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It was also a place for women like Rachel. Successful, intelligent and well educated, but in need of being debased and degraded from time to time. So she would attend the club frequently, not as an owned slave, already collared by some Dom, but as a free woman.Free that is until she entered the stone archway behind the dark chestnut wood check-in desk. To be designated a slave as soon as she crawled into the club’s Chamber. A slave girl ready to be debased, punished and above all sexually used at the discretion of whomever wanted her.There as per the club’s number one rule, she would take to her knees. Her breasts, ass and sex exposed for all to see and use, as per rule number two. And of course her soft lovely body would be chained, roped or belted in leather, depending on the night.She was never to rise again on to her feet, for the duration of her visit. Unless hoisted up by some club member or members, intent on making her hang from her wrists or even neck as he set about. Naivety long evaporated before I saw the jagged sea ice and the coursing ghosts of cutters and troop ships descending from beyond. Before I fired my sidearm into the chest rig of an infiltrator deep within our camp perimeter my eyes were already hard. During initial selection I began my evolution into the lithe, poised thing I now see when I look in the mirror. They had no use for support personnel, only soldiers. The route marches, the navigation proving that saw others depleted, left where they fell on the frozen mountain trails galvanised me. Atop a heather-covered peak, looking down into the pine forest beyond, blinking back the shards of ice borne on the freezing wind I resolved that I would not wither and die. I would survive to come home. “Redhead, Arianna, 393?” The Adjutant’s voice shatters my reminiscence, echoing off the corrugated tin walls of the hut, bringing me back to the present. “Sir?” I brace up, looking expectantly at the drawn, weary man sitting behind his desk..
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