Cast:

Calista: Lead character

Master: Master and owner

Sir Jon: Master's longtime friend

Lady Martha: Master's first wife

Lucinda: a very ambitious slave who takes an interest in Calista

Jacinta: Paired off with Calista, she too is a house slave

Mildred: Mother hen to the slaves, she is the eldest house slave

Jasmine: Arab slave girl who took over for Calista as greeter

Clara: den-mother to the harem slaves

Petra and Paulina, Roxanne, Quan-Yi, Gretchen and Barbie: harem slaves

Darabi: Another slave trader

BEGINNING

Master must have come into money. He didn't strike me as a person born to the blue. He certainly was graceful and eloquent, but there was a certain polish lacking when it came to protocol.

On very rare occasions Master's oldest friend would come by to visit. Sir Jon had known Master longer than anyone else, and was the person whom Master had complete trust in. Sir Jon, however, gave us a glimpse as to what Master was before he had acquired his wealth. Sir Jon was working class, grease and grime always under his fingernails, no hope of ever coming clean. On these rare occasions, when Sir Jon visited, Master always allowed him to take his pick of us for his entertainment.

The estate was remote, surrounded by forest and no other houses within view. Every visitor that arrived either came in by small plane, landing on the dirt runway, or had traveled for a very longtime by car. I have no idea how I arrived here, but my first task after indoctrination was as a greeter for visitors.

I was not allowed in the main house, as that was a privilege I would have to earn, rather I was placed in the outdoor kennels, my clothes replaced with collar and body harness. The harness did nothing to hide my exposed breasts or cunt. My job was to greet all visitors as they arrived, recite the welcome chant prostate at the door of the plane or car, "Welcome Sirs and Madams, this unworthy slave greets you most humbly to Duquette Estate. Please allow this wretch to escort you to the main house and to make arrangements for your luggage."

I am not proud to say that I would listen to their conversations as I went through my tasks, eager to glean any information outside my realm of knowledge. Any news of the real world, about the environment I was now in, anything at all. Before I knew better, I was able to gather that the Estate that I now served in was so far away from help, that there was no chance of escape if I was able to leave. I also found out that my Master was not a man to be trifled with, he had become very influential and powerful, so large a presence that my being couldn't help but shrink in the importance of his stature.

I soon learned that eavesdropping on guests conversations was something I should not concern myself with. It was in fact escorting Sir Jon and his guest up to the main house that Lucinda, one of the house slaves, discovered me listening intently to their conversation, and it was confirmed, as Sir Jon made a particular funny joke, of which I snickered, that changed Lucinda's welcoming smile to our guests, to one of harshness as she excused herself from Sir Jon and his guest, marched directly to me and instructed me to report to my kennel. She did this in a subtle way that didn't alert our guests that there was a problem.

My stomach churned, and I went clammy as I curtsied and turned heel, heading back to my kennel. Lucinda resumed her duties escorting Sir Jon and his guest in the main house, of which I had not been granted the privilege of entering, and now wondered if I ever would be allowed.

There is a pecking order here among the slaves. Kennel slaves are lowest, housed in the outside kennels, they are usually the newest slaves, purchased or by other arrangements such as blackmail, agreed contracts, or other means, both legal and illegal. They live housed in a cell block, with collar and leather body harness only. Kennel slaves are trained and either sold and moved to other owners, or if they are very lucky, they are kept by Master.

It is very rare for Master to keep a new slave and he never visits the kennel. At some point in time, Master stopped training kennel slaves and passed that assignment over to his house slaves. During my entire time spent as a kennel slave, I only saw my Master while greeting him as he arrived back to his estate.

Becoming a house slave is something all kennel slaves dream about, it is their entire ambition to earn the right to wear clothes, and be able to enter the Main house. Because of this right of passage, all house slaves strictly maintain discipline of kennel slaves. They become the trainers and punishers, policing the kennel slaves and issue training strictly within the lines of protocol Master has laid out. They take a particular kind of glee in issuing training and punishment, remembering their own trials and toils shivering in the kennels, being the lowest of all slaves and taking brutal hidden punishment from all others. Some vindictively torture the kennel slaves, forcing the new slaves to go through the same rite of fire that they themselves had to endure.

House slaves have the responsibility of recommending kennel slaves for promotion. They take that responsibility very seriously. Master at this point cannot be bothered with something as trivial as weeding out the new trainees. There are only a very small number of openings for house slaves, as house slaves can outlive their purpose, be promoted, or can be sold to a guest that takes a particular liking to them. The house slaves are very guarded as to whom they recommend for promotion. The kennel slave must be not only completely trained, but obedient, pleasant, liked by all others, and trustworthy. If a kennel slave is promoted and fails as a house slave, in whatever way Master sees fit, the house slave and the ones who recommend promotion are removed from the house. Most are sold off to live lives of unspeakable cruelty, some are killed, but one has been kept within the estate, to be served as a lesson to all slaves of the consequences of failure.

She is kept in a small cabin on the far end of the estate. Every new slave on their first day is brought to that cabin to be shown what happens with failure. Upon each promotion, they are again shown this miserable wretch, as a reinforced reminder of what failure can bring. She has no name. Some whisper that she was Master's second wife one time, long ago. She is more a receptacle now than a slave, her arms and legs atrophied from the steel cage box she is forced into. She is inflicted with electrical shocks on a minute by minute basis; the pain long ago forced her mind into mush. Estate hands, gardeners, workers, have full use of her orifices and her body within the cage as they beat, shit, piss and fuck her till they are spent. A sign at the door reads: "This is what happens with failure. Its failure was poor judgment. Enter with cruelty in mind. Take it out on the failure inside."

This... "thing's" ... punishment was to serve out its days as a reminder that with a modicum of power comes responsibility. This lesson remains firmly entrenched within each slave here on the Duquette Estate, making recommendations few and far between.

I didn't have to wait for Lucinda long. She came to my cage and opened the door, grabbing my hair; she dragged me out and down the corridor to the punishment room. Once inside, she strapped me to a whipping post, and once secured, grabbed me by the jaw, twisting my head around to stare directly into my tearing eyes. The olive skinned Mediterranean woman was exotic looking, big eyes, very curvy and tall. She looked glamorous, but hard. Her face was set, her body a steel spring. She exuded resolve. I was afraid.

"Slave," she said sternly, I had not earned the right of a name or number yet.

"Do you know why you are here?"

I nodded, and tried to cast my eyes downward. She reaffixed her grip on me, yanking my face upward to meet hers, as she towered over me.

"You are to never listen in on conversations. Unless someone is addressing you, talk is NOT to be heard."

"Yes, mistress," I chocked back some tears.

"It's very simple slave, you have one task, and you should be concentrating on doing that one simple task only."

"Yes, mistress," I replied.

"Do not concern yourself with things beyond your purview, you little bitch! You know the consequences of failure?"

I nodded and shuddered, remembering the cabin.

"Focus on your task at hand, and only that, and maybe, if you're lucky, you will survive."

She smiled, and I let my guard down for a moment, hoping that the lesson was concluded. Her face turned and she brought down across my face a blow from a crop, where she produced it from, I do not know, but the sting knocked me off balance, as I yelped in pain.

"Now, my pet, a little reinforcement is in order so that you learn your place. Take this lesson well, you now have been logged, if you fail again, you will live to regret the rest of your miserable life!"

She thrashed me for what seemed like days. Passing out, I was quickly revived with a splash of cold water from a bucket. I begged her to stop, that I had learned my lesson. She did not. No one punishing her had been lenient. They had shown her no mercy. The connection to failure for the punisher was just as frightening as for the slave who failed. It was a vicious cycle that Master had devised, making others accountable for the actions of all slaves that kept the estate autonomous. Every slave was well aware of not only their own status for failure, but also the actions of others who failed, if they were in part responsible. That meant swift correction by higher slaves to lesser slaves when an infraction occurred.

When Lucinda finally tired, I caught my breath between sobs, grateful for the end of the punishment. I slumped on the post, still secured there, my body in fiery pain as she had spared no part of it with her whipping. She pushed the buzzer that sat beside the door. A silent ring went off somewhere outside my world. For me, all I knew was pain, and fear, and gratefulness that the instrument of pain had stopped. Minutes later, a stable hand walked in, sweaty and grimy, he had a thick leather apron on. He grunted as Lucinda pointed towards the bundle of exposed nerve endings that was my body. He was holding something. It glowed red.

Lucinda walked up to me, followed by the stable hand, she grabbed my hair and pulled my face up to view her. "You knew the rules, slave," she spat. "From day one, we have been training you, yet you disobeyed one of the rules. Listening to a conversation from your superiors is something that does not concern you. For that, you have been corrected. You have been logged. But we have a little something more for you..."

She moved out of my view and I focused for the first time on the red hot brand, the stable hand, held in his blacksmithing hand. It took me a moment to realize what it was, and what it would do to my already tender aching flesh. Burning a brand into my flesh, searing it into my nerves, permanently marking me, I gargled in fear, spittle choking me. I tried to plead. No words would come out. I tried to shake my head no, Lucinda held my face firm. I tried to move away from the approaching brand, the whipping post held me tight. I was at the mercy of them, helpless to move, helpless to protest, my body shaking in a deep rooted fear that petrified me to my very core. Spots appeared around my vision, and then enclosed and I blacked out, only to be slapped awake. The brand approached closer.

"That is the letter F," she said.

Failure. Branded a failure. Oh my god!

My body slumped, I awaited my brand, nothing I could do or say would help. I was a slave. Owned. To be done with as my Master pleased.

Finally at the very last moment, only inches from my chest, the stable hand pulled the brand away. Smiled, and left the room.

Confused, I looked up at Lucinda, tears in my eyes, unsure as to what was happening.

She patted my head, and looked sternly at me. "That was your only reprieve, slave. Learn this lesson well."

I leaned into her leg, grateful for the compassion she had shown me. Right now, I realized that there was nothing in the world except her; it was she who had the power of life and death over me, the power of pleasure and pain over me. I sobbed as she stroked my hair.

"You have so far shown promise, slave. Beside this infraction, you have taken to your training well. You have been noticed by the other house slaves," she said.

I looked up into my world, this was the first I was aware that others were judging me with an eye to the future. Could it be that I would have a future? Up till now, I had lived for the moment, my past a mystery, unsure that a future could even be possible. But now? I had promise!

She smiled, this time a genuine smile with warmth. "We do not like to mark slaves with promise for their first infraction. Ones that are moved through here, do not get that option, they have to learn quickly and brutally that rules are meant to be obeyed, first time, every time."

I nodded. I had seen the miserable wretches, of all color and class, come through the kennels. Some stayed for a few days, others a week or two. They were kept isolated, only a trainer with them and no general grounds tasks to do. Within the kennels, sobbing and crying and wailing were heard almost all the time, either from despair, pain, or suffering. Master had purposely made the walls thin so that the effect of these cry's were felt and heard among all kennel slaves. It was a constant reminder of our status, and that we could be in far worse shape. At that moment, I felt very lucky that I had stayed a kennel slave for so long. I had seen the others that moved out quickly, and their bodies and minds had been crushed and broken. I could only surmise that wherever they went after this place, it would be to a far worse environment than here, destined to live life in a cellar, or chained to a brothel bed, or work some mine a mile underground, never to see the light of day.

I wrapped what I could of my bound body around my world, Lucinda's leg, sobbing with gratitude, "I'm sorry mistress! I have learned my lesson, mistress! I will not fail again, mistress!" I repeated over and over again. She stroked me, mewing sweet nothings into my ear.

"There, there, little one," she whispered, consoling me. Then subtly she shifted her body around so that my face was in front of her crotch. Raising her latex skirt, as she continued to console me, she gently but with purpose, guided my tongue into her pussy. I lapped at her, with a gentle vigor. She continued to whisper to me words of kindness, of instruction, of confidence. I strained to reach her, still strapped to the whipping post, she held me at the precise position that she deemed fit.

Controlling me.

Directing me.

Slowing me down when I rushed.

Giving me guidance.

It was my first act of intimacy since I had arrived. My pain hummed in the background, a low constant buzz, as the warmness from my loins started to overwhelm my pain.

Lucinda took her time, getting exactly what she wanted, exactly when she wanted it. Over and over we repeated this until I was dizzy with exhaustion, pain, tightness and lust. My pussy growled with anticipation as I lapped away at her rosebud. Finally she was done. She stepped back. I tried to reach her, but the whipping post held firm. My eyes glazed over, my world had shrunk from the world, to the estate, to this room, to Lucinda, to now Lucinda's pussy. Nothing else existed. She smiled.

"That was adequate, little one," she said. She lowered her latex skirt, checked herself in the mirror.

I waited.

A glimmer of hope within me wondered if she would return the favor and quench my thirst for orgasm. I had been on the edge for sometime now and was desperate to finish. She must have noticed the look in my face, the one of frustrated anticipation, as she smiled in the mirror, her eyes now focused on me, her back still to me, "I don't think it would be appropriate that I reward you for your failure, no?" My stomach churned, a pit formed inside me. The mere mention of the word failure now had a strong affect on my physical being. I fought back the nausea, the buzzing between my thighs quickly died down. I shook my head and dropped my eyes. "No mistress. You are of course, right." How dare I presume to be allowed that special gift after I had committed a transgression? I chastised myself in my mind.

She turned, faced me and came towards me. Dropping down on her knees she now was the same height as me. She looked me dead in the eyes, "I don't have to remind you that that gift has not been allowed for you ... yet." She trailed off. I nodded. "Don't be stupid and try to take care of yourself, when no one is looking," she warned me. It was a threat of tremendous magnitude. The estate had cameras, workers, and other slaves, everyone watching out for everyone else. There was never privacy. No where could anyone be sure that they were alone and unwatched. You're at first paranoid, but soon we slaves accepted it as a fact of life. We do not have anything, rights, things or privacy. Lucinda's warning reminded me that even tucked away in my kennel, in the middle of the night, that touching myself there would not be worth the punishment for discovery. I had been spared one infraction; I would never have another chance for mercy.

I nodded again, "yes mistress, I understand." And I did understand, completely.

I renewed my resolve to become the best slave that I could be. Gone were the eavesdropping, the wondering about the world outside, what the main house looked like inside. I replaced all of those questions with my own will power to blank out everything except the task set before me. In many ways, it was very liberating. I killed my old self, and a new rebirth occurred. I had no more worries, no more questions. Everything was out of my hands now. I had no control or responsibilities other than doing the task that I was trained for. To become the best slave, I emptied my mind, focused on my world and enjoyed the freedom of no worries, and just being.

I no longer saw Lucinda. I do not know what happened to her. It was out of my scope, so I worried not about it. The beatings and torments still occurred, there were many nights when I was roused from my sleep, dragged from the floor of my cell, and forced to provide pleasure for house slaves. No men were permitted to despoil kennel slaves, if they ever rose to a rank where they would be for Master's pleasure, he would not have accepted a slave that had already been "used" by the help.

I focused on obeying, doing what was asked of me, even if it meant suffering at the hands of some perverted frustrated house slave, I paid my dues, and over time the frequency of these rites of passage lessoned. There were other kennel slaves, fresher meat that needed molding, training, and discipline.

TRAINING MY REPLACEMENT

One morning I was informed when I was awoken by a house slave, that I would be training a new kennel slave in my duties. Nodding, I went about training the new kennel slave, a small mousy Arab girl, the duties that I performed. I had been given permission to "correct" her within the normal limits. She was scared, and looked tired. Her hair matted and dirty, scabs along her arms, the bugs had feasted on her in her cell. My first task was to clean her up. She would not be presentable as a greeter in her current state.

She shivered as I washed her, working away at tough stains of dirt, encrusted in the cracks and crevices of her body. She tried to engage me in conversation. In hushed whispers, she asked me for my name. She almost blurted out her name. I shushed her, roughly placing my hand over her mouth. "We do not have names, we have not earned that right," I said.

She was silent for a moment, and then tried to ask me where I was from before I came here. She was terrified, confused, disoriented. She was looking for someone, or something to settle her mind, to anchor her back to her past.

I stopped the water. Grabbed her by her wet hair, and pulled her to a ring mounted on the side of the wall. I quickly clipped her collar to the wall with a padlock, locked her there, facing the wall, naked and dripping wet. She stood a little under five feet, about a half a foot smaller than I.

"Slave," I hissed into her ear. "Learn this lesson well! There is no past, there is no name, there is no future. You exist here and now, and that is what counts. I learned the hard way that thinking beyond my means equals FAILURE!"

I pulled out a whip that hung on the wall near the ring, these little punishment rings and whipping instruments were placed all over the estate for quick correction. Any higher slave had the right to use it on a lower slave for correction. The little Arab girl tested her locked collar. Her face was pressed closely to the wall, her back and ass exposed to me. It was quite effective, as I placed the key out of her reach.

"You do remember what Failure means," I said, reminding her of the first days visit to that cabin. That lesson continued to imprint heavily on every slave, old or new.

She shuddered, "yes," she gasped.

WHACK! I struck her back with the whip.

"Yes, what?" I pressed.

"Yes ... mistress." She sobbed.

I smiled. This was my first time punishing a slave. Memories of my torments flooded my mind, as I whipped her good and hard. My frustration finally found an outlet, and for the first of many times, I finally understood how the house slaves could be so cruel to me with their punishments and torments.

"Learn this lesson well!" I screamed. "Unlike me, you will not be logged for this incident as a failure. You are still new, and logging a failure for you will reflect badly on me as well."

I continued whipping her all over her body; her private parts were not spared as I continued.

"You are very lucky to get a warning, slut! Most slaves do not get one and are marked for failure. You will survive this, but after that it's up to you to be the best slave you can be."

I passed the whip to my other hand and continued whipping the sobbing mast of flesh in front of me. She twisted her body as best she could to avoid the blows, but tethered as she was, she was no match to my pent up frustrated rage.

"Failure," I continued, "means your worthless life as you know it now will be filled with the pain you are feeling right now, for the rest of your miserable life, be it short or long! Your mind will turn to mush before the very end! You will not know what no pain is, as you will never stop feeling the pain inflicted on your worthless body and mind. You do not own your body, mind or soul anymore. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better you will be able to serve. Only very, very, VERY, lucky slaves are allowed a minor failure. Master does not tolerate failure!"

Both my arms were rubbery from the lashing I had given her. I smacked her one last time, this time aimed right on her pussy. She wailed one last time, choking on her tears.

"Count this as a correction, and be sure you do not fail, slave." I warned her ominously.

I hung the whip up and sat down on the floor to rest. She stood there, rooted to the ring on the wall, sobbing and panting. She tried to rub her sore body, but could only reach a few parts of her backside. She kept muttering in whispered pants, "Yes, mistress, sorry mistress, thank you, mistress." I regained some strength and pulled myself up and unlocked her from the wall and proceeded to dress her wounds and clean her up. I fitted her with a leather cross body harness, and pulled out of the washroom and back to the training.

PROMOTION

The next morning, a house slave awakened me and commanded me to come with her. I was informed that my little Arab girl trainee was now ready to do the tasks I had trained her to do on her own. I followed the house slave past the main house to a small building set in the wooded area. She knocked three times, and then opened the door and brought me in. I was guided to a large room on the main floor and placed in front of a table where sat five house slaves. I was allowed to stand at attention, head back, chest thrust out, arms glued to my sides, and my legs spread open in front of them.

"Slave," said the one in the middle. "You are here, because an opening for a new house slave has become available, and we are to decide whether you will be appropriate for the position."

I tried to hide any hint of excitement and joy.

Another one asked, "Do you wish to become a house slave?"

"I am a slave," I replied. "It is not up to me to wish or decide. I will simply do as I am told."

They smiled. After a few moments, the house slave on the end, a dark woman, held up and read from a piece of paper. "I have here, a recommendation, from Slave Lucinda." She dropped the paper down and stared at me. "She speaks quite highly of you."

"Yes, mistress," I replied keeping my head up and looking at nothing.

"We all have been keeping a close eye on you since you were logged by Slave Lucinda." She continued. "Some of us had our doubts about you, but we think that since then you have proved your worth."

"Yes, mistress," I replied.

"Besides," she continued, since we have the recommendation in writing from Lucinda, then she will be most responsible for your failure ... should it come about." She smiled.

The others did as well. Lucinda had gone out on a limb for me. If not for that, the others would most certainly have not given my potential promotion any chance.

The house slave on the other end, a fat older woman, past her prime, had a gentle gleam in her eye. "We all are responsible for her, promoting her will not be on Lucinda's head only. Are you comfortable with that Slave Shirley?"

The others were quiet as they waited for Shirley to decide. They were taking a chance with me, just like they took a chance on anyone that they would use to fill the position. Shirley seemed to be the dissenter amongst the group, but at that moment, I also recognized that her words held sway with the others.

After a minute of quite, Shirley nodded. "I am comfortable with this choice, Slave Mildred."

"Vote," said Mildred, the old fat one on the end. "All in favor?"

They all raised their hands.

"Settled then," Mildred said. She smiled and picked up a file folder with papers and photos in it. "Now to business. Slave, you have been promoted to house slave. No longer will you live in the kennels. You have earned the right to an outfit, and more importantly to a name. We are known as the house council, and we decide what to name one of ours. From now on you have the right to the name Calista." She paused.

I nodded, "Yes, mistress. Thank you, mistress."

Mildred smiled.

"All house slaves before you are your highers. You will answer to them. All house slaves that come after you will be your lowers. They and the kennel slaves will answer to you. You are responsible for correcting anything that comes to your attention. You have new duties and tasks, new protocols to learn. You will be trained. All house slaves have earned the right of their names, however they are still nothing but slaves. Honor them by addressing them with their full title: Slave Calista. Is that clear?"

"Yes, mistress," I said.

"You have a new stature now. You are not required to call any house slave by mistress anymore. That title belongs to our superiors, the Harem slaves."

Harem slaves? There was another group? Just how many people, sorry slaves were on this estate, I thought to myself.

"Yes, Slave Mildred," I corrected myself.

"Good," said Mildred. The others began to rise to leave. "Slave Jacinta, the one who brought you here will be responsible for your training. She will dress you, and instruct you on what is expected of you. We feel confident that you desire to do nothing but serve and become the best slave you can be. That means doing what is asked of you, the first time, every time. I trust we understand each other?"

She looked me directly in the eyes. I met her gaze, nodded and said, "Yes Slave Mildred, loud and clear."

Her eyes were cloudy with age, how long had she been here, how long had she been a slave? She was like the wise old den mother, the madam, and she seemed to take pride in her role. They all had taken a chance on me, and I vowed that they would not regret it as Slave Jacinta led me to her new quarters, to be trained in my new life, in my new world.

The entrance to the main house was not to come for another two weeks. The building where the council had taken place was also the training quarters and housing for the house slaves. I was led upstairs to the top floor attic and was shown a small Spartan room with a mattress on the floor.

A small wardrobe was the only other piece of furniture in the room. Jacinta was Latin, but seemed to have more native Indian in her than Spanish. Her face was pushed flat, and her course features made her no real beauty. Her black hair was straight and proper. Her eyes were spread wide apart and gave her an expression of simpleness. What she lacked in facial features, she more than made up for it with her body. She had perfect curves for a Latin woman in all the right places, her ass had that Latin bubble butt, and her breasts were more than ample. As I looked at her, I couldn't guess her age, she could be as young as eighteen or as old as thirty five.