Schooled for Palace Service: penny’s Diary, Part Five

Welcome to the next instalment in our intensely erotic FemDom fiction series. Part five of slave penny’s fantasy diary picks up where part four left off; chained naked in an X shape to a dungeon wall, in absolute darkness, starving, and forced to soil himself. After Goddess knows how long, penny is hosed down, taken from the dungeon and plunged into something new. A training centre, four Superior Women who teach through pain and humiliation, and several days of learning what it means to be a palace slave. Positions. Bondage. Service. Objectification. All in preparation for the last day, Graduation Day, which he’s told will be worse than anything experienced during training…

Content warning and note: Please remember that ‘diary entries’ published in the FemDom Slave’s Fantasy Diary area of my blog are fiction. They are written and should be enjoyed as erotica, extreme FemDom fantasy created by a male slave’s long-term-chastity-enhanced imagination. Please do not attempt to recreate any part of this story in reality. 

Monday 29 June and Tuesday 30 June

Eternity had passed. My sense of sight had been rendered pointless by the impenetrable blackness, but my sense of smell was being relentlessly assaulted by the scent of my own waste below where i hung restrained to the wall. Just as slave minky had taunted before her triumphant exit, i’d had no choice but to soil myself, feel it warm, wet and filthy over my skin, eventually splashing on to the floor below where it pooled, stinking. my eyes had adjusted over the many hours, my nose had not.

Besides the infrequent noises of unavoidable voiding, there had been no other sounds. That didn’t stop my ears from straining to hear a telltale sound, anything, faint or otherwise, that would have announced an end to this endless, painful and humiliating torture. It felt like an eternity. Apart from the aforementioned, nothing and no-one had moved, nor made any sound, whether in this cell or in the corridor nearby. The typically infernal ticking of a clock, or the dripping of a tap, would have been something familiar, something welcome. Complete silence is a cold and brutal abandonment.

my naked body felt uncomfortably chill, but a chill that never varied. It never felt colder, it never felt warmer. The change from the day before to the darkest hours of the night had had no effect.

There were some variations. Hunger pangs had crept up on me, and were getting noticeably worse. There was a constant sense of mild hunger when wearing the life garment, doubtless deliberate. i was given the nutrition required to keep me functional, useful and useable, but it was given in liquid form without any density or bulk. What i experienced now felt even worse, however. As slave minky had gleefully spat at me, i was to starve.

Another variation to keep me focused was the discomfort and pain. A slow worsening of both was to be expected. The position in which i was shackled was hideous and intent on aggravating both. Discomfort became deep dismay, and now the pain had transformed into outright agony and somehow, was getting even worse. i didn’t know how it was possible, but it was happening nonetheless. my arms were stretched to the limit, or just beyond, in fact, as were my legs. They may have been placed into shackles, but the chains were absolutely taut with no give. All limbs of my legs and feet were stretched so wide that my shape may have been an X, but that X was on its side. my feet were off the ground, so my wrists and ankles were taking all my weight. Excruciating pain racked all four limbs as well as my core, sides, back, and neck.

The shape of me hanging like this meant my head was aligned with my caged cock and balls. It felt like they were just a couple of feet apart, head above chastity cage. Both an easy target for the toe of a cruel thigh-high boot.

All of this physical and mental torture didn’t exist in isolation of my typically aroused state. Perhaps incomprehensibly, there was also variation in my arousal over those long hours, and increased intensity, even. The pure cruelty of my situation, how i’d been treated and abandoned, spawned erotic thoughts and visions of Goddess Cara, Lady Stana and even slave minky.

Not just arousal but glorification. Their cruel laughter was conjured by my masochistic mind, that deceptively light Feminine laughter at my brutal suffering, as they first teased, then actively tortured me with their thigh boots.

it hadn’t escaped my notice that slave minky’s boots had shiny steel caps on their pointed toes. i imagined her sating her hatred of men by jabbing those sharp points into my trained and sensitive nipples, or slicing across my skin, drawing blood, as she drew one of her steel-capped, pointed boot toes down from one nipple to my chastity cage.

Lady Stana and Goddess Cara would be looking on, an enraptured audience, filling the otherwise silent stone void with Their deliciously cruel laughter.

Thoughts and visions such as these maintained and teased my submissive arousal and torment constantly. Thoughts and torment that yielded increased worship, devotion and loyalty to those who own and control me.

Was i to suffer a lingering death and my body left to rot in that dungeon?

The writing of this diary note would suggest otherwise.

Wednesday 1 July

To date i had recognised two types of male slave in this Sisterhood. There was the male worker slave, naked apart from a chastity cage, who only wore a hoodless sackcloth cassock around him when travelling outside. Then there were  the henchman slaves. Well-built, of solid muscle, and identified by their leather belts with shoulder straps, as well as a chastity cage. These henchmen dealt with any enemies of the Sisters, who were captured and brought to Them as prisoners, for torture and potentially, execution.

Therefore, the trepidation that rose in me when the silence of my dungeon was broken by the visit of two of these henchmen slaves should be unsurprising.

i had no idea what day it was or what time of day it may have been. There’d been no natural light to betray the coming and going of day or night.

Lights had flickered on as they walked down the corridor. Having been in absolute darkness for so long, my eyes struggled to open against the light.

No words were spoken as my wrists and ankles were released from their shackles. my limbs had frozen into position during my time in bondage, and i retained the X shape as i simply fell face down on the dungeon floor. i have already described the mess beneath where i had hung.

i was dragged away from the steaming heap. Icy cold water rinsed me, if not fully clean, then at least washed of the mess and reducing the majority of the stench.

Darkness returned as i was roughly manhandled into an industrial PVC body bag. my wrists and ankles were once again bound, but this time around what seemed to be a pole.

Ominously, i was being carried exactly like the prisoners had been brought into the mansion before being taken to their torture crosses a few days before.

Was that to be my fate?

Visions of stunning but cruel feminine beauty flashed through my mind. Goddess Cara, Lady Stana and even now slave minky, first laughing at my futility and the agony of whiplashes, then aroused by their own power and evil to the point they play with each other and build on that physical arousal. Even on my way to torture or maybe even execution for my crime of August 3rd 2015, the sexual arousal that invoked worship, devotion and obedience to Goddess Cara outstripped any fear or trepidation. Glory to Goddess Cara.

There was a short journey in a vehicle in which i was still somehow suspended inside the bag on the pole. Once the destination had been reached, i was carried into a building. Finally, i was being removed from the bag. my eyes once again struggled temporarily to deal with the light – this time, from the sun through a window.

The room was plain, austere. There was a very small bed, a washbasin and toilet and a small chair. A cell, of sorts, but a comparatively comfortable one.

i had been there around an hour when i noticed the sun was setting. There was still no hint about what day it was, but i now knew it was evening.

Exhausted and in aching pain from my trials, i lay on my bed hoping i would not be disturbed. On this rare occasion, my wish was granted.

Thursday 2 July

The joy and richness of natural light and a view. A large 3-storey building to my right which looked similar to the one i was in.

It looked like it was built in the 1960s or ’70s. Every window on the 2nd and 3rd floors identical in size, with uniform brickwork in between. i sensed the rooms would be similar to mine. In which case there were 2 large buildings (or more) with a large amount of single bedrooms.

To the left, however, there was rolling countryside.

The door was locked and i was going nowhere. Not that i would.

About an hour after i woke, the lock to the door opened and a woman walked in.

She was wearing a smart two-piece grey suit and practical black patent leather shoes.

“Slug cum?” She queried, and i nodded.

i was sitting on the bed, and She indicated i should stay there, before sitting on the only chair in the room.

“I am service woman 651164,” She said. “you are at a training centre where you will get rudimentary training for you to be a palace slave.

“The Sisterhood have acquisitioned a palace which will be the centre of power in Western Europe. Goddess Cara has specifically requested that you be a palace slave. The role of palace slaves will be to provide peripheral servitude and amuse the members of the Sisterhood living or visiting the palace.

“This basic training will take 5 days, after which you will be taken to the palace itself.”

“Do you understand?” She asked.

“Yes,” i replied.

“Yes, Ma’am,” She corrected me.

“Yes, Ma’am,” i obliged.

“As you are a slug, lower than a slave, I am informed that when I arrive in future, you will kiss both of My shoes once and then kneel with your head facing upwards and your mouth wide open. And you will do the same before I leave. Understand?”

“Yes, i understand, Ma’am,” i replied.

“you will need this,” She said, and handed me the tablet on which i knew my diary notes were required.

She told me the date, predicting the question i should have asked next.

“Training will start tomorrow. Food and drink will be brought to you shortly and again this evening. Today you will rest.”

“I am leaving,” She informed me, then stood expectantly.

i knelt in front of Her, kissed both shoes and knelt with my mouth wide open facing up to Her.

“I have been told I have to do this, but I would in any case.”

She coughed up some saliva and phlegm from Her throat, then pursed Her lips to allow the sticky mixture to drip like a piece of rope from Her lips into my obediently open mouth. Now, without the ring, i could swallow, but the thick consistency of the gunge made that very difficult indeed without aid of a drink, of which there was none.

“I have heard about your insolence to Goddess Cara. you should be rotting in a dungeon,” She informed me in a low, menacing voice.

“Glory to Goddess Cara,” She declared with meaning and true passion, before leaving the room and locking it behind Her.

There were two food and water deliveries during that day. They were delivered on trolleys which could be heard coming from a distance. Each stopped periodically, which suggested slaves were staying in some of the many other rooms.

On each occasion, a male slave brought the food into the room and another male slave was pushing the trolley.

They were the only other interruptions to a long day of tedium and boredom, but these were precious gifts compared to the agony of the dungeon over the previous days and nights.

Friday 3 July

i naturally woke early. When i say early, that was a reasoned belief. It was quiet and the sun was very low in the sky. The knowledge of time was still not a luxury i had access to.

The life garment that had controlled my sleep and consciousness, as well as every movement, was a thing, hopefully of the past. I hoped even more fervently that was also true of the detestable vagina entrance ring gag.

Prior to all of this, i had awoken early naturally for numerous years.

Early morning in summer is always a blessing and would usually have been a time for reflection, but the cage that confined my slug of a penis denied me such pleasure. All consciousness is now accompanied by intense submissive arousal and the torment of denied orgasm and ongoing chastity. Being a slave, worshipping and being devoted to Goddess Cara, and through Her dictat, the Ladies of the Sisterhood, drowns out any chance of free reflective thought.

It was quite a while before the door to my room was unlocked and a woman (not the service woman who had spoken to me the previous day) stood stridently at the door.

She was dressed in a dark grey skintight catsuit and calf-length leather boots.

She was beautiful but at the same time menacing and powerful.

“Follow me,” She commanded and i instinctively replied “Yes Ma’am,” as i turned to follow Her.

In the corridor i noted She already had four other males following Her, all naked apart from their chastity cages. A few rooms along the corridor, She opened another door and we became six naked slaves following one powerful woman. Apart from the steel chastity cages we were not bound in any way, but we still followed, without question, like sheep.

After going down two flights of stairs to the ground floor, we entered a large room. At one end, there was a raised stage area, in front of which were two wooden benches. The type of bench i remember from doing gymnastics classes at school.

One of the benches already had another six male slaves sitting on it, and guided by the woman who had led us there, the six of us occupied the other bench.

Another woman, dressed exactly the same as our guide, was already waiting beside the other six slaves.

Those two Women were joined by two others, including the one that had spoken to me the previous day. All four were dressed identically.

There was no introduction as such, and the morning was spent learning positions, and the accompanying hand signals that ordered us to adopt those positions. Having been taught them and given a little time to indent them into our brains we were put to the test.

All four Women carried discipline paddles that They regularly slapped threateningly into Their other gloved hand. The paddles came into active use as we learned that there was more to each position than just knowing what that position was, but adopting that position in the right way, too.

Each group of four slaves, by rotation, was tested on all the positions three times, with a different teacher on each occasion. By the end of the lesson, the naked skin of all slaves, including myself, was glowing red and sore. However, we all knew the grovelling position, and others, and how to truly kiss the boot of a Lady or Goddess so that the passion and depth of our adoration and worship could be relished by the sublime wearer.

At lunchtime we were each given plastic trays containing cubes of something akin to meat, or its equivalent, a little green salad, and a tomato cut into two. we ate everything with our hands.

The afternoon session covered basic bondage, using ropes, cling film, cuffs, shackles and inflatable body bags. We were taught how to assemble a soundproof glass box and attach it to a woman’s head, so that her cries, moans and words could not be heard. 4 female slaves were brought in for that lesson. The box had only recently been added to the collection.

A video of Goddess Cara was shown to us. She was wearing a gorgeous red dress, reclining on a chaise longue, and using elegant tongs to select pieces of sushi that were spread out on Lady Olivia’s naked waist between her breasts and her vulva.

The Goddess took one and dipped it into a glass of soy sauce held between Her victim’s thighs before placing it into Her mouth, clearly relishing the taste. The video showed Goddess Cara taking, dipping and eating four of those with at least a minute in between each, adopting an opulent recline between each segment. The moans of Lord Bruce could be heard but he was out of camera shot. Lady Olivia’s head was encased in such a soundproof box. her head clearly seen by all, but completely soundproof.

You can perhaps imagine the effects of watching this video on all of us, as chaste male slaves.

It was a long day. The lessons had been taught well, and thoroughly, with the intent that we learn what was required of us in the time to come. i certainly had learned it all well, as i believe all the male slaves present did.

Despite it only being the start of July, the sun was going down when i got back to my room, so it was late. Sleep soon came for me.

Saturday 4 July and Sunday 5 July

The schooling continued throughout the weekend, and i have been permitted to write my diary entry on the two days together.

The other eleven slave students and i have been continuing our training to become pleasing palace slaves.

The level of disdain we receive from our four female teachers is uncompromising. we learned through fear of physical pain alone. There was no indication of positive encouragement at any stage. Blood streamed from where paddle marks had crossed and the flesh ripped open on both the back and front of the other eleven, and i knew my flesh was as torn and wrecked as theirs.

During those two days we were taught to clean different surfaces with equipment that would be available at the palace. How to deal with all laundry matters including ironing – which was a session where my flesh scars increased dramatically, but by the end of it i could iron quite competently. We learned kitchen skills, including the correct preparation of tea, coffee and other drinks.

The teachers took great pleasure in assuring us we would never cook, and we were, in fact, on a par with scullery maids.

Sunday afternoon and well into the evening we learned how to serve, whether it be food or drink, to the dining table or the lounge or directly to bedside tables, no matter what time of the day the command came.

That isn’t to say it was all like Downton Abbey. we were also taught how to be human footstools, or floor mats to be walked all over, no matter what, if any, footwear was being worn.

we also learned the important skill of how best to keep the Goddesses and Ladies cool on a warm day or evening.

Both days were long, difficult, tense and painful. And then, just before we were retired to our bedrooms on Sunday evening, we were told that tomorrow would be our last day of training. Graduation Day. The teacher laughed as She saw relief temporarily cross our features. Don’t get too relaxed, She warned. Tomorrow would be the hardest day of training yet.

The palace was a retreat for all the Ladies, and home for Goddess Cara and some of the other Women. It was a place where all the Sisterhood could enjoy the opulence of omnipotent power and sate their sadistic pleasures. Our suitability for that was to be tested on that last day, Graduation Day. The four Mistress teachers all became noticeably aroused thinking about what was to come, and there were erotic caresses shared between Them.

All four were excitingly whispering to each other, whilst looking over the twelve of us. we were all kneeling on the two benches in front of the raised stage.

Eventually the teacher who had visited my room the day before the course, pointed to one of the slaves on the other bench and said “you” and, pointing at one of the others on my bench, “and you”.

“you two lucky slaves stay behind”.

The remaining five on my bench were guided back to the rooms by another of the teachers. No doubt we all breathed a deep sigh of relief as we fell on our respective beds. Drained, tired and ready for sleep. And whatever the next day would hold.

by slave penny

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This post is the fifth instalment of weekly diary entries by slave penny. Despite being described and presented as diary entries, the activities and happenings described therein are fiction. They do not represent our real Mistress/slave dynamic or interactions. They are the product of my real life FemDom slave’s chastity-enhanced imagination, published here purely as erotic fantasy for your entertainment as well as mine. Any opinions expressed in this piece are penny’s own.

Please do not attempt to recreate or actually live in the ways described in this erotic fiction piece. All BDSM activities require mutual trust, care, and active consent, whether you play within the SSC or RACK framework.

Click to discover the entire series of FemDom slave fantasy diary entries.

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