Chapter 1

 

 

I looked around the table at my two companions. “Well ladies, I believe we are now ready to harvest and train our first slave. What say you?” There was an immediate clamour of agreement from the other two.

Perhaps first I should introduce us: my name is Angela McIntyre, and like my two best friends I am very athletic, having always been interested in all sports and we delight in training our bodies to be fit and strong enough for the most arduous of them.

I am blond with blue eyes while Phoebe, Phoebe Salmond, that is, has brown wavy hair and brown eyes, and Geraldine Swain has red hair and green eyes. All of us are tall and as I say, decidedly muscular; indeed, many men find us too much that way I am sure, and I think it was this attitude of theirs that triggered us to talk, at first only jokingly about how difficult it was to find a suitable man to be our husbands, but then, as our discussions became more and more detailed, we started to realise we were getting quite serious about it all.

We are all wealthy in our own right although I am very, very much so, my father having left me, as his only child with an enormous fortune, but the other two are also very well off as well, making our undertaking a breeze.

My father brought me up himself as Mother died when I was very young and it was very much a hands-on upbringing. It was he who first introduced me to sports, being a keen aficionado himself and he also taught me to be independent, inquiring, competent at anything I took on, and of course he instilled leadership skills into me too.

He died when I was only twenty-five, seven years ago. Geraldine is my age and Phoebe a year younger. We all went to the same school, an exclusive Brisbane college and there we all excelled both academically and also at sports of course. The other two were of a similar nature to me and I think our unwillingness to play the simpering girlfriend-type made boys shy of us. And then later, as we became known as heiresses, we each grew very wary of fortune-hunters.

I stress we were not man-haters and we were and are not lesbians. We have heard ourselves described as that ‘Amazon Trio’ but we have never ever indulged in sex of any kind with each other.

And so, what is it we did that had me asking that question of the pair of them?

In short, we had set up a school. A very specialised school in which we were going to train men to be obedient and loving but not submissive husbands. Initially, as I say, it was to be just for the three of us, but later, when we realised how much we were going to enjoy the process, we decided to do it for other ladies and, I have to add, just for the hell of it.

Having decided this was going to be an ongoing enterprise and not just a single, one-off event, we had to build a permanent, out-of-the way site. The first thing was to acquire the land. We were all from Brisbane, Queensland’s capital but we loved the surf and sea and my father had a wonderful seaside house down at the Gold Coast where we had all spent many wonderful holidays together. We thus knew a lot about the ‘hinterland’, the area behind the Coast which boasts three successive ranges of mountains and therefore many hidden valleys, some of which already housed retreats such as ‘fat farms’ and the like. We decided to acquire one such location and develop it into our school.

That was the easy part. We found a perfect site soon enough: right on the end of a narrow, winding lane which led up an ever-narrowing and steep-sided valley with its own rain forest and permanent brook and which was virtually inaccessible except by the lane. We were able to seal this off with an attractive but impregnable (from both sides) wall and then had built the necessary accommodations for us and for our slaves.

Yes, we called them slaves because we found it aided in their training.

The hard part, as we now discovered, was finding our trainees. The kind of young man we were looking for needed to possess a number of qualifications: he had to be good-looking and already reasonably well-built; that went without saying, of course. He had to be aged in his twenties, or at most early thirties. We also wanted him to have committed some sin against womankind. That we felt was our justification for enslaving him and turning him into the perfect husband-to-be. Perhaps he would be arrogant, chauvinistic or demanded too much of his girl; or perhaps he had even committed rape but escaped the consequences.

And finally he had to be ‘accessible’. That is, we had to be able to take him out of society without causing a stir. We didn’t want to end up in jail for kidnapping or unlawful deprivation of liberty and while we were confident we could soon brainwash him, a hue and cry when he first disappeared could be disastrous.

You may be wondering at our own arrogance: that we thought we had the means, qualifications and ability to actually achieve all this in a man. Well we believed we had it in spades. First, Geraldine was already a competent psychiatrist, who of course didn’t need to work but had had the brains and the interest to follow that path. Phoebe had obtained a degree in and then pursued a career in business management. I had become a physical educationalist, more to indulge my love of sports than anything else and we believed that between the three of us, we could quickly take an arrogant young bastard and turn him into a handsome paragon of loving docility and attention to and for his wife-to-be.

Anyway, we started to look more closely at the males we came across. But there was always something wrong. Of course we started with their looks and age. That hurdle over, we then considered their brainpower and in that process assessed his ‘sin’. But then, even if everything else seemed okay, that last and greatest problem always seemed to stymie us. How could we make him disappear without raising Cain. The people we were looking at were either too well-known or, because of proximity of friends or relations, or for some other reason, too difficult to successfully kidnap and spirit away.

But then, when we were about to give it all up as too dangerous or too difficult, our first live candidate came to our notice. He was perfect. Handsome and with a good frame, he was also bright but chauvinistic towards women. He was also no-one of note and was in fact a tourist from Melbourne and by himself and so his sudden disappearance would go unnoticed for a long enough time for us to have moved him well away from the Coast.

Of course we took other precautions. We had designed a mask which would be permanently locked over the upper part of his head. He would be able to see, but only with a blurred vision and his hearing too was going to be muffled so that while he could make out our words, he would not later be able to recognise us either by sight or voice. This mask only covered his eyes and ears but it was made of metal and once locked onto his head, could not be removed.

The actual kidnap was easy. We watched and waited, learning his habits. And then we struck. Geraldine had of course graduated as a general medical practitioner before specialising in psychiatry and gave him an injection as he passed us on his way home along a deserted path to his hotel. We were ready with the little car and had him inside and away in seconds.

The ride up to our little camp took just over an hour. I drove, with Phoebe sitting beside me, while Geraldine sat in the back watching over our unconscious slave. Our camp had just the one building and it was on two levels. The cellar contained the slave accommodations and punishment and treatment rooms and the ground floor our little suites, the sitting and dining rooms, kitchen, laundry, etc and a full-size gymnasium. This was at my insistence since it would be my role to turn our slaves into the epitome of the perfect lithe male athlete. We weren’t going to make them into muscle-men but rather into well-toned, athletic types whom every girl would drool over.

And of course we would be using the gym to keep ourselves in top condition, too, for we had each decided to abandon our (so-called) careers and concentrate on this new venture full-time. This was easily done for none of us were really serious about them. I had never had a proper job as a physical education teacher although I had had a few clients as a personal trainer; Phoebe had dabbled with a few firms as a middling executive and even Geraldine had only been offered part-time work as a psychiatrist and so it was not at all difficult to abandon such pursuits and spend our time training Bobby.

Our victim’s name was Bobby Williams and we discovered (Phoebe was a computer whiz-kid who could hack into just about anything). She soon had a full profile on him) that he was a twenty-three year old architect (just) but had not yet found full-time employment.

He was tall, dark and handsome, as they say, with blue eyes, curly black hair and beautiful skin. He was reasonably well built but he certainly had the frame and I knew I could soon turn his body into the ideal in a human male.

Likewise, Geraldine had every confidence she could take his chauvinistic and boastful arrogance and transform him into a kind, attentive husband and be a perfect companion to his wife.

Phoebe would train him in every aspect of home management and thus competent to run a household while at the same time holding down a well-paying job, if required.

Part of my duties would involve training him in the sexual arts, for we had no secrets from one another and I had never hidden from the other two my intense interest in that subject and that I had made its study a significant part of my leisure hours.

It is well known that in the western world we tend to think of sex as rather dirty and a subject only discussed in hushed tones, even between a man and his wife and, as a result, it is very rare for either of them to learn more than the very basics of good sex. I had delved into ancient Indian and Arabian tomes and discovered an incredible number of ways in which to enjoy sex in many different forms. I have said none of us are lesbians but I did experiment with it once as part of my researches. Not with Phoebe or Geraldine but while it was pleasant enough and I didn’t find it dirty or soul-destroying, I had no desire to repeat the experiment, far preferring the male of the species.

Anyway, it was felt I was best qualified to take over that aspect of Bobby’s education and I knew I could train him to keep his wife well satisfied sexually.

We hoisted him out of the car and into our new house and dumped him on the floor of our sitting room. He had been to a disco that night and was dressed in a casual shirt, long trousers and shoes and socks. We left him that way but it wouldn’t be for long.

We had also armed ourselves with electronic quirts. These look like your usual riding crop complete with the little leather flap at the tip, but the handle end is slightly thicker that the standard model and contains the batteries and electronic works which provide the electrodes in the leather tail and around the last few centimetres of the shaft with high voltage shocks which we knew would soon get his attention.

The drug was beginning to wear off and he started to stir, opening his eyes to find the three of us staring down at him. We had dressed in casual shirts and jeans for the kidnapping but as soon as we got home, had changed into black lycra body suits which accented our slim but athletic bodies perfectly.

The only change we had made to his attire thus far was the addition of his mask. It was close-fitting of course but only covered his eyes and ears and didn’t in any way disguise him or conceal his handsome good looks but it meant he could neither see nor hear us clearly enough to identify us or his new surroundings.

And so, as he came to, we were three slightly blurred faces staring down at him. He thought the impairment of his vision had to do with his ‘turn’ or whatever had disabled him and wasn’t worried at first but then, as we began on his psyche by screaming at him to ‘get up and be quick about it’ and to lash at his still clothed body with our quirts, he realised something was very, very wrong.

But he obeyed us. The shocks the quirts delivered were designed to go through thin clothing and so self-preservation demanded it. He got up onto his hands and knees and then stood up, still a little groggy but he did manage to stand upright, now feeling up to his eyes and ears and finding the mask.

“What the hell…?” he started, but I was on to him like a flash, my face right into his and screaming at him that he never talked – never opened his mouth unless invited to do so, then I lashed at his chest with the quirt. As I say, it was designed to send him a shock even through his shirt and he jumped back as if bitten and stared at us in horror. Oh, I should say that we could see his eyes very clearly although they were a bit bigger than normal.

At the same time, Phoebe and Geraldine were lashing at his back and buttocks with their quirts and we kept this up until he held up his hands in defeat.

“And now, scumbag, you will strip. Naked. Stark naked!” I said in somewhat more muted tones although still with authority.

“Strip?” he began, but instantly we were on to him again, our electrified quirts attacking every part of body and making him twist and turn trying to avoid them until at last he admitted defeat and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers to reveal a rather hairy chest. He slipped off his shoes and then dropped his pants and underdaks followed by his socks and now stood up naked before us.

But his face was now smiling in a sort of prideful arrogance. He was clearly proud of his body and his sexual organs – not that they were anything to write home about and nor was his body. He had a good frame but he had let it go to seed a little, even though he was still only twenty-three years old. He posed for us a little, swinging his arms up in the classic pose but even his biceps were not attractive to us for we value perfection in the human body and he was anything but that.

“Thinks, he’s the ant’s pants,” I remarked to the other two. “But just look at him. What a disgusting reptile he is…”

They took me up on the theme. “Isn’t he just,” said Geraldine. “D’you know, I think he thinks those chest and pubic hairs make us admire his virility,” she added in mock amazement.

“And will you just look at his slack muscles,” put in Phoebe. “As you say, X, he’s just a reptile.” (We had decided that in the camp, I would be X; Geraldine, Y; and Phoebe, Z.)

He stared at us in astonishment – and chagrin. He clearly thought he had a good body but we had floored him with just a few well-chosen words. His shoulders now slumped, but we weren’t having any of that, either.

“Stand up straight, slave-scum!” I yelled at him. “Get your shoulders back and your belly sucked in,” and I feinted at his stomach with my quirt. Now naked, its bite was much worse than when his body had been partially insulated by his clothing and he yowled in fear as its tail almost touched his flesh.

But then I pushed it right in and now he really let fly, dancing around on both feet, his toes curled up, his hands clutching his belly and his eyes staring at us wildly. “Why are you doing…?” he said and so I really lashed him with my quirt and so did the other two until he was screaming (and alternately crying like a child) in pain and in fear of us.

But he did shut up and he did stand up straight. You see, Geraldine’s knowledge of brainwashing had already achieved wonders and I grinned at her in silent praise at her perspicacity.

But while it was a good beginning – no a great beginning – what was coming next would really have him a blubbering wreck.

First, we shaved him – all over. We clipped his head hair and that on his chest, pubes and legs and then shaved him quite smooth. We then applied a permanent depilatory to his whole body from his cheeks down. (We also applied a placebo cream to the crown of his head so that he would think he would henceforth be permanently bald as well). We all preferred totally smooth male bodies but that aside, it would take away from his maleness; his aggression and perhaps his chauvinism if he was as smooth as a baby from his eyelashes down.

To achieve this, we made him walk down the stairs to the cellars where he stared around him at the open-barred cells for slaves and the punishment and treatment areas, one of which we were now headed to. In this we soon had him spreadeagled between two floor-to-ceiling posts in the middle of the room and the three of us then proceeded to strip him of all the hairs on his body and then treat them so they would never return. This cell had wall mirrors in front of and behind him so he could see, dimly anyway, what we were doing to him and he moaned a little, until Phoebe snarled at him to shut-up, unless he wanted a prolonged dose of the quirt. He obeyed instantly after that.

And then we took him to a tiny, fully enclosed cell. This one wasn’t open-barred and it was really small, just two metres square. On the floor, just out from the middle of the back wall, actually set out about twenty centimetres from it, a large butt plug, shaped a little like a miniature ninepin, had been bolted to the floor. Above it two pairs of rings were bolted to the wall itself, the first pair half a metre up from the floor, the other a full metre. Each was set a metre apart.

First, we forced him to squat down over the plug and while he began to protest, one sight of my raised quirt was enough to silence him. He screamed though, as we forced his backside down onto the plug, stretching his virgin anus wide open as the bulbous end of the ninepin-like plug penetrated his rectum.

Then we grabbed his wrists and cuffing them, locked them above his head to the upper rings. We completed the ensemble by dragging his ankles up and out wide, cuffing them similarly and locking them to the lower set of rings.

He was now seated in a most uncomfortable position with his bottom resting on the flared base of the butt-plug and his arms and legs pulled out and up – and there we left him for the rest of the night and most of the next morning.

By this time it was one o’clock in the morning and we wanted our sleep.

That Bobby wouldn’t be getting much, we knew, but we didn’t care. In fact, we hoped he wouldn’t. It would all be part of his brainwashing.

He had been kidnapped, spirited away by three unknown women, stripped naked, shaved and depilated nude, tortured, jeered at and now deposited in an agonising position on the concrete floor of some weird dungeon. We knew he must be wondering who we were and why he had been selected. Well that would wait, or at least the second part would; the first we hoped he would never discover.

 

When we left the room, we turned off the light and closed the door. Apart from his mask, he was stark naked, stripped permanently of his body hair and secured in a diabolically horrible position. He would suffer over the next few hours and we knew he would be agonising over his plight.

But it was all part of the game plan. When we went down at lunchtime the next day, he had been sitting on that horrible plug for twelve hours. He would be cold, thirsty, hungry and scared witless. We hoped he would be anyway.

We opened the door and turned on the light and he screwed up his eyes at the unaccustomed brightness and we could see he had been crying some more. That was good. Geraldine asked him if he had learned his lesson.

That’s what she said: “Well, scum-slave, have you learned your lesson, or do we leave you here for another twenty-four hours?” (She well knew he would have no idea of time and that her ‘twenty-four’ hours was in reality only eleven).

We grinned, knowing exactly what his response was going to be. “Oh yes, ladies. I have learned my lesson, alright.”

“And what lesson might that be?” she said archly.

And then, as we had known he would, he just stuttered, confused and unsure how to respond. Geraldine turned to us and said in easier tones, “I don’t think he’s learned a damned thing, ladies. Let’s leave him here another day and see if he can answer properly then?”

“Yes indeed,” Phoebe and I chorused.

“No, no. I have learned. I will be a better person…”

“That’s not the lesson, you piece of filth,” Geraldine said scornfully. “No, let’s go. We’ll come back tomorrow, eh?”

And so we backed out of the tiny cell, turned off the light and then slammed and locked the door. We all trooped up to the gym then and spent the next two hours very profitably working out, toning our muscles and sloughing off any tiny layer of fat which might have accrued to it in the last few days.

But then, after showering and changing into different coloured lycra body suits to fool him into thinking another day had passed, we went downstairs again and once more opened the cell to stand over him, sneering down at his forlorn body.

For it did indeed look most forlorn. Remember he had been a handsome enough young man with black curly hair. Now he was totally nude with every last hair except his eyelashes gone and he thought all of them were gone permanently. As I said, we had fooled him by smearing his head and eyebrows with a placebo instead of the depilatory and in time they would grow back but the rest of his body including his pubic area would be forever nude, reminding him that he was now a permanent slave to whichever lady we chose to be his wife and whom he would serve for the rest of his days.

This time, Phoebe asked him the fateful question but once more he couldn’t come up with the right answer and so we left him in pain and total darkness for another two hours.

The next time he came very close, saying in response to my question, that he might have been a little too cocksure of himself and that he was very sorry for it. I told him he was close but that his answer was not enough and perhaps he needed another day to consider his answer more fully.

This time, as it was now five in the afternoon, we did indeed leave him all night although we turned on a valve that dripped water down on his head every second or so. It would be enough to prevent dehydration for he could twist his head up to catch the drips in his mouth, but if he let it drip onto his head, it would be a horrible torture for him.

The next morning, he had the right answer: “I have been arrogant and cocksure of myself, especially to the ladies. I have been chauvinistic and capricious with them, more concerned with my own sexual pleasure than theirs and less than willing to commit myself to them.”

It was the answer we were seeking, of course and so we moved forward, undid the locks holding him to the rings then eased him up off the huge dildo. We did make him clean it though – with his tongue – on pain of being put back onto it and he did this almost lovingly, while watching us warily out of the corner of his eye.

We took him along to his own cell, one of the barred ones and pointed to a dog’s bowl into which a tin of dog food had been spooned. “Your breakfast, scum-slave,” I said. “And you had better clean up the bowl when you have finished, or it’s back to the little cell for another day.”

The dog food smelled awful but he was very hungry as he had not eaten for two days but in any case, the threat of being put back into the tiny dildo cell terrified him and he dropped onto all fours and wolfed it down as if it was haute cuisine and then licked the bowl as clean as a whistle.

We then took him up to the gym. Remember, he could see, but not very well. Everything was more than a little out of focus and so it was safe to take him all over the camp and now I took charge of him while the other two went to catch up on their own affairs for a while.

“We are now going to start on this disgusting body, scum-slave,” I said. We would be calling him that for most of his time with us and only when he learned his lessons and we had tightened up his body would we upgrade him to ‘slave’ and then ‘boy and finally to his name, ‘Bobby’.

He didn’t react to my taunts, by now able to see our bodies well enough to know that we were far better specimens than he was and that he had indeed let his once fine figure go to pot.

And so I started him on a routine that was going to exhaust him every day but also fine him down and tone his muscles until they formed a physique he could be proud of. Once we found him a wife (who would pay dearly for him), she would ensure he kept it in fine trim.

I won’t go into the details of the program I designed for him. Suffice it to say I started him with warm-up exercises; then added some heavier routines; a little weight work and finally pure gymnastics on the box, horse, rings and parallel and horizontal bars, all of it scientifically designed to refine his admittedly good frame and turn him back into an athlete of no mean stature.

That took us up to lunchtime – ours, not his. He would be fed twice a day only and no, not dog food but it would be in the form of a mush and he would eat it on all fours, just like a dog.

Prior to his first stint of the housework training, he was permitted to sleep for an hour while we had our lunch. That hour of rest was good for him. He had been engaged in hard exercise for four hours and his body needed the rest to allow his muscles to respond to the work.

It has been well documented that muscles are built and toned by a dual process: the exercise actually breaks down the muscle tissue but the rest which follows allows them to regenerate. The type of exercise determines whether more muscle bulk is created or if what has been broken down is regenerated in a sharper, cleaner tone.

After our lunch and his rest, Phoebe took charge of him and began his education in the domestic arts – all of them. She made him polish furniture, wash dishes, perform laundry functions, began him on the culinary arts and so on. It sounds haphazard but in fact she designed a full curriculum to teach him in the short time we had allowed ourselves, to turn him from an indolent layabout into an industrious house-husband – if that’s what his wife-to-be wanted and needed.

Of course it was unlikely. We would be charging heaps for our services in training him and only a very wealthy young lady would be able to afford him. Accordingly, it was likely she had servants of her own. But, be that as it may, we had decided to train all of our slave-husbands to be the very best home managers as well as matinee idols in looks and physique and more than competent sexual athletes into the bargain.

She had him for the whole of that afternoon including the preparation of our evening meal – and his.

And then, that night, after the meal, I took him for the first of his sex lessons. To his credit, he quickly appreciated I knew my onions once we started them and as I taught him how to control his libido; to think of his sexual partner before himself; how a female sex-drive is different from his own and that she has different needs and then just the beginnings of some techniques, he got really into the spirit of the lessons and it was all of ten o’clock when I called a halt and took him down to his cell, which surprisingly, he entered quite willingly, eyeing off the jug of water and the bucket for his wastes as if they were part of a five star hotel suite.

He didn’t say anything however and moved straight over to the iron cot with its thin mattress, laid himself down and curled up to sleep. I stood and watched him for a few more minutes, well pleased with our efforts thus far.