Chapter 8: Training Begins

Schooling is important to a slave. Well, training, at least, is important. Once we complete a training course, we have the equivalent of a vocational training degree. Not that we can transfer that into a free life, but it means we’re preferred for positions over students or untrained candidates. And since our intensive training takes months compared to years of university. . . well, you can imagine that we’re in demand.

Especially since we tend to have half the going rate of a graduate, with the catch of not being permanent employees. We also get pulled in during strikes, though never quite enough to replace the workers — just enough to keep things going. Aside from external contracts, though, our workday consists of four hours, normal time. Usually that time is spent in the club or brothel, with another two to four hours of training, if we’re in training at all.

# # #

My first morning was rough. I got dog slobber (courtesy of Innu) all over my face when I tried to sleep in, and then had no time to shower. I barely had time to put my uniform on before she dragged me out the door.

“Eating is more important,” Innu said as I tried to go into the bath. “You’re going to be late if you stop to wash!”

“Well if someone hadn’t slobbered all over my face. . .”

“Mistress ordered me to make sure you get up and get to class on time,” she said. “I let you sleep in, and you still wanted more time.”

I didn’t remember her saying I had already slept in before, or that she was letting me sleep in. Still, she seemed to be serious enough about it. As we passed one of the wall displays, I noticed the time. 0:96. Was it midnight? Had she said anything about the time yesterday? My head was still a jumbled blur as I was waking up.

Then we stopped in the cafeteria. Innu took both trays and held out my arm for scanning. Breakfast was like we’d usually had on Saturdays while I was growing up — cold sausage, hard boiled eggs, breads, cheeses, and jams, and it was laid out like a buffet. “Coffee?” I asked.

“Caffeine is restricted in the facility,” Innu said. “There’s decaf if you really need it.” I don’t remember what I put on my plate, but I ended up getting a bottle of water instead of the coffee I had longed for.

Innu had more meat and cheese than fruit or bread, but she cut her bread open and stacked it all into a sandwich. “You’ll be getting a bracelet like mine later today,” she said. “Once you have that I don’t need to show you to your classes. Until then, I’ll be waiting near your classes when they end.”

I nodded, eating. I wanted to savor the breakfast, but if we were running late, I would rather finish than enjoy it. We were running late. I ended up stuffing some of the meat and cheese into a torn-open roll, and eating as Innu led me to my first class, Introduction to Life Sciences. It was taught by a youngish woman with brown hair and eyes, wearing a blue dress-style uniform with a white across it.

It was mostly a lecture for around an hour. A bit less, I suppose. Then Innu took me to my second class. Intro to Pleasure. This was taught by a blonde woman with breast implants. Her uniform was solid pink, and she taught me the range of areas “pleasure” covered. There was the obvious, and expected, sex, plus manicures, pedicures, all kinds of salon and spa work. Massages, fashion design, even entertaining. Like, hosting a dinner party, conversation skills, stuff like that. I was surprised that according to her, sixty percent of our pleasure business since opening was just filling the club floor with pleasant faces and bodies, not sexual services.

Seeing the range of options available for “pleasure” actually opened my mind up a lot about it. It certainly sounded like a better career path than the business administration degree I had been going for because it promised a comfortable life. I knew I hated science and wasn’t fond of the office skills I had been learning, though. Still, this was no time to make a choice, if I even had that option.

Innu picked me up after Miss Geneva dismissed me from class, and we went upstairs. “So how were your lessons?” she asked.

“I. . .” I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to say I was interested in exploring the pleasure division more. “Well, I know I hate science, and I always sucked at it in school. But Miss Geneva gave me a really good overview of what the pleasure division does. It looks more interesting than yesterday when I assumed it was mostly about sex.”

She grinned and smiled. “Well, no offense, but from yesterday, I didn’t take you for a scientist,” she said. “And with the intro lessons done today, we’ll be able to get you into specialty classes tomorrow. And yes, Mistress is watching your progress. She’ll focus your lessons through this period on the areas you enjoy and show talent in.”

I blinked. “How long before my next lesson?”

“One period. We can take a bath now if you want,” she said.

I thought about it as we reached the commons. “I think I’d like to have some coffee,” I said, letting out a long yawn as if it were a punctuation mark. “But since caffeine is restricted here, what’s a good way to wake up?”

“Well, walks are nice.” Innu offered. “Maybe I can show you the brothel while business is slow.”

I figured that sounded fair. By the time we had gotten to the brothel yesterday, after my nap, it had been busy. All of the rooms were either in use or being cleaned for their next client. The green and white of the internal domestic staff had caught me off guard. They looked like very much like a real maid, so their role was very easy to pick out. I was starting to wonder about the number of girls in black latex outfits beneath their uniforms too.

As we walked to the stairway, we passed two more of them, and I decided to ask. I waited until we reached the stairwell, though.

“Oh, those are Mistress Yuki’s slaves,” Innu said. “She’s assigned as a space filler until construction is done. I really don’t know much about her, except that she does have a personal doll who stays in her apartment. Or does she call them drones? Um, she seems to care about them, but her slaves are very focused, and don’t have much in the way of personality, at least outside of bed.”

“Do they ever take the latex off?”

“I don’t know,” Innu said. I looked and saw her blushing. She muttered something under her breath, and I shrugged. “Ah! This is the brothel level,” she said, a cheerful smile returning to her face.

There was a brown-haired woman (I later learned that this was Mistress Sarah) in the ring area. She nodded to us as Innu took us outward. I did notice that within the ring, however, there were some shops. Real stores that I recognized from reputation or shopping at stores in the same chain. “Is that really a. . .”

“Yes,” Innu said. “Sometimes clients like to treat us, or get something special for themselves. And if you save up, you may even be able to treat yourself. It takes a lot longer to save for these stores than the stuff in the commons, though.”

I nodded slowly. “How would I save up? I thought slaves kind of, y’know, didn’t get paid?”

“Well, not every owner pays us,” Innu said. She started to give a long explanation, sitting me down on a bench, about how slave labour works. Basically, we slaves work for our owners in whatever jobs they give us. Sometimes that means we get leased out to an employer, sometimes it means work in the brothel, and sometimes it means doing day-to-day maintenance and upkeep around the facility. When we get leased out, our owner gets paid for our work. Work inside of the facility and brothel earns us credit that we can use to trade with other slaves, but Mistress Pandora also gives her slaves credit for external jobs, which is something not all owners do. There’s also a sort of reward system, where being an eager worker can earn benefits like a bigger room or permission to access the internet or even free time outside of the facility. Again, that’s something Mistress Pandora does that not every owner does.

Once she was done explaining all of that, she led me into one of the brothel rooms. “This is a fairly tame one,” she said, and I was inclined to agree. It looked a lot like a hotel room, except made up with black leather decor. It looked like what I expected a bondage club would. “There is a selection of BDSM gear and toys in the closet,” she said, “And the client may be here before you, or you may have prep time before they come in. Oh, odds are you’ll be putting in a shift here each week, even if you aren’t a pleasure slave, at least until your primary work training is finished. Basic sex training is easy and quick.”

She showed me into a few other rooms, and taught me the basic procedure for an appointment. We would get a “card” (apparently Pandora is still settling on the exact form of the device for storing client data) that would tell us who our client was, what they had paid for, and how long they had paid for. An appointment ended when the timer went off or the client was satisfied, whichever was earlier. We were expected, but not required, to clean our rooms after we finished, too. A housekeeping team comes through after each appointment, but cleaning up the toys and anything soiled by sexual activity is considered polite. There was a bin for the laundry and another for toys in every room, so cleanup was easy.

And once that tour was finished, Innu took me back out to the ring. “We can still have lunch before your next lesson,” she said.

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