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The goal of training a slave girl is to produce a marketable product. A slave girl who will always be submissive and lubricate dependably whenever and wherever her master wishes to use her.

This is a bottom line item. We are talking dollars and cents here. A state of constant arousal is the truest sign of the proper mentality in a female slave.

It is just dawn at my Greek island compound.

We, my staff and of course the slave girls, are buried deep within my slave girl-training compound on this hidden Grecian isle.

A naked, extremely frightened aspen follows behind her Mistress, Ms. Tracy.

Tracy is a medical doctor and is in charge of the health, care and feeding of all slaves in my compound.

When Tracy’s authority is challenged, Tracy’s temper can vaporize and she can become pure bitch. She can be cruel and vicious and aspen having just watched the full fury of Ms. Tracy unleashed on aleskia, her sister in slavery, aspen at the moment is in no mood to upset her Mistress in any way. She fully understands that this is no time for heroics.

Less than five minutes ago, aspen was forced to watch as not once but five times Ms. Tracy tightened every strap around aleskia’s lush body between her strikes with the riding crop.

Walking as aspen has been taught to do, with her wrists freely crossed behind her perfectly straight back, she is struggling to stay exactly three feet behind her Mistress, her head and eyes lowered. She is following Ms. Tracy’s footsteps, tracing her Mistress’s movements exactly without the need of a leash or chain.

In obvious need of a blow dryer and brush, aspen’s hair is still very damp after her shower and now aspen wears only a one-quarter inch tubular, chrome collar and a small grimace on her lips.

Ms. Tracy is beautiful, immaculately dressed this morning in a formal leather jacket, a below-the-knee skirt of black leather and fishnet stockings with ankle boots in shiny patent black with four-inch heels. Her white satin blouse Her white blouse is open a few buttons, revealing tanned cleavage against a red silk tie which perfectly matches the determined red lipstick smile on her lips.

As she briskly walks, a black riding crop, its mere presence commanded instant obedience, dangles from Tracy’s right wrist, which she occasionally taps against her black boot to keep the attention of the two slavegirls focused.

It has become very obvious over the past few months that aspen is totally convinced that Ms. Tracy is a female dominant who is not to be disobeyed. There is no choice for aspen she has learned her place.

And her place is as a bottom, in service to Ms. Tracy.

As she struggles to keep up with the rapid steps of Ms. Tracy, aspen’s freshly brushed teeth are clenched and an unsure, slightly worried look is growing on her face.

Small droplets of water from her damp hair run down aspen’s bare shoulders towards breasts jiggling gently with each rapid step.

The rivulets continue towards a very slim waist and flat feminine stomach, which swells downward into a very healthy looking set of hips swaying invitingly as aspen struggles to move forward, following after Ms. Tracy.

Struggling to keep the pace her Mistress is setting, her wet hair continuously falls down over her eyes and face. She tosses her head to relieve the sensation, but she understands Ms. Tracy expects her to maintain self-restraint and keep her wrists crossed behind her back in perfect obedience.

So denied the use of her hands and arms to give her relief, she can only simply let the wet strands toss as she moves, falling where they want to.

I smile as I watch this beautiful redhead shakes her head in bitter frustration, her wet hair clinging limply about her face.

Suddenly aspen shivers, almost stopping her forced march with the momentarily brushing of the cold steel of the coffle chain against her bare back.

At a distance of three feet behind aspen, a naked aleskia follows, stumbling and almost crashing into aspen, which surely would have knocked both of them to the floor.

Much less trained than aspen, aleskia is the newest slavegirl to arrive at my Greek island compound that both girls over the summer have come to call home.

A three-foot coffle chain links the identical collars of aspen and aleskia together as they struggle to keep up with Ms. Tracy. An eight-inch natural rawhide ankle hobble is forcing aleskia to take almost three times as many steps as Ms. Tracy and aspen.

A soft, shiny sheen of fear covers aleskia’s nude, sleek body. Her wrists and elbows are stringently tied behind her back with two thin black leather straps. From elbows to wrists, aleskia’s arms are joined together as one causing her full wide-spaced breasts to rise and fall in a thrusting offering as she moves.

Having been in no mood for a forced shower while suspended by her wrists this morning, aleskia fought, cursing, screaming and kicking out with her long bare legs against the use of an exfoliating sponge and soap, but now she sports six dark red strips evenly spread across her butt and four more across the front of her thighs.

Her rights were surely being violated.

She must learn to obey. Granted that she is being held against her will, but she must learn to accept her new station in life.

My philosophy is that a slave girl will always benefit from discipline.

Perhaps she is learning that a pretty slave girl obeys instantly.

A very tightly strapped head harness-training ball is buried deep behind aleskia’s teeth to further insure her compliance. Very tight, thin leather straps run from the central strap of the ball gag across each of her cheeks pressing them inward, then up to the bridge of her nose where they are riveted together and joined between her eyes, just below her eyebrows.

A single strap continues up over her forehead tightly encasing her beautiful face and is buried thoroughly within the natural part of her wet blond hair. An equally tight chinstrap on the lower part of the head harness makes it impossible for aleskia to relax the pressure of the red rubber ball in her jaw.

No matter how hard she tries while she struggles against the relentless tug of the chain linking her to aspen, she is unable to utter more than a muffled grunt. There is no choice for aleskia now as bubbles of spit and saliva spray from her ball-gagged mouth.

Perhaps she is learning that a pretty slave girl should be seen and not heard.

She can only follow aspen’s reluctant lead behind Ms. Tracy.

Tears fill her eyes.

Air hisses in and out of her nose as she struggles to breathe. She has no choice, other than to continue to collect the red stripes on her body.

All of her previous indigent rage has been replaced by fear of the immediate future.

Perhaps aleskia is learning.

As the three of them rapidly walk down a dizzying series of long, marble floored corridors and up two flights of stairs, they leave far behind the familiar slave kennels and the bathroom where they were just bathed.

Tracy’s stiletto heels echo in the corridor, the marble floor is cold under aleskia and aspen’s bare feet. Their heels still tender from the day before both slavegirls are rising up on their toes as they walk, or in aleskia’s case, run.

Arriving at a non-descript solid wood door, the two naked women stand silently at attention, side by side, the coffle chain looping down gracefully between their two collared necks.

The short parade of the two sex slaves is over.