EXTRACT FOR
Breaking Him In
(Miranda Birch)

"I am now going to take you before your Owner," she went on. "For this you will strip naked. All slaves here are kept naked. It's the rule." 



She stopped speaking and looked at me. 



"Naked... slaves... what?" I stuttered at her. Even if I was imagining it all, this was surely an imaginary madwoman! Her hand flashed out, thudding into my solar plexus, taking all the air out of me. I went down, and her booted foot slammed into my side with full force. I was shocked, and scared. I was not, am not, a weed, but such brutal abrupt violence was beyond my experience. 



"I can beat you unconscious and strip you myself," she said flatly. 



With trembling hands I disrobed. Like a fool, I looked about for a place to put my clothes. 



"Just drop them, fool!" she barked at me. 



I did. It was the last I every say of them. The last time I ever wore a single stitch of clothing. Instinctively I cupped my hands before my genitals. 



"Hands away!" she roared at once, and that leather thong cracked against my side. The pain was intense. 



"Stand up straight, arms by your sides!" 



She made a menacing gesture with the strap, but I hastily obeyed and she did not use it. Best to humour this madwoman, I thought, and wait for my opportunity... 



"When we get into the presence of your Owner, you will go down on hands and knees, head bowed to the floor. And you will remain there until you are told to rise. Understood?" 



I nodded sulkily. Instantly that thong cracked across my bare flesh again. 



"Answer when questioned!" 



"Yaaghh! Y-yes... Miss..." I cried out. 



The pain was so intensely real. Realer than any dream could be. But this had to be a dream. It had to be! 



Then a collar was put about my neck and I was led from the cell like an animal. We mounted stone stairs, went along stone corridors. Obviously we were underground, in extensive cellars by the look of it. At last we came to the mansion above, which was luxuriously furnished. In such civilised surroundings I became even more conscious of my complete nudity. It was both shaming and, somehow, frightening. 



Another shock came when I saw a man approaching, carrying a laden tray. He, too, was completely nude -- but not quite: for some kind of tube was about his prick. It looked like iron and it looked heavy. What on earth...? He moved in a zombie-like way and bowed most deferentially to the woman who led me. I almost spoke to him -- to ask him if this was real -- but he walked on, the woman tugged on the chain by which she led me, and it was too late. Then we came to large double doors, where she halted. 



"Don't forget what I told you," said the woman. The thong was still swinging in her right hand. I thought it advisable to comply with her instructions, however absurd. 



She pushed on the doors, which swung open soundlessly. I found myself in a vast, ornately furnished room; one of the utmost luxury. Two women were seated on a couch, sipping cocktails and chatting. They did not look up as we approached. When the woman halted, I went down on hands and knees and bowed my head to the floor. How ridiculous all this was! The woman looked up then. 



"The new slave, Mistress Lucy," said my escort deferentially to the older woman. 



"Ah yes... the English one, is it, Miss Diana?" 



"Yes, Mistress Lucy." 



"Stand!" ordered an authoritative voice. I stood up. With three pairs of female eyes upon me, shame filled me and I and an instinct to cover myself. My hands moved. 



"Hands away!" snapped Miss Diana at once. I moved them away and just stood, now feeling both foolish and frightened. This was not a dream; all the sensations were far too real. 



"Looks young and fit," said the woman alongside Mistress Lucy. 



Mistress Lucy nodded. 



"Fit for plenty of hard work," she remarked, with an unpleasant smile. 



She was a rather heavily-built woman of about forty. Not at all attractive. 



"P-please... please... I don't understand all this..." I began. 



The back of Miss Diana's hand crashed across my mouth. I saw stars, tasted blood as I reeled back. 



"Silence, slave!" she bellowed. "You speak only when you are spoken to." 



Oh no, this was certainly not a dream. It was hideous reality! My head was spinning and I felt slightly sick. I wanted to speak again, yet dare not. Already I was being subdued. 



"Got many English here?" asked Mistress Lucy's companion. Later I was to discover that she was English herself. Miss Debbie Parker. 



"A couple of others," came the reply. "They're no better or worse than the Yanks. Bit more stubborn at first, maybe." 



The woman gave a little laugh. 



"Alright, Miss Diana, you can take him away now. Give him a good flogging then allocate him to a trainer." 



It was all she callously said. 



I wanted to beg and plead; to ask for some kind of explanation. But I was simply tugged away. Flogged? She couldn't mean it. It was all crazy. Quite crazy.