Exit to Eden by Anne Rice

bunch of goodie-goodies, you must be kidding. I looked at them exactly as he said.
    "Class, you are to look at these punished postulants," he ordered. All eyes on the Gang of Five.
    "Now we will resume our lessons, as if these little interruptions hadn't happened," said the trainer. "And if any of our bad boys and girls dares to move a muscle, to make a sound of complaint or suffering, then we will be forced to stop again."
    He strode away from me and forward towards the first row of postulants and I saw him fully for the first time. Exceptionally tall, yes, with very broad shoulders for his slender chest, red hair a kind of thatch. The white silk shirt was pure pirate drag with full sleeves and lace at the cuffs. Handsome bastard, naturally, though his eyes were almost buried under his bushy brows, "like smoldering coals" as the bad books say.
    "As I was saying before this lamentable interruption," he began very calmly, slowly, "you are now, all of you, the property of The Club. You exist for its members, for their pleasure in looking at you, touching you, whipping you, or humiliating you, working you as they see fit. You have no other identity here except that of slave, and by your individual trainers you will be fed, exercised, and groomed."
    The voice was not only calm now, it was almost friendly.
    But I could see the slaves squirming; he was looking at them again, and they were shooting their covert glances at him. Maybe it's harder for them, I thought, because they haven't screwed up. Maybe you could go the whole two years never screwing up and die at the end of a nervous breakdown. But what could be worse than this? The lower echelon. What fun.
    "But you will also be studied," he said, "you will be learned. The trainers here, with or without your conscious cooperation, will discover exactly what shames you, excites you, weakens you, or strengthens you, exactly what causes you to perform best. But in all this it is the pleasure of your masters, the members of The Club, that they seek to increase.
    "That you
need
this punishment, that you crave it and must have it, no matter how frightened and regretful you are at this moment, that you gave yourselves up to slavery to receive it, that you offered yourself on the fashionable auction block and through the best brokers for it—all this is one of the more interesting and delightful coincidences that nature provides. As you are mercilessly and tirelessly worked here, you will get what you crave in forms you have never imagined, and all your wildest dreams will be put to their most exorcising test.
    "And again, this is all done for your masters, and for your trainers who represent your masters and know what your masters desire. You are perfected and brought to prime for your masters. It is for your masters and mistresses, the guests, that The Club exists."
    He paused, pacing slowly before the postulants, his narrow back turned to me for a moment, his arms folded, the strap dangling from his belt. I could see several of the slaves shuddering. I could hear soft whimpers from one of the male slaves near my side.
    "You will be both pleased and disconcerted to hear," the trainer went on, "that you will be the object of relentless attention in this place, that you will be constantly and tirelessly worked. Some three thousand members are here presently for the new season and suites and bedrooms are now three quarters full. Beauty, variety, intensity… these are what the guests expect, and their appetite is insatiable. You will never be neglected by the members of The Club."
    I tried to imagine I was hearing these words with the others, that I'd made it through the gardens without freaking, and my training was moving right along.
    "Of course, you will be kept in the best of health," he continued, "you will be fed three times a day, sometimes for the amusement of your masters and mistresses, other times in private, you will be massaged, bathed, exercised, suntanned, polished, oiled.