Chapter 1

The sign in the window was still there. "Trainee models required. Thursday evenings 6:30 – 8:30 pm. No appointment necessary".

Still I hesitated. My hair needed doing and I couldn't afford a normal appointment at a salon. But still I hesitated. I was very proud of my hair, it was my best feature, and I didn't want some new girl messing it up. I felt the long strands again and made up my mind, pushing open the door and going inside. There was a middle-aged woman sitting at the reception desk. She looked up and smiled as I approached and asked me if she could help. Of course the girls were properly supervised she assured me, and she was sure I would be very pleased with the results. Only partly reassured I nevertheless agreed to put my hair in their hands.

Soon I was sitting in the barber's chair, my hair being shampooed. The girl did seem to know what she was doing, and I began to relax. A man came over to stand by my chair and introduced himself. Antoine was the owner, and he complimented me on how beautiful my hair was which naturally made me feel good. He ran his hands through the still wet, auburn locks; almost combing my hair with his fingers.

"You should take better care of your hair you know Madame," he whispered, "This has been allowed to become dry and brittle. Don't worry Madame, Ashley will take good care of you." He turned to the girl who had only just finished washing my hair and continued, " Ashley you should use the best conditioner, this hair needs nourishing. When that's done I think a pageboy cut."

I protested that I liked my hair long, but he cut me off. "Perhaps when we have restored it to its former glory Madame you can grow it long again, but these split ends are too much. I assure Madame, you will look wonderful, and I will supervise Ashley every step of the way. You trust me, no?" I could only nod too timid to protest further.

Antoine flitted from one young woman to the next, chatting easily to each of them as his trainee hairstylists worked away at washing and drying, conditioning and cutting the hair of the volunteers. There was very little chatter as the girls worked industriously under his critical eye, just a quiet word of encouragement now and then.

We were served coffee or tea. I chose coffee but it tasted slightly bitter, and I pushed my cup away. Antoine came over, enquiring solicitously whether anything was wrong. To avoid a fuss I drank the rest of the coffee. Almost immediately I began to feel sleepy, my limbs heavy, my eyelids drooping. I tried to get up but fell back into my chair. Time passed but it was as if I was detached from my body, an observer, powerless to do anything. I vaguely realised that my hair was now cut short, and that only two of the other women were left, both of them sporting the same pageboy cuts as my own. The girls were now clearing up the salon. I couldn't move even as I watched the two remaining women being helped to their feet by four of the girls who then undressed them and guided the now naked women to chairs on either side of me. I realised I was standing up and Antoine and Ashley were undressing me as well. I tried to speak, but no words would come. I tried to push them away but my limbs refused to co-operate.

"That's a good girl," Antoine murmured in my ear as he pushed me back down into the chair. He lathered my pussy and swiftly, professionally shaved off all my pubic hair. I vaguely realised my companions were being similarly denuded; that all body hair was being removed from us. I watched as a thick, black, leather posture collar was fastened around each of their necks. Then it was my turn. The collar forced my head up straight, made looking down impossible, made even looking from side to side to catch a glimpse of my companions a major effort. I felt the buckles being tightened. I should have felt frightened but strangely I only felt curiosity about this strange turn of events, and wondered what would happen next.

I didn't have long to wait to find out. Antoine cupped my left breast in his hands and began to play with the nipple, all the time talking to me as if to a pet dog. "There, there darling ... lovely girl aren't you?" He was stroking my nipple until it was hard and throbbing. Part of me was horrified but another part another part was fascinated by watching myself in the angled mirror high on the opposite wall responding to this stranger's touch, and even more fascinated as I watched Ashley bring Antoine a tray of medical instruments. I felt him applying the local aesthetic to the nipple, the coldness as the needle slide into the flesh, felt the point pushing through to the other side, pulling the cotton thread through and then drawing the golden ring that was attached to the thread through as well. He teased the ring so that it hung just so, and then I saw him sealing the ring on itself with a touch of solder, realising that my nipple was now permanently decorated with a golden nipple ring. I found myself thinking how good it looked.

I knew instinctively that it was about to be the turn of my right nipple, and could only wonder at how calm I felt watching him teasing it to erection and inserting the second ring into this nipple in an exact reply of the earlier application. Having finished he gently kissed both breasts just above the new nipple rings, whispering to me "There now how does that feel my lovely girl? Don't you look beautiful? Your new Master will love these." My mind tried to make sense of his words, of my world turned upside down by these extraordinary events. Still I found myself incapable of moving or speaking. I think I slept for a while. When I woke I realised that my two companions were similarly sporting nipple rings that had not been there when they had first been undressed. If this was some sort of game, the rules were quite beyond my understanding.

Some time later, I don't know how much later, two men came into the salon. They didn't seem surprised to see three naked young women sitting comatose in the barber's chairs in leather collars. They laughed and joked with Antoine, carelessly touching and caressing the girls who earlier had been doing our hair. The girls made no move to prevent the men from touching them, as if this was completely natural and their bodies were simply there for their pleasure. Then I heard one of the men saying something to Antoine about whether the new trainees were ready, and I saw one of them giving him a large wad of cash. He carefully counted out the money on the counter, smiling as he did so. The two men attached leashes to our collars and we were helped to our feet, led out to the back of the salon and bundled into a waiting van. I could see one of the women trying desperately to speak, to protest, but no words would come.

The van contained a line of empty metal cages and each of us was led inside one of these and helped to lie down on a bare mattress on the floor of the cage. The cages were locked and then the door of the van was closed and it sped away into the night carrying us with it to who knew where and to who knew what fate. My breasts were beginning to hurt now. The cold metal of the nipple rings and the tight leather collar was a constant reminder that matters were completely out of my control. I had heard of such things of course, of white slavers kidnapping young women and turning them into sex slaves, but I had never imagined that it might actually happen to me. I knew I wouldn't be missed until Saturday. By then I realised it might be far too late. In horror I realised that the thought of what was happening to me had turned me on, my pussy was literally dripping wet.


Chapter 2 (added: 06/03/2010)

I must have drifted off to sleep. When I woke up the van was still moving. There were no windows or lights in the van, just darkness and the faint rumble of the tyres on the road and a dim roar from the engine. It was impossible to say how long I had been asleep or how far the van might have travelled in that time. Impossible to judge whether it was night or day. My head was muzzy, the effect no doubt of the drugged coffee I realised they had given me back in the hairdressers' salon, and my body was aching from the constant vibrations from the floor of the van. The hard suspension transferred every bump in the road up into the van, tossing me about like a rag doll. This constant assault on my prone figure was hardly mitigated by the old mattress I was lying on. Eventually I managed to raise myself up to a sitting position, which proved to be a slightly less uncomfortable one for the journey than lying on the floor, except when a particularly violent lurch from the suspension would send me crashing back down onto the mattress.

The leather posture collar had been removed and replaced with a thin, studded, leather collar that at least allowed me to move my head freely again. I reached up to try and undo the collar, only to find there was a small padlock in the buckle at my throat that prevented me from undoing it. As I slowly regained my senses I realised that my breasts were throbbing with pain as if an inconsiderate lover, no not a lover a rapist, had cruelly mashed them. Suddenly I remembered the nipple rings that had been attached to them both in the salon, and I reached up and fingered the strange circles of cool metal that now adorned each nipple. Touching them brought no relief but only added to the pain as the metal pulled against the still tender flesh. Sadly I realised that it would be several days before I could expect the bruising from the piercings to heal, and that until then my breasts would simply be another cause of pain and discomfort. I couldn't help myself from wondering with a flush of anticipation how my breasts would look now that they had been decorated in this way, and how it would feel once they had fully healed when lips brushed and caressed my nipples. I angrily thrust the thought away. What was I thinking?

In any case I thought to myself, my mutilated breasts were surely the least of my problems. This was clearly not a practical joke; it had gone too far for that. Where were these men taking me and what lay in store for me when I got there? One thing was certain; nothing good could come of this. My imagination began to run wild with all the most terrible thoughts running through my head, of rape, of beatings, of death. Surely they would never let me go. But, an inner voice of calm reasoned with my wilder thoughts, neither had they gone to all this trouble simply to kill me. Clearly they were interested in more than that. What was it Antoine had said to me back at the salon when tenderly kissing my newly pierced breasts? "Your new Master will love these." That was it. I had a vague understanding of a kinkier world of fetish wear and bondage, of domination and submission. It seemed I was to become a part of that world, albeit an unwilling participant, and that surely meant that my captors intended to do more than simply murder me.

It was only when I had managed to calm myself again that I remembered my companions from the salon. Calling out to them in the darkness there was no answer, but now that I was listening for it I could hear their breathing coming from the depth of the van. Even if they didn't answer my calls at least I knew I was not alone. Perhaps we would be able to help each other to escape. Even as I thought about escape I knew this was a forlorn, desperate hope. This was no sudden, spur of the moment thing. Everything had been carefully planned, and it seemed certain that this was not the first time this van had followed this same route with a cargo of sex slaves, for that was surely what we were. Our kidnappers, who ever they were, would be expecting resistance, would have planned how to deal with it. Escape was not going to be easy. But what else could I do as I was carried along on the floor of the van, but to cling to that faint hope, and keep myself ready to seize any opportunity, no matter how fleeting, to make my escape.

Finally the van came to a halt, and the rear doors were flung open. The sudden burst of sunshine after so many hours of darkness was blinding. There was no time to adjust to this new event. My cage door was unlocked and a man grabbed my wrists and roughly pulled them behind my back, fastening them with some sort of rope. He bundled me out of the back of the van and into the sunshine. My two companions joined me almost at once, both similarly tied. I tried to take in my surroundings. There was a large house; a mansion would be a better description, and acres of trees and grass and summer flowers. In different circumstances I would have been filled with wonder at the grandeur of the setting, but now all I could think was how isolated this place seemed, how far from any possible help or rescue.

A very smart looking woman, probably in her early to mid thirties was standing in front of us, examining each of us in turn. She was wearing a tight fitting cream top and a black leather mid-calf skirt over knee length riding boots. In one hand she was carrying a riding crop. I didn't need to be told that the crop was not only for the horses I could see grazing in the adjacent field.

"Welcome ladies," she spoke crisply, evenly, as if what she was saying was the most natural thing in the world. "I'm sure your all tired after your long journey, and I'm sure you have a thousand questions. There will be plenty of time to answer your questions later. For now all you need to know is that your old life is over. For ever. Here you will learn to obey. To obey quickly, willingly without hesitation. Disobedience will be punished." Here she swished the riding crop through the air as if for emphasis. "Escape is impossible. If you try to escape you will be caught and you will be punished. You will soon learn that if you wish to avoid being punished you must obey."

She smiled. I wondered if my face wore the same stricken look as my two companions. One of them opened her mouth as if to speak only for the riding crop to crash down across her thigh leaving an angry red welt on her leg. "Silence," barked the woman, "You only speak when you have permission. Slaves are like children, they should be seen and not heard. Understood?" The 3 of us nodded mutely in unison. "Good," she continued, "Take them to their cells." This last remark was directed to the men who had taken us out of the van. Silently they each attached leashes to our collars and led us away into the house, down a long corridor and a flight of stairs to another corridor. This one was dimly lit and lined with cells with metal bars. We all knew where we were going, and meekly like lambs we allowed ourselves to be locked inside our cells still wearing our collars and leashes. This was not the end of our nightmare, only the beginning.


Chapter 3 (added: 06/03/2010)

My cell was approximately 10 x 6 with metal bars on 3 sides and a stone floor. There was a narrow, metal framed, single bed with a thin mattress, a single cotton sheet, a duvet and pillow. In one corner of the cell was a toilet and a washbasin. Despite the total lack of privacy I rushed to use the toilet, the first time I had the opportunity to do so since being bundled into the van. The relief of emptying my bladder was enormous, only mildly reduced by the embarrassment of my "minder" watching me from the other side of the door of my cell.

I washed as best I could before climbing into the bed, pulling the duvet over my nakedness. My minder only smirked at my attempt at protecting my modesty. By glancing to my left I could see a long line of identical cells, two of which were now occupied by my companions from the hairdressers. In the corners of each cell were two CCTV cameras. There was not going to be any privacy even when our minders were absent.

After about an hour a long line of young women trooped into the cellblock. They were wearing nothing but thin red leather collars, and were all sporting gold nipple rings with thin golden chains running from each ring to the buckles at their throats. Without exception they were young, attractive and fit, their pussies shaved just like mine. There were no minders, but the women did not talk to each other or to us as they walked down the corridor and into their cells, pulling the cell doors closed behind them. At first I was puzzled as I tried to work out what it was about these beautiful women that was so depressing, and then I realised that it was a hopelessness that radiated from each of them. These women were utterly submissive. I swore to myself that I would never surrender so cravenly no matter what my captors did to me.

Having been led into the office marked Mistress Taylor, I found myself standing before the woman who had greeted us on our arrival. She was sitting at a large oak desk with an open folder and photographs spread out over its surface. There were photographs of the old me; the carefree girl from that other world that now seemed so far away. I wondered where they had been taken and by whom, and how long they had been following me before that fateful trip to the hairdressers. But there were also other photographs of the new me, photographs taken here in the mansion. Photographs of me naked except for my red leather collar and gold nipple rings. Glossy photographs in both colour and black and white, photographs showing my breasts and pussy. Soft porn.

Mistress Taylor looked up and smiled. "Well, slave Julie. How are you settling in?" She didn't wait for a reply. "I understand from your handler that you are still refusing to co-operate. Is that right?"

"Yes Mistress," I replied. I might be refusing to co-operate but I had quickly learnt that the only form of address that avoided the sharp lash of my Handler's crop was Sir or Master when addressing any of the male handlers and Mistress when addressing the smaller number of female staff. While all the slaves were women, the male handlers were not in charge as I had at first assumed, but were infact subordinate to the Mistresses. I saw Mistress Taylor smile at my instinctive choice of words, and wished I could take them back to show her my determination to resist.

"You have been here for seven days slave Julie. Its time to decide what to do with you." She smiled. "As you know most of our girls embrace their new roles, and we find new homes for them where their new Masters will care for them and look after them. But of course that assumes that the girls have submitted fully, and that they will serve their new Masters faithfully and without question. That's not you is it slave Julie?"

"No Mistress. I would rather die."

"Now don't be so dramatic. No one is going to die. Fortunately some of our clients prefer a slave with more spirit, someone who requires breaking-in to her new role. Indeed we charge a premium for those slaves, particularly one as beautiful as you slave Julie. Now I should warn you these clients are not as lenient as we are, and they tend to take great delight in inflicting pain as part of their training programs. Two of them have expressed an interest in you slave Julie, and you are to be presented to them this afternoon. One of them will no doubt buy your contract, and then I won't be able to protect you any more. So, this really is your last chance. Do you submit to me slave Julie, do you give me your heart and your soul, to serve me as I see fit? Or do you want to take your chances with a less compassionate owner who won't be so concerned with your welfare?"

I shook my head. "I will never submit Mistress."

"No? Yet you call me Mistress. Think slave Julie. You are becoming ever more submissive. You can't help yourself. And in your heart you are learning to love being controlled, mastered. Do you want to become a painslut?"

"I want to be free Mistress," I managed.

"That is no longer an option for you slave Julie. Very well. Mike, take her to the main showroom and put her in the display case. She can use the bathroom first, and have another drink of water. Nothing after that until the sale this afternoon. I take it you said your goodbyes this morning?"

Mike nodded. I realised the goodbye she was referring to was when Mike had raped me that morning in my cell. I still thought of it as rape although if I was completely honest I would have to admit I no longer tried to keep my legs closed or to deny any part of my body to him. I had still refused to kiss him, but suddenly I knew that I wanted to kiss him very much indeed before it was too late. I had to admit to myself that after a week of training I was in love with my Handler, just as I had seen so many of the other girls fall in love with their handlers. I waited until we were outside the office before turning to him. "Kiss me Mike." He took me in his arms and kissed me. Kissed me properly, deeply, the way a kiss can turn your knees to jelly.