I can do it.
This time when Master John picked up the cane, though the strokes stung just as much as a moment before, Alexis found herself better able to tolerate it. Master Paul had turned his attentions back to Tiffany, and Alexis suddenly remembered Master John’s instruction to keep her eyes on his face. She turned back to her trainer, but though she might have appeared to be looking directly at him, it was Master Paul she saw in her mind’s eye, with his warm, encouraging smile, mouthing the words, you can do it, over and over again as the cane came crashing relentlessly down.
“Much, much better,” Master John said finally. He moved again to stand between Alexis’s legs, this time reaching for the anal plug, which he pulled slowly from her ass. When it popped out, he set it somewhere out of her line of vision. She was expecting him to release her at last from the confining rope, but instead he ran his fingers lightly over her spread labia, and then pressed his fingers into her pussy.
He offered a knowing smile. “There, you see?” he said. “You’re soaking wet. Through all the crying and protest, your cunt doesn’t lie, sub girl.” He rubbed slowly over her labia, the friction tugging indirectly at her clit. While continuing to stroke her, he slid his finger again inside, crooking it just so, making Alexis gasp at the hot, sudden rush of sensation.
“Oh,” she breathed, the word pulled from her. After the searing cut of the cane, his touch was especially powerful. Pleasure radiated through her, mingling with the pain. Her cunt was throbbing, her breath coming in short gasps as she struggled to resist the rising urge to climax. His finger still inside her, he ground his palm against her clit. She was going to come. There was no way she could help it.
Again reading her mind, or maybe just reading her body, Master John said, “Remember, pleasure and pain must be combined. I want you to come, Alexis, but not from my touch. You will come from the cane.”
His hand was withdrawn, replaced by the steady, rat-a-tat tapping of the cane against her swollen, aching cunt. It was light at first, more of a tease than anything, a swish of pleasure with just a hint of sting. But as he continued, the pressure increased, the pain rising to obscure the sensual stroke.
Alexis felt the sweat again at her armpits, and the tremble of her aching, taut muscles. And yet, in spite of the stinging pain at her cunt, or perhaps partially because of it, the climax that had threatened a moment before from the pure pleasure of his touch rose again, as strong or perhaps stronger than before.
Alexis clenched her teeth to keep from screaming, her poor, stinging clit throbbing with each whippy stroke of the cane against the tender flesh. “Oh god,” she finally groaned, gripping the metal poles with all her strength. “Oh, please. Oh, Sir. Oh…”
“That’s it. Come for me. Give of yourself completely. Hold nothing back.”
Alexis’s body began to buck and shudder, and still the cane whipped down on her spread, captive cunt. She heard a high, keening sound and was dimly aware it must be her own voice. The tiny part of her brain that still functioned knew she was supposed to be silent, but she had lost all control of her body and her responses. On and on the powerful orgasm wracked her tortured, exhausted body, waves and waves of intensity as the cane continued to stroke her swollen, throbbing clit.
Finally Master John stepped back, leaving Alexis bathed in sweat and shuddering with post-orgasmic spasms, arms and legs spread wide and taut in her bonds. When she had finally stilled, completely spent, Master John unknotted and unwrapped the rope that bound her wrists and ankles.
Alexis was limp as a ragdoll as Master John lifted her into his arms and lay her down on a yoga mat on the floor near the table. Her head fell to the side, and after a while of drifting in a semi-conscious state, her eyes finally fluttered opened. Without a conscious decision to do so, she found herself looking to see if Master Paul was watching her. Would he approve?
He wasn’t there.
Feeling suddenly bereft, Alexis turned her head back to face her trainer, who had crouched down beside her. She had to concentrate to focus on Master John, who was now speaking.
“I’m pleased, Alexis. You were holding back initially, but I think you’re showing some potential. We’ll keep working on associating pleasure and pain. And I think, too, some focus on your ass is definitely in order to desensitize you in that area.”
Alexis struggled to keep her feelings from her face, but realized she probably failed, as Master John’s eyebrows rose, his lips tugging downward in a frown. “You have a problem with that?”
“No,” Alexis said quickly, though it was a lie. “No, Sir.”
“Good.” Reaching into his pocket, Master John again produced her leash, which he clipped to her collar. “We have time for a shower before lunch,” he said. “Right after your enema.”
Chapter 7
“The concept here, Alexis,” Master John said, “is to stop trying to anticipate or control the outcome. In just the little time we’ve spent together, you’ve made it clear you have issues with giving up control. If you ever want to get to that place where true submission is possible, you have to surrender, not just physically, not just mentally, but all of it. You have to give me everything you’ve got.”
Alexis lay on a thick, soft towel that had been laid over the exam table in the slave quarters bathroom. She was glad at least that her face was to the wall during the procedure. She was lying on her side, her top leg drawn up toward her chest. Her hands were cuffed together in front of her, nestled between her breasts. The cuffs were clipped to a chain that attached to the O ring at the front of her collar.
Master John stood behind her. The enema bag had been prepared and hung on an IV pole. “First, we’ll lubricate the area with Vaseline,” he said. “I’ve found this works better than a water-based lubricant. Less irritation when the nozzle is removed.” He put his hand on her hip, stroking her for a moment.
The hand was removed and she could hear the sounds of a latex glove snapping into place on his hand. “Lie still and relax.”
Easy for you to say, Alexis couldn’t help thinking, as she felt a finger, gooey with thick lubricant, rim her asshole and then slip inside. He moved slowly in a gentle swirling motion, and Alexis felt her body relaxing.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Master John said, his finger still inside her ass. “I will insert the nozzle into your anus and slowly release the fluid. Your job is to relax and open yourself. Don’t clench your muscles. Don’t resist me in any way. Remember, this is about surrender. You aren’t going to get to that place you seek until you truly surrender.”
Finally he withdrew his finger. Alexis flinched a little when she felt the rubber nozzle between her ass cheeks.
“Take a deep breath and then let it out slowly,” Master John said in a soothing voice. “That’s it. In…and out…” As he spoke, Alexis felt the rubber head of the nozzle pushing past the ring of muscle and in spite of herself, she could feel her muscles clenching. As the nozzle pushed in deeper she squeezed her eyes shut.
Though Alexis was aware some people found enemas an erotic form of submission, for her the idea of an enema held zero appeal. Or more correctly, negative appeal. It wasn’t just the thought of someone squirting a bunch of liquid directly into her intestines, but what came after. She would have to use the toilet, and she was almost certain Master John would stand there and watch her. Just the thought of this humiliation made her fingers curl into fists.
“Stop it.” Master John’s voice became stern. “I can feel your resistance. Open yourself to receive what I give you, not just physically, but mentally, too. You’re untrained, I get that. So for now, just know I want this for you, and therefore you will accept it. Your ultimate goal as a submissive is not only to accept what your Master wants for you, but to embrace it precisely because he wants it.”
Alexis took another deep breath and let it out slowly as she consciously tried to relax.
“Better.”
Alexis felt a sudden, warm gush of liquid rele
ased inside of her.
“Oh!” she cried involuntarily.
“Breathe,” Master John urged again. She felt another rush of warmth inside her, and then a sudden painful cramping in her intestines.
“It hurts. I think I have to go!” Alexis cried, her face flaming with embarrassment.
“Not yet,” Master John said. “You’ve only taken about half the bag. You can take more. The cramping will ease. Deep breaths.”
Alexis willed her body to accept what was happening, praying she wouldn’t have an accident right there on the table. It seemed to go on forever, but finally Master John said, “There. You took the whole bag. I’m going to remove the nozzle and replace it with a small butt plug.” Alexis felt the nozzle being pulled slowly out and then the press of the plug into her still-relaxed anus.
Bending over her, Master John released her cuffs from her collar, but didn’t remove the cuffs themselves. “Now,” he informed her, “You’re going to masturbate while I paddle your ass. Make sure not to push out that plug, or we’ll have a nasty mess on our hands. Oh, and ask permission before you come.”
Alexis had been sure he would let her up to relieve herself once she’d taken the enema. She lay there without moving, her mind trying to process what he’d just said. Make herself come? While being paddled? And lying on her side? Fuck!
“Get to it,” Master John snapped, his words accompanied by a sudden sharp smack of a paddle against her right butt cheek.
Spurred into action, Alexis jerked her cuffed wrists downward and slipped the fingers of her right hand awkwardly between her legs. Despite the discomfort and embarrassment of enduring the enema, she was surprised to find she was soaking wet. As the paddle again made its hard contact with her ass, her clit stiffened beneath her fingers and a small cry issued from her lips, part pleasure, part pain.
When the paddle struck the rounded base of the butt plug she grunted, her intestines protesting, her stomach gurgling. Forcing herself to ignore the cramping, she rubbed furiously at herself, the stinging smash of the paddle against her ass offset by the rising pleasure at her center.
“Oh, god,” she moaned, her body shaking with her effort to push through the pain of the paddling as she rode her hand toward a climax. “Please, Sir. May I come?”
The paddle smashed against her even harder than before and she gave a gasping cry, tears filling her eyes. “Yes,” he said, never letting up with the paddle while Alexis careened over the precipice of an unexpectedly powerful orgasm at her own hand.
The sting of the paddle was replaced by Master John’s large, strong hands, his stroke surprisingly gentle and soothing against her burning flesh. “I am pleased,” her trainer said as he stroked her ass and back. In spite of her exhaustion, Alexis’s mouth lifted into a smile, his words sending a warm thrill of pleasure through her.
Master John allowed her to rest awhile, her cuffed hands still caught between her legs, until her breathing eventually slowed to something near to normal. “Sit up,” he said eventually. “I’ll help you off the table and take you to the toilet. You will crouch over the seat while I remove the plug. Then you may relieve yourself.”
As he helped Alexis to a sitting position, her intestines again cramped painfully. All the pleasure of the orgasm and the warmth of his praise had evaporated. She desperately needed to use the toilet, but at the same time dreaded the prospect with Master John as witness.
Her hands still cuffed, Alexis was led by Master John to the row of toilets. At least they were the only two people in the communal bathroom, though that was still one too many.
Under Master John’s unblinking gaze, Alexis straddled the toilet seat. He had a plastic bag in his hand. Reaching behind her, he pulled the plug and dropped it into the bag while Alexis lowered herself quickly to the seat.
Tears of embarrassment and shame pricked her eyelids as she expelled the enema liquid and her own waste in front of her trainer. At the same time, she couldn’t deny the intense physical relief.
While she was relieving herself, Master John dropped the plastic bag into a utility sink near the shower stalls, stripped his gloves into the trashcan and then moved to the bank of sinks beneath the mirrors. After he’d washed his hands, he returned to Alexis, who was still sitting on the toilet.
Bending toward her, he unclipped the cuffs and removed them from her wrists. “Wipe yourself and take a shower,” he instructed. “I’ll see you in the dining room for lunch.”
~*~
They were in a large, sumptuously furnished room. The wood paneled walls were decorated with oil paintings of Impressionistic landscapes. A large crystal chandelier hung from the high, vaulted ceiling. It could have been any elegantly appointed drawing room, except for the St. Andrew’s crosses flanking either side of a huge stone fireplace. Several flogger and whip handles could be seen protruding from a tall brass umbrella stand.
An end table beside it held an ice bucket, a small propane tank with a torch attached to the top of it and a black velvet pouch.
Alexis was kneeling on a cushion beside six other naked trainees, four women and two men. They were lined up in a row along one wall with a good view of the entire room. Alexis’s ass was still tender from an extended caning session in the dungeon after lunch. She had been cuffed by her wrists to long chains that hung from the ceiling, her arms so high she’d had to stand on tiptoes for the duration of the caning. She had taken quite a beating, moving from the initial resistance to a kind of resigned, exhausted surrender, but without ever achieving the sense of release and peace that continued to remain just out of her grasp, even here at The Compound.
Several staff slaves were kneeling or sitting at the feet of the trainers who lounged on sofas and chairs scattered around the room. Alexis was keenly aware of the presence of Master Paul, who was on a sofa across the room. He was wearing a white shirt opened at the throat and jeans that hugged strong, muscular legs. Though she knew she shouldn’t even be thinking this way, she was glad to note that, unlike many of the trainers scattered throughout the room, there was no one kneeling at his feet, no head resting proprietarily on his knee. Tiffany was kneeling in the row with Alexis, her back ramrod straight, a diamond piercing glinting at her belly button, a matching diamond stud nestled on one side of her pert little nose.
All eyes turned to the open double doors of the drawing room as Mistress Miriam entered the room. She was dressed in a flowing red gown, cut low to reveal a deep cleavage. Master John entered just behind her. He had changed from the black T-shirt and jeans he’d worn earlier in the day, and looked quite sexy in black leather pants and a vest over his muscular chest, which was covered in dark blond curls. Lastly came Wendy, wearing a see-through white shift that barely covered her slender, naked body. Her feet were bare, the gold heart-shaped padlock glinting at her throat.
Mistress Miriam, with Master John and Wendy next to her, stood in front of the fireplace and addressed the room. “We are gathered tonight to witness the branding ceremony of Master John and his slave girl, Wendy.”
Turning to Wendy, Mistress Miriam said, “Slave Wendy, do you choose this permanent branding of your flesh of your own free will?”
Though Alexis thought she saw fear in Wendy’s large gray eyes, her voice was firm as she answered, “Yes, Mistress.”
“And with this brand,” Mistress Miriam continued, “do you promise to love and serve Master John with your heart, body and soul until the time he releases you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Wendy replied, a radiant smile lighting her face as she gazed up at her Master.
Turning to Master John, Mistress Miriam said, “And you, John. With this brand do you claim permanent ownership of slave Wendy, promising to own and cherish her as long as you remain Master and slave?”
“I do,” Master John intoned, as if taking a marriage vow. He took Wendy’s small hand in his much larger one.
Mistress Miriam again addressed the room. “In order to help Wendy achieve the proper mindset for the inten
sity of the branding, her Master has chosen the meditation of a long, slow flogging. Through the whipping of the skin, Wendy will achieve an altered state, one which changes the very nature of pain and one’s ability to bear it.”
Mistress Miriam stepped to the side of the hearth while Master John selected a heavy black flogger from the umbrella stand. “Prepare yourself,” he said to Wendy. Without hesitation the girl slipped the straps of her skimpy dress off her shoulders and let the shift puddle to the floor. Turning her smooth, naked body so she was in profile to the room, she lifted her arms over her head, clasping each wrist with the opposite hand. Wendy was thin but muscular and despite her grace and apparent ease, Alexis thought she detected some tension in the rigid way she held her body as she waited for her flogging to begin.
Alexis watched with hungry eyes as her trainer brushed the soft leather tresses over his slave girl’s back. Wendy remained perfectly still as the first hard stroke landed between her shoulders. The sound of the leather making contact with skin was the only sound in the large room. Master John moved with skill behind the girl, the flogger whirling and striking her reddening skin from shoulder to thigh.
After about ten minutes of intense flogging, the change began to happen before Alexis’s eyes. It was almost as if Wendy were sloughing off an old skin, her demeanor taking on a kind of ethereal glow. The muscles that had been clenched only a moment before eased and softened, though Wendy didn’t move her position or lower her arms. Her head fell back, her lips parting, her eyes closing as if she were slipping into a deep, peaceful sleep, though she remained standing.
Alexis recognized what she was seeing, and ached inside with the knowledge she herself had yet to experience this kind of ecstatic transformation, and maybe never would.
Faith in your trainer. Faith in yourself.
Sam’s words drifted into Alexis’s mind as she watched Master John slow the flogging until it was once again a swishing, gentle stroke of soft leather. Was faith all that was required? And if so, where was hers? How did she find it, tap into it, harness it? Maybe someday it would be her up there, giving herself in public to her Master, her lover…
The Compound Page 8