Chapter 03 - In Which Damon Inspects Slaves And Gets Himself The Girl He Always Wanted

Damon Westbrook always had a complicated relationship to his father. He died young, in a minor terrorist attack with few casualties that did not even make it into the history books, and after his death, Damon came to realize that he did indeed not believe in the gods. His mother felt comfort in the idea of his father being in heaven now and watching over them, being with them, but for Damon, the concept of being monitored out of a heavenly surveillance station felt rather intrusive and creepy. On the contrary, the idea of an actual, factual end – being able to draw a line under it – soothed his mind and exalted his thoughts.

He also did not believe in love. As far as he saw it, the love between two people often was the floor to which they fell after the collapse of all other dreams; it was supposed to be solid when nothing else was. And although it frequently gave away and dumped them into a basement of despair, it still enjoyed a reputation of dependability. No matter that this reputation was illogical, it still flourished and would continue to flourish regardless of what was said in any book. 

Love, he thought to himself, or rather the myth of love, especially romantic love, was the first, last, and sometimes the only refuge of an uncomprehending humanity; a surrogate religion for people who had lost all hope and trust in any other institutions and philosophies. Realistically, love was not a rock on which one could confidently build one's house one, but sand that more often than not gave away came rain and flood. 

This did not mean, however, that he was a gloomy depressed person, unable to find joy and fulfillment in life. Quite the opposite. He found pleasure in so many of the small things those who had their gaze turned towards heaven might overlook: the first look out of the window in the morning, the book he found again, the fascination in people’s faces, snow, the change of seasons, the newspaper, the cats, dialectics, taking a bath, swimming, old music, comfortable shoes, comprehension, new music, breaking a slave, writing, planting, singing, being friendly. 

So he smiled silently and closed his eyes for a second as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face, making the first few gray strands in his dirty blond hair shine even more silvery. Today was passing out day for the latest batch of female slaves after the long months of their slave training. It was a big if not even monumental day in the lives of the girls Damon was now approaching; second only to the day they lost their freedom and became slaves, legal chattel. 

Today was the day, he, as head of New Albion's armed forces, would decide whether these prisoners of war could be put up for auction by the widely esteemed House of Roerich, a friend of his who specialized in training female prisoners, technically still property of the state, who had to be inspected by Damon first before they were allowed to be sold privately, or if some of them were assigned for government jobs, had to continue their training or had to be killed. 

He made big steps as he walked towards the courtyard of the generous Roerich Residence where the livestock was lined up now, each of the young women awaiting their fate.

Following him, heeling close behind, was the guard dog, the female petgirl Sgt. Peppers, her tongue hanging out as she drooled and barked happily, every once in a while catching after a butterfly here and there, and two more slave girls, one petite, one curvy, but both their ankles confined in close chains, only permitting them small steps – especially as both of their chains were attached to each other, forcing the two naked girls to carefully coordinate their steps. 

Their two black bodies were as nude as they were hairless and other than the chains, the girls only wore golden African neck rings that gave the illusion of stretched and elongated necks. Their heads were hooded with black leather masks that made them unable to see and their mouths both gagged. They made a humorous sight as they tried not to slip and keep up with their male superior who lead them through their darkness on a short leash.

As Damon eventually reached the chattel, he was pleased to see that none of the sluts looked up, despite their long wait for him under the morning sun. He smiled again, approaching them slowly, still taking his time in the midday sun and enjoying its warm radiance. It seemed like Roerich had transformed yet another group of hopelessly unsuspecting bitches to his usual standards of perfection. 

Females, upon being captured or ending up in slavery for this reason or the other, were subject to subservient positions, their bodies subject to intimate examinations by men. Their thighs or butts were branded, their clits removed or pierced and ringed, their sexuality restrained and controlled. All this became part and parcel of every slave’s demeanour towards her superiors. It was always beautiful to see proud and intelligent women, confident in their sexuality, getting broken and reduced to objects and to animals. The men these girls were now utterly dependent on, could then form the females like potters could form lumps of clay – and form either chamber pots or elegant art... 

While the females could obviously be used sexually whenever a man wanted to, the little sluts also had to learn though that the kindness of their trainers or the fit bodies of the soldiers that often worked in the kennels, were not an invitation for the girls to become lax or to make the first move. The females found their lust not only restrained and reprimanded via chains, cuffs, chastity belts, modern, implanted chastity devices or old-fashioned chastity piercings along their clit, but they also found out that their assumptions of welcome sexual advances were ungrounded. 

The nature of the trainers helped the stupid cunts to quickly understand the right of men to dress and act as they please before their slaves. Whether they wore uniform or boxer shorts, whether they were kind or strict, angry or amused – the girls were supposed to behave and be obedient, and nothing in their Owners’ behavior ever was an indirect way of asking the slaves to aspire to their Masters. 

So by the time the men actually did require or approach the female slaves on a sexual basis within their slave training, each slut would be in a state of general confusion and inner turmoil, uncertain of themselves, their femininity and their bodies’ responses. 

Now finally drawing closer, Damon noticed the hired trainers rushing around, making final adjustments to the waiting female slaves. He noted the two rows of slaves were lined up with the precision of an army regiment. Even from a distance, as he dawdled towards them, Damon could see the sun glinting off the moisture on their perspiring bodies and their metal collars. They had been waiting for him most of the morning so the slaves would be sweating profusely under the bright midday sun, as they knelt in the spacious courtyard area. 

Having already kept this batch of fresh females waiting for some time, Damon showed no inclination of hurrying up to make up for it. Despite his eagerness to inspect the newly trained slaves, he always wanted to create the right impression. Their fate was in his hands, and whatever he decided, he wanted each and every one of these helpless sluts to hold his vision in their memories for the rest of her days.

All the naked females displayed before him were freshly trained slave girls, all prisoners of war, taken captive over the last few days when the independent city-state of Montreal was annexed, integrated into New Albion and the little resistance to this unification that existed killed or enslaved. It was mostly the old feminist women who tried to organize further military resistance, and who had subsequently been taken out of the equation. Their young daughters now knelt in the hot sands of the courtyard, their knees widely spread, awaiting their inspection and pronouncement over their destinies.

Pausing near the first of the waiting girls, shielding his eyes with his palm, Damon looked up and down the long line, admiring the long line of females, whose fate was now in his hands. Such sights, Damon smiled, pleased with the selection of young girls before him. Most races and creeds of mankind were represented before him, white and black, Arab and Asian, the one unifying characteristic being their overall good looks.

Damon was sure that Roerich's intense training would give them the skills to carry them through the demands and challenges their new life would bring. His friend, he knew, prided himself on selling merchandise that was fully suitable to carry out any task a man would require, so under strict tutelage, each slut had been trained as a ponygirl, a doggirl, had been taught to dance, to cook, to suck, endure pain. It was something that meant the versatile slave girls trained by the House of Roerich were in high demand.

Waiting for Roerich himself to come over, Damon studied the cunt kneeling closest. Like each and every one of them, the slave was nude. Many slave trainers didn't permit females clothing, especially the newly enslaved ones. Damon himself had discovered to his endless amusement that absolute nudity, and even - or especially- a lack of flattering lingerie, was a most valuable tool in suppressing a young girl. This particular female was a short girl, fair skinned, with a deep all over tan.

She knelt as the others, in the nadu position, the basic position of a slave, offering total obedience. In nadu position the female is kneeling, knees widely spread, displaying himself for his Master's pleasure, back straight, hands on thighs and palms up. The girl keeps her chin up but her eyes are respectfully downcast. Her pussy is exposed, often pierced, ringed or with her clitoris partly removed, and the girl ready for inspection, collaring or punishment. The nadu position is ideal as a multi-purpose position for slaves, for serving, training, inspection, demonstration, amusement or whatever reasons desired. It also allows a man to take the female's collar and hold the bitch in place as he uses his crop, whip or other disciplinary devices. 

"Ah, welcome, welcome," the voice of Roerich finally took Damon's attention from sluts again, "Girls are up for inspection.!" "Hey there, Roerich. Thank you, they look like a marvelous batch of specimens," he replied. "And these ones?" Roerich asked and grinned, greedily looking at the two black female slaves that were chained to each other, heeling close behind him and Sgt. Peppers, always trying to keep up with their Master and his dog.

For a moment, Damon chuckled to himself as he noticed his friend greedily looking the two black bitches up and down. Roerich always had a thing for black women and always a preference for destroying their dignity by shaving their heads and letting wear grotesque clothes and accessories, rather than dolling them all up in sexy lingerie. "Well," he replied in a tone of harmless banter as he rummaged in his pockets again to find a treat for his petgirl.

He held the dog treat over the police dog's nose and smiled as the girl, happy from having the burden of being a human removed from her by the strict hand of a benevolent man, woofed in delight and playfully reached for the treat with her paw a couple of times. She continued woofing, crawling around in a circle as if trying to catch her own tail and eventually laid down on her back, spread her legs and looked up to her Master with her tongue hanging out. 

"Little surprise for later, old friend," he said to Roerich and crouched next to the dog, rubbing her belly and then putting the dog biscuit into her mouth. "Tststs," he noted playfully, "how are criminals supposed to be afraid of you, Peppers, hm?" She ate the treat out of his hand, barked to thank him and then rolled around again, knelt on all fours and growling loudly to show him how she'd scare off any bank robber and bag snatcher.

"Fair enough," Roerich said and Damon stood up, nodded, and changed the topic. "So! Would you please show me the catch now?” Roerich nodded. “Some of the sluts needed more time than others, but nothing hard work and a whip can’t handle,” he explained, guiding Damon forward, Sgt. Peppers and the two slaves heeling behind.

The two men were a stark contrast of masculinity: Damon wearing his black uniform with black boots, Roerich being eccentrically dressed in a old red overcoat that made him look like an actor out of an old vampire movie or like the leader of a cult; especially given that he preferred to shave his head and wear a long goatee beard.

Standing before the first girls kneeling in line, the one he had already briefly observed, Damon noticed her tremble as she knew her inspection by her superiors was about to commence. Pleased already, as trembling before men was a highly appropriate response for a woman, Damon asked, “Are they vital?” “Oh yes,” Roerich smiled wickedly.

“We keep them suppressed in the pens as you know, their restraints only being removed for cleaning and your inspection this morning. They have been under strict supervision since their removal this morning.” Tapping her head with his whip, Roerich indicated that the female should stand. Holding her body proudly, she stood erect before the two men, her eyes still lowered in humble respect for the superior sex.

He toyed around a bit with her nipple, pinching it, and nodded knowingly. Keeping a female in need, especially those destined to serve as simple sex slaves in bed, was one of the most important concerns for and coaxing out the perfect slave within women. Keeping them frustrated in their desires, on the brink, letting them strive to be found pleasing, was the best way to break in and bring out their potential, to create a super slut.

“Any accidents during their lessons?” Damon asked? “A few,” Roerich shrugged, “There’s always scope for mishaps during slave training, it is an intense time, their lust, their fear, their confusion can be so profound that even during the changing of restraints accidents can occur.” Damon understood, knowing Roerich to be one of the best men he had ever met in terms of training girls to be slaves, and he trusted him and his judgment with her charges. Occasionally, of course, accidents happened.

Damon knew and accepted it as fact; they were regrettable, if not amusing, but a fact of life when one was involved with suppressed female salves. “Were they punished?”

“Oh yes,” Roerich nodded in confirmation, “There was one who rebelled and tried to flee, so she was killed. And one girl, a lesbian, apparently, who fell in love with another slave and tried to seduce her or something. So we had her pussy stitched up and turned her into our toilet slave. The boys always have a great time with her when they drink beer and play cards on Friday night.” Damon smiled with amusement, thinking that the other women would have learned quickly to fight their urges, and never do anything until a man granted permission.

“I take it this one here didn't cause any trouble?” Damon asked, pinching the standing female's nipple again. “No, this one was very obedient right from the beginning. Bit scared at first, pissed herself a couple of times, but extremely submissive. And cries very quickly, very cute, always trying to win your favor with being as submissive and as sweet as possible.”

Damon nodded again. “Might wanna make her a babygirl and give her to a Daddy,” he suggested. “Yeah, I thought the same.” Roerich replied and then barked at the babygirl, “Lesha!” At this command, the girl swiftly placed her hands behind her back, ready for binding, and with her head back and chin to the left, ready to have a leash snapped onto her collar. One of the trainers came over and marked her left tit with a marking stick, before securing her and leading her away.

Impressed with her quick obedience, Damon complimented his friend, "You have trained them well. Another batch of fresh slave meat entering the market trained to your impeccable standards." Roerich smiled, pleased with his friends complement. "Thank you." Technically, prisoners of war were second-class slaves and less expensive than females who grew up in slavery before they were sold as virgins to a man. But thanks to Roerich's excellent training, the demand for PoWs had sharply increased over the last few years. “Shall we proceed,” Roerich then asked, “We have a lively one here.”

Walking over to the next female, he grinned. "Position, slut!" The bitch rose swiftly, her small feet widely spread, upon her toes, hands behind her head, providing the men with full and easy access to her naked body. Reaching out, gently stroking her arm and fondling the breasts, the girl immediately moaned loudly and her whole body shivered. It was really all that was needed. "This one's in heat," Roerich laughed. "Never seen a girl who reaches orgasm so fast. I have some young guys here working as trainers to break in the sluts – but this one here, she often came before them!"

Damon grinned, looking at the whimpering female, silently moaning, her body shivering and her wet pussy almost sparkling in the sunlight. "She would make a fine pet for an older man," he suggested. "Yeah, I think you're probably right." Roerich mused. Holding her chin up, her blue eyes sparkled in the daylight brightly. "Make it so", he said to one of the trainers.

Enjoying themselves, the two men continued down the line of nude females, inspecting most, ignoring some, magnificent in their authority and their male privilege. After a while, Damon eventually concluded, "I have seen enough female flesh for one day. Use your own judgment on the remainder. Honestly, you've once again surpassed yourself. Each batch gets better and better. It does not seem possible, but you succeed every time. The government permission to sell them you'll obviously get. As always."

"Thank you, old friend," Roerich replied. "You want to see the one you wanted now?" he asked, knowing that Damon was also personally interested in one of the prisoners. "Yeah," he nodded and the two men then walked up to a single box, standing apart of the other slaves. "That's her?" Damon asked and gave the box a light kick, resulting in some whimpering coming out of it. "Kept her like you wanted her. Had the doctor check her and then immediately put her back into the box. Everything else, wanna shave her, pierce her or whatever. Up to you.

"Good, Damon" mumbled and crouched down next to the box and opened its lid. "Oh", he made and remembered the two black bitches that were heavily sweating from trying to keep up with them in their chains. "You want them as payment or money?"

Roerich laughed out loudly. "You know, here I was hoping that you would say that. I like me some chocolate, as you know. But what's their story?" he asked. "Oh, they are daugthers of the guy who tried to smuggle drugs into New Albion. The guy now sleeps with the fishes and the two bitches, well, I named them Yin and Yang because of their bodies, one curvy, one so petite. Take off their hoods", he suggested.

Roerich took them off and also removed their gags. The frightened females looked around, left and right, breathing heavily. "Kiss!" Damon commanded and being painfully aware of what happens when they hesitated after receiving an order, the two sisters immediately started to wildly kiss each other. They rubbed their bodies against each other, stroked each other's tits and moaned and groaned, licking with wild passion. "Nice!" Roerich said. Even he was impressed. "I think they fell in love a bit with Noah," Damon explained, "they competed with each other about who is better at sucking his dick. Were all jealous caused so much drama. So he gave them to me. And so I thought it would be best to turn them into lesbos, so they can't start as much drama."

The more petite one now crouched down in front of her sister, glanced up yearningly to her sister and as they both moaned in soft passion, she began licking her sister's pink pussy. “My favorite part is when they give each other these longing looks,” he laughed. “So keep them, if you want.”

Roerich agreed and Damon finally opened the box in front of him. He was obsessed with her since she was discovered and then quickly rose to fame as a young singer. When he and his wife then saw her perform in a small club, the two of them exchanged looks and immediately knew that they had finally found her: the girl they wanted to have as their own little slave girl. After all this waiting, searching, after all these disappointments with slaves that were too stupid, too boring, too uninteresting, there was finally one that might be worthy of serving them.

Two fearfully wide-opened eyes stared at him when he opened the box. And seeing the tears in the young girl's mysteriously green eyes, Damon smiled. “Hello Jade,” he said, reached out and brushed her tears away with the tip of his fingers before tasting them: deliciously sweet. “Welcome to slavery,” he greeted her warmly and closed the box again.