A friend of Claire had once convinced her to try meditation. She had never truly grasped the concept; sitting still for a long time had never appealed to her, but this was different. Maybe it was the mood of the room, the tense quiet that was occasionally interrupted by the sound of rattling chains or by a muted groan from one of the other women. Maybe it was the broad-shouldered, grim-faced man who stood in front of her, observing her every movement, every drop of sweat trickling down her naked body. Whatever it was, it was working. Claire had never been this focused in her entire life.

Then again, there was a lot at stake.

She heard the sound of chains hitting the wooden floor as the girl next to her gave up. The man in front of Claire walked over to the girl without a word and picked up the cane the girl had dropped. The girl started sobbing as she leaned forward, baring her naked back. Claire closed her eyes and shuddered when she heard the three loud cracks in quick succession, followed by the girl’s muffled cries.

The punishment was over. The man handed the cane back to the girl, who returned to the designated position once again. It was only Claire’s third day of slave training, and she found these endurance tasks some of the most difficult. She had been kneeling on the floor of the small hut for what felt like hours, keeping her arms stretched out in front of her with her palms up. A wooden cane rested on her open hands; if she dropped it, it meant three lashes.

The task was not made any easier by the weight of the steel shackles on her wrists. Claire stared at them, admired the shiny steel. They were gorgeous, and she hoped her master would buy her a similar set when she returned to him. She tried to ignore her trembling arm muscles by focusing on other sensations; the wood against her knees, the tight steel collar locked around her neck and the large ball gag in her mouth that caused strands of drool to escape her quivering lips and land on her breasts. Before this trip, she had never really tried bondage, but she was growing to like it.

I’m doing this for him, she thought to motivate herself as her arms started trembling. She had only been with her master a short time, but she was eternally grateful for what he had already given her. A purpose. Safety. Mind blowing sex. He had taken her under his wings, and she loved him for that. Slave life suited her, and she knew that sending her off to a week of slave training camp was not cheap, and she appreciated the commitment it symbolised for the both of them.

Claire was far from the only girl at the camp, though. She could see the other women in her session out of the corner of her eye, but she did not dare to look straight at them. They were not allowed to talk anyway, it was one of the many rules at the camp, a camp she was enjoying immensely. Though the tasks and sessions were tough, she felt like she was becoming a better and more obedient slave every day. Claire struggled with the daily floggings to increase pain tolerance, but she excelled at the degrading and humiliating tasks. She had even managed to find some enjoyment and even arousal during that morning’s boot-licking session. She spent her evenings reading the prescribed material on Noble Hedonism and Advanced Consent. And she spent her nights masturbating furiously before exhaustion caught up with her and she slipped into a deep sleep.

It can’t be long now, she thought. Claire bit down on her gag and tensed her muscles. She was pouring sweat, and even though she was in excellent shape, she was nearing her limit. The dominant in charge of the endurance training squatted in front of her with a smile on his face. He stared into her eyes, into her soul; she could feel him weighing her in his mind, judging her character.

She stared back into the wise, dark eyes without blinking, even as the rest of her body threatened to collapse.

I’m doing this for my Master. The mantra repeated in her mind, over and over. In her mind, failing a task was the same as failing him, and she did not want to imagine a life where she did not serve him. Other girls her age were out having fun, making mistakes, but she felt like she had already had her share. She wanted stability. She wanted to be owned.

The man scratched his well-groomed beard and nodded. “Alright slaves, you can put the canes down now.” His voice was brimming with calm confidence as he stood up. “Assume position 8 while you wait for further instructions.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief as she slowly lowered the cane to the ground as if it was made of glass. She placed her hands behind her head as instructed. The steel chain from her shackles landed on the back of her neck, and a pleasant shiver ran down her spine as the cold metal touched her warm skin. Her jaw was starting to hurt from the large gag, but a padlock ensured that she could not take it off. The shackles and collar had been locked on since her arrival, but the torturous ball gags were at least taken off for feedings and sleep.

The dominant walked back and forth, inspecting the five girls in the room one by one. Another dominant, who had observed the session from the other side of the room, joined him, and they whispered while looking at all of the girls in turn. Comments and evaluations were written down, and for a moment, Claire felt like she was back in school, watching her teacher grade her paper with a concerned frown on his aging brow. She had never been good at school, she had never found the drive to excel at it, but she was highly motivated to excel at being a slave.

“This ends the third session today.” The dominant gestured at the four girls kneeling next to Claire. “You four, you will report for additional discipline and chores over at the main hut.” The man crossed his arms and waited for the girls to leave, escorted by the other dominant. The girls staggered to their feet and hobbled out of the hut, crestfallen and defeated, to the sound of their rattling ankle chains. Claire did not know what the man had in store for her; if a slave fell behind, they would be punished, but Claire thought she had done well.

The man looked down at her with a smile. “You’ve done well today, Slave Nine. You get to advance to deepthroat training. You can take your hands down now.” He locked a leash to Claire’s wide steel collar. “Follow me. On your knees.”

Claire’s arms were still shaking when he led her out of the hut. The gravel outside dug into her knees and palms, but she barely noticed. Her body was shaking with pride and joy; she had been chosen, she had been recognized for her effort, and Claire knew that daily reports were sent back to Master. Was he going to be proud of her? She hoped so. It made all the trials and torments worth it.

But a simmering nervousness crept to the front of her mind. She had given blowjobs to Master and others before, but deepthroating was new to her, and she knew that she was expected to swallow, which she had never done before. These were things she knew that Master had explicitly asked for her to be trained in, and she feared nothing more than to let him down.

“Keep up, Nine,” the dominant said and yanked her leash.

The shackles on her wrists and ankles made crawling a chore, but she did not have to go far. Behind one of the huts was a low, thick post with several metal rings attached. The campsite was placed far from the nearest city, next to a lake. Dense forest surrounded the small enclave of huts on all other sides, and Claire felt privileged to have been sent there.

“Kneel in front of the post,” the dominant said.

Claire obeyed. Her heart raced as she placed herself in front of the post. The chain connecting her ankle shackles was removed, and her ankle restraints were locked to rings on either side of the lowest part of the post. The leash was taken off, and her collar locked to the top part of her post, immobilising her. Bondage was still new to her, but she was starting to get the point; Claire tried to move, but the restrictions made it nearly impossible, and every movement caused a gentle trickle of arousal to spread throughout her body. She could hear commands being yelled at other slaves, but the spot was secluded. It was just her, the dominant, and the breathtaking view of the shimmering lake.