Becky's Burden

"Becky Pines?" the courier asked. "Here you go." He passed an envelope through the crack in the door, touched the brim of his cap, and walked off.

She bolted the door. She flipped the envelope in her hands, noting the lack of a return address. With shaking fingers she tore it open and pulled out a single folded paper sheet.

"NOTICE OF ENSLAVEMENT," it said. It was an order to report to the nearest Department of Labor office for processing.

Becky re-read the notice, struggling to make the words mean something else. But she'd been selected, and she could guess as to why. She'd been outspoken on social media and now she had three days to tell her parents, younger sister, and friends. No doubt her university had already been informed. She could imagine the grief in her parents' faces. And while she hadn't always gotten along with her sister, she was still family. And her law degree... she'd dreamed of overturning the slavery laws, but now that dream was dead.

Becky shivered. She hadn't kept her head in the sand like many people had. She'd seen slaves around the city. Naked and collared, they were usually doing menial labor for the state. A few were privately-owned and did things like pedal bike taxis and hand out fliers for the slave-brothels. Some of her wealthier friends even had house slaves. Worse, Becky had heard rumors of breeding camps where women were forced to produce offspring for the government. They were breeding people like livestock. There was a ball of rage in her stomach, but there was nothing she could do except wrap up her affairs.

She called a family meeting. They tried to comfort her, but their words were hollow. She hugged them anyway. Then she went to see some of her friends. "We won't let them take you without a fight!" one of them said, but there was nothing they could really do. Upon visiting her campus, some of her teachers wept. "You had so much potential!"

On the evening of the second day she went for a walk in her favorite park. She soaked in the fresh air and tried not to stare at the slaves picking up garbage and raking leaves. Apart from sunblock and broad-brimmed hats they were nude. Becky then went to a bar, met old friends, and laughed and drank too much. One friend tried to keep the conversation light, but her mother had been taken the previous year. "What is the government even going to do with you?" she asked. "You're a political science student, not a farmhand!"

"I don't know," Becky said, her stomach churning. "Maybe they want to chain me to a desk or, or do secretary work."

On her final day as a free woman she woke up with the realization that she was nineteen and would enter slavery as a virgin. She thought she'd been saving herself for someone she loved and respected, but now... She'd never had any serious boyfriends. There had almost been one, but she'd broken it off. She still had his number though. As she looked over her room and wondered if she should call him, her sister walked in. "Hey," Briana said.

"Hey," Becky said.

They looked at each other, and then Becky's sister came over and hugged her. "I don't want you to go," she said. Becky squeezed her back and felt a pang. They'd bickered a lot, but they'd always been there for each other.

After Briana left the room crying, Becky called up her friend. "Hello, Hank? I-I'm sorry to call you like this. I don't have much time." She told him the situation.

"Can you run?" Hank asked. " I can try smuggling you out of the country."

"They're already monitoring my phone, they'd catch me before I even left the city. And even if I got away they'd just take my sister."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She sighed. "It's my own fault for being such a loudmouth." There was an awkward moment where she felt she could hear him thinking.

"It's good to hear from you anyway," he said. "It's got me wondering if things might've been different. Do you know what you can expect?"

The Department of Labor website had a section on the reeducation camps. She'd be in one for twelve months while they broke her to the life.

"Oh, baby," he said. His voice made her chest ache. "Becks. You know I love you, don't you?"

"I'll be fine," she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking. She'd been so careful not to let herself get attached. "I think I love you too," she said, quietly.

* * *

The next morning she reported to the nearest DoL office, which was in her childhood mall. She had fond memories of the place but that day it was everything she was leaving behind. The crowd of happy shoppers seemed to mock her. As she walked to the office, she felt the security guards watching. She carried nothing, not even an overnight bag, and she wore her oldest shoes and clothes. She'd be naked soon and the thought made her shudder.

The government clerk's eyes swept over her appraisingly. "Come with me," he said, and led her to the room where she would be stripped and vaccinated. There were two female slaves waiting for her. "Strip," one of them said. This slave was a beautiful blonde, with a collar that showed she was private property on loan. "Your clothes go in there," she said, pointing at a bin.

Becky removed her clothes, feeling the climate-controlled air on her skin. The blonde slave gave her a cavity search and the other woman gave Becky a shot with a vaccine gun. "Go to the next room for your haircut and tattoo," this slave said. "Come on, don't hold up the line."

Becky's heart ached. She cradled her long black hair in her hands but there was no time to mourn. The next room was filled with slavegirls with electric clippers and tattoo guns. They were nude and so were the girls they worked on. One had just gotten her hair buzzed to the scalp and was crying as she was led to a chair where she would sit for her ID tattoo. A slave was already sweeping the hair away.

As Becky watched new slaves get shaved and marked, she felt the world shift from under her. She wanted to close her eyes but she forced herself to keep looking. This is my reality now, she told herself. Finally it was her turn. A heavily-tattooed slave gestured for her to sit down and then buzzed her hair off.

Becky felt the last strands slip off her shoulders. She would never again be able to wear it down, never play with it, never style it. Not as a free woman, anyway. Another slave led her to another station, put a stencil on her chest, and started up a tattoo gun.

I will get through this, Becky told herself, trying to picture Hank's face as she got her slave number.

"There you go," the slave said, slapping a medicated bandage on. "Next!"

Becky found herself in another room where a slave was giving each freshly-shorn girl a steel collar. The woman looked at her sternly. "Put this on."

Becky lifted the cold steel band and locked it around her neck. It was just loose enough that she could get her fingers under it. "STATE PROPERTY" was engraved on the outside.

An office slave sent Becky outside to wait while the other girls were processed. Eventually the former law student stopped trying to cover herself and resigned herself to watching the crowds on the lower levels. She could see parents with their kids, couples holding hands, teenagers giggling among themselves. It was a Saturday and people seemed to be moving in slow motion. She could see them laughing and talking but it was all static to her. Some of them glanced at her, and of course they knew what she was. She'd known it herself when she'd occasionally passed this way while she was enjoying a day at the mall.

An hour later four dozen new slaves were led down the entrance steps and into a bus. They were in single file, linked by a long chain. The other girls were around her age but she didn't know them -- the Department of Labor mostly called up women from poor neighborhoods. Most of them kept their heads down. Some looked around fearfully. The bus had three wooden benches running the length of the bus, and with no backrests and no seatbelts they were packed in like cattle, their bodies rubbing against each other with every jolt.

It was a long ride, with nothing to eat or drink. They weren't allowed to talk either and so they just sat in their misery as they passed out of the city. Becky sat next to a girl with tears in her eyes. She looked no older than eighteen. She started shaking and Becky put her arm around her. "Don't cry," she whispered. "Just, don't cry. Don't give them a show."

As Becky comforted her fellow slave she looked out the window and saw the first farms passing by. The air in the bus was sticky and sweat glistened on the slaves' skin. The faint smell of manure coming in through the windows was almost welcome. The bus drove into a large compound surrounded by high fences. The slaves were unloaded from the bus and a tall, thin man came out to meet them.

"Welcome to reeducation camp," he said. "You're the third quarterly batch this year but you'll go through the twelve-month course like anyone else. We have high standards here. A year in our care will turn most anyone into a good general-purpose slave."

He looked over the huddled mass of women. "But let me introduce myself as the camp commandant. You don't need to know my name, just like I don't need to know your names. It's enough to know that for your first three months we'll be breaking you to the life in a particular way. Your eyes will be blindfolded, your ears will be plugged, and you'll be gagged most of the day. You'll also be confined to individual cells."

Becky felt her heart clench.

"Any questions?" he asked. "This will be the last time you'll be able to speak for a while."

There were no questions. The girls were too scared and humiliated. The commandant nodded and ordered the guards to show the girls to the breaking sheds.

* * *

Becky was released from the coffle. The guards slipped plugs into her ears, a blindfold over her eyes, and a soft gag into her mouth. She was effectively deaf, blind, and mute when they pushed her into a cell. She tried to move around but the darkness was complete and she could only make small steps. She touched the walls, found them to be made of cinderblocks, and slumped to the floor.

The commandant's voice was in her ears: "Slave. Be not afraid. You are hearing me through your earplugs. My voice, and whatever recordings I choose, will be the only things you hear for the next three months."

His voice was pleasant, almost soothing, but the content made her spine tingle. Three months of this? she thought. How will I stay sane?

"Not only are you blindfolded, but your cell is completely dark. But I can see you through the cameras. If you try to touch yourself we will know and your collar will shock you."

She shuddered. She was locked up and she couldn't even take comfort in her own body?

"Your body no longer belongs to you. That is the lesson you must learn. Now, go and explore your cell."

She got on her hands and knees and started to feel her way around. There was a raised part of the floor with a thin straw mattress. There was also a squat toilet, which thankfully came with a lid and a bidet attachment. On the other side of the toilet she found her drinking fountain, which was shaped like a dildo mounted to the wall. If she wanted a drink she had to unbuckle her gag and deep-throat the dispenser. That was the only time she was allowed to remove her gag. She touched the rubbery phallus and felt deeply humiliated. Next to her bed there was a low saddle with a dildo mounted on it. There was another one sticking out of the wall, at the right height for her to back into. She found that both phalluses were made of hard, smooth plastic and she imagined herself naked, bound, and being forced to impale herself on them.

The voice in her ears spoke again. "It is time for your dinner. Crawl to the door and stick your head through the feeding slot."

Becky got on all fours. The mortification was almost more than she could stand. She bumped her head against the slot and it slid upward and she eased her head through. Hands unbuckled her gag and hung it from the door handle. She smelled food under her face.

"Go ahead, eat," the warden said.

She stuck out her tongue and slurped up a mouthful. It was some kind of thick gruel in a dog bowl. Slave food. She was allowed twenty minutes to eat and then she was ordered to lick the bowl clean. She was told to open her mouth and an attendant stuck an electric toothbrush in there and blasted her mouth clean. A different attendant locked her gag back on and pushed her head back into the cell. She whimpered and curled up in her mattress.

* * *

In the total darkness of the cell there were no clocks and no windows. She never knew if it was day or night and she had no way of knowing if she'd slept for six hours or ten. They were always watching through the cameras and her collar would shock her if she exercised with bad form or started to masturbate. At times she found herself sitting in a corner, groaning to herself. She was going crazy, she was sure of it. And it had only been a few -- days? Weeks?

Eventually the routines of the camp gave her some sense of time. In the "morning" the voice in her head woke her up and commanded her to kneel in the center of her cell. Every hour it would tell her to get up, pace around, and do a few quick exercise sets. She wasn't going to waste away in solitary.

The first big event of the day was an hour-long workout. The sessions varied: There was one focused on strength and involved pushups, air squats, and pullups from the bar on her cell door. There was another where she was ordered to run in place, do jumping jacks, and perform burpees. And there was the dance workout, which was a bit more freeform. The only requirement was that she dance to the music as lewdly as possible. After two cycles of this (for a total of two strength-training sessions, two cardio sessions, and two dance sessions),( Becky was allowed to do a long, slow, and easy stretching session. She would spend an hour moving from pose to pose, sweat running down her body. Sometimes she moaned, she couldn't help it. This had to be the Sunday workout and she realized she had a way to know what day it was.

After the morning workout she had breakfast. She would get on all fours and stick her head through the door. Someone would remove her gag so she could dip her head into a dog bowl. She was getting acquainted with the commercial formulations of slave feed: instant slave gruel, dry slave kibble, wet canned slave chow. There were also a variety of scratch recipes. Some days it was oatmeal with cinnamon, some days it was fruit and yogurt, some days it was just plain boiled grains. Everything was cheap, nutritious, and filling, not to mention vegetarian. Her owners would have no trouble feeding her.

She was never given any utensils to eat with and her hands were still inside the cell in any case. She quickly got used to licking her bowl clean. Someone would clean her teeth, someone would re-gag her, and then she was allowed to withdraw her head and use the squat toilet.

It had been difficult to go at first, knowing there were cameras, but the exercise and the high-fiber diet made her very regular. The bidet water was always cold.

Then she would kneel at attention and listen to lectures on the importance of discipline, her duty to her masters, and other worthy topics. The commandant would walk her through periods of self-reflection and meditation. He put the "education" in "reeducation, as he liked to say." And to make sure she would crave his voice, there were also days of silence. That was when she had nothing to do except be deaf, mute, blind, and alone.

She was aching for a human voice when she heard it. At first it was just a whisper, and she couldn't be sure she wasn't imagining it. It slowly grew and she thought it was the commandant. It was telling her to listen, to obey, to be a good girl. And she was a good girl, wasn't she? Yes she was. Yes she was. The voice was liquid and the words washed over her. She drank them in. Hours turned to days and the voice whispered sweet things. She heard nothing else, not even her own heart. There was only this voice that cared about her and told her she was doing well. It encouraged her to exercise, to hold herself in poses for hours, to follow the routine. It praised her when she obeyed to the letter. When it was silent, it was a punishment.

Becky was getting touch-starved. In the evening, at the end of a long day, she'd grovel in front of the door. While she slurped up her food she'd feel a hand scratch her bristly scalp. Fingers would caress her head, ears, neck. Sometimes the contact was so much that she'd cry into her dinner and the hand would give her a few more pats. Was the attendant speaking? Wearing her earplugs, Becky had no way to know. Either way, the touch was like light in the darkness.

On days when Becky had been an especially good girl she'd find a horny pill slipped into her food. She was so desperate to feel something that she'd gobble it down. After dinner the voice would put her through an hour of meditation. The whispers would command her to slow and steady her breathing but the phalluses near her bed would start to pull on her. Her body would heat up and her mouth would water. But before she could have pleasure, she had to pay in pain. That meant at least thirty minutes in a stress position. She'd have to do wall sits or kneel with her arms held out. If she couldn't do it, the voice would simply give her the choice of not cumming at all.

When she had used the wall-mounted dildo that first time, she'd been afraid. But the voice had told her she was allowed to deflower herself. There was pain, sweet pain, and she'd felt so incredibly full. It was even better with a plug up her butt. Anal training was another thing she had to get used to. At first she'd wear butt plugs of increasing size for most of the day and then for the rest of the night before bed. Before too long she was wearing them overnight. She would punish herself with a stress position, then remove her gag to clean one or both of the dildos with her mouth. It was mortifying but she was actually starting to like the taste. Only when she was fucking herself on them was she allowed to touch her breasts and pussy. The voice would urge her on.

On Fridays the attendants would hose down the entire room with her in it. It was the only time in the week that she got to feel clean. She would put her hands on the far wall before they entered her cell. They'd cuff her wrists and ankles to rings, then remove her blindfold, gag, and earplugs. She was ordered to keep her eyes closed while they sprayed every surface with soapy suds, then hosed them clean. Afterward Becky was left to stand in her chains while a fan blew hot air into the room. Once the cell was dry she was returned to her sensory bondage and released to crawl into a new mattress. Becky would luxuriate in the fresh, sweet straw.

* * *

Weeks turned into months for the slave-in-training. She'd gotten good at crawling around in the dark and never ran into a wall or missed the toilet. Her body was stronger and more flexible but her mind felt swaddled in layers of control. She spent lots of time just lying still and thinking of the voice. She felt she was almost in love with it.

One day she was counted up the weeks and months and realized it was nearly three months. She'd been in solitary for a quarter of a year. She was taken out of her cell in the middle of the night. Her earplugs were removed and so was her gag, although she was still ordered to be silent. Her collar was connected to the collars of some of her batchmates and they shuffled to their new quarters. With growing excitement, Becky realized she was no longer alone.

The girls were told to assume the standard kneeling position. They spread their legs, straightened their backs, and rested their hands palms-up on their thighs. Becky was still blindfolded but she felt hands weighing her breasts and squeezing her thighs. Fingers spread her snatch and pulled open her mouth. The girls were told to spread out the straw mattresses and get some sleep. For the first night in months, Becky lay awake and listened to other people breathing, coughing, sobbing. It rustled when they rolled in their sleep.

They were awakened by someone banging a triangle and ordered to line up outside for inspection. Becky put her hand on the shoulder of the girl in front of her while the girl behind her did the same. They shuffled into the courtyard, arranged themselves in ranks and rows, and sank to the hard-packed dirt. Becky still wasn't clear who the attendants were but she heard them walking down the line, lifting chins and examining bodies. There was no sound except the occasional sniffle. She held her chin up and knelt for what felt like hours.

Inspection over, they began their morning workout. The exercises were the same as in solitary but it took some days before they could work out without crashing into each other. This time the music came from speakers mounted on poles.

At day's end Becky found herself bedding down between nineteen-year-old Martina and eighteen-year-old Alice. the girls invited Becky to join in their whispered conversation but she remained silent. And she was right to be, because the next morning Martina and Alice were whipped in front of everyone before being re-gagged and transferred back to the breaking sheds. Now they were ten instead of twelve slaves. After the morning workout they were led to the feeding trough. The girls knew not to whisper while gulping down their feed but they could touch each other as if by accident, and Becky felt a thrill at the odd brush of a shoulder or hand laid over her hand.

After breakfast they took turns at the toilet before heading to cell's shower area. Becky was amazed to be bathing every day. And she could touch her cellmates! She had to be careful not to let her hands linger but that was difficult. The girls would pass around the one bar of soap and the communal toothbrush and take turns scrubbing each other. At the end of the day there was more touching around the mattresses. The girls were still strangers to one another, but they giggled and reached for each other's warmth.

During the day, the protocol lessons and indoctrination sessions were the same as before, but now there were also exercises involving each other. The girls were expected to hold hands and dance in formation and the classes on sex involved practicing on each other. Becky had considered herself straight, but slaves didn't have the luxury of an orientation. It was terribly embarrassing the first few days but they were all too scared of returning to solitary. Strapons were issued and Becky found herself partnered with eighteen-year-old Robin, who had red hair and freckles all over her face and shoulders -- at least according to her own description.

The hours after dinner were supposedly their leisure time. Still functionally blind and mute, the girls didn't have many ways to amuse themselves. Some of them would make little games but most of them spent their time kissing, petting, and making love. The slaves weren't technically allowed to pleasure themselves but they could pleasure each other just fine. In the beginning Becky was overjoyed just to feel other people. They'd be sitting on the mattresses and she would slide her hand up someone's thigh. Sometimes the attention was reciprocated, sometimes not. Sometimes one girl would start to make a sound but she'd remember and clap a hand over her mouth. They weren't forbidden from walking but in the darkness of the cell it was safer and friendlier to crawl. Like dogs, they learned to recognize each other by the smell of their rear ends.

Becky spent a lot of time just thinking of how the other girls felt. She often passed the night with Robin but she got to know the other eight girls too. Robin would kiss her and they'd feel each other up in the dark. The other slaves would sometimes sneak a caress, or crawl over Becky and Robin on the way to other girls. It could be difficult to distinguish one slave from another except for the subtle differences in smell, taste, skin texture. Becky imagined that if the lights were turned on someone would see them all in a pile. Most everyone's skin had turned pale, and they were still growing out their hair, but they would still e ten women having an orgy.

* * *

One day they got an eleventh girl, Melina. She was from the batch ahead of them but had been punished by being blindfolded and sent back to the previous training phase. At twenty-three she was one of the older girls but she was so soft and fragile-looking that she soon became everyone's little sister. Becky found herself taking the girl into her arms just to comfort her.

A relaxed hierarchy was forming. Robin was the closest to a leader they had. She wasn't very dominant but she was level-headed and kind. The others usually went along with what she wanted, and mostly what she wanted was being gang-banged. Robin's favorite game was to have four girls hold her down, one for each arm and leg, while one girl fucked her with a strapon, two girls sucked her nipples, and another girl straddled her face. It took eight girls in total and they could go for hours as everyone took a turn. Robin also liked to ride Becky until she got tired and collapsed on the former law student. They'd wrap their arms around each other and Robin's freckled face would lean in for a kiss. Becky would feel Robin's breath and hands all over her. When they kissed, the softness of Robin's lips made her shudder.

Sometimes Becky would take a turn as the gangbang bitch. The other girls would hold her down and she'd feel her cellmates touching her, fingering her, kissing her belly and breasts. They would use her for their pleasure and she would moan and shake. She'd thought herself a loner but now she lived for her community. There was a kind of peace in letting go and submitting to their hands and tongues.

She would always remember this phase of her training with fondness. Apart from the time they spent sleeping, eating, exercising, and taking lessons it was basically one long orgy.

* * *

They heard nothing about the outside world. They were just instructed, in various ways, by people they couldn't see. Sometimes the trainers put the girls through team-building exercises like "human centipede." Each slave would get a double dildo gag. One end of the phallus went in her mouth and the other end was supposed to go into the first pussy or anus she found. The whole line of girls would then try to move around the courtyard.

The daily routine went smoothly for the most part, but Melina wasn't doing so well. She was going through this phase for the second time but still wasn't catching on as quickly as the others. Sometimes she spent the night crying, afraid of being bumped back down to solitary. But the other girls were patient and they helped her. The eleven cellmates had become like a family. Melina was definitely on the bottom of the pecking order, however, and by some unspoken agreement this made her everyone's bitch. At night they'd have her crawl from bed to bed, servicing them with her mouth. During the day they'd sneak a quick fuck with her after exercise. It was like she was a stress toy, or simply a toy. Nobody really thought much about it. Melina was improving and wasn't crying anymore.

For the third phase of training, Becky and her group were freed from the blindfolds. More important, they were transferred to a kennel. The first few hours were a painful blur. Nobody was allowed to talk yet but they could try to brave the light to look at each other and their new home. They'd each gotten a dog cage and there was a wall-mounted water dispenser just like in their old cell.

Becky thought she knew what it meant to live like a dog but this was her first time as a working animal. Not only was the camp close to several farms but it also had river access to mines and logging camps in the mountains. And of course, it took in supplies for its own needs. That meant it needed slaves to row the galleys, slaves to move the minecarts and wagons, and slaves to work the fields and pull the plows. Becky and the others were issued work gloves and steel-toed boots when needed but otherwise they labored in the nude. For some jobs they were harnessed together. They would grunt and sweat as they pulled in a line, but this was how they were able to tow barges, shift boulders, and pull tree stumps out of the ground. It was a different kind of girl power.

Becky rather enjoyed being able to move around the camp and work in the fresh air. When she was chained to her oar she thought of it as a day on the river. To make up for slack periods on the farms and logging camps, the commandant made the different kennel groups compete in galley races. The best teams earned merit points and the worst were soundly whipped. The work was hard, but Becky was used to that and barely needed the whip. She would focus on the beat of the drum and look out over the water and the wilderness.

There was also taxi slave duty, which was when a girl was chained to the handlebars and pedals of a bike rickshaw. Becky, with her long legs and history of biking around her home city, took to this work with an ease that made her blush. She soon became comfortable pedaling on the modest phalluses on her bike seat and this was how she got to know every building around the camp, the main streets and side paths, and all the different surfaces.

There weren't many classes anymore. The morning rituals of inspection, exercise, breakfast, and bathing remained the same but the rest of the day was devoted to being a beast of burden. Some of the girls got used to the rhythm faster than others and she Becky one of them. She'd always been industrious and she was in a good shape by now. The girls' rations had increased to accommodate their needs and she'd gained weight, much of it lean muscle. She quickly became a popular taxi slave and earned more than her share of boiled sweets. After six months of bland slave feed these were the best things she'd ever tasted.

She wondered what it said about her, that she could be happy in this situation. But she could see her friends, she could see the sky, and she could see herself. There were mirrors in the stable where she was harnessed to the vehicle of the day and she knew she looked good. That was something to be proud of, wasn't it?

Working around the camp also brought her into contact with male slaves. They looked strong, but also more broken. Slaveboys received much the same training but naturally put on more muscle. To keep them docile they were locked in chastity and punished more harshly.

* * *

The overseers were careful to keep Becky and her kennelmates healthy and well-rested. Even though they did hard labor most days they also got frequent breaks for water and snacks. And after an early lights-out they got plenty of sleep. The mattresses in each cage could be surprisingly comfortable. In the summer there sometimes heat waves but the girls got to sit in the shade or even swim if they were working close to the river. They also got one day off a week where they were free to revert to the lesbian ways of the previous training phase. The rule on talking had been relaxed and they were free to sit and talk and make love.

Becky's day off was on Sunday, and one Sunday she and her slave-sisters pooled their merit points to rent a slaveboy. He arrived hooded and harnessed to a cart. He was muscular, as they all were, and when they removed his hood he had a pretty face. He was about twenty and had been broken to the point that he obeyed everything silently.

They started the day riding around in his cart. After the novelty wore off they climbed out, unhitched him, and led him into the shade of a tree by the river. They sat him down on a blanket and ran their hands over him. They combed their fingers through his hair and put flowers in it, and if they'd had makeup they would have dolled him up. Soon they were passing him from hand to hand and strapon to strapon. They were always touching him, always stroking his back and his balls and his caged cock. When they got tired of pegging him, Robin freed his cock and he started crying.

Most of the girls were still virgins when it came to the opposite sex but there was plenty of daylight and they'd been taught to suck cock. They did this (being careful not to let him cum) until Robin decided to give the boy some rest. They tied him to the cart and he got to watch them pull him around. Around the evening they let him eat at their trough. After bathing and resting they staked him to the ground and started dancing over him. They straddled his limbs and rubbed wet streaks on his arms and legs. Robin lent him her hot, wet mouth to get him hard.

Becky knelt next to the boy's head. She bent down and kissed him, gently and then with growing heat. The other girls giggled and began kissing him and each other. Soon the first of them straddled him and lowered herself onto his member. The night was cooling when Becky finally moved herself on top of him. Her slave-sisters had decided she would be the one to give him release, but he was exhausted. Despite his need to cum he was having trouble getting his nervous system to cooperate. Becky was sweating. The other girls stood by with wet towels and drinking water. They'd rented him for a day, not overnight, and wanted to finish things properly.

"Hnnnnnnngh!" he said, and finally came. The former law student was cumming too.

* * *

A couple of weeks later Becky found herself in a different kennel. This time the slaveboy and his kennelmates had pooled their merit points to rent her. Now she was surrounded by a dozen brutes. All their cocks were free, and she noticed that some were bigger and some were smaller. There was one man who seemed too skinny to have an organ that long. They stood in a circle, breathing hard, and their dicks pointed to her.

The slaveboy she'd rented came up to her. His face was still pretty but this time she noticed the width of his shoulders and the sturdiness of his hands. He took her leash and pulled her out of her kneeling position. She could see her sisters outside the circle. They wore heavy chastity belts, metal bras, and harness gags. Even their hands were encased in metal spheres. Chastity mitts, they were called. The girls were only here to watch.

The slaveboys were stroking themselves and almost panting, she could feel their breath. Becky's body felt like it did before a race, scared but charged up too. This was what she'd trained for. The boy holding her leash guided her onto his cock. Her mouth closed over it and she felt another slaveboy slither underneath her to push into her cunny. No sooner was this done than a third brute penetrated her ass. The male slaves didn't speak, but kissed and clutched and thrust as a single unit. Was this how she and her sisters moved? The smells and the sensations were overwhelming but Becky remembered her training. She knew how to be a good little toy.

Her slave-sisters watched from the sides. They were getting hot too, but all their important bits were encased in metal. The cameras in the kennel kept everyone honest. Becky only had to hold herself upright and open as she was used. The three boys were going harder and harder as they got closer to their release and her kennelmates were cheering through their gags. Becky got pounded from three angles until she felt them erupt inside her. As smoothly as a pit crew, other slaveboys pulled them away and applied fresh cocks to her holes. When a brute came in her mouth she barely had time to stick out her tongue to show him before another man was forcing her onto his cock.

* * *

The commandant assembled her kennel group and the rest of their batch in the courtyard. "Congratulations, you've survived your first nine months of slavery. Now you know in your hearts that you are owned things, property, and you can be trusted with additional responsibilities. You are now officially allowed to talk."

The girls looked at each other, but didn't dare make a sound. They just stood there until the commandant spoke again: "Dismissed."

The next day Becky found herself running around the camp doing general tasks. She harnessed the ponygirls and taxi slaves. She hosed down the communal cells when their occupants were out for inspection. She even fed the brand-new slaves in solitary. Watching the blind, deaf, and mute girls stick their heads out of the feeding slots, it reminded Becky of how far she'd come. She recognized the looks on their faces. Part of her was still scared for her future but she did her best to comfort them.

When she and her kennelmates weren't working they were allowed to hang out in their kennel, in the open space surrounded by cages, and just talk. They'd gotten by on the occasional whispered word, so their voices were rough at first. A few girls preferred to stay nonverbal and Becky didn't blame them. Given their life, sometimes it was easier to pretend one couldn't talk.

"Becky?" Robin asked. "We were talking about what we did before we were enslaved. What were you before?"

Becky did her best to smile. "I was a student. I was studying political science. I was going to be a lawyer."

"Oh wow. You must've been smart."

"I was," Becky said. "Wait, I'm not stupid now!"

Robin laughed. "Does it matter?"

There were still meditative slave mantra sessions but no more classes in slave protocol. The work and the routine were enough. There were many chores around the camp and most of them fell to the senior trainees. They cooked for the camp personnel and their fellow thralls. They cleaned everything from the breaking sheds to the guard barracks. They even learned basic maintenance tasks. There were merit points to be earned for good, fast work and the girls were clearly meant to learn how to be house slaves. Sometimes Becky would be running errands when she remembered how weird it ought to feel to be naked and collared in public. But she'd gotten used to it, and the camp personnel had long since gotten used to it, so now it was just how you knew slaves on sight.

One perk to being a maid slave was having more access to the slaveboy quarter. Unlike the female slaves, the male slaves were never taught housekeeping. Most of them would never be anything more than working animals. They spent four months in solitary, four months in the communal cells, and four months in harness. Their punishments included more time on the cross.

The first time Becky saw the crucified slaves, she'd pissed herself. The male slaves were hanging in the hot sun on either side of the main street. Their arms were tied to the crossbars. It hurt them to hang like that, but it also hurt to put their weight on their legs. It made them groan and dance from one painful position to another.

Becky had wondered what it would feel like to be crucified. She'd already tasted the whip and the cane but she'd never made a mistake bad enough to warrant being displayed on main street. She occasionally tended to brutes who'd done cross time and they could barely move.

She was walking back to her kennel when she met the commandant. "Hello, Becky," he said. "Have you been enjoying your time here?"

"Hello, sir." She looked up to meet his eyes, then remembered her training and looked away. "I can't complain."

"Can't complain, because it's forbidden?" He chuckled. "Tell me about your experience here."

Her knees felt weak. The commandant was a god in her world. "I work just like everyone else. I follow the rules. I obey."

"And what are you exactly?"

Had he read her file? Becky did her best to answer. "I'm a slave, sir. I'm whatever you tell me to be."

He nodded. "Do you have fun here?"

"Fun? I-I don't get much fun. But I don't have any problems with that. I just do as I'm told." She looked away from his gaze. She could feel her face getting flushed. She couldn't hide how her nipples had hardened or how her pussy had started to glisten.

The older man seemed pleased. "You like being all naked all the time, don't you? Be honest, Becky. I won't punish you for it. In fact I require it."

"I-I don't mind, sir." She was very aware of her nakedness. "Sometimes I kind of like it, and sometimes I don't think about it. It's mostly okay."

"I'm glad you think so," he said. "I'd say that you're ready for your first auction. You've got a long life of naked servitude ahead of you."

"I know, sir. I'm-I'm grateful for the things I've learned here." There was not much else she could say, so she just waited.

"Good girl."