Part 2
by Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane

© Copyright Freddie Clegg & Phil Lane 2008 All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission. E-mail: Web Group:

Chapter 8: A Problem With Puppy Fat

Course 8 : Day 2 Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: #50

Josephine: The first part of #50’s induction this morning should not present any serious problems. George and I will take care of her initial physical with the others. We’ll start with the standard introduction to the weight loss/ fitness programme and make an assessment of what she might need during the rest of her course.

Jenny's Recollections

Well it’s started. I’ve been anticipating and also dreading this for quite a while and now we’re off. After the tension of yesterday’s events, the worry about what would happen, the – yes – the stress of it all, it was quite a relief to be left alone in my - ah - room. I worried myself asleep thinking about my safe call – I would have felt a lot happier, if I had been able to speak to Angela in person. Anyway, when sleep finally came, I stayed asleep until the lights came on and the shutter went up.

First thing this morning, we are all collected together and taken to a gym. I’m feeling really screwed up with embarrassment, being naked because of not following instructions! I feel so stupid! Completely humiliated! It’s a new building on the other side of a small courtyard just across from the building where we were kept last night. It’s awful having to go outside between the two buildings to feel the cool air on my naked skin for the first time.

The gym is pretty well equipped. There are six treadmills, six cross-trainers and a serious collection of free weights, together with weights benches and some other weight training machines. I’ve never been much into keeping fit. The university has a gym, but I never really find time to use it. This stuff looks quite scary! Thinking back to why I am here, I can see that there would be plenty of opportunities to study a mixture of stress and play in here.

On the plus side, there’s also what looks like a rather nice pool which connects through a tunnel to an outdoor pool extension.

Jo and George tell us all to strip. I’m naked already along with Sue. Thank goodness I have a partner in crime, so to speak. We exchange a smile, recognising our shared mistakes. I can see that Sue is a few years older than me. She‘s built more heavily than I am. She’s a bit overweight if I’m honest. What she does have is a great pair of breasts. I’ve always felt that mine were too small. Sue’s are substantial with large dark aureolas. Suddenly I’m conscious that I’m staring at them. She returns my look and grins. I guess we all know why we’re here.

The other three are wearing grey track suits and one of them, Carrie, doesn’t like being ordered to undress. They ignore her objections and eventually she complies. Their whole approach is very matter-of-fact, assuming that we’ll do as we are told, treating us as so many units needing to be processed. It’s all very impersonal, but not much worse than trying to check out a book at the university library!

We get weighed, measured and have the thickness of our skin folds measured with some distinctly aggressive looking callipers. They look nasty, but they don’t hurt. In fact, the sensation is on the pleasant side of strange. Jo and George note down the results without commenting on any of them. They just wave us to come with a click of the fingers, or wave us away as they need us for each stage of the process.

It’s only when they have obviously got all the details that they want, that George goes out with all the notes and Jo takes some time to explain what they are doing. She has us line up against the wall, facing out with our hands on our heads. “There are two things you need to be aware of as a slave. One, are you fit enough for the things you’ll have to do? And, two, do you look the way your owners – that’s us – want you to? We’re going to make sure you measure up on both counts. You all probably know about having your Body Mass Index worked out from your height and weight. However, muscle weighs more than fat and BMI becomes less accurate the more fat you lose and the more muscle you put on. At that point, it’s better to measure skin fold thickness and look up your Body Fat Percentage. For you girls, we are aiming for 20% of your weight as fat. That will let your muscles show through with lots of sexy definition. We like lean, well-muscled, slaves who look nice and are fit and strong. Unfortunately, this can’t be achieved in the time you have with us, but you are going to get a flying start and we’ll take you as far as we can - so there will be homework for you after you are discharged. We WILL be checking up on you after you get home, just so when you come back you won’t have to start from scratch. …………..”

Homework? Checking up on us? When we come back!?? Gosh, I had not expected that! It’s beginning to feel like being in the grip of some sort of secret society. Perhaps we are. But are they really serious? Best not ask, just keep my eyes and ears open. I need to try to remember all this for my thesis anyway. It certainly ups the stress levels, the way in which they assume they are in complete control of every aspect of our lives. But then, thinking about it, they are.

George comes back carrying a box which he places on the table at one end of the gym. One by one, he points to each of us and beckons for us to come forward.

For each of us he pulls out straps from the box. First we get a rubber chest strap, which fits just beneath our breasts. This is part of a heart rate monitor he tells us. The monitor goes on our wrists. They are obviously taking care of us. Second, we’re told to put on a rubber G-string, which is pleasantly firm. Third, we get what looks like a swimming costume for each of us. It feels odd to me to have clothes on again.

George explains that these are “triathlon suits”. Mine fits firmly rather than tightly and it’s definitely snug between the legs on top of the rubber G-string but it’s not uncomfortable.

Once we’ve all got our suits on and we’re standing in a line across the gym - hands on our heads again - Jo begins to work her way along the line. She gives each of us a belt, which locks around the waist. There is a pouch, or a pocket at the back which I guess in normal circumstances would be for a sports drink bottle, but for us looks like it contains some sort of box. We can’t open the pocket. Jo takes a wire which issues from the pocket and pushes it through a small zip opening in the back of our suits to plugs it into some sort of connector on the back of the G-string. What’s that all about? Some other sort of monitor?

“OK, girls,” George calls us to order. “Slaves have to be fit and so we are going to begin to change the habits of a lifetime for some of you.” George looks across at the slightly overweight Sue. “You are all going to get a daily work out. We will always start with an aerobics session. We are going to keep you at your optimum heart rate for “fat burn”. But to help you do the best you can, as it were, your kit will deliver a little added incentive ………”

George presses a button on what looks like a small TV remote. Carrie immediately yelps and rubs her crotch, as if she has been stung. George continues, “Your G-strings are made from an electroconductive rubber. It runs, as you can feel, rather snugly between your legs, over your anus and between your labia. If you do not keep up with the treadmill settings, or the supervisor thinks you are giving less than 100 % - well Fifty-two?”

“It really stings!” Carrie looks upset at being chosen as the guinea pig for this particular demonstration.

“Yep,” George smiles, “it really stings and will go on stinging until you catch up and or start doing your best! The juice comes from the power packs on your belts, so you are carrying the means to maintain your own discipline. OK, enjoy your session. Jo will look after you!”

George’s lecture leaves me feeling …… feeling, surprisingly, not surprised. I’m actually intrigued by the ingenuity Inward Bound is showing and glad that we - well, I - am going to be pushed and kept up to the mark. It’s all rather delicious and another interesting example of stress for me to remember. I must be crazy. In fact, I definitely am crazy, because I start to get wet between my legs. That, of course, is making for better electrical contact and I start to get even more wet at the idea of that. Yes, definitely crazy. In fact, certifiable.

George hands the remote to Jo, who takes each of us across to one of the treadmills. She goes along the line setting us off. She presses the “custom” button and the inclination of my machine rises and the treadmill’s belt begins to move. The display reads, “Inclination : 2%. Speed : 5 kph”, so its just a steady walk for now. I cast a glance to the others – we are not all doing the same, so the settings must have been made with some reference to what we said about ourselves on our application forms to join the course.

After about a minute the treadmill speeds up. Every minute the speed rises again and every alternate minute, the incline increases until I’m walking at 6 kph on an incline of 5.5%. After 25 minutes the calorie counter tells me I have burned through the thick end of 300 calories, but now I’m starting to get tired. It’s not just me. Anna glances round and finds Jo with her back turned. She presses the speed control on her treadmill to reduce the speed only to find her G-string immediately delivers a sharp sting. She cries out and Jo is at her elbow at once.

“Getting tough?”

“Yes, Mistress. Please can you give me a break. I’m still stinging!” I’m surprised that she wants to quit. She doesn’t look much less fit than I am and while I’m tired, I can take this so far. I’m also surprised that she says “Mistress”. Well, not so surprised, I suppose, but it’s the first real acknowledgement of the “traditional” relationship between Doms and subs in a BDSM relationship. I mean, I know I’ve been handcuffed and stripped and collared and numbered and all, but somehow hearing Anna say that out loud makes it all the more real.

“OK, Twenty-four, stand on the side of the mill and come off for a moment – you others keep going EXACTLY as you are.” We all keep on walking but we’re all watching what is going to happen to Anna too.

Jo slows the treadmill to a stop and lets Anna dismount.

Jo says, “Twenty-four, slaves have to learn obedience. Would you like six of the crop across your bum as a break from the treadmill?”

“Yes, Mistress. Please.”

We can follow proceedings because they are reflected in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors which line one of the walls of the gym. It’s the first time there has been any suggestion of punishment and while I knew that it was going to be part of things here – actually, I think part of me has been looking forward to that if I’m honest. – Nevertheless, I suppose I’m surprised by how casually it is being viewed as part of the normal state of affairs by Jo, how ready Anna is to accept it, and how captivated all of us slaves are by the spectacle, even as we carry on jogging to keep up with our machines.

Jo delivers six strokes at one stroke every 30 seconds. Quite hard. Anna struggles to keep still and after the sixth, Jo springs her trap.

“Now, Twenty-four, back on the treadmill.”

“Mistress?” There’s a catch in Anna’s voice that tells us that she wasn’t expecting that at all.


“But you said …”

“No, you thought a spanking was an alternative; I said it was a break. I prefer it to be an extra encouragement. You have had your break. Now it’s got to be paid for. Back on the treadmill!”

Jo fires the remote and Anna yelps. Immediately, she is back on the machine and jogging to keep up with it.

“Funnily enough, Twenty-four, you only had a couple of minutes to go anyway, so let’s give you another ….five.

Eventually, five sweating slaves, all breathing heavily, are allowed to step back onto firm ground to listen to another short lecture from Jo. “This programme is going to be about losing weight and gaining fitness. It is really very straightforward: eat less, work more! We want you to lose fat, but gain muscle. The safe rate of fat loss is about a half kilo per week. We are going to take you through that by giving you 500 calories less each day than you need to maintain your present body composition. We will feed you 250 calories less and make you work 250 calories more, which of course adds up to 500. Simple. We will do treadmill work one day and weights the next day and every fifth day you get a rest day. Any questions?”

Nobody says anything. I think we’ve all come to conclusion that least said is soonest mended when the Inward Bound staff are around. Jo looks around at the five of us. She’s obviously sat through enough of these sessions to know what’s going through our minds.

“No? Fair enough. Don’t always be so quiet though, sometimes it might pay you to speak out.” I look at the others. They are all wearing rather impassive expressions. I don’t get the impression that they believe her. I don’t either. Jo continues, “Well, go wash your kit and then you can have 15 minutes in the pool and admire Twenty-four’s bum. Let me see.” Jo beckons Anna towards her and instructs her with a spin of a finger to peel off her kit and turn around. “Hmmm not bad. You won’t enjoy sitting on that for a while, girl. Oh, by the way.” She turns back towards us. “The rest of you girls take note. It will be harder for the next one of you that tries to wriggle out of hard work!”

Now that, I do believe, because anyone could tell that Jo had obviously enjoyed herself. But then, there is the luxury of the pool. The water is warm, but not too warm and the feeling as it slips up across my naked body is wonderful. I strike out from the side and the water streams between my legs and around my breasts. Ah, if only I could start every day like this. Could Joe and I find somewhere to go in the summer where we could swim naked: just us two …?

We are each taken back to our cells for breakfast. I say “breakfast” - it’s not much given how hard we’ve been working, but I guess that is the idea. It’s served on a tray pushed through a gap at the foot of the bars that close off my cell. There’s fruit, a high fibre cereal bar and some water. The fruit and the cereal bar are in a metal dog’s bowl. The water is in a bottle with a sports cap. I can’t get the top off. Sitting, naked, on the floor of my cell, eating out of the dog bowl, and sucking on the water bottle I feel very different from the person that started out to the Sports Centre yesterday. I wonder how different I’ll feel by the end of the day, the end of the week, the end of this whole programme?

Never mind coming up with a research agenda; how is this going to affect me?

Suddenly, it seems like a long time to give myself over to these people. On the other hand, while I’ve got over the sensation of having the tight rubber strap between my labia lips and the thrill from the threat of the shocks, I’m still feeling quite turned on by the whole situation. In fact, thinking about it I’ve felt this sort of low level arousal all the time I’ve been here. It’s like the background radiation in the universe; not very energetic, but there all the time everywhere. In some ways it’s quite tiring, in others quite relaxing. I feel abstracted, somehow, as if I’m not quite in the real world. (Well, maybe I’m not.) Is that a response to the stress of the situation? I guess I need to think about that. Although, I must confess, analytical thought is proving a bit difficult when the main recollection of the morning is how you felt with the threat of a shock in the pussy, if you dared to stop jogging! So, I’ll keep remembering what I can and I’ll try to work out the meaning later.

Chapter 9: Bad Hair Day

Course 8 / Day 2: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: Fifty will be a stretched by her encounters today. Everyone, please be aware of this, if you have any contact with her after her sessions this morning or afternoon, please refer to Gerry or Celia in order to check on how her sessions went.

Jenny’s Recollections

I’ve got over the exercise session and I’ve finished breakfast. Jo appears. I’m handcuffed and taken out of my room.

As I am led through the building I see some of the other girls hard at work cleaning and tidying. I pass Judy. She’s on her knees, wearing some sort of grey track suit. She’s scrubbing at the floor. She looks up as I go by and I see she’s been gagged with a bright red ball. Jo tells her to keep busy and Judy responds with a “Hnng Hnngstregh” which I take to mean “Yes, Mistress.”

I wonder if something like that will be done to me. I suppose so. Suddenly I’m feeling confused. All this time I’ve been thinking about the course and I’ve no real idea what is actually going to be involved. I look back over my shoulder as I follow Jo along the corridor. Judy is working hard. She looks up again as we reach the corner. I can’t tell if she’s unhappy about what she’s doing or if she’s enjoying it. Maybe she doesn’t even know herself. I’m in two minds about most of what’s happened so far.

Jo takes me to see the genial and enthusiastic black American who was on the coach with us yesterday. As soon as he speaks, I think he could double for Eddie Murphy. “Hi, Honey. Nice to see you again. For now, just call me Gerry,” he says.

Why is it that if you have a bunch of Americans, there’s always one called Gerry? And of course, he calls me ‘Honey’.

I’m still standing in the doorway.

“Well, come on in Honey. Come on in and sit right down!”

“Do I have a choice?” I’m finding the combination of his polite tone and the fact I’m handcuffed confusing, to say the least.

He laughs. “Gee, you Brits are all so droll. Nope, you ain’t got no choice at all. And, to make sure you stay put, you get strapped to the chair here, too.”

So, he takes my cuffs off and clips each wrist to the chair. The chair is comfortable and heavy. As Gerry would say, the chair and I weren’t goin’ no place.

He stands back and looks at me. It’s a curious stare, appraising but not sexual.

“Hmmm, so you just startin’ out here, Hon?”

“Yes, that’s right; I arrived here, er, yesterday, I think.” What am I thinking? He knows exactly when I got here. He was in the bus with all of us.

I have no watch – they said not to bring one - and there’s no clock in my room. Room? Actually cell, I guess, but I can’t quite bring myself to say that. I feel a bit embarrassed to be here. Now that is incongruous! Worrying about being here, when maybe I should be more worried about the fact that I’m naked and restrained in a chair. I have not been given any clothes, save for a collar which has been locked around my neck and bands around my wrists and ankles. The collar has a dog tag style ID disc which apparently says I’m Fifty. Number Fifty, I hope. Not age Fifty!

Gerry brings me back to the present. “OK baby: this is going to be a fun day for you. This is make-up time!” He takes a comb and draws it through my hair. “Say, weren’t you supposed to get this cut before you got here? Make your hair manageable?”

“Well, yes I did. It’s much shorter, it’s …………”

Gerry interrupts, “Uh uh, no you didn’t, Hon. WE said ask for a number 4 buzz cut and you asked for a trim. Right?”

“Well, yes. I just thought a crew cut might be a little on the short side.”

“On the short side?? Gee, I just love the way you Brits talk about a crew cut. So navy! Well, babe, the thing is – do you read?” Gerry is looking really inquisitive now.


“Yeah, read, as in books?”

“Well, yes. I work at a university. Books are us!” Immediately, I worry about my flippant remark and how he will take it.

“Works at a university!” Gerry furrow his brow. “Well, I just wondered if you had done any reading …. about DS relationships and how when the Master speaks to the slave what the slave is supposed to do is to just go and do?”

“Well, yes. I suppose I, I didn’t know how literally to take things.”

“Literally? You take literal things literally! Look, Babe: one thing we are going to teach you here is obedience. Obedience means doing what the master says, when he says it. Got that?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“OK, tell you what. As this is your first full day and all, I’m going to go easy on you. You’ll sure get to learn this obedience thing. Now jus’ let me see this hair of yours.” He peers intently, then scoops up some hair with his comb and fans it out. “Uh uh: not good Lady. You’ve got split ends here. You do not look after your hair. I’m going to cure all of that. Right now! And, more than that – I’m going to make you one beautiful gal. See her?”

He leans a photo on the mirror in front of me.

“This is Miss Ramatoulaye Diallo. The Face of Africa 2001. Senegal’s Finest.”

A statuesque young lady (girl is not appropriate for her) gazes at me from the photograph. She is very African and very beautiful. Outstandingly beautiful. I look more closely. She smiles and shows wonderfully even white teeth ….. Oh! Oh! Oh! ….. I suddenly feel cold and very heavy in my tummy. Her head is shaven . Completely. Realisation! Gerry is going to shave me bald! It’s as if there is telepathy between us.

“You ready now, lady?”

I have lost the power of speech. I don’t even try to struggle on the chair. He picks up a pair of electric clippers and begins. First, at the back of my head. I can feel the cold buzzing metal of the blade. Then the right side. Then the left. Then, finally from my forehead back to the crown. I open my mouth to speak, but still no words come out. I’m completely without hair. I do not recognise the face looking back at me in the mirror any more.

And he still isn’t finished.

The breezy banter continues to pour out of him as he picks up an electric razor this time and works the foil progressively down from the crown of my head, like peeling an apple from the top. Then he works gently upward from the periphery to the crown.

Finally, the massacre of my lovely hair is over . Nothing – nothing is left.

“There, lady. What–do-you-think-of-that? Let me tell you, you got one cute scalp.”

Think? I can only feel. Cold and sick. What ever possessed me to put myself in the hands of these people?

Gerry rounds off his assault by rubbing some sort of moisturiser into my distinctly pink scalp. His hands and warm and the cream seems slightly warming in itself.

“Trouble with you whiteys is, that you have such pink scalps when they get to see the light of day! You’ll look a whole lot better when you get some tanning up there. To hurry up the improvement some, I’ve just given you a good rubbing with self tan. Come to think of it, you could use self tan all over.” For the first time, I’m conscious that he’s looking at my naked body. “You ever been to a bodybuilding competition?”

“No,” I say, weakly.

“Y’know you should go! I always think those muscular girls look so beautiful. Anyway, they all get pretty smart at the self tan – I’ll get it written into your programme. What do you think?”

“Thank you, Gerry,” seemed the safest reply.

“Well, guess I’ll let you run along now and get yourself a coffee. Try strong and black. And remember next time: an order is an order!”

Gerry reaches down and unclips my wrists from the chair. I put my hands up to my scalp and it feels strange. Gerry watches as I touch it and then takes my hands and locks my cuffs back together. I look at him in surprise. “You got a problem with that?” he says. “You can get a coffee with your bracelets joined up, can’t you?”

“Yes, Gerry,” I say.

“Great,” he says.

As I emerge from Gerry’s room I pass Carrie being led unwillingly along the corridor. She looks at my shaved head in shock, I look at her auburn hair and I can guess what’s about to happen. So does she as she is hustled into Gerry’s room!

Chapter 10: Piercing Questions

Course 8 / Day 2: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: When Gerry has finished with Fifty, she has a session booked with Celia. This is likely to challenge Fifty more than anything else so far.

Jenny’s Recollections

It is not long after my visit to Gerry. After my coffee, they handcuffed my hands behind me and put me back in my cell. Now an escort comes. He links my wrist cuffs together and I am taken to a new room.

It smells antiseptic and very clean. The floor is covered in a smooth non-slip pale green vinyl which sparkles as I walk over it. There are white cupboards on the wall, an operating light on the ceiling and what looks like a dental chair in the centre. It’s upholstered in pale blue and has matching pale blue restraining straps, which look faintly ridiculous. It makes me want to giggle. Except I guess that won’t be appreciated.

Facing me is Celia, the girl I first met when she instructed me on personal hygiene on my first day. She is dressed in the same blue surgical scrubs and wears white surgical clogs on her feet. The same South African accent greets me. “Hi, Fifty,” she says. “Nice to see you again. I’d shake hands but..” She nods at my arms. “Turn around and I’ll release you. Hmmm, love that hair!” She looks at my bald head.

“Yes,” I say casting my eyes down, still embarrassed by how it looks and by the fact that it is the result of my own failure to follow my instructions - again. “Well, I guess it will have grown back by the time I’m released after the course.”

“Err, actually Fifty, it won’t. According to your training plan,” she looks over towards an open laptop, “ah… your going to be shaven daily till release! You know we like to push your limits a bit. Besides, quite a lot of girls go shaven now and you look absolutely terrific just as you are.”

Her compliments are no consolation. I’m actually a bit shocked at this news and it must show in my face. Celia puts her arm round me and guides me to the couch. “Can I just check something? You gave permission for piercings subject to agreement at the time. Is that right?”

Suddenly I’m feeling a little uncomfortable. “Err, yes,” I say warily.

“So you’ll be all right with this?”

After my experience with Gerry I realise my past must be catching up with me. I had been told to get an extra ear piercing and I had tried to skip the challenge. Now it looks as if I am going to have it done to me afterall.

I look around; the place looks clean and clinical. Celia has the confident air of all medics. It’s reassuring and even though I know it’s stupid I think, why not? I hear myself saying, “Well, I suppose so.”

“Just lay down and we’ll get on.”

“Get on with what?”

She sighs. “You all start off with so many questions. Get on with what we are going to do. You will find out, so just accept it and don’t worry.” She’s busy with the straps of the chair, pulling one across my chest another around my waist, more around my ankles. As she fastens them, tightening them securely I feel both a sense of panic and a thrilling feeling. I flex a little against the straps. She pulls them tighter until I really cannot move. Once she sees I really am secured to the couch she speaks again. “Slaves need to learn respect, obedience and trust, Fifty. I think you know that you have fallen down a bit in your first exercise in the obedience department. Due to your failure, you’re bearing the consequences.” She looks up again at my bare scalp and runs a finger across it. “Still, I’m pleased with the consequences! OK, open your mouth.”

“Are you a dentist, then?” I’m becoming more worried now.

“No. I’m a nurse, but my field is head and neck surgery, so I’m good with mouths and noses and things.”

“Just what are you going to do?”

“Ha! So curious, Fifty. Well that would be telling. All you need to know is that I am here and you are there and that you were going to open your mouth? And without talking.”

I suppose I can say stop right now. Perhaps I should, but I don’t. Celia’s professional manner, my own desire to experience as much of Inward Bound as I can and the way in which I have already become used to doing as I am asked overcomes my reticence. I open my mouth. She examines me with a dental mirror. She is very gentle as she pulls my mouth this way and that with latex covered fingers. It’s surprisingly reassuring.

“OK: no gingivitis, or calculus, but a bit of plaque on your terminal molars. I’ll give your teeth a polish and get rid of that for you. More attention to detail young lady! Also a good virtue in a slave, consensual or not.”

“Are there non-consensual slaves?” It’s an even more scary thought than being strapped to this couch.

“There are, and maybe I’ll turn you into one, if you don’t do as you are told!”

I feel a stab of panic and also, strangely, a stab of anticipation. She’s surely not being serious?

“OK Fifty, I’m just going to protect your eyes from the light now.” She straps a blindfold on me. So, not exactly like the dentist. She travels slowly around my mouth with a dental hand piece polishing my teeth, which once again feels reassuring as well as tickly and all the more so as she has strapped me to the couch and I cannot get away.

“Right Fifty, just swallow – it’s only a bit of toothpaste and saliva in your mouth.” I gulp it down, coughing as the pepperminty, gritty paste slips down. “And, now open up again, please.”

I open, but this time she slips an instrument between my teeth and before I can react, I hear the clicking of a ratchet and I can no longer close my mouth. I cry out in surprise making a curious squawking sound. I am further panicked by the feeling of a strap being pulled across my forehead locking it hard back against the couch and then there’s Celia’s fingers in my nose.

“Easy girl, easy. You are going to be just fine. Here’s some cream to go inside your nose…”

I try to say something, but of course I cannot say anything except to make a sort of gacking noise. But then there’s the feeling of Celia’s hand on my shoulder and slowly I calm down.

“OK Fifty. Here’s another test for you. Like the obedient slave girl you are …hmmm, well that’s a bit optimistic just now………. Lets say, will be …… I want you to stick your tongue out and incidentally, if you don’t, I’m going to grab it with a surgical clip.”

I don’t like the sound of the surgical clip and I do as I’m told.

“Good girl, for a change. OK, so now, I’m just going to catch your tongue and gently hold it with this,” There’s a click and a strange pressure on my tongue. “So, now you’re still OK, huh? Let’s just have a look at your lingual veins.” I feel an instrument pressed onto the top of my tongue. “Congratulations- you have normal anatomy. That was just a light source to transilluminate you.”

I feel her lift up my tongue and pull it a fraction further forward. “And, a mark here and a mark under here.” In a flash, I realise that she must be going to pierce my tongue and I make another cry and hear her say. “OK Fifty, now just take a deep breath in … and out …. and in and out and just a sharp touch here.” I feel as if she has pressed on my tongue with a sharp pencil. There is a momentary tearing feeling, then nothing and I hear a clatter as something lands in a dish. “…..and there you are. All done! Now, just keep your tongue just there. Good. And this goes through there. And this slides back out. And this screws on here. And you’re done! You have just had a tongue piercing! You really should have had that extra piercing put in your ear. But, do you know what, I’m really glad you didn’t. Disobedience from you means fun for me!”

I’m horrified that they’ve done this because of my disobedience. But, I’m relieved too and stunned that it was so easy. I would have never had the courage to do that in “civilian” life. I feel instantly high and I relax into the chair with relief that it’s all over.

“OK Fifty. That’s a 20 mm barbell. I’ve pierced your tongue about ten millimetres back from the tip, so everyone will get to admire your shiny stud when you speak. Plus there’s room for me to give you another further back later on if we decide to.”

I give a whimper at the prospect of more ironmongery in my mouth. From Celia’s tone I can imagine her grinning.

“Now, you will have a sore tongue for two or three days, so you will be on a soft diet. Careful oral hygiene please. . I’ll have some chlorhexidine mouthwash left in your cell, which I want you to use three times each day as well as brushing. In a week the swelling will subside and I’ll be able to insert a 15 mm rod for you and a couple of weeks after you’ll be down to a 12. How do you feel? Ah, you can’t say because of the Whitehead gag. It will be out in a second. Now, let’s look at your nose.” Nose? I can vaguely feel Celia in my nose again and the presence of her fingers means I have to breath through my mouth, but I have no idea what she is up to …………..and then I feel something cold on my skin ……..and then a dull crunching (but nothing sore) ……….and then whatever it was clatters down and Celia’s fingers are in my nose again with something else. I think I sense her squeezing hard ………..

“Right, Fifty: you are beginning to look like a real slave girl now! Earlier, I put some local anaesthetic gel on your septum and I have just taken a dermal punch to your septum and taken a 5mm core out so I could insert a titanium grommet. Titanium is very tissue friendly, which is just as well, because it’s in two parts and when I squeeze them home it’s a perfect friction fit and will just not come out. Ever. At all.”

I let out a gasp

“And I’m now inserting a nice chunky septum ring! Don’t worry too much. We do know slaves have to back to the real world! The grommet is made from anodised titanium and it’s a dark pink, so difficult to see normally – unless you know what to look for. As for the ring, this particular ring can be removed – but we have others which can’t. Now are you going to be lucky enough to get one of those?”

I whimper through the gag.

“I’m going to give you an intramuscular shot of penicillin in your thigh, just to avoid any risk of infection. Now you now know why we give you a detailed medical history form to complete?”

I’m sweating and starting to shiver, even though the room seems quite warm.

“Hey ho, hard day, huh?” Celia wraps me in a blanket, which is tucked firmly round me and I start to feel a bit better. She removes the blindfold and pushes the operating light out of the way. I blink against the bright lights of the medical room. She loosens off the gag and takes it from my mouth. Gradually, I seem to recover. I can feel the barbell in my tongue and the ring resting on my upper lip. For goodness sake, what have I let myself in for from these lunatics?

Celia raises the back of the couch and holds a mirror in front of my face. “I like to pierce the septum a little further back than some people. I think it looks far better if it’s not hanging down under your nose tip like a dew drop. What do you think?”

I open my mouth – but, once more, nothing comes out.

“Here,” Celia says, “drink this ……….”

She releases the strap across my forehead and puts a drinking straw to my lips. I gingerly, then gratefully, sip on down what seems to be a sports drink. Shortly after I really do begin to feel better – but look at the state of me!

“Well Fifty, we are done with the tough stuff for today. You coped pretty well. No screaming. That’s good. So now let’s do the admin.” Admin! Here I am with ironmongery in my mouth and nose and she’s worried about admin! “Now, your general knowledge should have told you that you address me as Mistress, not talk to me like I was a colleague in your university department.”

“Sorry – it’s just –it’s just…”

“Sorry what?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress, but …. “

“Mistress who?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress Celia.”

“Better! At last. Right, Slave Girl Fifty, I’m going to have to give you some demerits for your earlier mistakes, but you can redeem yourself tomorrow. I think you have had enough for now.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you what?”

“Thank you, Mistress Celia”

“OK. Well that was another demerit! Let’s get you back to your cell before you trip yourself up again!” She laughs and pats me on the shoulder and then gives me a hug. I laugh along, although I can feel tears in my eyes.

I’m unstrapped from the couch. Celia reconnects my wrist cuffs behind my back and an escort leads me away, still helpless, back to my cell. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Angela’s ideas on the research could possibly justify this; wondering if my own enthusiasm to experience this hasn’t pushed me into more than I can handle.

Chapter 11: Why Weight?

Course 8 / Day 3: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: She coped well with her initial work programme yesterday. No concerns so far, but of course little has been done to stretch her beyond her treatment on arrival and her shaving / piercing sessions, which she managed to get through without more than expected levels of distress. The exercise training regime continues today to increase her level of fitness.

Jenny's Recollections

At the start of today, I’m feeling strange. I can hardly believe that I consented to them piercing my tongue and my septum but I can feel the stud in my mouth and the ring in my nose every time that I move my tongue or shake my head. The piercings feel a little sore. Not painful just – well – there. It’s more than that though; more than the physical discomfort. I’m left wondering what they are going to ask me to do and what I will consent to.

Jo arrives with an electric razor. She has me kneel and then watches as I shave my head. She tells me that I will do this every day to keep my head smooth and hairless. It feels strange. It’s not like the hair has even started to grow back, or at least, so it seems. When I say this to Jo she simply tells me that it’s part of my routine. It doesn’t matter if there is hair or not, shaving is going to be done every morning first thing.

After that I’m brought to the gym to find myself confronted by George and my fellow slaves. We’re put into the same rubber G-strings and triathlon suits and lined up at one end of the gym with our hands on our heads.

George has in his hand the remote control that he can use to shock us. As if we needed reminding!

While George is thumbing through some papers, I sneak a look around at the others. Carrie has also had her head shaved - it’s a relief to find I’m not the only one - but no-one else has a nose ring, at least so far …… Those who notice mine smile and I risk a quick smile back.

“So, Fifty,” – it’s George speaking – “no real weight training experience?”

“No … Sir.”

He smiles, but narrows one eye. The “Sir” was obviously expected a bit earlier in my reply.

“Why not?”

“Er, well, err, Sir, I mean it’s not a thing girls do really, unless you are very sporty …”

“And do owners like flabby slaves?”

Owners. That word again. I get an odd stab of pleasure hearing it applied to me.

“Well, no, I guess not. But doesn’t weight training make you all bulky and not very attractive?”

“Fifty: that’s just a myth. Yes, you can get overbuilt, but you have to work hard and very long to achieve that and it does not come by accident. On the other hand, what about her?”

He shows me a photograph of a gymnast. She is beautiful in her poise and her physique. No fat. Toned body. Defined muscle. Beautiful posture. Serious eye candy for sure. I mean, if you’re into women.

“Yes, Sir. She is very …. beautiful.”

“I’m glad you agree, Fifty. I will have her picture put on your cell wall, to remind you where you are going”

Cell wall? I get another adrenalin rush at George’s reminder. I know that is how I feel about it, but it’s a charge to hear it called that.

“So, this is the start of quite a long road for you. Weight training gives you everything she has and the inner strength of knowing you have worked hard to achieve it. Also, pleasure at knowing you delight the eyes of others. You OK with that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. So this is what you are going to do with us. We have eight weeks and you get two programmes. We’ll change things after about a month to give your body another challenge. Otherwise, you’d just stop improving. We have time to lay a foundation, which you will build on after you are discharged ….”

Once more, it seems as if Inward Bound is determined that we shouldn’t forget them after we leave.

“The first thing will be to teach you a repertoire of exercises and get your muscles and ligaments used to training. We will work your arms, shoulders, chest, back, abs, bum and legs and you get one day’s rest in between sessions. Come with me.”

So that’s aerobics every day and on alternate days we get weights as well. This is going to be tough. George then puts me to work learning the exercises for each area. I do one set of each – but fifteen repeats of each one. George is very picky about technique. It seems as if the appearance of my exercising is almost as important as the weight I lift and the pace of the work: count two lifting, count three lowering. He chooses weights that are heavy (for me), but not so heavy as to prevent my getting right to the end of the set. Even so, by the time I get to the twelfth repeat my muscles are starting to burn.

He seems to know instinctively when I am about to flag, appearing at my side with an encouraging wave of his remote control and, sometimes, a word of encouragement. It’s enough to help me to keep going. Some of the others aren’t so lucky. Sue, for one, seems to earn a series of shocks from the remote.

After forty-five minutes, I can hardly lift my arms past horizontal, but my program is over and I join my colleagues in some post workout stretching.

Then, we get to strip off and have time in the pool. Here we are all naked. The water feels wonderful as it did before, flowing languidly across my bare shoulders, down my back and between my legs, small eddies teasing my labia. I’m surprised that I feel no embarrassment about being in the pool. Skinny dipping with four other girls I hardly know causes me no problems. Even being watched by the others, people who have de facto some serious authority over us, isn’t a difficulty.

I would never feel this way, if I were back at home, in my own environment with people I know well. I think about Joe and me. Where could we go to do this? How would he feel, if I were to suggest we “went naturist” when we go on holiday next time? Would I feel able to ask him? That’s the main question …..

As we are swimming I see that both Anna and Judy have impressive tattoos on their backs; elaborate dragon designs that are far more dramatic than anything I’ve seen before on a woman. I don’t get a chance to ask either Anna or Judy about them. I wonder if they got them on their first visit here and I remember the question on the application form asking if I’d consent to being marked. I’m worried that I said ‘yes, subject to approval at the time’. What will I do if they ask me to consent to something like that? I can always say ‘no’ can’t I? But would I? I’m not sure. I didn’t say no when they asked about the piercings and look what happened to me then.

All too soon – given that this is the closest I’ve had to any relaxation since I got here - it’s time to climb out and get dried, to be ready for work, but it’s been a good session.


“Yes, Sir?”

“There will also be this book in your cell. I expect you to read it. And, of course, you will be tested on knowledge and understanding.” George holds up a book on strength training and points at me with the remote control to emphasise his words. The message is absolutely clear!

Chapter 12: Ylena Zhukova

Course 8 / Day 4: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: Fifty expects corporal punishment to form part of her experience and Ylena has proposed an introductory session today. We will also let her have the first of her e-mail sessions.

Jenny's Recollections

I am in my room. My cell. An escort comes for me. When I stand, she smiles and places a broad leather belt around my waist. My hands are cuffed to the belt behind my back and then I’m plunged into a sweet musky darkness as she drops a leather hood over my head. She must clip a lead to the belt; I feel a tug at my waist. “Come on, Fifty,” my escort says, “Just come with me.”

I feel panicky at first: walking blind with just the guidance of the lead and the voice of my escort to steer by.

The floor beneath my feet is non-slip vinyl near my room, then stone. We’re in a corridor now, I guess. The one that leads to the stairs.

“Fifty, pause.” I stop. “Good. You are at some stairs. Now step and step and step. That’s it, keep stepping.” I keep going up the stairs which wind to the left. Then, there’s polished wood under my feet as we reach the landing and finally, carpet as I am guided into somewhere new.

We stop, I hear a door open and then we move again. She pulls the hood from my head and I see that I am in a room with a desk, computer and a stool. The stool is shaped like a saddle. “Sit,” says my escort. I lower my backside gingerly onto the chilly seat but thanks to the shape I have to spread my thighs and the front part tends to press on my clit. It feels like leather or vinyl against my naked bum. “You get to send e-mails from here and you’ll get to check this e-mail account once a week,” she says. She unclips my wrist cuffs. “You can e-mail your safe contact or anyone else but we’ll check what you’re sending before it goes. Mostly the slaves just like to send a “Hi, I’m having a good time” note to friends, but it’s up to you. You get five minutes.” She stands back from the desk. I’m obviously not going to be left on my own – but the sensations from the saddle stool are a definite plus.

I think about it for a while. There’s nothing I want to say to Angela and I’m not sure what to say to Joe. But, in the end I tap out a short e-mail to him saying that I hope he’s fine and that I’ve managed to get access to e-mail occasionally if he wants to send me anything.

Soon enough my escort is telling me that my five minutes is up, She cuffs my hands back behind me.

At the same time Judy arrives. The escort turns to her and says, “You’re to take Fifty up to room number 19”. Without waiting for a reply from Judy, the escort pulls the hood back on over my head. I’m not sure where I am going now, but I follow Judy, drawn along by the leash, being led along another corridor and through another door until we stop once again.

“We’re here,” Judy says to me quietly, as she stops. We’re both standing still. Suddenly, I feel Judy’s hands stroking and squeezing at my breasts. I can’t do anything about it with my hands cuffed behind me. In once instant, I'm shocked, surprised and aroused. It's the first instance of any overtly sexual behaviour since I came here. In an instant I remember that there is almost certainly more to being a slave than being kept naked and washing floors. But, she isn’t supposed to be doing that I’m sure.

I hear the sound of a door handle turning. Judy’s fondling stops. A voice says, “Ah, you are here. Bring her in. Take her hood off and leave us.”

Judy removes my hood. I blink in the light looking at her. She grins at me as much as to say, “Enjoyed that didn’t you?” I’m not sure if I did, or not. Judy drops the leash, so it hangs from the middle of my belt down between my legs. She smiles at me again and leaves.

Before me is another girl, this one about my own height, with blonde hair and a happy open face. I’m not sure if I should say anything about what Judy did, but I decide to leave it for now. She smiles perhaps a little diffidently and says, “Hello, Fifty. I am Ylena, but you should call me Gaspazha.”

Her English is very good, but accented. I guess from having met colleagues from Eastern Europe at the university that she is from Russia, or possibly somewhere on the Baltic. She has a slim athletic build and she is wearing a fitted leather top, which pushes her breasts upwards just enough to be provocative, a very smart leather skirt (not cheap I guess), black tights and black loafers.

“Now,” she continues, “you have come to me to continue your education, so today is training! Come with me.” She leans forward and grasps the lead, pulling gently, but insistently forward. We go to an adjoining room. The curtains are drawn giving the room a rather secret air. It is decorated in scarlet red wall paper and a pale blue carpet in the centre of the room is a wooden frame, its middle covered with padded leather. I have seen one before at a fetish show. It’s a spanking horse. I feel a knot as tight as any that have bound me grip my stomach.

“Kneel!” Gaspazha insists.

I obey.

“Good! So, you are learning some lessons at last.” She walks around me looking at me from each side.

“Excuse me,” I say.


“Is Gaspazha your name?”

“Gaspazha is my title – in Russian. So you are going to learn some very useful Russian!”

My guess was correct

“Do you like CP, little Fifty?” I’m surprised by her use of the ‘little’, but I know better than to contest it.

“In my fantasies, but I haven’t had much experience. Well none actually. My husband does not think it’s respectful. And before him… Well no.”

“Hmm,” she looks unconvinced. She walks around behind me and runs her hands across my back as though searching for some clue that I am lying. “Well, I’m pleased with your lack of experience really, because I like to work with novices. That way, I can mould you to my ways more easily. Easily for me, that is.”

She smiles. I smile back, but I do feel very vulnerable. I didn’t think that she meant it would be easy for me.

“Well, so much to do! Where shall I start? It’s like being an artist and you, moi slooga, are my blank canvas. When we have finished today, you will be beautifully decorated in reds, pinks and purples.” She can see I look confused. “Moi slooga – 'my slave'. You say 'vash slooga' - your slave. Say it!”

“Vassh slooga,” I try to copy her sound.

“Not quite: say vash-shlooga with emphasis on the ooo.”

I try again. She smiles tolerantly. “Oh well, never mind for now. But, I can be very encouraging to students. Now. Kiss.”

She offers me the tab of her riding crop to kiss and immediately I am frightened that I am completely out of my depth. Gaspazha sees me tense. She reaches forward, stroking the back of my neck, a reassuring touch. The crop has a red star at its tip. There is a knot in my stomach and simultaneously a hot wetness in my loins. Fear and sexual anticipation. The combination of sensations that has always drawn me back to this.

“Bend forward and kiss my feet.”

I lean forward eagerly. She must know from my application that I have a strong foot fetish. Or maybe she doesn’t mind whether or not I like it.

“That’s right. Good across the shoe. Around my ankle, then my calf. Now the other one. Good. Now my toes.” She has slipped her foot out from her shoe and her foot smells sweet and leathery. “Now that tickles!”

“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling back.

“She says ‘I’m sorry’? Good moi slooga, you should be sorry. But, what you say is ‘izhveneetie’ OK? Say it.”

I look at her. “Ishevenetia,” I say, haltingly.

“Izhveneetie; try again.”


“Better!” She smiles again, obviously amused by my attempts at pronunciation. “Your nose ring. It tickles me. You were pierced earlier in the week I think, so if the ring can roll and swing like that, Cynthia must have put a little grommet in your septum, yes?”


“Good. Is your ring permanent?”

“No.” At least, I think it isn’t.

“No what?” I can see she is becoming impatient.

“No Gaspazha”

“Better. And you are?”


“Izhvenetie! Say it again.”


“Hmm.” She reaches down and plays for a moment with my nose ring. “Not permanent? Not permanent yet!”

I’m appalled by another flush of sexual excitement when she says yet!

“Good, but now we must move on. Get up there!” She picks up her crop and points to the spanking horse. Excitement is now replaced by plain anxiety. The horse supports my torso , knees and lower limbs. She straps me down: my arms, back and calves. My bum and most of my back are now completely at her mercy.

“We shall start with a little hand spanking.” SLAP! I gasp and buck forward and there is another SLAP on my other buttock. The pain is bright and sharp, but not bad enough for me to want her to stop. She carries on for ….for …..I have lost count of the slaps: perhaps twenty or so and then she stops and rubs me, stroking my buttocks.

“Good, well that’s very nice. Your nice little virgin bottom all red and hot. How do you feel?”

“Hot! Thank you Gaspazha! It was not as bad as I thought it would be.”

She laughs. “No? But that’s because we are just starting! I have to break you in slowly.” I am afraid again. “What is your job?”

“I work at a university, psychology.”

Psychology? Then you will know statistics?”

“Yes. Some”

“Good, I’m an accountant. I like numbers too.”

“Accountant?” It seems an incongruous occupation for a Russian disciplinarian.

“Da! Slooga.”

“So do you work here and do the accounts?”

“Ha! No, I am now a full time Domme. So many of my old colleagues I now meet as clients. I’m in private practice, but come here on certain sessions.”

“Private Practice? I bite my lip to stop laughing – it just seems so bizarre.

“Here are two dice, Fifty. What is the probability of any number combination?”

“Well there are thirty-six possible outcomes. If they are fair, all combinations should have the same chance of turning up, but the probability of certain numbers in particular is different: a “two” is one chance in thirty-six, a seven is six chances in thirty-six because you can make a seven in more than one way.”

“Very good, Fifty. You are right! And some numbers might be quite dangerous for a slave strapped down and awaiting punishment…..” Gaspazha rolls the dice…. A six and a four. “Aha ten! So your bum can now taste ten different instruments! You see, we have such a choice.” She opens a cupboard in the wall of the room revealing a range of punishment implements. “Let’s see, now. A small paddle; a large paddle; a strap; a tawse; a wooden spoon; a horse hair flogger; a cow hide flogger; a crop; a paddle with holes in it and ……. Another tawse! I am going to enjoy this and your poor bottom just cannot get away can it?” I think this is a rhetorical question, but Gaspazha insists. “Can it?”

“No, Gaspazha,”

“And, how many of each should you get? Just look at these very special dice.” Gaspazha comes close to me and I can see she has a handful of dice but there are numbers on each face, not spots and the numbers are in the twenties and thirties! “Hmm, perhaps these.” More dice, but this time lower numbers. I sigh with relief.

“You have a safe word, don’t you?”

“Yes, it is ….”

And, as I am about to tell her she slips what I later learned was a pony bit gag into my mouth, fastening it firmly behind my head.

“Not anymore! No interference from safe words! Not for a beginner. Not needed so soon. You only may need it when things get difficult. So we begin ……..”

Gaspazha then begins to beat me with slow deliberate strokes, counting each stroke in Russian (at least I think that’s what she is doing) and I follow in my head in English. I am getting fifteen strokes from each instrument – that’s ten times fifteen – that’s 150 in all.

She shows me each implement before she starts. Each implement has a different feel: the horse hair whip is scratchy and tickly both at the same time. The floggers are bright and “peppery”, whilst the paddles and tawses are thuddy and stingy, depending on which one in particular.

Gaspazha is clearly a craftswoman when it comes to this: she alters her force and rhythm and timing and I manage gradually to scale the heights of 150 strokes.

An accountant by day and a Domme by night, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. (Ms. in this case) Hyde. I drift off, seduced by the rhythm of the strokes. SLAP! Ouch! That was different. That hurt more.

“Aha! I’m not satisfied with that one. My technique was bad. Here it is again.” SLAP! And, it is sore and it does hurt second time round but better. So even in spanking, there is evidently correct technique to be mastered.

Eventually we are done – and my bum is throbbing and on fire, but a nice fire.

“There Fifty: you took that well: no screaming and no safe word used!” I grunt into my gag to indicate that I couldn’t but actually I didn’t ever want to. “Well done. What do say to your Gaspazha? Ha! But, let me help you.”

She unfastens the pony bit gag. I sigh a long sigh: I am covered with perspiration – and Gaspazha then picks up a long whippy cane and swishes it through the air. I thought we had finished!

“Have you ever had the cane, Fifty? Hmm, probably not, I think. Actually, I like caning people, as you will find out. But, not for you today.”

Oh! Relief!

“Come.” She unstraps me from the horse. I stand unsteadily. “Here.” She hands me a fresh orange juice. It has never tasted so good. “Another?”

“Thank you, Gaspazha.” I nod.

“Spaseeba, Gaspazha. You should say ‘spaseeba’. I think you have earned a demerit for that last mistake and I will enjoy helping you to pay for it.”

“But I didn’t know the Russian for thank you. How could I?”

“No, I know you didn’t, but Fifty life is not always fair! Now: you have managed to earn er,” She turns to consult another laptop – every one here seems to have one. “Da! Yes, 100 demerits.”


“Da, Da, Da! 100. And today you managed to pay back forty by managing your training well, so that’s sixty still to pay. Our interest rate on unpaid accounts is 10% per day, or ten strokes, whichever is greater. So assuming no more demerits, when I see you next week, you will have a debt of sixty plus seventy or 130 to clear!”

She sees that I am becoming distressed. “Now,” Gaspazha becomes reassuring, putting her arm around me, “the cane is worth more that paddles and straps, so I expect you will be anxious for me to give you a good caning next time?”

“Da Gaspazha – I think.”

“Good! That’s excellent! I shall look forward to seeing you again! And, just look at your bottom. That’s wonderful. Let me photograph you for your record. I like to keep a picture of my art.

Chapter 13: Is There Life After Housework?

Course 8 / Day 5: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: Fifty is showing reasonable progress with her work and slave training sessions and seems to be reconciled to being naked, pierced and shaved. Gerry, Ylena and Celia all report her responses are satisfactory and she seems to have settled into accommodation without difficulty. Introductory sessions have established her discipline programme, so we intend to continue with planned training / experience regime.

Jenny's Recollections

I awake to find daylight seeping in through my room – no, let’s be frank - my cell window. There is no clock and so I don't know the exact time. I guess it’s maybe half past six in the morning.

I feel quite good considering what I went through yesterday.

There's no mirror, either. I run my hand through my hair, only there is no hair, of course, just my bare scalp. My arm brushes my nose ring and when I swallow, my tongue feels swollen and tender. My buttocks are still sore from the attentions of Ylena, my Gaspazha.

The feeling that I had on waking of being rested is replaced by anxiety about the coming day; about what other challenges are in wait for me.

There is nothing to read, nothing at all in my cell except for the blanket that covered me for the night, a small towel, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste. There’s a razor and shaving cream too, which I had thought was just for my pussy, and an electric razor to use on my head. I lay in bed for a while thinking. Thinking about how natural this all seems to me now, how easily I seem to have fallen in to the routine here, how easy it's been to submerge myself in the rules and the rituals. Why couldn't Joe and I do any of this? Why couldn't we even talk about this? He always seemed kind, maybe just a bit preoccupied with work, but somehow whenever I tried to bring up the subject he'd fend it away. Even in bed, if I tried to get him to take a more dominant role, he seemed to shy away from it. It wasn't ever that he said he disapproved, more that he couldn't see how it related to him and me. Was it his fault? Was it mine? I don't know and I don't feel I'm getting any closer to that here.

I get up and go to the toilet. At least, with the shutters down, no one can see me squatting or cleaning myself inside. I still cringe about having to do that, but at least I’m alone.

I have a shower: standing on the toilet foot pads, turning on the water and letting it cascade off my naked body and down the toilet.

I shave my pussy again, as they’ve told me. I shave my scalp, too.

I get dry. With no hair this doesn't take long and the towel is only just damp at the end of it. It's quite warm in my cell. The water was hot too, I'd half expected it to be cold; my gaolers obviously aren't being as unreasonable today as they could be.

I clean my teeth carefully– carefully because of my new tongue piercing. It's awkward trying to move the brush around my mouth without knocking the stud and besides my tongue feels swollen and bruised. Celia gave me some chlorhexidine mouth wash to help with the healing.

It's all I can think of to do. The light through my cell window is getting brighter. I guess it could be seven o'clock now but I don't have any way of knowing for sure. I sit on the edge of the bed.

There's a mechanical click and the shutter on the outside of the cell bars begins to rise. Josephine is standing there, smiling. I get to my feet. It seems appropriate.

“Good morning, Fifty!” Her tone is cheery. “Good to see you are up. Ready for the new day?” I nod. “Turn round.” I do as she asks. “Hmmm, nice red bum! I heard your meeting with Ylena went well. Now, turn back to face me. Good. Just look at you! A ringed, collared, and shaven slave. Very tasty! Suits you!”

I find myself smiling gratefully and feeling definitely aroused at the combination of standing naked for her appraisal and the backhanded compliments.

“Well, Fifty, the first thing today is to take you for your gym session. You’ve been missing out.” Jo unfastens the cell door and slides the bars back. “Come!”

Jo leads me back down to the gym. It’s a weights session today. The others have got a head start on me. I’m finding it harder work than they are by the looks of it. I get quite a few shocks in my pussy when George – it’s him that’s supervising our exercise today – thinks I’m not working hard enough. He looks like he’s getting as much fun from handing out punishment shocks as Jo did. At the end of it I’ve lifted more than I would have thought I could and worked harder and longer than I thought was possible.

For breakfast we’re in the same room where we all last sat together on the first night

I look across the room at them sitting with their bowls in front of them. Sue is naked just like me. The others wear grey sweat tee-shirts and short skirts and Carrie's head has been shaved like mine. I guess that Sue, Carrie and I are supposed to be a dire warning to the others, or a promise of what's to come for them?

Anyway – I’m pleased to see that I'm not the only one in the wars, so to speak.

Breakfast follows the general pattern of the other meals I have had: aggressively wholesome! This time, though, they seem to have given me some consideration. In respect of my pierced tongue (maybe), we have been given porridge (with milk, so things are definitely looking up) yoghurt (low fat variety) and soft rolls. It still takes me ages to eat it. I apologise to the others. I explain why and they all want to see my tongue. I'm embarrassed and proud at the same time.

After we have finished breakfast, Jo appears again and takes us up to the main hall. She has us stand in a semicircle at one end of the room.

“Now, girls,” she says with the hearty tone of a school mistress welcoming a new batch of pupils, “you've had a quiet few days to settle in. Now, your programme really starts.”

I'm thinking that the last few days have been anything but quiet for me. Imprisoned, kept without clothes, the hair from my scalp removed and with all this ironmongery put into my body; how is that quiet?

“The purpose of a slave is to be useful. In order to be useful, you need to learn obedience, humility and discipline of course, but you need to learn to work, too. Today you will start to learn to be useful here.”

I suppose when I'd thought about this, I expected the discipline and the obedience. I wasn't sure what she might mean by humility and I hadn't really expected that they would make us work. Mind you, I don't know what I had expected. A continuous round of sensual domination?

Jo went on with her briefing, “When the Centre here is not being used to training slaves, like yourselves, you might wonder what we do with the premises. Well, the estate is used for Corporate Management Training. That means that the place has to be made ship shape for the next course. Your job over the next couple of months is going to be to get it ready for use. Cleaned, polished, tidied. All useful domestic skills for any slave. After all, a slave isn't just for the bedroom, she's for life.”

Jo smiles. The rest of us look less comfortable, I suspect as a result of the reminder that there will probably be some sexual aspect to our slavery.

“Every day you will all have some 'Useful Time', time spent working on tasks that you have been assigned in addition to any training or correction. Today, most of you will be on cleaning duties.”

Ingenious, I think to myself. We are paying to have a slave experience and Inward Bound get to simultaneously reduce the operating overheads for this other legitimate, vanilla, business!

“But, before we go on,”

Jo hasn't finished with us yet.

“Just a few words about your progress. On your joining instructions, we said that an important part of your experience would be to learn to receive and carry out instructions? You all remember that?” We all nod. “Well, Carrie did not manage to get her hair cut as instructed, so we have helped her there and a little bit more. Sue did not manage to get her dress code quite right, as you may have guessed.” Sue blushed, pink spreading down from her face and across her naked chest.

“And Jenny, poor Jenny, is clearly very new to the game, as you can see. She's naked because she didn't think we meant what we said about the dress code. She failed to follow instructions at the hairdressers, so she has this wonderful shaven head. And, she missed out on her extra ear piercing so - push your tongue out Jenny.”

I do as she asks. “And,” Jo reaches up and grips my nose ring to pull me gently forward out of line with the others, “she has this delightful nose ring too. Doesn’t she look terrific?”

The others stay quiet. Maybe they don't agree, or maybe they are just waking up to what might happen to them.

“Well girls, should we sell our collared slave girl, or keep her as a reminder to you all?”

We all laugh and the tension is broken until Anna decides to add, “I think you should sell her!”

Once more, I feel an astonishing sexual thrill at the idea mixed with horror at the very idea itself and anger at being “betrayed” by a fellow slave.

Fortunately, Jo laughed, saying, “No Anna. She has not been trained to a high enough standard – not yet anyway - but what about you? I‘m sure your master could be persuaded to put you up for auction at the end of your course? I’m sure you’d fetch a good price.”

I don’t know what to think about this exchange. Part of me feels very sexually excited. Part of me feels shocked. Part of me feels Anna deserves it! I think the others are uncomfortable, too. There’s a nervous laugh from all of them.

Jo continues, “Anna and Judy have been before. This is their second training course. We’ll expect a higher standard from them, of course. Turn round you two and drop your pants,” she orders. “Show your bums to the others.”

The two girls turn around, lift their short skirts and wriggle their panties down over their hips in a flirtatious way that brings a sigh of exasperation from Jo. Both girls are beautifully, if that’s the word, marked with parallel cane marks across their buttocks – I count quickly and decide there must be twelve or fifteen tram lines. The weals are deeper than anything that Ylena had inflicted on me.

“All right you two tarts, that’s enough. Now to work! Anna, Judy – you’ll clean up in the kitchens. Carrie, start in the study rooms at the end there. Jenny, Sue, this hall floor needs to be washed; you can deal with this. Stand over in that corner you two, face the wall and wait for me to return. Anna, Judy, Carrie can come with me.”

Presently, Jo returns.

“Now, you two,” she begins. “Two things. When I am training you, we will use your numbers, Fifty-three isn’t it?” Sue nodded. “And Fifty. You will call me Mistress.” She looked at us with a fixed stare. “Who am I?”

“Mistress Josephine,” Sue and I chorus together.

“Well done.” Jo gestures to the floor, Victorian mosaic tiles in beige and blue. “You will wash this floor. You will use a two bucket technique. One bucket has soapy water. One has fresh water. You wash with the soapy water and rinse with the clean water. This way, the soapy water always stays clean and the fresh water gets dirty and you change it as soon as needs be. You will find buckets, soap and squeegee mops in the domestic room downstairs. Now get to it. You have one hour to get the floor spotless. I will start you with fifty demerits each and let’s see how many you get to keep!”

Demerits mean more cane strokes and I have an overdraft already, so Sue and I set to with a will. It feels strange, the two of us, naked, mopping and cleaning, but by the end of an hour the floor is looking much better than before and I’m feeling pleased with what we’ve done.

Jo, needless to say, is not so easily satisfied. She kicks her shoes off as she comes into the hall and walks across to us barefoot. Just a glance at the soles of her feet shows that there is still dirt there. “Right. Fifty-three and Fifty. Possible demerits fifty. For this effort I will reduce that by ten each. That leaves you with forty each. Now, you have another chance to get this floor clean and if it’s not perfect I will be pleased to award to sixty demerits each.”

I’m getting better at mental arithmetic all the time. I have a debt of sixty and could be awarded sixty more if Jo is not satisfied with our efforts. That’s one hundred and twenty and with interest at 10% a day is going to add up to a very sore backside!

Needless to say, we set to again with desperation at our elbows. When Jo comes back, she rewards us by accepting our efforts and confirming our score of only forty demerits for our morning’s work. Then, she adds on ten each for our initial failures!

“You see Fifty and Fifty-three, achieving high standards can be a painful process!”

Chapter 14: How To Be A Gardener

Course 8 / Day 6: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: Time for Fifty to start getting involved in some outdoor activities and help with preparations for the garden party.

Jenny’s Recollections

I am waking up early and feeling refreshed these days.

I guess the (very) regular hours with nothing in the way of normal household or occupational responsibilities must be good for me, and but today it's rather before the usual time (as far as I can tell) when the shutter goes up and Jo is outside my cell. She opens the bars and comes in.

“O.K, Fifty; just get yourself ready and you can go to breakfast.”

“Er, Mistress, you have caught me before I have – you know – been to the loo. Could you, err, give me a moment?”

“Of course, off you go.” She goes on standing there with her arms folded.

“But, erm, I’d rather be alone” I still haven't got used to the complete lack of privacy that the slaves are expected to endure.

“Mmmm, you probably would,” Jo is sympathetic but firm, “but life is different for you now. Off you go and squat.”

Her use of the word “squat” seems to carry a very odd sexual charge. I find it odd how some words have the way of turning a switch in my brain. For a second, I’m pulled between the sexiness of what she is telling me to do and the embarrassment of actually going whilst another adult watches.

“Er, do you have to? I mean, I don’t even go in front of Joe at home. I don’t think I’m really at my best.”

“Fifty, slaves get to do as they are told and they also have to learn to think rather less about themselves. It seems to me that’s a lesson you need to take on board. If it makes you feel any better, look up there.” Jo points to the ceiling at the inconspicuous black ball and its little red light. “When you are in your cell, we need to watch over you. That’s a security camera; we have watched you 'go' ever since you have been here.”

I know she's right of course, I'd suspected that it was something of the kind.

“Now, I haven’t all day. Use the toilet and let's get on.”

For some reason, using the toilet when there is someone else actually there is still very awkward. I’ve got used to the likelihood of having a monitored camera in my cell and I don’t think about it anymore, but this is different. With a sigh I do as I am told and the only saving grace is that the squatting toilet makes the mechanics of everything somehow more effective. I can't look anywhere, but straight ahead at the floor while I'm doing it, but I'm sure that Jo is studying my every move closely. There is no toilet paper in my cell and I have to wash my bum with water from a hose placed just by the toilet pan (or should it be “dish”?) - all watched by Jo.

The hose tap is elbow operated and the water comes out at a pre-set temperature. It’s on the cool side of warm and there is no adjustment for it. To the side is a bottle of liquid soap with a pump-top which, once again, can be elbow operated. This has occurred to me before, but the whole arrangement in my cell has a sort of “animal husbandry” feel to it, even to the way my mattress has a wipe-clean surface and the floor of the cell slopes ever so gently towards the toilet dish, so that everything can be hosed down. – That last, being one of the personal house keeping duties I have to do every day. When I try to stand back and think psychologically, all these small things (plus the metal bowls we eat from) add up to deliver a powerful, unmistakable message; 'You are not like us, you are less. You are animal. You are a utility'.

“At last, Fifty! Now shave your crotch and scalp and clean your teeth and face, please.”

I do as she says, but she hasn't forgotten my earlier lack of enthusiasm for following orders.

“Right, to help you be rather more obedient, you can have 10 demerits! We will obviously have to do this again regularly until you lose some of your inhibitions.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” seems the safest reply, although I'm not looking forward to that.

“You’re welcome, Fifty!” Jo responds, cheerily, ignoring my reticence.

After breakfast, the girls and I are taken out to the garden. One of the support staff – ‘the Keepers’, as I call them – tells us that it’s time we helped with the gardening. So, we are given hoes and all troop off to work on the flower beds, of which there are several very large ones.

It's my first really good look at the Inward Bound “Spa” from the outside in daylight.

The building is quite large, but extends much further back than the frontage suggests. The garden looks rather “municipal”: all flower beds and banks of small conifers and rhododendrons. The main drive winds away and is very soon lost behind the trees. I glance round, but there are no other buildings in sight. Because of the shrubbery there's no view of any nearby houses, or come to that hills or even a boundary wall. It's just as well, as both Sue and I are completely in the nip! Fortunately, it’s a warm rather humid day and as my colleagues start to sweat, I’m left feeling really OK.

I wonder about the house and what it might have been. It's obviously an old house, perhaps from the turn of the last century, so it must have been bought or rented by Inward Bound. Our own accommodation isn’t something many landlords would want done to their property by a tenant, so I'm guessing that tends to rule out a rented or leased property. Buying a place like this in good condition in south east England would need serious money, and I get the impression that Inward Bound is a relatively young organisation, so I imagine that they bought it in a fairly run down state and have been busy upgrading ever since.

So, an old house? Hmmm, the kitchen area is a bit industrial for that. School? Not enough “class rooms” from what I have seen. A convalescent home or sanatorium or perhaps an asylum? A hospital would explain the large kitchens and the large gardens. Shielding the house from the surroundings would be appropriate for an asylum or sanatorium. I know a lot of sanatoria closed in when antibiotics became effective against TB in the 1950’s, but that’s too long ago for the way the place is fitted out, unless Inward Bound have done a lot of work. On the other hand, mental health reforms in recent years led to smaller inpatient asylums being sold off, and that would fit. So that’s it. I bet this was an old asylum. Ironic. It’s a sort of asylum again … That would be rich! You don't have to be mad to apply to come here, but it helps!

My suppositions are cut short by the arrival of lunch. It's a more lavish affair than usual for us slaves; sports energy drinks, sandwiches and fruit. Well, we are doing a pretty physical session today.

Towards the end of the afternoon, the Keeper in charge of us calls us together for a short break. Sue is sent in to deal with some domestic tasks, but then he tells the rest of us that the last job for the day is to mow the lawn...

One of his colleagues appears with a large collection of straps which he passes out to us. We all don what looks like a climber’s body harness – it’s one of the few things that I have worn since I have been here! Once we have them on, the Keeper comes around and checks the straps, tightening those that seem loose. Then, he and his colleague fasten our wrists to the harness behind out backs and fits each of us with a rubber bit gag.

We are formed into a team of four, two by two, Carrie and Anna, Judy and me. We're led off to be harnessed to a mower. “OK girls,” the Keeper says, “you're going to pull this. Lets say it's your contribution to reducing carbon emissions. You can help to save the planet!”

The mower has a small seat on top and the keeper climbs up onto it.

I've fantasised about pony play sometimes, but it was always with the idea of me being some fine animal being paraded with a feather head dress. This isn't anything like glamorous and if you're looking for pony play, this is hardly what you would call “play”. The Keeper has a small flogger and the two girls closest to the mower are dangerously in range.

“OK girls, here is how this goes,” the Keeper begins. “I will shout, 'Pull', 'Stop', 'Left', 'Right' or 'Straight On', and that's JUST what you will ALL do TOGETHER. You will pull as a team and watch out for each other. Anyone who doesn’t pull their weight gets whipped. Anyone who wrong foots their neighbour gets whipped. Any questions? No? Good. Then PULL!”

Questions are difficult to express when you are gagged, but the ground rules seem pretty straight forward and off we go.

Actually, the grass is reasonably short anyway and the mower glides quite easily over the lawn – but there is a lot of lawn and, inevitably, our legs start to tire. The Keeper threatens a severe whipping for the first one to slow down. The encouraging flicks of his whip are coming more frequently.

Then, the rain starts. At first one large heavy drop splats onto the drive just to our side as we haul the mower past, then another and another. The rainfall builds up in intensity astonishingly quickly. In hardly a couple of minutes the rain is pounding down on us. I glance up. The Keeper is drenched. The other girls are soaked; their grey sweat skirts and tops clinging to their bodies and hair laying lank and saturated across brows and shoulders and it's all horribly unpleasant – except for Sue and me! I am naked and shaven and the rain just cascades off me, like water off a duck’s back. As I look round I start to chuckle (as far as you can when you are bit-gagged) and as my colleagues look round to see what I am about, I begin to laugh and laugh and laugh.

Above the noise of the rain, the keeper aims a sharp glance at me, and flicks the tail of his whip across my naked, dripping buttocks.

“Just what is the matter with you, Fifty?”

He dismounts and squelches round to where I am hitched up in the team and removes my bit. “Well?”

I'm giggling hopelessly. I can barely get my words out. “It's - hurhh – It's just that – mmm - if you're naked, there is absolutely no problem with the rain! This is the first time I have been really glad about getting my Joining Instructions wrong! You should try it!”

He looks at he through eyes narrowed against the downpour and I’m wondering whether my frankness was really wise. He turns back to the rest of the girls. “All right, Team, rain stops play. Back to the garage.”

We all pull the mover off the lawn, onto the drive and round the back of the house to the forecourt of the garage - which in times past, has been thoughtfully roofed over with glass. We are all unhitched and unharnessed, except that I am taken right back outside into the rain by the Keeper.

I'm attached by a chain run from my wrists to a metal ring in the wall about a couple of feet above my head. “Well, Fifty,” the Keeper says, “if you like the rain so much, I shall let you enjoy some more of it!”

So, there he leaves me, while he takes the others inside. I stand for what must be an hour, until the rain stops. I am cold and shivering when he returns.

“So, was it worth it, Fifty?”

“Pardon, Sir?”

“Laughter comes at a price!”

“I'm sorry, Sir,” I apologise but, inside, I think it's probably the only time I will have the upper hand the whole time I’m here!

In the evening, I am taken to see Celia again. At first, I assume she is going to check my piercings are healing properly, as the first thing she tells me is to lie down on her medical couch. But then, I realise that there must be something else, because my bum is hardly on the couch before I am being strapped down and blindfolded....

Even in the present circumstances, her lilting South African accent has a reassuring calmness about it.

“OK Fifty, let me see how you are doing?” I feel her fingering the ring through my septum. “Hmm, healing well and that’s encouraging. Just open your mouth a shade more…. Oral hygiene up to speed…..good …..just a moment.”

I give an involuntary “gunghh!” as a hard, rubbery tasting bar is pressed across my mouth. Celia is putting a pony bit gag (as I remember from this afternoons exertions) in place and straps me down just a little bit firmer. As the straps grip tighter, my anxiety rises in step.

“Right, Fifty you are going to get two or three more tokens of slavery, lucky girl!”

I try to respond, but the gag very effectively prevents any coherent comments.

Celia chuckled, “Yes, I just knew you would be pleased!”

Was I going to say I was pleased??

Then, I feel her playing with my nipples. First right, then left. Then a pause. Then, the crackling of a sterile wrapper being opened.

I feel a cold metallic touch as she grasps my nipple with some sort of clamp. There's a sharp crushing pain and I cry out - but that does not prevent the same thing happening to my other nipple.

Celia has pierced my nipples! Two tokens of slave hood. Am I surprised? No. In fact, it’s almost expected and I am pleased in a sort of deep-down, visceral, way.

She is back manipulating the right one: it stings a little and feels bruised, but actually not too bad and the procedure is again repeated on the left side.

“There! As always, you look wonderful! I just know you will agree.” There's a slight pause. I can hear her moving about.” Now, this next job will take just a little longer.”

Someone else comes into the room. The two of them start to do something to my right forearm. The first thing I feel is a stinging prick , like an injection.

“OK Fifty. I am just going to make your skin nice and numb.” Another pause. “You might feel a little pushing and tugging … there… nod if you are OK?”

I nod – hesitantly and anxiously.

“A little pushing now …. And, some pressing now …And, this is to stop a tiny little bit of bleeding.”

Bleeding? Is Celia taking my blood and if so, what on earth for? Now, I am getting frightened. I have rapidly stopped enjoying the session, but it is anxiety rather than discomfort that is driving my feelings. I start to cry, sobbing at my inability to stop what was happening.

“Now, now, Fifty,” Celia is trying to calm me. “Just be the good slave that you are and trust your betters. I’m putting a dressing on your arm now and you are done.”

Celia wipes my face with a warm damp cloth and I begin to feel better. She takes the gag off and blindfold too. I lift my head as far as the straps will allow and look down at my chest to see both nipples ringed. On my arm I can see a white surgical dressing covered by some sort of plasticky (presumably waterproof) bandage.

“Well, Fifty, what do you think?”

Celia is obviously very pleased with her efforts. The first thing I say, for reasons I don't understand at all, is, “But Celia, if I have babies, how will I be able to feed them?”

For a moment, Celia looks as though she is lost for words, then bursts out laughing as I start crying.

“Now, Fifty,” she chides, “for starters, we both know that if you got pregnant right now, you wouldn’t need to breast feed for nine months, by which time you will be well healed. Girls with pierced nipples can breastfeed just fine. You can always swap your rings for rods which baby will easily manage.”

I’m still sobbing. “What have you done to my arm?”

“I’ve given you an RFID.”

She sees my blank look.

“Radio Frequency Identification.”

I look none the wiser.

“You have been chipped. Supermarkets use these to keep track of their stock. Now, we're using them to keep track of ours! With this we will always know where you are and you can interact with the house security systems. It's really quite small and has been snuggled under your skin. I closed the wound over with skin adhesive, so there will be almost no scar and the best thing is after healing, they are very hard to remove. The chip will let you into places we want you to go, keep you out of places we don’t want you in and keep you in places where we would like you to be. It also it carries your Inward Bound slave number and your number on the International Register of Slaves and Submissives. Anyone with an RFID reader can tell who you are and what you are.”

“But, nobody asked my permission! No one asked if I wanted to be 'chipped'! No one said anything about a register.” I'm angry, but at the same time aroused. How strange is that? To be walking around with this thing in your arm that would let someone point a device at you and have it tell them everything about you? It feels very unsettling.

Celia dismisses my annoyance. “Of course not, Fifty! Why should they? You are a slave. Of course slaves don’t get asked.”

"But, I'm only on a course! This is only for a couple of months!"

“Mmmmm, so you are. But, we all get changed by life's experiences. Short or long. One way or another. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Celia’s blunt exposition of the facts of life leaves me feeling aroused and angry at myself for being aroused by what's been done to me – not so much my nipples, as the RFID. I’m also left feeling very tired and a bit sick., So, Celia and her colleague, a Chinese looking guy called Jonathan, look after me until I feel able to go back to my cell for the night.

When I get there, I lay in bed missing Joe for the first time: feeling that maybe this is all too much, that maybe I can't take this, maybe I shouldn't take this, wishing for his more gentle touch. It's while I'm thinking about Joe that I fall asleep.

Chapter 15: The Garden Party

Course 8 / Day 6: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: No reason why Fifty should not be involved in today's “open day”. Her basic skills are sufficient for any of the service tasks envisaged for supporting the day, rather than any of the tasks for which we will use the more experienced, second-course trainees. Everyone is set up to let the people from Clegg Enterprises see what we’re doing with their investment.

Jenny's Recollections

Actually, now that I come to think about it, there seems to be something going on: I'm even more sure about my feelings later, when the shutter to my cell goes up and there is no communal breakfast, either.

Anna comes with a tray that she leaves outside the bars of my cell. I have to kneel down and reach through the bars to get at the food; some fruit, a bread roll and a glass of orange juice. By the time Anna walks by with the next tray for the cell beside mine I've already finished eating. She smiles and picks up the empty tray without saying anything. And, I notice that Anna’s nipples are also pierced – though her rings have obviously been there a while, perhaps since her first visit here - but her arm is dressed like mine.

I wash and shave, It’s become a morning ritual. Nothing happens for quite a while. That's unusual. Usually we are out of our cells and working by now.

Then, things get very busy indeed. Carrie, Sue and I are collected by Jo. There is no time for niceties.

We’re taken out of our cells. As I go through the door of mine, I hear a short beep and I realise that there is a sensor on the door frame registering the RFID chip in my arm. I can’t get used to the fact that somewhere a computer can record each time I go from one room to another, noting down every time the chip in my arm passes one of their sensors.

“Right, you three,” she says when we arrive in the main hall. “We want twenty chairs put out in rows over there. Then we need five tables each with six chairs, laid up for lunch and another row of tables to hold a buffet out on the terrace. When you've done that Fifty-two and Fifty will be waiting at table for lunch. You, Fifty-three, are to report to Ylena.”

I'm confused by what's going on and jealous that Sue has been chosen for Ylena, for whatever it is. Jo must know that Ylena is my Gaspazha.

Jo can see I am hesitating. “What is it Fifty? Was I not clear? Or do you want some demerits?”

“Yes, Mistress, I mean, no Mistress,” I babble and scuttle off with Carrie and Sue to find the things that are needed. With the three of us working, it doesn't take us too long. By the time Jo returns, the room is laid out as she has ordered and we've laid up the tables on the terrace. As she comes into the room, the three of us stand waiting, our hands behind our backs. Ylena is with her. Jo makes a swift inspection of the room and declares herself satisfied.

“Well done, slaves,” she says. “Sorry, Ylena they've earned no more demerits this time.”

Ylena smiles. “Never mind,” she says. “It's Fifty-three that's coming with me isn't it?” She reaches out, grips Sue by her wrist cuff and leads her away.

I want to yell out, “No! No, it's number Fifty, number Fifty is your slooga, it's me,” but I can see it would do no good. Sue just nods and follows Ylena as she leaves the room.

Jo catches me watching them leave. “Is there not enough to interest you here, Fifty?” she asks.

“Sorry, Mistress,” is all I can manage.

“Right. Now listen to me the pair of you. We have guests for lunch. People that are coming to see how we do things here. You two will be waiting at table as I said. This is what you will be wearing.”

She passes us each a box. I'm excited, I haven't worn anything since I arrived. Even some fetish waitress uniform will be a wonderful change, I think. As I open the box, I realise I shouldn't have got my hopes up. There's a pair of Greek looking sandals, a strappy thing I don’t recognise and a badge with the words, “Hi, I'm Fifty. How Can I Serve You?”

Jo orders, “Put on your sandals and I will help you with your muzzles. And hurry up. Our guests will be here soon.”

We do as she tells us. It doesn't take long. Then, Jo goes to work with the straps. First, she pulls a shaped leather piece across my mouth and the lower half of my face. There's a strap around my forehead, two others run up across the top of my head from just in front of my ears, two more straps go up either side of my nose to meet in the middle of my forehead and a single strap from there runs up over the top of my scalp. My head is caged in leather straps that hold the muzzle across my mouth very firmly in place. As Jo tightens the straps, it's clear that I can't even flex my jaw, much less say anything recognisable. It's a curious sensation. My whole head feels closed in, clamped tightly by the leather. This of course is typical of Inward Bound. Breakfast was quite a while ago, our tummies will be reminding us that we should be having some sort of lunch, meanwhile we are going to be surrounded by much more interesting food that is given to us and we are going to be kept from temptation and even from conversation by a muzzle. Able to serve others, but kept securely in our places.

Once the muzzle is on, a belt goes around my waist and then she clips my wrists cuffs to it behind my back. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to wait at table, if I can't use my hands. But, with the muzzle across my mouth I can't ask, either. She follows this up with a strap around my elbows. Ouch! It's painful as she pulls it tight. It's good for my posture though, I guess, as it pulls my shoulders back.

Jo looks at me and nods with satisfaction before doing the same to Carrie. She has the two of us stand side by side and looks us over. I see her look down at the boxes. She realises that we aren't wearing our name badges and picks them up. She clips Carrie's badge to her collar and then turns to me. She's about to do the same but then she gets a worrying twinkle in her eye and she grins. She reaches up and clips it to my nose ring instead; the badge is just dangling in front of my muzzle. I don't know why I should feel this looks any more ridiculous than the rest of my outfit looks anyway, but I do. I manage a grunt of protest which Jo, of course, ignores.

“Good,” says Jo. “Now we'd better get your trays.” She leaves us for a moment and comes back carrying two trays and a series of lengths of chain. She starts off by fitting a tray onto me. The arrangement is quite ingenious. Two clips on the back edge of the tray fasten to rings on my belt, chains from the front two corners of the tray run up and clip to my collar. Jo fits a tray on to Carrie as well. “Now,” she says. “Your job is simple. Just go to the servery over there. They will load your tray. You then walk out to the terrace and go around the tables, pausing at each to allow them to take anything that they want. I'm sure I don't need to tell you the consequence of dropping things, spilling things or upsetting our guests. I know you saw how disappointed Ylena was that none of you had earned any demerits yet.” There's the sound of people chatting from outside the hall. “Right. Out of here. Go into the servery. You're waitresses, go and wait.”

The two of us shuffle out as best we can, the trays swinging awkwardly from the waist clips and chains. I'm sure we'll not be able to carry anything to the tables. In the servery food is being organised, bottles of wine are being opened. The two cooks look up with an approving grin as we enter. I watch Carrie walk up and down, trying to get the hang of keeping her balance and keeping the tray steady. I decide that's a smart move and do the same thing myself.

Through the door from the servery, I can hear a presentation going on. Jo and Gerry are talking, describing the regime that we have here and how they expect their charges to behave. There is another young woman that I have not met, although I have seen her in the house. She seems to be in overall charge. I try to get a bit closer to hear more of what’s going on. As I reach the door there’s a beep – another sensor, detecting my chip, I realise. Moments later, one of the “keepers” is at my side.

“I don’t think you’re needed here, are you, Fifty,” he says. “Why don’t you get back to what you’re supposed to be doing?” I realise he’s been alerted by the RFID monitoring system. They really do know where I am and where I should, or shouldn’t be. He takes me firmly be the arm and leads me away from the presentation room.

Eventually, the presentation finishes. There's a round of applause. Charlotte appears at the door of the servery and gives a thumbs up sign to the cooks. One of them nods and beckons Carrie and me across. “Right, you two,” he says. “Time to go to work. I hope you've got the hang of those outfits.” He starts to load food onto my tray, bowls of tasty looking nibbles. It's all I can do to stop myself drooling, but my muzzle at least makes sure I don't. So much of the food we've had has been rather Spartan, still, I’m loosing my puppy fat and that can’t be a bad thing.

“Off you go,” he says, giving my naked backside a pat. “Come back when they've finished that lot.”

I start towards the door. It's difficult moving quickly and coping with the tray, but I manage it. A door from the servery leads into the hall. The door has been wedged open and a screen now stands in front to defend the servery from full public view. I snake my way through, managing to keep the tray steady and glad I do not have to push the door open with my shoulder.

In the main hall some groups are still chatting, but most of the audience has moved out onto the terrace. I can sense that our visitors are watching me, as I make my way towards the French doors that lead out to the terrace. Groups are sitting around the tables, chatting away. The sun is shining. I feel it warm on my naked skin and I'm suddenly aware that I'm out in the open air, in full view, naked, bound, and gagged. I stop, startled for a moment by my situation. I look around. The terrace looks out across parkland. There's not another house in sight, just the shrubs and trees of the garden. It is,of course, just as I remember it from yesterday. I recover myself and focus once more on my task. It looks like there's two or three of the faculty on each table, two or three guests. I make my way to the nearest.

Jo and Gerry are holding forth whilst a blonde, rather cool woman, is questioning them.

“So, do you find there is much of a drop out rate?” the woman asks and then says, “Ah, good, food,” as I arrive alongside her. She picks a selection of snacks from my tray and puts them on her plate. She turns back to Gerry, ignoring me. “I'd have thought that might be a problem.”

“No, Doctor Jordan,” Gerry is his usual expansive self, “once they're here they seem to like it. We do try to make sure they know what they are in for before they come and we try to screen out those that we don't think will stay the course. I don't think we've had more than two drop out since we started.”

“Maybe you aren't making things hard enough for them,” the black woman says with a mischievous grin. I edge a little further around the table. Gerry takes some food. Jo joins the conversation.

“Don't forget our participants are all here willingly,” she says. “There's a narrow line between giving them a stretching experience and having them feeling they're being abused.”

“And, ah repeat business?” continues Dr. Jordan.

“Yep, we are now getting a trickle of slaves coming back for what you might call further training – in fact we have a couple of them right now. A second course is more challenging for us, because we have to be ingenious enough to work out some different moves and I guess this is one of the areas where we would place further investment.”

I've got as far as the woman Jerry referred to as Doctor Jordan. She helps herself from my tray. It’s getting lighter and that makes things easier as far as I'm concerned. I'm about to move on when she tells me to stop. She reaches up to the badge hanging from my nose ring and twists it so that she can see what it says. She smiles and lets it go.

She turns back to Jo, “So, are all your programmes based on behavioural techniques, or do you ever need to use drugs in any way?”

Jo looks shocked. “No. No, nothing like that. It's all just based on conventional training approaches. It’s much like we use on the corporate side of the business, with some adjustments, of course, as you've seen.” Gerry takes some food and my tray is more or less empty. I'm still standing by the table. Jo looks at me and waves me away impatiently. I head back to the servery.

Inside, my tray is loaded up again and I return to the hall. My shoulders and arms are stiff from being strapped as they are and my neck is stiff too from taking the weight of the tray. As I emerge from the servery, I see Ylena look up at me and instinctively stiffen my posture. I will show her what good slave I can be, how well I can do as I am told. I am sure there must have taken Sue this morning because of some mistake. She could not have forgotten that I am her slave. She must know how it makes me feel to see her with another slave. Or, perhaps she does... My rational, analytical, self resurfaces from the depths. I am not the only slave here. Ylena is here doing a job. She's not here as my personal coach. I am paying for this – well actually Angela’s endowment fund is paying for this - and I am an academic research worker doing undercover field work. There, I feel better for that! But I still feel jealous about Ylena...

Carrie is working her way around a table, much as I had before. I take my tray to another table. Charlotte is talking with some of the guests. There's a youngish looking man, in his mid thirties, I guess, a woman in her late twenties and a very cool looking woman with piercing eyes.

“Did you see all you wanted to this morning, Elly?” Jo says.

The cool looking woman responds. “Mm, yes, thanks. You've got an interesting set up here. It just shows that if you get what you offer right, you'll get people to sign up for it.”

“That's what marketing is all about, Elly,” the man chimes in. “I think that Corinne has got her product pretty much right.”

I move around to let Elly select some food. The younger woman, Corinne, - the one who seemed in charge during the presentation earlier - smiles modestly. “I'd like to pretend that we'd thought it all out beforehand,” she says, “but really, it’s grown up bit by bit. One of the things this investment is doing is to let us think properly about the way we do things. And, I have been particularly careful to have the right people with the right sort of special expertise, for example, Ylena and Celia.”

“Yes,” replies Elly, “I have been admiring Celia’s work. I do like your slave’s pierced nipples! Very neatly done. And, this one's nose ring, too!” She gestures at me. I blush, but I am almost proud to have been noticed.

“Mmmm,” continued Corrine. “Well it seemed the right thing to do. I asked Celia to make sure they were all done for your coming.” She turns towards the man. “You know, Larry, your people are all surprisingly well tuned in to all this. I'd expected them to be a bit shocked, I guess, but they're all taking it in their stride.”

Larry doesn't respond to this, but Charlotte gestures to me to take my tray around to the man.

“Have something to eat, Larry,” she says.

The man smiles but shakes his head. “It all looks great, but this sort of stuff is a disaster for me,” he says. “I just have to look at it and I can hear the weight going on. I like the waitress though.”

He reaches out and runs a finger down the outside of my thigh. I'm shocked by his casual acceptance of the way I'm standing naked, muzzled and helpless beside him. “How come she's naked while the other one gets to keep her clothes ? ”

Charlotte grins. “Number Fifty here didn't follow instructions when she joined, I'm afraid, and now she's paying the price. We like our guests to see that what happens to them springs at least in part from their own behaviour. That was one of Corinne’s basic ideas when she set this up.”

Charlotte catches me listening to their conversation.

“You've finished here, Fifty,” she says. “Take what's left back.”

I make my way back towards the servery, winding my way between the tables, catching snippets of conversation as I go. “Well, yes, the cells are pretty basic, but we think that's the best way to get them used to the idea of slavery early on.” ... “Yes, the extra investment will let us build another 5 cells, so we can double the number of participants on a course. We’ll start the construction at the end of this course.” … “We try to make sure that they are kept busy. Of course, we get the benefit of their efforts for the other business, but that's not really the purpose of it.” … “And, you're finding that there are enough coming forward to fill the places you've got?” ... “Yes, we’ve got enough enquiries, so that we can fill ten places on the next three courses and we’re finding that quite a few of our ‘guests’ want to come back for a second course; it’s addictive!” … “Tell me about the RFID implants you have been placing. Have you always done that or is that new?” The two groups, the faculty and the visitors, seem to be getting on famously. As far as I can tell the event has been a success.

It’s evening now and I’m back in my cell, “officially” running through the day’s events in my mind in preparation for my research report, but actually looking critically at more personal feelings.

I really enjoyed today: being naked and noticed by the guests, being tempted by food but restrained from satisfying myself. Enjoying doing a simple job really well. Enjoying being obedient and being seen to be obedient. I could really be at home in this environment. But then, this could not last for ever, could it? It’s odds-on that sooner or later being a humble domestic would pall and I would pine for something more challenging. And then, there’s Joe. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if somehow I were doing it to please him? Or, he had sent me here and what I did for Inward Bound, I were really doing for Joe.

End of part 2.