Passage to Somnium
by Jennifer Harrison
Part 1

The last thing I clearly remember was Master shouting at me.

"Get in the fucking hole, you stupid bitch! You know what you've done wrong, I've just about had it with your stupid fucking mistakes!"

We were out on Master’s estate, and ‘the hole’ seemed to be some kind of drainage outlet. I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes, but I knew he was mad as hell, and was not going to back down on this. So I sat down on the grass, put my feet into the round hole, and lowered myself in. My feet sank into about a foot of muddy water at the bottom, and the brick-lined sides seemed to be only inches from my naked body. As I looked up, I saw Master lowering the heavy iron drainage cover back into place.

"You'd better hope it doesn't rain too much tonight, slut." With that, he dropped the cover into place above me with a resounding clang. I let out a sobbing wail as the darkness enveloped me.

I don't know how long I was down there before I realised that the bottom of the shaft joined a large drainage pipe. Maybe if I crawled along it, I could find a way out! It had to be better than spending the next 12 hours standing here, freezing my butt off.

I crawled along that tunnel for I don't know how long, before it suddenly emerged into a room with bare brick walls, illuminated by a single naked lightbulb. I looked around in some confusion - was I back in Master's mansion? I certainly didn't recognise this place, but it had to be some kind of sub-subbasement or something. I got out of the pipe and stood up, moving cautiously towards the stairs I could see at the other end of the room. As I reached the bottom of the stairs the door at the top opened, and looking down at me was one of the most gorgeous women I had ever seen!

With close-cropped dark hair and alabaster-white skin, she was dressed in a lacy basque, a tiny thong and hold-up stockings, with stilettos on her feet. She seemed not in the least surprised or perturbed to find a rather filthy, naked woman in her basement, indeed she looked down at me with a smile, placing a hand on one hip.

"Hello there, dear," she said pleasantly, "you must be my new arrival. Come up here and let's have a look at you in the light." Rather nonplussed by her confident tone, I nervously padded up the stone steps.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, doing what comes naturally to English people, immediately apologising. "W-where am I? W-who are you?"

"Now, now, don't worry your pretty little head about that, I'll explain it all in due course. Come on up, we need to get you processed." Processed? What was she talking about?

When I got to the top of the stairs, I realised that she was holding a pair of metal cuffs, joined by a short chain. With all the confidence in the world, she reached out and put one of the cuffs on my wrist, then she gently but firmly pulled both my arms behind my back and closed the other cuff, locking them in place. I don't know why I didn't resist, something about her confident attitude seemed to make me putty in her hands. I looked up and saw her smiling at me.

"That's it, darling, let's get you cleaned up." She led me out of the door and down a marbled corridor.

"I don't understand," I whined, "what's going on, where's my Master?"

"Oh," the woman said cheerfully, "he must've been the person who owned you in the old world. You're in our world now, dear, and you belong to me. I'm Miss Ashley, your new owner."

I stumbled after the woman in a daze, unable to comprehend what she had just told me. New World? She owns me?! None of this made any sense! I wanted my Master back!

"W-why do you own me?" I asked, completely bemused.

"Finders keepers, darling," she beamed, "you turned up on my property, therefore you are my property! Always applies to you ‘crossovers’. I just have to register you down at the slave hall."

She pulled me into a tiled area and grabbed a hose. Seconds later, I was squealing as the powerful jet of freezing cold water hit me right in the midriff. I tried to turn away, but the water followed me, soaking me from head to foot until I was shivering. When the water stopped, Miss Ashley moved in and began lathering me with soap, then scrubbing the dirt and sweat from my body with a painfully stiff brush. I felt shampoo being massaged into my scalp, and then the water was back, rinsing me off. At last it was turned off, and I was able to catch my breath.

My new owner gave me a quick rub with a towel, and led me off into another room, where she sat me down on a hard chair, putting my manacled wrists behind the back of the chair, and strapping me to it with a leather belt across my chest, just under my breasts.

"Now, this may hurt a bit." As she said this, Miss Ashley grabbed my head and pulled it back against the chair. I felt something tickling my nose, and then the most horrendous pain erupted from that same area. I let out a scream and felt tears immediately spring to my eyes, and I realised that a hole had just been punched through my septum! As I wailed at the terrible pain, Miss Ashley threaded a ring through the new hole, making me feel like some kind of dumb farm animal. Some time ago, I’d had my nipples pierced and also one through my clit hood, but they were nothing like as painful as this!

I was still crying when Miss Ashley started blow drying my hair, which seemed a very odd thing to be doing. However, when she had finished, her motives became clear as she approached me with a comb and a pair of scissors.

"I like my slaves to have neat, short hair, it makes maintenance so much easier." I started to shed fresh tears as I saw great chunks of my hair fall on the floor around me. Soon my head felt naked – I hadn’t had short-cropped hair since I was about six, and it felt so weird. I was not sitting in front of a mirror, so I had no idea how it looked when she finished, and clearly my opinion wasn't important to her, as she made no effort to show me.

"What's your name, honey?" she asked.

"J-jenny," I replied with a sob, unable to snivel due to my new piercing, which meant that a mixture of blood and snot was dripping onto my upper lip.

"Well, J-jenny, welcome to our world. I think you'll find life here as a slave is not too bad. You will be treated well, whether I keep you or sell you on."

Sell me on?! This was crazy! Although I was my Master’s ‘slave’ in what I now had to call the old world, that was an agreement between us, based on matching desires to control and to be controlled, he hadn't forced it upon me! This woman was convinced that I was her property, to dispose of as she wished! I had to get out of here, wherever ‘here’ was!

* * *

My new owner in this strange new world, Miss Ashley, has given me this diary and a revolting Vermillion pen to record my thoughts and experiences while in her possession. I don't know where I am, or when this is. So…

Day 1 in ?:

After cuffing, ringing and hosing me down, Miss Ashley locked a chastity belt around my waist and between my legs. She then put a collar and leash on me and led me out of her house.

"I just need to get you checked out by the doctor," she said, "I need a medical certificate before I can get you registered and marked, no need to worry."

"Marked?" I asked nervously. We were now walking out onto the street, and I felt terribly conscious of the fact that I was virtually naked, as well as in chains. Yet no one paid us any more attention than if I was a show poodle or something – slightly more interest than a common pooch, a few polite glances in my direction, but no great outrage or excitement at what I would have thought was an extraordinary sight. We even passed a police officer, but he just tipped his hat politely to Miss Ashley and walked on!

“Yes, dear,” Miss replied, “all slaves are marked, as well as micro-chipped, to discourage rustling.”

“Rustling?” I felt like I was in some kinky version of the Wild West! Miss Ashley, who had changed into the sexiest black catsuit I’d ever seen, could easily play the part of a gunslinger, she had that sway of the hips and confident swagger as she walked…

“It’s a big problem here, Jenny, we have women turning up from your world all the time, and there’s a lucrative black market in broncos like you. Chances are you could end up in some awful brothel or worse, maybe owned by a Wall Street trader or a banker!” Now I was scared, and looked around nervously, as if some man in a black hat might lasso me and drag me away at any moment.

We approached a building with a sign saying ‘Chancery Medical Practice’ on the attractive limestone wall, and Miss Ashley led me inside, into the waiting room. I looked nervously at the other patients, sitting and waiting, as they stared back at me. I wondered what they were thinking, seeing a naked woman in chains before them? I saw what looked like a range of expressions from contempt, to amusement, to fascination. As for me, being up close with other women, all of them perfectly respectable and fully dressed, was desperately embarrassing – I have a Mistress back in the ‘real’ world who sees me like this, but that’s different. Thinking of Mistress now – would I ever see her again?! – brought a tear to my eye. I felt a sudden tug on the chain at my neck, and I returned to the here and now, even though I didn’t know where here or now was.

I stepped to the receptionist’s desk with Miss Ashley and, on her indication, went down on my knees.

“What do you mean, there’s a delay?” Miss was saying, obviously irritated, “I don’t have time for this! Maybe I should just take her to the vet! They at least know how to treat paying clients!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist calmly explained, “but the doctor has been unavoidably delayed. She’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

“That’s no use, I have to be at a meeting. How about if I left her here?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am but we’re not insured for unattended, unregistered slaves here, health and safety, I’m sure you understand.”

“She’s not rabid!” Miss Ashley protested. “She’s not going to run amok! Look at her! She’s virtually tame already!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, the Slave Commission would be down on us in an instant. And we have to think of the welfare of our other patients. An unrestrained slave may frighten some of the more elderly.”

“Okay,”  Miss came back, “how about if I gag her so she can’t bite anyone, then chain her to the desk, so she can’t move around and upset your precious patients?”

“Well…” the receptionist looked doubtful, but seemed to make a decision, “very well, madam, just this once…”

“Thank you,” Miss Ashley beamed, and I felt her pull on the chain at my neck until my face was just above the carpet, my bottom up in the air. She wrapped the chain around the leg of the desk in front of me and clicked a padlock to hold it there. A moment later, I felt the lower half of my face covered by a leather panel, strapped tightly in place, a small lock holding it there. Miss stood up, I heard a set of keys tossed on the desk, and she was gone.

I suddenly felt very alone and very vulnerable. I struggled to look around and see the three other patients – no, that made it sound like I was their equal, which I clearly wasn’t, I was to be treated as a ‘wild animal’, now safely restrained.

I waited patiently as they were each taken in before me, until I was alone with the receptionist. I assumed it would be my turn next, but an elderly couple came in and were immediately put ahead of me in the queue. I glanced up at them and saw the contrasting looks they gave me – the woman seemed outraged and disgusted by my presence – “what is that doing here?” she said to the receptionist, and wasn’t too happy with the reply she received - while the man leered down at me, able to take his eyes off my arse only long enough to ogle my breasts. His wife dug her elbow sharply into his ribs.

“David!” she hissed, “We’re here to see the doctor about your… problem, and you’re getting a hard-on over this… thing!” The man seemed unashamed of the bulge in his pants, indeed, he seemed rather proud.

“Maybe you should get me one for my anniversary present, dear,” he whispered, “it’s working better than Viagra!” The image of me being sold and used as a ‘fluffer’ was both humiliating and stimulating…

Once they had been seen, it was finally my turn, and the nurse unlocked me from the desk and pulled me down the corridor and into the doctor’s office. The doctor was immediately intimidating – nearly six feet, willowy, frighteningly attractive, she was dressed in a shapeless white coat, and yet still looked like a supermodel, long seamed stocking-clad legs emerging from beneath the hem to patent leather high heels.

“Okay, I tee-off in… 30 minutes, so let’s make this quick,” she barked at her assistant, “get her on the exam table and take samples, but be careful – she looks placid now, but let’s not take any risks.”

I was hustled towards what looked like a gynaecological table and made to sit down. The nurse grabbed one ankle and pulled it up into the stirrup, and quickly strapped it in place. A moment later, both my legs were up in the air, spread wide, and I was feeling rather vulnerable. More straps around my thighs and across my stomach held me firmly in place, then the doctor was called over. My wrists were finally unlocked from behind me, but they each held an arm and forced them into cuffs at the head of the table. I was now completely helpless and spread wide for their examination. The doctor turned away again, busy with her paperwork, and I was left with the nurse.

She proceeded to take a blood sample, vaginal swab, used a catheter to get a urine sample, and pushed something up my bum to get a stool sample. She finally unlocked and removed my gag, but only so she could insert a dental gag, forcing my jaws wide apart. I let out a gurgle, partly in alarm, partly in protest, but it was ignored. The nurse now took a swab from my cheek, before calling the doctor over.

The doctor started by poking a tongue depressor around my mouth, calling out details of my fillings and ‘occlusions’, whatever those are, to the nurse taking notes on the computer, then palpitated my breasts, declaring them healthy, before stabbing her finger into my belly, achieving I’ve no idea what. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves and I let out a squeal as she unceremoniously shoved two fingers up into me, feeling around very intrusively.

“Nothing untoward in here,” she said to the nurse, not making eye contact with me, “sexual response seems strong, should make someone a good fuck bunny.” I blushed deep red as the two women smiled at her witticism. I let out another cry of outraged discomfort as she stuck a finger into my anus, without the benefit of lubrication. After a rather aggressive poke around, she withdrew her finger, pulled off her gloves and tossed them in the bin.

“Hand me the chip gun, please,” she said, holding out her hand. The nurse handed her what looked like a large hypodermic syringe, but with no needle at the end. The doctor pressed it against the inside of my thigh, and a second later I was screaming in agony. It felt like she just took a blunt knitting needle and thrust it into my flesh – unfortunately, I don’t think that was far from the truth. I realised I’d just been micro-chipped, like a pet dog! But I’m sure they use anaesthetic on dogs, don’t they? That told me everything I needed to know about this society. The wound was covered by a sticking plaster and that was it, all better, apparently. It didn’t stop the tears running down my cheeks, though.

“That’s it, we’re done,” she exclaimed, turning away as she took off her lab coat, “give her clean bill of health, lock her up and get her out of here, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she swept out, and I realised she hadn’t once looked me in the face. It made me feel… grubby.

The reverse process of releasing me from the table and putting me back in chains without ever actually being free was achieved with the help of the receptionist and I was soon ‘ready for pickup’. The whole experience had just reinforced my feelings of humiliation, dehumanisation and isolation. How embarrassing that it should also feed my feelings of sexual arousal…

The afternoon sun had been beating down on me for several hours, and I was covered by a thin sheen of sweat, my head gently spinning as I fell into a semi-doze, exhausted by the heat.

Initially, when I had been led out of the doctor’s room, I had been locked to the reception desk again. But that had only lasted a few minutes before one of the other doctors had objected.

“What the hell is this doing in here?” I heard a man’s voice saying above me – I could only see a pair of shoes and trousered legs.

“I’m sorry, Dr Green,” the receptionist replied, “but her owner left her here. She's had her physical and she’s just waiting to be picked up. I’m sure…”

“Dolores,” the man interrupted, “how would you like it if you brought your kids in here and saw that? Get it out of here before we get sued! It can wait outside.”

“But, Doctor, it’s too hot-“

“That’s not our problem, Dolores, it’s the owner’s responsibility if anything happens, as long as it’s not on our premises. Now get it out!”

“Yes, Doctor.”

So I was taken outside and chained to one of the line of slave posts on the sidewalk outside the practice, and as far as I could tell, left to broil. However, after I had been there for maybe half an hour or so, Dolores came out and doused me with a glass of cold water, a blessed relief!

“Thank you so much, Miss, that is such a relief!” Well, that is what I would have said if it hadn’t been for the gag, which turned my words into a mumble of inarticulate noise. Dolores smiled down at me and stroked my wet hair, just like… a dog.

So, I was left there on the street, and I quickly became aware that, as when a pet is left chained up in our world, passers-by were perfectly comfortable with coming up and doing whatever they liked, safe in the knowledge I wasn’t able to tell on them or scream for help. Some ignored me, putting their noses in the air as they walked by, showing that I was beneath their contempt. Some stared, this clearly their first sight of a slave on the street. Others shouted abuse, deeply offended at my nudity, my bondage, or perhaps my mere presence, I couldn’t tell which. One old lady even came up to me and spat in my face, which was pretty frightening.

Still others came over and talked to me as if I were a baby or an animal – “who’s a pretty girl, then?”, that kind of thing - and stroked me, sometimes like a dog, but mostly in a very sexually overt way. As all these strange hands caressed my sweaty body, mainly fondling and groping my breasts or squeezing and pulling my nipples, I became ever more aroused, writhing uncontrollably under this unsought attention. In some ways, I was both grateful for the chastity belt preventing access to my sex, but also terribly frustrated. I’m sure they could tell exactly how aroused I was by the pleading moans coming out from behind the gag, and by the lewd way I shamelessly thrust my hips at them. I knew I was making an exhibition of myself, but that just seemed to inflame me more.

Gradually the flow of curious admirers died down, and I was left to swelter in the afternoon heat, descending into a dehydrated state of minor delirium. That's when I saw one more visitor coming in my direction, but I realised I recognised this one. It was one of the women who had been waiting in the doctor's surgery, one who had seemed very interested in me at the time.

She squatted down in front of me and wiped my brow with her hand as I squinted up at her, wondering why she was here.

"Hi there, slave girl," she said in a warm, friendly voice, "I wasn't expecting you to still be here. You look very hot, would you like some water?" I nodded my head vigorously, trying to speak from behind the gag but, as before, only producing a muffled mumble. It was beginning to feel like I was losing the power of speech, I had been gagged for so long. Just a dumb animal…

The young woman straightened up and went into the clinic, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water. She tried to prize the panel of the gag from my face, but it was too tightly buckled, and all she could manage to do was trickle water over my face above the gag and hope that some of it would seep into my mouth. I only received a few droplets, but they were so precious in assuaging my desperate thirst that I was pathetically grateful, and tried once again to express my thanks. She sensibly poured most of the water over my head, relieving some of the fever which I was suffering.

"You poor thing," she said soothingly, stroking my cheek, "what a horrible thing to do to you, leave you out here in this heat! Does it make you hate your owner to be treated like this?"

I thought about the question for a moment and then shook my head. No, I didn't hate Miss Ashley, it wasn't her fault that the doctor had put me out here. I realised that, in this strange world, it was quite normal for a slave such as me to be treated in this way, actually worse than a dog. It was a mindset which saw slaves as something less than human, less even than pets. With a jolt, I realised that this must be something like the way slaves used to be regarded in our own world, not that long ago. Perhaps this was some kind of parallel universe, in which slavery had never died out, but had remained a mainstay of everyday life? This thought was frightening.

"You seem very calm about your fate," the woman went on, "as if you were born to be a slave… serving your owner… providing pleasure as and when ordered… kept always naked and in chains… under the total control of someone else…"

As she spoke, her hands wandered over my body, sliding across the sweat-slick skin, cupping my breasts, squeezing, fondling, teasing my nipples, bringing them to a firm state of attention…

As my arousal grew, I looked up into her face and saw that it was flushed, her lips parted, her tongue licking them, and I knew that she was just as aroused as I was.

"What must it be like, to live your life as the plaything of another? Your only purpose to please and to satisfy your Mistress? To be locked away, stripped of all responsibility and decision-making, just required to obey commands…"

Her hand moved down across my stomach and felt the edges of the stiff leather chastity belt around my waist, following it down between my legs. I moaned into the gag again, feeling myself press against her hand between my thighs. I saw her bite her lip, her eyes hooded, the excitement she clearly felt created by touching me, but also by her words, her imagination.

She took her hand away and went to her pocket, taking out a piece of paper which I could see had been written on, although I couldn't read what was there. She looked at it, reading it, thinking about its contents. She seemed to come to a decision, and she folded the paper until it was no more than a small square and then, to my surprise, forced it between my belly and the chastity belt, pushing it in far enough to disappear from view.

“Take this to your Mistress for me, slave,” she smiled. She leaned forward and kissed my forehead, then stood up and walked away, glancing back at me occasionally, as if to make sure I wasn't going to somehow lose her message.

I remained on the sidewalk for another while - I've no idea how long - until, at last, I saw Miss Ashley approaching, her high heels clacking loudly on the paving stones. As she reached me, she looked down with anger in her face.

"I don't fucking believe it!" she fumed, "how dare they leave you out here, you could have died! I could have lost a very valuable asset!" My illusions that she might be concerned for my welfare were quickly dashed. I was property, and potentially valuable property, but nothing more.

She stormed into the clinic and it was a good ten minutes before she emerged again, still boiling mad. Dolores, the receptionist, accompanied her and unlocked me from the post.

"Don't think you've heard the last of this!" Miss said sharply as she helped me to my feet. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer!" The other woman went back into the clinic without a word.

"Come on, slut, you've caused me enough trouble for one day!"

* * *

"Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming along to help me initiate this new slave, Jenny."

I looked out at the crowd of people in front of me, and couldn't really decide whether I should faint, burst into tears, throw up, or just pee myself, I was so frightened. Miss Ashley had explained this whole situation to me, purportedly to help prepare me for it, but nothing could have prepared me for this, and I suspected that she had merely wanted to scare the bejesus out of me. Well, she had certainly succeeded!

She had told me that I would be presented in the city’s Slave Hall, before invited guests such as her friends and colleagues, city officials, plus any members of the public who happened to be passing and wanted to join in. Apparently all slaves had to go through this indignity, it was part of the law that their status and ownership be publicly displayed and acknowledged.

"Jenny is a crossover, so we are going to have some fun tonight!"

Miss had explained that Somnium - I wasn't sure whether that referred to the city, the country or the world I was now in - had several classifications of slaves. I, as a ‘crossover’ - which meant I had come from my world into this - was the lowest of the low. I had no rights under the law here, I was classified as a non-person, and could be treated by my owner, or by anyone she nominated, in any way she wished. I had no route to freedom, I was just a slave and always would be.

"Please help yourself to the drinks and snacks provided, and of course, also help yourself to Jenny!"

I would have run far away if I could, but escape was impossible. Even movement was pretty difficult, given the strict bondage Miss Ashley had placed me in. I was completely naked and my wrists had been shackled behind my back, with my arms pulled up into the air, forcing me to bend double over a metal frame. I was held in place by chains attached to the bottom of the frame and which ended in clamps which gripped onto and bit cruelly into my nipples. My ankles were also shackled to the base of the stand, so that I was fixed in place, unable to cover myself or defend myself from any assault.

As if that wasn't enough, Miss had attached a weight to the ring through my nose, and it now swung like a pendulum from side to side, bringing tears to my eyes with every movement. This was not bondage, it was not necessary, it was just sadistic.

Miss Ashley picked up her glass of sparkling champagne and began chatting with people as they wandered around me, touching me, checking out my bondage, and discussing me as if I was just a piece of furniture.

"She's got a nice arse… shame about the cellulite… those tits are a bit small… chunky calves… funny-shaped earlobes… pretty face…"

I could feel my face becoming more and more red as they belittled me, but it soon got much worse. Miss had removed my chastity belt, allowing access to my sex, and they now took full advantage of that. I felt fingers between my legs, spreading my nether lips open, toying with my clitoral hood piercing. Soon, I was struggling for breath, feeling myself becoming wet with my arousal, feeling even more embarrassed and humiliated by my exposure.

It may seem strange that someone who has voluntarily made themselves a sex slave, committing themselves to providing sexual pleasure to her Master and Mistress, should feel violated at such treatment. But the crucial difference was that that had been my decision, to submit myself to two people that I knew and liked, even loved. Now, I was not submitting, I was being subjugated. And it wasn't two friends, it was countless strangers. And there were no limits, certainly none that I could impose. I was entirely at their mercy.

So I was frightened, my mind in a whirl . But, as those fingers worked their way inside and intimately explored me, my body reacted in the only way it knew, with increased heart rate, rapid, shallow breathing, tingling sensations in all my nerves, and the generation of more and more lubrication. Regardless of my mental anguish, I was close to orgasm.

As the drink flowed, the handling became rougher, grabbing a breast or a buttock, swinging the weight hanging from my septum, squeezing the clamps on my nipples until I cried out. But soon, all that paled into insignificance as I felt my buttocks prised apart and I was speared deep into my bowels.

I let out an anguished wail as my unseen assailant thrust violently into me until his thighs were slapping against mine. I felt him pull back and then drive into me once more, forcing me forward and causing the shackles on my ankles to pull tight, badly chafing my skin, while the clamps dug even deeper into the soft, sensitive flesh of my nipples. As I looked around for some rescue, or respite, I saw that a large, fat man was standing right in front of me, loosening his trousers. Far from receiving any relief from my plight, I found it doubled as he forced his stiff member into my mouth. Now, even my cries of protest were cut off, along with my air supply, his rotund, flabby stomach pressing against my nose as he buried his shaft deep in my throat.

This nightmare continued until both men reached climax, leaving me with their cum dripping from either end, down my thighs and down my chin. As they walked away, I wept bitter tears of shame.

This was just the start of my ‘initiation’ as, one after another, they raped me until I was so exhausted I could barely keep from collapsing, my legs shaking like rubber beneath me. I felt a hand grip my hair and pull my head up, until I found myself staring into the smiling face of Miss Ashley.

"Now you start to appreciate what it's like to be a real slave, my little crossover. Do you still enjoy the game?"

“Oh, Jenny! What a racket you’re making! I think a little quiet time for you, little slave.”

This admonishment from my owner came after I had just been roughly taken by a tall man with an unfeasibly large weapon. He had paraded around before violating me, obviously trying to intimidate me and impress the audience. I think he scored full marks on both counts. As he turned his back on me to wave his member at a group of giggling girls, I noticed what a big arse he had, and I was reminded of a quote attributed to a famous TV ‘personality’, who was rumoured to be similarly proportioned in the trouser department – “it takes a big hammer to drive in a big nail”. I knew that I was about to be ‘nailed’ by this showman.

I was shocked and severely alarmed, not to say disappointed, when I felt him forcing his huge phallus between my buttocks rather than somewhere rather more stimulating. I let out a scream as he stretched me painfully wide, then continued to cry out pitifully as he skewered me hard and deep. In front of me was a sea of faces, some laughing, some urging him on, some clearly excited by the sight of my obvious suffering. For me, it was a matter of just hanging on, just trying to bear the pain until, at last, he climaxed, loudly and in great quantity, deep in my bowels. I’d been fucked in every orifice multiple times over the last few hours, and not a single orgasm for me. So unfair!

When I saw Miss approaching with the gag, I was strangely grateful. I had swallowed so much sperm that I was feeling quite sick, so locking up that particular entrance to my poor, tortured body was going to be something of a relief.

“Hang on, Ash, I’ve got an idea.” The speaker was a young woman, obviously severely the worse for drink, who staggered over towards me. She was wearing a ridiculously short leather skirt, hardly much more than a wide belt, and a flimsy halter-neck top which left little to the imagination. Mind you, given that I was naked and Miss Ashley had stripped down to some extremely sexy underwear, I suppose she was positively overdressed.

She reached under her microskirt and shimmied out of a lacy pair of knickers, having to lean on my shoulder as she struggled to get them over her heels. Resignedly I opened my moth, guessing where they were destined to go. But I was a little premature, as she first used them to wipe the cum splatters off my face and chin.

“Good idea, Julia, but let’s just…” Miss Ashley took the panties and I felt the scratchy lace cleaning up the mess that had dribbled down my thighs. Unfortunately I knew where that mess had dribbled from and, by the time they were finally stuffed into my mouth they were soaked and tasted utterly vile. I immediately tried to spit them out, but Miss was pretty quick too, and that leather panel was soon covering the lower half of my face and I could feel the straps being pulled painfully tight. Now I had to fight against the urge to throw up, and I had the hideous experience of the taste of puke at the back of my throat on the way up meeting, on the way down, the taste of… well, I’m sure you can imagine what. I could feel tears welling in my eyes just at the pungency of that taste…

I was rather surprised when Miss Ashley dropped what looked like a large kit bag down in front of me, and wondered what sport they were going to play. I should have thought harder – what sport were they likely to be playing, with me chained up in front of them? But it still came as a shock  when Miss invited people forward to ‘take your pick from my goodie bag’, and the first thing that came out was a riding crop! When that was followed by a cane, two floggers, another crop and then two more canes, I was in hysterics.

Pretty soon everyone was armed and looked pretty fucking dangerous to me. I was crying and screaming into the gag, shaking my head and trying, uselessly, to get myself off that frame. Miss came across and squatted down in front of my terrified face.

“Now, my little slave, don’t carry on so,” she said in an apparently soothing tone, while at the same time stroking my cheek with the leather fob of the crop in her hand.

“The thing is, the laws about mistreatment of slaves here are very strict, the punishments we can impose are very limited. Except for crossover slaves like you, Jenny. We can do what we like with you! People get… excited at the prospect of punishing someone like you. I’m sure you understand.”

I shook my head frantically, the tears coursing down my cheeks but, just as Miss straightened up, a blaze of pain erupted across my buttocks, and I lost all power of rational thought, unable to do anything other than scream into the gag and cry like a baby.

I had trained myself to cope with a certain level of pain, as delivered in a controlled way for erotic purposes. It had earned me a reputation as something of a ‘pain slut’. But this was not an erotic spanking or measured beating, this was a frenzied attack by many hands, and there was no way I could cope with it.

At first, I felt every single lash, every blow, burning across my flesh, striping my buttocks, my thighs, even my back and arms. It was awful, but they soon merged into one constant surge of inescapable pain, a glowing hot, intense agony. Some more skilled exponents with the floggers flicked the leather fronds underneath me, whipping my breasts, or between my legs, torturing my pussy.

I don’t know how long it lasted, or why I didn’t pass out, but it was just excruciating. And I don’t know why it ended – had they had enough? Or did they realise that if they carried on, they were going to kill me? I guess a dead slave is a serious waste of a resource. Whatever the reason, I could hear Miss Ashley walking around and saying things like ‘Thank you so much for coming, darling, you made it special’. It was over!  It was over and somehow I had survived!

I felt my arms drop and the chains being removed from my ankles, the clamps taken off my nipples. As I was lifted off the frame I had been draped over all evening, my legs buckled underneath me and I collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Now I suffered a new form of torture, as blood flowed back into flesh which had long since become numb, and muscles tried to readjust to movement once more. I curled up into a ball, gently rubbing my swollen, tender nipples and weeping forlornly into the gag still attached to my face. If this was to be my life from now on, I would just as soon die right here!

I felt a hand gently stroking my hair, and I looked up to see my owner crouching next to me, a look of sympathy and pity on her face. She leaned down and whispered to me.

“I want you to remember what this feels like, Jenny. If you’re a good, obedient slave and work hard, you will find me to be a kind and generous owner, and this will just be a dark memory. But if you ever – and I mean ever – disobey me, or fail to do what I tell you quickly and with enthusiasm or, Gods forbid, you try to escape, you will be back here permanently, and I won’t be around to rescue you. Do you understand, little slave?”

I nodded my head vigorously, fresh tears springing to my eyes as terror gripped me at the enormity of that threat.

“Good girl. Now let’s go home.”

Somnium, Day 2:

Dear Diary,

My biggest disappointment since arriving here was this morning, when I woke up and found that I wasn't back in my own world. I had hoped that, if I went to sleep in Somnium, I would wake up on my mattress, in my cage, in my Master's mansion. Instead, I was still tied down on Miss Ashley's bed, with Miss Ashley draped across me, just as I had been when I fell asleep.

When we returned from the Slave Hall, Miss had hosed me down to get rid of the stench of stale sex on my body. Making me lie down on my stomach on the bed, she had applied some kind of soothing cream to the welts and bruised flesh of my buttocks and thighs. While I had yelped and whimpered as she did it, I soon began to feel the anaesthetic effect, which was a great relief.

She also made soothing noises as I cried quietly into the pillow, making me wonder at the contradictions in this woman. She owned me, and had just presided over the most cruel and painful treatment I had ever suffered, and yet she spoke to me as if I were… I was going to say a much-loved child, but I realised that wasn't really accurate. She spoke to me like a much-loved pet, using her tone of voice, rather than the actual words, to provide comfort and reassurance. That inconsistency frightens me, not knowing when I’m safe. I suppose if the idea is to keep me on my best behaviour at all times, it works!

Once she had treated my wounds, she turned me over and bound my wrists together and to the headboard above me, while my legs were stretched wide apart and tied to the frame at the sides of the bed. While I was becoming frantic at the thought that she was going to punish me again, Miss started fondling my stretched-out body, massaging my breasts and toying with my nipples. I felt her soft lips against mine, and we kissed passionately and hungrily while her hand wandered down across my stomach towards my eager loins.

It took only a matter of seconds, or so it seemed, to return me to my previous state of total arousal. Surely my orgasm was inevitable as she moved down and started sucking on my breasts while continuing to tease my clitoris with her fingers. But, remarkably, she managed to keep me right on the edge, on the verge of cumming, for what felt like hours, just applying and then withdrawing her gentle, tantalising touches. I was completely consumed by frustration, tugging at the ropes holding me down, writhing on the bed, lifting my hips in an attempt to force myself onto her.

I didn't really know if this was a form of reward, or a new way of torturing me. It seemed to be both at once. On a couple of occasions, I managed to open my eyes and focus on her long enough to see the expression on her face, and it looked to me as though she was getting real pleasure from my own frustrated pleasure.

Eventually, her arousal got the better of her and she climbed onto the bed, her knees either side of my head, and lowered her hot, wet pussy onto my face. As she leaned down across my body and I felt her hot breath on my thighs, I went to work on her with a combination of enthusiasm and desperation, hoping that if I made her cum, she would return the favour.

No such luck. Maybe slaves aren't allowed to cum here, it definitely seems that way. I certainly delivered on my end of the bargain, making her cry out as she reached what must have been a very satisfying orgasm, given the way she threw herself around on top of me, and by the way her juices squirted into my face. When she was done, she collapsed onto the bed, and resumed her teasing, driving me wild but achieving no release. When she finally stopped moving against me and I heard her gentle, even breathing pattern, I realised that she had fallen asleep on me, and that my fun/torture was over for the evening.

This morning, the whole ‘I tease you-you cum-I don't’ cycle was repeated, before Miss untied me and took me to the cleaning area to hose me down. From there, it was off to her ‘workroom’, the very name of which scared the hell out of me.

"Don't worry, little slave," she reassured me, "nothing nasty is going to happen to you." The phrase ‘this time’ seemed to hang silently in the air.

Miss brought out two sets of manacles, each joined by a length of about a metre of chain. I held out my arms as instructed, and she placed a manacle around each wrist. There was a resounding click as she closed them, and when I looked, I could see only a faint line where the two halves had joined, with no visible locking mechanism - or, more pertinently, unlocking mechanism. These looked pretty permanent. As I contemplated that fact, she shackled my ankles, and then picked up the steel collar. A moment later, that was locked in place around my neck, and weighing me down in more ways than one. My ‘slave outfit’ was completed by the chastity belt, all black leather and brass buckles, but it locked in place just as securely as the slave chains.

Now that I was suitably ‘dressed’, Miss Ashley took me on a guided tour of her impressive house. There was a predominance of marble floors and polished wood, with minimalist furnishings and simple, elegant decor.

"You will clean the house from top to bottom today," Miss informed me, showing me where the cleaning implements were kept, "I want to see that you can work, and can do a good job. I will be inspecting, so make sure you do it right, little slave, I'm sure you wouldn't want to be punished." I shook with fear as I saw the crocodile smile she gave as she said that.

I set to work with mop and bucket, vacuum cleaner, brush and dustpan, dusters and polish, cleaning as if my life depended on it, which wasn't that far from the truth, as far as I was concerned - the thought of suffering punishment anything like the previous day was a great motivator!

Just as I was down on my hands and knees with the brush and dustpan making sure that there wasn't a scrap of dirt caught in the crack between floor and skirting board, I heard the click-clack of high heels on the marble, and I looked around fearfully, assuming it was Miss Ashley coming to inspect. What I saw shocked me to the core.

Coming towards me was a young woman pushing a laundry basket on wheels. Immediately I noticed the short hair, the steel collar, the shackles on her wrists and ankles, and I knew that she was a slave, just like me. But there the similarities ended. She was wearing a black dress, fishnet stockings with suspenders, and platform-soled shoes with stiletto heels. The top half of the dress covered her from neck to waist, except for two round cutouts through which her breasts protruded. The skirt of the dress stood out from just below her waist almost horizontally, front and back, revealing that she was completely naked and hairless underneath. She also wore a bright red ballgag strapped tightly into her mouth.

I felt a sudden surge of comfort that there was someone else here in a similar situation to me, and I smiled at her. Her eyes flickered in my direction for just the briefest moment before she hurried past with her load of washing. But in that glance, there was such fear, pain and desolation that I almost burst into tears, both for her obvious distress and, by extension, my own hopeless situation. I realised that, despite her slave status, she was wearing clothes whereas I had none. Maybe she had worked her way up and earned the right to wear clothes? I wondered how long it would take me, and what I would have to do, to get to that stage. I watched her disappear around the corner, staring after her, until I realised what I was doing and got on with my work again.

After about three hours, Miss called me, and I found her in the dining room, sitting at the table, being waited on by another beautiful young girl dressed almost identically to the maid I had seen earlier, similarly wearing a ballgag. She placed a plate of food and a glass of juice down in front of Miss and went to stand by the wall.

"Time for lunch, little slave. Go into the kitchen and cook will give you your food."

I walked into the kitchen and saw the cook, standing by the oven. In what seemed to be a concession to her job, she was wearing an apron which covered her front in case of any splashes, but it was open at the back, and I could see that she was naked underneath, wearing only a suspender belt, stockings and her stiletto-heeled shoes. The woman was considerably older than the other two I had seen but, I realised, only around my own age. She was not gagged, presumably so that she could give orders to the other kitchen staff.

She inclined her head towards the corner of the kitchen. I looked in that direction, but could see nothing for me on the worktop. Slowly, my eyes moved down towards the floor, and I felt a little sick as understanding dawned on me. There, on the tiles which I had so assiduously cleaned earlier, were two metal bowls, one containing water, the other some nondescript dried food. Realising that showing dislike or displeasure was not an option, and guessing that this was the only food I was likely to get, I went down on my hands and knees and lifted the water bowl to my lips. Suddenly, I felt painful sting on my right buttock.

"No hands!" I heard from above me, and I looked around to see, looming over me, another young girl in an apron, holding the riding crop with which she had just hit me. Fearfully, I put the bowl back on the floor and bent down so that I could slurp and lap at it, like a… pet. Once again, the message was loud and clear.

The food was tasteless but eased my growing hunger pangs. After ‘lunch’, I was set to work cleaning the four bathrooms, each with toilet, basin, shower and bathtub, all of which had to be cleaned using, rather perversely, a toothbrush! That was a few more hours of hard work. It was late afternoon by the time Miss Ashley called me into her sitting room.

She pulled off her dress and slumped down in a chair in just her underwear, indicating for me to kneel  on the marble in front of her. But then she seemed to have a better idea.

"Nip into my bedroom, darling, and fetch me those pants I was wearing yesterday."

I scuttled off to the bedroom and found her trousers in the washing hamper, quickly scurrying back to the sitting room and presenting them to her.

"Thank you, dear. Now, just kneel down and attach that chain to your collar."

As I went down on my knees, I saw the short chain to which she was referring, bolted to the floor. I clicked the end of it on to the ring at the front of my collar, having to bend down quite low in order to do that.

"I've had a hard day, give me a foot massage. With your tongue."

As she held her leg out in front of me, I took it rather nervously in my hands and hesitantly leaned forward, placing my lips against her stocking-clad foot. It felt strange to be kissing the nylon material, and tasting the ‘perfume’ which inevitably arises from wearing high-heeled shoes all day, but I gradually got into it, and was soon sucking quite eagerly on her toes and licking along the sole of her foot. I felt her other foot stroking my hair, and when I looked round at her, I saw a smile and a dreamy look on her face, so I guessed I must be doing something right.

As I continued to work on her feet, she dug in the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a much-folded piece of paper. I realised it was the note that the girl at the clinic had stuffed down the front of my chastity belt, and which Miss Ashley must have found when removing the belt at the Slave Hall. She now read it with a smile which slowly grew into a broad grin.

"Well, well, well," she said in an amused tone, "it seems that you made an impression on one of the young ladies yesterday. She is asking - rather hesitantly, and in a very roundabout way - if she might discuss the idea of becoming my slave! How ironic! Here you are, Jenny, a slave who wants more than anything to get away, and then here’s this… Kim, who would be happy to take your place!"

She wants to take my place? Suddenly my hopes rose, as the thought of going home to my Master filled me with a feeling of joy. I looked around at Miss and, seeing her laugh, those hopes quickly died.

"Don't worry, little slave," she said, still laughing, "nobody is taking your place. How could I ever let you go? You've already proved yourself to be everything I ever wanted in a slave - submissive, hard-working, able to take a good beating, and oh so good with that sweet tongue of yours!

"No, this Kim girl won't take your place. But it could be quite amusing to have the two of you together. She would, of course, be above you in our little hierarchy - I told you before that you are the lowest of the low, and that includes amongst slaves, including my house slaves that you have seen today. As a freeborn woman volunteering to become a slave, this girl is the highest ranking of slaves, and would be perfectly within her rights to command you, or even punish you, as long as it didn't go against my wishes as her owner.

"Yes, I think a playmate for you, little slave, could be very entertaining…"

Somnium, Day 3:

Dear Diary,

Today was my worst day so far in this strange, new world. I didn't think it could be any worse than my experience in the Slave Hall, but it was.

I woke up on the rug next to Miss Ashley's bed, my collar still chained to the leg of the bed, just as Miss had left me last night after I had done my job in bringing her to, I think, five or six orgasms. I think I may have done some serious damage to the muscle at the base of my tongue, because it hurts like hell! Once more, Miss took enormous pleasure in frustrating me greatly and, with the chastity belt locked in place, I couldn't even surreptitiously bring myself off once she had gone to sleep. This is, indeed, a cruel world!

After my quick wash-down, it was my job to preen and pamper Miss Ashley, washing her in the shower, brushing and drying her hair, giving her a manicure and pedicure, painting her nails and doing her make-up. I found this last task the most daunting, as it is never very easy doing someone else's face, and I was scared of the consequences if I messed up. However, she seemed happy with the results, and I was relieved to avoid punishment.

"I have some friends coming over this afternoon," Miss informed me, "so you will be working in the kitchen this morning. Go and report to cook, she'll be giving you your orders today."

I hurried downstairs and found the cook standing at the open door to the garden, smoking a cigarette. She was not wearing her apron, so was naked apart from stockings and suspenders, but seemed to have no self-consciousness about her body, her large breasts seeming to rest on the arm crossed beneath them. She casually glanced over at me as I went down on my knees, not sure what the protocol should be towards her.

"Get up, girl," she said, waving a hand at me dismissively, "you can get on with scrubbing those pans to start with."

"Yes, Miss," I replied quietly.

"I'm not a ‘Miss’!" she spat back at me. "I'm just a fucking slave, like you, although you're right to be deferential, girl. You can call me ‘Cook’."

"Yes, Cook." It seemed incongruous that she was calling me ‘girl’, given that I was at least as old as she was, but then I suppose the term put me in my place.

Once I had finished cleaning all the pots and pans, she set me to peeling potatoes and preparing other vegetables, while she sat down at the kitchen table, watching me.

"So, you're one of those crossovers, are you?" she asked conversationally.

"Yes, Cook," I replied. It seemed strange to be talking like this, Miss rarely asked me anything, and I got the distinct impression that me chatting away would not be a good idea. But it seemed like Cook was a bit of a law unto herself.

"What does that mean?" she asked with genuine interest. "Where did you come from? How did you get here? Why did you come here?"

"I… I don't know how I got here, Cook, and I didn't mean to come here, it was some kind of accident. The place I came from is quite similar to this, except there is no slavery in our world."

"No slavery?" she responded, sounding excited at that thought, "so what did you do there?"

"Well…" I was struggling now, as what I did back home was play at being a slave, although it felt quite real to me there! How was I going to explain that?

"I was in a relationship… it's complicated," I said lamely.

"If you don't have slavery, how do you deal with criminals?"

"We lock them up in prison, Cook," I replied, surprised at the question, "why, what do you do with them?" She actually laughed at that response.

"We used to do that a long time ago, then we realised that we were paying for their food and lodging, while they were having an easy life! That's when we introduced slavery, so that criminals could basically pay their debt to society by contributing their labour."

"So… are you a criminal, Cook?" I asked timidly.

"In the eyes of the law I was," she replied angrily, "my husband ran a business which went broke. When he disappeared, I was left holding the IOUs, and the debtors’ court sentenced me to five years slavery. Miss Ashley bought me at the auctions, and I've been here since then."

"How long do you have left before you’re free again?" I asked in shock.

"Oh, I don't expect I’ll ever be free again," the Cook said bitterly, "I’ve served my five years, but what can I do now? I can't afford to live free, I can't get a job - they're all taken by slaves! That's the flaw in our system - the rich get richer and the poor become slaves. So I signed a voluntary extension."

I was so shocked by that revelation that I didn’t say anything, I just got on with my work for a while. So she was a slave voluntarily, not because she wanted to be but because she couldn’t afford not to be? This place is just crazy! Cook went over to the kitchen door and lit up another cigarette.

“Why don’t you tell our crossover why you’re here, Chloe?”

I looked around and saw that the girl I had seen yesterday, the one who had hit me, had come into the kitchen carrying two sacks of groceries, which she began unloading into the pantry. She stared at me with a look of utter contempt, bordering on hatred, and it was obvious that the last thing she wanted to do was talk to me.

“Futures,” she spat at me, before stomping out with no further explanation. Cook smiled after her.

“Child slavery is against the law here,” she explained, “so when her parents got into financial trouble when she was fourteen, they sold her on the slave futures market. Miss Ashley probably paid the equivalent of three years, and then Chloe reaches 18 and – bang! – she’s got her for ten!”

“Sold by her parents?! For ten years?!” I exclaimed.

“Yep. This place really sucks when you don’t have money. Now less talking and more working, girl, or you’ll be back in that Slave Hall getting a whipping!”

I put my head down and got on with my work, my head spinning with this bizarre information. Everything about this place seemed to be so heartless, so pitiless. I started to think about my own position, and realised just how precarious it was. I had no protection under the law here, in fact the only way my existence was acknowledged was to confirm my utter lack of human rights. Anyone could do anything to me and no one would bat an eyelid. Suddenly the ‘kindness’ of Miss Ashley seemed little protection in this mad, bad world.

After my lunch of tasteless polystyrene pellets, Miss Ashley came and took me to the ‘sun room‘, a room two floors high with one wall entirely of glass, providing spectacular views over the surrounding countryside. I had cleaned that floor yesterday, until it was like glass, and I felt bad walking over it with my sweaty feet. But what alarmed me and got my heart racing was that a frame had been placed near the windows, and I had a horrible feeling that I was going to be attached to it in the not too distant future.

So it proved. Miss walked me over to it and made me kneel down on the rubberised platform underneath it. I could feel myself start to hyperventilate as she took the chain joining my wrists and passed it beneath my feet, before pulling it up to the frame above me and passing it through a metal ring. She fastened the chain to the back of my collar so that my arms were pulled up behind me and my neck pulled back, keeping me trapped in that position. I started to whimper in abject fear of what treatment was to come.

"Now, slave, I want you to get a hold of yourself," she said sternly. "I am having some friends round this afternoon, and you will be on display. I expect you to be seen and definitely not heard - not a word. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss," I responded, tears brimming in my eyes. She could see my distress, and reached out to stroke my hair.

"There, there, don't be frightened. You’re not going to be punished, and you're going to be wearing that chastity belt, so nobody is going to interfere with you."

I was mollified a little, and tried to hold back my tears and calm down. I was left alone for maybe half an hour before a group of men and women were led into the room by one of the slave maids I had seen yesterday. She was again wearing her completely revealing dress and the ballgag in her mouth, but was now carrying a tray of drinks, from which she kept them supplied with champagne. More guests were arriving, accompanied by the other maid, and soon there were about twenty people chatting, laughing and drinking in front of me. The doors were closed by a third maid, and I realised it was Chloe, now dressed as the other two were, and also gagged. Miss Ashley, who had changed into the ultra-sexy black leather catsuit she had worn to the clinic, stepped up beside me and turned to the small crowd.

"Friends, thank you for coming here today to witness the final part of Jenny's induction as my slave. As most of you know from the other day, Jenny is a crossover that I was lucky enough to find on my property and, as the law dictates, she now has to be marked as my property."

I let out a wail of despair as I finally realised what was going on. One of the maids was wheeling what looked like a small, mobile gas barbecue towards us, and I realised that the metal rod poking out from underneath the lid must be the branding iron!

"Please, Miss!" I cried, "Don't do this to me! Please, I beg you!" Miss Ashley bent down and grabbed my chin firmly in her hand, turning my face towards her.

"I warned you, slave!" she hissed, her face twisted in anger, "I won't gag you, because I want to hear your screams. But if I hear one more word out of you, I will whip you so hard, you won't be worrying about anything trivial like a branding! Do you understand me?" I nodded my head, knowing that any other response was pointless.

She walked over to the little brazier and lifted the lid, turning the metal rod and, presumably, heating up the iron.

"Hold her," she said, and the three slaves moved towards me, grabbing me so that I couldn't move. I looked at Chloe's face only inches from mine, and could see the delight in her eyes, the smile on her stretched lips. The hatred she was exuding almost scared me as much as the pain I knew I was about feel. Almost.

As Miss pulled the iron out of the fire, I let out a moan expressing my terror, and began to struggle against the chains and the women holding me as my owner walked towards me. She crouched down on her haunches and lined up the red-hot metal, targeting a point at the top of my right thigh, close to my hipbone. My struggles became even more frantic, but the slave girls held me tight, making sure I couldn't move an inch. And then-

There was a sound of sizzling and the smell of burning flesh before the searing pain reached my brain and made me let out the most hideous scream I had ever managed to produce. Long seconds passed while Miss kept the branding iron pressed against my skin, driving me insane at the agony being inflicted upon me. My screams echoed around the otherwise silent room as the audience stared at me, soaking up my suffering as if it was the virtuoso performance of an opera singer.

And then the iron was taken away, the maids released me from their grip, and I was left alone with my tears, my cries and the throbbing pain. After maybe half a minute, the crowd before me began to applaud.

"Thank you, friends," Miss Ashley was saying, "I have to tell you, those of you not lucky enough to have acquired your own crossover slave, that is a huge adrenaline rush! I can recommend it to anyone! Now, shall we move through to the dining room and see what culinary masterpiece Cook has provided for us today?"

As the smiling, laughing group of friends slowly moved away and out of the room, I bowed my head and wept quietly, wondering what was to become of me…

As I was left alone in the sun room, I really, really just wanted to curl up under the duvet and hide from the world until the pain went away. Which really surprised me, because the last time I had just curled up in a comfortable bed and slept under a duvet must have been at least two years ago. Since then, I had either slept in my cage, or in bondage in the bed, or maybe on top of the bed, or just not slept at all, having been left in whatever bondage situation my Master or Mistress had put me in before they had had enough of me. I didn't think I could actually remember what it felt like to be tucked up all comfy and safe, but an intense yearning came over me at that moment.

Of course, that didn't seem likely to be happening any time soon. I was still attached by my slave chains to the frame, still kneeling with my arms twisted up behind my back, still agonised by the horrendous burning sensation from my right hip. Surely, there was some soothing balm which could be applied, similar to that used after my whipping in the Slave Hall? But it seemed that Miss Ashley had abandoned me to go and entertain her friends, and I was forgotten. I was feeling very sorry for myself at that point and, I felt, with good cause.

I don't know how long I had been there when I heard noises from the corridor outside and then the door being opened, but it must been several hours because the afternoon sun was fading towards twilight and the new arrivals switched on the lights as they came in. I dragged my head off my chest to look up, and saw was that it was Miss Ashley returning, accompanied by… it was the girl from the other day, the one who had seen me in the clinic, the one who had put the note in my belt, the one who wanted to be a slave. Kim.

"Here's our brave little girl," Miss said with a smile as they walked towards me, "how are you feeling now, slave?"

Given that tears were still streaming from my eyes, my cheeks were still burning red and, rather disgustingly, snot was still running from my nose, I'm sure she could have guessed for herself!

"Oh, the poor thing!" Kim exclaimed, crouching down beside me and cradling my head in her arms. "There, there, don't cry! I'll look after you…" I didn't know what she meant by that, but just receiving some sympathy, and a caring human touch, was a huge comfort. I continued to weep, but it seemed more cathartic now, I could let out some of the emotion which had been building up over the last few days - fear, loneliness, isolation - as well as the pain which continued to torment me.

"You'll be glad to hear that Kim has agreed to join our happy band," Miss said from behind me, "and I've decided that, as she is at the top of our slave hierarchy and you are at the bottom, one of her jobs will be to… manage you day-to-day. I don't have the time to supervise you properly, so Kim will have that task. It goes without saying that you will obey her in all things."

So that was the way it was going to be - I was to be slave to a slave. I had a secret hope that this would work in my favour - she was not a slave owner, she was empathetic to the slave's situation, she had some concept of what it was like, hopefully that meant she would be kinder, less aggressive towards me, would not make me suffer as much as Miss Ashley might. I could hope…

My optimism seem to be well-founded as she continued to hold me in her arms, stroking my hair gently, and making soothing noises into my ear. She brushed the hair away from my face and kissed me on the forehead while brushing my tears away from my cheeks.

"Don't cry, little one," she said reassuringly, "you're safe now, safe in my hands."

As I looked up into her smiling face, our lips met in a passionate kiss. I leaned up towards her, feeling her tongue in my mouth, exploring, pushing back against my own, dominating me. A hand cupped my breast, the thumb flicking my nipple ring back and forth, exciting the flesh around the piercing. She moved around until she was kneeling in front of me, and I felt a hand on each breast as she lowered her head and sank her teeth gently but firmly into my neck, giving me a love bite just above my slave collar. My tears at last dried up, and my sobs were replaced with little whimpers of pleasure.

"Let's see if we can do something about this," I heard her say and, opening my eyes, I saw that she had a tube of cream in her hands. She squeezed some of the ointment out onto her fingers, and then reached down towards my thigh. I let out a loud cry as she gently rubbed it into the brand mark, making circular motions around the damaged area, each rotation causing me further agony, but I knew that it was for my own good. Gradually the pain eased as the anaesthetic cream worked its magic, and I became aware that her other hand was still stroking and massaging my breast. With the brand now becoming little more than a distracting discomfort, I began to react forcefully to the pleasure she was inducing in me.

Kim stepped back, and I watched as she pulled her top over her head, then unzipped and stepped out of her trousers. Her underwear quickly followed the other garments onto the floor, leaving her naked in front of me. She had a young, slim, attractive body, her breasts quite large - bigger than mine - and a neatly trimmed line of hair forming a vertical strip over her pubic mound. She crouched down before me again, and I had no hesitation when she thrust first one, then the other breast into my face, sucking and licking her nipples with an urgency imparted by my arousal.

"Yes, that feels good, slave," she murmured breathlessly, "suck, suck hard… harder! That's it, slut! Mmmm, so… good…”

I was more than happy to oblige her - I liked the girl, and this was so much better than the other things which could be happening to me! So I sucked eagerly on her breasts, feeling myself becoming excited by the physical contact, and by her obvious enjoyment and appreciation of my efforts. Her large nipples quickly became hard under my ministrations as I flicked them with my tongue and grazed them with my teeth.

She pulled away from me and straightened up, but she soon had new employment for my tongue as she turned around and thrust her hips back into my face. I could smell that she was very aroused, yet it was not her pussy that she wanted me to lick. She pulled her buttocks wide apart and guided me towards her tight, puckered anus.

“Come on, you skanky little slut!” she demanded, “You dirty whore! Lick my ass good, stick your tongue right in there, you filthy bitch!”

This sudden change from sweet, seemingly innocent girl to foul-mouthed Domme shocked and surprised me but, I’m ashamed to say, her vicious verbal abuse turned me on even more, and I did my best to drive my aching tongue into her, forcing her reluctant sphincter to open like a flower.

“Oh yes, that’s it, slave, fuck my ass with your tongue!” As she forced herself back onto me, my whole world became the dark recess between her cheeks, cutting off light, air, and the only sound was her voice urging me on. I could taste her now, making my stomach turn, but still I strived to delve deeper, wriggling my buried tongue like a worm inside her.

Suddenly she turned away again and I felt the sweet relief of my arms being released from the frame. I sank down onto the mat, the exquisite agony of movement once more causing me to cry, but this time in gratitude, knowing that this pain would ease as my muscles gradually grew accustomed once more to their freedom.

“Please, Miss, may I…?” I looked up and saw Kim’s smiling face as she looked to Miss Ashley for permission.

“Do whatever you wish, Kim,” our owner replied, “she is yours to treat as you see fit, for now.”

I smiled up at my fellow slave, wondering what delights she had planned for me. Perhaps she would ask for the key to my chastity belt, and we would roll around on this polished floor, pleasuring each other for Miss Ashley’s amusement…

The young woman dashed off out of my sight to fetch something, and I took the opportunity to look around at Miss Ashley. She was standing, legs planted apart, her catsuit unzipped to her waist, one hand idly toying with her breast as she looked down at me with hooded eyes, her arousal at witnessing what had already occurred obvious. I smiled back at her, happy to be providing an entertaining spectacle which might appease her, and suppress her more violent urges.

I turned back as Kim returned, but let out a wail of dismay as my hopes and excitement disappeared, to be replaced once again by abject fear. The eager, excited girl was standing over me holding a leather whip, its end snaking across the floor at her feet.

"I've always wanted to do this," she breathed, "to whip a slave and feel what it's like to have that power over another…"

As she said this, she raised her arm high above her head and brought the whip crashing down across my body, eliciting a heartfelt scream from me as I writhed under the painful blow. Kim suddenly became frenzied, lashing me inexpertly but with great enthusiasm, as well as great force, over and over, hitting my arms, back, breasts and legs as I twisted and turned, trying hopelessly to avoid the reign of terror she was inflicting on me. This was not only agonising, but it also felt like a betrayal - I had trusted this girl, I had thought we were allies against the common foe, I had thought that we could be friends. But, once again, my illusions had been shattered in the cruellest of ways.

I saw the two women standing over my prone form, and saw that they were both highly turned on by the sight and sound of my spasms and screams. Miss Ashley had pulled her top wide open and was fondling herself, while Kim’s free hand was groping between her thighs, her fingers buried deep in her crotch.

And then the inevitable happened. I twisted my body the wrong way, the whip came down hard across the brand on my thigh, and an explosion of pain detonated in my head. I just had time to let out a hideous scream before I fainted and unconsciousness overwhelmed me…

Somnium, Day 4:

Dear Diary,

When I came to after fainting in the sun room, I was lying on Miss Ashley's bed, with Kim bent over me. I started in fear, not an unreasonable reaction, given that she was the one who had whipped me into unconsciousness.

"How are you feeling now, honey?" she cooed, stroking my shoulder, "let me put some cream on those nasty-looking welts."

Was she for real?! She’d just beaten the shit out of me, and now she wanted to be my friend?! It was like she was schizophrenic or something, Dr Jekyll and Mrs Hyde, her own good-cop, bad-cop routine!

"How the fuck do you think I feel?" I cried, "I hurt all over, and it's your fault!"

Her eyes widened in astonishment, and then I saw Mrs Hyde re-emerge. Her hand flashed before me and slapped me hard across the cheek.

"Don’t you ever talk to me like that, you fucking bitch!" she screamed as she slapped me again, "you’re a fucking crossover, lower than shit, and don't you forget it!"

"S-sorry, Miss," I gasped, trying to hold back my tears, "I-I forgot!" I checked my lip for blood, but she didn't seem to have done any permanent damage.

"Okay," she said with a smile, as if that had never happened, "roll over on your front and I'll put cream of your back first." I did as I was told, pretty damn quickly, and wondered what it was with these people, I couldn't understand them at all. She applied the anaesthetic cream to the worst of my welts, and again to my branding. I gingerly felt the scar for the first time, astonished at how deep it seemed to have gone, leaving a bas relief of Miss Ashley's mark, ‘AA’ with the number 23. I wondered if that meant she owned 22 other slaves apart from me, or something else.

Just as I was idly thinking this, the door opened and Miss Ashley walked in. I quickly scooted off the bed and knelt on the floor in the classic slave position -thighs spread, chest out, arms behind the back, head up, eyes down. I realised I had to get back into full submissive mode, stop thinking about how unfair everything was, how I was going to get back to where I belong - I had to be the best slave I possibly could be, or their punishments were going to kill me! Kim shuffled in alongside me, copying my position, now just another lowly slave.

Miss Ashley ignored us, stripping out of her catsuit and slumping onto the bed.

"I think I'll let you have the night off, Jenny," she said, "let you rest that marvellous tongue of yours." I felt relieved that I was going to get a break, but maybe I should have been a little bit more cynical about things.

"But I'm sure you want to watch and see what my new slave can do. Kim, put Jenny in some nice bondage in a place where she'll be able to see what's going on. Let's see how inventive you can be."

I looked around fearfully to find Kim smiling wickedly at me.

"Yes, Miss!" she responded eagerly. Miss Ashley indicated a chest of drawers, and Kim got up and went over to them. I watched in growing alarm as she took out skein after skein of rope and threw them on the floor before me - surely she couldn't be planning to use that much rope on me, could she?

She could. She started by tying my crossed arms together behind my back, wrapping them from wrist to elbow until it felt like all the skin must have disappeared under the rope. She then proceeded to wrap it around my body, above and below my breasts, three, four, five loops pulled tight, before tying the loops together between and on either side of my breasts, squeezing my tender flesh in a vice-like grip.

She pulled a chair over near the side of the bed and made me stand on it. Standing beside me, she attached rope to the back of the breast harness she had created and reached up to the ceiling, where I saw that a whole array of steel eyelets had been fitted for just this purpose. She passed the rope through the metal ring directly above me, before tying it off. She quickly jumped down and pulled the chair away, leaving me hanging from the ceiling, looking down at the smiling face of Miss Ashley on the bed below me. The ropes pulled tight around me, restricting my breathing uncomfortably but thankfully not life-threateningly.

Kim didn't stop to admire her work, but carried on to my legs, bending each and then tying the ankle against the top of the thigh, before wrapping rope all the way down to my knee, so that each leg almost seemed to have been amputated! She moved the chair to one side of me and, having attached a rope next to my left knee, she tied the other end to an eyelet to the left and slightly behind me. She repeated this on my right leg, so that I was now hanging at an angle, staring down on the bed, with my thighs spread so wide that my hamstrings were starting to ping.

"Please, Miss," she asked, turning to the woman relaxing on the bed, "may I take off her chastity belt?" With a condescending smile, Miss took the silver chain necklace holding the key from around her neck and passed it to her slave. Kim unlocked and removed the belt from my body, which filled me with even more dread - what did she intend to do to me now?

She tied a rope around my waist, passing it between my legs and then threading it underneath itself behind. She carefully adjusted the two strands of doubled-over hemp so that one passed either side of my clit hood ring and the clitoris itself as she spread my labia, running it across my vagina and up between my buttocks. Back up on the chair, she pulled the other end of the rope through one of the steel rings in the ceiling behind me, making me gasp as she yanked on it until I was hanging almost horizontally, my body weight now split between the breast harness and the crotch rope, which was squeezing painfully on my swollen love bud. Did I forget to mention that all this strict bondage was turning me on? I thought you would have guessed!

I would have thought that was enough but, unbelievably, she went back to the chest of drawers for more! This time, rather than rope, she returned with weights, which she proceeded to hang from my various rings - on my nipples, clitoris, and the most recent one through my nose. They were all quite heavy, but she had additional weights, which she attached until I was whining in obvious discomfort.

"One last thing, Jenny," Miss Ashley said, rising from the bed and going to the chest of drawers.

"I'm not going to strap this in place, I'll trust you to keep it in until I say you can drop it." She held up a large sponge ball before my face and, resignedly, I opened my mouth wide. It took her a little effort to stuff it all inside, and it completely filled my cavity, pressing my jaws wide apart and stuffing my cheeks until I must have looked like an overfed hamster! I didn't have to make any effort to keep it in place, in fact I wondered whether I would be able to force it out if and when the time came.

"You’ve done a good job, Kim," Miss said appreciatively, "I'm amazed at what they teach in school these days! Now let me see if you can do as good job as Jenny with your tongue."

I won’t bore you - or, indeed, titillate you - with a detailed description of what took place before me as I hung there like some oversized Christmas decoration, suffice it to say that Kim seemed to do a standout job, Miss Ashley sounded like she had just as much fun as when I had been servicing her, and I just got more and more frustrated, hanging there, watching it all, hardly able to move a muscle as the ropes cut into me. I did find that, if I threw my body from side to side, I could cause enough friction around my clitoris to really drive myself mad with a little, but not nearly enough, stimulation. What really finished me off was when Miss lay back and ordered Kim to entertain her by bringing herself off, which she did very noisily. How unfair was that?!

"You can spit that ball out now, Jenny," Miss called up to me dreamily as she turned over to go to sleep, "and Kim, the poor girl's head is falling forwards, she'll get a horrible crick in her neck if you leave her like that. Sort it out and then you can sleep on the rug."

With great difficulty, I finally managed to push the ball past my teeth with my tongue, and I spat it onto the floor, enjoying the unrestricted breathing this allowed me. Meanwhile, Kim was back at the bondage chest once more, which scared me afresh. She pulled the chair over and climbed up beside me, so that she was inches from my face. She lifted my chin and, to my surprise, kissed me full on the lips, her tongue pushing into my still-dry mouth. Highly aroused as I was, I kissed back, even though I knew it was only a tease, just the faint hope of some kind of satisfaction led me on.

Kim broke the kiss and then surprised me yet again by slipping something into my nostrils and tugging painfully. I realised they were metal nose hooks, attached to a piece of string, which was now tied to an eyelet above me, forcing my head up and back, but if I tried to relax, the hooks dug cruelly into my nose. Surely Miss Ashley would not think this was appropriate?! I managed to glance down at the bed, but she wasn't looking at me, in fact I think she was already asleep. Kim smiled at me and kissed the end of my nose, before getting down from the chair and moving out of my sight. Pretty soon, all I could hear was a gentle sounds of sleep. Not something that was coming my way any time soon!

I must have slept at some point during the night, because I remember waking up at some ungodly hour, every part of my body either numb from the restricted bondage or stiff and aching. I hung there for hours before Kim woke up, and a little longer before Miss Ashley ordered her to release me.

It took Kim plus two of the house slaves to get me down, as neither my legs nor my arms would work when I was untied, and the process of getting some life back into them was an excruciatingly painful one. When I had recovered sufficiently to walk, Kim and I went down to the kitchen, where we ate ‘breakfast’ together on the floor. Afterwards, we reported to Miss in her sitting room.

"We'll be having a private little ceremony for Kim this afternoon," she said, looking down at both of us, "so I want you both to be clean and presentable when my guests arrive. Jenny, you will be in attendance, so I want you on your best behaviour. Understand?"

"Yes, Miss!" I said sincerely, vowing to keep my resolution to try and stay out of trouble.

The two of us went off to the cleaning station that I had used before, and we actually had a lot of fun cleaning each other with the hose, laughing and squealing as we splashed each other with the cold water, soaping our bodies and washing away the sweat and grime of the previous 24 hours.

My chastity belt had been locked back in place, so there was no chance that it was going to end with me having too much fun, but Kim didn't have any such restrictions, and she took full advantage. We ‘made out’ in the shower and she pushed me down on my knees, ordering me to pleasure her. Once again, I had to ignore the fact that she was ‘just’ a slave and get on with it, which wasn't actually that much of a hardship, and I did a good job, even though I say so myself!

We were allowed make-up, and we spent a happy hour or so doing each other's eyes, lips and a little blusher. The perfume got spread around liberally as well, until we both smelled as sweet as a summer meadow. Despite my fear of Kim and her dominant side, I couldn't help but like her when we were just two slaves together, she was so young and vibrant, and so excited about becoming a slave. I asked if I might ask her a question, and she consented with a smile.

"How long will you be Miss Ashley’s slave?" I asked.

"I have a probationary period of a year," she replied, "after which I can go back to my former life, or I can sign on… permanently." As she said this final word, I could see the combination of fear and excitement on her face.

"During my probationary period," she went on, her eyes seeming to glaze over, no longer replying to me but talking through her thoughts and fantasies, "Miss Ashley is legally obliged to keep me and treat me well. However…" - I saw her swallow hard, trying to control herself - "once I have signed permanently, she can treat me almost as badly as you! She could make me work in her fields as a farm slave, or she could sell me to one of her friends… or in the market… I could be bought for use as a brothel slave, to serve the depraved needs of perverted clients…" Her voice trailed off, and I could see why she was both frightened of and aroused by these possibilities. With a jolt, I realised that, while she had a choice to think about and a year to make it, these things could happen to me today!

When we finally finished our preparations, we went back to Miss Ashley, and she led us to the work room, where she fitted Kim with her shackles, hand and foot. We then proceeded to the sunroom, which still frightened me, even though I was not to be the centre of attention today.

When we arrived, a small group of people were already present and being served drinks by the two maids. I recognised the guests from the previous day, and saw them smiling at me, as well as appraising Kim for the first time. Miss led us over towards the frame in which I had been restrained during the branding ceremony, but we were told just to kneel down, the frame was not required today. Miss Ashley checked that we were properly presented, and then turned to her guests.

"Friends," she began, "thank you for coming back here for another induction ceremony. I have been very fortunate in the last few days to not only obtain a crossover, Jenny, whose branding you witnessed yesterday, but also to receive a petition from this young free woman, Kim, to become my slave, voluntarily. As you know, both are rare events, and I feel honoured to have been selected, both by this girl to become her owner, and by the Gods to receive the bounty of a crossover.

"Kim's public induction will be tomorrow in the Slave Hall, but I've asked you here today to act as witnesses to this girl's submission to me."

Miss Ashley walked over and stood in front of Kim, holding a steel collar in her hand.

"Kimberley Roberts," she declaimed in formal tones, "do you solemnly swear that you will serve me, Miss Ashley Summers, for a year and a day, obeying my every command, committing yourself to be a voluntary slave, as defined under the law of this land?"

"I do, Miss," Kim responded, her cheeks blushing red, more from arousal than embarrassment, at least in my view. Miss Ashley crouched down in front of her newest slave, a broad grin on her face.

"I now pronounce you my slave," she concluded. She placed the collar around Kim's neck and, with a click, the ceremony was complete - Kim was now, formally, a slave. As Kim’s collar snapped into place, Miss Ashley smiled and ruffled her hair. Then her fingers tightened on her locks and she pulled her up into a standing position. I remained kneeling, deciding keeping a low profile was probably the best option at this stage.

Miss clicked her fingers and one of the maid slaves scurried over with a small metallic valet case and stood before her owner, holding the case in front of her. Miss opened it and took out a pair of latex medical gloves, which she put on, before reaching back in and taking out some kind of spray and what looked like a very sharp needle. She looked down at me.

"Jenny, get up and hold your sister slave still while I insert her rings."

Kim and I exchanged a look, concern on my part but fear on hers. I suppose we should have guessed this was coming, all Miss Ashley’s slaves had pierced nipples, but I don't think either of us had imagined that this was going to be done in front of this assembly, and with so little equipment! I stood behind the frightened girl and put my arms around her, trying to hold her still as she became increasingly agitated.

Miss used the spray on her left nipple, and I guessed it was some kind of anaesthetic to dull the pain, but it was only skin deep, this was going to hurt like hell! Suddenly, I was glad that I had arrived with my piercings, this seemed quite barbaric. Miss pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger, pulling Kim's breast out quite far, before placing the point of the steel needle against the areola. Kim, clearly terrified, began to whine and tried to pull away, but I stood firm behind her and held on tightly, whilst at the same time trying to whisper comforting, meaningless words into her ear.

As Miss pushed the needle into the flesh, Kim let out a plaintive scream, again struggling as I fought to hang onto her. I felt queasy as I saw the bloodied tip burst out on the other side of her nipple, and Miss Ashley twisted the shaft of the needle before withdrawing it and quickly replacing it with one of the rings that I had seen in the bowl earlier, but hadn't made the connection. Tears ran from Kim's eyes, and she began to sob, making me hug her even tighter.

I'd like to say that the other nipple was easier, but in some ways it was worse, because now the tearful girl knew exactly what it was going to feel like, and her scream was even louder. My heart went out to her at having to suffer this inhumane treatment, but there was little I could do.

"Open." I had assumed that that was the end of the torture, but clearly I was wrong. Miss Ashley now had two new tools in her hands, one looked like a pair of pliers, the other I recognised as the device used on me to pierce my septum. Kim's sobs became louder as she reluctantly complied with the order and opened her mouth. She obviously realised what was coming, because she bravely stuck out her tongue.

Miss held the tongue in her pliers, and then slipped the punch into place over the centre of the tongue, a few centimetres along. A high-pitched scream from the new slave told me that the hole had been made, and Miss quickly inserted the stud passed to her by the maid acting as nurse in this operation. Again, all I could do was stand there and hold her, offering whatever comfort I could. Surely she had suffered enough now?

But when I saw Miss take another ring and another instrument from the maid and go down on her knees in front of Kim, I felt sick. She also realised what was going to happen, and started to shake her head and let out a cry. I clapped my hand over her mouth, fearing that she was going to show dissent to her owner by begging her not to carry on - it was going to happen whatever she said, so better that she not be heard to say anything. I clamped my other hand across her eyes, so that she wouldn't be tempted to try and watch, and I lay my lips against her ear, kissing her and whispering to her.

"Try to be calm, darling," I urged, "try to breathe through it, try to relax your muscles, tried to think of the happy time when this is all over…" It meant little, but I hoped it made her feel slightly less alone and scared. And when she let out a huge scream, I clamped my hand even tighter over her mouth, until the tension in her body passed, she went limp in my arms, and her cries became desperate, heart-wrenching sobs.

"Put the chastity belt on her now," Miss Ashley ordered, this clearly directed at me. I picked up the spare belt that I had been carrying earlier  and fitted it around her waist and between her legs, sneaking a quick look at the shiny new ring, which I was relieved to see was through the hood rather than the clitoris itself. The locks clicked into place, and now her sex was also the property of her owner, probably resulting in an awful lot of sexual frustration. Welcome to my world!

"You have to spend the night at the Slave Hall before your ceremonial enslavement," Miss said to a still crying Kim, "and you can give her moral support." This was directed at me, and I felt a frisson of fear at returning to the place where I had been so badly abused a few days previously. She dismissed the maid who had been helping her with the piercings and summoned the other.

"Take these two to the Slave Hall," she ordered, handing over a card, before turning on her heel and moving towards her guests, picking up a glass of champagne as she did so. It seemed we were no longer of interest to her until tomorrow's ceremony, and she had dismissed us from her mind.

The maid slave, who was gagged as she had been when I'd seen her the day before, signalled for us to follow her, and we shuffled after her, our slave chains scraping along the marble floor as we trotted to keep up. She led us to some kind of equipment room close to the main doors of the mansion, and we both shuddered as we surveyed the array of crops, whips and floggers on the wall, as well as lots of other items of bondage gear stacked around the room.

The gagged girl, obviously unable to communicate verbally, used sign language to try and tell me something involving the chain between my wrists and… a looping motion? I looked at her in confusion, for which I received an angry slap across the cheek, before she grabbed my wrist chain, dragged it down towards the floor, and pulled my feet forwards.

"I think she wants you to put the chain behind your back, like mine," Kim said helpfully. I did this, and it seemed to satisfy the other slave. It occurred to me that, although this girl was of a lower slave rank than Kim, she actually had power over her because our owner had given her a direct command, placing her in a position of authority over both of us. It was complicated here!

The maid went around behind Kim and attached the centre of the chain between her wrists to the D ring at the back of her collar, pulling her arms up her back which looked rather uncomfortable, and when she did the same to me, it confirmed that I was right. She picked up a large foam ball like the one Miss Ashley had used on me the previous night and a black latex hood, and came towards me. She stuffed the ball into my mouth and then pulled the hood down over my head, making sure all my hair went inside before zipping it down the back and buckling the strap at its base around my neck. As with the chain, she did exactly the same to Kim, and I could see how anonymous she suddenly looked, knowing I must look exactly the same. There was no opening for the mouth, just two tiny holes underneath the nose, and only two small slits in front of the eyes. It looked and felt very dehumanising.

A leash which ended in two clips was attached to my nipple rings, while a normal one was clipped to Kim's collar, possibly a concession to the fact that her nipples had only just been pierced and must be hurting like buggery. With a painful tug on both leashes, the maid led us out of the room, out of the doors, and down the gravel driveway to the front gate.

As we stood and waited, trying to find some part of the drive with gravel that wasn't so sharp as to cut into our feet, a beat-up old flatbed truck pulled up and a woman dressed in a thick green apron, gardening gloves and wellington boots got out. She was clearly another slave, because not only was she wearing a collar and steel cuffs, also her bare buttocks peeked out from the back of the apron, but I guessed she must be something important like the head gardener because, as well as all these clothes she was wearing, she was not gagged.

Our maid supervisor handed over the card to the new woman and immediately turned on her heel and walked back up the drive without a look back at us, probably relieved to no longer have the responsibility of dealing with us.

"Okay you two," the gardener said as she unclipped and lowered the tailgate of the truck, "get in!"

It was a bit of a struggle clambering onto the flatbed without hands, and the hot metal stank of manure from its previous use, but after some effort, both Kim and I got on and up onto our knees, wondering how we were going to be secured during the trip we were about to embark upon. The woman raised the tailgate, walked around to the driver’s door and, a few moments later, the engine burst into life and the truck pulled away. The gates swung open under remote control and we pulled out onto the public road.

That was a scary journey, as we were flung around the back of the truck, unable to stop ourselves from falling over or sliding into the sides of the truck as it bounced along the rough country roads.

It was another sweltering day, and I was already sweating like a pig as we headed down the road which was, so far, deserted. I looked over at Kim, and saw that her skin was glistening too, but the worst thing was the hood. With the sun beating down on the shiny black surface, mine was transmitting the heat straight through, cooking my poor little brain in its own juices, while my face was slick with sweat, the rubber clinging uncomfortably tight to my skin. Breathing was a problem too, with just the blank panel across the mouth, the air holes for my nostrils just weren't adequate to get the air I needed into my lungs. I was already starting to feel a little bit dizzy, and Kim didn't look too much better.

After a while the road surface improved as we came into more built-up areas, and we ran into our first problem. We were driving through quite a derelict area, and there were piles of stinking rubbish by the side of the road. Suddenly, out of an open doorway stumbled what I would call a ‘wino’ - ragged beard, dirty face, grubby overcoat, worn-out shoes and a bottle of wine which he took a swig out of before he turned and noticed us.

"Hey! You there! Fucking slaves!" he slurred as he staggered towards us. "You bitches cost me my job, my house, my wife!" This was obviously the social fallout from having all of this free labour around, and I wondered if his wife had left him, or he had sold her into slavery. He emptied the bottle and pitched it in our direction but, luckily, it missed by quite a margin and the truck drove on, leaving him and the dereliction behind.

As we drove into the main part of the city, everything looked normal, cars driving by, people on the sidewalk looking just the same as they would back in the ‘real’ world. And then I caught sight of my first male slave. He was naked, collared, shackled, nipple-ringed and gagged, and was being led down the street by a very finely dressed lady. Inevitably, my eyes went down to his groin, and I saw that he had a ‘Prince Albert’ piercing through his cock, which was held inside a steel cage. He did not look very happy, and I could understand why!

The truck came to an abrupt stop, flinging Kim and me hard up against the front wall, having slid through the remains of the smelly manure, getting it all over us.

"Come on, get out! I haven't got all fucking day!" We scrambled back down the flatbed and out onto the tarmac. The gardener picked up our leashes and marched us into the building I immediately recognised as the Slave Hall. We were led into what looked like a reception room, where a bald, fat man sat behind a desk, very studiously continuing to work rather than allow himself to be interrupted by a few miserable slaves. However, the overpowering smell which we were giving off quickly persuaded him that time was of the essence. He looked up with an expression of pure disgust on his face, and the gardener stepped forward.

"Two slaves for the holding cells, to be processed tomorrow, Sir," she said timidly, sliding the card that she had been given onto the table in front of him. He carefully read the card, looked at all three of us with obvious distaste, and rang a bell on his desk. Immediately, a door to the side opened, and two slave girls came in, both wearing red latex leotards which left their breasts uncovered. They bowed to the man behind the desk.

"Take these two and get them cleaned up, then put them in a cell," he barked at one of them, indicating Kim and me. "You, take this useless object and give it twenty lashes for stinking up my office!” We watched as the gardener, with a look of fear on her face, was dragged away to be punished. Meanwhile, the other slave picked up our leashes and pulled us through the door where she had entered.

We were led down a myriad of corridors before arriving at a cleaning station, similar to the one in Miss Ashley's house but much larger, as if to cope with a dozen or more slaves simultaneously. Our hoods and gags were removed, and we were thoroughly washed in the manner to which I had become accustomed - with a high-pressure hose at close range, delivering icy cold water. It was not exactly a relaxing shower! Some shampoo and soap was applied, but with such roughness, it was a deeply unpleasant experience.

Still dripping wet, we were led through some more corridors to a large steel door. The red slave unlocked it and led us through and down a steep stone staircase. As I passed, I noticed that the door was several inches thick, so nobody was going to get back through that without the key. At the bottom of the stairs, we emerged into what looked like a large storage cellar, with neatly arranged stacks of boxes and barrels filling most of it, leaving only a narrow corridor down which we now walked. The temperature down here was appreciably lower than it had been upstairs, and we both started shivering, partly from the cold on our wet skin, but also from nerves.

This gap between the stores ended at a blank wall, but just before that were two large steel shutters in the floor. The slave leading us unlocked a giant padlock holding them together and, with great difficulty, managed to lift the great weight of first one and then the other door. This revealed another stone staircase leading down into darkness, and Kim and I looked at each other in fear.

As we went down this second flight of stairs, it became obvious that this was not leading anywhere. At the bottom, a set of thick, steel bars stood only a couple of feet from the back wall on which I saw two fixing points with a heavy chain hanging from each. The slave unlocked a door in the bars and pushed us inside, making us turn and put our backs against the wall. She grabbed my collar and pulled me up until I was on tiptoe, at which point she attached the chain hanging from the wall to the D ring at the back of my collar. She quickly restrained Kim in the same way.

Once this was done, the girl stepped out of the cell and locked the door. Without another look at us, she walked back up the stairs and out of sight. A few moments later, the shutters above us slammed shut with the finality of the grave, leaving us in pitch blackness. Kim let out a high-pitched wail next to me, before breaking down into forlorn sobs. My own reaction was more prosaic.

"Oh, fucking Hell!" I breathed, feeling the last remnants of my sanity slipping away…

Somnium, Day 5:

Dear Diary,

We had been locked away in the dark for, I don't know, probably about an hour, and Kim was still sobbing. We were here, two slaves together, being held ready for her public induction into the ownership of Miss Ashley, and I had witnessed her torment when she had been ringed through her nipples and the hood of her clitoris. It must have been a very painful, traumatic experience, and my heart had gone out to her, we were soul mates…

"Will you shut the fuck up! We are all afraid of the dark, you know!"

"How dare you talk to me like that, you filthy crossover!" Her snivelling had immediately stopped, and the tone of outrage was very obvious.

"Oh, why, what are you going to do?" I responded sarcastically. "Rattle your chains at me?"

There was a moment's silence as she realised she couldn't touch me at the moment, we really were equals.

"I'm not afraid of the dark, I'm just in a hell of a lot of pain from these damn piercings." Now I felt guilty about shouting at her.

I’ve always been afraid of the dark. Not the kind of dark you get in your bedroom at night, I'd learned to cope with that as a kid. No, I was terrified of the total dark, the kind you only get when every possible light source has been removed, when you can't see the hand in front of your face, when the worst kind of monster could be an inch in front of you, ready to eviscerate you. The kind of total dark we were in right now. Despite the cold, I was bathed in sweat, and just barely keeping it together. I couldn't imagine being kept like this all night, locked in this terrible dark and silence…

"When you saw me at the clinic, Kim, did you think it would be like this?" I asked into the void, just wanting to hear the sound of another human voice. "Do you regret agreeing to become a slave?"

The silence extended, and I didn't know whether she was thinking or just giving me the silent treatment. I bitterly regretted my insolence before, I'd managed to alienate the only person who could ever be my friend here, and also the only one who could keep me from going completely mad in this hellhole.

"It all seemed such an adventure when I saw you," I heard in a thin, hesitant voice, "I thought how sexy you looked - you are gorgeous, Jenny - and how wonderful it must feel to be completely in someone else's control. I couldn't stop thinking about you, and imagining myself in your place, and I guess I just got carried away. I've always been impetuous, leap before you look, and now, here I am, in this world of pain. What a stupid cunt I am!"

Once again, I felt for this girl, perhaps remembering how excited and carried away I was when I agreed to become my Master’s slave.

“The pain will pass,” I said, trying to reassure her, “believe me, I’ve been there, done that , got the scars to prove it. And once that’s gone, you’ll have the experience you were hoping for, that feeling of being 100% devoted to your Master, Mistress, or owner.” Or in my case, I thought, all three!

“How do you do it, Jenny?” she asked, and I could hear the yearning in her voice, the desire to believe, to be convinced. “How do you wake up each morning, not knowing whether you will be beaten or hurt, and yet still get up and accept it?”

I thought about that for a while before answering.

“We’re different, you and I, Kim. The other slaves – the cooks, the maids, the gardeners – they’re just doing a job. If they do it well, they’ll be fine, if they do it badly, they’ll be punished, and they know that, to some extent it's within their control.

"But you and I, we’re pleasure slaves. Miss Ashley will use us in whatever way she chooses, and sometimes that will involve pain for us. We have to accept that. Our lives are now dedicated solely to satisfying her, we have no choice. Except we do – we have the choice to either rail against our lot, to suffer the pain and be miserable, or to embrace it, to luxuriate in our submission, to truly strive to provide Miss Ashley with every ounce of pleasure we can, whether it’s through our pain or our efforts in the bedroom, our obedience or being loaned out to friends or even complete strangers.

“Both of us, in our different ways, have given ourselves voluntarily into slavery. It satisfies a deep need in us, and you should always remember that – Miss gives us what we want, what we need, as much as we give to her. We’re just where we want to be. We’re lucky!”

There was a long silence.

“I wish I could hug you right now, Jenny.”

I felt a great relief at that, even though my cheeks were wet with my tears. The only bit I left out was that Miss Ashley was not the one I had given myself to, he was a world away.

Suddenly, Kim started to sing, a gentle, keening melody, with words in a language I didn't understand, but it was beautiful, and the tears streamed from my eyes as I listened, grateful for the sound to drive away my fears.

When she finally finished, I decided to teach her one of my favourite songs – Monty Python's ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ (‘When you're chewing on life's gristle/Just give a little whistle/And things will always turn out for the best’)  This was complicated by the fact that I had to teach her how to whistle as well - apparently it's unheard of here. I can just about take a society where slavery has been institutionalised, but a world in which the fine art of whistling has not been discovered? Say it isn't so!

That managed to distract us for another hour or so, but eventually we fell silent and the blackness closed in on me again. I don't know whether you've ever tried to catnap while standing on your tiptoes with your wrists locked behind your back and hanging by a chain from the wall, but I don't recommend it. Every few minutes, my head would start to nod, my legs start to relax, and then the collar around my neck would tighten, choking me, and scaring the living daylights out of me. That would ensure I was wide awake again for another five minutes, and then the whole cycle would start again.

Eventually I heard sounds from above us and then the steel doors were opened. It was only a weak light which penetrated down to us, but it was bright enough to make me screw my eyes shut until they could cope. When I opened them again, the two leotard-clad slaves were in front of us, releasing us from the wall and then leading us upstairs into the light. I sucked in a deep breath of the slightly sweeter air, relieved and a little bit surprised to have survived the night.

We were taken to a room which could pass for a dressing room - there was a dressing table with a large mirror and strewn with cosmetics, and a chair in front - and there were three other slave girls here, all dressed in black micro-bikinis. Our guards left us in their care, but the three women all crowded around Kim, totally ignoring me. Obviously, their job was to prepare Kim for the ceremony, and I was not of any interest to them whatsoever. That was just fine by me, and I shuffled to the back of the room, slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, and rested my head against the plain whitewashed plaster. Within moments, I was deeply asleep.

I awoke rather abruptly when a sharp kick was delivered to my rump. I looked up to see Miss Ashley standing over me, and oh my God, she looked stunning! She was wearing a diaphanous black outfit which left a lot of exposed flesh, while covering all the important bits in an incredibly erotic way. I'm not a ‘natural’ lesbian (by which I mean I submit myself to women’s attentions, rather than desiring them sexually), but if I was, I know I would fancy her!

"Wake up, sleepy head!" she smiled down at me, then called one of the slaves across. "Clean this one up, too, she's going to be on parade as well."

I was hustled out of the room and taken to a cleaning station, where I was quickly scrubbed clean. It was when we returned to the dressing room that I caught my first sight of Kim, now ready for her presentation, and I was amazed at the transformation.

Her hair and make-up had been done perfectly, bringing out all her natural youthful beauty. Her skin seemed to glow and shimmer in the light, and it was as smooth as silk, indicating that she had been shaved or waxed over virtually every inch, which can't have been particularly pleasant. But the other thing was that her collar and cuffs had been changed from the steel ones such as I was wearing to beautiful golden ones, which actually looked like solid gold. She was also wearing a golden chastity belt, much more delicate and ornate than mine. Even her nipple rings had been replaced by gold ones. She looked every inch the perfect slave.

"Okay, girls, time to go!" Miss Ashley said, leading us out of the room.

We went down a series of corridors before finally emerging into a large, open area, not the arena in which I had been presented. Over by the huge picture windows were a gold frame and a small platform, to which Miss Ashley was leading us.

"Okay, up you get, Jenny," she said, patting the low platform. I scuttled over there and knelt on the platform, presenting myself in a correct slave position. She led Kim over to the frame next to me and made her squat down beneath it. I hadn't noticed before, but there was a rather phallic shape thrusting up from the middle of the base of the frame, and Miss Ashley positioned her directly over it. As she spread her legs, I saw that her chastity belt actually provided access to her, so that the dildo over which she was perched would in fact go through it and into her if she lowered herself onto it. This all seemed very strange to me, but I kept facing forward, whilst glancing over to watch what was happening.

Miss started by attaching chains to Kim's collar and wrist shackles, pulling her arms up over her head. She then clipped the ankle manacles to either side of the frame, but in such a way that her feet were no longer touching the ground. As soon as the second ankle was attached, it became clear that maintaining herself in that position was going to be tricky, and actually was placing a lot of strain on her - she was having to hold her stomach muscles very firmly, and the strain on her hamstrings and thigh muscles was also clear to see.

Miss Ashley took a ring gag which was hanging from the frame and fitted it into Kim's mouth before strapping it tightly behind her head. Unsurprisingly, the ring looked as though it was made from pure gold, although I guess it couldn’t be. I could see from Kim's expression that she was not in a comfortable position, but unfortunately for her, things were going to get an awful lot worse.

Miss attached gold chains to the gold rings through Kim’s nipples, and then pulled them up towards her collar. I couldn’t really see what happened next because Miss Ashley was blocking my view, but when she moved away, I was astonished to see that she had somehow attached the chains to the stud through Kim’s tongue, which was being dragged through the ring gag by the weight of her breasts! Jesus, I thought, looks like I got off lightly. I could hear her laboured breathing and the occasional whimper as she tried to maintain this high stress position, and I wondered how long she would have to suffer this.

Slowly, people started to filter in to the space around us, and it was immediately clear that these were not just people off the street, they were wealthy - their clothes, their demeanour, their whole attitude screamed money. When there were about thirty people, men and women, present, our owner stepped to the front to address them.

"Friends, senators, members of the city council, welcome." Well, that explained the money thing - these were all ‘very important people’, and I wondered if Kim and I were here to impress them with Miss Ashley's fortune and acumen in acquiring two very rare slaves.

"Thank you for attending this presentation of Kim, my consensual slave. As you can see, she is in the traditional position, and I make her available for your amusement and entertainment during the evening. As you can see, if you wish to stimulate her, she is positioned and ready to receive the vibrator. If you wish to test her resilience, the cane is available." She came over to me and placed the long stick in my outstretched hands.

"And if you would like to explore her more intimately, here is the key to release her so that she may serve you more directly." She placed the key in my hand as well, and I realised that I was really there as a rather ornate side table for these things to sit on.

"Please do take advantage of my slaves as you wish, they are freely available to you throughout the evening. But, for now, please relax and enjoy my hospitality."

A whole slew of waiters and waitresses entered with canapés and drinks, which were soon being consumed by the crowd. Miss Ashley went off to socialise and mingle, leaving the two of us unattended. Apart from a few looks and smiles in our direction, we were initially largely ignored, although I was pretty sure that wouldn't remain the case - I didn't think they would be able to resist the temptation of the pretty, chained figure of Kim for too long.

I realised Kim was making noises beside me, which at first I thought were little cries of pain or effort as she struggled to maintain her position. But eventually I worked out what she was doing, and smiled - she was humming the tune of ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’! My God, I thought, this girl’s got spirit! As she reached the end of the title line, I found myself unable to resist the temptation to softly whistle in response. Here we were, two slaves being offered up for the pleasure of all these rich people, and we were laughing! Just priceless!

End of part 1

Copyright© 2014 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved.