularly doing. Why not? There was nothing else to do.

I stood up, but did not rush to the door. I didn't want to anger them with a vain attempt to escape.

Two men stood at the doorway. Both of them were huge, over 6 feet in height, and muscular. I scrambled to cover myself, grabbing my bra and panties from the floor.

The older of the two, who was in his mid to late 30s, rebuked me. "Drop those, and put your arms down at your sides!"

Reluctantly I complied. No doubt they had seen me naked and masturbating through the monitor. Yet, I now felt more exposed, being seen with the naked eye, and them only a few feet away.

"Would you like to be let out for a shower bitch?"

I didn't like being called a bitch, but I eagerly responded, "Yes."

He seemed pleased that I wasn't making a fuss. I didn't beg to be released. Nor did I object to being called a bitch, or how I had been treated over the past 5 days.

"Stick your hands out in front of you."

I raised them as instructed. He then placed them in handcuffs. Without any further word from either of us, he then wrapped a leather collar around my neck and fastened it with a lock. I made no move.

He attached a leash, then with a light tug he commanded, "Follow me."

We walked out into a long corridor. I noticed other metal doors, and wondered if there were other women behind them. I hadn't heard anyone else. Given how loudly I had been screaming, it didn't seem possible.

"Where are we going?"

The senior guy, the one in his 30s, quickly chastised me in a harsh tone. "Shut up bitch! You only speak when you are spoken to."

I was in no position to argue or resist.

We proceeded to a large shower. There were a few shower heads, just as you would see in a gym, but we were alone. I wondered if these were the 2 men who had abducted me, but I didn't dare to ask. Come to think of it, was there anyone else?

I started to panic when my cuffed hands were raised above my head, and attached to a hook from the ceiling which I hadn't noticed before. This was a prone position in which people were tortured. Electric shocks delivered to wet skin. Or worse yet, with the tiles and drainage, they could slit my throat, and easily wash away the blood. This last thought struck me as they removed the collar.

I dared not speak, it would only provoke them. I calmed myself by interjecting some rational thoughts. If they wanted to kill me, my body would likely be found in the back alley behind my apartment. They certainly wouldn't have kept me isolated for nearly a week before killing me. The torture part was a bit more worrisome. Some people are just sadists. My only counter, along with the concerns of being raped, was that they could have done it at any time in the past 5 days but didn't.

I couldn't move very much. I could essentially twist around in my spot, but not much more. Turning around, another wave of panic hit me as I saw the men undressing to their briefs. Under any other circumstance, that would be exhilarating. They were both tall, muscular, and objectively handsome. However, I wasn't in that headspace.

The senior guy could see my body trembling, and my wide eyes. "Relax bitch. We're going to wash you like we promised. Frankly you need it. You stink bitch!"

Now that I think of it, I never heard the younger guy speak. The one I am referring to as the senior guy didn't say anything beyond his tertiary commands. The silence added to my tension.

I was tempted to point out that I smelled because they had locked me in a room for days. Yet, I knew that would only provoke them.

The first blast of water from the shower startled me. Fortunately, the temperature was adjusted to the men's liking, which was also nice for me. Not that I had a say.

One began washing my body, while the other shampooed my hair. It felt so refreshing to be clean again. Yet, it was also unnerving to have 2 men, 2 strangers, washing me. Although their strong hands running along the full length of my body was not unpleasant. Despite any misgivings I had, my body responded. My nipples stiffened, and my body quivered under their touch.

The strange part was, they seemed so dispassionate. They had a naked woman at their mercy, and they were rubbing all over my body. Yet, it never seemed to be more than a job. It wasn't even clear if I had aroused them to the point of erection. I was a jumble of emotions, arousal, fear, and humiliation. In contrast, they never lost control.

Next, they applied shaving cream to my underarms, and they both emerged with razors. I jolted a bit. I'm not even sure why since they were ladies-style razors. Perhaps it was simply the denial of my right to perform such a delicate task.

The senior guy grabbed me by the hair, holding me in place. "Steady bitch. We don't want to cut you!"

My nerves weren't settled, but I didn't want to be cut, so I stood still. I was about to say something, but a stern look was all he needed to silence me.

They proceeded to shave my underarms, then my legs. And finally, most intimate of all, they shaved my pubic hair. All of it. I generally kept it trimmed, but never bare. So, this was a new sensation, even beyond having a stranger, a man, do it.

Washed and shaved, they applied a lotion which soothed my skin and even gave it a bit of a shine. It felt nice, and reignited my arousal. This must have been obvious to them, but they ignored it.

My collar was re-attached, and I was released from the hook holding me. This was a relief as my arms were beginning to ache. My wrists were red from twisting in the stainless steel cuffs.

For this too, I was afforded some respite as the handcuffs were replaced with leather cuffs. My hands were left unbound, but I could see they could be fastened together with ease. Clearly my cooperation had some rewards.

I now gave voice to something I had been holding off. "Can I use the bathroom?"

His look suggested disappointment and anger. I had spoken without permission. "Sir. If you must speak to me, or any other man here, you will address us as sir."

"Yes sir." I replied meekly.

There was an awkward silence as he waited for me. I was initially confused until I realized he was waiting for me to ask the question politely.

"Sir, may I use the bathroom?"

He smiled. "Yes bitch."

He led me to the adjacent room. Like the shower, it was completely open, and along one side there were 3 toilets. He unhooked the leash from the collar, but continued to watch me. I looked back at the two of them standing there. They weren't going anywhere. I debated asking for a bit of privacy, but knew this would be denied. Reluctantly I sat down.

On the one hand, it was nice to use a toilet, rather than that awful bucket. Yet, it was awkward being watched. For a moment, I couldn't pee, but eventually my need surpassed my nervousness.

Luckily this luxury extended to toilet paper, and a sink to wash my hands. I was also provided with a toothbrush, and a hair brush. My hair was a tangled mess, but fortunately I kept it at a medium length so I could clear the knots and make myself presentable with a little work.

With the promised washing completed, I was afraid that I would be led back to my cell. Thankfully, I was led in the opposite direction.

My elder guide knocked on a wooden door, and instantly was told to enter. We entered a fancy office. Behind the oak desk was another man looking at his computer screen. He glanced up as we entered, observing me. A metal chain from the floor next to his desk was attached to my collar, and the leash was removed. I stood still, terrified of what they might do if I showed any resistance.

My two handlers exited the room without a word.

"Welcome Elizabeth Childs. I'm sure you are wondering what is happening, and the answer is simple. You are here to be trained."

"Trained for what?" I blurted out.

He struck his desk with a thick leather strap, which created a large snap throughout the room and shivers down my spine.

"Don't speak unless you are permitted!"

I nodded, afraid to make any sound.

He then went on. "But, to answer your question. You will be trained to be a pleasure slave."

My mouth opened to protest, but the stern look on the man's face stopped me from uttering a sound.

"This is a wonderful opportunity for a beautiful young woman like yourself. You are freed of responsibility, of all decisions, and are able to live as you were meant to, in service to your superiors." He was speaking calmly as if this was a job offer.

'A wonderful opportunity?' I glared at him in silence. Is this guy crazy?

I know at this point I should be moderating what I write down. It is obvious that they will read it. Likely even him, the guy I just called crazy. Yet, for some reason, I feel compelled to write the truth. What can they do to me? Abduct me, and lock me in a concrete cell for days? They never told me what to write. They haven't really told me anything until now. So, I'm sorry if this offends you Mr. Captor, but you are crazy if you think I'll ever willingly submit.

He clearly understood what I was thinking. He stood up, walked to me, gently caressed my hair, and stared directly into my eyes. I wanted to pull away from him but I couldn't get far with the chain attached to my collar.

"I know you are still trying to find an escape route. You still think of yourself as a free and independent woman. That will pass with time. Eventually, you will be much happier under the control of another."

His eyes pierced my soul. Part of me wondered if he was right. How long could I resist?

"Let's just test your will to protect your dignity shall we. You can stay here in this room. I have a comfy little bed for you." He pointed to a cot in the corner. "I'll even allow you to have a real meal. Or, I can send you back to your cell. We could then leave you in there for a few more days until you decide to relent."

The thought of being kept naked and sleeping on the floor like a pet didn't seem all that appealing. However, I dreaded being returned to that cell. Plus, out here, I had a better chance of escape. Real food would be nice as well. Yet, the real kicker came next.

"If you want to stay here, I'll need a sign that you understand your place. I want you to bend over onto the desk with your legs spread. I'm going to fuck you."

My eyes were wide with alarm. His hand went from stroking my hair to gripping it tightly. There was no escape from his fearsome gaze. For the first time, he adopted a menacing tone.

"Now, understand this! I am going to fuck you. If you fight it, I'll just have to pin you down, and force your legs open. Either way, you're getting fucked. I'm just giving you the choice to accept it. It can even be pleasurable."

He released his grip on my hair, and stepped back to stand beside the desk.

I continued to stare at him I was breathing heavy as nervous adrenaline pumped throughout my body. I didn't really have any choice. He was right that I really had no chance of fighting him off. The small remnant of rational thought that fluttered in my brain was that this was his point. That I should just accept what happens to me and my body. And that there was no use in fighting.

He continued to stare at me, allowing me a moment to consider. Then that moment was up. He tapped the desk. "Bend over bitch." He had returned to his business-like tone, which was almost as unnerving as his earlier snarl.

I don't remember making a conscious decision. I only remember stepping forward, bending over the desk, and spreading my legs.

"Good girl. Good girl." He said softly, and petted my hair.

His affectionate tone made it worse. He made the impending rape sound like love.

He retrieved something from his desk drawer. I soon realized it was lubricant. Meanwhile, I remained still, bent over the desk.

I heard his zipper being opened. Two lubricated fingers slid between my nether lips.

Despite myself, I was becoming aroused. Part of me doesn't want to write that here. I don't want to give my captors the satisfaction of knowing that my body so readily responded to their touch. Yet, he could already feel how wet my cunt was getting.

His fingers were removed, and he positioned himself behind me. I could feel the fabric of his pants press against my naked thighs. It occurred to me that it must be nice being a man. He was still fully clothed and he was still ready to penetrate me.

His erect cock nudged into my pussy, and was slowly pushed in all the way. I gasped when I felt his balls brush against me, confirming full penetration. His cock was impressive. I don't think any of my past boyfriends were near this size.

He began a slow rutt, in and out, and fully stretching my cunt. I tried to remain quiet, denying him the pleasure of knowing I was aroused by my rape. However, eventually I began to moan in sync with his thrusts. My legs were quivering. His body pinning me down on the desk, leaving me breathless.

Not only was his cock impressive, but so was his stamina. I had lost all control.

His intensity only increased. He pistoned into me with force. I was completely immobilized, with his arms pinning me to the desk. My legs were too weak to stand, even without his force.

His cock was driven all the way in. He tensed up, and moaned loudly. I could then feel his cum inside me.

He collapsed on top of me, trapping me beneath him. His cock was still inside me. We were both breathing heavily.

I hadn't cum myself. I wonder if this is a point of pride or frustration? My wetness belied any claim that I wasn't aroused. So, I'm not going to lie about it here. However, the lack of climax did leave me wanting more. That I am ashamed to admit here, but by now, what's the point of denying it. I'm not sure what that says about me?

I wondered if I had taken the pill this month. Sometimes, when I wasn't seeing anyone, I forgot to take birth control. I don't know why I was thinking about that. Still don't. At the moment, a possible pregnancy is the least of my problems.

His cock was soft as he slid out of me, and he stood up. I heard his zipper pulled up.

He patted my bum affectionately. "That was good bitch. You have a nice tight cunt."

Despite myself, I smiled. I wasn't some slut who was getting her pussy stretched on a regular basis. I had a tight young body.

I feared, not for the first time, that my innocence was going to be lost when he remarked. "We'll have to teach you some kegel exercises to keep you tight."

I didn't say anything. I hadn't even moved from my prone position on the desk. Yet, it was not lost on me that there was only one reason my vagina would lose its tightness. I mean besides age.

He sat down in his chair. From this position he could look me in the eyes. He stroked my hair.

"You've earned a reward. You can lie down, and I'll arrange for you to have some food."

He motioned for me to stand up, and then pointed to the cot in the corner.

I shuffled over to the cot. My reward. With the movement I was reminded of the chain attached to my collar. As I reached the corner there was a slight tug indicating that I had reached the full length of the chain. Once I laid down, the tension was eased.

He walked over to me, and leaned down to pat my head. "Good girl. I'll go retrieve some food for you. You just relax in your bed."

I felt that I should say something to him. He was so condescending. This doggie bed was my reward for allowing him to rape me? I didn't have the words to express my anger, and I would have been punished if I did.

He proceeded out of the room, leaving me all alone.

I knew I couldn't escape. Not with this heavy chain bound to my neck. Yet, perhaps I could find something that I could use later on, or send a message for help. I stood up and approached the desk. The room was nicely decorated with paintings, and had a nice glow from the sunlight pouring in from the skylight. Yet, if there was anything which could possibly provide assistance, it would only be at the desk. The laptop screen was locked, and there was no possibility of guessing a password within the few minutes I had. So, I turned my attention to the drawers. Perhaps there were keys, or something sharp like a letter opener I could use to cut my collar.

There was nothing. Papers, files, and such. Nothing I could use. Perhaps if I had time, I could learn from the files where I was, and better understand what was going on.

I heard a noise outside of the door, and practically jumped back onto my cot to feign resting. It appeared to work as the man re-emerged, carrying two bowls. He said nothing to suggest any suspicion.

He set the two bowls on the ground before me. "Here you go pet. I think you'll enjoy this after the bland stew and porridge you've been eating."

I picked up the bowl which was some form of stir-fry dish. It smelled wonderful. I hadn't given it much thought, but I was now starving.

"Put it down sweetie. Pets don't use their hands." He continued to command with a business-like manner.

It occurred to me there were no utensils. Not even the plastic forks and spoons I had been allowed in my cell. Reluctantly, I set the bowl down. He was expecting me to eat from a dish on the floor like a dog. Well, like a bitch, which is what they called me.

I saw no alternative, and I was really hungry, so I bent down and began to eat. The meal was all in bite-sized pieces, so I could manage it without much trouble. Only my dignity suffered.

Beyond the humiliation, it was a very tasty meal. I'm not what you would call a foodie, or a good cook myself, but it was a relief to eat something that actually had some flavour.

The other dish was a bowl of water. It would have been so easy to pick it up and drink from it. Yet, I could feel his eyes upon me, and dared not offend him. It was better that I lap it up like a good bitch.

That was actually harder than eating the food. The act of lapping was such an unfamiliar exercise. I think I ended up having more water on my face than I did in my mouth.

I initially thought I was being called out for making a mess when he gruffly stated. "Oh Elizabeth, you bad girl! And you had been doing so well."

I looked up to see a video playing on his laptop. It was this room with me standing at the desk, opening the drawers.

Damn! I should have known there was a camera in the room, and that I am constantly being monitored. They were nothing if not thorough. I would admire it, if it wasn't so terrifying.

He retrieved the 2 bowls, and placed them on the corner of his desk. He then grabbed a fistful of my hair and forced me to stand.

The video was being replayed. From the angle, the camera must be above the door, but I didn't dare look.

"Is this the proper behaviour of a slave? Rummaging through her master's desk? Standing without permission?"

I shook my head.

He held the leather strap again, and slapped it against the desk. The loud snap shook me. "Answer me!"

"No sir," I cried out, a tremble in my voice.

"I thought you wanted to demonstrate that you understood your place, and that you wanted to be a loyal pet. Should I send you back to your cell until you learn to behave?"

I put my hands together and pleaded, "No please sir. I'll be good."

He stared at me for a moment, gaging whether he believed me. "OK, since this is your first mistake, I'll give you another chance. I still need to punish you for your misbehaviour."

The thick leather strap in his hand was increasingly menacing. "I think 20 strokes would be fitting." He stared at me, still analyzing my reactions. "Bend over the desk again. Legs spread, as before."

I hesitated.

"OK, you don't want to behave. Back to the cell you go!"

"No, please!" I cried out before bending over as instructed.

I remained bent over and vulnerable as he silently debated whether my acquiescence was sufficient.

"Alright then, but you earned yourself an additional 5 strokes. I think that's appropriate, don't you?"

Not wanting to make things worse, I nodded my head.

When you are asked a direct question, you will answer, 'Yes master' or 'No master'. Now slave, do you think it's appropriate for you to now receive 25 strokes from this fine leather strap?"

He again slapped the strap against the desk to emphasize his point, as though it needed it. The loud crack sent shivers down my body since the next strike would be along my bottom.

"Yes master." He got me to call him master. In my fear, I would have said anything.

"OK then." I imagine that he stood behind me with a self-satisfied grin at my capitulation.

"You will count each stroke, and you will thank me. Understood?"

I nodded my head, "Yes master." I was nearly in tears even before the first strike.

I screamed out with the first stroke. I had attempted to brace myself, but nothing had ever prepared me for the stinging pain along my bottom. I had never been spanked as a child. And, I had never engaged in any kinky play with my boyfriends.

"I'm waiting," The man said sharply. This immediately focused my mind.

"One. Thank you master."

WHAP! The second blow landed. It was hard to focus on anything but the struggle to remain in place. My instinct was to stand and move away, or to cover up. Tears streamed down my face.

WHAP! I wasn't prepared for this one. Not that I was prepared for any of them.

"A blow doesn't count if I haven't heard the count, and have not been thanked for your instruction. So, that was your 2nd."

I wanted to cry out in protest. Yet, even in my distraught state, I knew better. "Two. Thank you master."

WHAP.

"Three. Thank you master.

WHAP.

"Four. Thank you master."

It's amazing how the simple act of counting focuses the mind. Rather than seeking protection from a random number of blows, your focus is on the number. Your pain is defined by a number. 25. Any lack of focus makes that number higher. Then there was the "Thank you masters" repeated like a mantra. Thank you master. You are my master. I deserve this pain. I am thanking you for this pain.

Once I have counted and thanked you master, then I am ready to receive the next blow. Master.

Of course I wasn't thinking about it so clearly at the moment. Indeed, that is what makes the punishment so effective. It empties your mind, and the only thing you can think of is counting, and thanking your master for this pain.

I don't know why I write this here. Since I know they will read this, it sounds like I am saying 'Good job master'. I suppose the psychology student in me can't help thinking about how they are manipulating me. Yet, even though I can see how I am being manipulated, it still works. So, I guess in a way, I am saying 'Good job master'. Doesn't mean I won't escape the first chance I get.

On the eleventh strike, the strap hit my pussy. I yelped in pain and closed my legs.

"Now, now, none of that," he chastised me.

"But, you hit my pussy... master."

He forced his hand between my thighs and stroked my cunt. "Yes, but this does belong to me as well, doesn't it?"

"Yes master." His touch was both degrading and pleasurable.

"Well, sometimes your pussy will get hit, but that doesn't matter because it belongs to me, doesn't it."

He repeated the question, and I repeated my answer. "Yes master."

"Then be a good girl and spread your legs. Offer your cunt to me."

I dutifully bent down and spread my legs.

"Have we forgotten something?"

"Sorry. Eleven. Thank you master." I was relieved that this counted, and I was not receiving an additional strike.

I think he deliberately hit my pussy with the 12th strike.

By the time the 25th blow of the leather strap hit, I was a quivering mess.

"Overall, you took that rather well for your first time." He motioned for me to stand. "You deserve your reward." He pointed to the doggie bed in the corner.

I was struck by the words 'first time'. I suppose I should expect more punishments. Regardless, I said "Thank you master," and shuffled over to my corner. It was hard to walk in my weakened state, but I had made it through. So what if my reward was to sleep naked in a doggy bed. I survived.

I think that's all I can do now. Survive. Do as I'm told, and wait for my opportunity to escape.

You would think that I would be unable to sleep, curled up in the corner like the family pet as my master did some work at his desk. I would have thought that. Yet, events overtook me, and I slept soundly.

Judging from the diminishing light from the room's skylight, I slept for hours.

Master smiled at me, and motioned for me to come towards him. "Crawl here sweetie."

I didn't give it much thought, I simply did it.

He patted my head and rubbed his hand along my back as if he was petting a dog. A bitch. "Good girl, good girl..." He murmured affectionately.

I hate to admit it, but I liked it. The rational part of me understands that this is a delicate process of dehumanizing me. Along with never using my name, Elizabeth Childs. Yet, I couldn't help feeling like a cute puppy at her master's feet.

I flinched a little when he touched my bottom.

"Shhh.. it's OK sweetie. I'm just taking a look. I want to see how red it is."

I calmed down, and turned to give him better access.

He ran his hand along my bottom, and pressing at various spots. I whimpered as he pressed certain sensitive spots.

"It's still a little red, but not too bad. There's a few stripe marks, but no welts, so you'll be fine tomorrow. Right now, it's just a nice rosy colour, with a few marks from your master. Perfect look for a slave."

I smiled. Why did I smile?

More disturbing was when I didn't say anything as he reached lower, between my legs, and gently stroked my pussy. It did belong to him. I told him so when he was whipping me.

My humiliation intensified as my cunt moistened. I moaned. My pleasure was heightened as he caressed my breasts with his other hand. I continued to remain steady, kneeling with legs apart, providing full access to my body. His property.

He had two fingers thrusting inside of me, rubbing against my clit. His other hand pinched my nipple.

It was really hot. I was moaning and gasping. There was no pretense of being disinterested or offended by my captor's touch. I was too far gone. And so, he only relented when I cried out in climax. Undeniable proof that my body was just an instrument for pain and pleasure. An instrument played by him, and he was a master musician.

He allowed me to rest at his feet. Yet, I became alarmed when I overheard him speaking on the phone.

"Hello Robert. Our latest recruit is ready to be shown her room."

He could see the alarm in my eyes. "Don't worry sweetie. It's not the cell. You are getting your own slave quarters. You'll only be sent back to the cell if you misbehave. You're going to need a good night's sleep. Your training starts tomorrow."

Another man, presumably Robert, entered the room. I had never seen him before, which renewed my earlier question of how many people were here. Without a word, to me or the boss, he attached a leash to my collar, and disconnected the chain. He then led me out of the room.

Walking down the hallway, one question was answered, as we crossed paths with another woman. A beautiful young blonde, about my age. Like me, she was naked, and being led down the hall on a leash by one of the muscular guards. She appeared to have more training than me, as she kept her eyes downcast, and barely acknowledged me. It was clear that neither of us were permitted to speak. She also had her hands behind her back, fully exposing her ample breasts. I liked that, and I'm sure the men did too. She then disappeared from sight as my guard lead me down another corridor.

We arrived at a steel door. The guard scanned his keycard, and the door opened. It revealed a small bedroom. It reminded me of the dorm rooms at the college. Small, spartan, but certainly much better than the cell. For one thing, there was an actual bed. No sheets to cover myself, but it looked comfy enough. There was also a toilet and sink. Granted, they were those steel variety which they have in prison cells, but at least I wouldn't have to deal with the smell of my own feces. Obedience did have its reward.

He removed the leash, and exited the room without a word.

On the small table next to my bed, was my notebook and pen. There was no way of knowing if they had read it, but they probably did.

I was still a bundle of energy, so sleep was not an option. I instantly began writing this journal.

A short while later, Robert entered the room with two bowls. He set them on the floor, and stood to the side waiting for me. I recognized that this must be my new normal, eating from the floor like an animal. I didn't give too much fuss. I simply knelt down, ate my meal, and lapped up my water.

My meal complete, Robert retrieved the bowls, patted my head, and simply said, "Good bitch."

I responded, "Thank you sir."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me to my writing. Fortunately the other thing this room has is a light switch. So, I'm able to control when I sleep. The truth is, I am quite tired now, and I'm going to sleep. Apparently tomorrow will be a busy day. And I still need to be alert for any escape opportunities.